RODERICK HUDSON

by Henry James

CONTENTS

 I. Rowland II. Roderick III. Rome IV. Experience V. Christina VI. Frascati VII. St. Cecilia's VIII. Provocation IX. Mary Garland X. The Cavaliere XI. Mrs. Hudson XII. The Princess Casamassima XIII. Switzerland

CHAPTER I. Rowland

Mallet had made his arrangements to sail for Europe on the firstof September, and having in the interval a fortnight to spare, hedetermined to spend it with his cousin Cecilia, the widow of a nephew ofhis father. He was urged by the reflection that an affectionate farewellmight help to exonerate him from the charge of neglect frequentlypreferred by this lady. It was not that the young man disliked her; onthe contrary, he regarded her with a tender admiration, and he had notforgotten how, when his cousin had brought her home on her marriage, hehad seemed to feel the upward sweep of the empty bough from which thegolden fruit had been plucked, and had then and there accepted theprospect of bachelorhood. The truth was, that, as it will be part ofthe entertainment of this narrative to exhibit, Rowland Mallet had anuncomfortably sensitive conscience, and that, in spite of the seemingparadox, his visits to Cecilia were rare because she and her misfortuneswere often uppermost in it. Her misfortunes were three in number: first, she had lost her husband; second, she had lost her money (or thegreater part of it); and third, she lived at Northampton, Massachusetts. Mallet's compassion was really wasted, because Cecilia was a very cleverwoman, and a most skillful counter-plotter to adversity. She had madeherself a charming home, her economies were not obtrusive, and therewas always a cheerful flutter in the folds of her crape. It was theconsciousness of all this that puzzled Mallet whenever he felt temptedto put in his oar. He had money and he had time, but he never coulddecide just how to place these gifts gracefully at Cecilia's service. He no longer felt like marrying her: in these eight years that fancy haddied a natural death. And yet her extreme cleverness seemed somehow tomake charity difficult and patronage impossible. He would rather chopoff his hand than offer her a check, a piece of useful furniture, ora black silk dress; and yet there was some sadness in seeing such abright, proud woman living in such a small, dull way. Cecilia had, moreover, a turn for sarcasm, and her smile, which was her prettyfeature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a lurkingscratch in it. Rowland remembered that, for him, she was all smiles, andsuspected, awkwardly, that he ministered not a little to her sense ofthe irony of things. And in truth, with his means, his leisure, and hisopportunities, what had he done? He had an unaffected suspicion ofhis uselessness. Cecilia, meanwhile, cut out her own dresses, and waspersonally giving her little girl the education of a princess. 

This time, however, he presented himself bravely enough; for in the wayof activity it was something definite, at least, to be going to Europeand to be meaning to spend the winter in Rome. Cecilia met him in theearly dusk at the gate of her little garden, amid a studied combinationof floral perfumes. A rosy widow of twenty-eight, half cousin, halfhostess, doing the honors of an odorous cottage on a midsummer evening, was a phenomenon to which the young man's imagination was able to doample justice. Cecilia was always gracious, but this evening she wasalmost joyous. She was in a happy mood, and Mallet imagined there wasa private reason for it--a reason quite distinct from her pleasure inreceiving her honored kinsman. The next day he flattered himself he wason the way to discover it. 

For the present, after tea, as they sat on the rose-framed porch, whileRowland held his younger cousin between his knees, and she, enjoyingher situation, listened timorously for the stroke of bedtime, Ceciliainsisted on talking more about her visitor than about herself. 

"What is it you mean to do in Europe?" she asked, lightly, giving aturn to the frill of her sleeve--just such a turn as seemed to Mallet tobring out all the latent difficulties of the question. 

"Why, very much what I do here, " he answered. "No great harm. "

"Is it true, " Cecilia asked, "that here you do no great harm? Is not aman like you doing harm when he is not doing positive good?"

"Your compliment is ambiguous, " said Rowland. 

"No, " answered the widow, "you know what I think of you. You have aparticular aptitude for beneficence. You have it in the first place inyour character. You are a benevolent person. Ask Bessie if you don'thold her more gently and comfortably than any of her other admirers. "

"He holds me more comfortably than Mr. Hudson, " Bessie declared, roundly. 

Rowland, not knowing Mr. Hudson, could but half appreciate the eulogy, and Cecilia went on to develop her idea. "Your circumstances, inthe second place, suggest the idea of social usefulness. You areintelligent, you are well-informed, and your charity, if one may call itcharity, would be discriminating. You are rich and unoccupied, so thatit might be abundant. Therefore, I say, you are a person to do somethingon a large scale. Bestir yourself, dear Rowland, or we may be taught tothink that virtue herself is setting a bad example. "

"Heaven forbid, " cried Rowland, "that I should set the examples ofvirtue! I am quite willing to follow them, however, and if I don'tdo something on the grand scale, it is that my genius is altogetherimitative, and that I have not recently encountered any very strikingmodels of grandeur. Pray, what shall I do? Found an orphan asylum, orbuild a dormitory for Harvard College? I am not rich enough to do eitherin an ideally handsome way, and I confess that, yet awhile, I feeltoo young to strike my grand coup. I am holding myself ready forinspiration. I am waiting till something takes my fancy irresistibly. Ifinspiration comes at forty, it will be a hundred pities to have tied upmy money-bag at thirty. "

"Well, I give you till forty, " said Cecilia. "It 's only a word tothe wise, a notification that you are expected not to run your coursewithout having done something handsome for your fellow-men. "

Nine o'clock sounded, and Bessie, with each stroke, courted a closerembrace. But a single winged word from her mother overleaped hersuccessive intrenchments. She turned and kissed her cousin, anddeposited an irrepressible tear on his moustache. Then she went andsaid her prayers to her mother: it was evident she was being admirablybrought up. Rowland, with the permission of his hostess, lighted a cigarand puffed it awhile in silence. Cecilia's interest in his career seemedvery agreeable. That Mallet was without vanity I by no means intend toaffirm; but there had been times when, seeing him accept, hardly lessdeferentially, advice even more peremptory than the widow's, youmight have asked yourself what had become of his vanity. Now, in thesweet-smelling starlight, he felt gently wooed to egotism. There was aproject connected with his going abroad which it was on his tongue's endto communicate. It had no relation to hospitals or dormitories, and yetit would have sounded very generous. But it was not because it wouldhave sounded generous that poor Mallet at last puffed it away inthe fumes of his cigar. Useful though it might be, it expressed mostimperfectly the young man's own personal conception of usefulness. Hewas extremely fond of all the arts, and he had an almost passionateenjoyment of pictures. He had seen many, and he judged them sagaciously. It had occurred to him some time before that it would be the work of agood citizen to go abroad and with all expedition and secrecy purchasecertain valuable specimens of the Dutch and Italian schools as to whichhe had received private proposals, and then present his treasures out ofhand to an American city, not unknown to aesthetic fame, in which atthat time there prevailed a good deal of fruitless aspiration toward anart-museum. He had seen himself in imagination, more than once, insome mouldy old saloon of a Florentine palace, turning toward the deepembrasure of the window some scarcely-faded Ghirlandaio or Botticelli, while a host in reduced circumstances pointed out the lovely drawingof a hand. But he imparted none of these visions to Cecilia, and hesuddenly swept them away with the declaration that he was of course anidle, useless creature, and that he would probably be even more so inEurope than at home. "The only thing is, " he said, "that there I shallseem to be doing something. I shall be better entertained, and shall betherefore, I suppose, in a better humor with life. You may say that thatis just the humor a useless man should keep out of. He should cultivatediscontentment. I did a good many things when I was in Europe before, but I did not spend a winter in Rome. Every one assures me that this isa peculiar refinement of bliss; most people talk about Rome in the sameway. It is evidently only a sort of idealized form of loafing: a passivelife in Rome, thanks to the number and the quality of one's impressions, takes on a very respectable likeness to activity. It is stilllotus-eating, only you sit down at table, and the lotuses are served upon rococo china. It 's all very well, but I have a distinct prevision ofthis--that if Roman life does n't do something substantial to make youhappier, it increases tenfold your liability to moral misery. It seemsto me a rash thing for a sensitive soul deliberately to cultivate itssensibilities by rambling too often among the ruins of the Palatine, orriding too often in the shadow of the aqueducts. In such recreations thechords of feeling grow tense, and after-life, to spare your intellectualnerves, must play upon them with a touch as dainty as the tread ofMignon when she danced her egg-dance. "

"I should have said, my dear Rowland, " said Cecilia, with a laugh, "thatyour nerves were tough, that your eggs were hard!"

"That being stupid, you mean, I might be happy? Upon my word I am not. I am clever enough to want more than I 've got. I am tired of myself, myown thoughts, my own affairs, my own eternal company. True happiness, we are told, consists in getting out of one's self; but the point is notonly to get out--you must stay out; and to stay out you must have someabsorbing errand. Unfortunately, I 've got no errand, and nobody willtrust me with one. I want to care for something, or for some one. And Iwant to care with a certain ardor; even, if you can believe it, witha certain passion. I can't just now feel ardent and passionate about ahospital or a dormitory. Do you know I sometimes think that I 'm a manof genius, half finished? The genius has been left out, the faculty ofexpression is wanting; but the need for expression remains, and I spendmy days groping for the latch of a closed door. "

"What an immense number of words, " said Cecilia after a pause, "to sayyou want to fall in love! I 've no doubt you have as good a genius forthat as any one, if you would only trust it. "

"Of course I 've thought of that, and I assure you I hold myself ready. But, evidently, I 'm not inflammable. Is there in Northampton someperfect epitome of the graces?"

"Of the graces?" said Cecilia, raising her eyebrows and suppressing toodistinct a consciousness of being herself a rosy embodiment of several. "The household virtues are better represented. There are some excellentgirls, and there are two or three very pretty ones. I will have themhere, one by one, to tea, if you like. "

"I should particularly like it; especially as I should give you a chanceto see, by the profundity of my attention, that if I am not happy, it 'snot for want of taking pains. "

Cecilia was silent a moment; and then, "On the whole, " she resumed, "Idon't think there are any worth asking. There are none so very pretty, none so very pleasing. "

"Are you very sure?" asked the young man, rising and throwing away hiscigar-end. 

"Upon my word, " cried Cecilia, "one would suppose I wished to keepyou for myself. Of course I am sure! But as the penalty of yourinsinuations, I shall invite the plainest and prosiest damsel that canbe found, and leave you alone with her. "

Rowland smiled. "Even against her, " he said, "I should be sorry toconclude until I had given her my respectful attention. "

This little profession of ideal chivalry (which closed the conversation)was not quite so fanciful on Mallet's lips as it would have been onthose of many another man; as a rapid glance at his antecedents may helpto make the reader perceive. His life had been a singular mixture of therough and the smooth. He had sprung from a rigid Puritan stock, and hadbeen brought up to think much more intently of the duties of this lifethan of its privileges and pleasures. His progenitors had submitted inthe matter of dogmatic theology to the relaxing influences of recentyears; but if Rowland's youthful consciousness was not chilled by themenace of long punishment for brief transgression, he had at least beenmade to feel that there ran through all things a strain of right and ofwrong, as different, after all, in their complexions, as the texture, tothe spiritual sense, of Sundays and week-days. His father was a chip ofthe primal Puritan block, a man with an icy smile and a stony frown. Hehad always bestowed on his son, on principle, more frowns than smiles, and if the lad had not been turned to stone himself, it was becausenature had blessed him, inwardly, with a well of vivifying waters. Mrs. Mallet had been a Miss Rowland, the daughter of a retired sea-captain, once famous on the ships that sailed from Salem and Newburyport. Hehad brought to port many a cargo which crowned the edifice of fortunesalready almost colossal, but he had also done a little sagacious tradingon his own account, and he was able to retire, prematurely for sosea-worthy a maritime organism, upon a pension of his own providing. Hewas to be seen for a year on the Salem wharves, smoking the best tobaccoand eying the seaward horizon with an inveteracy which superficialminds interpreted as a sign of repentance. At last, one evening, hedisappeared beneath it, as he had often done before; this time, however, not as a commissioned navigator, but simply as an amateur of anobserving turn likely to prove oppressive to the officer in command ofthe vessel. Five months later his place at home knew him again, and madethe acquaintance also of a handsome, blonde young woman, of redundantcontours, speaking a foreign tongue. The foreign tongue proved, aftermuch conflicting research, to be the idiom of Amsterdam, and the youngwoman, which was stranger still, to be Captain Rowland's wife. Whyhe had gone forth so suddenly across the seas to marry her, what hadhappened between them before, and whether--though it was of questionablepropriety for a good citizen to espouse a young person of mysteriousorigin, who did her hair in fantastically elaborate plaits, and in whoseappearance "figure" enjoyed such striking predominance--he wouldnot have had a heavy weight on his conscience if he had remained anirresponsible bachelor; these questions and many others, bearing withvarying degrees of immediacy on the subject, were much propounded butscantily answered, and this history need not be charged with resolvingthem. Mrs. Rowland, for so handsome a woman, proved a tranquil neighborand an excellent housewife. Her extremely fresh complexion, however, wasalways suffused with an air of apathetic homesickness, and she playedher part in American society chiefly by having the little squares ofbrick pavement in front of her dwelling scoured and polished as nearlyas possible into the likeness of Dutch tiles. Rowland Mallet rememberedhaving seen her, as a child--an immensely stout, white-faced lady, wearing a high cap of very stiff tulle, speaking English with aformidable accent, and suffering from dropsy. Captain Rowland was alittle bronzed and wizened man, with eccentric opinions. He advocatedthe creation of a public promenade along the sea, with arbors and littlegreen tables for the consumption of beer, and a platform, surrounded byChinese lanterns, for dancing. He especially desired the town libraryto be opened on Sundays, though, as he never entered it on week-days, it was easy to turn the proposition into ridicule. If, therefore, Mrs. Mallet was a woman of an exquisite moral tone, it was not that she hadinherited her temper from an ancestry with a turn for casuistry. Jonas Mallet, at the time of his marriage, was conducting with silentshrewdness a small, unpromising business. Both his shrewdness and hissilence increased with his years, and at the close of his life he was anextremely well-dressed, well-brushed gentleman, with a frigid gray eye, who said little to anybody, but of whom everybody said that he hada very handsome fortune. He was not a sentimental father, and theroughness I just now spoke of in Rowland's life dated from his earlyboyhood. Mr. Mallet, whenever he looked at his son, felt extremecompunction at having made a fortune. He remembered that the fruit hadnot dropped ripe from the tree into his own mouth, and determined itshould be no fault of his if the boy was corrupted by luxury. Rowland, therefore, except for a good deal of expensive instruction in foreigntongues and abstruse sciences, received the education of a poor man'sson. His fare was plain, his temper familiar with the discipline ofpatched trousers, and his habits marked by an exaggerated simplicitywhich it really cost a good deal of money to preserve unbroken. He waskept in the country for months together, in the midst of servants whohad strict injunctions to see that he suffered no serious harm, butwere as strictly forbidden to wait upon him. As no school could be foundconducted on principles sufficiently rigorous, he was attended at homeby a master who set a high price on the understanding that he was toillustrate the beauty of abstinence not only by precept but by example. Rowland passed for a child of ordinary parts, and certainly, during hisyounger years, was an excellent imitation of a boy who had inheritednothing whatever that was to make life easy. He was passive, pliable, frank, extremely slow at his books, and inordinately fond oftrout-fishing. His hair, a memento of his Dutch ancestry, was ofthe fairest shade of yellow, his complexion absurdly rosy, and hismeasurement around the waist, when he was about ten years old, quitealarmingly large. This, however, was but an episode in his growth; hebecame afterwards a fresh-colored, yellow-bearded man, but he was neveraccused of anything worse than a tendency to corpulence. He emerged fromchildhood a simple, wholesome, round-eyed lad, with no suspicion that aless roundabout course might have been taken to make him happy, but witha vague sense that his young experience was not a fair sample of humanfreedom, and that he was to make a great many discoveries. When he wasabout fifteen, he achieved a momentous one. He ascertained that hismother was a saint. She had always been a very distinct presence in hislife, but so ineffably gentle a one that his sense was fully opened toit only by the danger of losing her. She had an illness which for manymonths was liable at any moment to terminate fatally, and during herlong-arrested convalescence she removed the mask which she had worn foryears by her husband's order. Rowland spent his days at her side andfelt before long as if he had made a new friend. All his impressions atthis period were commented and interpreted at leisure in the future, andit was only then that he understood that his mother had been for fifteenyears a perfectly unhappy woman. Her marriage had been an immitigableerror which she had spent her life in trying to look straight in theface. She found nothing to oppose to her husband's will of steel but theappearance of absolute compliance; her spirit sank, and she lived fora while in a sort of helpless moral torpor. But at last, as her childemerged from babyhood, she began to feel a certain charm in patience, todiscover the uses of ingenuity, and to learn that, somehow or other, onecan always arrange one's life. She cultivated from this time forward alittle private plot of sentiment, and it was of this secluded precinctthat, before her death, she gave her son the key. Rowland's allowance atcollege was barely sufficient to maintain him decently, and as soon ashe graduated, he was taken into his father's counting-house, to do smalldrudgery on a proportionate salary. For three years he earned his livingas regularly as the obscure functionary in fustian who swept the office. Mr. Mallet was consistent, but the perfection of his consistency wasknown only on his death. He left but a third of his property to hisson, and devoted the remainder to various public institutions and localcharities. Rowland's third was an easy competence, and he never felta moment's jealousy of his fellow-pensioners; but when one of theestablishments which had figured most advantageously in his father'swill bethought itself to affirm the existence of a later instrument, inwhich it had been still more handsomely treated, the young man felt asudden passionate need to repel the claim by process of law. There was alively tussle, but he gained his case; immediately after which he made, in another quarter, a donation of the contested sum. He cared nothingfor the money, but he had felt an angry desire to protest against adestiny which seemed determined to be exclusively salutary. It seemed tohim that he would bear a little spoiling. And yet he treated himselfto a very modest quantity, and submitted without reserve to the greatnational discipline which began in 1861. When the Civil War broke out heimmediately obtained a commission, and did his duty for three long yearsas a citizen soldier. His duty was obscure, but he never lost a certainprivate satisfaction in remembering that on two or three occasionsit had been performed with something of an ideal precision. He haddisentangled himself from business, and after the war he felt a profounddisinclination to tie the knot again. He had no desire to make money, he had money enough; and although he knew, and was frequently reminded, that a young man is the better for a fixed occupation, he could discoverno moral advantage in driving a lucrative trade. Yet few young men ofmeans and leisure ever made less of a parade of idleness, and indeedidleness in any degree could hardly be laid at the door of a youngman who took life in the serious, attentive, reasoning fashion ofour friend. It often seemed to Mallet that he wholly lacked the primerequisite of a graceful flaneur--the simple, sensuous, confident relishof pleasure. He had frequent fits of extreme melancholy, in which hedeclared that he was neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring. He wasneither an irresponsibly contemplative nature nor a sturdily practicalone, and he was forever looking in vain for the uses of the thingsthat please and the charm of the things that sustain. He was an awkwardmixture of strong moral impulse and restless aesthetic curiosity, and yet he would have made a most ineffective reformer and a veryindifferent artist. It seemed to him that the glow of happiness must befound either in action, of some immensely solid kind, on behalf ofan idea, or in producing a masterpiece in one of the arts. Oftenest, perhaps, he wished he were a vigorous young man of genius, without apenny. As it was, he could only buy pictures, and not paint them; andin the way of action, he had to content himself with making a rule torender scrupulous moral justice to handsome examples of it in others. Onthe whole, he had an incorruptible modesty. With his blooming complexionand his serene gray eye, he felt the friction of existence more than wassuspected; but he asked no allowance on grounds of temper, he assumedthat fate had treated him inordinately well and that he had no excusefor taking an ill-natured view of life, and he undertook constantly tobelieve that all women were fair, all men were brave, and the world wasa delightful place of sojourn, until the contrary had been distinctlyproved. 

Cecilia's blooming garden and shady porch had seemed so friendly torepose and a cigar, that she reproached him the next morning withindifference to her little parlor, not less, in its way, a monument toher ingenious taste. "And by the way, " she added as he followed her in, "if I refused last night to show you a pretty girl, I can at least showyou a pretty boy. "

She threw open a window and pointed to a statuette which occupied theplace of honor among the ornaments of the room. Rowland looked at it amoment and then turned to her with an exclamation of surprise. Shegave him a rapid glance, perceived that her statuette was of altogetherexceptional merit, and then smiled, knowingly, as if this had long beenan agreeable certainty. 

"Who did it? where did you get it?" Rowland demanded. 

"Oh, " said Cecilia, adjusting the light, "it 's a little thing of Mr. Hudson's. "

"And who the deuce is Mr. Hudson?" asked Rowland. But he was absorbed;he lost her immediate reply. The statuette, in bronze, something lessthan two feet high, represented a naked youth drinking from a gourd. Theattitude was perfectly simple. The lad was squarely planted on his feet, with his legs a little apart; his back was slightly hollowed, his headthrown back, and both hands raised to support the rustic cup. There wasa loosened fillet of wild flowers about his head, and his eyes, undertheir drooped lids, looked straight into the cup. On the base wasscratched the Greek word ;aa;gD;gi;gc;ga, Thirst. The figure might havebeen some beautiful youth of ancient fable, --Hylas or Narcissus, Parisor Endymion. Its beauty was the beauty of natural movement; nothing hadbeen sought to be represented but the perfection of an attitude. Thishad been most attentively studied, and it was exquisitely rendered. Rowland demanded more light, dropped his head on this side and that, uttered vague exclamations. He said to himself, as he had said more thanonce in the Louvre and the Vatican, "We ugly mortals, what beautifulcreatures we are!" Nothing, in a long time, had given him so muchpleasure. "Hudson--Hudson, " he asked again; "who is Hudson?"

"A young man of this place, " said Cecilia. 

"A young man? How old?"

"I suppose he is three or four and twenty. "

"Of this place, you say--of Northampton, Massachusetts?"

"He lives here, but he comes from Virginia. "

"Is he a sculptor by profession?"

"He 's a law-student. "

Rowland burst out laughing. "He has found something in Blackstone that Inever did. He makes statues then simply for his pleasure?"

Cecilia, with a smile, gave a little toss of her head. "For mine!"

"I congratulate you, " said Rowland. "I wonder whether he could beinduced to do anything for me?"

"This was a matter of friendship. I saw the figure when he had modeledit in clay, and of course greatly admired it. He said nothing at thetime, but a week ago, on my birthday, he arrived in a buggy, withthis. He had had it cast at the foundry at Chicopee; I believe it 's abeautiful piece of bronze. He begged me to accept. "

"Upon my word, " said Mallet, "he does things handsomely!" And he fell toadmiring the statue again. 

"So then, " said Cecilia, "it 's very remarkable?"

"Why, my dear cousin, " Rowland answered, "Mr. Hudson, of Virginia, isan extraordinary--" Then suddenly stopping: "Is he a great friend ofyours?" he asked. 

"A great friend?" and Cecilia hesitated. "I regard him as a child!"

"Well, " said Rowland, "he 's a very clever child. Tell me somethingabout him: I should like to see him. "

Cecilia was obliged to go to her daughter's music-lesson, but sheassured Rowland that she would arrange for him a meeting with the youngsculptor. He was a frequent visitor, and as he had not called for somedays it was likely he would come that evening. Rowland, left alone, examined the statuette at his leisure, and returned more than onceduring the day to take another look at it. He discovered its weakpoints, but it wore well. It had the stamp of genius. Rowland envied thehappy youth who, in a New England village, without aid or encouragement, without models or resources, had found it so easy to produce a lovelywork. 

In the evening, as he was smoking his cigar on the veranda, a light, quick step pressed the gravel of the garden path, and in a moment ayoung man made his bow to Cecilia. It was rather a nod than a bow, andindicated either that he was an old friend, or that he was scantilyversed in the usual social forms. Cecilia, who was sitting near thesteps, pointed to a neighboring chair, but the young man seated himselfabruptly on the floor at her feet, began to fan himself vigorously withhis hat, and broke out into a lively objurgation upon the hot weather. "I 'm dripping wet!" he said, without ceremony. 

"You walk too fast, " said Cecilia. "You do everything too fast. "

"I know it, I know it!" he cried, passing his hand through his abundantdark hair and making it stand out in a picturesque shock. "I can'tbe slow if I try. There 's something inside of me that drives me. Arestless fiend!"

Cecilia gave a light laugh, and Rowland leaned forward in his hammock. He had placed himself in it at Bessie's request, and was playing that hewas her baby and that she was rocking him to sleep. She sat beside him, swinging the hammock to and fro, and singing a lullaby. When he raisedhimself she pushed him back and said that the baby must finish its nap. "But I want to see the gentleman with the fiend inside of him, " saidRowland. 

"What is a fiend?" Bessie demanded. "It 's only Mr. Hudson. "

"Very well, I want to see him. "

"Oh, never mind him!" said Bessie, with the brevity of contempt. 

"You speak as if you did n't like him. "

"I don't!" Bessie affirmed, and put Rowland to bed again. 

The hammock was swung at the end of the veranda, in the thickest shadeof the vines, and this fragment of dialogue had passed unnoticed. Rowland submitted a while longer to be cradled, and contented himselfwith listening to Mr. Hudson's voice. It was a soft and not altogethermasculine organ, and was pitched on this occasion in a somewhatplaintive and pettish key. The young man's mood seemed fretful; hecomplained of the heat, of the dust, of a shoe that hurt him, of havinggone on an errand a mile to the other side of the town and found theperson he was in search of had left Northampton an hour before. 

"Won't you have a cup of tea?" Cecilia asked. "Perhaps that will restoreyour equanimity. "

"Aye, by keeping me awake all night!" said Hudson. "At the best, it 'shard enough to go down to the office. With my nerves set on edge by asleepless night, I should perforce stay at home and be brutal to my poormother. "

"Your mother is well, I hope. "

"Oh, she 's as usual. "

"And Miss Garland?"

"She 's as usual, too. Every one, everything, is as usual. Nothing everhappens, in this benighted town. "

"I beg your pardon; things do happen, sometimes, " said Cecilia. "Hereis a dear cousin of mine arrived on purpose to congratulate you on yourstatuette. " And she called to Rowland to come and be introduced toMr. Hudson. The young man sprang up with alacrity, and Rowland, comingforward to shake hands, had a good look at him in the light projectedfrom the parlor window. Something seemed to shine out of Hudson's faceas a warning against a "compliment" of the idle, unpondered sort. 

"Your statuette seems to me very good, " Rowland said gravely. "It hasgiven me extreme pleasure. "

"And my cousin knows what is good, " said Cecilia. "He 's a connoisseur. "

Hudson smiled and stared. "A connoisseur?" he cried, laughing. "He 'sthe first I 've ever seen! Let me see what they look like;" and he drewRowland nearer to the light. "Have they all such good heads as that? Ishould like to model yours. "

"Pray do, " said Cecilia. "It will keep him a while. He is running off toEurope. "

"Ah, to Europe!" Hudson exclaimed with a melancholy cadence, as they satdown. "Happy man!"

But the note seemed to Rowland to be struck rather at random, for heperceived no echo of it in the boyish garrulity of his later talk. Hudson was a tall, slender young fellow, with a singularly mobile andintelligent face. Rowland was struck at first only with its responsivevivacity, but in a short time he perceived it was remarkably handsome. The features were admirably chiseled and finished, and a frank smileplayed over them as gracefully as a breeze among flowers. The fault ofthe young man's whole structure was an excessive want of breadth. Theforehead, though it was high and rounded, was narrow; the jaw andthe shoulders were narrow; and the result was an air of insufficientphysical substance. But Mallet afterwards learned that this fair, slimyouth could draw indefinitely upon a mysterious fund of nervousforce, which outlasted and outwearied the endurance of many a sturdiertemperament. And certainly there was life enough in his eye to furnishan immortality! It was a generous dark gray eye, in which there cameand went a sort of kindling glow, which would have made a ruder visagestriking, and which gave at times to Hudson's harmonious face analtogether extraordinary beauty. There was to Rowland's sympatheticsense a slightly pitiful disparity between the young sculptor's delicatecountenance and the shabby gentility of his costume. He was dressed fora visit--a visit to a pretty woman. He was clad from head to foot in awhite linen suit, which had never been remarkable for the felicity ofits cut, and had now quite lost that crispness which garments of thiscomplexion can as ill spare as the back-scene of a theatre the radianceof the footlights. He wore a vivid blue cravat, passed through a ringaltogether too splendid to be valuable; he pulled and twisted, as hesat, a pair of yellow kid gloves; he emphasized his conversation withgreat dashes and flourishes of a light, silver-tipped walking-stick, and he kept constantly taking off and putting on one of those slouchedsombreros which are the traditional property of the Virginian orCarolinian of romance. When this was on, he was very picturesque, inspite of his mock elegance; and when it was off, and he sat nursing itand turning it about and not knowing what to do with it, he could hardlybe said to be awkward. He evidently had a natural relish for brilliantaccessories, and appropriated what came to his hand. This was visible inhis talk, which abounded in the florid and sonorous. He liked words withcolor in them. 

Rowland, who was but a moderate talker, sat by in silence, whileCecilia, who had told him that she desired his opinion upon her friend, used a good deal of characteristic finesse in leading the young man toexpose himself. She perfectly succeeded, and Hudson rattled away foran hour with a volubility in which boyish unconsciousness and manlyshrewdness were singularly combined. He gave his opinion on twentytopics, he opened up an endless budget of local gossip, he describedhis repulsive routine at the office of Messrs. Striker and Spooner, counselors at law, and he gave with great felicity and gusto an accountof the annual boat-race between Harvard and Yale, which he had latelywitnessed at Worcester. He had looked at the straining oarsmen and theswaying crowd with the eye of the sculptor. Rowland was a good dealamused and not a little interested. Whenever Hudson uttered somepeculiarly striking piece of youthful grandiloquence, Cecilia broke intoa long, light, familiar laugh. 

"What are you laughing at?" the young man then demanded. "Have I saidanything so ridiculous?"

"Go on, go on, " Cecilia replied. "You are too delicious! Show Mr. Mallethow Mr. Striker read the Declaration of Independence. "

Hudson, like most men with a turn for the plastic arts, was an excellentmimic, and he represented with a great deal of humor the accent andattitude of a pompous country lawyer sustaining the burden of thiscustomary episode of our national festival. The sonorous twang, thesee-saw gestures, the odd pronunciation, were vividly depicted. ButCecilia's manner, and the young man's quick response, ruffled a littlepoor Rowland's paternal conscience. He wondered whether his cousin wasnot sacrificing the faculty of reverence in her clever protege toher need for amusement. Hudson made no serious rejoinder to Rowland'scompliment on his statuette until he rose to go. Rowland wonderedwhether he had forgotten it, and supposed that the oversight was a signof the natural self-sufficiency of genius. But Hudson stood a momentbefore he said good night, twirled his sombrero, and hesitated for thefirst time. He gave Rowland a clear, penetrating glance, and then, witha wonderfully frank, appealing smile: "You really meant, " heasked, "what you said a while ago about that thing of mine? It isgood--essentially good?"

"I really meant it, " said Rowland, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. "It is very good indeed. It is, as you say, essentially good. That isthe beauty of it. "

Hudson's eyes glowed and expanded; he looked at Rowland for some time insilence. "I have a notion you really know, " he said at last. "But if youdon't, it does n't much matter. "

"My cousin asked me to-day, " said Cecilia, "whether I supposed you knewyourself how good it is. "

Hudson stared, blushing a little. "Perhaps not!" he cried. 

"Very likely, " said Mallet. "I read in a book the other day thatgreat talent in action--in fact the book said genius--is a kind ofsomnambulism. The artist performs great feats, in a dream. We must notwake him up, lest he should lose his balance. "

"Oh, when he 's back in bed again!" Hudson answered with a laugh. "Yes, call it a dream. It was a very happy one!"

"Tell me this, " said Rowland. "Did you mean anything by your youngWater-drinker? Does he represent an idea? Is he a symbol?"

Hudson raised his eyebrows and gently scratched his head. "Why, he 'syouth, you know; he 's innocence, he 's health, he 's strength, he 'scuriosity. Yes, he 's a good many things. "

"And is the cup also a symbol?"

"The cup is knowledge, pleasure, experience. Anything of that kind!"

"Well, he 's guzzling in earnest, " said Rowland. 

Hudson gave a vigorous nod. "Aye, poor fellow, he 's thirsty!" And onthis he cried good night, and bounded down the garden path. 

"Well, what do you make of him?" asked Cecilia, returning a shorttime afterwards from a visit of investigation as to the sufficiency ofBessie's bedclothes. 

"I confess I like him, " said Rowland. "He 's very immature, --but there's stuff in him. "

"He 's a strange being, " said Cecilia, musingly. 

"Who are his people? what has been his education?" Rowland asked. 

"He has had no education, beyond what he has picked up, with littletrouble, for himself. His mother is a widow, of a Massachusetts countryfamily, a little timid, tremulous woman, who is always on pins andneedles about her son. She had some property herself, and married aVirginian gentleman of good estates. He turned out, I believe, a verylicentious personage, and made great havoc in their fortune. Everything, or almost everything, melted away, including Mr. Hudson himself. Thisis literally true, for he drank himself to death. Ten years ago his wifewas left a widow, with scanty means and a couple of growing boys. She paid her husband's debts as best she could, and came to establishherself here, where by the death of a charitable relative she hadinherited an old-fashioned ruinous house. Roderick, our friend, was herpride and joy, but Stephen, the elder, was her comfort and support. I remember him, later; he was an ugly, sturdy, practical lad, verydifferent from his brother, and in his way, I imagine, a very finefellow. When the war broke out he found that the New England blood ranthicker in his veins than the Virginian, and immediately obtaineda commission. He fell in some Western battle and left his motherinconsolable. Roderick, however, has given her plenty to think about, and she has induced him, by some mysterious art, to abide, nominally atleast, in a profession that he abhors, and for which he is about as fit, I should say, as I am to drive a locomotive. He grew up a la grace deDieu, and was horribly spoiled. Three or four years ago he graduated ata small college in this neighborhood, where I am afraid he had given agood deal more attention to novels and billiards than to mathematics andGreek. Since then he has been reading law, at the rate of a page a day. If he is ever admitted to practice I 'm afraid my friendship won't availto make me give him my business. Good, bad, or indifferent, the boy isessentially an artist--an artist to his fingers' ends. "

"Why, then, " asked Rowland, "does n't he deliberately take up thechisel?"

"For several reasons. In the first place, I don't think he more thanhalf suspects his talent. The flame is smouldering, but it is neverfanned by the breath of criticism. He sees nothing, hears nothing, tohelp him to self-knowledge. He 's hopelessly discontented, but hedoes n't know where to look for help. Then his mother, as she oneday confessed to me, has a holy horror of a profession which consistsexclusively, as she supposes, in making figures of people without theirclothes on. Sculpture, to her mind, is an insidious form of immorality, and for a young man of a passionate disposition she considers the law amuch safer investment. Her father was a judge, she has two brothers atthe bar, and her elder son had made a very promising beginning in thesame line. She wishes the tradition to be perpetuated. I 'm pretty surethe law won't make Roderick's fortune, and I 'm afraid it will, in thelong run, spoil his temper. "

"What sort of a temper is it?"

"One to be trusted, on the whole. It is quick, but it is generous. Ihave known it to breathe flame and fury at ten o'clock in the evening, and soft, sweet music early on the morrow. It 's a very entertainingtemper to observe. I, fortunately, can do so dispassionately, for I 'mthe only person in the place he has not quarreled with. "

"Has he then no society? Who is Miss Garland, whom you asked about?"

"A young girl staying with his mother, a sort of far-away cousin; a goodplain girl, but not a person to delight a sculptor's eye. Roderick hasa goodly share of the old Southern arrogance; he has the aristocratictemperament. He will have nothing to do with the small towns-people; hesays they 're 'ignoble. ' He cannot endure his mother's friends--theold ladies and the ministers and the tea-party people; they bore him todeath. So he comes and lounges here and rails at everything and everyone. "

This graceful young scoffer reappeared a couple of evenings later, andconfirmed the friendly feeling he had provoked on Rowland's part. Hewas in an easier mood than before, he chattered less extravagantly, andasked Rowland a number of rather naif questions about the condition ofthe fine arts in New York and Boston. Cecilia, when he had gone, saidthat this was the wholesome effect of Rowland's praise of his statuette. Roderick was acutely sensitive, and Rowland's tranquil commendation hadstilled his restless pulses. He was ruminating the full-flavored verdictof culture. Rowland felt an irresistible kindness for him, a mingledsense of his personal charm and his artistic capacity. He had anindefinable attraction--the something divine of unspotted, exuberant, confident youth. The next day was Sunday, and Rowland proposed that theyshould take a long walk and that Roderick should show him the country. The young man assented gleefully, and in the morning, as Rowland at thegarden gate was giving his hostess Godspeed on her way to church, hecame striding along the grassy margin of the road and out-whistling themusic of the church bells. It was one of those lovely days of Augustwhen you feel the complete exuberance of summer just warned and checkedby autumn. "Remember the day, and take care you rob no orchards, " saidCecilia, as they separated. 

The young men walked away at a steady pace, over hill and dale, throughwoods and fields, and at last found themselves on a grassy elevationstudded with mossy rocks and red cedars. Just beneath them, in a greatshining curve, flowed the goodly Connecticut. They flung themselveson the grass and tossed stones into the river; they talked like oldfriends. Rowland lit a cigar, and Roderick refused one with a grimaceof extravagant disgust. He thought them vile things; he did n't see howdecent people could tolerate them. Rowland was amused, and wondered whatit was that made this ill-mannered speech seem perfectly inoffensiveon Roderick's lips. He belonged to the race of mortals, to be pitiedor envied according as we view the matter, who are not held to a strictaccount for their aggressions. Looking at him as he lay stretched in theshade, Rowland vaguely likened him to some beautiful, supple, restless, bright-eyed animal, whose motions should have no deeper warrant than thetremulous delicacy of its structure, and be graceful even when theywere most inconvenient. Rowland watched the shadows on Mount Holyoke, listened to the gurgle of the river, and sniffed the balsam of thepines. A gentle breeze had begun to tickle their summits, and broughtthe smell of the mown grass across from the elm-dotted river meadows. Hesat up beside his companion and looked away at the far-spreadingview. It seemed to him beautiful, and suddenly a strange feeling ofprospective regret took possession of him. Something seemed to tellhim that later, in a foreign land, he would remember it lovingly andpenitently. 

"It 's a wretched business, " he said, "this practical quarrel of ourswith our own country, this everlasting impatience to get out of it. Isone's only safety then in flight? This is an American day, an Americanlandscape, an American atmosphere. It certainly has its merits, andsome day when I am shivering with ague in classic Italy, I shall accusemyself of having slighted them. "

Roderick kindled with a sympathetic glow, and declared that America wasgood enough for him, and that he had always thought it the duty of anhonest citizen to stand by his own country and help it along. He hadevidently thought nothing whatever about it, and was launching hisdoctrine on the inspiration of the moment. The doctrine expanded withthe occasion, and he declared that he was above all an advocate forAmerican art. He did n't see why we should n't produce the greatestworks in the world. We were the biggest people, and we ought to have thebiggest conceptions. The biggest conceptions of course would bring forthin time the biggest performances. We had only to be true to ourselves, to pitch in and not be afraid, to fling Imitation overboard and fix oureyes upon our National Individuality. "I declare, " he cried, "there 'sa career for a man, and I 've twenty minds to decide, on the spot, toembrace it--to be the consummate, typical, original, national Americanartist! It 's inspiring!"

Rowland burst out laughing and told him that he liked his practicebetter than his theory, and that a saner impulse than this had inspiredhis little Water-drinker. Roderick took no offense, and three minutesafterwards was talking volubly of some humbler theme, but half heededby his companion, who had returned to his cogitations. At last Rowlanddelivered himself of the upshot of these. "How would you like, " hesuddenly demanded, "to go to Rome?"

Hudson stared, and, with a hungry laugh which speedily consigned ourNational Individuality to perdition, responded that he would like itreasonably well. "And I should like, by the same token, " he added, "to go to Athens, to Constantinople, to Damascus, to the holy city ofBenares, where there is a golden statue of Brahma twenty feet tall. "

"Nay, " said Rowland soberly, "if you were to go to Rome, you shouldsettle down and work. Athens might help you, but for the present Ishould n't recommend Benares. "

"It will be time to arrange details when I pack my trunk, " said Hudson. 

"If you mean to turn sculptor, the sooner you pack your trunk thebetter. "

"Oh, but I 'm a practical man! What is the smallest sum per annum, onwhich one can keep alive the sacred fire in Rome?"

"What is the largest sum at your disposal?"

Roderick stroked his light moustache, gave it a twist, and thenannounced with mock pomposity: "Three hundred dollars!"

"The money question could be arranged, " said Rowland. "There are ways ofraising money. "

"I should like to know a few! I never yet discovered one. "

"One consists, " said Rowland, "in having a friend with a good deal morethan he wants, and not being too proud to accept a part of it. "

Roderick stared a moment and his face flushed. "Do you mean--do youmean?". . . . He stammered. He was greatly excited. 

Rowland got up, blushing a little, and Roderick sprang to his feet. "Inthree words, if you are to be a sculptor, you ought to go to Rome andstudy the antique. To go to Rome you need money. I 'm fond of finestatues, but unfortunately I can't make them myself. I have to orderthem. I order a dozen from you, to be executed at your convenience. Tohelp you, I pay you in advance. "

Roderick pushed off his hat and wiped his forehead, still gazing at hiscompanion. "You believe in me!" he cried at last. 

"Allow me to explain, " said Rowland. "I believe in you, if you areprepared to work and to wait, and to struggle, and to exercise a greatmany virtues. And then, I 'm afraid to say it, lest I should disturbyou more than I should help you. You must decide for yourself. I simplyoffer you an opportunity. "

Hudson stood for some time, profoundly meditative. "You have not seen myother things, " he said suddenly. "Come and look at them. "

"Now?"

