a cottage in Scotland now, if
you fancy one," said John, cheerfully.

"The only memories I have in the world, outside my life in this place,
are of my childhood at home," she said.

John suddenly realized how very, very limited her experiences had
been, and wondered less at the almost childish simplicity which
characterized her, and which in no way marred her natural graciousness
and dignity. Lady Mary did not observe his silence, because her own
thoughts were busy with a scene which memory had painted for her, and
far away from the moonlit valley of the Youle. She saw a tall, narrow,
turreted building against a ruddy sunset sky; a bare ridge of hills
crowned sparsely with ragged Scotch firs; a sea of heather which had
seemed boundless to a childish imagination.

"I could not go back to Scotland now," she said, with that little
wistful-sounding, patient sob which moved John to such pity that he
could scarce contain himself; "but some day, when I am free--when
nobody wants me."

"London is the only place worth living in just now, whilst we are in
such terrible anxiety," he said boldly. "At least there are the papers
and telegrams all day long, and none of this dreary, long waiting
between the posts; and there are other things--to distract one's
attention, and keep up one's courage."

"I do not know what Isabella and Georgina would say," said Lady Mary.

"But you--would you not care to come?"

"Oh!" she said, half sobbing, "it is because I am afraid of caring too
much. Life seems to call so loudly to me now and then; as though I
were tired of sitting alone, and looking up the valley and down the
valley. I know it all by heart. It would be fresh life; the stir, the
movement; other people, fresh ideas, beautiful new things to see. But,
indeed, you must not tempt me." There was an accent of yearning in her
tone, a hint of eager anticipation, as of a good time coming; a dream
postponed, which she would nevertheless be willing one day to enjoy.
"I mustn't go anywhere; I couldn't--until my boy comes home, if he
ever comes home," she added, under her breath.

"But when he comes home safe and sound, as please God he may," said
John, cheerfully, "why, then you have a great deal of lost time to
make up."

"Ah, yes!" said Lady Mary, and again that wistful note of longing
sounded. "I have thought sometimes I would not like to die before I
have seen my birthplace once more. And there is--_Italy_," she said,
as though the o