l stayed on at Graysmill. Grandmamma's
letters, and Aunt Caroline's, were always full of her, of the
comfort her sunny presence brought them; my father-in-law and Jane
had the same tale to tell.

For many months I never even contemplated the possibility of
returning to England with my husband. There is no knowing how long
our wanderings might have been, but for my illness. Gabriel and I
were passing through Pisa at the end of June, on our way to Lerici,
whither we were bent on pilgrimage, when I fell ill.

That was the end of many dreams. The wheel could turn no more; the
swift and restless life of day to day, that fled the past and hung
back from the morrow, was checked abruptly, completely.

But, lying in that little bed of painted wood, staring at the net
curtains and green shutters, at the lozenge pattern on the wall, at
the cornucopiae on the ceiling, a clear and sober sight returned to
me. The body having failed, the spirit found its strength.

Our sudden halt had worked swiftly on Gabriel also. He set to work;
the restlessness died out of him, but, alas! the lightness, too. He
became very still, silent and self-absorbed. In the cool of evening,
the time of day when I was strongest, I used to turn my kind little
nun out of the room, and then Gabriel came and read to me.

At first he had tried to finish the long poem begun in the days of
our betrothal, but he soon laid that aside, and another sprang
forward with extraordinary rapidity. Perhaps he himself was hardly
aware of the sorrow of that poem; perhaps he thought I would judge
it so entirely as a work of art that I should not take note of its
deep gloom, of its hopeless melancholy. But nothing was lost upon me
now. I read it in every line,--he suffered; something failed
him,--perhaps he knew not what, perhaps he knew. A terrible
loneliness was in his heart,--and I had given him all I had to give.

On the fifteenth of July, I awoke with a sense of something fresh
and sweet; a bunch of roses lay upon my pillow, and Gabriel stood
beside my bed. The shutters were still closed.

"What?" said I, "have you been out already? How dear of you this is!
Is the sun shining?"

And he answered:

"Of course, what should it do but shine on our wedding-day?"

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, and took both my hands in
his.

"Emilia," said he, "you have made me very happy."

But I, sitting up, bent my head low over his hands and kissed them;
my loose hair f