"Yes, we 'll walk home. We 'll settle the question. "

He passed his hand through Rowland's arm and they retraced their steps. They reached the town and made their way along a broad country street, dusky with the shade of magnificent elms. Rowland felt his companion'sarm trembling in his own. They stopped at a large white house, flankedwith melancholy hemlocks, and passed through a little front garden, paved with moss-coated bricks and ornamented with parterres borderedwith high box hedges. The mansion had an air of antiquated dignity, butit had seen its best days, and evidently sheltered a shrunken household. Mrs. Hudson, Rowland was sure, might be seen in the garden of amorning, in a white apron and a pair of old gloves, engaged in frugalhorticulture. Roderick's studio was behind, in the basement; a large, empty room, with the paper peeling off the walls. This represented, inthe fashion of fifty years ago, a series of small fantastic landscapesof a hideous pattern, and the young sculptor had presumably torn it awayin great scraps, in moments of aesthetic exasperation. On a board ina corner was a heap of clay, and on the floor, against the wall, stood some dozen medallions, busts, and figures, in various stages ofcompletion. To exhibit them Roderick had to place them one by one onthe end of a long packing-box, which served as a pedestal. He did sosilently, making no explanations, and looking at them himself with astrange air of quickened curiosity. Most of the things were portraits;and the three at which he looked longest were finished busts. One was acolossal head of a negro, tossed back, defiant, with distended nostrils;one was the portrait of a young man whom Rowland immediately perceived, by the resemblance, to be his deceased brother; the last represented agentleman with a pointed nose, a long, shaved upper lip, and a tuft onthe end of his chin. This was a face peculiarly unadapted to sculpture;but as a piece of modeling it was the best, and it was admirable. Itreminded Rowland in its homely veracity, its artless artfulness, ofthe works of the early Italian Renaissance. On the pedestal was cutthe name--Barnaby Striker, Esq. Rowland remembered that this was theappellation of the legal luminary from whom his companion had undertakento borrow a reflected ray, and although in the bust there was naughtflagrantly set down in malice, it betrayed, comically to one who couldrelish the secret, that the features of the original had often beenscanned with an irritated eye. Besides these there were several roughstudies of the nude, and two or three figures of a fanciful kind. Themost noticeable (and it had singular beauty) was a small modeled designfor a sepulchral monument; that, evidently, of Stephen Hudson. The youngsoldier lay sleeping eternally, with his hand on his sword, like an oldcrusader in a Gothic cathedral. 

Rowland made no haste to pronounce; too much depended on his judgment. "Upon my word, " cried Hudson at last, "they seem to me very good. "

And in truth, as Rowland looked, he saw they were good. They wereyouthful, awkward, and ignorant; the effort, often, was more apparentthan the success. But the effort was signally powerful and intelligent;it seemed to Rowland that it needed only to let itself go to compassgreat things. Here and there, too, success, when grasped, had somethingmasterly. Rowland turned to his companion, who stood with his hands inhis pockets and his hair very much crumpled, looking at him askance. The light of admiration was in Rowland's eyes, and it speedily kindled awonderful illumination on Hudson's handsome brow. Rowland said at last, gravely, "You have only to work!"

"I think I know what that means, " Roderick answered. He turned away, threw himself on a rickety chair, and sat for some moments with hiselbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Work--work?" he said atlast, looking up, "ah, if I could only begin!" He glanced round theroom a moment and his eye encountered on the mantel-shelf the vividphysiognomy of Mr. Barnaby Striker. His smile vanished, and he stared atit with an air of concentrated enmity. "I want to begin, " he cried, "andI can't make a better beginning than this! Good-by, Mr. Striker!" Hestrode across the room, seized a mallet that lay at hand, and beforeRowland could interfere, in the interest of art if not of morals, dealta merciless blow upon Mr. Striker's skull. The bust cracked into adozen pieces, which toppled with a great crash upon the floor. Rowlandrelished neither the destruction of the image nor his companion's lookin working it, but as he was about to express his displeasure the dooropened and gave passage to a young girl. She came in with a rapid stepand startled face, as if she had been summoned by the noise. Seeing theheap of shattered clay and the mallet in Roderick's hand, she gave acry of horror. Her voice died away when she perceived that Rowland was astranger, but she murmured reproachfully, "Why, Roderick, what have youdone?"

Roderick gave a joyous kick to the shapeless fragments. "I 've driventhe money-changers out of the temple!" he cried. 

The traces retained shape enough to be recognized, and she gave a littlemoan of pity. She seemed not to understand the young man's allegory, butyet to feel that it pointed to some great purpose, which must be an evilone, from being expressed in such a lawless fashion, and to perceivethat Rowland was in some way accountable for it. She looked at him witha sharp, frank mistrust, and turned away through the open door. Rowlandlooked after her with extraordinary interest. 

CHAPTER II. Roderick

Early on the morrow Rowland received a visit from his new friend. Roderick was in a state of extreme exhilaration, tempered, however, bya certain amount of righteous wrath. He had had a domestic struggle, buthe had remained master of the situation. He had shaken the dust of Mr. Striker's office from his feet. 

"I had it out last night with my mother, " he said. "I dreaded the scene, for she takes things terribly hard. She does n't scold nor storm, andshe does n't argue nor insist. She sits with her eyes full of tearsthat never fall, and looks at me, when I displease her, as if I werea perfect monster of depravity. And the trouble is that I was born todisplease her. She does n't trust me; she never has and she never will. I don't know what I have done to set her against me, but ever since Ican remember I have been looked at with tears. The trouble is, " he wenton, giving a twist to his moustache, "I 've been too absurdly docile. I 've been sprawling all my days by the maternal fireside, and my dearmother has grown used to bullying me. I 've made myself cheap! If I 'mnot in my bed by eleven o'clock, the girl is sent out to explore witha lantern. When I think of it, I fairly despise my amiability. It 'srather a hard fate, to live like a saint and to pass for a sinner! Ishould like for six months to lead Mrs. Hudson the life some fellowslead their mothers!"

"Allow me to believe, " said Rowland, "that you would like nothing ofthe sort. If you have been a good boy, don't spoil it by pretending youdon't like it. You have been very happy, I suspect, in spite of yourvirtues, and there are worse fates in the world than being loved toowell. I have not had the pleasure of seeing your mother, but I would layyou a wager that that is the trouble. She is passionately fond of you, and her hopes, like all intense hopes, keep trembling into fears. "Rowland, as he spoke, had an instinctive vision of how such a beautifulyoung fellow must be loved by his female relatives. 

Roderick frowned, and with an impatient gesture, "I do her justice, " hecried. "May she never do me less!" Then after a moment's hesitation, "I'll tell you the perfect truth, " he went on. "I have to fill a doubleplace. I have to be my brother as well as myself. It 's a good deal toask of a man, especially when he has so little talent as I for beingwhat he is not. When we were both young together I was the curleddarling. I had the silver mug and the biggest piece of pudding, and Istayed in-doors to be kissed by the ladies while he made mud-pies in thegarden and was never missed, of course. Really, he was worth fifty ofme! When he was brought home from Vicksburg with a piece of shell inhis skull, my poor mother began to think she had n't loved him enough. Iremember, as she hung round my neck sobbing, before his coffin, she toldme that I must be to her everything that he would have been. I swore intears and in perfect good faith that I would, but naturally I havenot kept my promise. I have been utterly different. I have been idle, restless, egotistical, discontented. I have done no harm, I believe, butI have done no good. My brother, if he had lived, would have madefifty thousand dollars and put gas and water into the house. My mother, brooding night and day on her bereavement, has come to fix her ideal inoffices of that sort. Judged by that standard I 'm nowhere!"

Rowland was at loss how to receive this account of his friend's domesticcircumstances; it was plaintive, and yet the manner seemed to himover-trenchant. "You must lose no time in making a masterpiece, " heanswered; "then with the proceeds you can give her gas from goldenburners. "

"So I have told her; but she only half believes either in masterpiece orin proceeds. She can see no good in my making statues; they seem to hera snare of the enemy. She would fain see me all my life tethered to thelaw, like a browsing goat to a stake. In that way I 'm in sight. 'It's a more regular occupation!' that 's all I can get out of her. Amore regular damnation! Is it a fact that artists, in general, are suchwicked men? I never had the pleasure of knowing one, so I could n'tconfute her with an example. She had the advantage of me, because sheformerly knew a portrait-painter at Richmond, who did her miniature inblack lace mittens (you may see it on the parlor table), who used todrink raw brandy and beat his wife. I promised her that, whatever Imight do to my wife, I would never beat my mother, and that as forbrandy, raw or diluted, I detested it. She sat silently crying for anhour, during which I expended treasures of eloquence. It 's a good thingto have to reckon up one's intentions, and I assure you, as I pleaded mycause, I was most agreeably impressed with the elevated character ofmy own. I kissed her solemnly at last, and told her that I had saideverything and that she must make the best of it. This morning she hasdried her eyes, but I warrant you it is n't a cheerful house. I long tobe out of it!"

"I 'm extremely sorry, " said Rowland, "to have been the prime cause ofso much suffering. I owe your mother some amends; will it be possiblefor me to see her?"

"If you 'll see her, it will smooth matters vastly; though to tell thetruth she 'll need all her courage to face you, for she considers you anagent of the foul fiend. She does n't see why you should have comehere and set me by the ears: you are made to ruin ingenuous youths anddesolate doting mothers. I leave it to you, personally, to answer thesecharges. You see, what she can't forgive--what she 'll not really everforgive--is your taking me off to Rome. Rome is an evil word, in mymother's vocabulary, to be said in a whisper, as you 'd say 'damnation. 'Northampton is in the centre of the earth and Rome far away in outlyingdusk, into which it can do no Christian any good to penetrate. And therewas I but yesterday a doomed habitue of that repository of every virtue, Mr. Striker's office!"

"And does Mr. Striker know of your decision?" asked Rowland. 

"To a certainty! Mr. Striker, you must know, is not simply agood-natured attorney, who lets me dog's-ear his law-books. He's aparticular friend and general adviser. He looks after my mother'sproperty and kindly consents to regard me as part of it. Our opinionshave always been painfully divergent, but I freely forgive him hiszealous attempts to unscrew my head-piece and set it on hind partbefore. He never understood me, and it was useless to try to make him. We speak a different language--we 're made of a different clay. I had afit of rage yesterday when I smashed his bust, at the thought of all thebad blood he had stirred up in me; it did me good, and it 's all overnow. I don't hate him any more; I 'm rather sorry for him. See how you've improved me! I must have seemed to him wilfully, wickedly stupid, and I 'm sure he only tolerated me on account of his great regard for mymother. This morning I grasped the bull by the horns. I took an armfulof law-books that have been gathering the dust in my room for the lastyear and a half, and presented myself at the office. 'Allow me to putthese back in their places, ' I said. 'I shall never have need forthem more--never more, never more, never more!' 'So you 've learnedeverything they contain?' asked Striker, leering over his spectacles. 'Better late than never. ' 'I 've learned nothing that you can teach me, 'I cried. 'But I shall tax your patience no longer. I 'm going to be asculptor. I 'm going to Rome. I won't bid you good-by just yet; I shallsee you again. But I bid good-by here, with rapture, to these fourdetested walls--to this living tomb! I did n't know till now how I hatedit! My compliments to Mr. Spooner, and my thanks for all you have notmade of me!'"

"I 'm glad to know you are to see Mr. Striker again, " Rowland answered, correcting a primary inclination to smile. "You certainly owe him arespectful farewell, even if he has not understood you. I confess yourather puzzle me. There is another person, " he presently added, "whoseopinion as to your new career I should like to know. What does MissGarland think?"

Hudson looked at him keenly, with a slight blush. Then, with a conscioussmile, "What makes you suppose she thinks anything?" he asked. 

"Because, though I saw her but for a moment yesterday, she struck me asa very intelligent person, and I am sure she has opinions. "

The smile on Roderick's mobile face passed rapidly into a frown. "Oh, she thinks what I think!" he answered. 

Before the two young men separated Rowland attempted to give asharmonious a shape as possible to his companion's scheme. "I havelaunched you, as I may say, " he said, "and I feel as if I ought to seeyou into port. I am older than you and know the world better, andit seems well that we should voyage a while together. It 's on myconscience that I ought to take you to Rome, walk you through theVatican, and then lock you up with a heap of clay. I sail on the fifthof September; can you make your preparations to start with me?"

Roderick assented to all this with an air of candid confidence inhis friend's wisdom that outshone the virtue of pledges. "I have nopreparations to make, " he said with a smile, raising his arms andletting them fall, as if to indicate his unencumbered condition. "What Iam to take with me I carry here!" and he tapped his forehead. 

"Happy man!" murmured Rowland with a sigh, thinking of the lightstowage, in his own organism, in the region indicated by Roderick, andof the heavy one in deposit at his banker's, of bags and boxes. 

When his companion had left him he went in search of Cecilia. Shewas sitting at work at a shady window, and welcomed him to a lowchintz-covered chair. He sat some time, thoughtfully snipping tape withher scissors; he expected criticism and he was preparing a rejoinder. Atlast he told her of Roderick's decision and of his own influence init. Cecilia, besides an extreme surprise, exhibited a certain finedispleasure at his not having asked her advice. 

"What would you have said, if I had?" he demanded. 

"I would have said in the first place, 'Oh for pity's sake don't carryoff the person in all Northampton who amuses me most!' I would have saidin the second place, 'Nonsense! the boy is doing very well. Let wellalone!'"

"That in the first five minutes. What would you have said later?"

"That for a man who is generally averse to meddling, you were suddenlyrather officious. "

Rowland's countenance fell. He frowned in silence. Cecilia looked at himaskance; gradually the spark of irritation faded from her eye. 

"Excuse my sharpness, " she resumed at last. "But I am literally indespair at losing Roderick Hudson. His visits in the evening, for thepast year, have kept me alive. They have given a silver tip to leadendays. I don't say he is of a more useful metal than other people, but heis of a different one. Of course, however, that I shall miss him sadlyis not a reason for his not going to seek his fortune. Men must work andwomen must weep!"

"Decidedly not!" said Rowland, with a good deal of emphasis. He hadsuspected from the first hour of his stay that Cecilia had treatedherself to a private social luxury; he had then discovered that shefound it in Hudson's lounging visits and boyish chatter, and he had felthimself wondering at last whether, judiciously viewed, her gain in thematter was not the young man's loss. It was evident that Cecilia was notjudicious, and that her good sense, habitually rigid under the demandsof domestic economy, indulged itself with a certain agreeable laxity onthis particular point. She liked her young friend just as he was; shehumored him, flattered him, laughed at him, caressed him--dideverything but advise him. It was a flirtation without the benefits ofa flirtation. She was too old to let him fall in love with her, whichmight have done him good; and her inclination was to keep him young, sothat the nonsense he talked might never transgress a certain line. Itwas quite conceivable that poor Cecilia should relish a pastime; but ifone had philanthropically embraced the idea that something considerablemight be made of Roderick, it was impossible not to see that herfriendship was not what might be called tonic. So Rowland reflected, inthe glow of his new-born sympathy. There was a later time when he wouldhave been grateful if Hudson's susceptibility to the relaxing influenceof lovely women might have been limited to such inexpensive tribute ashe rendered the excellent Cecilia. 

"I only desire to remind you, " she pursued, "that you are likely to haveyour hands full. "

"I 've thought of that, and I rather like the idea; liking, as I do, theman. I told you the other day, you know, that I longed to have somethingon my hands. When it first occurred to me that I might start ouryoung friend on the path of glory, I felt as if I had an unimpeachableinspiration. Then I remembered there were dangers and difficulties, and asked myself whether I had a right to step in between him and hisobscurity. My sense of his really having the divine flame answered thequestion. He is made to do the things that humanity is the happier for!I can't do such things myself, but when I see a young man of geniusstanding helpless and hopeless for want of capital, I feel--and it 'sno affectation of humility, I assure you--as if it would give at least areflected usefulness to my own life to offer him his opportunity. "

"In the name of humanity, I suppose, I ought to thank you. But I want, first of all, to be happy myself. You guarantee us at any rate, I hope, the masterpieces. "

"A masterpiece a year, " said Rowland smiling, "for the next quarter of acentury. "

"It seems to me that we have a right to ask more: to demand that youguarantee us not only the development of the artist, but the security ofthe man. "

Rowland became grave again. "His security?"

"His moral, his sentimental security. Here, you see, it 's perfect. Weare all under a tacit compact to preserve it. Perhaps you believe inthe necessary turbulence of genius, and you intend to enjoin upon yourprotege the importance of cultivating his passions. "

"On the contrary, I believe that a man of genius owes as much deferenceto his passions as any other man, but not a particle more, and I confessI have a strong conviction that the artist is better for leading a quietlife. That is what I shall preach to my protege, as you call him, byexample as well as by precept. You evidently believe, " he added in amoment, "that he will lead me a dance. "

"Nay, I prophesy nothing. I only think that circumstances, with ouryoung man, have a great influence; as is proved by the fact thatalthough he has been fuming and fretting here for the last five years, he has nevertheless managed to make the best of it, and found it easy, on the whole, to vegetate. Transplanted to Rome, I fancy he 'll putforth a denser leafage. I should like vastly to see the change. You mustwrite me about it, from stage to stage. I hope with all my heart thatthe fruit will be proportionate to the foliage. Don't think me a bird ofill omen; only remember that you will be held to a strict account. "

"A man should make the most of himself, and be helped if he needs help, "Rowland answered, after a long pause. "Of course when a body begins toexpand, there comes in the possibility of bursting; but I neverthelessapprove of a certain tension of one's being. It 's what a man is meantfor. And then I believe in the essential salubrity of genius--truegenius. "

"Very good, " said Cecilia, with an air of resignation which madeRowland, for the moment, seem to himself culpably eager. "We 'll drinkthen to-day at dinner to the health of our friend. "

* * *

Having it much at heart to convince Mrs. Hudson of the purity of hisintentions, Rowland waited upon her that evening. He was ushered into alarge parlor, which, by the light of a couple of candles, he perceivedto be very meagrely furnished and very tenderly and sparingly used. Thewindows were open to the air of the summer night, and a circle of threepersons was temporarily awed into silence by his appearance. Oneof these was Mrs. Hudson, who was sitting at one of the windows, empty-handed save for the pocket-handkerchief in her lap, which was heldwith an air of familiarity with its sadder uses. Near her, on the sofa, half sitting, half lounging, in the attitude of a visitor outstayingceremony, with one long leg flung over the other and a large foot in aclumsy boot swinging to and fro continually, was a lean, sandy-hairedgentleman whom Rowland recognized as the original of the portrait of Mr. Barnaby Striker. At the table, near the candles, busy with a substantialpiece of needle-work, sat the young girl of whom he had had a moment'squickened glimpse in Roderick's studio, and whom he had learned tobe Miss Garland, his companion's kinswoman. This young lady's limpid, penetrating gaze was the most effective greeting he received. Mrs. Hudson rose with a soft, vague sound of distress, and stood looking athim shrinkingly and waveringly, as if she were sorely tempted toretreat through the open window. Mr. Striker swung his long leg a trifledefiantly. No one, evidently, was used to offering hollow welcomes ortelling polite fibs. Rowland introduced himself; he had come, he mightsay, upon business. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Hudson tremulously; "I know--my son has told me. Isuppose it is better I should see you. Perhaps you will take a seat. "

With this invitation Rowland prepared to comply, and, turning, graspedthe first chair that offered itself. 

"Not that one, " said a full, grave voice; whereupon he perceived that aquantity of sewing-silk had been suspended and entangled over the back, preparatory to being wound on reels. He felt the least bit irritated atthe curtness of the warning, coming as it did from a young woman whosecountenance he had mentally pronounced interesting, and with regard towhom he was conscious of the germ of the inevitable desire to produce aresponsive interest. And then he thought it would break the ice to saysomething playfully urbane. 

"Oh, you should let me take the chair, " he answered, "and have thepleasure of holding the skeins myself!"

For all reply to this sally he received a stare of undisguised amazementfrom Miss Garland, who then looked across at Mrs. Hudson with a glancewhich plainly said: "You see he 's quite the insidious personage wefeared. " The elder lady, however, sat with her eyes fixed on the groundand her two hands tightly clasped. But touching her Rowland felt muchmore compassion than resentment; her attitude was not coldness, it wasa kind of dread, almost a terror. She was a small, eager woman, with apale, troubled face, which added to her apparent age. After looking ather for some minutes Rowland saw that she was still young, and that shemust have been a very girlish bride. She had been a pretty one, too, though she probably had looked terribly frightened at the altar. Shewas very delicately made, and Roderick had come honestly by his physicalslimness and elegance. She wore no cap, and her flaxen hair, which wasof extraordinary fineness, was smoothed and confined with Puritanicprecision. She was excessively shy, and evidently very humble-minded; itwas singular to see a woman to whom the experience of life had conveyedso little reassurance as to her own resources or the chances of thingsturning out well. Rowland began immediately to like her, and to feelimpatient to persuade her that there was no harm in him, and that, twenty to one, her son would make her a well-pleased woman yet. Heforesaw that she would be easy to persuade, and that a benevolentconversational tone would probably make her pass, fluttering, fromdistrust into an oppressive extreme of confidence. But he had anindefinable sense that the person who was testing that strong youngeyesight of hers in the dim candle-light was less readily beguiledfrom her mysterious feminine preconceptions. Miss Garland, accordingto Cecilia's judgment, as Rowland remembered, had not a countenance toinspire a sculptor; but it seemed to Rowland that her countenance mightfairly inspire a man who was far from being a sculptor. She was notpretty, as the eye of habit judges prettiness, but when you made theobservation you somehow failed to set it down against her, for you hadalready passed from measuring contours to tracing meanings. In MaryGarland's face there were many possible ones, and they gave you the moreto think about that it was not--like Roderick Hudson's, for instance--aquick and mobile face, over which expression flickered like a candle ina wind. They followed each other slowly, distinctly, gravely, sincerely, and you might almost have fancied that, as they came and went, they gaveher a sort of pain. She was tall and slender, and had an air of maidenlystrength and decision. She had a broad forehead and dark eyebrows, atrifle thicker than those of classic beauties; her gray eye was clearbut not brilliant, and her features were perfectly irregular. Her mouthwas large, fortunately for the principal grace of her physiognomy washer smile, which displayed itself with magnificent amplitude. Rowland, indeed, had not yet seen her smile, but something assured him that herrigid gravity had a radiant counterpart. She wore a scanty white dress, and had a nameless rustic air which would have led one to speak of herless as a young lady than as a young woman. She was evidently a girlof a great personal force, but she lacked pliancy. She was hemminga kitchen towel with the aid of a large steel thimble. She bent herserious eyes at last on her work again, and let Rowland explain himself. 

"I have become suddenly so very intimate with your son, " he said atlast, addressing himself to Mrs. Hudson, "that it seems just I shouldmake your acquaintance. "

"Very just, " murmured the poor lady, and after a moment's hesitation wason the point of adding something more; but Mr. Striker here interposed, after a prefatory clearance of the throat. 

"I should like to take the liberty, " he said, "of addressing you asimple question. For how long a period of time have you been acquaintedwith our young friend?" He continued to kick the air, but his head wasthrown back and his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, as if in aversionto the spectacle of Rowland's inevitable confusion. 

"A very short time, I confess. Hardly three days. "

"And yet you call yourself intimate, eh? I have been seeing Mr. Roderickdaily these three years, and yet it was only this morning that I felt asif I had at last the right to say that I knew him. We had a few moments'conversation in my office which supplied the missing links in theevidence. So that now I do venture to say I 'm acquainted with Mr. Roderick! But wait three years, sir, like me!" and Mr. Striker laughed, with a closed mouth and a noiseless shake of all his long person. 

Mrs. Hudson smiled confusedly, at hazard; Miss Garland kept her eyes onher stitches. But it seemed to Rowland that the latter colored a little. "Oh, in three years, of course, " he said, "we shall know each otherbetter. Before many years are over, madam, " he pursued, "I expect theworld to know him. I expect him to be a great man!"

Mrs. Hudson looked at first as if this could be but an insidious devicefor increasing her distress by the assistance of irony. Then reassured, little by little, by Rowland's benevolent visage, she gave him anappealing glance and a timorous "Really?"

But before Rowland could respond, Mr. Striker again intervened. "DoI fully apprehend your expression?" he asked. "Our young friend is tobecome a great man?"

"A great artist, I hope, " said Rowland. 

"This is a new and interesting view, " said Mr. Striker, with anassumption of judicial calmness. "We have had hopes for Mr. Roderick, but I confess, if I have rightly understood them, they stopped short ofgreatness. We should n't have taken the responsibility of claimingit for him. What do you say, ladies? We all feel about him here--hismother, Miss Garland, and myself--as if his merits were rather in theline of the"--and Mr. Striker waved his hand with a series of fantasticflourishes in the air--"of the light ornamental!" Mr. Striker bore hisrecalcitrant pupil a grudge, but he was evidently trying both to befair and to respect the susceptibilities of his companions. But he wasunversed in the mysterious processes of feminine emotion. Ten minutesbefore, there had been a general harmony of sombre views; but on hearingRoderick's limitations thus distinctly formulated to a stranger, the twoladies mutely protested. Mrs. Hudson uttered a short, faint sigh, andMiss Garland raised her eyes toward their advocate and visited him witha short, cold glance. 

"I 'm afraid, Mrs. Hudson, " Rowland pursued, evading the discussionof Roderick's possible greatness, "that you don't at all thank me forstirring up your son's ambition on a line which leads him so far fromhome. I suspect I have made you my enemy. "

Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth with her finger-tips and looked painfullyperplexed between the desire to confess the truth and the fear of beingimpolite. "My cousin is no one's enemy, " Miss Garland hereupon declared, gently, but with that same fine deliberateness with which she had madeRowland relax his grasp of the chair. 

"Does she leave that to you?" Rowland ventured to ask, with a smile. 

"We are inspired with none but Christian sentiments, " said Mr. Striker;"Miss Garland perhaps most of all. Miss Garland, " and Mr. Strikerwaved his hand again as if to perform an introduction which had beenregrettably omitted, "is the daughter of a minister, the granddaughterof a minister, the sister of a minister. " Rowland bowed deferentially, and the young girl went on with her sewing, with nothing, apparently, either of embarrassment or elation at the promulgation of these facts. Mr. Striker continued: "Mrs. Hudson, I see, is too deeply agitatedto converse with you freely. She will allow me to address you a fewquestions. Would you kindly inform her, as exactly as possible, justwhat you propose to do with her son?"

The poor lady fixed her eyes appealingly on Rowland's face and seemedto say that Mr. Striker had spoken her desire, though she herself wouldhave expressed it less defiantly. But Rowland saw in Mr. Striker'smany-wrinkled light blue eye, shrewd at once and good-natured, thathe had no intention of defiance, and that he was simply pompous andconceited and sarcastically compassionate of any view of things in whichRoderick Hudson was regarded in a serious light. 

"Do, my dear madam?" demanded Rowland. "I don't propose to do anything. He must do for himself. I simply offer him the chance. He 's to study, to work--hard, I hope. "

"Not too hard, please, " murmured Mrs. Hudson, pleadingly, wheeling aboutfrom recent visions of dangerous leisure. "He 's not very strong, and I'm afraid the climate of Europe is very relaxing. "

"Ah, study?" repeated Mr. Striker. "To what line of study is he todirect his attention?" Then suddenly, with an impulse of disinterestedcuriosity on his own account, "How do you study sculpture, anyhow?"

"By looking at models and imitating them. "

"At models, eh? To what kind of models do you refer?"

"To the antique, in the first place. "

"Ah, the antique, " repeated Mr. Striker, with a jocose intonation. "Doyou hear, madam? Roderick is going off to Europe to learn to imitate theantique. "

"I suppose it 's all right, " said Mrs. Hudson, twisting herself in asort of delicate anguish. 

"An antique, as I understand it, " the lawyer continued, "is an image ofa pagan deity, with considerable dirt sticking to it, and no arms, nonose, and no clothing. A precious model, certainly!"

"That 's a very good description of many, " said Rowland, with a laugh. 

"Mercy! Truly?" asked Mrs. Hudson, borrowing courage from his urbanity. 

"But a sculptor's studies, you intimate, are not confined to theantique, " Mr. Striker resumed. "After he has been looking three or fouryears at the objects I describe"--

"He studies the living model, " said Rowland. 

"Does it take three or four years?" asked Mrs. Hudson, imploringly. 

"That depends upon the artist's aptitude. After twenty years a realartist is still studying. "

"Oh, my poor boy!" moaned Mrs. Hudson, finding the prospect, under everylight, still terrible. 

"Now this study of the living model, " Mr. Striker pursued. "Inform Mrs. Hudson about that. "

"Oh dear, no!" cried Mrs. Hudson, shrinkingly. 

"That too, " said Rowland, "is one of the reasons for studying in Rome. It 's a handsome race, you know, and you find very well-made people. "

"I suppose they 're no better made than a good tough Yankee, " objectedMr. Striker, transposing his interminable legs. "The same God made us. "

"Surely, " sighed Mrs. Hudson, but with a questioning glance at hervisitor which showed that she had already begun to concede much weightto his opinion. Rowland hastened to express his assent to Mr. Striker'sproposition. 

Miss Garland looked up, and, after a moment's hesitation: "Are the Romanwomen very beautiful?" she asked. 

Rowland too, in answering, hesitated; he was looking straight at theyoung girl. "On the whole, I prefer ours, " he said. 

She had dropped her work in her lap; her hands were crossed upon it, herhead thrown a little back. She had evidently expected a more impersonalanswer, and she was dissatisfied. For an instant she seemed inclined tomake a rejoinder, but she slowly picked up her work in silence and drewher stitches again. 

Rowland had for the second time the feeling that she judged him to bea person of a disagreeably sophisticated tone. He noticed too that thekitchen towel she was hemming was terribly coarse. And yet his answerhad a resonant inward echo, and he repeated to himself, "Yes, on thewhole, I prefer ours. "

"Well, these models, " began Mr. Striker. "You put them into an attitude, I suppose. "

"An attitude, exactly. "

"And then you sit down and look at them. "

"You must not sit too long. You must go at your clay and try to build upsomething that looks like them. "

"Well, there you are with your model in an attitude on one side, yourself, in an attitude too, I suppose, on the other, and your pile ofclay in the middle, building up, as you say. So you pass the morning. After that I hope you go out and take a walk, and rest from yourexertions. "

"Unquestionably. But to a sculptor who loves his work there is no timelost. Everything he looks at teaches or suggests something. "

"That 's a tempting doctrine to young men with a taste for sitting bythe hour with the page unturned, watching the flies buzz, or the frostmelt on the window-pane. Our young friend, in this way, must have laidup stores of information which I never suspected!"

"Very likely, " said Rowland, with an unresentful smile, "he will provesome day the completer artist for some of those lazy reveries. "

This theory was apparently very grateful to Mrs. Hudson, who had neverhad the case put for her son with such ingenious hopefulness, and foundherself disrelishing the singular situation of seeming to side againsther own flesh and blood with a lawyer whose conversational tone betrayedthe habit of cross-questioning. 

"My son, then, " she ventured to ask, "my son has great--what you wouldcall great powers?"

"To my sense, very great powers. "

Poor Mrs. Hudson actually smiled, broadly, gleefully, and glanced atMiss Garland, as if to invite her to do likewise. But the young girl'sface remained serious, like the eastern sky when the opposite sunset istoo feeble to make it glow. "Do you really know?" she asked, looking atRowland. 

"One cannot know in such a matter save after proof, and proof takestime. But one can believe. "

"And you believe?"

"I believe. "

But even then Miss Garland vouchsafed no smile. Her face became graverthan ever. 

"Well, well, " said Mrs. Hudson, "we must hope that it is all for thebest. "

Mr. Striker eyed his old friend for a moment with a look of somedispleasure; he saw that this was but a cunning feminine imitation ofresignation, and that, through some untraceable process of transition, she was now taking more comfort in the opinions of this insinuatingstranger than in his own tough dogmas. He rose to his feet, without pulling down his waistcoat, but with a wrinkled grin at theinconsistency of women. "Well, sir, Mr. Roderick's powers are nothing tome, " he said, "nor no use he makes of them. Good or bad, he 's no sonof mine. But, in a friendly way, I 'm glad to hear so fine an accountof him. I 'm glad, madam, you 're so satisfied with the prospect. Affection, sir, you see, must have its guarantees!" He paused a moment, stroking his beard, with his head inclined and one eye half-closed, looking at Rowland. The look was grotesque, but it was significant, andit puzzled Rowland more than it amused him. "I suppose you 're a verybrilliant young man, " he went on, "very enlightened, very cultivated, quite up to the mark in the fine arts and all that sort of thing. I 'm aplain, practical old boy, content to follow an honorable profession in afree country. I did n't go off to the Old World to learn my business; noone took me by the hand; I had to grease my wheels myself, and, such asI am, I 'm a self-made man, every inch of me! Well, if our young friendis booked for fame and fortune, I don't suppose his going to Rome willstop him. But, mind you, it won't help him such a long way, either. Ifyou have undertaken to put him through, there 's a thing or two you 'dbetter remember. The crop we gather depends upon the seed we sow. He maybe the biggest genius of the age: his potatoes won't come up without hishoeing them. If he takes things so almighty easy as--well, as one or twoyoung fellows of genius I 've had under my eye--his produce will nevergain the prize. Take the word for it of a man who has made his way inchby inch, and does n't believe that we 'll wake up to find our work donebecause we 've lain all night a-dreaming of it; anything worth doing isdevilish hard to do! If your young protajay finds things easy and hasa good time and says he likes the life, it 's a sign that--as I maysay--you had better step round to the office and look at the books. That's all I desire to remark. No offense intended. I hope you 'll have afirst-rate time. "

Rowland could honestly reply that this seemed pregnant sense, and heoffered Mr. Striker a friendly hand-shake as the latter withdrew. ButMr. Striker's rather grim view of matters cast a momentary shadow on hiscompanions, and Mrs. Hudson seemed to feel that it necessitated betweenthem some little friendly agreement not to be overawed. 

Rowland sat for some time longer, partly because he wished to please thetwo women and partly because he was strangely pleased himself. Therewas something touching in their unworldly fears and diffident hopes, something almost terrible in the way poor little Mrs. Hudson seemedto flutter and quiver with intense maternal passion. She put forth onetimid conversational venture after another, and asked Rowland a numberof questions about himself, his age, his family, his occupations, histastes, his religious opinions. Rowland had an odd feeling at last thatshe had begun to consider him very exemplary, and that she mightmake, later, some perturbing discovery. He tried, therefore, to inventsomething that would prepare her to find him fallible. But he couldthink of nothing. It only seemed to him that Miss Garland secretlymistrusted him, and that he must leave her to render him the service, after he had gone, of making him the object of a little firm derogation. Mrs. Hudson talked with low-voiced eagerness about her son. 

"He 's very lovable, sir, I assure you. When you come to know him you'll find him very lovable. He 's a little spoiled, of course; he hasalways done with me as he pleased; but he 's a good boy, I 'm sure he 'sa good boy. And every one thinks him very attractive: I 'm sure he 'd benoticed, anywhere. Don't you think he 's very handsome, sir? He featureshis poor father. I had another--perhaps you 've been told. He waskilled. " And the poor little lady bravely smiled, for fear of doingworse. "He was a very fine boy, but very different from Roderick. Roderick is a little strange; he has never been an easy boy. SometimesI feel like the goose--was n't it a goose, dear?" and startled by theaudacity of her comparison she appealed to Miss Garland--"the goose, orthe hen, who hatched a swan's egg. I have never been able to give himwhat he needs. I have always thought that in more--in more brilliantcircumstances he might find his place and be happy. But at the same timeI was afraid of the world for him; it was so large and dangerous anddreadful. No doubt I know very little about it. I never suspected, Iconfess, that it contained persons of such liberality as yours. "

Rowland replied that, evidently, she had done the world but scantyjustice. "No, " objected Miss Garland, after a pause, "it is likesomething in a fairy tale. "

"What, pray?"

"Your coming here all unknown, so rich and so polite, and carrying offmy cousin in a golden cloud. "

If this was badinage Miss Garland had the best of it, for Rowland almostfell a-musing silently over the question whether there was a possibilityof irony in that transparent gaze. Before he withdrew, Mrs. Hudson madehim tell her again that Roderick's powers were extraordinary. He hadinspired her with a clinging, caressing faith in his wisdom. "He willreally do great things, " she asked, "the very greatest?"

"I see no reason in his talent itself why he should not. "

"Well, we 'll think of that as we sit here alone, " she rejoined. "Maryand I will sit here and talk about it. So I give him up, " she went on, as he was going. "I 'm sure you 'll be the best of friends to him, but if you should ever forget him, or grow tired of him, or lose yourinterest in him, and he should come to any harm or any trouble, please, sir, remember"--And she paused, with a tremulous voice. 

"Remember, my dear madam?"

"That he is all I have--that he is everything--and that it would be veryterrible. "

"In so far as I can help him, he shall succeed, " was all Rowland couldsay. He turned to Miss Garland, to bid her good night, and she rose andput out her hand. She was very straightforward, but he could see that ifshe was too modest to be bold, she was much too simple to be shy. "Haveyou no charge to lay upon me?" he asked--to ask her something. 

She looked at him a moment and then, although she was not shy, sheblushed. "Make him do his best, " she said. 

Rowland noted the soft intensity with which the words were uttered. "Doyou take a great interest in him?" he demanded. 

"Certainly. "

"Then, if he will not do his best for you, he will not do it for me. "She turned away with another blush, and Rowland took his leave. 

He walked homeward, thinking of many things. The great Northamptonelms interarched far above in the darkness, but the moon had risen andthrough scattered apertures was hanging the dusky vault with silverlamps. There seemed to Rowland something intensely serious in the scenein which he had just taken part. He had laughed and talked and braved itout in self-defense; but when he reflected that he was really meddlingwith the simple stillness of this little New England home, and that hehad ventured to disturb so much living security in the interest of afar-away, fantastic hypothesis, he paused, amazed at his temerity. Itwas true, as Cecilia had said, that for an unofficious man it was asingular position. There stirred in his mind an odd feeling of annoyancewith Roderick for having thus peremptorily enlisted his sympathies. Ashe looked up and down the long vista, and saw the clear white housesglancing here and there in the broken moonshine, he could almost havebelieved that the happiest lot for any man was to make the most of lifein some such tranquil spot as that. Here were kindness, comfort, safety, the warning voice of duty, the perfect hush of temptation. And asRowland looked along the arch of silvered shadow and out into the lucidair of the American night, which seemed so doubly vast, somehow, andstrange and nocturnal, he felt like declaring that here was beautytoo--beauty sufficient for an artist not to starve upon it. As he stood, lost in the darkness, he presently heard a rapid tread on the other sideof the road, accompanied by a loud, jubilant whistle, and in a momenta figure emerged into an open gap of moonshine. He had no difficultyin recognizing Hudson, who was presumably returning from a visit toCecilia. Roderick stopped suddenly and stared up at the moon, with hisface vividly illumined. He broke out into a snatch of song:--

"The splendor falls on castle wallsAnd snowy summits old in story!"

And with a great, musical roll of his voice he went swinging off intothe darkness again, as if his thoughts had lent him wings. He wasdreaming of the inspiration of foreign lands, --of castled crags andhistoric landscapes. What a pity, after all, thought Rowland, as he wenthis own way, that he should n't have a taste of it!

It had been a very just remark of Cecilia's that Roderick would changewith a change in his circumstances. Rowland had telegraphed to New Yorkfor another berth on his steamer, and from the hour the answer cameHudson's spirits rose to incalculable heights. He was radiant withgood-humor, and his kindly jollity seemed the pledge of a brilliantfuture. He had forgiven his old enemies and forgotten his oldgrievances, and seemed every way reconciled to a world in which he wasgoing to count as an active force. He was inexhaustibly loquacious andfantastic, and as Cecilia said, he had suddenly become so good thatit was only to be feared he was going to start not for Europe but forheaven. He took long walks with Rowland, who felt more and more thefascination of what he would have called his giftedness. Rowlandreturned several times to Mrs. Hudson's, and found the two ladies doingtheir best to be happy in their companion's happiness. Miss Garland, hethought, was succeeding better than her demeanor on his first visit hadpromised. He tried to have some especial talk with her, but her extremereserve forced him to content himself with such response to his ratherurgent overtures as might be extracted from a keenly attentive smile. It must be confessed, however, that if the response was vague, thesatisfaction was great, and that Rowland, after his second visit, keptseeing a lurking reflection of this smile in the most unexpected places. It seemed strange that she should please him so well at so slendera cost, but please him she did, prodigiously, and his pleasure hada quality altogether new to him. It made him restless, and a triflemelancholy; he walked about absently, wondering and wishing. Hewondered, among other things, why fate should have condemned him tomake the acquaintance of a girl whom he would make a sacrifice to knowbetter, just as he was leaving the country for years. It seemed to himthat he was turning his back on a chance of happiness--happiness of asort of which the slenderest germ should be cultivated. He asked himselfwhether, feeling as he did, if he had only himself to please, he wouldgive up his journey and--wait. He had Roderick to please now, for whomdisappointment would be cruel; but he said to himself that certainly, ifthere were no Roderick in the case, the ship should sail without him. He asked Hudson several questions about his cousin, but Roderick, confidential on most points, seemed to have reasons of his own forbeing reticent on this one. His measured answers quickened Rowland'scuriosity, for Miss Garland, with her own irritating half-suggestions, had only to be a subject of guarded allusion in others to becomeintolerably interesting. He learned from Roderick that she was thedaughter of a country minister, a far-away cousin of his mother, settled in another part of the State; that she was one of a half-a-dozendaughters, that the family was very poor, and that she had come a coupleof months before to pay his mother a long visit. "It is to be a verylong one now, " he said, "for it is settled that she is to remain while Iam away. "

The fermentation of contentment in Roderick's soul reached its climax afew days before the young men were to make their farewells. He had beensitting with his friends on Cecilia's veranda, but for half an hour pasthe had said nothing. Lounging back against a vine-wreathed column andgazing idly at the stars, he kept caroling softly to himself with thatindifference to ceremony for which he always found allowance, and whichin him had a sort of pleading grace. At last, springing up: "I want tostrike out, hard!" he exclaimed. "I want to do something violent, to letoff steam!"

"I 'll tell you what to do, this lovely weather, " said Cecilia. "Give apicnic. It can be as violent as you please, and it will have the meritof leading off our emotion into a safe channel, as well as yours. "

Roderick laughed uproariously at Cecilia's very practical remedy for hissentimental need, but a couple of days later, nevertheless, the picnicwas given. It was to be a family party, but Roderick, in his magnanimousgeniality, insisted on inviting Mr. Striker, a decision which Rowlandmentally applauded. "And we 'll have Mrs. Striker, too, " he said, "ifshe 'll come, to keep my mother in countenance; and at any rate we'll have Miss Striker--the divine Petronilla!" The young lady thusdenominated formed, with Mrs. Hudson, Miss Garland, and Cecilia, thefeminine half of the company. Mr. Striker presented himself, sacrificinga morning's work, with a magnanimity greater even than Roderick's, andforeign support was further secured in the person of Mr. Whitefoot, theyoung Orthodox minister. Roderick had chosen the feasting-place; heknew it well and had passed many a summer afternoon there, lying at hislength on the grass and gazing at the blue undulations of the horizon. It was a meadow on the edge of a wood, with mossy rocks protrudingthrough the grass and a little lake on the other side. It was acloudless August day; Rowland always remembered it, and the scene, andeverything that was said and done, with extraordinary distinctness. Roderick surpassed himself in friendly jollity, and at one moment, whenexhilaration was at the highest, was seen in Mr. Striker's high whitehat, drinking champagne from a broken tea-cup to Mr. Striker's health. Miss Striker had her father's pale blue eye; she was dressed as if shewere going to sit for her photograph, and remained for a long time withRoderick on a little promontory overhanging the lake. Mrs. Hudson satall day with a little meek, apprehensive smile. She was afraid of an"accident, " though unless Miss Striker (who indeed was a little ofa romp) should push Roderick into the lake, it was hard to see whataccident could occur. Mrs. Hudson was as neat and crisp and uncrumpledat the end of the festival as at the beginning. Mr. Whitefoot, who buta twelvemonth later became a convert to episcopacy and was alreadycultivating a certain conversational sonority, devoted himself toCecilia. He had a little book in his pocket, out of which he read toher at intervals, lying stretched at her feet, and it was a lasting jokewith Cecilia, afterwards, that she would never tell what Mr. Whitefoot'slittle book had been. Rowland had placed himself near Miss Garland, while the feasting went forward on the grass. She wore a so-called gypsyhat--a little straw hat, tied down over her ears, so as to cast hereyes into shadow, by a ribbon passing outside of it. When the companydispersed, after lunch, he proposed to her to take a stroll in thewood. She hesitated a moment and looked toward Mrs. Hudson, as if forpermission to leave her. But Mrs. Hudson was listening to Mr. Striker, who sat gossiping to her with relaxed magniloquence, his waistcoatunbuttoned and his hat on his nose. 

"You can give your cousin your society at any time, " said Rowland. "Butme, perhaps, you 'll never see again. "

"Why then should we wish to be friends, if nothing is to come of it?"she asked, with homely logic. But by this time she had consented, andthey were treading the fallen pine-needles. 

"Oh, one must take all one can get, " said Rowland. "If we can be friendsfor half an hour, it 's so much gained. "

"Do you expect never to come back to Northampton again?"

"'Never' is a good deal to say. But I go to Europe for a long stay. "

"Do you prefer it so much to your own country?"

"I will not say that. But I have the misfortune to be a rather idle man, and in Europe the burden of idleness is less heavy than here. "

She was silent for a few minutes; then at last, "In that, then, we arebetter than Europe, " she said. To a certain point Rowland agreed withher, but he demurred, to make her say more. 

"Would n't it be better, " she asked, "to work to get reconciled toAmerica, than to go to Europe to get reconciled to idleness?"

"Doubtless; but you know work is hard to find. "

"I come from a little place where every one has plenty, " said MissGarland. "We all work; every one I know works. And really, " she addedpresently, "I look at you with curiosity; you are the first unoccupiedman I ever saw. "

"Don't look at me too hard, " said Rowland, smiling. "I shall sink intothe earth. What is the name of your little place?"

"West Nazareth, " said Miss Garland, with her usual sobriety. "It is notso very little, though it 's smaller than Northampton. "

"I wonder whether I could find any work at West Nazareth, " Rowland said. 

"You would not like it, " Miss Garland declared reflectively. "Thoughthere are far finer woods there than this. We have miles and miles ofwoods. "

"I might chop down trees, " said Rowland. "That is, if you allow it. "

"Allow it? Why, where should we get our firewood?" Then, noticing thathe had spoken jestingly, she glanced at him askance, though with novisible diminution of her gravity. "Don't you know how to do anything?Have you no profession?"

Rowland shook his head. "Absolutely none. "

"What do you do all day?"

"Nothing worth relating. That 's why I am going to Europe. There, atleast, if I do nothing, I shall see a great deal; and if I 'm not aproducer, I shall at any rate be an observer. "

"Can't we observe everywhere?"

"Certainly; and I really think that in that way I make the most of myopportunities. Though I confess, " he continued, "that I often rememberthere are things to be seen here to which I probably have n't donejustice. I should like, for instance, to see West Nazareth. "

She looked round at him, open-eyed; not, apparently, that she exactlysupposed he was jesting, for the expression of such a desire was notnecessarily facetious; but as if he must have spoken with an ulteriormotive. In fact, he had spoken from the simplest of motives. The girlbeside him pleased him unspeakably, and, suspecting that her charmwas essentially her own and not reflected from social circumstance, he wished to give himself the satisfaction of contrasting her with themeagre influences of her education. Miss Garland's second movement wasto take him at his word. "Since you are free to do as you please, whydon't you go there?"

"I am not free to do as I please now. I have offered your cousin to bearhim company to Europe, he has accepted with enthusiasm, and I cannotretract. "

"Are you going to Europe simply for his sake?"

Rowland hesitated a moment. "I think I may almost say so. "

Miss Garland walked along in silence. "Do you mean to do a great dealfor him?" she asked at last. 

"What I can. But my power of helping him is very small beside his powerof helping himself. "

For a moment she was silent again. "You are very generous, " she said, almost solemnly. 

"No, I am simply very shrewd. Roderick will repay me. It 's aninvestment. At first, I think, " he added shortly afterwards, "you wouldnot have paid me that compliment. You distrusted me. "

She made no attempt to deny it. "I did n't see why you should wish tomake Roderick discontented. I thought you were rather frivolous. "

"You did me injustice. I don't think I 'm that. "

"It was because you are unlike other men--those, at least, whom I haveseen. "

"In what way?"

"Why, as you describe yourself. You have no duties, no profession, nohome. You live for your pleasure. "

"That 's all very true. And yet I maintain I 'm not frivolous. "

"I hope not, " said Miss Garland, simply. They had reached a point wherethe wood-path forked and put forth two divergent tracks which lostthemselves in a verdurous tangle. Miss Garland seemed to think that thedifficulty of choice between them was a reason for giving them up andturning back. Rowland thought otherwise, and detected agreeable groundsfor preference in the left-hand path. As a compromise, they sat down ona fallen log. Looking about him, Rowland espied a curious wild shrub, with a spotted crimson leaf; he went and plucked a spray of it andbrought it to Miss Garland. He had never observed it before, but sheimmediately called it by its name. She expressed surprise at his notknowing it; it was extremely common. He presently brought her a specimenof another delicate plant, with a little blue-streaked flower. "Isuppose that 's common, too, " he said, "but I have never seen it--ornoticed it, at least. " She answered that this one was rare, andmeditated a moment before she could remember its name. At last sherecalled it, and expressed surprise at his having found the plant in thewoods; she supposed it grew only in open marshes. Rowland complimentedher on her fund of useful information. 

"It 's not especially useful, " she answered; "but I like to know thenames of plants as I do those of my acquaintances. When we walk in thewoods at home--which we do so much--it seems as unnatural not to knowwhat to call the flowers as it would be to see some one in the town withwhom we were not on speaking terms. "

"Apropos of frivolity, " Rowland said, "I 'm sure you have very littleof it, unless at West Nazareth it is considered frivolous to walk in thewoods and nod to the nodding flowers. Do kindly tell me a little aboutyourself. " And to compel her to begin, "I know you come of a race oftheologians, " he went on. 

"No, " she replied, deliberating; "they are not theologians, though theyare ministers. We don't take a very firm stand upon doctrine; we arepractical, rather. We write sermons and preach them, but we do a greatdeal of hard work beside. "

"And of this hard work what has your share been?"

"The hardest part: doing nothing. "

"What do you call nothing?"

"I taught school a while: I must make the most of that. But I confess Idid n't like it. Otherwise, I have only done little things at home, asthey turned up. "

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, every kind. If you had seen my home, you would understand. "

Rowland would have liked to make her specify; but he felt a more urgentneed to respect her simplicity than he had ever felt to defer to thecomplex circumstance of certain other women. "To be happy, I imagine, "he contented himself with saying, "you need to be occupied. You need tohave something to expend yourself upon. "

"That is not so true as it once was; now that I am older, I am sure I amless impatient of leisure. Certainly, these two months that I have beenwith Mrs. Hudson, I have had a terrible amount of it. And yet I haveliked it! And now that I am probably to be with her all the while thather son is away, I look forward to more with a resignation that I don'tquite know what to make of. "

"It is settled, then, that you are to remain with your cousin?"

"It depends upon their writing from home that I may stay. But that isprobable. Only I must not forget, " she said, rising, "that the groundfor my doing so is that she be not left alone. "

"I am glad to know, " said Rowland, "that I shall probably often hearabout you. I assure you I shall often think about you!" These words werehalf impulsive, half deliberate. They were the simple truth, and he hadasked himself why he should not tell her the truth. And yet they werenot all of it; her hearing the rest would depend upon the way shereceived this. She received it not only, as Rowland foresaw, withouta shadow of coquetry, of any apparent thought of listening to itgracefully, but with a slight movement of nervous deprecation, whichseemed to betray itself in the quickening of her step. Evidently, ifRowland was to take pleasure in hearing about her, it would have to be ahighly disinterested pleasure. She answered nothing, and Rowland too, as he walked beside her, was silent; but as he looked along theshadow-woven wood-path, what he was really facing was a level threeyears of disinterestedness. He ushered them in by talking composedcivility until he had brought Miss Garland back to her companions. 

He saw her but once again. He was obliged to be in New York a couple ofdays before sailing, and it was arranged that Roderick should overtakehim at the last moment. The evening before he left Northampton he wentto say farewell to Mrs. Hudson. The ceremony was brief. Rowland soonperceived that the poor little lady was in the melting mood, and, as hedreaded her tears, he compressed a multitude of solemn promises into asilent hand-shake and took his leave. Miss Garland, she had told him, was in the back-garden with Roderick: he might go out to them. He didso, and as he drew near he heard Roderick's high-pitched voice ringingbehind the shrubbery. In a moment, emerging, he found Miss Garlandleaning against a tree, with her cousin before her talking with greatemphasis. He asked pardon for interrupting them, and said he wished onlyto bid her good-by. She gave him her hand and he made her his bow insilence. "Don't forget, " he said to Roderick, as he turned away. "Anddon't, in this company, repent of your bargain. "

"I shall not let him, " said Miss Garland, with something very likegayety. "I shall see that he is punctual. He must go! I owe you anapology for having doubted that he ought to. " And in spite of the duskRowland could see that she had an even finer smile than he had supposed. 

Roderick was punctual, eagerly punctual, and they went. Rowland forseveral days was occupied with material cares, and lost sight of hissentimental perplexities. But they only slumbered, and they weresharply awakened. The weather was fine, and the two young men always sattogether upon deck late into the evening. One night, toward the last, they were at the stern of the great ship, watching her grind the solidblackness of the ocean into phosphorescent foam. They talked on theseoccasions of everything conceivable, and had the air of having nosecrets from each other. But it was on Roderick's conscience that thisair belied him, and he was too frank by nature, moreover, for permanentreticence on any point. 

"I must tell you something, " he said at last. "I should like you to knowit, and you will be so glad to know it. Besides, it 's only a questionof time; three months hence, probably, you would have guessed it. I amengaged to Mary Garland. "

Rowland sat staring; though the sea was calm, it seemed to him that theship gave a great dizzying lurch. But in a moment he contrived toanswer coherently: "Engaged to Miss Garland! I never supposed--I neverimagined"--

"That I was in love with her?" Roderick interrupted. "Neither did I, until this last fortnight. But you came and put me into such ridiculousgood-humor that I felt an extraordinary desire to tell some woman that Iadored her. Miss Garland is a magnificent girl; you know her too littleto do her justice. I have been quietly learning to know her, thesepast three months, and have been falling in love with her withoutbeing conscious of it. It appeared, when I spoke to her, that she hada kindness for me. So the thing was settled. I must of course make somemoney before we can marry. It 's rather droll, certainly, to engageone's self to a girl whom one is going to leave the next day, for years. We shall be condemned, for some time to come, to do a terrible dealof abstract thinking about each other. But I wanted her blessing on mycareer and I could not help asking for it. Unless a man is unnaturallyselfish he needs to work for some one else than himself, and I am sureI shall run a smoother and swifter course for knowing that that finecreature is waiting, at Northampton, for news of my greatness. If ever Iam a dull companion and over-addicted to moping, remember in justiceto me that I am in love and that my sweetheart is five thousand milesaway. "

Rowland listened to all this with a sort of feeling that fortune hadplayed him an elaborately-devised trick. It had lured him out intomid-ocean and smoothed the sea and stilled the winds and given him asingularly sympathetic comrade, and then it had turned and delivered hima thumping blow in mid-chest. "Yes, " he said, after an attempt at theusual formal congratulation, "you certainly ought to do better--withMiss Garland waiting for you at Northampton. "

Roderick, now that he had broken ground, was eloquent and rung a hundredchanges on the assurance that he was a very happy man. Then at last, suddenly, his climax was a yawn, and he declared that he must go to bed. Rowland let him go alone, and sat there late, between sea and sky. 

CHAPTER III. Rome

One warm, still day, late in the Roman autumn, our two young men weresitting beneath one of the high-stemmed pines of the Villa Ludovisi. They had been spending an hour in the mouldy little garden-house, wherethe colossal mask of the famous Juno looks out with blank eyes from thatdusky corner which must seem to her the last possible stage of a lapsefrom Olympus. Then they had wandered out into the gardens, andwere lounging away the morning under the spell of their magicalpicturesqueness. Roderick declared that he would go nowhere else; that, after the Juno, it was a profanation to look at anything but sky andtrees. There was a fresco of Guercino, to which Rowland, though he hadseen it on his former visit to Rome, went dutifully to pay his respects. But Roderick, though he had never seen it, declared that it could n'tbe worth a fig, and that he did n't care to look at ugly things. Heremained stretched on his overcoat, which he had spread on the grass, while Rowland went off envying the intellectual comfort of genius, whichcan arrive at serene conclusions without disagreeable processes. Whenthe latter came back, his friend was sitting with his elbows on hisknees and his head in his hands. Rowland, in the geniality of a moodattuned to the mellow charm of a Roman villa, found a good word to sayfor the Guercino; but he chiefly talked of the view from the littlebelvedere on the roof of the casino, and how it looked like the prospectfrom a castle turret in a fairy tale. 

"Very likely, " said Roderick, throwing himself back with a yawn. "But Imust let it pass. I have seen enough for the present; I have reached thetop of the hill. I have an indigestion of impressions; I must work themoff before I go in for any more. I don't want to look at any more ofother people's works, for a month--not even at Nature's own. I want tolook at Roderick Hudson's. The result of it all is that I 'm not afraid. I can but try, as well as the rest of them! The fellow who did thatgazing goddess yonder only made an experiment. The other day, when Iwas looking at Michael Angelo's Moses, I was seized with a kindof defiance--a reaction against all this mere passive enjoyment ofgrandeur. It was a rousing great success, certainly, that rose therebefore me, but somehow it was not an inscrutable mystery, and it seemedto me, not perhaps that I should some day do as well, but that at leastI might!"

"As you say, you can but try, " said Rowland. "Success is only passionateeffort. "

"Well, the passion is blazing; we have been piling on fuel handsomely. It came over me just now that it is exactly three months to a day sinceI left Northampton. I can't believe it!"

"It certainly seems more. "

"It seems like ten years. What an exquisite ass I was!"

"Do you feel so wise now?"

"Verily! Don't I look so? Surely I have n't the same face. Have n't I adifferent eye, a different expression, a different voice?"

"I can hardly say, because I have seen the transition. But it 's verylikely. You are, in the literal sense of the word, more civilized. Idare say, " added Rowland, "that Miss Garland would think so. "

"That 's not what she would call it; she would say I was corrupted. "

Rowland asked few questions about Miss Garland, but he always listenednarrowly to his companion's voluntary observations. 

"Are you very sure?" he replied. 

"Why, she 's a stern moralist, and she would infer from my appearancethat I had become a cynical sybarite. " Roderick had, in fact, a Venetianwatch-chain round his neck and a magnificent Roman intaglio on the thirdfinger of his left hand. 

"Will you think I take a liberty, " asked Rowland, "if I say you judgeher superficially?"

"For heaven's sake, " cried Roderick, laughing, "don't tell me she 'snot a moralist! It was for that I fell in love with her, and with rigidvirtue in her person. "

"She is a moralist, but not, as you imply, a narrow one. That 's morethan a difference in degree; it 's a difference in kind. I don't knowwhether I ever mentioned it, but I admire her extremely. There isnothing narrow about her but her experience; everything else is large. My impression of her is of a person of great capacity, as yet whollyunmeasured and untested. Some day or other, I 'm sure, she will judgefairly and wisely of everything. "

"Stay a bit!" cried Roderick; "you 're a better Catholic than the Pope. I shall be content if she judges fairly of me--of my merits, that is. The rest she must not judge at all. She 's a grimly devoted littlecreature; may she always remain so! Changed as I am, I adore her nonethe less. What becomes of all our emotions, our impressions, " he wenton, after a long pause, "all the material of thought that life poursinto us at such a rate during such a memorable three months as these?There are twenty moments a week--a day, for that matter, some days--thatseem supreme, twenty impressions that seem ultimate, that appear toform an intellectual era. But others come treading on their heels andsweeping them along, and they all melt like water into water and settlethe question of precedence among themselves. The curious thing is thatthe more the mind takes in, the more it has space for, and that allone's ideas are like the Irish people at home who live in the differentcorners of a room, and take boarders. "

"I fancy it is our peculiar good luck that we don't see the limits ofour minds, " said Rowland. "We are young, compared with what we may oneday be. That belongs to youth; it is perhaps the best part of it. Theysay that old people do find themselves at last face to face with a solidblank wall, and stand thumping against it in vain. It resounds, it seemsto have something beyond it, but it won't move! That 's only a reasonfor living with open doors as long as we can!"

"Open doors?" murmured Roderick. "Yes, let us close no doors that openupon Rome. For this, for the mind, is eternal summer! But though mydoors may stand open to-day, " he presently added, "I shall see novisitors. I want to pause and breathe; I want to dream of a statue. I have been working hard for three months; I have earned a right to areverie. "

Rowland, on his side, was not without provision for reflection, andthey lingered on in broken, desultory talk. Rowland felt the need forintellectual rest, for a truce to present care for churches, statues, and pictures, on even better grounds than his companion, inasmuch ashe had really been living Roderick's intellectual life the past threemonths, as well as his own. As he looked back on these full-flavoredweeks, he drew a long breath of satisfaction, almost of relief. Roderick, thus far, had justified his confidence and flattered hisperspicacity; he was rapidly unfolding into an ideal brilliancy. He waschanged even more than he himself suspected; he had stepped, withoutfaltering, into his birthright, and was spending money, intellectually, as lavishly as a young heir who has just won an obstructive lawsuit. Roderick's glance and voice were the same, doubtless, as when theyenlivened the summer dusk on Cecilia's veranda, but in his person, generally, there was an indefinable expression of experience rapidlyand easily assimilated. Rowland had been struck at the outset with theinstinctive quickness of his observation and his free appropriation ofwhatever might serve his purpose. He had not been, for instance, halfan hour on English soil before he perceived that he was dressed likea rustic, and he had immediately reformed his toilet with the mostunerring tact. His appetite for novelty was insatiable, and foreverything characteristically foreign, as it presented itself, he had anextravagant greeting; but in half an hour the novelty had faded, he hadguessed the secret, he had plucked out the heart of the mystery and wasclamoring for a keener sensation. At the end of a month, he presented, mentally, a puzzling spectacle to his companion. He had caught, instinctively, the key-note of the old world. He observed and enjoyed, he criticised and rhapsodized, but though all things interested him andmany delighted him, none surprised him; he had divined their logicand measured their proportions, and referred them infallibly to theircategories. Witnessing the rate at which he did intellectual executionon the general spectacle of European life, Rowland at moments feltvaguely uneasy for the future; the boy was living too fast, he wouldhave said, and giving alarming pledges to ennui in his later years. Butwe must live as our pulses are timed, and Roderick's struck the hourvery often. He was, by imagination, though he never became in manner, anatural man of the world; he had intuitively, as an artist, what one maycall the historic consciousness. He had a relish for social subtletiesand mysteries, and, in perception, when occasion offered him an inch henever failed to take an ell. A single glimpse of a social situation ofthe elder type enabled him to construct the whole, with all its complexchiaroscuro, and Rowland more than once assured him that he made himbelieve in the metempsychosis, and that he must have lived in Europeansociety, in the last century, as a gentleman in a cocked hat andbrocaded waistcoat. Hudson asked Rowland questions which poor Rowlandwas quite unable to answer, and of which he was equally unable toconceive where he had picked up the data. Roderick ended by answeringthem himself, tolerably to his satisfaction, and in a short time hehad almost turned the tables and become in their walks and talks theaccredited source of information. Rowland told him that when he turnedsculptor a capital novelist was spoiled, and that to match his eye forsocial detail one would have to go to Honore de Balzac. In all thisRowland took a generous pleasure; he felt an especial kindness for hiscomrade's radiant youthfulness of temperament. He was so much youngerthan he himself had ever been! And surely youth and genius, hand inhand, were the most beautiful sight in the world. Roderick added to thisthe charm of his more immediately personal qualities. The vivacity ofhis perceptions, the audacity of his imagination, the picturesquenessof his phrase when he was pleased, --and even more when he wasdispleased, --his abounding good-humor, his candor, his uncloudedfrankness, his unfailing impulse to share every emotion and impressionwith his friend; all this made comradeship a pure felicity, andinterfused with a deeper amenity their long evening talks at cafe doorsin Italian towns. 

They had gone almost immediately to Paris, and had spent their days atthe Louvre and their evenings at the theatre. Roderick was divided inmind as to whether Titian or Mademoiselle Delaporte was the greaterartist. They had come down through France to Genoa and Milan, had spenta fortnight in Venice and another in Florence, and had now been a monthin Rome. Roderick had said that he meant to spend three months in simplylooking, absorbing, and reflecting, without putting pencil to paper. Helooked indefatigably, and certainly saw great things--things greater, doubtless, at times, than the intentions of the artist. And yet he madefew false steps and wasted little time in theories of what he ought tolike and to dislike. He judged instinctively and passionately, butnever vulgarly. At Venice, for a couple of days, he had half a fit ofmelancholy over the pretended discovery that he had missed his way, andthat the only proper vestment of plastic conceptions was the coloringof Titian and Paul Veronese. Then one morning the two young men hadthemselves rowed out to Torcello, and Roderick lay back for a coupleof hours watching a brown-breasted gondolier making superb muscularmovements, in high relief, against the sky of the Adriatic, and at theend jerked himself up with a violence that nearly swamped the gondola, and declared that the only thing worth living for was to make a colossalbronze and set it aloft in the light of a public square. In Rome hisfirst care was for the Vatican; he went there again and again. But theold imperial and papal city altogether delighted him; only there hereally found what he had been looking for from the first--the completeantipodes of Northampton. And indeed Rome is the natural home of thosespirits with which we just now claimed fellowship for Roderick--thespirits with a deep relish for the artificial element in life andthe infinite superpositions of history. It is the immemorial city ofconvention. The stagnant Roman air is charged with convention; it colorsthe yellow light and deepens the chilly shadows. And in that stillrecent day the most impressive convention in all history was visible tomen's eyes, in the Roman streets, erect in a gilded coach drawn by fourblack horses. Roderick's first fortnight was a high aesthetic revel. He declared that Rome made him feel and understand more things thanhe could express: he was sure that life must have there, for all one'ssenses, an incomparable fineness; that more interesting things musthappen to one than anywhere else. And he gave Rowland to understand thathe meant to live freely and largely, and be as interested as occasiondemanded. Rowland saw no reason to regard this as a menace ofdissipation, because, in the first place, there was in all dissipation, refine it as one might, a grossness which would disqualify it forRoderick's favor, and because, in the second, the young sculptor wasa man to regard all things in the light of his art, to hand over hispassions to his genius to be dealt with, and to find that he could livelargely enough without exceeding the circle of wholesome curiosity. Rowland took immense satisfaction in his companion's deep impatience tomake something of all his impressions. Some of these indeed found theirway into a channel which did not lead to statues, but it was none theless a safe one. He wrote frequent long letters to Miss Garland; whenRowland went with him to post them he thought wistfully of thefortune of the great loosely-written missives, which cost Roderickunconscionable sums in postage. He received punctual answers of a morefrugal form, written in a clear, minute hand, on paper vexatiously thin. If Rowland was present when they came, he turned away and thought ofother things--or tried to. These were the only moments when hissympathy halted, and they were brief. For the rest he let the days go byunprotestingly, and enjoyed Roderick's serene efflorescence as he wouldhave done a beautiful summer sunrise. Rome, for the past month, had beendelicious. The annual descent of the Goths had not yet begun, and sunnyleisure seemed to brood over the city. 

Roderick had taken out a note-book and was roughly sketching a mementoof the great Juno. Suddenly there was a noise on the gravel, and theyoung men, looking up, saw three persons advancing. One was a womanof middle age, with a rather grand air and a great many furbelows. Shelooked very hard at our friends as she passed, and glanced back over hershoulder, as if to hasten the step of a young girl who slowly followedher. She had such an expansive majesty of mien that Rowland supposed shemust have some proprietary right in the villa and was not just then ina hospitable mood. Beside her walked a little elderly man, tightlybuttoned in a shabby black coat, but with a flower in his lappet, and apair of soiled light gloves. He was a grotesque-looking personage, and might have passed for a gentleman of the old school, reduced byadversity to playing cicerone to foreigners of distinction. He had alittle black eye which glittered like a diamond and rolled about like aball of quicksilver, and a white moustache, cut short and stiff, like aworn-out brush. He was smiling with extreme urbanity, and talking in alow, mellifluous voice to the lady, who evidently was not listeningto him. At a considerable distance behind this couple strolled a younggirl, apparently of about twenty. She was tall and slender, and dressedwith extreme elegance; she led by a cord a large poodle of the mostfantastic aspect. He was combed and decked like a ram for sacrifice; histrunk and haunches were of the most transparent pink, his fleecy headand shoulders as white as jeweler's cotton, and his tail and earsornamented with long blue ribbons. He stepped along stiffly and solemnlybeside his mistress, with an air of conscious elegance. There wassomething at first slightly ridiculous in the sight of a young ladygravely appended to an animal of these incongruous attributes, andRoderick, with his customary frankness, greeted the spectacle with aconfident smile. The young girl perceived it and turned her face fullupon him, with a gaze intended apparently to enforce greater deference. It was not deference, however, her face provoked, but startled, submissive admiration; Roderick's smile fell dead, and he sat eagerlystaring. A pair of extraordinary dark blue eyes, a mass of dusky hairover a low forehead, a blooming oval of perfect purity, a flexiblelip, just touched with disdain, the step and carriage of a tiredprincess--these were the general features of his vision. The young ladywas walking slowly and letting her long dress rustle over the gravel;the young men had time to see her distinctly before she averted herface and went her way. She left a vague, sweet perfume behind her as shepassed. 

"Immortal powers!" cried Roderick, "what a vision! In the name oftranscendent perfection, who is she?" He sprang up and stood lookingafter her until she rounded a turn in the avenue. "What a movement, whata manner, what a poise of the head! I wonder if she would sit to me. "

"You had better go and ask her, " said Rowland, laughing. "She iscertainly most beautiful. "

"Beautiful? She 's beauty itself--she 's a revelation. I don't believeshe is living--she 's a phantasm, a vapor, an illusion!"

"The poodle, " said Rowland, "is certainly alive. "

"Nay, he too may be a grotesque phantom, like the black dog in Faust. "

"I hope at least that the young lady has nothing in common withMephistopheles. She looked dangerous. "

"If beauty is immoral, as people think at Northampton, " said Roderick, "she is the incarnation of evil. The mamma and the queer old gentleman, moreover, are a pledge of her reality. Who are they all?"

"The Prince and Princess Ludovisi and the principessina, " suggestedRowland. 

"There are no such people, " said Roderick. "Besides, the little old manis not the papa. " Rowland smiled, wondering how he had ascertainedthese facts, and the young sculptor went on. "The old man is a Roman, ahanger-on of the mamma, a useful personage who now and then gets askedto dinner. The ladies are foreigners, from some Northern country; Iwon't say which. "

"Perhaps from the State of Maine, " said Rowland. 

"No, she 's not an American, I 'll lay a wager on that. She 's adaughter of this elder world. We shall see her again, I pray my stars;but if we don't, I shall have done something I never expected to--Ishall have had a glimpse of ideal beauty. " He sat down again and wenton with his sketch of the Juno, scrawled away for ten minutes, and thenhanded the result in silence to Rowland. Rowland uttered an exclamationof surprise and applause. The drawing represented the Juno as to theposition of the head, the brow, and the broad fillet across the hair;but the eyes, the mouth, the physiognomy were a vivid portrait ofthe young girl with the poodle. "I have been wanting a subject, " saidRoderick: "there 's one made to my hand! And now for work!"

They saw no more of the young girl, though Roderick looked hopefully, for some days, into the carriages on the Pincian. She had evidently beenbut passing through Rome; Naples or Florence now happily possessed her, and she was guiding her fleecy companion through the Villa Reale or theBoboli Gardens with the same superb defiance of irony. Roderick went towork and spent a month shut up in his studio; he had an idea, and he wasnot to rest till he had embodied it. He had established himself inthe basement of a huge, dusky, dilapidated old house, in that long, tortuous, and preeminently Roman street which leads from the Corso tothe Bridge of St. Angelo. The black archway which admitted you mighthave served as the portal of the Augean stables, but you emergedpresently upon a mouldy little court, of which the fourth side wasformed by a narrow terrace, overhanging the Tiber. Here, along theparapet, were stationed half a dozen shapeless fragments of sculpture, with a couple of meagre orange-trees in terra-cotta tubs, and anoleander that never flowered. The unclean, historic river swept beneath;behind were dusky, reeking walls, spotted here and there with hangingrags and flower-pots in windows; opposite, at a distance, were the barebrown banks of the stream, the huge rotunda of St. Angelo, tipped withits seraphic statue, the dome of St. Peter's, and the broad-topped pinesof the Villa Doria. The place was crumbling and shabby and melancholy, but the river was delightful, the rent was a trifle, and everything waspicturesque. Roderick was in the best humor with his quarters from thefirst, and was certain that the working mood there would be intenserin an hour than in twenty years of Northampton. His studio was a huge, empty room with a vaulted ceiling, covered with vague, dark traces of anold fresco, which Rowland, when he spent an hour with his friend, usedto stare at vainly for some surviving coherence of floating draperiesand clasping arms. Roderick had lodged himself economically in the samequarter. He occupied a fifth floor on the Ripetta, but he was only athome to sleep, for when he was not at work he was either lounging inRowland's more luxurious rooms or strolling through streets and churchesand gardens. 

Rowland had found a convenient corner in a stately old palace not farfrom the Fountain of Trevi, and made himself a home to which books andpictures and prints and odds and ends of curious furniture gave an airof leisurely permanence. He had the tastes of a collector; he spent halfhis afternoons ransacking the dusty magazines of the curiosity-mongers, and often made his way, in quest of a prize, into the heart ofimpecunious Roman households, which had been prevailed upon tolisten--with closed doors and an impenetrably wary smile--to proposalsfor an hereditary "antique. " In the evening, often, under the lamp, amid dropped curtains and the scattered gleam of firelight upon polishedcarvings and mellow paintings, the two friends sat with their headstogether, criticising intaglios and etchings, water-color drawings andilluminated missals. Roderick's quick appreciation of every form ofartistic beauty reminded his companion of the flexible temperament ofthose Italian artists of the sixteenth century who were indifferentlypainters and sculptors, sonneteers and engravers. At times when he sawhow the young sculptor's day passed in a single sustained pulsation, while his own was broken into a dozen conscious devices for disposing ofthe hours, and intermingled with sighs, half suppressed, some of them, for conscience' sake, over what he failed of in action and missed inpossession--he felt a pang of something akin to envy. But Rowland hadtwo substantial aids for giving patience the air of contentment: hewas an inquisitive reader and a passionate rider. He plunged into bulkyGerman octavos on Italian history, and he spent long afternoons inthe saddle, ranging over the grassy desolation of the Campagna. As theseason went on and the social groups began to constitute themselves, hefound that he knew a great many people and that he had easy opportunityfor knowing others. He enjoyed a quiet corner of a drawing-room besidean agreeable woman, and although the machinery of what calls itselfsociety seemed to him to have many superfluous wheels, he acceptedinvitations and made visits punctiliously, from the conviction thatthe only way not to be overcome by the ridiculous side of most of suchobservances is to take them with exaggerated gravity. He introducedRoderick right and left, and suffered him to make his way himself--anenterprise for which Roderick very soon displayed an all-sufficientcapacity. Wherever he went he made, not exactly what is called afavorable impression, but what, from a practical point of view, isbetter--a puzzling one. He took to evening parties as a duck to water, and before the winter was half over was the most freely and frequentlydiscussed young man in the heterogeneous foreign colony. Rowland'stheory of his own duty was to let him run his course and play hiscards, only holding himself ready to point out shoals and pitfalls, and administer a friendly propulsion through tight places. Roderick'smanners on the precincts of the Pincian were quite the same as hismanners on Cecilia's veranda: that is, they were no manners at all. Butit remained as true as before that it would have been impossible, on thewhole, to violate ceremony with less of lasting offense. He interrupted, he contradicted, he spoke to people he had never seen, and left hissocial creditors without the smallest conversational interest on theirloans; he lounged and yawned, he talked loud when he should havetalked low, and low when he should have talked loud. Many people, inconsequence, thought him insufferably conceited, and declared that heought to wait till he had something to show for his powers, before heassumed the airs of a spoiled celebrity. But to Rowland and to mostfriendly observers this judgment was quite beside the mark, and theyoung man's undiluted naturalness was its own justification. Hewas impulsive, spontaneous, sincere; there were so many people atdinner-tables and in studios who were not, that it seemed worth whileto allow this rare specimen all possible freedom of action. If Rodericktook the words out of your mouth when you were just prepared to deliverthem with the most effective accent, he did it with a perfect goodconscience and with no pretension of a better right to being heard, butsimply because he was full to overflowing of his own momentary thoughtand it sprang from his lips without asking leave. There were persons whowaited on your periods much more deferentially, who were a hundredtimes more capable than Roderick of a reflective impertinence. Roderickreceived from various sources, chiefly feminine, enough finely-adjustedadvice to have established him in life as an embodiment of theproprieties, and he received it, as he afterwards listened to criticismson his statues, with unfaltering candor and good-humor. Here and there, doubtless, as he went, he took in a reef in his sail; but he was tooadventurous a spirit to be successfully tamed, and he remained atmost points the florid, rather strident young Virginian whose sereneinflexibility had been the despair of Mr. Striker. All this was whatfriendly commentators (still chiefly feminine) alluded to when theyspoke of his delightful freshness, and critics of harsher sensibilities(of the other sex) when they denounced his damned impertinence. Hisappearance enforced these impressions--his handsome face, his radiant, unaverted eyes, his childish, unmodulated voice. Afterwards, when thosewho loved him were in tears, there was something in all this unspottedcomeliness that seemed to lend a mockery to the causes of their sorrow. 

Certainly, among the young men of genius who, for so many ages, havegone up to Rome to test their powers, none ever made a fairer beginningthan Roderick. He rode his two horses at once with extraordinary goodfortune; he established the happiest modus vivendi betwixt work andplay. He wrestled all day with a mountain of clay in his studio, andchattered half the night away in Roman drawing-rooms. It all seemed partof a kind of divine facility. He was passionately interested, he wasfeeling his powers; now that they had thoroughly kindled in the glowingaesthetic atmosphere of Rome, the ardent young fellow should be pardonedfor believing that he never was to see the end of them. He enjoyedimmeasurably, after the chronic obstruction of home, the downrightact of production. He kept models in his studio till they dropped withfatigue; he drew, on other days, at the Capitol and the Vatican, tillhis own head swam with his eagerness, and his limbs stiffened with thecold. He had promptly set up a life-sized figure which he calledan "Adam, " and was pushing it rapidly toward completion. There werenaturally a great many wiseheads who smiled at his precipitancy, andcited him as one more example of Yankee crudity, a capital recruit tothe great army of those who wish to dance before they can walk. Theywere right, but Roderick was right too, for the success of his statuewas not to have been foreseen; it partook, really, of the miraculous. Henever surpassed it afterwards, and a good judge here and there has beenknown to pronounce it the finest piece of sculpture of our modernera. To Rowland it seemed to justify superbly his highest hopes of hisfriend, and he said to himself that if he had invested his happinessin fostering a genius, he ought now to be in possession of a boundlesscomplacency. There was something especially confident and masterly inthe artist's negligence of all such small picturesque accessoriesas might serve to label his figure to a vulgar apprehension. If itrepresented the father of the human race and the primal embodiment ofhuman sensation, it did so in virtue of its look of balanced physicalperfection, and deeply, eagerly sentient vitality. Rowland, in fraternalzeal, traveled up to Carrara and selected at the quarries the mostmagnificent block of marble he could find, and when it came down toRome, the two young men had a "celebration. " They drove out to Albano, breakfasted boisterously (in their respective measure) at the inn, andlounged away the day in the sun on the top of Monte Cavo. Roderick'shead was full of ideas for other works, which he described with infinitespirit and eloquence, as vividly as if they were ranged on theirpedestals before him. He had an indefatigable fancy; things he saw inthe streets, in the country, things he heard and read, effects he sawjust missed or half-expressed in the works of others, acted upon hismind as a kind of challenge, and he was terribly restless until, in someform or other, he had taken up the glove and set his lance in rest. 

The Adam was put into marble, and all the world came to see it. Of thecriticisms passed upon it this history undertakes to offer no record;over many of them the two young men had a daily laugh for a month, andcertain of the formulas of the connoisseurs, restrictive or indulgent, furnished Roderick with a permanent supply of humorous catch-words. Butpeople enough spoke flattering good-sense to make Roderick feel as ifhe were already half famous. The statue passed formally into Rowland'spossession, and was paid for as if an illustrious name had been chiseledon the pedestal. Poor Roderick owed every franc of the money. It was notfor this, however, but because he was so gloriously in the mood, that, denying himself all breathing-time, on the same day he had given thelast touch to the Adam, he began to shape the rough contour of an Eve. This went forward with equal rapidity and success. Roderick lost histemper, time and again, with his models, who offered but a gross, degenerate image of his splendid ideal; but his ideal, as he assuredRowland, became gradually such a fixed, vivid presence, that he had onlyto shut his eyes to behold a creature far more to his purpose thanthe poor girl who stood posturing at forty sous an hour. The Eve wasfinished in a month, and the feat was extraordinary, as well as thestatue, which represented an admirably beautiful woman. When the springbegan to muffle the rugged old city with its clambering festoons, itseemed to him that he had done a handsome winter's work and had fairlyearned a holiday. He took a liberal one, and lounged away the lovelyRoman May, doing nothing. He looked very contented; with himself, perhaps, at times, a trifle too obviously. But who could have saidwithout good reason? He was "flushed with triumph;" this classicphrase portrayed him, to Rowland's sense. He would lose himself in longreveries, and emerge from them with a quickened smile and a heightenedcolor. Rowland grudged him none of his smiles, and took an extremesatisfaction in his two statues. He had the Adam and the Eve transportedto his own apartment, and one warm evening in May he gave a littledinner in honor of the artist. It was small, but Rowland had meant itshould be very agreeably composed. He thought over his friends and chosefour. They were all persons with whom he lived in a certain intimacy. 

One of them was an American sculptor of French extraction, or remotely, perhaps, of Italian, for he rejoiced in the somewhat fervid name ofGloriani. He was a man of forty, he had been living for years in Parisand in Rome, and he now drove a very pretty trade in sculpture of theornamental and fantastic sort. In his youth he had had money; but hehad spent it recklessly, much of it scandalously, and at twenty-sixhad found himself obliged to make capital of his talent. This was quiteinimitable, and fifteen years of indefatigable exercise had broughtit to perfection. Rowland admitted its power, though it gave him verylittle pleasure; what he relished in the man was the extraordinaryvivacity and frankness, not to call it the impudence, of his ideas. Hehad a definite, practical scheme of art, and he knew at least what hemeant. In this sense he was solid and complete. There were so many ofthe aesthetic fraternity who were floundering in unknown seas, withouta notion of which way their noses were turned, that Gloriani, consciousand compact, unlimitedly intelligent and consummately clever, dogmaticonly as to his own duties, and at once gracefully deferential andprofoundly indifferent to those of others, had for Rowland a certainintellectual refreshment quite independent of the character of hisworks. These were considered by most people to belong to a very corrupt, and by many to a positively indecent school. Others thought themtremendously knowing, and paid enormous prices for them; and indeed, tobe able to point to one of Gloriani's figures in a shady corner of yourlibrary was tolerable proof that you were not a fool. Corrupt thingsthey certainly were; in the line of sculpture they were quite the latestfruit of time. It was the artist's opinion that there is no essentialdifference between beauty and ugliness; that they overlap andintermingle in a quite inextricable manner; that there is no sayingwhere one begins and the other ends; that hideousness grimaces at yousuddenly from out of the very bosom of loveliness, and beauty bloomsbefore your eyes in the lap of vileness; that it is a waste of wit tonurse metaphysical distinctions, and a sadly meagre entertainment tocaress imaginary lines; that the thing to aim at is the expressive, andthe way to reach it is by ingenuity; that for this purpose everythingmay serve, and that a consummate work is a sort of hotch-potch of thepure and the impure, the graceful and the grotesque. Its prime duty isto amuse, to puzzle, to fascinate, to savor of a complex imagination. Gloriani's statues were florid and meretricious; they looked likemagnified goldsmith's work. They were extremely elegant, but they had nocharm for Rowland. He never bought one, but Gloriani was such anhonest fellow, and withal was so deluged with orders, that this madeno difference in their friendship. The artist might have passed for aFrenchman. He was a great talker, and a very picturesque one; he wasalmost bald; he had a small, bright eye, a broken nose, and a moustachewith waxed ends. When sometimes he received you at his lodging, heintroduced you to a lady with a plain face whom he called MadameGloriani--which she was not. 

Rowland's second guest was also an artist, but of a very different type. His friends called him Sam Singleton; he was an American, and he hadbeen in Rome a couple of years. He painted small landscapes, chiefly inwater-colors: Rowland had seen one of them in a shop window, had likedit extremely, and, ascertaining his address, had gone to see him andfound him established in a very humble studio near the Piazza Barberini, where, apparently, fame and fortune had not yet found him out. Rowlandtook a fancy to him and bought several of his pictures; Singleton madefew speeches, but was grateful. Rowland heard afterwards that when hefirst came to Rome he painted worthless daubs and gave no promiseof talent. Improvement had come, however, hand in hand with patientindustry, and his talent, though of a slender and delicate order, wasnow incontestable. It was as yet but scantily recognized, and he hadhard work to live. Rowland hung his little water-colors on the parlorwall, and found that, as he lived with them, he grew very fond ofthem. Singleton was a diminutive, dwarfish personage; he looked likea precocious child. He had a high, protuberant forehead, a transparentbrown eye, a perpetual smile, an extraordinary expression of modesty andpatience. He listened much more willingly than he talked, with a littlefixed, grateful grin; he blushed when he spoke, and always offered hisideas in a sidelong fashion, as if the presumption were against them. His modesty set them off, and they were eminently to the point. He wasso perfect an example of the little noiseless, laborious artist whomchance, in the person of a moneyed patron, has never taken by the hand, that Rowland would have liked to befriend him by stealth. Singleton hadexpressed a fervent admiration for Roderick's productions, but hadnot yet met the young master. Roderick was lounging against thechimney-piece when he came in, and Rowland presently introduced him. Thelittle water-colorist stood with folded hands, blushing, smiling, andlooking up at him as if Roderick were himself a statue on a pedestal. Singleton began to murmur something about his pleasure, his admiration;the desire to make his compliment smoothly gave him a kind of grotesqueformalism. Roderick looked down at him surprised, and suddenly burstinto a laugh. Singleton paused a moment and then, with an intensersmile, went on: "Well, sir, your statues are beautiful, all the same!"

Rowland's two other guests were ladies, and one of them, Miss Blanchard, belonged also to the artistic fraternity. She was an American, shewas young, she was pretty, and she had made her way to Rome alone andunaided. She lived alone, or with no other duenna than a bushy-browedold serving-woman, though indeed she had a friendly neighbor in theperson of a certain Madame Grandoni, who in various social emergencieslent her a protecting wing, and had come with her to Rowland's dinner. Miss Blanchard had a little money, but she was not above selling herpictures. These represented generally a bunch of dew-sprinkled roses, with the dew-drops very highly finished, or else a wayside shrine, anda peasant woman, with her back turned, kneeling before it. She did backsvery well, but she was a little weak in faces. Flowers, however, wereher speciality, and though her touch was a little old-fashioned andfinical, she painted them with remarkable skill. Her pictures werechiefly bought by the English. Rowland had made her acquaintance earlyin the winter, and as she kept a saddle horse and rode a great deal, he had asked permission to be her cavalier. In this way they had becomealmost intimate. Miss Blanchard's name was Augusta; she was slender, pale, and elegant looking; she had a very pretty head and brilliantauburn hair, which she braided with classical simplicity. She talked ina sweet, soft voice, used language at times a trifle superfine, and madeliterary allusions. These had often a patriotic strain, and Rowland hadmore than once been irritated by her quotations from Mrs. Sigourney inthe cork-woods of Monte Mario, and from Mr. Willis among the ruins ofVeii. Rowland was of a dozen different minds about her, and was halfsurprised, at times, to find himself treating it as a matter of seriousmoment whether he liked her or not. He admired her, and indeed therewas something admirable in her combination of beauty and talent, ofisolation and tranquil self-support. He used sometimes to go into thelittle, high-niched, ordinary room which served her as a studio, andfind her working at a panel six inches square, at an open casement, profiled against the deep blue Roman sky. She received him with ameek-eyed dignity that made her seem like a painted saint on a churchwindow, receiving the daylight in all her being. The breath of reproachpassed her by with folded wings. And yet Rowland wondered why he did notlike her better. If he failed, the reason was not far to seek. There wasanother woman whom he liked better, an image in his heart which refusedto yield precedence. 

On that evening to which allusion has been made, when Rowland was leftalone between the starlight and the waves with the sudden knowledgethat Mary Garland was to become another man's wife, he had made, after awhile, the simple resolution to forget her. And every day since, like afamous philosopher who wished to abbreviate his mourning for a faithfulservant, he had said to himself in substance--"Remember to forget MaryGarland. " Sometimes it seemed as if he were succeeding; then, suddenly, when he was least expecting it, he would find her name, inaudibly, onhis lips, and seem to see her eyes meeting his eyes. All this made himuncomfortable, and seemed to portend a possible discord. Discord was notto his taste; he shrank from imperious passions, and the idea of findinghimself jealous of an unsuspecting friend was absolutely repulsive. Morethan ever, then, the path of duty was to forget Mary Garland, and hecultivated oblivion, as we may say, in the person of Miss Blanchard. Herfine temper, he said to himself, was a trifle cold and conscious, herpurity prudish, perhaps, her culture pedantic. But since he was obligedto give up hopes of Mary Garland, Providence owed him a compensation, and he had fits of angry sadness in which it seemed to him that toattest his right to sentimental satisfaction he would be capable offalling in love with a woman he absolutely detested, if she were thebest that came in his way. And what was the use, after all, of botheringabout a possible which was only, perhaps, a dream? Even if Mary Garlandhad been free, what right had he to assume that he would have pleasedher? The actual was good enough. Miss Blanchard had beautiful hair, andif she was a trifle old-maidish, there is nothing like matrimony forcuring old-maidishness. 

Madame Grandoni, who had formed with the companion of Rowland's ridesan alliance which might have been called defensive on the part of theformer and attractive on that of Miss Blanchard, was an excessively uglyold lady, highly esteemed in Roman society for her homely benevolenceand her shrewd and humorous good sense. She had been the widow of aGerman archaeologist, who had come to Rome in the early ages as anattache of the Prussian legation on the Capitoline. Her good sense hadbeen wanting on but a single occasion, that of her second marriage. Thisoccasion was certainly a momentous one, but these, by common consent, are not test cases. A couple of years after her first husband's death, she had accepted the hand and the name of a Neapolitan music-master, tenyears younger than herself, and with no fortune but his fiddle-bow. Themarriage was most unhappy, and the Maestro Grandoni was suspected ofusing the fiddle-bow as an instrument of conjugal correction. He hadfinally run off with a prima donna assoluta, who, it was to be hoped, had given him a taste of the quality implied in her title. He wasbelieved to be living still, but he had shrunk to a small black spotin Madame Grandoni's life, and for ten years she had not mentionedhis name. She wore a light flaxen wig, which was never very artfullyadjusted, but this mattered little, as she made no secret of it. Sheused to say, "I was not always so ugly as this; as a young girl I hadbeautiful golden hair, very much the color of my wig. " She had wornfrom time immemorial an old blue satin dress, and a white crape shawlembroidered in colors; her appearance was ridiculous, but she had aninterminable Teutonic pedigree, and her manners, in every presence, wereeasy and jovial, as became a lady whose ancestor had been cup-bearerto Frederick Barbarossa. Thirty years' observation of Roman society hadsharpened her wits and given her an inexhaustible store of anecdotes, but she had beneath her crumpled bodice a deep-welling fund of Teutonicsentiment, which she communicated only to the objects of her particularfavor. Rowland had a great regard for her, and she repaid it by wishinghim to get married. She never saw him without whispering to him thatAugusta Blanchard was just the girl. 

It seemed to Rowland a sort of foreshadowing of matrimony to see MissBlanchard standing gracefully on his hearth-rug and blooming behindthe central bouquet at his circular dinner-table. The dinner was veryprosperous and Roderick amply filled his position as hero of the feast. He had always an air of buoyant enjoyment in his work, but on thisoccasion he manifested a good deal of harmless pleasure in his glory. He drank freely and talked bravely; he leaned back in his chair withhis hands in his pockets, and flung open the gates of his eloquence. Singleton sat gazing and listening open-mouthed, as if Apollo in personwere talking. Gloriani showed a twinkle in his eye and an evidentdisposition to draw Roderick out. Rowland was rather regretful, forhe knew that theory was not his friend's strong point, and that it wasnever fair to take his measure from his talk. 

"As you have begun with Adam and Eve, " said Gloriani, "I suppose you aregoing straight through the Bible. " He was one of the persons who thoughtRoderick delightfully fresh. 

"I may make a David, " said Roderick, "but I shall not try any more ofthe Old Testament people. I don't like the Jews; I don't like pendulousnoses. David, the boy David, is rather an exception; you can think ofhim and treat him as a young Greek. Standing forth there on the plainof battle between the contending armies, rushing forward to let fly hisstone, he looks like a beautiful runner at the Olympic games. After thatI shall skip to the New Testament. I mean to make a Christ. "

"You 'll put nothing of the Olympic games into him, I hope, " saidGloriani. 

"Oh, I shall make him very different from the Christ of tradition;more--more"--and Roderick paused a moment to think. This was the firstthat Rowland had heard of his Christ. 

"More rationalistic, I suppose, " suggested Miss Blanchard. 

"More idealistic!" cried Roderick. "The perfection of form, you know, tosymbolize the perfection of spirit. "

"For a companion piece, " said Miss Blanchard, "you ought to make aJudas. "

"Never! I mean never to make anything ugly. The Greeks never madeanything ugly, and I 'm a Hellenist; I 'm not a Hebraist! I have beenthinking lately of making a Cain, but I should never dream of makinghim ugly. He should be a very handsome fellow, and he should lift up themurderous club with the beautiful movement of the fighters in the Greekfriezes who are chopping at their enemies. "

"There 's no use trying to be a Greek, " said Gloriani. "If Phidias wereto come back, he would recommend you to give it up. I am half Italianand half French, and, as a whole, a Yankee. What sort of a Greek shouldI make? I think the Judas is a capital idea for a statue. Much obligedto you, madame, for the suggestion. What an insidious little scoundrelone might make of him, sitting there nursing his money-bag and histreachery! There can be a great deal of expression in a pendulous nose, my dear sir, especially when it is cast in green bronze. "

"Very likely, " said Roderick. "But it is not the sort of expression Icare for. I care only for perfect beauty. There it is, if you want toknow it! That 's as good a profession of faith as another. In future, sofar as my things are not positively beautiful, you may set them down asfailures. For me, it 's either that or nothing. It 's against the tasteof the day, I know; we have really lost the faculty to understand beautyin the large, ideal way. We stand like a race with shrunken muscles, staring helplessly at the weights our forefathers easily lifted. But Idon't hesitate to proclaim it--I mean to lift them again! I mean to goin for big things; that 's my notion of my art. I mean to do thingsthat will be simple and vast and infinite. You 'll see if they won't beinfinite! Excuse me if I brag a little; all those Italian fellows in theRenaissance used to brag. There was a sensation once common, I am sure, in the human breast--a kind of religious awe in the presence of a marbleimage newly created and expressing the human type in superhuman purity. When Phidias and Praxiteles had their statues of goddesses unveiled inthe temples of the AEgean, don't you suppose there was a passionatebeating of hearts, a thrill of mysterious terror? I mean to bring itback; I mean to thrill the world again! I mean to produce a Juno thatwill make you tremble, a Venus that will make you swoon!"

"So that when we come and see you, " said Madame Grandoni, "we must besure and bring our smelling-bottles. And pray have a few soft sofasconveniently placed. "

"Phidias and Praxiteles, " Miss Blanchard remarked, "had the advantageof believing in their goddesses. I insist on believing, for myself, thatthe pagan mythology is not a fiction, and that Venus and Juno and Apolloand Mercury used to come down in a cloud into this very city of Romewhere we sit talking nineteenth century English. "

"Nineteenth century nonsense, my dear!" cried Madame Grandoni. "Mr. Hudson may be a new Phidias, but Venus and Juno--that 's you andI--arrived to-day in a very dirty cab; and were cheated by the driver, too. "

"But, my dear fellow, " objected Gloriani, "you don't mean to say youare going to make over in cold blood those poor old exploded Apollos andHebes. "

"It won't matter what you call them, " said Roderick. "They shall besimply divine forms. They shall be Beauty; they shall be Wisdom; theyshall be Power; they shall be Genius; they shall be Daring. That 's allthe Greek divinities were. "

"That 's rather abstract, you know, " said Miss Blanchard. 

"My dear fellow, " cried Gloriani, "you 're delightfully young. "

"I hope you 'll not grow any older, " said Singleton, with a flush ofsympathy across his large white forehead. "You can do it if you try. "

"Then there are all the Forces and Mysteries and Elements of Nature, "Roderick went on. "I mean to do the Morning; I mean to do the Night! Imean to do the Ocean and the Mountains; the Moon and the West Wind. Imean to make a magnificent statue of America!"

"America--the Mountains--the Moon!" said Gloriani. "You 'll find itrather hard, I 'm afraid, to compress such subjects into classic forms. "

"Oh, there 's a way, " cried Roderick, "and I shall think it out. Myfigures shall make no contortions, but they shall mean a tremendousdeal. "

"I 'm sure there are contortions enough in Michael Angelo, " said MadameGrandoni. "Perhaps you don't approve of him. "

"Oh, Michael Angelo was not me!" said Roderick, with sublimity. Therewas a great laugh; but after all, Roderick had done some fine things. 

Rowland had bidden one of the servants bring him a small portfolio ofprints, and had taken out a photograph of Roderick's little statue ofthe youth drinking. It pleased him to see his friend sitting therein radiant ardor, defending idealism against so knowing an apostle ofcorruption as Gloriani, and he wished to help the elder artist to beconfuted. He silently handed him the photograph. 

"Bless me!" cried Gloriani, "did he do this?"

"Ages ago, " said Roderick. 

Gloriani looked at the photograph a long time, with evident admiration. 

"It 's deucedly pretty, " he said at last. "But, my dear young friend, you can't keep this up. "

"I shall do better, " said Roderick. 

"You will do worse! You will become weak. You will have to take toviolence, to contortions, to romanticism, in self-defense. This sortof thing is like a man trying to lift himself up by the seat of histrousers. He may stand on tiptoe, but he can't do more. Here you standon tiptoe, very gracefully, I admit; but you can't fly; there 's no usetrying. "

"My 'America' shall answer you!" said Roderick, shaking toward him atall glass of champagne and drinking it down. 

Singleton had taken the photograph and was poring over it with a littlemurmur of delight. 

"Was this done in America?" he asked. 

"In a square white wooden house at Northampton, Massachusetts, " Roderickanswered. 

"Dear old white wooden houses!" said Miss Blanchard. 

"If you could do as well as this there, " said Singleton, blushing andsmiling, "one might say that really you had only to lose by coming toRome. "

"Mallet is to blame for that, " said Roderick. "But I am willing to riskthe loss. "

The photograph had been passed to Madame Grandoni. "It reminds me, " shesaid, "of the things a young man used to do whom I knew years ago, whenI first came to Rome. He was a German, a pupil of Overbeck and a votaryof spiritual art. He used to wear a black velvet tunic and a very lowshirt collar; he had a neck like a sickly crane, and let his hair growdown to his shoulders. His name was Herr Schafgans. He never paintedanything so profane as a man taking a drink, but his figures were allof the simple and slender and angular pattern, and nothing if notinnocent--like this one of yours. He would not have agreed with Glorianiany more than you. He used to come and see me very often, and in thosedays I thought his tunic and his long neck infallible symptoms ofgenius. His talk was all of gilded aureoles and beatific visions; helived on weak wine and biscuits, and wore a lock of Saint Somebody'shair in a little bag round his neck. If he was not a Beato Angelico, itwas not his own fault. I hope with all my heart that Mr. Hudson will dothe fine things he talks about, but he must bear in mind the history ofdear Mr. Schafgans as a warning against high-flown pretensions. One fineday this poor young man fell in love with a Roman model, though shehad never sat to him, I believe, for she was a buxom, bold-faced, high-colored creature, and he painted none but pale, sickly women. Heoffered to marry her, and she looked at him from head to foot, gave ashrug, and consented. But he was ashamed to set up his menage in Rome. They went to Naples, and there, a couple of years afterwards, I saw him. The poor fellow was ruined. His wife used to beat him, and he had takento drinking. He wore a ragged black coat, and he had a blotchy, redface. Madame had turned washerwoman and used to make him go and fetchthe dirty linen. His talent had gone heaven knows where! He was gettinghis living by painting views of Vesuvius in eruption on the little boxesthey sell at Sorrento. "

"Moral: don't fall in love with a buxom Roman model, " said Roderick. "I'm much obliged to you for your story, but I don't mean to fall in lovewith any one. "

Gloriani had possessed himself of the photograph again, and was lookingat it curiously. "It 's a happy bit of youth, " he said. "But you can'tkeep it up--you can't keep it up!"

The two sculptors pursued their discussion after dinner, in thedrawing-room. Rowland left them to have it out in a corner, whereRoderick's Eve stood over them in the shaded lamplight, in vague whitebeauty, like the guardian angel of the young idealist. Singleton waslistening to Madame Grandoni, and Rowland took his place on the sofa, near Miss Blanchard. They had a good deal of familiar, desultory talk. Every now and then Madame Grandoni looked round at them. Miss Blanchardat last asked Rowland certain questions about Roderick: who he was, where he came from, whether it was true, as she had heard, that Rowlandhad discovered him and brought him out at his own expense. Rowlandanswered her questions; to the last he gave a vague affirmative. Finally, after a pause, looking at him, "You 're very generous, " MissBlanchard said. The declaration was made with a certain richness oftone, but it brought to Rowland's sense neither delight nor confusion. He had heard the words before; he suddenly remembered the gravesincerity with which Miss Garland had uttered them as he strolled withher in the woods the day of Roderick's picnic. They had pleased himthen; now he asked Miss Blanchard whether she would have some tea. 

When the two ladies withdrew, he attended them to their carriage. Comingback to the drawing-room, he paused outside the open door; he wasstruck by the group formed by the three men. They were standing beforeRoderick's statue of Eve, and the young sculptor had lifted up the lampand was showing different parts of it to his companions. He was talkingardently, and the lamplight covered his head and face. Rowland stoodlooking on, for the group struck him with its picturesque symbolism. Roderick, bearing the lamp and glowing in its radiant circle, seemedthe beautiful image of a genius which combined sincerity with power. Gloriani, with his head on one side, pulling his long moustache andlooking keenly from half-closed eyes at the lighted marble, representedart with a worldly motive, skill unleavened by faith, the mere basemaximum of cleverness. Poor little Singleton, on the other side, withhis hands behind him, his head thrown back, and his eyes followingdevoutly the course of Roderick's elucidation, might pass for anembodiment of aspiring candor, with feeble wings to rise on. In allthis, Roderick's was certainly the beau role. 

Gloriani turned to Rowland as he came up, and pointed back with histhumb to the statue, with a smile half sardonic, half good-natured. "Apretty thing--a devilish pretty thing, " he said. "It 's as fresh as thefoam in the milk-pail. He can do it once, he can do it twice, he can doit at a stretch half a dozen times. But--but--"

He was returning to his former refrain, but Rowland intercepted him. "Oh, he will keep it up, " he said, smiling, "I will answer for him. "

Gloriani was not encouraging, but Roderick had listened smiling. Hewas floating unperturbed on the tide of his deep self-confidence. Now, suddenly, however, he turned with a flash of irritation in his eye, anddemanded in a ringing voice, "In a word, then, you prophesy that I am tofail?"

Gloriani answered imperturbably, patting him kindly on the shoulder. "Mydear fellow, passion burns out, inspiration runs to seed. Some fine dayevery artist finds himself sitting face to face with his lump of clay, with his empty canvas, with his sheet of blank paper, waiting in vainfor the revelation to be made, for the Muse to descend. He must learnto do without the Muse! When the fickle jade forgets the way to yourstudio, don't waste any time in tearing your hair and meditating onsuicide. Come round and see me, and I will show you how to consoleyourself. "

"If I break down, " said Roderick, passionately, "I shall stay down. If the Muse deserts me, she shall at least have her infidelity on herconscience. "

"You have no business, " Rowland said to Gloriani, "to talk lightly ofthe Muse in this company. Mr. Singleton, too, has received pledges fromher which place her constancy beyond suspicion. " And he pointed out onthe wall, near by, two small landscapes by the modest water-colorist. 

The sculptor examined them with deference, and Singleton himself beganto laugh nervously; he was trembling with hope that the greatGloriani would be pleased. "Yes, these are fresh too, " Gloriani said;"extraordinarily fresh! How old are you?"

"Twenty-six, sir, " said Singleton. 

"For twenty-six they are famously fresh. They must have taken you a longtime; you work slowly. "

"Yes, unfortunately, I work very slowly. One of them took me six weeks, the other two months. "

"Upon my word! The Muse pays you long visits. " And Gloriani turnedand looked, from head to foot, at so unlikely an object of her favors. Singleton smiled and began to wipe his forehead very hard. "Oh, you!"said the sculptor; "you 'll keep it up!"

A week after his dinner-party, Rowland went into Roderick's studio andfound him sitting before an unfinished piece of work, with a hanginghead and a heavy eye. He could have fancied that the fatal hour foretoldby Gloriani had struck. Roderick rose with a sombre yawn and flung downhis tools. "It 's no use, " he said, "I give it up!"

"What is it?"

"I have struck a shallow! I have been sailing bravely, but for the lastday or two my keel has been crunching the bottom. "

"A difficult place?" Rowland asked, with a sympathetic inflection, looking vaguely at the roughly modeled figure. 

"Oh, it 's not the poor clay!" Roderick answered. "The difficult placeis here!" And he struck a blow on his heart. "I don't know what 's thematter with me. Nothing comes; all of a sudden I hate things. My oldthings look ugly; everything looks stupid. "

Rowland was perplexed. He was in the situation of a man who has beenriding a blood horse at an even, elastic gallop, and of a sudden feelshim stumble and balk. As yet, he reflected, he had seen nothing but thesunshine of genius; he had forgotten that it has its storms. Of courseit had! And he felt a flood of comradeship rise in his heart which wouldfloat them both safely through the worst weather. "Why, you 're tired!"he said. "Of course you 're tired. You have a right to be!"

"Do you think I have a right to be?" Roderick asked, looking at him. 

"Unquestionably, after all you have done. "

"Well, then, right or wrong, I am tired. I certainly have done a fairwinter's work. I want a change. "

Rowland declared that it was certainly high time they should be leavingRome. They would go north and travel. They would go to Switzerland, toGermany, to Holland, to England. Roderick assented, his eye brightened, and Rowland talked of a dozen things they might do. Roderick walked upand down; he seemed to have something to say which he hesitated to bringout. He hesitated so rarely that Rowland wondered, and at last asked himwhat was on his mind. Roderick stopped before him, frowning a little. 

"I have such unbounded faith in your good-will, " he said, "that Ibelieve nothing I can say would offend you. "

"Try it, " said Rowland. 

"Well, then, I think my journey will do me more good if I take it alone. I need n't say I prefer your society to that of any man living. For thelast six months it has been everything to me. But I have a perpetualfeeling that you are expecting something of me, that you are measuringmy doings by a terrifically high standard. You are watching me; I don'twant to be watched. I want to go my own way; to work when I choose andto loaf when I choose. It is not that I don't know what I owe you; itis not that we are not friends. It is simply that I want a taste ofabsolutely unrestricted freedom. Therefore, I say, let us separate. "

Rowland shook him by the hand. "Willingly. Do as you desire, I shallmiss you, and I venture to believe you 'll pass some lonely hours. But Ihave only one request to make: that if you get into trouble of any kindwhatever, you will immediately let me know. "

They began their journey, however, together, and crossed the Alpsside by side, muffled in one rug, on the top of the St. Gothard coach. Rowland was going to England to pay some promised visits; his companionhad no plan save to ramble through Switzerland and Germany as fancyguided him. He had money, now, that would outlast the summer; whenit was spent he would come back to Rome and make another statue. Ata little mountain village by the way, Roderick declared that he wouldstop; he would scramble about a little in the high places and doze inthe shade of the pine forests. The coach was changing horses; the twoyoung men walked along the village street, picking their way betweendunghills, breathing the light, cool air, and listening to the plash ofthe fountain and the tinkle of cattle-bells. The coach overtook them, and then Rowland, as he prepared to mount, felt an almost overmasteringreluctance. 

"Say the word, " he exclaimed, "and I will stop too. "

Roderick frowned. "Ah, you don't trust me; you don't think I 'm ableto take care of myself. That proves that I was right in feeling as if Iwere watched!"

"Watched, my dear fellow!" said Rowland. "I hope you may never haveanything worse to complain of than being watched in the spirit in whichI watch you. But I will spare you even that. Good-by!" Standing in hisplace, as the coach rolled away, he looked back at his friend lingeringby the roadside. A great snow-mountain, behind Roderick, was beginningto turn pink in the sunset. The young man waved his hat, still lookinggrave. Rowland settled himself in his place, reflecting after all thatthis was a salubrious beginning of independence. He was among forestsand glaciers, leaning on the pure bosom of nature. And then--andthen--was it not in itself a guarantee against folly to be engaged toMary Garland?

CHAPTER IV. Experience

Rowland passed the summer in England, staying with several old friendsand two or three new ones. On his arrival, he felt it on his conscienceto write to Mrs. Hudson and inform her that her son had relieved him ofhis tutelage. He felt that she considered him an incorruptible Mentor, following Roderick like a shadow, and he wished to let her know thetruth. But he made the truth very comfortable, and gave a succinctstatement of the young man's brilliant beginnings. He owed it tohimself, he said, to remind her that he had not judged lightly, and thatRoderick's present achievements were more profitable than his ingloriousdrudgery at Messrs. Striker & Spooner's. He was now taking a well-earnedholiday and proposing to see a little of the world. He would work nonethe worse for this; every artist needed to knock about and look atthings for himself. They had parted company for a couple of months, forRoderick was now a great man and beyond the need of going about with akeeper. But they were to meet again in Rome in the autumn, and then heshould be able to send her more good news. Meanwhile, he was very happyin what Roderick had already done--especially happy in the happiness itmust have brought to her. He ventured to ask to be kindly commended toMiss Garland. 

His letter was promptly answered--to his surprise in Miss Garland's ownhand. The same mail brought also an epistle from Cecilia. The latter wasvoluminous, and we must content ourselves with giving an extract. 

"Your letter was filled with an echo of that brilliant Roman world, which made me almost ill with envy. For a week after I got it I thoughtNorthampton really unpardonably tame. But I am drifting back again to myold deeps of resignation, and I rush to the window, when any one passes, with all my old gratitude for small favors. So Roderick Hudson isalready a great man, and you turn out to be a great prophet? Mycompliments to both of you; I never heard of anything working sosmoothly. And he takes it all very quietly, and does n't lose hisbalance nor let it turn his head? You judged him, then, in a day betterthan I had done in six months, for I really did not expect that he wouldsettle down into such a jog-trot of prosperity. I believed he would dofine things, but I was sure he would intersperse them with a good manyfollies, and that his beautiful statues would spring up out of the midstof a straggling plantation of wild oats. But from what you tell me, Mr. Striker may now go hang himself. . . . . There is one thing, however, to sayas a friend, in the way of warning. That candid soul can keep a secret, and he may have private designs on your equanimity which you don't beginto suspect. What do you think of his being engaged to Miss Garland? Thetwo ladies had given no hint of it all winter, but a fortnight ago, whenthose big photographs of his statues arrived, they first pinned them upon the wall, and then trotted out into the town, made a dozen calls, andannounced the news. Mrs. Hudson did, at least; Miss Garland, I suppose, sat at home writing letters. To me, I confess, the thing was a perfectsurprise. I had not a suspicion that all the while he was coming soregularly to make himself agreeable on my veranda, he was quietlypreferring his cousin to any one else. Not, indeed, that he was ever atparticular pains to make himself agreeable! I suppose he has picked upa few graces in Rome. But he must not acquire too many: if he is toopolite when he comes back, Miss Garland will count him as one of thelost. She will be a very good wife for a man of genius, and such a oneas they are often shrewd enough to take. She 'll darn his stockings andkeep his accounts, and sit at home and trim the lamp and keep upthe fire while he studies the Beautiful in pretty neighbors atdinner-parties. The two ladies are evidently very happy, and, to do themjustice, very humbly grateful to you. Mrs. Hudson never speaks of youwithout tears in her eyes, and I am sure she considers you a speciallypatented agent of Providence. Verily, it 's a good thing for a woman tobe in love: Miss Garland has grown almost pretty. I met her the othernight at a tea-party; she had a white rose in her hair, and sang asentimental ballad in a fine contralto voice. "

Miss Garland's letter was so much shorter that we may give it entire:--

My dear Sir, --Mrs. Hudson, as I suppose you know, has been for some timeunable to use her eyes. She requests me, therefore, to answer your favorof the 22d of June. She thanks you extremely for writing, and wishes meto say that she considers herself in every way under great obligationsto you. Your account of her son's progress and the high estimation inwhich he is held has made her very happy, and she earnestly prays thatall may continue well with him. He sent us, a short time ago, severallarge photographs of his two statues, taken from different points ofview. We know little about such things, but they seem to us wonderfullybeautiful. We sent them to Boston to be handsomely framed, and the man, on returning them, wrote us that he had exhibited them for a week inhis store, and that they had attracted great attention. The frames aremagnificent, and the pictures now hang in a row on the parlor wall. Our only quarrel with them is that they make the old papering and theengravings look dreadfully shabby. Mr. Striker stood and looked at themthe other day full five minutes, and said, at last, that if Roderick'shead was running on such things it was no wonder he could not learn todraw up a deed. We lead here so quiet and monotonous a life that Iam afraid I can tell you nothing that will interest you. Mrs. Hudsonrequests me to say that the little more or less that may happen to us isof small account, as we live in our thoughts and our thoughts are fixedon her dear son. She thanks Heaven he has so good a friend. Mrs. Hudsonsays that this is too short a letter, but I can say nothing more. 

Yours most respectfully, Mary Garland. 

It is a question whether the reader will know why, but this lettergave Rowland extraordinary pleasure. He liked its very brevity andmeagreness, and there seemed to him an exquisite modesty in its sayingnothing from the young girl herself. He delighted in the formal addressand conclusion; they pleased him as he had been pleased by an angulargesture in some expressive girlish figure in an early painting. Theletter renewed that impression of strong feeling combined with an almostrigid simplicity, which Roderick's betrothed had personally givenhim. And its homely stiffness seemed a vivid reflection of a lifeconcentrated, as the young girl had borrowed warrant from her companionto say, in a single devoted idea. The monotonous days of the two womenseemed to Rowland's fancy to follow each other like the tick-tick of agreat time-piece, marking off the hours which separated them from thesupreme felicity of clasping the far-away son and lover to lips sealedwith the excess of joy. He hoped that Roderick, now that he had shakenoff the oppression of his own importunate faith, was not losing atolerant temper for the silent prayers of the two women at Northampton. 

He was left to vain conjectures, however, as to Roderick's actual moodsand occupations. He knew he was no letter-writer, and that, in the youngsculptor's own phrase, he had at any time rather build a monument thanwrite a note. But when a month had passed without news of him, he beganto be half anxious and half angry, and wrote him three lines, in thecare of a Continental banker, begging him at least to give some sign ofwhether he was alive or dead. A week afterwards came an answer--brief, and dated Baden-Baden. "I know I have been a great brute, " Roderickwrote, "not to have sent you a word before; but really I don't know whathas got into me. I have lately learned terribly well how to be idle. Iam afraid to think how long it is since I wrote to my mother or to Mary. Heaven help them--poor, patient, trustful creatures! I don't know how totell you what I am doing. It seems all amusing enough while I do it, butit would make a poor show in a narrative intended for your formidableeyes. I found Baxter in Switzerland, or rather he found me, and hegrabbed me by the arm and brought me here. I was walking twenty miles aday in the Alps, drinking milk in lonely chalets, sleeping as you sleep, and thinking it was all very good fun; but Baxter told me it would neverdo, that the Alps were 'd----d rot, ' that Baden-Baden was the place, andthat if I knew what was good for me I would come along with him. It is awonderful place, certainly, though, thank the Lord, Baxter departed lastweek, blaspheming horribly at trente et quarante. But you know all aboutit and what one does--what one is liable to do. I have succumbed, in ameasure, to the liabilities, and I wish I had some one here to give me athundering good blowing up. Not you, dear friend; you would draw it toomild; you have too much of the milk of human kindness. I have fits ofhorrible homesickness for my studio, and I shall be devoutly gratefulwhen the summer is over and I can go back and swing a chisel. I feel asif nothing but the chisel would satisfy me; as if I could rush in a rageat a block of unshaped marble. There are a lot of the Roman people here, English and American; I live in the midst of them and talk nonsense frommorning till night. There is also some one else; and to her I don't talksense, nor, thank heaven, mean what I say. I confess, I need a month'swork to recover my self-respect. "

These lines brought Rowland no small perturbation; the more, that whatthey seemed to point to surprised him. During the nine months of theircompanionship Roderick had shown so little taste for dissipation thatRowland had come to think of it as a canceled danger, and it greatlyperplexed him to learn that his friend had apparently proved so pliantto opportunity. But Roderick's allusions were ambiguous, and it waspossible they might simply mean that he was out of patience with afrivolous way of life and fretting wholesomely over his absent work. It was a very good thing, certainly, that idleness should prove, onexperiment, to sit heavily on his conscience. Nevertheless, the letterneeded, to Rowland's mind, a key: the key arrived a week later. "Incommon charity, " Roderick wrote, "lend me a hundred pounds! I havegambled away my last franc--I have made a mountain of debts. Send me themoney first; lecture me afterwards!" Rowland sent the money by return ofmail; then he proceeded, not to lecture, but to think. He hung his head;he was acutely disappointed. He had no right to be, he assured himself;but so it was. Roderick was young, impulsive, unpracticed in stoicism;it was a hundred to one that he was to pay the usual vulgar tributeto folly. But his friend had regarded it as securely gained to his ownbelief in virtue that he was not as other foolish youths are, and thathe would have been capable of looking at folly in the face and passingon his way. Rowland for a while felt a sore sense of wrath. What righthad a man who was engaged to that fine girl in Northampton to behaveas if his consciousness were a common blank, to be overlaid with coarsesensations? Yes, distinctly, he was disappointed. He had accompanied hismissive with an urgent recommendation to leave Baden-Baden immediately, and an offer to meet Roderick at any point he would name. The answercame promptly; it ran as follows: "Send me another fifty pounds! I havebeen back to the tables. I will leave as soon as the money comes, andmeet you at Geneva. There I will tell you everything. "

There is an ancient terrace at Geneva, planted with trees and studdedwith benches, overlooked by gravely aristocratic old dwellings andoverlooking the distant Alps. A great many generations have made it alounging-place, a great many friends and lovers strolled there, a greatmany confidential talks and momentous interviews gone forward. Here, onemorning, sitting on one of the battered green benches, Roderick, as hehad promised, told his friend everything. He had arrived late thenight before; he looked tired, and yet flushed and excited. He made noprofessions of penitence, but he practiced an unmitigated frankness, and his self-reprobation might be taken for granted. He implied in everyphrase that he had done with it all, and that he was counting the hourstill he could get back to work. We shall not rehearse his confession indetail; its main outline will be sufficient. He had fallen in with somevery idle people, and had discovered that a little example and a littlepractice were capable of producing on his own part a considerable relishfor their diversions. What could he do? He never read, and he had nostudio; in one way or another he had to pass the time. He passed it indangling about several very pretty women in wonderful Paris toilets, and reflected that it was always something gained for a sculptor to situnder a tree, looking at his leisure into a charming face and sayingthings that made it smile and play its muscles and part its lips andshow its teeth. Attached to these ladies were certain gentlemen whowalked about in clouds of perfume, rose at midday, and supped atmidnight. Roderick had found himself in the mood for thinking them veryamusing fellows. He was surprised at his own taste, but he let it takeits course. It led him to the discovery that to live with ladies whoexpect you to present them with expensive bouquets, to ride with them inthe Black Forest on well-looking horses, to come into their opera-boxeson nights when Patti sang and prices were consequent, to propose littlelight suppers at the Conversation House after the opera or drives bymoonlight to the Castle, to be always arrayed and anointed, trinketedand gloved, --that to move in such society, we say, though it might be aprivilege, was a privilege with a penalty attached. But the tables madesuch things easy; half the Baden world lived by the tables. Rodericktried them and found that at first they smoothed his path delightfully. This simplification of matters, however, was only momentary, for he soonperceived that to seem to have money, and to have it in fact, exposeda good-looking young man to peculiar liabilities. At this point of hisfriend's narrative, Rowland was reminded of Madame de Cruchecassee inThe Newcomes, and though he had listened in tranquil silence to the restof it, he found it hard not to say that all this had been, underthe circumstances, a very bad business. Roderick admitted it withbitterness, and then told how much--measured simply financially--it hadcost him. His luck had changed; the tables had ceased to back him, andhe had found himself up to his knees in debt. Every penny had goneof the solid sum which had seemed a large equivalent of those shiningstatues in Rome. He had been an ass, but it was not irreparable; hecould make another statue in a couple of months. 

Rowland frowned. "For heaven's sake, " he said, "don't play suchdangerous games with your facility. If you have got facility, revereit, respect it, adore it, treasure it--don't speculate on it. " And hewondered what his companion, up to his knees in debt, would have doneif there had been no good-natured Rowland Mallet to lend a helping hand. But he did not formulate his curiosity audibly, and the contingencyseemed not to have presented itself to Roderick's imagination. The youngsculptor reverted to his late adventures again in the evening, and thistime talked of them more objectively, as the phrase is; more as if theyhad been the adventures of another person. He related half a dozen drollthings that had happened to him, and, as if his responsibility had beendisengaged by all this free discussion, he laughed extravagantly at thememory of them. Rowland sat perfectly grave, on principle. Then Roderickbegan to talk of half a dozen statues that he had in his head, andset forth his design, with his usual vividness. Suddenly, as it wasrelevant, he declared that his Baden doings had not been altogetherfruitless, for that the lady who had reminded Rowland of Madame deCruchecassee was tremendously statuesque. Rowland at last said that itall might pass if he felt that he was really the wiser for it. "By thewiser, " he added, "I mean the stronger in purpose, in will. "

"Oh, don't talk about will!" Roderick answered, throwing back his headand looking at the stars. This conversation also took place in the openair, on the little island in the shooting Rhone where Jean-Jacques hasa monument. "The will, I believe, is the mystery of mysteries. Who cananswer for his will? who can say beforehand that it 's strong? There areall kinds of indefinable currents moving to and fro between one'swill and one's inclinations. People talk as if the two things wereessentially distinct; on different sides of one's organism, like theheart and the liver. Mine, I know, are much nearer together. It alldepends upon circumstances. I believe there is a certain group ofcircumstances possible for every man, in which his will is destined tosnap like a dry twig. "

"My dear boy, " said Rowland, "don't talk about the will being'destined. ' The will is destiny itself. That 's the way to look at it. "

"Look at it, my dear Rowland, " Roderick answered, "as you findmost comfortable. One conviction I have gathered from my summer'sexperience, " he went on--"it 's as well to look it frankly in theface--is that I possess an almost unlimited susceptibility to theinfluence of a beautiful woman. "

Rowland stared, then strolled away, softly whistling to himself. Hewas unwilling to admit even to himself that this speech had really thesinister meaning it seemed to have. In a few days the two young men madetheir way back to Italy, and lingered a while in Florence beforegoing on to Rome. In Florence Roderick seemed to have won back his oldinnocence and his preference for the pleasures of study over any others. Rowland began to think of the Baden episode as a bad dream, or atthe worst as a mere sporadic piece of disorder, without roots in hiscompanion's character. They passed a fortnight looking at picturesand exploring for out the way bits of fresco and carving, and Roderickrecovered all his earlier fervor of appreciation and comment. In Rome hewent eagerly to work again, and finished in a month two or three smallthings he had left standing on his departure. He talked the most joyousnonsense about finding himself back in his old quarters. On the firstSunday afternoon following their return, on their going together toSaint Peter's, he delivered himself of a lyrical greeting to the greatchurch and to the city in general, in a tone of voice so irrepressiblyelevated that it rang through the nave in rather a scandalous fashion, and almost arrested a procession of canons who were marching across tothe choir. He began to model a new statue--a female figure, of which hehad said nothing to Rowland. It represented a woman, leaning lazily backin her chair, with her head drooping as if she were listening, a vaguesmile on her lips, and a pair of remarkably beautiful arms folded in herlap. With rather less softness of contour, it would have resembled thenoble statue of Agrippina in the Capitol. Rowland looked at it and wasnot sure he liked it. "Who is it? what does it mean?" he asked. 

"Anything you please!" said Roderick, with a certain petulance. "I callit A Reminiscence. "

Rowland then remembered that one of the Baden ladies had been"statuesque, " and asked no more questions. This, after all, was a way ofprofiting by experience. A few days later he took his first ride ofthe season on the Campagna, and as, on his homeward way, he was passingacross the long shadow of a ruined tower, he perceived a small figureat a short distance, bent over a sketch-book. As he drew near, herecognized his friend Singleton. The honest little painter's face wasscorched to flame-color by the light of southern suns, and borrowed aneven deeper crimson from his gleeful greeting of his most appreciativepatron. He was making a careful and charming little sketch. On Rowland'sasking him how he had spent his summer, he gave an account of hiswanderings which made poor Mallet sigh with a sense of more contraststhan one. He had not been out of Italy, but he had been delving deepinto the picturesque heart of the lovely land, and gathering a wonderfulstore of subjects. He had rambled about among the unvisited villages ofthe Apennines, pencil in hand and knapsack on back, sleeping on strawand eating black bread and beans, but feasting on local color, rioting, as it were, on chiaroscuro, and laying up a treasure of pictorialobservations. He took a devout satisfaction in his hard-earned wisdomand his happy frugality. Rowland went the next day, by appointment, to look at his sketches, and spent a whole morning turning them over. Singleton talked more than he had ever done before, explained them all, and told some quaintly humorous anecdote about the production of each. 

"Dear me, how I have chattered!" he said at last. "I am afraid you hadrather have looked at the things in peace and quiet. I did n't know Icould talk so much. But somehow, I feel very happy; I feel as if I hadimproved. "

"That you have, " said Rowland. "I doubt whether an artist ever passed amore profitable three months. You must feel much more sure of yourself. "

Singleton looked for a long time with great intentness at a knot in thefloor. "Yes, " he said at last, in a fluttered tone, "I feel much moresure of myself. I have got more facility!" And he lowered his voice asif he were communicating a secret which it took some courage to impart. "I hardly like to say it, for fear I should after all be mistaken. Butsince it strikes you, perhaps it 's true. It 's a great happiness; Iwould not exchange it for a great deal of money. "

"Yes, I suppose it 's a great happiness, " said Rowland. "I shall reallythink of you as living here in a state of scandalous bliss. I don'tbelieve it 's good for an artist to be in such brutally high spirits. "

Singleton stared for a moment, as if he thought Rowland was in earnest;then suddenly fathoming the kindly jest, he walked about the room, scratching his head and laughing intensely to himself. "And Mr. Hudson?"he said, as Rowland was going; "I hope he is well and happy. "

"He is very well, " said Rowland. "He is back at work again. "

"Ah, there 's a man, " cried Singleton, "who has taken his start oncefor all, and does n't need to stop and ask himself in fear and tremblingevery month or two whether he is advancing or not. When he stops, it 'sto rest! And where did he spend his summer?"

"The greater part of it at Baden-Baden. "

"Ah, that 's in the Black Forest, " cried Singleton, with profoundsimplicity. "They say you can make capital studies of trees there. "

"No doubt, " said Rowland, with a smile, laying an almost paternalhand on the little painter's yellow head. "Unfortunately trees are notRoderick's line. Nevertheless, he tells me that at Baden he made somestudies. Come when you can, by the way, " he added after a moment, "to his studio, and tell me what you think of something he has latelybegun. " Singleton declared that he would come delightedly, and Rowlandleft him to his work. 

He met a number of his last winter's friends again, and called uponMadame Grandoni, upon Miss Blanchard, and upon Gloriani, shortly aftertheir return. The ladies gave an excellent account of themselves. Madame Grandoni had been taking sea-baths at Rimini, and Miss Blanchardpainting wild flowers in the Tyrol. Her complexion was somewhat browned, which was very becoming, and her flowers were uncommonly pretty. Gloriani had been in Paris and had come away in high good-humor, findingno one there, in the artist-world, cleverer than himself. He came in afew days to Roderick's studio, one afternoon when Rowland was present. He examined the new statue with great deference, said it was verypromising, and abstained, considerately, from irritating prophecies. ButRowland fancied he observed certain signs of inward jubilation on theclever sculptor's part, and walked away with him to learn his privateopinion. 

"Certainly; I liked it as well as I said, " Gloriani declared in answerto Rowland's anxious query; "or rather I liked it a great deal better. Idid n't say how much, for fear of making your friend angry. But one canleave him alone now, for he 's coming round. I told you he could n'tkeep up the transcendental style, and he has already broken down. Don'tyou see it yourself, man?"

"I don't particularly like this new statue, " said Rowland. 

"That 's because you 're a purist. It 's deuced clever, it 's deucedknowing, it 's deuced pretty, but it is n't the topping high art ofthree months ago. He has taken his turn sooner than I supposed. What hashappened to him? Has he been disappointed in love? But that 's none ofmy business. I congratulate him on having become a practical man. "

Roderick, however, was less to be congratulated than Gloriani had takenit into his head to believe. He was discontented with his work, heapplied himself to it by fits and starts, he declared that he did n'tknow what was coming over him; he was turning into a man of moods. "Isthis of necessity what a fellow must come to"--he asked of Rowland, witha sort of peremptory flash in his eye, which seemed to imply that hiscompanion had undertaken to insure him against perplexities and was notfulfilling his contract--"this damnable uncertainty when he goes to bedat night as to whether he is going to wake up in a working humor or in aswearing humor? Have we only a season, over before we know it, in whichwe can call our faculties our own? Six months ago I could stand up to mywork like a man, day after day, and never dream of asking myself whetherI felt like it. But now, some mornings, it 's the very devil to getgoing. My statue looks so bad when I come into the studio that I havetwenty minds to smash it on the spot, and I lose three or four hours insitting there, moping and getting used to it. "

Rowland said that he supposed that this sort of thing was the lot ofevery artist and that the only remedy was plenty of courage and faith. And he reminded him of Gloriani's having forewarned him against thesesterile moods the year before. 

"Gloriani 's an ass!" said Roderick, almost fiercely. He hired a horseand began to ride with Rowland on the Campagna. This delicious amusementrestored him in a measure to cheerfulness, but seemed to Rowland on thewhole not to stimulate his industry. Their rides were always verylong, and Roderick insisted on making them longer by dismounting inpicturesque spots and stretching himself in the sun among a heap ofovertangled stones. He let the scorching Roman luminary beat down uponhim with an equanimity which Rowland found it hard to emulate. But inthis situation Roderick talked so much amusing nonsense that, for thesake of his company, Rowland consented to be uncomfortable, and oftenforgot that, though in these diversions the days passed quickly, theybrought forth neither high art nor low. And yet it was perhaps by theirhelp, after all, that Roderick secured several mornings of ardent workon his new figure, and brought it to rapid completion. One afternoon, when it was finished, Rowland went to look at it, and Roderick asked himfor his opinion. 

"What do you think yourself?" Rowland demanded, not from pusillanimity, but from real uncertainty. 

"I think it is curiously bad, " Roderick answered. "It was bad from thefirst; it has fundamental vices. I have shuffled them in a measure outof sight, but I have not corrected them. I can't--I can't--I can't!" hecried passionately. "They stare me in the face--they are all I see!"

Rowland offered several criticisms of detail, and suggested certainpracticable changes. But Roderick differed with him on each of thesepoints; the thing had faults enough, but they were not those faults. Rowland, unruffled, concluded by saying that whatever its faults mightbe, he had an idea people in general would like it. 

"I wish to heaven some person in particular would buy it, and take itoff my hands and out of my sight!" Roderick cried. "What am I to donow?" he went on. "I have n't an idea. I think of subjects, but theyremain mere lifeless names. They are mere words--they are not images. What am I to do?"

Rowland was a trifle annoyed. "Be a man, " he was on the point of saying, "and don't, for heaven's sake, talk in that confoundedly querulousvoice. " But before he had uttered the words, there rang through thestudio a loud, peremptory ring at the outer door. 

Roderick broke into a laugh. "Talk of the devil, " he said, "and you seehis horns! If that 's not a customer, it ought to be. "

The door of the studio was promptly flung open, and a lady advanced tothe threshold--an imposing, voluminous person, who quite filled up thedoorway. Rowland immediately felt that he had seen her before, but herecognized her only when she moved forward and disclosed an attendant inthe person of a little bright-eyed, elderly gentleman, with a bristlingwhite moustache. Then he remembered that just a year before he and hiscompanion had seen in the Ludovisi gardens a wonderfully beautiful girl, strolling in the train of this conspicuous couple. He looked for hernow, and in a moment she appeared, following her companions with thesame nonchalant step as before, and leading her great snow-white poodle, decorated with motley ribbons. The elder lady offered the two youngmen a sufficiently gracious salute; the little old gentleman bowed andsmiled with extreme alertness. The young girl, without casting a glanceeither at Roderick or at Rowland, looked about for a chair, and, onperceiving one, sank into it listlessly, pulled her poodle towards her, and began to rearrange his top-knot. Rowland saw that, even with hereyes dropped, her beauty was still dazzling. 

"I trust we are at liberty to enter, " said the elder lady, with majesty. "We were told that Mr. Hudson had no fixed day, and that we might comeat any time. Let us not disturb you. "

Roderick, as one of the lesser lights of the Roman art-world, had nothitherto been subject to incursions from inquisitive tourists, and, having no regular reception day, was not versed in the usual formulas ofwelcome. He said nothing, and Rowland, looking at him, saw that he waslooking amazedly at the young girl and was apparently unconscious ofeverything else. "By Jove!" he cried precipitately, "it 's that goddessof the Villa Ludovisi!" Rowland in some confusion, did the honors as hecould, but the little old gentleman begged him with the most obsequiousof smiles to give himself no trouble. "I have been in many a studio!" hesaid, with his finger on his nose and a strong Italian accent. 

"We are going about everywhere, " said his companion. "I am passionatelyfond of art!"

Rowland smiled sympathetically, and let them turn to Roderick's statue. He glanced again at the young sculptor, to invite him to bestir himself, but Roderick was still gazing wide-eyed at the beautiful young mistressof the poodle, who by this time had looked up and was gazing straight athim. There was nothing bold in her look; it expressed a kind of languid, imperturbable indifference. Her beauty was extraordinary; it grew andgrew as the young man observed her. In such a face the maidenly customof averted eyes and ready blushes would have seemed an anomaly; naturehad produced it for man's delight and meant that it should surrenderitself freely and coldly to admiration. It was not immediately apparent, however, that the young lady found an answering entertainment in thephysiognomy of her host; she turned her head after a moment and lookedidly round the room, and at last let her eyes rest on the statue of thewoman seated. It being left to Rowland to stimulate conversation, hebegan by complimenting her on the beauty of her dog. 

"Yes, he 's very handsome, " she murmured. "He 's a Florentine. The dogsin Florence are handsomer than the people. " And on Rowland's caressinghim: "His name is Stenterello, " she added. "Stenterello, give your handto the gentleman. " This order was given in Italian. "Say buon giorno alei. "

Stenterello thrust out his paw and gave four short, shrill barks; uponwhich the elder lady turned round and raised her forefinger. 

"My dear, my dear, remember where you are! Excuse my foolish child, " sheadded, turning to Roderick with an agreeable smile. "She can think ofnothing but her poodle. "

"I am teaching him to talk for me, " the young girl went on, withoutheeding her mother; "to say little things in society. It will save mea great deal of trouble. Stenterello, love, give a pretty smile and saytanti complimenti!" The poodle wagged his white pate--it looked likeone of those little pads in swan's-down, for applying powder to theface--and repeated the barking process. 

"He is a wonderful beast, " said Rowland. 

"He is not a beast, " said the young girl. "A beast is something blackand dirty--something you can't touch. "

"He is a very valuable dog, " the elder lady explained. "He was presentedto my daughter by a Florentine nobleman. "

"It is not for that I care about him. It is for himself. He is betterthan the prince. "

"My dear, my dear!" repeated the mother in deprecating accents, but witha significant glance at Rowland which seemed to bespeak his attention tothe glory of possessing a daughter who could deal in that fashion withthe aristocracy. 

Rowland remembered that when their unknown visitors had passed beforethem, a year previous, in the Villa Ludovisi, Roderick and he hadexchanged conjectures as to their nationality and social quality. Roderick had declared that they were old-world people; but Rowlandnow needed no telling to feel that he might claim the elder lady as afellow-countrywoman. She was a person of what is called a great dealof presence, with the faded traces, artfully revived here and there, ofonce brilliant beauty. Her daughter had come lawfully by her loveliness, but Rowland mentally made the distinction that the mother was silly andthat the daughter was not. The mother had a very silly mouth--a mouth, Rowland suspected, capable of expressing an inordinate degree ofunreason. The young girl, in spite of her childish satisfaction in herpoodle, was not a person of feeble understanding. Rowland received animpression that, for reasons of her own, she was playing a part. Whatwas the part and what were her reasons? She was interesting; Rowlandwondered what were her domestic secrets. If her mother was a daughterof the great Republic, it was to be supposed that the young girl was aflower of the American soil; but her beauty had a robustness and toneuncommon in the somewhat facile loveliness of our western maidenhood. She spoke with a vague foreign accent, as if she had spent her life instrange countries. The little Italian apparently divined Rowland's muteimaginings, for he presently stepped forward, with a bow like a masterof ceremonies. "I have not done my duty, " he said, "in not announcingthese ladies. Mrs. Light, Miss Light!"

Rowland was not materially the wiser for this information, but Roderickwas aroused by it to the exercise of some slight hospitality. He alteredthe light, pulled forward two or three figures, and made an apologyfor not having more to show. "I don't pretend to have anything of anexhibition--I am only a novice. "

"Indeed?--a novice! For a novice this is very well, " Mrs. Lightdeclared. "Cavaliere, we have seen nothing better than this. "

The Cavaliere smiled rapturously. "It is stupendous!" he murmured. "Andwe have been to all the studios. "

"Not to all--heaven forbid!" cried Mrs. Light. "But to a number that Ihave had pointed out by artistic friends. I delight in studios: they arethe temples of the beautiful here below. And if you are a novice, Mr. Hudson, " she went on, "you have already great admirers. Half a dozenpeople have told us that yours were among the things to see. " Thisgracious speech went unanswered; Roderick had already wandered across tothe other side of the studio and was revolving about Miss Light. "Ah, he's gone to look at my beautiful daughter; he is not the first thathas had his head turned, " Mrs. Light resumed, lowering her voice toa confidential undertone; a favor which, considering the shortness oftheir acquaintance, Rowland was bound to appreciate. "The artists areall crazy about her. When she goes into a studio she is fatal to thepictures. And when she goes into a ball-room what do the other womensay? Eh, Cavaliere?"

"She is very beautiful, " Rowland said, gravely. 

Mrs. Light, who through her long, gold-cased glass was looking a littleat everything, and at nothing as if she saw it, interrupted her randommurmurs and exclamations, and surveyed Rowland from head to foot. Shelooked at him all over; apparently he had not been mentioned to her asa feature of Roderick's establishment. It was the gaze, Rowland felt, which the vigilant and ambitious mamma of a beautiful daughter hasalways at her command for well-dressed young men of candid physiognomy. Her inspection in this case seemed satisfactory. "Are you also anartist?" she inquired with an almost caressing inflection. It was clearthat what she meant was something of this kind: "Be so good as to assureme without delay that you are really the young man of substance andamiability that you appear. "

But Rowland answered simply the formal question--not the latent one. "Dear me, no; I am only a friend of Mr. Hudson. "

Mrs. Light, with a sigh, returned to the statues, and after mistakingthe Adam for a gladiator, and the Eve for a Pocahontas, declared thatshe could not judge of such things unless she saw them in the marble. Rowland hesitated a moment, and then speaking in the interest ofRoderick's renown, said that he was the happy possessor of several ofhis friend's works and that she was welcome to come and see them at hisrooms. She bade the Cavaliere make a note of his address. "Ah, you 'rea patron of the arts, " she said. "That 's what I should like to be ifI had a little money. I delight in beauty in every form. But all thesepeople ask such monstrous prices. One must be a millionaire, to thinkof such things, eh? Twenty years ago my husband had my portrait painted, here in Rome, by Papucci, who was the great man in those days. I was ina ball dress, with all my jewels, my neck and arms, and all that. Theman got six hundred francs, and thought he was very well treated. Thosewere the days when a family could live like princes in Italy for fivethousand scudi a year. The Cavaliere once upon a time was a greatdandy--don't blush, Cavaliere; any one can see that, just as any one cansee that I was once a pretty woman! Get him to tell you what he made afigure upon. The railroads have brought in the vulgarians. That 's whatI call it now--the invasion of the vulgarians! What are poor we to do?"

Rowland had begun to murmur some remedial proposition, when he wasinterrupted by the voice of Miss Light calling across the room, "Mamma!"

"My own love?"

"This gentleman wishes to model my bust. Please speak to him. "

The Cavaliere gave a little chuckle. "Already?" he cried. 

Rowland looked round, equally surprised at the promptitude of theproposal. Roderick stood planted before the young girl with his armsfolded, looking at her as he would have done at the Medicean Venus. Henever paid compliments, and Rowland, though he had not heard him speak, could imagine the startling distinctness with which he made his request. 

"He saw me a year ago, " the young girl went on, "and he has beenthinking of me ever since. " Her tone, in speaking, was peculiar; it hada kind of studied inexpressiveness, which was yet not the vulgar deviceof a drawl. 

"I must make your daughter's bust--that 's all, madame!" cried Roderick, with warmth. 

"I had rather you made the poodle's, " said the young girl. "Is it verytiresome? I have spent half my life sitting for my photograph, in everyconceivable attitude and with every conceivable coiffure. I think I haveposed enough. "

"My dear child, " said Mrs. Light, "it may be one's duty to pose. But asto my daughter's sitting to you, sir--to a young sculptor whom we don'tknow--it is a matter that needs reflection. It is not a favor that 's tobe had for the mere asking. "

"If I don't make her from life, " said Roderick, with energy, "I willmake her from memory, and if the thing 's to be done, you had betterhave it done as well as possible. "

"Mamma hesitates, " said Miss Light, "because she does n't know whetheryou mean she shall pay you for the bust. I can assure you that she willnot pay you a sou. "

"My darling, you forget yourself, " said Mrs. Light, with an attempt atmajestic severity. "Of course, " she added, in a moment, with a change ofnote, "the bust would be my own property. "

"Of course!" cried Roderick, impatiently. 

"Dearest mother, " interposed the young girl, "how can you carry amarble bust about the world with you? Is it not enough to drag the poororiginal?"

"My dear, you 're nonsensical!" cried Mrs. Light, almost angrily. 

"You can always sell it, " said the young girl, with the same artfulartlessness. 

Mrs. Light turned to Rowland, who pitied her, flushed and irritated. "She is very wicked to-day!"

The Cavaliere grinned in silence and walked away on tiptoe, with his hatto his lips, as if to leave the field clear for action. Rowland, on thecontrary, wished to avert the coming storm. "You had better not refuse, "he said to Miss Light, "until you have seen Mr. Hudson's things in themarble. Your mother is to come and look at some that I possess. "

"Thank you; I have no doubt you will see us. I dare say Mr. Hudson isvery clever; but I don't care for modern sculpture. I can't look at it!"

"You shall care for my bust, I promise you!" cried Roderick, with alaugh. 

"To satisfy Miss Light, " said the Cavaliere, "one of the old Greeksought to come to life. "

"It would be worth his while, " said Roderick, paying, to Rowland'sknowledge, his first compliment. 

"I might sit to Phidias, if he would promise to be very amusing and makeme laugh. What do you say, Stenterello? would you sit to Phidias?"

"We must talk of this some other time, " said Mrs. Light. "We are inRome for the winter. Many thanks. Cavaliere, call the carriage. " TheCavaliere led the way out, backing like a silver-stick, and Miss Light, following her mother, nodded, without looking at them, to each of theyoung men. 

"Immortal powers, what a head!" cried Roderick, when they had gone. "There 's my fortune!"

"She is certainly very beautiful, " said Rowland. "But I 'm sorry youhave undertaken her bust. "

"And why, pray?"

"I suspect it will bring trouble with it. "

"What kind of trouble?"

"I hardly know. They are queer people. The mamma, I suspect, is theleast bit of an adventuress. Heaven knows what the daughter is. "

"She 's a goddess!" cried Roderick. 

"Just so. She is all the more dangerous. "

"Dangerous? What will she do to me? She does n't bite, I imagine. "

"It remains to be seen. There are two kinds of women--you ought toknow it by this time--the safe and the unsafe. Miss Light, if I am notmistaken, is one of the unsafe. A word to the wise!"

"Much obliged!" said Roderick, and he began to whistle a triumphant air, in honor, apparently, of the advent of his beautiful model. 

In calling this young lady and her mamma "queer people, " Rowland butroughly expressed his sentiment. They were so marked a variation fromthe monotonous troop of his fellow-country people that he felt muchcuriosity as to the sources of the change, especially since he doubtedgreatly whether, on the whole, it elevated the type. For a week hesaw the two ladies driving daily in a well-appointed landau, with theCavaliere and the poodle in the front seat. From Mrs. Light he receiveda gracious salute, tempered by her native majesty; but the young girl, looking straight before her, seemed profoundly indifferent to observers. Her extraordinary beauty, however, had already made observers numerousand given the habitues of the Pincian plenty to talk about. The echoesof their commentary reached Rowland's ears; but he had little tastefor random gossip, and desired a distinctly veracious informant. He hadfound one in the person of Madame Grandoni, for whom Mrs. Light and herbeautiful daughter were a pair of old friends. 

"I have known the mamma for twenty years, " said this judicious critic, "and if you ask any of the people who have been living here as longas I, you will find they remember her well. I have held the beautifulChristina on my knee when she was a little wizened baby with a very redface and no promise of beauty but those magnificent eyes. Ten years agoMrs. Light disappeared, and has not since been seen in Rome, except fora few days last winter, when she passed through on her way to Naples. Then it was you met the trio in the Ludovisi gardens. When I firstknew her she was the unmarried but very marriageable daughter of an oldAmerican painter of very bad landscapes, which people used to buy fromcharity and use for fire-boards. His name was Savage; it used to makeevery one laugh, he was such a mild, melancholy, pitiful old gentleman. He had married a horrible wife, an Englishwoman who had been on thestage. It was said she used to beat poor Savage with his mahl-stick andwhen the domestic finances were low to lock him up in his studio andtell him he should n't come out until he had painted half a dozen ofhis daubs. She had a good deal of showy beauty. She would then goforth, and, her beauty helping, she would make certain people take thepictures. It helped her at last to make an English lord run away withher. At the time I speak of she had quite disappeared. Mrs. Lightwas then a very handsome girl, though by no means so handsome asher daughter has now become. Mr. Light was an American consul, newlyappointed at one of the Adriatic ports. He was a mild, fair-whiskeredyoung man, with some little property, and my impression is that he hadgot into bad company at home, and that his family procured him his placeto keep him out of harm's way. He came up to Rome on a holiday, fellin love with Miss Savage, and married her on the spot. He had not beenmarried three years when he was drowned in the Adriatic, no one everknew how. The young widow came back to Rome, to her father, and hereshortly afterwards, in the shadow of Saint Peter's, her little girl wasborn. It might have been supposed that Mrs. Light would marry again, and I know she had opportunities. But she overreached herself. Shewould take nothing less than a title and a fortune, and they were notforthcoming. She was admired and very fond of admiration; very vain, very worldly, very silly. She remained a pretty widow, with a surprisingvariety of bonnets and a dozen men always in her train. Giacosa datesfrom this period. He calls himself a Roman, but I have an impression hecame up from Ancona with her. He was l'ami de la maison. He used to holdher bouquets, clean her gloves (I was told), run her errands, get heropera-boxes, and fight her battles with the shopkeepers. For this heneeded courage, for she was smothered in debt. She at last left Rometo escape her creditors. Many of them must remember her still, but sheseems now to have money to satisfy them. She left her poor old fatherhere alone--helpless, infirm and unable to work. A subscription wasshortly afterwards taken up among the foreigners, and he was sentback to America, where, as I afterwards heard, he died in some sort ofasylum. From time to time, for several years, I heard vaguely of Mrs. Light as a wandering beauty at French and German watering-places. Oncecame a rumor that she was going to make a grand marriage in England;then we heard that the gentleman had thought better of it and lefther to keep afloat as she could. She was a terribly scatter-brainedcreature. She pretends to be a great lady, but I consider thatold Filomena, my washer-woman, is in essentials a greater one. Butcertainly, after all, she has been fortunate. She embarked at last ona lawsuit about some property, with her husband's family, and went toAmerica to attend to it. She came back triumphant, with a long purse. She reappeared in Italy, and established herself for a while in Venice. Then she came to Florence, where she spent a couple of years and whereI saw her. Last year she passed down to Naples, which I should have saidwas just the place for her, and this winter she has laid siege to Rome. She seems very prosperous. She has taken a floor in the Palazzo F----, she keeps her carriage, and Christina and she, between them, must havea pretty milliner's bill. Giacosa has turned up again, looking as if hehad been kept on ice at Ancona, for her return. "

"What sort of education, " Rowland asked, "do you imagine the mother'sadventures to have been for the daughter?"

"A strange school! But Mrs. Light told me, in Florence, that she hadgiven her child the education of a princess. In other words, I suppose, she speaks three or four languages, and has read several hundred Frenchnovels. Christina, I suspect, is very clever. When I saw her, I wasamazed at her beauty, and, certainly, if there is any truth in faces, she ought to have the soul of an angel. Perhaps she has. I don't judgeher; she 's an extraordinary young person. She has been told twentytimes a day by her mother, since she was five years old, that she is abeauty of beauties, that her face is her fortune, and that, if she playsher cards, she may marry a duke. If she has not been fatally corrupted, she is a very superior girl. My own impression is that she is a mixtureof good and bad, of ambition and indifference. Mrs. Light, having failedto make her own fortune in matrimony, has transferred her hopes to herdaughter, and nursed them till they have become a kind of monomania. Shehas a hobby, which she rides in secret; but some day she will let yousee it. I 'm sure that if you go in some evening unannounced, you willfind her scanning the tea-leaves in her cup, or telling her daughter'sfortune with a greasy pack of cards, preserved for the purpose. Shepromises her a prince--a reigning prince. But if Mrs. Light is silly, she is shrewd, too, and, lest considerations of state should denyher prince the luxury of a love-match, she keeps on hand a few commonmortals. At the worst she would take a duke, an English lord, or even ayoung American with a proper number of millions. The poor woman must berather uncomfortable. She is always building castles and knocking themdown again--always casting her nets and pulling them in. If herdaughter were less of a beauty, her transparent ambition would be veryridiculous; but there is something in the girl, as one looks at her, that seems to make it very possible she is marked out for one of thosewonderful romantic fortunes that history now and then relates. 'Who, after all, was the Empress of the French?' Mrs. Light is forever saying. 'And beside Christina the Empress is a dowdy!'"

"And what does Christina say?"

"She makes no scruple, as you know, of saying that her mother is a fool. What she thinks, heaven knows. I suspect that, practically, she does notcommit herself. She is excessively proud, and thinks herself good enoughto occupy the highest station in the world; but she knows that hermother talks nonsense, and that even a beautiful girl may look awkwardin making unsuccessful advances. So she remains superbly indifferent, and lets her mother take the risks. If the prince is secured, so muchthe better; if he is not, she need never confess to herself that even aprince has slighted her. "

"Your report is as solid, " Rowland said to Madame Grandoni, thankingher, "as if it had been prepared for the Academy of Sciences;" and hecongratulated himself on having listened to it when, a couple of dayslater, Mrs. Light and her daughter, attended by the Cavaliere and thepoodle, came to his rooms to look at Roderick's statues. It was morecomfortable to know just with whom he was dealing. 

Mrs. Light was prodigiously gracious, and showered down compliments notonly on the statues, but on all his possessions. "Upon my word, " shesaid, "you men know how to make yourselves comfortable. If one of uspoor women had half as many easy-chairs and knick-knacks, we should befamously abused. It 's really selfish to be living all alone in such aplace as this. Cavaliere, how should you like this suite of rooms and afortune to fill them with pictures and statues? Christina, love, look atthat mosaic table. Mr. Mallet, I could almost beg it from you. Yes, that Eve is certainly very fine. We need n't be ashamed of such agreat-grandmother as that. If she was really such a beautiful woman, it accounts for the good looks of some of us. Where is Mr. What's-his-name, the young sculptor? Why is n't he here to be complimented?"

Christina had remained but for a moment in the chair which Rowland hadplaced for her, had given but a cursory glance at the statues, andthen, leaving her place, had begun to wander round the room--looking atherself in the mirror, touching the ornaments and curiosities, glancingat the books and prints. Rowland's sitting-room was encumbered withbric-a-brac, and she found plenty of occupation. Rowland presentlyjoined her, and pointed out some of the objects he most valued. 

"It 's an odd jumble, " she said frankly. "Some things are verypretty--some are very ugly. But I like ugly things, when they have acertain look. Prettiness is terribly vulgar nowadays, and it is notevery one that knows just the sort of ugliness that has chic. But chicis getting dreadfully common too. There 's a hint of it even in MadameBaldi's bonnets. I like looking at people's things, " she added in amoment, turning to Rowland and resting her eyes on him. "It helps you tofind out their characters. "

"Am I to suppose, " asked Rowland, smiling, "that you have arrived at anyconclusions as to mine?"

"I am rather muddled; you have too many things; one seems to contradictanother. You are very artistic and yet you are very prosaic; you havewhat is called a 'catholic' taste and yet you are full of obstinatelittle prejudices and habits of thought, which, if I knew you, I shouldfind very tiresome. I don't think I like you. "

"You make a great mistake, " laughed Rowland; "I assure you I am veryamiable. "

"Yes, I am probably wrong, and if I knew you, I should find out I waswrong, and that would irritate me and make me dislike you more. So yousee we are necessary enemies. "

"No, I don't dislike you. "

"Worse and worse; for you certainly will not like me. "

"You are very discouraging. "

"I am fond of facing the truth, though some day you will deny that. Where is that queer friend of yours?"

"You mean Mr. Hudson. He is represented by these beautiful works. "

Miss Light looked for some moments at Roderick's statues. "Yes, " shesaid, "they are not so silly as most of the things we have seen. Theyhave no chic, and yet they are beautiful. "

"You describe them perfectly, " said Rowland. "They are beautiful, andyet they have no chic. That 's it!"

"If he will promise to put none into my bust, I have a mind to let himmake it. A request made in those terms deserves to be granted. "

"In what terms?"

"Did n't you hear him? 'Mademoiselle, you almost satisfy my conceptionof the beautiful. I must model your bust. ' That almost should berewarded. He is like me; he likes to face the truth. I think we shouldget on together. "

The Cavaliere approached Rowland, to express the pleasure he had derivedfrom his beautiful "collection. " His smile was exquisitely bland, hisaccent appealing, caressing, insinuating. But he gave Rowland an oddsense of looking at a little waxen image, adjusted to perform certaingestures and emit certain sounds. It had once contained a soul, but thesoul had leaked out. Nevertheless, Rowland reflected, there are moreprofitless things than mere sound and gesture, in a consummate Italian. And the Cavaliere, too, had soul enough left to desire to speak a fewwords on his own account, and call Rowland's attention to the fact thathe was not, after all, a hired cicerone, but an ancient Roman gentleman. Rowland felt sorry for him; he hardly knew why. He assured him in afriendly fashion that he must come again; that his house was always athis service. The Cavaliere bowed down to the ground. "You do me too muchhonor, " he murmured. "If you will allow me--it is not impossible!"

Mrs. Light, meanwhile, had prepared to depart. "If you are not afraid tocome and see two quiet little women, we shall be most happy!" she said. "We have no statues nor pictures--we have nothing but each other. Eh, darling?"

"I beg your pardon, " said Christina. 

"Oh, and the Cavaliere, " added her mother. 

"The poodle, please!" cried the young girl. 

Rowland glanced at the Cavaliere; he was smiling more blandly than ever. 

A few days later Rowland presented himself, as civility demanded, atMrs. Light's door. He found her living in one of the stately houses ofthe Via dell' Angelo Custode, and, rather to his surprise, was told shewas at home. He passed through half a dozen rooms and was usheredinto an immense saloon, at one end of which sat the mistress of theestablishment, with a piece of embroidery. She received him verygraciously, and then, pointing mysteriously to a large screen which wasunfolded across the embrasure of one of the deep windows, "I am keepingguard!" she said. Rowland looked interrogative; whereupon she beckonedhim forward and motioned him to look behind the screen. He obeyed, andfor some moments stood gazing. Roderick, with his back turned, stoodbefore an extemporized pedestal, ardently shaping a formless massof clay. Before him sat Christina Light, in a white dress, with hershoulders bare, her magnificent hair twisted into a classic coil, andher head admirably poised. Meeting Rowland's gaze, she smiled a little, only with her deep gray eyes, without moving. She looked divinelybeautiful. 

CHAPTER V. Christina

The brilliant Roman winter came round again, and Rowland enjoyed it, in a certain way, more deeply than before. He grew at last to feel thatsense of equal possession, of intellectual nearness, which it belongsto the peculiar magic of the ancient city to infuse into minds of acast that she never would have produced. He became passionately, unreasoningly fond of all Roman sights and sensations, and to breathethe Roman atmosphere began to seem a needful condition of being. Hecould not have defined and explained the nature of his great love, norhave made up the sum of it by the addition of his calculable pleasures. It was a large, vague, idle, half-profitless emotion, of which perhapsthe most pertinent thing that may be said is that it enforced a sort ofoppressive reconciliation to the present, the actual, the sensuous--tolife on the terms that there offered themselves. It was perhaps for thisvery reason that, in spite of the charm which Rome flings overone's mood, there ran through Rowland's meditations an undertone ofmelancholy, natural enough in a mind which finds its horizon insidiouslylimited to the finite, even in very picturesque forms. Whether it is onethat tacitly concedes to the Roman Church the monopoly of a guaranteeof immortality, so that if one is indisposed to bargain with her forthe precious gift, one must do without it altogether; or whether in anatmosphere so heavily weighted with echoes and memories one growsto believe that there is nothing in one's consciousness that is notforedoomed to moulder and crumble and become dust for the feet, andpossible malaria for the lungs, of future generations--the fact at leastremains that one parts half-willingly with one's hopes in Rome, andmisses them only under some very exceptional stress of circumstance. Forthis reason one may perhaps say that there is no other place in whichone's daily temper has such a mellow serenity, and none, at the sametime, in which acute attacks of depression are more intolerable. Rowlandfound, in fact, a perfect response to his prevision that to live in Romewas an education to one's senses and one's imagination, but he sometimeswondered whether this was not a questionable gain in case of one's notbeing prepared to live wholly by one's imagination and one's senses. Thetranquil profundity of his daily satisfaction seemed sometimes toturn, by a mysterious inward impulse, and face itself with questioning, admonishing, threatening eyes. "But afterwards. . . ?" it seemed toask, with a long reverberation; and he could give no answer but a shyaffirmation that there was no such thing as afterwards, and a hope, divided against itself, that his actual way of life would last forever. He often felt heavy-hearted; he was sombre without knowing why; therewere no visible clouds in his heaven, but there were cloud-shadows onhis mood. Shadows projected, they often were, without his knowing it, byan undue apprehension that things after all might not go so ideallywell with Roderick. When he understood his anxiety it vexed him, and herebuked himself for taking things unmanfully hard. If Roderick choseto follow a crooked path, it was no fault of his; he had given him, hewould continue to give him, all that he had offered him--friendship, sympathy, advice. He had not undertaken to provide him with unflaggingstrength of purpose, nor to stand bondsman for unqualified success. 

If Rowland felt his roots striking and spreading in the Roman soil, Roderick also surrendered himself with renewed abandon to the localinfluence. More than once he declared to his companion that he meantto live and die within the shadow of Saint Peter's, and that he caredlittle if he never again drew breath in American air. "For a man of mytemperament, Rome is the only possible place, " he said; "it 's better torecognize the fact early than late. So I shall never go home unless I amabsolutely forced. "

"What is your idea of 'force'?" asked Rowland, smiling. "It seems to meyou have an excellent reason for going home some day or other. "

"Ah, you mean my engagement?" Roderick answered with unaverted eyes. "Yes, I am distinctly engaged, in Northampton, and impatiently waitedfor!" And he gave a little sympathetic sigh. "To reconcile Northamptonand Rome is rather a problem. Mary had better come out here. Even at theworst I have no intention of giving up Rome within six or eight years, and an engagement of that duration would be rather absurd. "

"Miss Garland could hardly leave your mother, " Rowland observed. 

"Oh, of course my mother should come. I think I will suggest it in mynext letter. It will take her a year or two to make up her mind to it, but if she consents it will brighten her up. It 's too small a life, over there, even for a timid old lady. It is hard to imagine, " he added, "any change in Mary being a change for the better; but I should like herto take a look at the world and have her notions stretched a little. Oneis never so good, I suppose, but that one can improve a little. "

"If you wish your mother and Miss Garland to come, " Rowland suggested, "you had better go home and bring them. "

"Oh, I can't think of leaving Europe, for many a day, " Roderickanswered. "At present it would quite break the charm. I am justbeginning to profit, to get used to things and take them naturally. I amsure the sight of Northampton Main Street would permanently upset me. "

It was reassuring to hear that Roderick, in his own view, was but"just beginning" to spread his wings, and Rowland, if he had hadany forebodings, might have suffered them to be modified by thisdeclaration. This was the first time since their meeting at Geneva thatRoderick had mentioned Miss Garland's name, but the ice being broken, heindulged for some time afterward in frequent allusions to hisbetrothed, which always had an accent of scrupulous, of almost studied, consideration. An uninitiated observer, hearing him, would have imaginedher to be a person of a certain age--possibly an affectionate maidenaunt--who had once done him a kindness which he highly appreciated:perhaps presented him with a check for a thousand dollars. Rowland notedthe difference between his present frankness and his reticence duringthe first six months of his engagement, and sometimes wondered whetherit was not rather an anomaly that he should expatiate more largely asthe happy event receded. He had wondered over the whole matter, firstand last, in a great many different ways, and looked at it in allpossible lights. There was something terribly hard to explain in thefact of his having fallen in love with his cousin. She was not, asRowland conceived her, the sort of girl he would have been likely tofancy, and the operation of sentiment, in all cases so mysterious, wasparticularly so in this one. Just why it was that Roderick should notlogically have fancied Miss Garland, his companion would have been atloss to say, but I think the conviction had its roots in an unformulatedcomparison between himself and the accepted suitor. Roderick and he wereas different as two men could be, and yet Roderick had taken it into hishead to fall in love with a woman for whom he himself had been keepingin reserve, for years, a profoundly characteristic passion. That if hechose to conceive a great notion of the merits of Roderick's mistress, the irregularity here was hardly Roderick's, was a view of the caseto which poor Rowland did scanty justice. There were women, he saidto himself, whom it was every one's business to fall in love with alittle--women beautiful, brilliant, artful, easily fascinating. MissLight, for instance, was one of these; every man who spoke to her didso, if not in the language, at least with something of the agitation, the divine tremor, of a lover. There were other women--they might havegreat beauty, they might have small; perhaps they were generally tobe classified as plain--whose triumphs in this line were rare, butimmutably permanent. Such a one preeminently, was Mary Garland. Uponthe doctrine of probabilities, it was unlikely that she had had an equalcharm for each of them, and was it not possible, therefore, that thecharm for Roderick had been simply the charm imagined, unquestioninglyaccepted: the general charm of youth, sympathy, kindness--of the presentfeminine, in short--enhanced indeed by several fine facial traits?The charm in this case for Rowland was--the charm!--the mysterious, individual, essential woman. There was an element in the charm, as hiscompanion saw it, which Rowland was obliged to recognize, but whichhe forbore to ponder; the rather important attraction, namely, ofreciprocity. As to Miss Garland being in love with Roderick and becomingcharming thereby, this was a point with which his imagination venturedto take no liberties; partly because it would have been indelicate, and partly because it would have been vain. He contented himself withfeeling that the young girl was still as vivid an image in his memory asshe had been five days after he left her, and with drifting nearer andnearer to the impression that at just that crisis any other girl wouldhave answered Roderick's sentimental needs as well. Any other girlindeed would do so still! Roderick had confessed as much to him atGeneva, in saying that he had been taking at Baden the measure of hissusceptibility to female beauty. 

His extraordinary success in modeling the bust of the beautiful MissLight was pertinent evidence of this amiable quality. She sat to him, repeatedly, for a fortnight, and the work was rapidly finished. On oneof the last days Roderick asked Rowland to come and give his opinion asto what was still wanting; for the sittings had continued to take placein Mrs. Light's apartment, the studio being pronounced too damp forthe fair model. When Rowland presented himself, Christina, still inher white dress, with her shoulders bare, was standing before a mirror, readjusting her hair, the arrangement of which, on this occasion, hadapparently not met the young sculptor's approval. He stood beside her, directing the operation with a peremptoriness of tone which seemedto Rowland to denote a considerable advance in intimacy. As Rowlandentered, Christina was losing patience. "Do it yourself, then!" shecried, and with a rapid movement unloosed the great coil of her tressesand let them fall over her shoulders. 

They were magnificent, and with her perfect face dividing their ripplingflow she looked like some immaculate saint of legend being led tomartyrdom. Rowland's eyes presumably betrayed his admiration, but herown manifested no consciousness of it. If Christina was a coquette, asthe remarkable timeliness of this incident might have suggested, she wasnot a superficial one. 

"Hudson 's a sculptor, " said Rowland, with warmth. "But if I were only apainter!"

"Thank Heaven you are not!" said Christina. "I am having quite enough ofthis minute inspection of my charms. "

"My dear young man, hands off!" cried Mrs. Light, coming forward andseizing her daughter's hair. "Christina, love, I am surprised. "

"Is it indelicate?" Christina asked. "I beg Mr. Mallet's pardon. " Mrs. Light gathered up the dusky locks and let them fall through her fingers, glancing at her visitor with a significant smile. Rowland had neverbeen in the East, but if he had attempted to make a sketch of an oldslave-merchant, calling attention to the "points" of a Circassianbeauty, he would have depicted such a smile as Mrs. Light's. "Mamma 'snot really shocked, " added Christina in a moment, as if she had guessedher mother's by-play. "She is only afraid that Mr. Hudson might haveinjured my hair, and that, per consequenza, I should sell for less. "

"You unnatural child!" cried mamma. "You deserve that I should make afright of you!" And with half a dozen skillful passes she twisted thetresses into a single picturesque braid, placed high on the head, as akind of coronal. 

"What does your mother do when she wants to do you justice?" Rowlandasked, observing the admirable line of the young girl's neck. 

"I do her justice when I say she says very improper things. What is oneto do with such a thorn in the flesh?" Mrs. Light demanded. 

"Think of it at your leisure, Mr. Mallet, " said Christina, "and when you've discovered something, let us hear. But I must tell you that I shallnot willingly believe in any remedy of yours, for you have something inyour physiognomy that particularly provokes me to make the remarks thatmy mother so sincerely deplores. I noticed it the first time I saw you. I think it 's because your face is so broad. For some reason or other, broad faces exasperate me; they fill me with a kind of rabbia. Lastsummer, at Carlsbad, there was an Austrian count, with enormous estatesand some great office at court. He was very attentive--seriously so; hewas really very far gone. Cela ne tenait qu' a moi! But I could n't; hewas impossible! He must have measured, from ear to ear, at least a yardand a half. And he was blond, too, which made it worse--as blond asStenterello; pure fleece! So I said to him frankly, 'Many thanks, HerrGraf; your uniform is magnificent, but your face is too fat. '"

"I am afraid that mine also, " said Rowland, with a smile, "seems justnow to have assumed an unpardonable latitude. "

"Oh, I take it you know very well that we are looking for a husband, and that none but tremendous swells need apply. Surely, before thesegentlemen, mamma, I may speak freely; they are disinterested. Mr. Malletwon't do, because, though he 's rich, he 's not rich enough. Mamma madethat discovery the day after we went to see you, moved to it by thepromising look of your furniture. I hope she was right, eh? Unless youhave millions, you know, you have no chance. "

"I feel like a beggar, " said Rowland. 

"Oh, some better girl than I will decide some day, after maturereflection, that on the whole you have enough. Mr. Hudson, of course, isnowhere; he has nothing but his genius and his beaux yeux. "

Roderick had stood looking at Christina intently while she deliveredherself, softly and slowly, of this surprising nonsense. When she hadfinished, she turned and looked at him; their eyes met, and he blusheda little. "Let me model you, and he who can may marry you!" he said, abruptly. 

Mrs. Light, while her daughter talked, had been adding a few touches toher coiffure. "She is not so silly as you might suppose, " she said toRowland, with dignity. "If you will give me your arm, we will go andlook at the bust. "

"Does that represent a silly girl?" Christina demanded, when they stoodbefore it. 

Rowland transferred his glance several times from the portrait to theoriginal. "It represents a young lady, " he said, "whom I should notpretend to judge off-hand. "

"She may be a fool, but you are not sure. Many thanks! You have seen mehalf a dozen times. You are either very slow or I am very deep. "

"I am certainly slow, " said Rowland. "I don't expect to make up my mindabout you within six months. "

"I give you six months if you will promise then a perfectly frankopinion. Mind, I shall not forget; I shall insist upon it. "

"Well, though I am slow, I am tolerably brave, " said Rowland. "We shallsee. "

Christina looked at the bust with a sigh. "I am afraid, after all, " shesaid, "that there 's very little wisdom in it save what the artist hasput there. Mr. Hudson looked particularly wise while he was working; hescowled and growled, but he never opened his mouth. It is very kind ofhim not to have represented me gaping. "

"If I had talked a lot of stuff to you, " said Roderick, roundly, "thething would not have been a tenth so good. "

"Is it good, after all? Mr. Mallet is a famous connoisseur; has he notcome here to pronounce?"

The bust was in fact a very happy performance, and Roderick had risen tothe level of his subject. It was thoroughly a portrait, and not a vaguefantasy executed on a graceful theme, as the busts of pretty women, inmodern sculpture, are apt to be. The resemblance was deep and vivid;there was extreme fidelity of detail and yet a noble simplicity. One could say of the head that, without idealization, it was arepresentation of ideal beauty. Rowland, however, as we know, was notfond of exploding into superlatives, and, after examining the piece, contented himself with suggesting two or three alterations of detail. 

"Nay, how can you be so cruel?" demanded Mrs. Light, with softreproachfulness. "It is surely a wonderful thing!"

"Rowland knows it 's a wonderful thing, " said Roderick, smiling. "I cantell that by his face. The other day I finished something he thoughtbad, and he looked very differently from this. "

"How did Mr. Mallet look?" asked Christina. 

"My dear Rowland, " said Roderick, "I am speaking of my seated woman. Youlooked as if you had on a pair of tight boots. "

"Ah, my child, you 'll not understand that!" cried Mrs. Light. "Younever yet had a pair that were small enough. "

"It 's a pity, Mr. Hudson, " said Christina, gravely, "that you couldnot have introduced my feet into the bust. But we can hang a pair ofslippers round the neck!"

"I nevertheless like your statues, Roderick, " Rowland rejoined, "betterthan your jokes. This is admirable. Miss Light, you may be proud!"

"Thank you, Mr. Mallet, for the permission, " rejoined the young girl. 

"I am dying to see it in the marble, with a red velvet screen behindit, " said Mrs. Light. 

"Placed there under the Sassoferrato!" Christina went on. "I hope youkeep well in mind, Mr. Hudson, that you have not a grain of property inyour work, and that if mamma chooses, she may have it photographed andthe copies sold in the Piazza di Spagna, at five francs apiece, withoutyour having a sou of the profits. "

"Amen!" said Roderick. "It was so nominated in the bond. My profits arehere!" and he tapped his forehead. 

"It would be prettier if you said here!" And Christina touched herheart. 

"My precious child, how you do run on!" murmured Mrs. Light. 

"It is Mr. Mallet, " the young girl answered. "I can't talk a word ofsense so long as he is in the room. I don't say that to make you go, "she added, "I say it simply to justify myself. "

Rowland bowed in silence. Roderick declared that he must get at work andrequested Christina to take her usual position, and Mrs. Light proposedto her visitor that they should adjourn to her boudoir. This was asmall room, hardly more spacious than an alcove, opening out of thedrawing-room and having no other issue. Here, as they entered, on adivan near the door, Rowland perceived the Cavaliere Giacosa, with hisarms folded, his head dropped upon his breast, and his eyes closed. 

"Sleeping at his post!" said Rowland with a kindly laugh. 

"That 's a punishable offense, " rejoined Mrs. Light, sharply. She was onthe point of calling him, in the same tone, when he suddenly opened hiseyes, stared a moment, and then rose with a smile and a bow. 

"Excuse me, dear lady, " he said, "I was overcome by the--the greatheat. "

"Nonsense, Cavaliere!" cried the lady, "you know we are perishing herewith the cold! You had better go and cool yourself in one of the otherrooms. "

"I obey, dear lady, " said the Cavaliere; and with another smile and bowto Rowland he departed, walking very discreetly on his toes. Rowlandout-stayed him but a short time, for he was not fond of Mrs. Light, and he found nothing very inspiring in her frank intimation that if hechose, he might become a favorite. He was disgusted with himself forpleasing her; he confounded his fatal urbanity. In the court-yard of thepalace he overtook the Cavaliere, who had stopped at the porter's lodgeto say a word to his little girl. She was a young lady of very tenderyears and she wore a very dirty pinafore. He had taken her up in hisarms and was singing an infantine rhyme to her, and she was staring athim with big, soft Roman eyes. On seeing Rowland he put her down witha kiss, and stepped forward with a conscious grin, an unresentfuladmission that he was sensitive both to chubbiness and ridicule. Rowland began to pity him again; he had taken his dismissal from thedrawing-room so meekly. 

"You don't keep your promise, " said Rowland, "to come and see me. Don'tforget it. I want you to tell me about Rome thirty years ago. "

"Thirty years ago? Ah, dear sir, Rome is Rome still; a place wherestrange things happen! But happy things too, since I have your renewedpermission to call. You do me too much honor. Is it in the morning or inthe evening that I should least intrude?"

"Take your own time, Cavaliere; only come, sometime. I depend upon you, "said Rowland. 

The Cavaliere thanked him with an humble obeisance. To the Cavaliere, too, he felt that he was, in Roman phrase, sympathetic, but the idea ofpleasing this extremely reduced gentleman was not disagreeable to him. 

Miss Light's bust stood for a while on exhibition in Roderick's studio, and half the foreign colony came to see it. With the completion of hiswork, however, Roderick's visits at the Palazzo F---- by no means cameto an end. He spent half his time in Mrs. Light's drawing-room, andbegan to be talked about as "attentive" to Christina. The success of thebust restored his equanimity, and in the garrulity of his good-humor hesuffered Rowland to see that she was just now the object uppermost inhis thoughts. Rowland, when they talked of her, was rather listenerthan speaker; partly because Roderick's own tone was so resonant andexultant, and partly because, when his companion laughed at him forhaving called her unsafe, he was too perplexed to defend himself. The impression remained that she was unsafe; that she was a complex, willful, passionate creature, who might easily engulf a too confidingspirit in the eddies of her capricious temper. And yet he strongly felther charm; the eddies had a strange fascination! Roderick, in the glowof that renewed admiration provoked by the fixed attention of portrayal, was never weary of descanting on the extraordinary perfection of herbeauty. 

"I had no idea of it, " he said, "till I began to look at her with an eyeto reproducing line for line and curve for curve. Her face is the mostexquisite piece of modeling that ever came from creative hands. Nota line without meaning, not a hair's breadth that is not admirablyfinished. And then her mouth! It 's as if a pair of lips had been shapedto utter pure truth without doing it dishonor!" Later, after he had beenworking for a week, he declared if Miss Light were inordinately plain, she would still be the most fascinating of women. "I 've quite forgottenher beauty, " he said, "or rather I have ceased to perceive it assomething distinct and defined, something independent of the rest ofher. She is all one, and all consummately interesting!"

"What does she do--what does she say, that is so remarkable?" Rowlandhad asked. 

"Say? Sometimes nothing--sometimes everything. She is never the same. Sometimes she walks in and takes her place without a word, without asmile, gravely, stiffly, as if it were an awful bore. She hardly looksat me, and she walks away without even glancing at my work. On otherdays she laughs and chatters and asks endless questions, and pours outthe most irresistible nonsense. She is a creature of moods; you can'tcount upon her; she keeps observation on the stretch. And then, blessyou, she has seen such a lot! Her talk is full of the oddest allusions!"

"It is altogether a very singular type of young lady, " said Rowland, after the visit which I have related at length. "It may be a charm, butit is certainly not the orthodox charm of marriageable maidenhood, thecharm of shrinking innocence and soft docility. Our American girlsare accused of being more knowing than any others, and Miss Light isnominally an American. But it has taken twenty years of Europe to makeher what she is. The first time we saw her, I remember you called her aproduct of the old world, and certainly you were not far wrong. "

"Ah, she has an atmosphere, " said Roderick, in the tone of highappreciation. 

"Young unmarried women, " Rowland answered, "should be careful not tohave too much!"

"Ah, you don't forgive her, " cried his companion, "for hitting you sohard! A man ought to be flattered at such a girl as that taking so muchnotice of him. "

"A man is never flattered at a woman's not liking him. "

"Are you sure she does n't like you? That 's to the credit of yourhumility. A fellow of more vanity might, on the evidence, persuadehimself that he was in favor. "

"He would have also, " said Rowland, laughing, "to be a fellow ofremarkable ingenuity!" He asked himself privately how the deuce Roderickreconciled it to his conscience to think so much more of the girl hewas not engaged to than of the girl he was. But it amounted almost toarrogance, you may say, in poor Rowland to pretend to know how oftenRoderick thought of Miss Garland. He wondered gloomily, at any rate, whether for men of his companion's large, easy power, there was nota larger moral law than for narrow mediocrities like himself, who, yielding Nature a meagre interest on her investment (such as it was), had no reason to expect from her this affectionate laxity as to theiraccounts. Was it not a part of the eternal fitness of things thatRoderick, while rhapsodizing about Miss Light, should have it at hiscommand to look at you with eyes of the most guileless and uncloudedblue, and to shake off your musty imputations by a toss of hispicturesque brown locks? Or had he, in fact, no conscience to speak of?Happy fellow, either way!

Our friend Gloriani came, among others, to congratulate Roderick onhis model and what he had made of her. "Devilish pretty, through andthrough!" he said as he looked at the bust. "Capital handling of theneck and throat; lovely work on the nose. You 're a detestably luckyfellow, my boy! But you ought not to have squandered such material on asimple bust; you should have made a great imaginative figure. If I couldonly have got hold of her, I would have put her into a statue in spiteof herself. What a pity she is not a ragged Trasteverine, whom we mighthave for a franc an hour! I have been carrying about in my head foryears a delicious design for a fantastic figure, but it has alwaysstayed there for want of a tolerable model. I have seen intimations ofthe type, but Miss Light is the perfection of it. As soon as I saw her Isaid to myself, 'By Jove, there 's my statue in the flesh!'"

"What is your subject?" asked Roderick. 

"Don't take it ill, " said Gloriani. "You know I 'm the very deuce forobservation. She would make a magnificent Herodias!"

If Roderick had taken it ill (which was unlikely, for we know he thoughtGloriani an ass, and expected little of his wisdom), he might have beensoothed by the candid incense of Sam Singleton, who came and sat for anhour in a sort of mental prostration before both bust and artist. But Roderick's attitude before his patient little devotee was oneof undisguised though friendly amusement; and, indeed, judged from astrictly plastic point of view, the poor fellow's diminutive stature, his enormous mouth, his pimples and his yellow hair were sufficientlyridiculous. "Nay, don't envy our friend, " Rowland said to Singletonafterwards, on his expressing, with a little groan of depreciation ofhis own paltry performances, his sense of the brilliancy of Roderick'stalent. "You sail nearer the shore, but you sail in smoother waters. Becontented with what you are and paint me another picture. "

"Oh, I don't envy Hudson anything he possesses, " Singleton said, "because to take anything away would spoil his beautiful completeness. 'Complete, ' that 's what he is; while we little clevernesses are likehalf-ripened plums, only good eating on the side that has had a glimpseof the sun. Nature has made him so, and fortune confesses to it! He isthe handsomest fellow in Rome, he has the most genius, and, as a matterof course, the most beautiful girl in the world comes and offers to behis model. If that is not completeness, where shall we find it?"

One morning, going into Roderick's studio, Rowland found the youngsculptor entertaining Miss Blanchard--if this is not too flattering adescription of his gracefully passive tolerance of her presence. He hadnever liked her and never climbed into her sky-studio to observe herwonderful manipulation of petals. He had once quoted Tennyson againsther:--

"And is there any moral shutWithin the bosom of the rose?"

"In all Miss Blanchard's roses you may be sure there is a moral, " he hadsaid. "You can see it sticking out its head, and, if you go to smell theflower, it scratches your nose. " But on this occasion she had comewith a propitiatory gift--introducing her friend Mr. Leavenworth. Mr. Leavenworth was a tall, expansive, bland gentleman, with a carefullybrushed whisker and a spacious, fair, well-favored face, which seemed, somehow, to have more room in it than was occupied by a smile ofsuperior benevolence, so that (with his smooth, white forehead) it borea certain resemblance to a large parlor with a very florid carpet, butno pictures on the walls. He held his head high, talked sonorously, andtold Roderick, within five minutes, that he was a widower, travelingto distract his mind, and that he had lately retired from theproprietorship of large mines of borax in Pennsylvania. Rodericksupposed at first that, in his character of depressed widower, he hadcome to order a tombstone; but observing then the extreme blandnessof his address to Miss Blanchard, he credited him with a judiciousprevision that by the time the tombstone was completed, a monumentof his inconsolability might have become an anachronism. But Mr. Leavenworth was disposed to order something. 

"You will find me eager to patronize our indigenous talent, " he said. "Iam putting up a little shanty in my native town, and I propose to makea rather nice thing of it. It has been the will of Heaven to plunge meinto mourning; but art has consolations! In a tasteful home, surroundedby the memorials of my wanderings, I hope to take more cheerful views. I ordered in Paris the complete appurtenances of a dining-room. Do youthink you could do something for my library? It is to be filledwith well-selected authors, and I think a pure white image in thisstyle, "--pointing to one of Roderick's statues, --"standing out againstthe morocco and gilt, would have a noble effect. The subject I havealready fixed upon. I desire an allegorical representation of Culture. Do you think, now, " asked Mr. Leavenworth, encouragingly, "you couldrise to the conception?"

"A most interesting subject for a truly serious mind, " remarked MissBlanchard. 

Roderick looked at her a moment, and then--"The simplest thing Icould do, " he said, "would be to make a full-length portrait of MissBlanchard. I could give her a scroll in her hand, and that would do forthe allegory. "

Miss Blanchard colored; the compliment might be ironical; and therewas ever afterwards a reflection of her uncertainty in her opinion ofRoderick's genius. Mr. Leavenworth responded that with all deference toMiss Blanchard's beauty, he desired something colder, more monumental, more impersonal. "If I were to be the happy possessor of a likeness ofMiss Blanchard, " he added, "I should prefer to have it in no factitiousdisguise!"

Roderick consented to entertain the proposal, and while they werediscussing it, Rowland had a little talk with the fair artist. "Who isyour friend?" he asked. 

"A very worthy man. The architect of his own fortune--which ismagnificent. One of nature's gentlemen!"

This was a trifle sententious, and Rowland turned to the bust of MissLight. Like every one else in Rome, by this time, Miss Blanchard hadan opinion on the young girl's beauty, and, in her own fashion, sheexpressed it epigrammatically. "She looks half like a Madonna and halflike a ballerina, " she said. 

Mr. Leavenworth and Roderick came to an understanding, and the youngsculptor good-naturedly promised to do his best to rise to his patron'sconception. "His conception be hanged!" Roderick exclaimed, after he haddeparted. "His conception is sitting on a globe with a pen in her earand a photographic album in her hand. I shall have to conceive, myself. For the money, I ought to be able to!"

Mrs. Light, meanwhile, had fairly established herself in Roman society. "Heaven knows how!" Madame Grandoni said to Rowland, who had mentionedto her several evidences of the lady's prosperity. "In such a casethere is nothing like audacity. A month ago she knew no one but herwasherwoman, and now I am told that the cards of Roman princesses are tobe seen on her table. She is evidently determined to play a greatpart, and she has the wit to perceive that, to make remunerativeacquaintances, you must seem yourself to be worth knowing. You musthave striking rooms and a confusing variety of dresses, and give gooddinners, and so forth. She is spending a lot of money, and you 'll seethat in two or three weeks she will take upon herself to open the seasonby giving a magnificent ball. Of course it is Christina's beauty thatfloats her. People go to see her because they are curious. "

"And they go again because they are charmed, " said Rowland. "MissChristina is a very remarkable young lady. "

"Oh, I know it well; I had occasion to say so to myself the other day. She came to see me, of her own free will, and for an hour she was deeplyinteresting. I think she 's an actress, but she believes in her partwhile she is playing it. She took it into her head the other day tobelieve that she was very unhappy, and she sat there, where you aresitting, and told me a tale of her miseries which brought tears into myeyes. She cried, herself, profusely, and as naturally as possible. Shesaid she was weary of life and that she knew no one but me she couldspeak frankly to. She must speak, or she would go mad. She sobbed as ifher heart would break. I assure you it 's well for you susceptible youngmen that you don't see her when she sobs. She said, in so many words, that her mother was an immoral woman. Heaven knows what she meant. Shemeant, I suppose, that she makes debts that she knows she can't pay. Shesaid the life they led was horrible; that it was monstrous a poor girlshould be dragged about the world to be sold to the highest bidder. Shewas meant for better things; she could be perfectly happy in poverty. Itwas not money she wanted. I might not believe her, but she really caredfor serious things. Sometimes she thought of taking poison!"

"What did you say to that?"

"I recommended her, " said Madame Grandoni, "to come and see meinstead. I would help her about as much, and I was, on the whole, lessunpleasant. Of course I could help her only by letting her talk herselfout and kissing her and patting her beautiful hands and telling her tobe patient and she would be happy yet. About once in two months I expecther to reappear, on the same errand, and meanwhile to quite forget myexistence. I believe I melted down to the point of telling her thatI would find some good, quiet, affectionate husband for her; but shedeclared, almost with fury, that she was sick unto death of husbands, and begged I would never again mention the word. And, in fact, it was arash offer; for I am sure that there is not a man of the kind that mightreally make a woman happy but would be afraid to marry mademoiselle. Looked at in that way she is certainly very much to be pitied, andindeed, altogether, though I don't think she either means all she saysor, by a great deal, says all that she means. I feel very sorry forher. "

Rowland met the two ladies, about this time, at several entertainments, and looked at Christina with a kind of distant attendrissement. Heimagined more than once that there had been a passionate scene betweenthem about coming out, and wondered what arguments Mrs. Light had foundeffective. But Christina's face told no tales, and she moved about, beautiful and silent, looking absently over people's heads, barelyheeding the men who pressed about her, and suggesting somehow that thesoul of a world-wearied mortal had found its way into the blooming bodyof a goddess. "Where in the world has Miss Light been before she istwenty, " observers asked, "to have left all her illusions behind?" Andthe general verdict was, that though she was incomparably beautiful, shewas intolerably proud. Young ladies to whom the former distinction wasnot conceded were free to reflect that she was "not at all liked. "

It would have been difficult to guess, however, how they reconciled thisconviction with a variety of conflicting evidence, and, in especial, with the spectacle of Roderick's inveterate devotion. All Rome mightbehold that he, at least, "liked" Christina Light. Wherever sheappeared he was either awaiting her or immediately followed her. He wasperpetually at her side, trying, apparently, to preserve the thread ofa disconnected talk, the fate of which was, to judge by her face, profoundly immaterial to the young lady. People in general smiled at theradiant good faith of the handsome young sculptor, and asked each otherwhether he really supposed that beauties of that quality were meant towed with poor artists. But although Christina's deportment, as I havesaid, was one of superb inexpressiveness, Rowland had derived fromRoderick no suspicion that he suffered from snubbing, and he wastherefore surprised at an incident which befell one evening at a largemusical party. Roderick, as usual, was in the field, and, on the ladiestaking the chairs which had been arranged for them, he immediatelyplaced himself beside Christina. As most of the gentlemen were standing, his position made him as conspicuous as Hamlet at Ophelia's feet, at theplay. Rowland was leaning, somewhat apart, against the chimney-piece. There was a long, solemn pause before the music began, and in the midstof it Christina rose, left her place, came the whole length of theimmense room, with every one looking at her, and stopped before him. Shewas neither pale nor flushed; she had a soft smile. 

"Will you do me a favor?" she asked. 

"A thousand!"

"Not now, but at your earliest convenience. Please remind Mr. Hudsonthat he is not in a New England village--that it is not the custom inRome to address one's conversation exclusively, night after night, tothe same poor girl, and that". . . . 

The music broke out with a great blare and covered her voice. She made agesture of impatience, and Rowland offered her his arm and led her backto her seat. 

The next day he repeated her words to Roderick, who burst into joyouslaughter. "She 's a delightfully strange girl!" he cried. "She must doeverything that comes into her head!"

"Had she never asked you before not to talk to her so much?"

"On the contrary, she has often said to me, 'Mind you now, I forbid youto leave me. Here comes that tiresome So-and-so. ' She cares as littleabout the custom as I do. What could be a better proof than her walkingup to you, with five hundred people looking at her? Is that the customfor young girls in Rome?"

"Why, then, should she take such a step?"

"Because, as she sat there, it came into her head. That 's reason enoughfor her. I have imagined she wishes me well, as they say here--thoughshe has never distinguished me in such a way as that!"

Madame Grandoni had foretold the truth; Mrs. Light, a couple of weekslater, convoked all Roman society to a brilliant ball. Rowland wentlate, and found the staircase so encumbered with flower-pots andservants that he was a long time making his way into the presence of thehostess. At last he approached her, as she stood making courtesies atthe door, with her daughter by her side. Some of Mrs. Light's courtesieswere very low, for she had the happiness of receiving a number of thesocial potentates of the Roman world. She was rosy with triumph, to saynothing of a less metaphysical cause, and was evidently vastly contentedwith herself, with her company, and with the general promise of destiny. Her daughter was less overtly jubilant, and distributed her greetingswith impartial frigidity. She had never been so beautiful. Dressedsimply in vaporous white, relieved with half a dozen white roses, theperfection of her features and of her person and the mysterious depth ofher expression seemed to glow with the white light of a splendid pearl. She recognized no one individually, and made her courtesy slowly, gravely, with her eyes on the ground. Rowland fancied that, as he stoodbefore her, her obeisance was slightly exaggerated, as with an intentionof irony; but he smiled philosophically to himself, and reflected, ashe passed into the room, that, if she disliked him, he had nothingto reproach himself with. He walked about, had a few words with MissBlanchard, who, with a fillet of cameos in her hair, was leaning on thearm of Mr. Leavenworth, and at last came upon the Cavaliere Giacosa, modestly stationed in a corner. The little gentleman's coat-lappet wasdecorated with an enormous bouquet and his neck encased in a voluminouswhite handkerchief of the fashion of thirty years ago. His arms werefolded, and he was surveying the scene with contracted eyelids, throughwhich you saw the glitter of his intensely dark, vivacious pupil. He immediately embarked on an elaborate apology for not having yetmanifested, as he felt it, his sense of the honor Rowland had done him. 

"I am always on service with these ladies, you see, " he explained, "andthat is a duty to which one would not willingly be faithless for aninstant. "

"Evidently, " said Rowland, "you are a very devoted friend. Mrs. Light, in her situation, is very happy in having you. "

"We are old friends, " said the Cavaliere, gravely. "Old friends. I knewthe signora many years ago, when she was the prettiest woman in Rome--orrather in Ancona, which is even better. The beautiful Christina, now, isperhaps the most beautiful young girl in Europe!"

"Very likely, " said Rowland. 

"Very well, sir, I taught her to read; I guided her little hands totouch the piano keys. " And at these faded memories, the Cavaliere's eyesglittered more brightly. Rowland half expected him to proceed, with alittle flash of long-repressed passion, "And now--and now, sir, theytreat me as you observed the other day!" But the Cavaliere only lookedout at him keenly from among his wrinkles, and seemed to say, with allthe vividness of the Italian glance, "Oh, I say nothing more. I am notso shallow as to complain!"

Evidently the Cavaliere was not shallow, and Rowland repeatedrespectfully, "You are a devoted friend. "

"That 's very true. I am a devoted friend. A man may do himself justice, after twenty years!"

Rowland, after a pause, made some remark about the beauty of the ball. It was very brilliant. 

"Stupendous!" said the Cavaliere, solemnly. "It is a great day. We havefour Roman princes, to say nothing of others. " And he counted them overon his fingers and held up his hand triumphantly. "And there she stands, the girl to whom I--I, Giuseppe Giacosa--taught her alphabet and herpiano-scales; there she stands in her incomparable beauty, and Romanprinces come and bow to her. Here, in his corner, her old master permitshimself to be proud. "

"It is very friendly of him, " said Rowland, smiling. 

The Cavaliere contracted his lids a little more and gave another keenglance. "It is very natural, signore. The Christina is a good girl; sheremembers my little services. But here comes, " he added in a moment, "the young Prince of the Fine Arts. I am sure he has bowed lowest ofall. "

Rowland looked round and saw Roderick moving slowly across the room andcasting about him his usual luminous, unshrinking looks. He presentlyjoined them, nodded familiarly to the Cavaliere, and immediatelydemanded of Rowland, "Have you seen her?"

"I have seen Miss Light, " said Rowland. "She 's magnificent. "

"I 'm half crazy!" cried Roderick; so loud that several persons turnedround. 

Rowland saw that he was flushed, and laid his hand on his arm. Roderickwas trembling. "If you will go away, " Rowland said instantly, "I will gowith you. "

"Go away?" cried Roderick, almost angrily. "I intend to dance with her!"

The Cavaliere had been watching him attentively; he gently laid his handon his other arm. "Softly, softly, dear young man, " he said. "Let mespeak to you as a friend. "

"Oh, speak even as an enemy and I shall not mind it, " Roderick answered, frowning. 

"Be very reasonable, then, and go away. "

"Why the deuce should I go away?"

"Because you are in love, " said the Cavaliere. 

"I might as well be in love here as in the streets. "

"Carry your love as far as possible from Christina. She will not listento you--she can't. "

"She 'can't'?" demanded Roderick. "She is not a person of whom you maysay that. She can if she will; she does as she chooses. "

"Up to a certain point. It would take too long to explain; I only begyou to believe that if you continue to love Miss Light you will bevery unhappy. Have you a princely title? have you a princely fortune?Otherwise you can never have her. "

And the Cavaliere folded his arms again, like a man who has done hisduty. Roderick wiped his forehead and looked askance at Rowland; heseemed to be guessing his thoughts and they made him blush a little. Buthe smiled blandly, and addressing the Cavaliere, "I 'm much obliged toyou for the information, " he said. "Now that I have obtained it, letme tell you that I am no more in love with Miss Light than you are. Mr. Mallet knows that. I admire her--yes, profoundly. But that 's no one'sbusiness but my own, and though I have, as you say, neither a princelytitle nor a princely fortune, I mean to suffer neither those advantagesnor those who possess them to diminish my right. "

"If you are not in love, my dear young man, " said the Cavaliere, withhis hand on his heart and an apologetic smile, "so much the better. Butlet me entreat you, as an affectionate friend, to keep a watch on youremotions. You are young, you are handsome, you have a brilliant geniusand a generous heart, but--I may say it almost with authority--Christinais not for you!"

Whether Roderick was in love or not, he was nettled by what apparentlyseemed to him an obtrusive negation of an inspiring possibility. "Youspeak as if she had made her choice!" he cried. "Without pretending toconfidential information on the subject, I am sure she has not. "

"No, but she must make it soon, " said the Cavaliere. And raising hisforefinger, he laid it against his under lip. "She must choose a nameand a fortune--and she will!"

"She will do exactly as her inclination prompts! She will marry the manwho pleases her, if he has n't a dollar! I know her better than you. "

The Cavaliere turned a little paler than usual, and smiled moreurbanely. "No, no, my dear young man, you do not know her better thanI. You have not watched her, day by day, for twenty years. I too haveadmired her. She is a good girl; she has never said an unkind wordto me; the blessed Virgin be thanked! But she must have a brilliantdestiny; it has been marked out for her, and she will submit. You hadbetter believe me; it may save you much suffering. "

"We shall see!" said Roderick, with an excited laugh. 

"Certainly we shall see. But I retire from the discussion, " theCavaliere added. "I have no wish to provoke you to attempt to prove tome that I am wrong. You are already excited. "

"No more than is natural to a man who in an hour or so is to dance thecotillon with Miss Light. "

"The cotillon? has she promised?"

Roderick patted the air with a grand confidence. "You 'll see!" Hisgesture might almost have been taken to mean that the state of hisrelations with Miss Light was such that they quite dispensed with vainformalities. 

The Cavaliere gave an exaggerated shrug. "You make a great manymourners!"

"He has made one already!" Rowland murmured to himself. This wasevidently not the first time that reference had been made betweenRoderick and the Cavaliere to the young man's possible passion, andRoderick had failed to consider it the simplest and most natural courseto say in three words to the vigilant little gentleman that there wasno cause for alarm--his affections were preoccupied. Rowland hoped, silently, with some dryness, that his motives were of a finer kindthan they seemed to be. He turned away; it was irritating to look atRoderick's radiant, unscrupulous eagerness. The tide was setting towardthe supper-room and he drifted with it to the door. The crowd at thispoint was dense, and he was obliged to wait for some minutes before hecould advance. At last he felt his neighbors dividing behind him, andturning he saw Christina pressing her way forward alone. She was lookingat no one, and, save for the fact of her being alone, you would not havesupposed she was in her mother's house. As she recognized Rowland shebeckoned to him, took his arm, and motioned him to lead her into thesupper-room. She said nothing until he had forced a passage and theystood somewhat isolated. 

"Take me into the most out-of-the-way corner you can find, " she thensaid, "and then go and get me a piece of bread. "

"Nothing more? There seems to be everything conceivable. "

"A simple roll. Nothing more, on your peril. Only bring something foryourself. "

It seemed to Rowland that the embrasure of a window (embrasures in Romanpalaces are deep) was a retreat sufficiently obscure for Miss Light toexecute whatever design she might have contrived against his equanimity. A roll, after he had found her a seat, was easily procured. As hepresented it, he remarked that, frankly speaking, he was at loss tounderstand why she should have selected for the honor of a tete-a-tetean individual for whom she had so little taste. 

"Ah yes, I dislike you, " said Christina. "To tell the truth, I hadforgotten it. There are so many people here whom I dislike more, thatwhen I espied you just now, you seemed like an intimate friend. But Ihave not come into this corner to talk nonsense, " she went on. "You mustnot think I always do, eh?"

"I have never heard you do anything else, " said Rowland, deliberately, having decided that he owed her no compliments. 

"Very good. I like your frankness. It 's quite true. You see, I am astrange girl. To begin with, I am frightfully egotistical. Don't flatteryourself you have said anything very clever if you ever take it intoyour head to tell me so. I know it much better than you. So it is, Ican't help it. I am tired to death of myself; I would give all I possessto get out of myself; but somehow, at the end, I find myself so vastlymore interesting than nine tenths of the people I meet. If a personwished to do me a favor I would say to him, 'I beg you, with tears in myeyes, to interest me. Be strong, be positive, be imperious, if youwill; only be something, --something that, in looking at, I can forget mydetestable self!' Perhaps that is nonsense too. If it is, I can't helpit. I can only apologize for the nonsense I know to be such and that Italk--oh, for more reasons than I can tell you! I wonder whether, if Iwere to try, you would understand me. "

"I am afraid I should never understand, " said Rowland, "why a personshould willingly talk nonsense. "

"That proves how little you know about women. But I like your frankness. When I told you the other day that you displeased me, I had an ideayou were more formal, --how do you say it?--more guinde. I am verycapricious. To-night I like you better. "

"Oh, I am not guinde, " said Rowland, gravely. 

"I beg your pardon, then, for thinking so. Now I have an idea that youwould make a useful friend--an intimate friend--a friend to whom onecould tell everything. For such a friend, what would n't I give!"

Rowland looked at her in some perplexity. Was this touching sincerity, or unfathomable coquetry? Her beautiful eyes looked divinely candid; butthen, if candor was beautiful, beauty was apt to be subtle. "I hesitateto recommend myself out and out for the office, " he said, "but I believethat if you were to depend upon me for anything that a friend may do, Ishould not be found wanting. "

"Very good. One of the first things one asks of a friend is to judgeone not by isolated acts, but by one's whole conduct. I care for youropinion--I don't know why. "

"Nor do I, I confess, " said Rowland with a laugh. 

"What do you think of this affair?" she continued, without heeding hislaugh. 

"Of your ball? Why, it 's a very grand affair. "

"It 's horrible--that 's what it is! It 's a mere rabble! There arepeople here whom I never saw before, people who were never asked. Mammawent about inviting every one, asking other people to invite any onethey knew, doing anything to have a crowd. I hope she is satisfied! Itis not my doing. I feel weary, I feel angry, I feel like crying. I havetwenty minds to escape into my room and lock the door and let mamma gothrough with it as she can. By the way, " she added in a moment, withouta visible reason for the transition, "can you tell me something toread?"

Rowland stared, at the disconnectedness of the question. 

"Can you recommend me some books?" she repeated. "I know you are a greatreader. I have no one else to ask. We can buy no books. We can makedebts for jewelry and bonnets and five-button gloves, but we can't spenda sou for ideas. And yet, though you may not believe it, I like ideasquite as well. "

"I shall be most happy to lend you some books, " Rowland said. "I willpick some out to-morrow and send them to you. "

"No novels, please! I am tired of novels. I can imagine better storiesfor myself than any I read. Some good poetry, if there is such a thingnowadays, and some memoirs and histories and books of facts. "

"You shall be served. Your taste agrees with my own. "

She was silent a moment, looking at him. Then suddenly--"Tell mesomething about Mr. Hudson, " she demanded. "You are great friends!"

"Oh yes, " said Rowland; "we are great friends. "

"Tell me about him. Come, begin!"

"Where shall I begin? You know him for yourself. "

"No, I don't know him; I don't find him so easy to know. Since he hasfinished my bust and begun to come here disinterestedly, he has become agreat talker. He says very fine things; but does he mean all he says?"

"Few of us do that. "

"You do, I imagine. You ought to know, for he tells me you discoveredhim. " Rowland was silent, and Christina continued, "Do you consider himvery clever?"

"Unquestionably. "

"His talent is really something out of the common way?"

"So it seems to me. "

"In short, he 's a man of genius?"

"Yes, call it genius. "

"And you found him vegetating in a little village and took him by thehand and set him on his feet in Rome?"

"Is that the popular legend?" asked Rowland. 

"Oh, you need n't be modest. There was no great merit in it; therewould have been none at least on my part in the same circumstances. Real geniuses are not so common, and if I had discovered one in thewilderness, I would have brought him out into the market-place to seehow he would behave. It would be excessively amusing. You must find itso to watch Mr. Hudson, eh? Tell me this: do you think he is going to bea great man--become famous, have his life written, and all that?"

"I don't prophesy, but I have good hopes. "

Christina was silent. She stretched out her bare arm and looked at it amoment absently, turning it so as to see--or almost to see--the dimplein her elbow. This was apparently a frequent gesture with her; Rowlandhad already observed it. It was as coolly and naturally done as if shehad been in her room alone. "So he 's a man of genius, " she suddenlyresumed. "Don't you think I ought to be extremely flattered to have aman of genius perpetually hanging about? He is the first I ever saw, but I should have known he was not a common mortal. There is somethingstrange about him. To begin with, he has no manners. You may say that it's not for me to blame him, for I have none myself. That 's very true, but the difference is that I can have them when I wish to (and verycharming ones too; I 'll show you some day); whereas Mr. Hudson willnever have them. And yet, somehow, one sees he 's a gentleman. He seemsto have something urging, driving, pushing him, making him restless anddefiant. You see it in his eyes. They are the finest, by the way, I eversaw. When a person has such eyes as that you can forgive him his badmanners. I suppose that is what they call the sacred fire. "

Rowland made no answer except to ask her in a moment if she would haveanother roll. She merely shook her head and went on:--

"Tell me how you found him. Where was he--how was he?"

"He was in a place called Northampton. Did you ever hear of it? He wasstudying law--but not learning it. "

"It appears it was something horrible, eh?"

"Something horrible?"

"This little village. No society, no pleasures, no beauty, no life. "

"You have received a false impression. Northampton is not as gay asRome, but Roderick had some charming friends. "

"Tell me about them. Who were they?"

"Well, there was my cousin, through whom I made his acquaintance: adelightful woman. "

"Young--pretty?"

"Yes, a good deal of both. And very clever. "

"Did he make love to her?"

"Not in the least. "

"Well, who else?"

"He lived with his mother. She is the best of women. "

"Ah yes, I know all that one's mother is. But she does not count associety. And who else?"

Rowland hesitated. He wondered whether Christina's insistence wasthe result of a general interest in Roderick's antecedents or of aparticular suspicion. He looked at her; she was looking at him a littleaskance, waiting for his answer. As Roderick had said nothing about hisengagement to the Cavaliere, it was probable that with this beautifulgirl he had not been more explicit. And yet the thing was announced, itwas public; that other girl was happy in it, proud of it. Rowland felta kind of dumb anger rising in his heart. He deliberated a momentintently. 

"What are you frowning at?" Christina asked. 

"There was another person, " he answered, "the most important of all: theyoung girl to whom he is engaged. "

Christina stared a moment, raising her eyebrows. "Ah, Mr. Hudson isengaged?" she said, very simply. "Is she pretty?"

"She is not called a beauty, " said Rowland. He meant to practice greatbrevity, but in a moment he added, "I have seen beauties, however, whopleased me less. "

"Ah, she pleases you, too? Why don't they marry?"

"Roderick is waiting till he can afford to marry. "

Christina slowly put out her arm again and looked at the dimple in herelbow. "Ah, he 's engaged?" she repeated in the same tone. "He nevertold me. "

Rowland perceived at this moment that the people about them werebeginning to return to the dancing-room, and immediately afterwardshe saw Roderick making his way toward themselves. Roderick presentedhimself before Miss Light. 

"I don't claim that you have promised me the cotillon, " he said, "but Iconsider that you have given me hopes which warrant the confidence thatyou will dance with me. "

Christina looked at him a moment. "Certainly I have made no promises, "she said. "It seemed to me that, as the daughter of the house, I shouldkeep myself free and let it depend on circumstances. "

"I beseech you to dance with me!" said Roderick, with vehemence. 

Christina rose and began to laugh. "You say that very well, but theItalians do it better. "

This assertion seemed likely to be put to the proof. Mrs. Light hastilyapproached, leading, rather than led by, a tall, slim young man, of anunmistakably Southern physiognomy. "My precious love, " she cried, "whata place to hide in! We have been looking for you for twenty minutes; Ihave chosen a cavalier for you, and chosen well!"

The young man disengaged himself, made a ceremonious bow, joined his twohands, and murmured with an ecstatic smile, "May I venture to hope, dearsignorina, for the honor of your hand?"

"Of course you may!" said Mrs. Light. "The honor is for us. "

Christina hesitated but for a moment, then swept the young man acourtesy as profound as his own bow. "You are very kind, but you are toolate. I have just accepted!"

"Ah, my own darling!" murmured--almost moaned--Mrs. Light. 

Christina and Roderick exchanged a single glance--a glance brilliant onboth sides. She passed her hand into his arm; he tossed his clusteringlocks and led her away. 

A short time afterwards Rowland saw the young man whom she hadrejected leaning against a doorway. He was ugly, but what is calleddistinguished-looking. He had a heavy black eye, a sallow complexion, along, thin neck; his hair was cropped en brosse. He looked very young, yet extremely bored. He was staring at the ceiling and stroking animperceptible moustache. Rowland espied the Cavaliere Giacosa hard by, and, having joined him, asked him the young man's name. 

"Oh, " said the Cavaliere, "he 's a pezzo grosso! A Neapolitan. PrinceCasamassima. "

CHAPTER VI. Frascati

One day, on entering Roderick's lodging (not the modest rooms on theRipetta which he had first occupied, but a much more sumptuous apartmenton the Corso), Rowland found a letter on the table addressed to himself. It was from Roderick, and consisted of but three lines: "I am gone toFrascati--for meditation. If I am not at home on Friday, you hadbetter join me. " On Friday he was still absent, and Rowland went out toFrascati. Here he found his friend living at the inn and spending hisdays, according to his own account, lying under the trees of the VillaMondragone, reading Ariosto. He was in a sombre mood; "meditation"seemed not to have been fruitful. Nothing especially pertinent to ournarrative had passed between the two young men since Mrs. Light's ball, save a few words bearing on an incident of that entertainment. Rowlandinformed Roderick, the next day, that he had told Miss Light of hisengagement. "I don't know whether you 'll thank me, " he had said, "butit 's my duty to let you know it. Miss Light perhaps has already doneso. "

Roderick looked at him a moment, intently, with his color slowlyrising. "Why should n't I thank you?" he asked. "I am not ashamed of myengagement. "

"As you had not spoken of it yourself, I thought you might have a reasonfor not having it known. "

"A man does n't gossip about such a matter with strangers, " Roderickrejoined, with the ring of irritation in his voice. 

"With strangers--no!" said Rowland, smiling. 

Roderick continued his work; but after a moment, turning round with afrown: "If you supposed I had a reason for being silent, pray why shouldyou have spoken?"

"I did not speak idly, my dear Roderick. I weighed the matter before Ispoke, and promised myself to let you know immediately afterwards. Itseemed to me that Miss Light had better know that your affections arepledged. "

"The Cavaliere has put it into your head, then, that I am making love toher?"

"No; in that case I would not have spoken to her first. "

"Do you mean, then, that she is making love to me?"

"This is what I mean, " said Rowland, after a pause. "That girl finds youinteresting, and is pleased, even though she may play indifference, at your finding her so. I said to myself that it might save her somesentimental disappointment to know without delay that you are not atliberty to become indefinitely interested in other women. "

"You seem to have taken the measure of my liberty with extraordinaryminuteness!" cried Roderick. 

"You must do me justice. I am the cause of your separation from MissGarland, the cause of your being exposed to temptations which she hardlyeven suspects. How could I ever face her, " Rowland demanded, with muchwarmth of tone, "if at the end of it all she should be unhappy?"

"I had no idea that Miss Garland had made such an impression on you. You are too zealous; I take it she did n't charge you to look after herinterests. "

"If anything happens to you, I am accountable. You must understandthat. "

"That 's a view of the situation I can't accept; in your own interest, no less than in mine. It can only make us both very uncomfortable. Iknow all I owe you; I feel it; you know that! But I am not a small boynor an outer barbarian any longer, and, whatever I do, I do with my eyesopen. When I do well, the merit 's mine; if I do ill, the fault 's mine!The idea that I make you nervous is detestable. Dedicate your nervesto some better cause, and believe that if Miss Garland and I have aquarrel, we shall settle it between ourselves. "

Rowland had found himself wondering, shortly before, whether possiblyhis brilliant young friend was without a conscience; now it dimlyoccurred to him that he was without a heart. Rowland, as we have alreadyintimated, was a man with a moral passion, and no small part of it hadgone forth into his relations with Roderick. There had been, from thefirst, no protestations of friendship on either side, but Rowland hadimplicitly offered everything that belongs to friendship, and Roderickhad, apparently, as deliberately accepted it. Rowland, indeed, had takenan exquisite satisfaction in his companion's deep, inexpressive assentto his interest in him. "Here is an uncommonly fine thing, " he said tohimself: "a nature unconsciously grateful, a man in whom friendship doesthe thing that love alone generally has the credit of--knocks the bottomout of pride!" His reflective judgment of Roderick, as time went on, hadindulged in a great many irrepressible vagaries; but his affection, his sense of something in his companion's whole personality thatovermastered his heart and beguiled his imagination, had never for aninstant faltered. He listened to Roderick's last words, and then hesmiled as he rarely smiled--with bitterness. 

"I don't at all like your telling me I am too zealous, " he said. "If Ihad not been zealous, I should never have cared a fig for you. "

Roderick flushed deeply, and thrust his modeling tool up to the handleinto the clay. "Say it outright! You have been a great fool to believein me. "

"I desire to say nothing of the kind, and you don't honestly believe Ido!" said Rowland. "It seems to me I am really very good-natured even toreply to such nonsense. "

Roderick sat down, crossed his arms, and fixed his eyes on the floor. Rowland looked at him for some moments; it seemed to him that hehad never so clearly read his companion's strangely commingledcharacter--his strength and his weakness, his picturesque personalattractiveness and his urgent egoism, his exalted ardor and his puerilepetulance. It would have made him almost sick, however, to think that, on the whole, Roderick was not a generous fellow, and he was so far fromhaving ceased to believe in him that he felt just now, more than ever, that all this was but the painful complexity of genius. Rowland, whohad not a grain of genius either to make one say he was an interestedreasoner, or to enable one to feel that he could afford a dangeroustheory or two, adhered to his conviction of the essential salubrity ofgenius. Suddenly he felt an irresistible compassion for his companion;it seemed to him that his beautiful faculty of production was adouble-edged instrument, susceptible of being dealt in back-handed blowsat its possessor. Genius was priceless, inspired, divine; but it wasalso, at its hours, capricious, sinister, cruel; and men of genius, accordingly, were alternately very enviable and very helpless. It wasnot the first time he had had a sense of Roderick's standing helpless inthe grasp of his temperament. It had shaken him, as yet, but with a halfgood-humored wantonness; but, henceforth, possibly, it meant to handlehim more roughly. These were not times, therefore, for a friend to havea short patience. 

"When you err, you say, the fault 's your own, " he said at last. "It isbecause your faults are your own that I care about them. "

Rowland's voice, when he spoke with feeling, had an extraordinaryamenity. Roderick sat staring a moment longer at the floor, then hesprang up and laid his hand affectionately on his friend's shoulder. "You are the best man in the world, " he said, "and I am a vile brute. Only, " he added in a moment, "you don't understand me!" And he lookedat him with eyes of such radiant lucidity that one might have said (andRowland did almost say so, himself) that it was the fault of one's owngrossness if one failed to read to the bottom of that beautiful soul. 

Rowland smiled sadly. "What is it now? Explain. "

"Oh, I can't explain!" cried Roderick impatiently, returning to hiswork. "I have only one way of expressing my deepest feelings--it 'sthis!" And he swung his tool. He stood looking at the half-wrought clayfor a moment, and then flung the instrument down. "And even this halfthe time plays me false!"

Rowland felt that his irritation had not subsided, and he himself had notaste for saying disagreeable things. Nevertheless he saw no sufficientreason to forbear uttering the words he had had on his conscience fromthe beginning. "We must do what we can and be thankful, " he said. "Andlet me assure you of this--that it won't help you to become entangledwith Miss Light. "

Roderick pressed his hand to his forehead with vehemence and then shookit in the air, despairingly; a gesture that had become frequent with himsince he had been in Italy. "No, no, it 's no use; you don't understandme! But I don't blame you. You can't!"

"You think it will help you, then?" said Rowland, wondering. 

"I think that when you expect a man to produce beautiful and wonderfulworks of art, you ought to allow him a certain freedom of action, youought to give him a long rope, you ought to let him follow his fancy andlook for his material wherever he thinks he may find it! A mother can'tnurse her child unless she follows a certain diet; an artist can't bringhis visions to maturity unless he has a certain experience. Youdemand of us to be imaginative, and you deny us that which feeds theimagination. In labor we must be as passionate as the inspired sibyl; inlife we must be mere machines. It won't do. When you have got an artistto deal with, you must take him as he is, good and bad together. I don'tsay they are pleasant fellows to know or easy fellows to live with; Idon't say they satisfy themselves any better than other people. I onlysay that if you want them to produce, you must let them conceive. Ifyou want a bird to sing, you must not cover up its cage. Shoot them, thepoor devils, drown them, exterminate them, if you will, in the interestof public morality; it may be morality would gain--I dare say it would!But if you suffer them to live, let them live on their own terms andaccording to their own inexorable needs!"

Rowland burst out laughing. "I have no wish whatever either to shoot youor to drown you!" he said. "Why launch such a tirade against a warningoffered you altogether in the interest of your freest development?Do you really mean that you have an inexorable need of embarking on aflirtation with Miss Light?--a flirtation as to the felicity of whichthere may be differences of opinion, but which cannot at best, under thecircumstances, be called innocent. Your last summer's adventures weremore so! As for the terms on which you are to live, I had an idea youhad arranged them otherwise!"

"I have arranged nothing--thank God! I don't pretend to arrange. Iam young and ardent and inquisitive, and I admire Miss Light. That 'senough. I shall go as far as admiration leads me. I am not afraid. Yourgenuine artist may be sometimes half a madman, but he 's not a coward!"

"Suppose that in your speculation you should come to grief, not onlysentimentally but artistically?"

"Come what come will! If I 'm to fizzle out, the sooner I know it thebetter. Sometimes I half suspect it. But let me at least go out andreconnoitre for the enemy, and not sit here waiting for him, cudgelingmy brains for ideas that won't come!"

Do what he would, Rowland could not think of Roderick's theory ofunlimited experimentation, especially as applied in the case underdiscussion, as anything but a pernicious illusion. But he saw it wasvain to combat longer, for inclination was powerfully on Roderick'sside. He laid his hand on Roderick's shoulder, looked at him a momentwith troubled eyes, then shook his head mournfully and turned away. 

"I can't work any more, " said Roderick. "You have upset me! I 'll goand stroll on the Pincian. " And he tossed aside his working-jacket andprepared himself for the street. As he was arranging his cravat beforethe glass, something occurred to him which made him thoughtful. Hestopped a few moments afterward, as they were going out, with his handon the door-knob. "You did, from your own point of view, an indiscreetthing, " he said, "to tell Miss Light of my engagement. "

Rowland looked at him with a glance which was partly an interrogation, but partly, also, an admission. 

"If she 's the coquette you say, " Roderick added, "you have given her areason the more. "

"And that 's the girl you propose to devote yourself to?" cried Rowland. 

"Oh, I don't say it, mind! I only say that she 's the most interestingcreature in the world! The next time you mean to render me a service, pray give me notice beforehand!"

It was perfectly characteristic of Roderick that, a fortnight later, heshould have let his friend know that he depended upon him for societyat Frascati, as freely as if no irritating topic had ever been discussedbetween them. Rowland thought him generous, and he had at any rate aliberal faculty of forgetting that he had given you any reason to bedispleased with him. It was equally characteristic of Rowland that hecomplied with his friend's summons without a moment's hesitation. Hiscousin Cecilia had once told him that he was the dupe of his intensebenevolence. She put the case with too little favor, or too much, as thereader chooses; it is certain, at least, that he had a constitutionaltendency towards magnanimous interpretations. Nothing happened, however, to suggest to him that he was deluded in thinking that Roderick'ssecondary impulses were wiser than his primary ones, and that therounded total of his nature had a harmony perfectly attuned to the mostamiable of its brilliant parts. Roderick's humor, for the time, waspitched in a minor key; he was lazy, listless, and melancholy, but hehad never been more friendly and kindly and appealingly submissive. Winter had begun, by the calendar, but the weather was divinely mild, and the two young men took long slow strolls on the hills and loungedaway the mornings in the villas. The villas at Frascati are deliciousplaces, and replete with romantic suggestiveness. Roderick, as hehad said, was meditating, and if a masterpiece was to come of hismeditations, Rowland was perfectly willing to bear him company and coaxalong the process. But Roderick let him know from the first that he wasin a miserably sterile mood, and, cudgel his brains as he would, couldthink of nothing that would serve for the statue he was to make for Mr. Leavenworth. 

"It is worse out here than in Rome, " he said, "for here I am face toface with the dead blank of my mind! There I could n't think of anythingeither, but there I found things to make me forget that I needed to. "This was as frank an allusion to Christina Light as could have beenexpected under the circumstances; it seemed, indeed, to Rowlandsurprisingly frank, and a pregnant example of his companion's oftenstrangely irresponsible way of looking at harmful facts. Roderickwas silent sometimes for hours, with a puzzled look on his face anda constant fold between his even eyebrows; at other times he talkedunceasingly, with a slow, idle, half-nonsensical drawl. Rowland was halfa dozen times on the point of asking him what was the matter with him;he was afraid he was going to be ill. Roderick had taken a great fancyto the Villa Mondragone, and used to declaim fantastic compliments to itas they strolled in the winter sunshine on the great terrace which lookstoward Tivoli and the iridescent Sabine mountains. He carried his volumeof Ariosto in his pocket, and took it out every now and then and spoutedhalf a dozen stanzas to his companion. He was, as a general thing, verylittle of a reader; but at intervals he would take a fancy to one of theclassics and peruse it for a month in disjointed scraps. He had pickedup Italian without study, and had a wonderfully sympathetic accent, though in reading aloud he ruined the sense of half the lines herolled off so sonorously. Rowland, who pronounced badly but understoodeverything, once said to him that Ariosto was not the poet for a man ofhis craft; a sculptor should make a companion of Dante. So he lent himthe Inferno, which he had brought with him, and advised him to look intoit. Roderick took it with some eagerness; perhaps it would brightenhis wits. He returned it the next day with disgust; he had found itintolerably depressing. 

"A sculptor should model as Dante writes--you 're right there, " he said. "But when his genius is in eclipse, Dante is a dreadfully smoky lamp. By what perversity of fate, " he went on, "has it come about that I am asculptor at all? A sculptor is such a confoundedly special genius; thereare so few subjects he can treat, so few things in life that bear uponhis work, so few moods in which he himself is inclined to it. " (Itmay be noted that Rowland had heard him a dozen times affirm the flatreverse of all this. ) "If I had only been a painter--a little quiet, docile, matter-of-fact painter, like our friend Singleton--I shouldonly have to open my Ariosto here to find a subject, to find color andattitudes, stuffs and composition; I should only have to look up fromthe page at that mouldy old fountain against the blue sky, at thatcypress alley wandering away like a procession of priests in couples, at the crags and hollows of the Sabine hills, to find myself graspingmy brush. Best of all would be to be Ariosto himself, or one of hisbrotherhood. Then everything in nature would give you a hint, and everyform of beauty be part of your stock. You would n't have to look atthings only to say, --with tears of rage half the time, --'Oh, yes, it's wonderfully pretty, but what the deuce can I do with it?' But asculptor, now! That 's a pretty trade for a fellow who has got hisliving to make and yet is so damnably constituted that he can't work toorder, and considers that, aesthetically, clock ornaments don't pay! Youcan't model the serge-coated cypresses, nor those mouldering old Tritonsand all the sunny sadness of that dried-up fountain; you can't put thelight into marble--the lovely, caressing, consenting Italian light thatyou get so much of for nothing. Say that a dozen times in his life a manhas a complete sculpturesque vision--a vision in which the imaginationrecognizes a subject and the subject kindles the imagination. It is aremunerative rate of work, and the intervals are comfortable!"

One morning, as the two young men were lounging on the sun-warmedgrass at the foot of one of the slanting pines of the Villa Mondragone, Roderick delivered himself of a tissue of lugubrious speculations as tothe possible mischances of one's genius. "What if the watch should rundown, " he asked, "and you should lose the key? What if you should wakeup some morning and find it stopped, inexorably, appallingly stopped?Such things have been, and the poor devils to whom they happened havehad to grin and bear it. The whole matter of genius is a mystery. Itbloweth where it listeth and we know nothing of its mechanism. If itgets out of order we can't mend it; if it breaks down altogether wecan't set it going again. We must let it choose its own pace, and holdour breath lest it should lose its balance. It 's dealt out in differentdoses, in big cups and little, and when you have consumed your portionit 's as naif to ask for more as it was for Oliver Twist to ask for moreporridge. Lucky for you if you 've got one of the big cups; we drinkthem down in the dark, and we can't tell their size until we tip themup and hear the last gurgle. Those of some men last for life; those ofothers for a couple of years. Nay, what are you smiling at so damnably?"he went on. "Nothing is more common than for an artist who has set outon his journey on a high-stepping horse to find himself all of a suddendismounted and invited to go his way on foot. You can number them by thethousand--the people of two or three successes; the poor fellows whosecandle burnt out in a night. Some of them groped their way along withoutit, some of them gave themselves up for blind and sat down by thewayside to beg. Who shall say that I 'm not one of these? Who shallassure me that my credit is for an unlimited sum? Nothing proves it, and I never claimed it; or if I did, I did so in the mere boyish joy ofshaking off the dust of Northampton. If you believed so, my dear fellow, you did so at your own risk! What am I, what are the best of us, butan experiment? Do I succeed--do I fail? It does n't depend on me. I 'mprepared for failure. It won't be a disappointment, simply because Ishan't survive it. The end of my work shall be the end of my life. WhenI have played my last card, I shall cease to care for the game. I 'm notmaking vulgar threats of suicide; for destiny, I trust, won't addinsult to injury by putting me to that abominable trouble. But I have aconviction that if the hour strikes here, " and he tapped his forehead, "I shall disappear, dissolve, be carried off in a cloud! For the pastten days I have had the vision of some such fate perpetually swimmingbefore my eyes. My mind is like a dead calm in the tropics, and myimagination as motionless as the phantom ship in the Ancient Mariner!"

Rowland listened to this outbreak, as he often had occasion to listen toRoderick's heated monologues, with a number of mental restrictions. Bothin gravity and in gayety he said more than he meant, and you did himsimple justice if you privately concluded that neither the glow ofpurpose nor the chill of despair was of so intense a character as hisflorid diction implied. The moods of an artist, his exaltationsand depressions, Rowland had often said to himself, were like thepen-flourishes a writing-master makes in the air when he begins to sethis copy. He may bespatter you with ink, he may hit you in the eye, buthe writes a magnificent hand. It was nevertheless true that at presentpoor Roderick gave unprecedented tokens of moral stagnation, and as forgenius being held by the precarious tenure he had sketched, Rowland wasat a loss to see whence he could borrow the authority to contradict him. He sighed to himself, and wished that his companion had a trifle moreof little Sam Singleton's evenness of impulse. But then, was Singletona man of genius? He answered that such reflections seemed to himunprofitable, not to say morbid; that the proof of the pudding wasin the eating; that he did n't know about bringing a genius that hadpalpably spent its last breath back to life again, but that he wassatisfied that vigorous effort was a cure for a great many ills thatseemed far gone. "Don't heed your mood, " he said, "and don't believethere is any calm so dead that your own lungs can't ruffle it with abreeze. If you have work to do, don't wait to feel like it; set to workand you will feel like it. "

"Set to work and produce abortions!" cried Roderick with ire. "Preachthat to others. Production with me must be either pleasure or nothing. As I said just now, I must either stay in the saddle or not go at all. I won't do second-rate work; I can't if I would. I have no cleverness, apart from inspiration. I am not a Gloriani! You are right, " he addedafter a while; "this is unprofitable talk, and it makes my head ache. Ishall take a nap and see if I can dream of a bright idea or two. "

He turned his face upward to the parasol of the great pine, closed hiseyes, and in a short time forgot his sombre fancies. January though itwas, the mild stillness seemed to vibrate with faint midsummer sounds. Rowland sat listening to them and wishing that, for the sake of his ownfelicity, Roderick's temper were graced with a certain absent ductility. He was brilliant, but was he, like many brilliant things, brittle?Suddenly, to his musing sense, the soft atmospheric hum was overscoredwith distincter sounds. He heard voices beyond a mass of shrubbery, atthe turn of a neighboring path. In a moment one of them began to seemfamiliar, and an instant later a large white poodle emerged into view. He was slowly followed by his mistress. Miss Light paused a moment onseeing Rowland and his companion; but, though the former perceived thathe was recognized, she made no bow. Presently she walked directly towardhim. He rose and was on the point of waking Roderick, but she laidher finger on her lips and motioned him to forbear. She stood a momentlooking at Roderick's handsome slumber. 

"What delicious oblivion!" she said. "Happy man! Stenterello"--and shepointed to his face--"wake him up!"

The poodle extended a long pink tongue and began to lick Roderick'scheek. 

"Why, " asked Rowland, "if he is happy?"

"Oh, I want companions in misery! Besides, I want to show off my dog. "Roderick roused himself, sat up, and stared. By this time Mrs. Light hadapproached, walking with a gentleman on each side of her. One of thesewas the Cavaliere Giacosa; the other was Prince Casamassima. "I shouldhave liked to lie down on the grass and go to sleep, " Christina added. "But it would have been unheard of. "

"Oh, not quite, " said the Prince, in English, with a tone of greatprecision. "There was already a Sleeping Beauty in the Wood!"

"Charming!" cried Mrs. Light. "Do you hear that, my dear?"

"When the prince says a brilliant thing, it would be a pity to lose it, "said the young girl. "Your servant, sir!" And she smiled at him with agrace that might have reassured him, if he had thought her complimentambiguous. 

Roderick meanwhile had risen to his feet, and Mrs. Light began toexclaim on the oddity of their meeting and to explain that the day wasso lovely that she had been charmed with the idea of spending it in thecountry. And who would ever have thought of finding Mr. Mallet and Mr. Hudson sleeping under a tree!

"Oh, I beg your pardon; I was not sleeping, " said Rowland. 

"Don't you know that Mr. Mallet is Mr. Hudson's sheep-dog?" askedChristina. "He was mounting guard to keep away the wolves. "

"To indifferent purpose, madame!" said Rowland, indicating the younggirl. 

"Is that the way you spend your time?" Christina demanded of Roderick. "I never yet happened to learn what men were doing when they supposedwomen were not watching them but it was something vastly below theirreputation. "

"When, pray, " said Roderick, smoothing his ruffled locks, "are women notwatching them?"

"We shall give you something better to do, at any rate. How long haveyou been here? It 's an age since I have seen you. We consider youdomiciled here, and expect you to play host and entertain us. "

Roderick said that he could offer them nothing but to show them thegreat terrace, with its view; and ten minutes later the group wasassembled there. Mrs. Light was extravagant in her satisfaction;Christina looked away at the Sabine mountains, in silence. The princestood by, frowning at the rapture of the elder lady. 

"This is nothing, " he said at last. "My word of honor. Have you seen theterrace at San Gaetano?"

"Ah, that terrace, " murmured Mrs. Light, amorously. "I suppose it ismagnificent!"

"It is four hundred feet long, and paved with marble. And the view isa thousand times more beautiful than this. You see, far away, the blue, blue sea and the little smoke of Vesuvio!"

"Christina, love, " cried Mrs. Light forthwith, "the prince has a terracefour hundred feet long, all paved with marble!"

The Cavaliere gave a little cough and began to wipe his eye-glass. 

"Stupendous!" said Christina. "To go from one end to the other, theprince must have out his golden carriage. " This was apparently anallusion to one of the other items of the young man's grandeur. 

"You always laugh at me, " said the prince. "I know no more what to say!"

She looked at him with a sad smile and shook her head. "No, no, dearprince, I don't laugh at you. Heaven forbid! You are much too serious anaffair. I assure you I feel your importance. What did you inform us wasthe value of the hereditary diamonds of the Princess Casamassima?"

"Ah, you are laughing at me yet!" said the poor young man, standingrigid and pale. 

"It does n't matter, " Christina went on. "We have a note of it; mammawrites all those things down in a little book!"

"If you are laughed at, dear prince, at least it 's in company, " saidMrs. Light, caressingly; and she took his arm, as if to resist hispossible displacement under the shock of her daughter's sarcasm. But theprince looked heavy-eyed toward Rowland and Roderick, to whom theyoung girl was turning, as if he had much rather his lot were cast withtheirs. 

"Is the villa inhabited?" Christina asked, pointing to the vastmelancholy structure which rises above the terrace. 

"Not privately, " said Roderick. "It is occupied by a Jesuits' college, for little boys. "

"Can women go in?"

"I am afraid not. " And Roderick began to laugh. "Fancy the poor littledevils looking up from their Latin declensions and seeing Miss Lightstanding there!"

"I should like to see the poor little devils, with their rosy cheeks andtheir long black gowns, and when they were pretty, I should n't scrupleto kiss them. But if I can't have that amusement I must have some other. We must not stand planted on this enchanting terrace as if we werestakes driven into the earth. We must dance, we must feast, we must dosomething picturesque. Mamma has arranged, I believe, that we are to goback to Frascati to lunch at the inn. I decree that we lunch here andsend the Cavaliere to the inn to get the provisions! He can take thecarriage, which is waiting below. "

Miss Light carried out this undertaking with unfaltering ardor. TheCavaliere was summoned, and he stook to receive her commands hat inhand, with his eyes cast down, as if she had been a princess addressingher major-domo. She, however, laid her hand with friendly grace upon hisbutton-hole, and called him a dear, good old Cavaliere, for being alwaysso willing. Her spirits had risen with the occasion, and she talkedirresistible nonsense. "Bring the best they have, " she said, "no matterif it ruins us! And if the best is very bad, it will be all themore amusing. I shall enjoy seeing Mr. Mallet try to swallow it forpropriety's sake! Mr. Hudson will say out like a man that it 's horriblestuff, and that he 'll be choked first! Be sure you bring a dish ofmaccaroni; the prince must have the diet of the Neapolitan nobility. ButI leave all that to you, my poor, dear Cavaliere; you know what 's good!Only be sure, above all, you bring a guitar. Mr. Mallet will play usa tune, I 'll dance with Mr. Hudson, and mamma will pair off with theprince, of whom she is so fond!"

And as she concluded her recommendations, she patted her bland oldservitor caressingly on the shoulder. He looked askance at Rowland; hislittle black eye glittered; it seemed to say, "Did n't I tell you shewas a good girl!"

The Cavaliere returned with zealous speed, accompanied by one of theservants of the inn, laden with a basket containing the materials of arustic luncheon. The porter of the villa was easily induced to furnisha table and half a dozen chairs, and the repast, when set forth, waspronounced a perfect success; not so good as to fail of the properpicturesqueness, nor yet so bad as to defeat the proper function ofrepasts. Christina continued to display the most charming animation, and compelled Rowland to reflect privately that, think what one mightof her, the harmonious gayety of a beautiful girl was the most beautifulsight in nature. Her good-humor was contagious. Roderick, who an hourbefore had been descanting on madness and suicide, commingled hislaughter with hers in ardent devotion; Prince Casamassima strokedhis young moustache and found a fine, cool smile for everything; hisneighbor, Mrs. Light, who had Rowland on the other side, made thefriendliest confidences to each of the young men, and the Cavalierecontributed to the general hilarity by the solemnity of his attentionto his plate. As for Rowland, the spirit of kindly mirth prompted him topropose the health of this useful old gentleman, as the effective authorof their pleasure. A moment later he wished he had held his tongue, foralthough the toast was drunk with demonstrative good-will, the Cavalierereceived it with various small signs of eager self-effacement whichsuggested to Rowland that his diminished gentility but half relishedhonors which had a flavor of patronage. To perform punctiliously hismysterious duties toward the two ladies, and to elude or to baffleobservation on his own merits--this seemed the Cavaliere's modestprogramme. Rowland perceived that Mrs. Light, who was not alwaysremarkable for tact, seemed to have divined his humor on this point. She touched her glass to her lips, but offered him no compliment andimmediately gave another direction to the conversation. He had broughtno guitar, so that when the feast was over there was nothing to hold thelittle group together. Christina wandered away with Roderick to anotherpart of the terrace; the prince, whose smile had vanished, sat gnawingthe head of his cane, near Mrs. Light, and Rowland strolled apartwith the Cavaliere, to whom he wished to address a friendly word incompensation for the discomfort he had inflicted on his modesty. TheCavaliere was a mine of information upon all Roman places and people;he told Rowland a number of curious anecdotes about the old VillaMondragone. "If history could always be taught in this fashion!" thoughtRowland. "It 's the ideal--strolling up and down on the very spotcommemorated, hearing sympathetic anecdotes from deeply indigenouslips. " At last, as they passed, Rowland observed the mournfulphysiognomy of Prince Casamassima, and, glancing toward the other end ofthe terrace, saw that Roderick and Christina had disappeared from view. The young man was sitting upright, in an attitude, apparently habitual, of ceremonious rigidity; but his lower jaw had fallen and was proppedup with his cane, and his dull dark eye was fixed upon the angle of thevilla which had just eclipsed Miss Light and her companion. His featureswere grotesque and his expression vacuous; but there was a lurkingdelicacy in his face which seemed to tell you that nature had beenmaking Casamassimas for a great many centuries, and, though she adaptedher mould to circumstances, had learned to mix her material to anextraordinary fineness and to perform the whole operation with extremesmoothness. The prince was stupid, Rowland suspected, but he imaginedhe was amiable, and he saw that at any rate he had the great qualityof regarding himself in a thoroughly serious light. Rowland touched hiscompanion's arm and pointed to the melancholy nobleman. 

"Why in the world does he not go after her and insist on being noticed!"he asked. 

"Oh, he 's very proud!" said the Cavaliere. 

"That 's all very well, but a gentleman who cultivates a passion forthat young lady must be prepared to make sacrifices. "

"He thinks he has already made a great many. He comes of a very greatfamily--a race of princes who for six hundred years have married nonebut the daughters of princes. But he is seriously in love, and he wouldmarry her to-morrow. "

"And she will not have him?"

"Ah, she is very proud, too!" The Cavaliere was silent a moment, as ifhe were measuring the propriety of frankness. He seemed to have formeda high opinion of Rowland's discretion, for he presently continued:"It would be a great match, for she brings him neither a name nor afortune--nothing but her beauty. But the signorina will receive nofavors; I know her well! She would rather have her beauty blasted thanseem to care about the marriage, and if she ever accepts the prince itwill be only after he has implored her on his knees!"

"But she does care about it, " said Rowland, "and to bring him to hisknees she is working upon his jealousy by pretending to be interested inmy friend Hudson. If you said more, you would say that, eh?"

The Cavaliere's shrewdness exchanged a glance with Rowland's. "By nomeans. Miss Light is a singular girl; she has many romantic ideas. She would be quite capable of interesting herself seriously in aninteresting young man, like your friend, and doing her utmost todiscourage a splendid suitor, like the prince. She would act sincerelyand she would go very far. But it would be unfortunate for the youngman, " he added, after a pause, "for at the last she would retreat!"

"A singular girl, indeed!"

"She would accept the more brilliant parti. I can answer for it. "

"And what would be her motive?"

"She would be forced. There would be circumstances. . . . I can't tell youmore. "

"But this implies that the rejected suitor would also come back. Hemight grow tired of waiting. "

"Oh, this one is good! Look at him now. " Rowland looked, and saw thatthe prince had left his place by Mrs. Light and was marching restlesslyto and fro between the villa and the parapet of the terrace. Every nowand then he looked at his watch. "In this country, you know, " said theCavaliere, "a young lady never goes walking alone with a handsome youngman. It seems to him very strange. "

"It must seem to him monstrous, and if he overlooks it he must be verymuch in love. "

"Oh, he will overlook it. He is far gone. "

"Who is this exemplary lover, then; what is he?"

"A Neapolitan; one of the oldest houses in Italy. He is a prince in yourEnglish sense of the word, for he has a princely fortune. He is veryyoung; he is only just of age; he saw the signorina last winterin Naples. He fell in love with her from the first, but his familyinterfered, and an old uncle, an ecclesiastic, Monsignor B----, hurriedup to Naples, seized him, and locked him up. Meantime he has passed hismajority, and he can dispose of himself. His relations are moving heavenand earth to prevent his marrying Miss Light, and they have sent usword that he forfeits his property if he takes his wife out of a certainline. I have investigated the question minutely, and I find this is buta fiction to frighten us. He is perfectly free; but the estates aresuch that it is no wonder they wish to keep them in their own hands. ForItaly, it is an extraordinary case of unincumbered property. The princehas been an orphan from his third year; he has therefore had a longminority and made no inroads upon his fortune. Besides, he is veryprudent and orderly; I am only afraid that some day he will pull thepurse-strings too tight. All these years his affairs have been in thehands of Monsignor B----, who has managed them to perfection--paid offmortagages, planted forests, opened up mines. It is now a magnificentfortune; such a fortune as, with his name, would justify the young manin pretending to any alliance whatsoever. And he lays it all at the feetof that young girl who is wandering in yonder boschetto with a pennilessartist. "

"He is certainly a phoenix of princes! The signora must be in a state ofbliss. "

The Cavaliere looked imperturbably grave. "The signora has a high esteemfor his character. "

"His character, by the way, " rejoined Rowland, with a smile; "what sortof a character is it?"

"Eh, Prince Casamassima is a veritable prince! He is a very good youngman. He is not brilliant, nor witty, but he 'll not let himself be madea fool of. He 's very grave and very devout--though he does propose tomarry a Protestant. He will handle that point after marriage. He 's asyou see him there: a young man without many ideas, but with a very firmgrasp of a single one--the conviction that Prince Casamassima is a verygreat person, that he greatly honors any young lady by asking for herhand, and that things are going very strangely when the young ladyturns her back upon him. The poor young man, I am sure, is profoundlyperplexed. But I whisper to him every day, 'Pazienza, Signor Principe!'"

"So you firmly believe, " said Rowland, in conclusion, "that Miss Lightwill accept him just in time not to lose him!"

"I count upon it. She would make too perfect a princess to miss herdestiny. "

"And you hold that nevertheless, in the mean while, in listening to, say, my friend Hudson, she will have been acting in good faith?"

The Cavaliere lifted his shoulders a trifle, and gave an inscrutablesmile. "Eh, dear signore, the Christina is very romantic!"

"So much so, you intimate, that she will eventually retract, inconsequence not of a change of sentiment, but of a mysterious outwardpressure?"

"If everything else fails, there is that resource. But it is mysterious, as you say, and you need n't try to guess it. You will never know. "

"The poor signorina, then, will suffer!"

"Not too much, I hope. "

"And the poor young man! You maintain that there is nothing butdisappointment in store for the infatuated youth who loses his heart toher!"

The Cavaliere hesitated. "He had better, " he said in a moment, "go andpursue his studies in Florence. There are very fine antiques in theUffizi!"

Rowland presently joined Mrs. Light, to whom her restless protege hadnot yet returned. "That 's right, " she said; "sit down here; I havesomething serious to say to you. I am going to talk to you as a friend. I want your assistance. In fact, I demand it; it 's your duty to renderit. Look at that unhappy young man. "

"Yes, " said Rowland, "he seems unhappy. "

"He is just come of age, he bears one of the greatest names in Italy andowns one of the greatest properties, and he is pining away with love formy daughter. "

"So the Cavaliere tells me. "

"The Cavaliere should n't gossip, " said Mrs. Light dryly. "Suchinformation should come from me. The prince is pining, as I say; he 'sconsumed, he 's devoured. It 's a real Italian passion; I know what thatmeans!" And the lady gave a speaking glance, which seemed to coquetfor a moment with retrospect. "Meanwhile, if you please, my daughter ishiding in the woods with your dear friend Mr. Hudson. I could cry withrage. "

"If things are so bad as that, " said Rowland, "it seems to me that youought to find nothing easier than to dispatch the Cavaliere to bring theguilty couple back. "

"Never in the world! My hands are tied. Do you know what Christinawould do? She would tell the Cavaliere to go about his business--Heavenforgive her!--and send me word that, if she had a mind to, she wouldwalk in the woods till midnight. Fancy the Cavaliere coming back anddelivering such a message as that before the prince! Think of a girlwantonly making light of such a chance as hers! He would marry herto-morrow, at six o'clock in the morning!"

"It is certainly very sad, " said Rowland. 

"That costs you little to say. If you had left your precious youngmeddler to vegetate in his native village you would have saved me aworld of distress!"

"Nay, you marched into the jaws of danger, " said Rowland. "You came anddisinterred poor Hudson in his own secluded studio. "

"In an evil hour! I wish to Heaven you would talk with him. "

"I have done my best. "

"I wish, then, you would take him away. You have plenty of money. Do mea favor. Take him to travel. Go to the East--go to Timbuctoo. Then, whenChristina is Princess Casamassima, " Mrs. Light added in a moment, "hemay come back if he chooses. "

"Does she really care for him?" Rowland asked, abruptly. 

"She thinks she does, possibly. She is a living riddle. She must needsfollow out every idea that comes into her head. Fortunately, most ofthem don't last long; but this one may last long enough to give theprince a chill. If that were to happen, I don't know what I should do! Ishould be the most miserable of women. It would be too cruel, afterall I 've suffered to make her what she is, to see the labor of yearsblighted by a caprice. For I can assure you, sir, " Mrs. Light went on, "that if my daughter is the greatest beauty in the world, some of thecredit is mine. "

Rowland promptly remarked that this was obvious. He saw that the lady'sirritated nerves demanded comfort from flattering reminiscence, andhe assumed designedly the attitude of a zealous auditor. She beganto retail her efforts, her hopes, her dreams, her presentiments, herdisappointments, in the cause of her daughter's matrimonial fortunes. Itwas a long story, and while it was being unfolded, the prince continuedto pass to and fro, stiffly and solemnly, like a pendulum markingthe time allowed for the young lady to come to her senses. Mrs. Lightevidently, at an early period, had gathered her maternal hopes intoa sacred sheaf, which she said her prayers and burnt incense to, andtreated like a sort of fetish. They had been her religion; she had noneother, and she performed her devotions bravely and cheerily, in thelight of day. The poor old fetish had been so caressed and manipulated, so thrust in and out of its niche, so passed from hand to hand, sodressed and undressed, so mumbled and fumbled over, that it had lost bythis time much of its early freshness, and seemed a rather batteredand disfeatured divinity. But it was still brought forth in moments oftrouble to have its tinseled petticoat twisted about and be set upon its altar. Rowland observed that Mrs. Light had a genuine maternalconscience; she considered that she had been performing a sacred duty inbringing up Christina to set her cap for a prince, and when the futurelooked dark, she found consolation in thinking that destiny could neverhave the heart to deal a blow at so deserving a person. This conscienceupside down presented to Rowland's fancy a real physical image; he wason the point, half a dozen times, of bursting out laughing. 

"I don't know whether you believe in presentiments, " said Mrs. Light, "and I don't care! I have had one for the last fifteen years. Peoplehave laughed at it, but they have n't laughed me out of it. It has beeneverything to me. I could n't have lived without it. One must believe insomething! It came to me in a flash, when Christina was five years old. I remember the day and the place, as if it were yesterday. She was avery ugly baby; for the first two years I could hardly bear to look ather, and I used to spoil my own looks with crying about her. She had anItalian nurse who was very fond of her and insisted that she would growup pretty. I could n't believe her; I used to contradict her, and wewere forever squabbling. I was just a little silly in those days--surelyI may say it now--and I was very fond of being amused. If my daughterwas ugly, it was not that she resembled her mamma; I had no lack ofamusement. People accused me, I believe, of neglecting my little girl;if it was so, I 've made up for it since. One day I went to drive on thePincio in very low spirits. A trusted friend had greatly disappointedme. While I was there he passed me in a carriage, driving with ahorrible woman who had made trouble between us. I got out of my carriageto walk about, and at last sat down on a bench. I can show you the spotat this hour. While I sat there a child came wandering along the path--alittle girl of four or five, very fantastically dressed in crimson andorange. She stopped in front of me and stared at me, and I stared at herqueer little dress, which was a cheap imitation of the costume of oneof these contadine. At last I looked up at her face, and said to myself, 'Bless me, what a beautiful child! what a splendid pair of eyes, what amagnificent head of hair! If my poor Christina were only like that!' Thechild turned away slowly, but looking back with its eyes fixed on me. All of a sudden I gave a cry, pounced on it, pressed it in my arms, and covered it with kisses. It was Christina, my own precious child, sodisguised by the ridiculous dress which the nurse had amused herself inmaking for her, that her own mother had not recognized her. She knew me, but she said afterwards that she had not spoken to me because I lookedso angry. Of course my face was sad. I rushed with my child to thecarriage, drove home post-haste, pulled off her rags, and, as I may say, wrapped her in cotton. I had been blind, I had been insane; she wasa creature in ten millions, she was to be a beauty of beauties, apriceless treasure! Every day, after that, the certainty grew. From thattime I lived only for my daughter. I watched her, I caressed her frommorning till night, I worshipped her. I went to see doctors about her, I took every sort of advice. I was determined she should be perfection. The things that have been done for that girl, sir--you would n't believethem; they would make you smile! Nothing was spared; if I had been toldthat she must have a bath every morning of molten pearls, I would havefound means to give it to her. She never raised a finger for herself, she breathed nothing but perfumes, she walked upon velvet. She neverwas out of my sight, and from that day to this I have never said a sharpword to her. By the time she was ten years old she was beautiful as anangel, and so noticed wherever we went that I had to make her wear aveil, like a woman of twenty. Her hair reached down to her feet; herhands were the hands of a princess. Then I saw that she was as cleveras she was beautiful, and that she had only to play her cards. She hadmasters, professors, every educational advantage. They told me she wasa little prodigy. She speaks French, Italian, German, better thanmost natives. She has a wonderful genius for music, and might make herfortune as a pianist, if it was not made for her otherwise! I traveledall over Europe; every one told me she was a marvel. The director of theopera in Paris saw her dance at a child's party at Spa, and offeredme an enormous sum if I would give her up to him and let him have hereducated for the ballet. I said, 'No, I thank you, sir; she is meantto be something finer than a princesse de theatre. ' I had a passionatebelief that she might marry absolutely whom she chose, that she might bea princess out and out. It has never left me till this hour, and I canassure you that it has sustained me in many embarrassments. Financial, some of them; I don't mind confessing it! I have raised money on thatgirl's face! I 've taken her to the Jews and bade her put up her veil, and asked if the mother of that young lady was not safe! She, of course, was too young to understand me. And yet, as a child, you would have saidshe knew what was in store for her; before she could read, she had themanners, the tastes, the instincts of a little princess. She would havenothing to do with shabby things or shabby people; if she stained one ofher frocks, she was seized with a kind of frenzy and tore it to pieces. At Nice, at Baden, at Brighton, wherever we stayed, she used to be sentfor by all the great people to play with their children. She has playedat kissing-games with people who now stand on the steps of thrones! Ihave gone so far as to think at times that those childish kisses were asign--a symbol--a portent. You may laugh at me if you like, but have n'tsuch things happened again and again without half as good a cause, anddoes n't history notoriously repeat itself? There was a little Spanishgirl at a second-rate English boarding-school thirty years ago!. . . TheEmpress certainly is a pretty woman; but what is my Christina, pray? I've dreamt of it, sometimes every night for a month. I won't tell youI have been to consult those old women who advertise in the newspapers;you 'll call me an old imbecile. Imbecile if you please! I have refusedmagnificent offers because I believed that somehow or other--if wars andrevolutions were needed to bring it about--we should have nothing lessthan that. There might be another coup d'etat somewhere, and anotherbrilliant young sovereign looking out for a wife! At last, however, "Mrs. Light proceeded with incomparable gravity, "since the overturningof the poor king of Naples and that charming queen, and the expulsionof all those dear little old-fashioned Italian grand-dukes, and thedreadful radical talk that is going on all over the world, it has cometo seem to me that with Christina in such a position I should be reallyvery nervous. Even in such a position she would hold her head very high, and if anything should happen to her, she would make no concessionsto the popular fury. The best thing, if one is prudent, seems to be anobleman of the highest possible rank, short of belonging to a reigningstock. There you see one striding up and down, looking at his watch, andcounting the minutes till my daughter reappears!"

Rowland listened to all this with a huge compassion for the heroine ofthe tale. What an education, what a history, what a school of characterand of morals! He looked at the prince and wondered whether he too hadheard Mrs. Light's story. If he had he was a brave man. "I certainlyhope you 'll keep him, " he said to Mrs. Light. "You have played adangerous game with your daughter; it would be a pity not to win. Butthere is hope for you yet; here she comes at last!"

Christina reappeared as he spoke these words, strolling beside hercompanion with the same indifferent tread with which she had departed. Rowland imagined that there was a faint pink flush in her cheek whichshe had not carried away with her, and there was certainly a light inRoderick's eyes which he had not seen there for a week. 

"Bless my soul, how they are all looking at us!" she cried, as theyadvanced. "One would think we were prisoners of the Inquisition!" Andshe paused and glanced from the prince to her mother, and fromRowland to the Cavaliere, and then threw back her head and burst intofar-ringing laughter. "What is it, pray? Have I been very improper? Am Iruined forever? Dear prince, you are looking at me as if I had committedthe unpardonable sin!"

"I myself, " said the prince, "would never have ventured to ask you towalk with me alone in the country for an hour!"

"The more fool you, dear prince, as the vulgar say! Our walk has beencharming. I hope you, on your side, have enjoyed each other's society. "

"My dear daughter, " said Mrs. Light, taking the arm of her predestinedson-in-law, "I shall have something serious to say to you when we reachhome. We will go back to the carriage. "

"Something serious! Decidedly, it is the Inquisition. Mr. Hudson, stand firm, and let us agree to make no confessions without conferringpreviously with each other! They may put us on the rack first. Mr. Mallet, I see also, " Christina added, "has something serious to say tome!"

Rowland had been looking at her with the shadow of his lately-stirredpity in his eyes. "Possibly, " he said. "But it must be for some othertime. "

"I am at your service. I see our good-humor is gone. And I only wantedto be amiable! It is very discouraging. Cavaliere, you, only, look as ifyou had a little of the milk of human kindness left; from your venerablevisage, at least; there is no telling what you think. Give me your armand take me away!"

The party took its course back to the carriage, which was waiting inthe grounds of the villa, and Rowland and Roderick bade their friendsfarewell. Christina threw herself back in her seat and closed her eyes;a manoeuvre for which Rowland imagined the prince was grateful, as itenabled him to look at her without seeming to depart from his attitudeof distinguished disapproval. Rowland found himself aroused from sleepearly the next morning, to see Roderick standing before him, dressed fordeparture, with his bag in his hand. "I am off, " he said. "I am back towork. I have an idea. I must strike while the iron 's hot! Farewell!"And he departed by the first train. Rowland went alone by the next. 

CHAPTER VII. Saint Cecilia's

Rowland went often to the Coliseum; he never wearied of it. One morning, about a month after his return from Frascati, as he was strolling acrossthe vast arena, he observed a young woman seated on one of the fragmentsof stone which are ranged along the line of the ancient parapet. Itseemed to him that he had seen her before, but he was unable to localizeher face. Passing her again, he perceived that one of the littlered-legged French soldiers at that time on guard there had approachedher and was gallantly making himself agreeable. She smiled brilliantly, and Rowland recognized the smile (it had always pleased him) of acertain comely Assunta, who sometimes opened the door for Mrs. Light'svisitors. He wondered what she was doing alone in the Coliseum, andconjectured that Assunta had admirers as well as her young mistress, butthat, being without the same domiciliary conveniencies, she was usingthis massive heritage of her Latin ancestors as a boudoir. In otherwords, she had an appointment with her lover, who had better, frompresent appearances, be punctual. It was a long time since Rowland hadascended to the ruinous upper tiers of the great circus, and, as the daywas radiant and the distant views promised to be particularly clear, he determined to give himself the pleasure. The custodian unlocked thegreat wooden wicket, and he climbed through the winding shafts, wherethe eager Roman crowds had billowed and trampled, not pausing till hereached the highest accessible point of the ruin. The views were as fineas he had supposed; the lights on the Sabine Mountains had never beenmore lovely. He gazed to his satisfaction and retraced his steps. Ina moment he paused again on an abutment somewhat lower, from whichthe glance dropped dizzily into the interior. There are chanceanfractuosities of ruin in the upper portions of the Coliseum whichoffer a very fair imitation of the rugged face of an Alpine cliff. Inthose days a multitude of delicate flowers and sprays of wild herbagehad found a friendly soil in the hoary crevices, and they bloomed andnodded amid the antique masonry as freely as they would have done in thevirgin rock. Rowland was turning away, when he heard a sound of voicesrising up from below. He had but to step slightly forward to findhimself overlooking two persons who had seated themselves on a narrowledge, in a sunny corner. They had apparently had an eye to extremeprivacy, but they had not observed that their position was commanded byRowland's stand-point. One of these airy adventurers was a lady, thicklyveiled, so that, even if he had not been standing directly above her, Rowland could not have seen her face. The other was a young man, whoseface was also invisible, but who, as Rowland stood there, gave a tossof his clustering locks which was equivalent to the signature--RoderickHudson. A moment's reflection, hereupon, satisfied him of the identityof the lady. He had been unjust to poor Assunta, sitting patient in thegloomy arena; she had not come on her own errand. Rowland's discoveriesmade him hesitate. Should he retire as noiselessly as possible, orshould he call out a friendly good morning? While he was debating thequestion, he found himself distinctly hearing his friends' words. Theywere of such a nature as to make him unwilling to retreat, and yetto make it awkward to be discovered in a position where it would beapparent that he had heard them. 

"If what you say is true, " said Christina, with her usual softdeliberateness--it made her words rise with peculiar distinctness toRowland's ear--"you are simply weak. I am sorry! I hoped--I reallybelieved--you were not. "

"No, I am not weak, " answered Roderick, with vehemence; "I maintain thatI am not weak! I am incomplete, perhaps; but I can't help that. Weaknessis a man's own fault!"

"Incomplete, then!" said Christina, with a laugh. "It 's the same thing, so long as it keeps you from splendid achievement. Is it written, then, that I shall really never know what I have so often dreamed of?"

"What have you dreamed of?"

"A man whom I can perfectly respect!" cried the young girl, with asudden flame. "A man, at least, whom I can unrestrictedly admire. I meetone, as I have met more than one before, whom I fondly believe to becast in a larger mould than most of the vile human breed, to be largein character, great in talent, strong in will! In such a man as that, I say, one's weary imagination at last may rest; or it may wander if itwill, yet never need to wander far from the deeps where one's heart isanchored. When I first knew you, I gave no sign, but you had struckme. I observed you, as women observe, and I fancied you had the sacredfire. "

"Before heaven, I believe I have!" cried Roderick. 

"Ah, but so little! It flickers and trembles and sputters; it goes out, you tell me, for whole weeks together. From your own account, it 's tento one that in the long run you 're a failure. "

"I say those things sometimes myself, but when I hear you say them theymake me feel as if I could work twenty years at a sitting, on purpose torefute you!"

"Ah, the man who is strong with what I call strength, " Christinareplied, "would neither rise nor fall by anything I could say! I am apoor, weak woman; I have no strength myself, and I can give no strength. I am a miserable medley of vanity and folly. I am silly, I am ignorant, I am affected, I am false. I am the fruit of a horrible education, sownon a worthless soil. I am all that, and yet I believe I have one merit!I should know a great character when I saw it, and I should delight init with a generosity which would do something toward the remission ofmy sins. For a man who should really give me a certain feeling--whichI have never had, but which I should know when it came--I would sendPrince Casamassima and his millions to perdition. I don't know what youthink of me for saying all this; I suppose we have not climbed up hereunder the skies to play propriety. Why have you been at such pains toassure me, after all, that you are a little man and not a great one, aweak one and not a strong? I innocently imagined that your eyes declaredyou were strong. But your voice condemns you; I always wondered at it;it 's not the voice of a conqueror!"

"Give me something to conquer, " cried Roderick, "and when I say that Ithank you from my soul, my voice, whatever you think of it, shall speakthe truth!"

Christina for a moment said nothing. Rowland was too interested to thinkof moving. "You pretend to such devotion, " she went on, "and yet Iam sure you have never really chosen between me and that person inAmerica. "

"Do me the favor not to speak of her, " said Roderick, imploringly. 

"Why not? I say no ill of her, and I think all kinds of good. I amcertain she is a far better girl than I, and far more likely to make youhappy. "

"This is happiness, this present, palpable moment, " said Roderick;"though you have such a genius for saying the things that torture me!"

"It 's greater happiness than you deserve, then! You have never chosen, I say; you have been afraid to choose. You have never really faced thefact that you are false, that you have broken your faith. You have neverlooked at it and seen that it was hideous, and yet said, 'No matter, I'll brave the penalty, I 'll bear the shame!' You have closed your eyes;you have tried to stifle remembrance, to persuade yourself that you werenot behaving as badly as you seemed to be, and there would be someway, after all, of compassing bliss and yet escaping trouble. You havefaltered and drifted, you have gone on from accident to accident, and Iam sure that at this present moment you can't tell what it is you reallydesire!"

Roderick was sitting with his knees drawn up and bent, and his handsclapsed around his legs. He bent his head and rested his forehead on hisknees. 

Christina went on with a sort of infernal calmness: "I believe that, really, you don't greatly care for your friend in America any more thanyou do for me. You are one of the men who care only for themselves andfor what they can make of themselves. That 's very well when theycan make something great, and I could interest myself in a man ofextraordinary power who should wish to turn all his passions to account. But if the power should turn out to be, after all, rather ordinary?Fancy feeling one's self ground in the mill of a third-rate talent! Ifyou have doubts about yourself, I can't reassure you; I have too manydoubts myself, about everything in this weary world. You have gone uplike a rocket, in your profession, they tell me; are you going to comedown like the stick? I don't pretend to know; I repeat frankly what Ihave said before--that all modern sculpture seems to me weak, and thatthe only things I care for are some of the most battered of the antiquesof the Vatican. No, no, I can't reassure you; and when you tellme--with a confidence in my discretion of which, certainly, I am dulysensible--that at times you feel terribly small, why, I can only answer, 'Ah, then, my poor friend, I am afraid you are small. ' The language Ishould like to hear, from a certain person, would be the language ofabsolute decision. "

Roderick raised his head, but he said nothing; he seemed to beexchanging a long glance with his companion. The result of it wasto make him fling himself back with an inarticulate murmur. Rowland, admonished by the silence, was on the point of turning away, but he wasarrested by a gesture of the young girl. She pointed for a moment intothe blue air. Roderick followed the direction of her gesture. 

"Is that little flower we see outlined against that dark niche, " sheasked, "as intensely blue as it looks through my veil?" She spokeapparently with the amiable design of directing the conversation into aless painful channel. 

Rowland, from where he stood, could see the flower she meant--a delicateplant of radiant hue, which sprouted from the top of an immense fragmentof wall some twenty feet from Christina's place. 

Roderick turned his head and looked at it without answering. At last, glancing round, "Put up your veil!" he said. Christina complied. "Doesit look as blue now?" he asked. 

"Ah, what a lovely color!" she murmured, leaning her head on one side. 

"Would you like to have it?"

She stared a moment and then broke into a light laugh. 

"Would you like to have it?" he repeated in a ringing voice. 

"Don't look as if you would eat me up, " she answered. "It 's harmless ifI say yes!"

Roderick rose to his feet and stood looking at the little flower. Itwas separated from the ledge on which he stood by a rugged surface ofvertical wall, which dropped straight into the dusky vaults behind thearena. Suddenly he took off his hat and flung it behind him. Christinathen sprang to her feet. 

"I will bring it you, " he said. 

She seized his arm. "Are you crazy? Do you mean to kill yourself?"

"I shall not kill myself. Sit down!"

"Excuse me. Not till you do!" And she grasped his arm with both hands. 

Roderick shook her off and pointed with a violent gesture to her formerplace. "Go there!" he cried fiercely. 

"You can never, never!" she murmured beseechingly, clasping her hands. "I implore you!"

Roderick turned and looked at her, and then in a voice which Rowland hadnever heard him use, a voice almost thunderous, a voice which awakenedthe echoes of the mighty ruin, he repeated, "Sit down!" She hesitateda moment and then she dropped on the ground and buried her face in herhands. 

Rowland had seen all this, and he saw more. He saw Roderick clasp inhis left arm the jagged corner of the vertical partition along which heproposed to pursue his crazy journey, stretch out his leg, and feel fora resting-place for his foot. Rowland had measured with a glance thepossibility of his sustaining himself, and pronounced it absolutely nil. The wall was garnished with a series of narrow projections, the remainsapparently of a brick cornice supporting the arch of a vault which hadlong since collapsed. It was by lodging his toes on these loose bracketsand grasping with his hands at certain mouldering protuberances on alevel with his head, that Roderick intended to proceed. The relics ofthe cornice were utterly worthless as a support. Rowland had observedthis, and yet, for a moment, he had hesitated. If the thing werepossible, he felt a sudden admiring glee at the thought of Roderick'sdoing it. It would be finely done, it would be gallant, it would havea sort of masculine eloquence as an answer to Christina's sinisterpersiflage. But it was not possible! Rowland left his place with abound, and scrambled down some neighboring steps, and the next momenta stronger pair of hands than Christina's were laid upon Roderick'sshoulder. 

He turned, staring, pale and angry. Christina rose, pale and staring, too, but beautiful in her wonder and alarm. "My dear Roderick, " saidRowland, "I am only preventing you from doing a very foolish thing. That's an exploit for spiders, not for young sculptors of promise. "

Roderick wiped his forehead, looked back at the wall, and then closedhis eyes, as if with a spasm, of retarded dizziness. "I won't resistyou, " he said. "But I have made you obey, " he added, turning toChristina. "Am I weak now?"

She had recovered her composure; she looked straight past him andaddressed Rowland: "Be so good as to show me the way out of thishorrible place!"

He helped her back into the corridor; Roderick followed after a shortinterval. Of course, as they were descending the steps, came questionsfor Rowland to answer, and more or less surprise. Where had he comefrom? how happened he to have appeared at just that moment? Rowlandanswered that he had been rambling overhead, and that, looking out of anaperture, he had seen a gentleman preparing to undertake a preposterousgymnastic feat, and a lady swooning away in consequence. Interferenceseemed justifiable, and he had made it as prompt as possible. Roderickwas far from hanging his head, like a man who has been caught in theperpetration of an extravagant folly; but if he held it more erect thanusual Rowland believed that this was much less because he had madea show of personal daring than because he had triumphantly proved toChristina that, like a certain person she had dreamed of, he too couldspeak the language of decision. Christina descended to the arena insilence, apparently occupied with her own thoughts. She betrayedno sense of the privacy of her interview with Roderick needing anexplanation. Rowland had seen stranger things in New York! The onlyevidence of her recent agitation was that, on being joined by her maid, she declared that she was unable to walk home; she must have a carriage. A fiacre was found resting in the shadow of the Arch of Constantine, and Rowland suspected that after she had got into it she disburdenedherself, under her veil, of a few natural tears. 

Rowland had played eavesdropper to so good a purpose that he mightjustly have omitted the ceremony of denouncing himself to Roderick. Hepreferred, however, to let him know that he had overheard a portion ofhis talk with Christina. 

"Of course it seems to you, " Roderick said, "a proof that I am utterlyinfatuated. "

"Miss Light seemed to me to know very well how far she could go, "Rowland answered. "She was twisting you round her finger. I don't thinkshe exactly meant to defy you; but your crazy pursuit of that flowerwas a proof that she could go all lengths in the way of making a fool ofyou. "

"Yes, " said Roderick, meditatively; "she is making a fool of me. "

"And what do you expect to come of it?"

"Nothing good!" And Roderick put his hands into his pockets and lookedas if he had announced the most colorless fact in the world. 

"And in the light of your late interview, what do you make of your younglady?"

"If I could tell you that, it would be plain sailing. But she 'll nottell me again I am weak!"

"Are you very sure you are not weak?"

"I may be, but she shall never know it. "

Rowland said no more until they reached the Corso, when he asked hiscompanion whether he was going to his studio. 

Roderick started out of a reverie and passed his hands over his eyes. "Oh no, I can't settle down to work after such a scene as that. I wasnot afraid of breaking my neck then, but I feel all in a tremor now. Iwill go--I will go and sit in the sun on the Pincio!"

"Promise me this, first, " said Rowland, very solemnly: "that the nexttime you meet Miss Light, it shall be on the earth and not in the air. "

Since his return from Frascati, Roderick had been working doggedly atthe statue ordered by Mr. Leavenworth. To Rowland's eye he had made avery fair beginning, but he had himself insisted, from the first, thathe liked neither his subject nor his patron, and that it was impossibleto feel any warmth of interest in a work which was to be incorporatedinto the ponderous personality of Mr. Leavenworth. It was all againstthe grain; he wrought without love. Nevertheless after a fashion hewrought, and the figure grew beneath his hands. Miss Blanchard's friendwas ordering works of art on every side, and his purveyors were in manycases persons whom Roderick declared it was infamy to be paired with. There had been grand tailors, he said, who declined to make you a coatunless you got the hat you were to wear with it from an artist of theirown choosing. It seemed to him that he had an equal right to exact thathis statue should not form part of the same system of ornament as the"Pearl of Perugia, " a picture by an American confrere who had, in Mr. Leavenworth's opinion, a prodigious eye for color. As a customer, Mr. Leavenworth used to drop into Roderick's studio, to see how thingswere getting on, and give a friendly hint or so. He would seat himselfsquarely, plant his gold-topped cane between his legs, which he heldvery much apart, rest his large white hands on the head, and enunciatethe principles of spiritual art, as he hoisted them one by one, as youmight say, out of the depths of his moral consciousness. His benignantand imperturbable pomposity gave Roderick the sense of suffocatingbeneath a large fluffy bolster, and the worst of the matter was thatthe good gentleman's placid vanity had an integument whose toughness nosarcastic shaft could pierce. Roderick admitted that in thinkingover the tribulations of struggling genius, the danger of dying ofover-patronage had never occurred to him. 

The deterring effect of the episode of the Coliseum was apparently oflong continuance; if Roderick's nerves had been shaken his hand neededtime to recover its steadiness. He cultivated composure upon principlesof his own; by frequenting entertainments from which he returned at fouro'clock in the morning, and lapsing into habits which might fairly becalled irregular. He had hitherto made few friends among the artisticfraternity; chiefly because he had taken no trouble about it, andthere was in his demeanor an elastic independence of the favor of hisfellow-mortals which made social advances on his own part peculiarlynecessary. Rowland had told him more than once that he ought tofraternize a trifle more with the other artists, and he had alwaysanswered that he had not the smallest objection to fraternizing:let them come! But they came on rare occasions, and Roderick was notpunctilious about returning their visits. He declared there was not oneof them whose works gave him the smallest desire to make acquaintancewith the insides of their heads. For Gloriani he professed a superbcontempt, and, having been once to look at his wares, never crossedhis threshold again. The only one of the fraternity for whom by his ownadmission he cared a straw was little Singleton; but he expressed hisregard only in a kind of sublime hilarity whenever he encountered thishumble genius, and quite forgot his existence in the intervals. He hadnever been to see him, but Singleton edged his way, from time to time, timidly, into Roderick's studio, and agreed with characteristic modestythat brilliant fellows like the sculptor might consent to receivehomage, but could hardly be expected to render it. Roderick neverexactly accepted homage, and apparently did not quite observe whetherpoor Singleton spoke in admiration or in blame. Roderick's taste as tocompanions was singularly capricious. There were very good fellows, whowere disposed to cultivate him, who bored him to death; and there wereothers, in whom even Rowland's good-nature was unable to discover apretext for tolerance, in whom he appeared to find the highest socialqualities. He used to give the most fantastic reasons for his likes anddislikes. He would declare he could n't speak a civil word to a manwho brushed his hair in a certain fashion, and he would explain hisunaccountable fancy for an individual of imperceptible merit by tellingyou that he had an ancestor who in the thirteenth century had walled uphis wife alive. "I like to talk to a man whose ancestor has walled uphis wife alive, " he would say. "You may not see the fun of it, and thinkpoor P---- is a very dull fellow. It 's very possible; I don't ask youto admire him. But, for reasons of my own, I like to have him about. Theold fellow left her for three days with her face uncovered, and placeda long mirror opposite to her, so that she could see, as he said, if hergown was a fit!"

His relish for an odd flavor in his friends had led him to make theacquaintance of a number of people outside of Rowland's well-orderedcircle, and he made no secret of their being very queer fish. He formedan intimacy, among others, with a crazy fellow who had come to Romeas an emissary of one of the Central American republics, to drive someecclesiastical bargain with the papal government. The Pope had given himthe cold shoulder, but since he had not prospered as a diplomatist, hehad sought compensation as a man of the world, and his great flamboyantcurricle and negro lackeys were for several weeks one of the strikingornaments of the Pincian. He spoke a queer jargon of Italian, Spanish, French, and English, humorously relieved with scraps of ecclesiasticalLatin, and to those who inquired of Roderick what he found to interesthim in such a fantastic jackanapes, the latter would reply, lookingat his interlocutor with his lucid blue eyes, that it was worth anysacrifice to hear him talk nonsense! The two had gone together one nightto a ball given by a lady of some renown in the Spanish colony, and verylate, on his way home, Roderick came up to Rowland's rooms, in whosewindows he had seen a light. Rowland was going to bed, but Roderickflung himself into an armchair and chattered for an hour. The friends ofthe Costa Rican envoy were as amusing as himself, and in very much thesame line. The mistress of the house had worn a yellow satin dress, andgold heels to her slippers, and at the close of the entertainment hadsent for a pair of castanets, tucked up her petticoats, and danced afandango, while the gentlemen sat cross-legged on the floor. "It wasawfully low, " Roderick said; "all of a sudden I perceived it, andbolted. Nothing of that kind ever amuses me to the end: before it 'shalf over it bores me to death; it makes me sick. Hang it, why can't apoor fellow enjoy things in peace? My illusions are all broken-winded;they won't carry me twenty paces! I can't laugh and forget; mylaugh dies away before it begins. Your friend Stendhal writes on hisbook-covers (I never got farther) that he has seen too early in life labeaute parfaite. I don't know how early he saw it; I saw it before I wasborn--in another state of being! I can't describe it positively; I canonly say I don't find it anywhere now. Not at the bottom of champagneglasses; not, strange as it may seem, in that extra half-yard or so ofshoulder that some women have their ball-dresses cut to expose. Idon't find it at merry supper-tables, where half a dozen ugly men withpomatumed heads are rapidly growing uglier still with heat and wine; notwhen I come away and walk through these squalid black streets, and goout into the Forum and see a few old battered stone posts standing therelike gnawed bones stuck into the earth. Everything is mean and duskyand shabby, and the men and women who make up this so-called brilliantsociety are the meanest and shabbiest of all. They have no realspontaneity; they are all cowards and popinjays. They have no moredignity than so many grasshoppers. Nothing is good but one!" And hejumped up and stood looking at one of his statues, which shone vaguelyacross the room in the dim lamplight. 

"Yes, do tell us, " said Rowland, "what to hold on by!"

"Those things of mine were tolerably good, " he answered. "But my ideawas better--and that 's what I mean!"

Rowland said nothing. He was willing to wait for Roderick to completethe circle of his metamorphoses, but he had no desire to officiate aschorus to the play. If Roderick chose to fish in troubled waters, hemust land his prizes himself. 

"You think I 'm an impudent humbug, " the latter said at last, "comingup to moralize at this hour of the night. You think I want to throwdust into your eyes, to put you off the scent. That 's your eminentlyrational view of the case. "

"Excuse me from taking any view at all, " said Rowland. 

"You have given me up, then?"

"No, I have merely suspended judgment. I am waiting. "

"You have ceased then positively to believe in me?"

Rowland made an angry gesture. "Oh, cruel boy! When you have hit yourmark and made people care for you, you should n't twist your weaponabout at that rate in their vitals. Allow me to say I am sleepy. Goodnight!"

Some days afterward it happened that Rowland, on a long afternoonramble, took his way through one of the quiet corners of the Trastevere. He was particularly fond of this part of Rome, though he could hardlyhave expressed the charm he found in it. As you pass away from thedusky, swarming purlieus of the Ghetto, you emerge into a region ofempty, soundless, grass-grown lanes and alleys, where the shabby housesseem mouldering away in disuse, and yet your footstep brings figures ofstartling Roman type to the doorways. There are few monuments here, butno part of Rome seemed more historic, in the sense of being weightedwith a crushing past, blighted with the melancholy of things that hadhad their day. When the yellow afternoon sunshine slept on the sallow, battered walls, and lengthened the shadows in the grassy courtyards ofsmall closed churches, the place acquired a strange fascination. Thechurch of Saint Cecilia has one of these sunny, waste-looking courts;the edifice seems abandoned to silence and the charity of chancedevotion. Rowland never passed it without going in, and he was generallythe only visitor. He entered it now, but found that two persons hadpreceded him. Both were women. One was at her prayers at one of the sidealtars; the other was seated against a column at the upper end of thenave. Rowland walked to the altar, and paid, in a momentary glance atthe clever statue of the saint in death, in the niche beneath it, theusual tribute to the charm of polished ingenuity. As he turned away helooked at the person seated and recognized Christina Light. Seeing thatshe perceived him, he advanced to speak to her. 

She was sitting in a listless attitude, with her hands in her lap;she seemed to be tired. She was dressed simply, as if for walking andescaping observation. When he had greeted her he glanced back at hercompanion, and recognized the faithful Assunta. 

Christina smiled. "Are you looking for Mr. Hudson? He is not here, I amhappy to say. "

"But you?" he asked. "This is a strange place to find you. "

"Not at all! People call me a strange girl, and I might as well have thecomfort of it. I came to take a walk; that, by the way, is part ofmy strangeness. I can't loll all the morning on a sofa, and all theafternoon in a carriage. I get horribly restless. I must move; I mustdo something and see something. Mamma suggests a cup of tea. Meanwhile Iput on an old dress and half a dozen veils, I take Assunta under my arm, and we start on a pedestrian tour. It 's a bore that I can't take thepoodle, but he attracts attention. We trudge about everywhere; thereis nothing I like so much. I hope you will congratulate me on thesimplicity of my tastes. "

"I congratulate you on your wisdom. To live in Rome and not to walkwould, I think, be poor pleasure. But you are terribly far from home, and I am afraid you are tired. "

"A little--enough to sit here a while. "

"Might I offer you my company while you rest?"

"If you will promise to amuse me. I am in dismal spirits. "

Rowland said he would do what he could, and brought a chair and placedit near her. He was not in love with her; he disapproved of her; hemistrusted her; and yet he felt it a kind of privilege to watch her, andhe found a peculiar excitement in talking to her. The background of hernature, as he would have called it, was large and mysterious, and itemitted strange, fantastic gleams and flashes. Watching for these ratherquickened one's pulses. Moreover, it was not a disadvantage to talk toa girl who made one keep guard on one's composure; it diminished one'schronic liability to utter something less than revised wisdom. 

Assunta had risen from her prayers, and, as he took his place, wascoming back to her mistress. But Christina motioned her away. "No, no;while you are about it, say a few dozen more!" she said. "Pray for me, "she added in English. "Pray, I say nothing silly. She has been at ithalf an hour; I envy her capacity!"

"Have you never felt in any degree, " Rowland asked, "the fascination ofCatholicism?"

"Yes, I have been through that, too! There was a time when I wantedimmensely to be a nun; it was not a laughing matter. It was when I wasabout sixteen years old. I read the Imitation and the Life of SaintCatherine. I fully believed in the miracles of the saints, and I wasdying to have one of my own. The least little accident that could havebeen twisted into a miracle would have carried me straight into thebosom of the church. I had the real religious passion. It has passedaway, and, as I sat here just now, I was wondering what had become ofit!"

Rowland had already been sensible of something in this young lady's tonewhich he would have called a want of veracity, and this epitome of herreligious experience failed to strike him as an absolute statement offact. But the trait was not disagreeable, for she herself was evidentlythe foremost dupe of her inventions. She had a fictitious historyin which she believed much more fondly than in her real one, and aninfinite capacity for extemporized reminiscence adapted to the moodof the hour. She liked to idealize herself, to take interesting andpicturesque attitudes to her own imagination; and the vivacity andspontaneity of her character gave her, really, a starting-point inexperience; so that the many-colored flowers of fiction which blossomedin her talk were not so much perversions, as sympathetic exaggerations, of fact. And Rowland felt that whatever she said of herself might havebeen, under the imagined circumstances; impulse was there, audacity, therestless, questioning temperament. "I am afraid I am sadly prosaic, "he said, "for in these many months now that I have been in Rome, Ihave never ceased for a moment to look at Catholicism simply from theoutside. I don't see an opening as big as your finger-nail where I couldcreep into it!"

"What do you believe?" asked Christina, looking at him. "Are youreligious?"

"I believe in God. "

Christina let her beautiful eyes wander a while, and then gave a littlesigh. "You are much to be envied!"

"You, I imagine, in that line have nothing to envy me. "

"Yes, I have. Rest!"

"You are too young to say that. "

"I am not young; I have never been young! My mother took care of that. Iwas a little wrinkled old woman at ten. "

"I am afraid, " said Rowland, in a moment, "that you are fond of paintingyourself in dark colors. "

She looked at him a while in silence. "Do you wish, " she demanded atlast, "to win my eternal gratitude? Prove to me that I am better than Isuppose. "

"I should have first to know what you really suppose. "

She shook her head. "It would n't do. You would be horrified to learneven the things I imagine about myself, and shocked at the knowledge ofevil displayed in my very mistakes. "

"Well, then, " said Rowland, "I will ask no questions. But, at a venture, I promise you to catch you some day in the act of doing something verygood. "

"Can it be, can it be, " she asked, "that you too are trying to flatterme? I thought you and I had fallen, from the first, into rather atruth-speaking vein. "

"Oh, I have not abandoned it!" said Rowland; and he determined, since hehad the credit of homely directness, to push his advantage farther. Theopportunity seemed excellent. But while he was hesitating as to just howto begin, the young girl said, bending forward and clasping her hands inher lap, "Please tell me about your religion. "

"Tell you about it? I can't!" said Rowland, with a good deal ofemphasis. 

She flushed a little. "Is it such a mighty mystery it cannot be put intowords, nor communicated to my base ears?"

"It is simply a sentiment that makes part of my life, and I can't detachmyself from it sufficiently to talk about it. "

"Religion, it seems to me, should be eloquent and aggressive. It shouldwish to make converts, to persuade and illumine, to sway all hearts!"

"One's religion takes the color of one's general disposition. I am notaggressive, and certainly I am not eloquent. "

"Beware, then, of finding yourself confronted with doubt and despair! Iam sure that doubt, at times, and the bitterness that comes of it, canbe terribly eloquent. To tell the truth, my lonely musings, beforeyou came in, were eloquent enough, in their way. What do you know ofanything but this strange, terrible world that surrounds you? How do youknow that your faith is not a mere crazy castle in the air; one of thosecastles that we are called fools for building when we lodge them in thislife?"

"I don't know it, any more than any one knows the contrary. But one'sreligion is extremely ingenious in doing without knowledge. "

"In such a world as this it certainly needs to be!"

Rowland smiled. "What is your particular quarrel with this world?"

"It 's a general quarrel. Nothing is true, or fixed, or permanent. Weall seem to be playing with shadows more or less grotesque. It all comesover me here so dismally! The very atmosphere of this cold, desertedchurch seems to mock at one's longing to believe in something. Who caresfor it now? who comes to it? who takes it seriously? Poor stupid Assuntathere gives in her adhesion in a jargon she does n't understand, andyou and I, proper, passionless tourists, come lounging in to rest froma walk. And yet the Catholic church was once the proudest institutionin the world, and had quite its own way with men's souls. When such amighty structure as that turns out to have a flaw, what faith is one toput in one's poor little views and philosophies? What is right and whatis wrong? What is one really to care for? What is the proper rule oflife? I am tired of trying to discover, and I suspect it 's not worththe trouble. Live as most amuses you!"

"Your perplexities are so terribly comprehensive, " said Rowland, smiling, "that one hardly knows where to meet them first. "

"I don't care much for anything you can say, because it 's sure to behalf-hearted. You are not in the least contented, yourself. "

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, I am an observer!"

"No one is absolutely contented, I suppose, but I assure you I complainof nothing. "

"So much the worse for your honesty. To begin with, you are in love. "

"You would not have me complain of that!"

"And it does n't go well. There are grievous obstacles. So much I know!You need n't protest; I ask no questions. You will tell no one--me leastof all. Why does one never see you?"

"Why, if I came to see you, " said Rowland, deliberating, "it would n'tbe, it could n't be, for a trivial reason--because I had not been in amonth, because I was passing, because I admire you. It would be becauseI should have something very particular to say. I have not come, becauseI have been slow in making up my mind to say it. "

"You are simply cruel. Something particular, in this ocean of inanities?In common charity, speak!"

"I doubt whether you will like it. "

"Oh, I hope to heaven it 's not a compliment!"

"It may be called a compliment to your reasonableness. You perhapsremember that I gave you a hint of it the other day at Frascati. "

"Has it been hanging fire all this time? Explode! I promise not to stopmy ears. "

"It relates to my friend Hudson. " And Rowland paused. She was looking athim expectantly; her face gave no sign. "I am rather disturbed in mindabout him. He seems to me at times to be in an unpromising way. " Hepaused again, but Christina said nothing. "The case is simply this, "he went on. "It was by my advice he renounced his career at home andembraced his present one. I made him burn his ships. I brought him toRome, I launched him in the world, and I stand surety, in a measure, to--to his mother, for his prosperity. It is not such smooth sailing asit might be, and I am inclined to put up prayers for fair winds. If heis to succeed, he must work--quietly, devotedly. It is not news to you, I imagine, that Hudson is a great admirer of yours. "

Christina remained silent; she turned away her eyes with an air, notof confusion, but of deep deliberation. Surprising frankness had, as ageneral thing, struck Rowland as the key-note of her character, but shehad more than once given him a suggestion of an unfathomable powerof calculation, and her silence now had something which it is hardlyextravagant to call portentous. He had of course asked himself how farit was questionable taste to inform an unprotected girl, for the needsof a cause, that another man admired her; the thing, superficially, hadan uncomfortable analogy with the shrewdness that uses a cat's paw andlets it risk being singed. But he decided that even rigid discretionis not bound to take a young lady at more than her own valuation, and Christina presently reassured him as to the limits of hersusceptibility. "Mr. Hudson is in love with me!" she said. 

Rowland flinched a trifle. Then--"Am I, " he asked, "from this point ofview of mine, to be glad or sorry?"

"I don't understand you. "

"Why, is Hudson to be happy, or unhappy?"

She hesitated a moment. "You wish him to be great in his profession? Andfor that you consider that he must be happy in his life?"

"Decidedly. I don't say it 's a general rule, but I think it is a rulefor him. "

"So that if he were very happy, he would become very great?"

"He would at least do himself justice. "

"And by that you mean a great deal?"

"A great deal. "

Christina sank back in her chair and rested her eyes on the crackedand polished slabs of the pavement. At last, looking up, "You have notforgotten, I suppose, that you told me he was engaged?"

"By no means. "

"He is still engaged, then?"

"To the best of my belief. "

"And yet you desire that, as you say, he should be made happy bysomething I can do for him?"

"What I desire is this. That your great influence with him shouldbe exerted for his good, that it should help him and not retard him. Understand me. You probably know that your lovers have rather a restlesstime of it. I can answer for two of them. You don't know your own mindvery well, I imagine, and you like being admired, rather at the expenseof the admirer. Since we are really being frank, I wonder whether Imight not say the great word. "

"You need n't; I know it. I am a horrible coquette. "

"No, not a horrible one, since I am making an appeal to your generosity. I am pretty sure you cannot imagine yourself marrying my friend. "

"There 's nothing I cannot imagine! That is my trouble. "

Rowland's brow contracted impatiently. "I cannot imagine it, then!" heaffirmed. 

Christina flushed faintly; then, very gently, "I am not so bad as youthink, " she said. 

"It is not a question of badness; it is a question of whethercircumstances don't make the thing an extreme improbability. "

"Worse and worse. I can be bullied, then, or bribed!"

"You are not so candid, " said Rowland, "as you pretend to be. My feelingis this. Hudson, as I understand him, does not need, as an artist, thestimulus of strong emotion, of passion. He's better without it; he'semotional and passionate enough when he 's left to himself. The soonerpassion is at rest, therefore, the sooner he will settle down to work, and the fewer emotions he has that are mere emotions and nothing more, the better for him. If you cared for him enough to marry him, I shouldhave nothing to say; I would never venture to interfere. But I stronglysuspect you don't, and therefore I would suggest, most respectfully, that you should let him alone. "

"And if I let him alone, as you say, all will be well with him for evermore?"

"Not immediately and not absolutely, but things will be easier. He willbe better able to concentrate himself. "

"What is he doing now? Wherein does he dissatisfy you?"

"I can hardly say. He 's like a watch that 's running down. He is moody, desultory, idle, irregular, fantastic. "

"Heavens, what a list! And it 's all poor me?"

"No, not all. But you are a part of it, and I turn to you because youare a more tangible, sensible, responsible cause than the others. "

Christina raised her hand to her eyes, and bent her head thoughtfully. Rowland was puzzled to measure the effect of his venture; she rathersurprised him by her gentleness. At last, without moving, "If I were tomarry him, " she asked, "what would have become of his fiancee?"

"I am bound to suppose that she would be extremely unhappy. "

Christina said nothing more, and Rowland, to let her make herreflections, left his place and strolled away. Poor Assunta, sittingpatiently on a stone bench, and unprovided, on this occasion, withmilitary consolation, gave him a bright, frank smile, which might havebeen construed as an expression of regret for herself, and of sympathyfor her mistress. Rowland presently seated himself again near Christina. 

"What do you think, " she asked, looking at him, "of your friend'sinfidelity?"

"I don't like it. "

"Was he very much in love with her?"

"He asked her to marry him. You may judge. "

"Is she rich?"

"No, she is poor. "

"Is she very much in love with him?"

"I know her too little to say. "

She paused again, and then resumed: "You have settled in your mind, then, that I will never seriously listen to him?"

"I think it unlikely, until the contrary is proved. "

"How shall it be proved? How do you know what passes between us?"

"I can judge, of course, but from appearance; but, like you, I am anobserver. Hudson has not at all the air of a prosperous suitor. "

"If he is depressed, there is a reason. He has a bad conscience. Onemust hope so, at least. On the other hand, simply as a friend, " shecontinued gently, "you think I can do him no good?"

The humility of her tone, combined with her beauty, as she made thisremark, was inexpressibly touching, and Rowland had an uncomfortablesense of being put at a disadvantage. "There are doubtless many goodthings you might do, if you had proper opportunity, " he said. "But youseem to be sailing with a current which leaves you little leisure forquiet benevolence. You live in the whirl and hurry of a world into whicha poor artist can hardly find it to his advantage to follow you. "

"In plain English, I am hopelessly frivolous. You put it verygenerously. "

"I won't hesitate to say all my thought, " said Rowland. "For better orworse, you seem to me to belong, both by character and by circumstance, to what is called the world, the great world. You are made to ornamentit magnificently. You are not made to be an artist's wife. "

"I see. But even from your point of view, that would depend upon theartist. Extraordinary talent might make him a member of the greatworld!"

Rowland smiled. "That is very true. "

"If, as it is, " Christina continued in a moment, "you take a low view ofme--no, you need n't protest--I wonder what you would think if you knewcertain things. "

"What things do you mean?"

"Well, for example, how I was brought up. I have had a horribleeducation. There must be some good in me, since I have perceived it, since I have turned and judged my circumstances. "

"My dear Miss Light!" Rowland murmured. 

She gave a little, quick laugh. "You don't want to hear? you don't wantto have to think about that?"

"Have I a right to? You need n't justify yourself. "

She turned upon him a moment the quickened light of her beautiful eyes, then fell to musing again. "Is there not some novel or some play, " sheasked at last, "in which some beautiful, wicked woman who has ensnared ayoung man sees his father come to her and beg her to let him go?"

"Very likely, " said Rowland. "I hope she consents. "

"I forget. But tell me, " she continued, "shall you consider--admittingyour proposition--that in ceasing to flirt with Mr. Hudson, so thathe may go about his business, I do something magnanimous, heroic, sublime--something with a fine name like that?"

Rowland, elated with the prospect of gaining his point, was aboutto reply that she would deserve the finest name in the world; but heinstantly suspected that this tone would not please her, and, besides, it would not express his meaning. 

"You do something I shall greatly respect, " he contented himself withsaying. 

She made no answer, and in a moment she beckoned to her maid. "What haveI to do to-day?" she asked. 

Assunta meditated. "Eh, it 's a very busy day! Fortunately I have abetter memory than the signorina, " she said, turning to Rowland. Shebegan to count on her fingers. "We have to go to the Pie di Marmo to seeabout those laces that were sent to be washed. You said also that youwished to say three sharp words to the Buonvicini about your pink dress. You want some moss-rosebuds for to-night, and you won't get them fornothing! You dine at the Austrian Embassy, and that Frenchman is topowder your hair. You 're to come home in time to receive, for thesignora gives a dance. And so away, away till morning!"

"Ah, yes, the moss-roses!" Christina murmured, caressingly. "I must havea quantity--at least a hundred. Nothing but buds, eh? You must sew themin a kind of immense apron, down the front of my dress. Packed tighttogether, eh? It will be delightfully barbarous. And then twenty more orso for my hair. They go very well with powder; don't you think so?" Andshe turned to Rowland. "I am going en Pompadour. "

"Going where?"

"To the Spanish Embassy, or whatever it is. "

"All down the front, signorina? Dio buono! You must give me time!"Assunta cried. 

"Yes, we'll go!" And she left her place. She walked slowly to the doorof the church, looking at the pavement, and Rowland could not guesswhether she was thinking of her apron of moss-rosebuds or of heropportunity for moral sublimity. Before reaching the door she turnedaway and stood gazing at an old picture, indistinguishable withblackness, over an altar. At last they passed out into the court. Glancing at her in the open air, Rowland was startled; he imagined hesaw the traces of hastily suppressed tears. They had lost time, shesaid, and they must hurry; she sent Assunta to look for a fiacre. Sheremained silent a while, scratching the ground with the point of herparasol, and then at last, looking up, she thanked Rowland for hisconfidence in her "reasonableness. " "It 's really very comfortable to beasked, to be expected, to do something good, after all the horrid thingsone has been used to doing--instructed, commanded, forced to do! I 'llthink over what you have said to me. " In that deserted quarter fiacresare rare, and there was some delay in Assunta's procuring one. Christinatalked of the church, of the picturesque old court, of that strange, decaying corner of Rome. Rowland was perplexed; he was ill at ease. At last the fiacre arrived, but she waited a moment longer. "So, decidedly, " she suddenly asked, "I can only harm him?"

"You make me feel very brutal, " said Rowland. 

"And he is such a fine fellow that it would be really a great pity, eh?"

"I shall praise him no more, " Rowland said. 

She turned away quickly, but she lingered still. "Do you rememberpromising me, soon after we first met, that at the end of six months youwould tell me definitely what you thought of me?"

"It was a foolish promise. "

"You gave it. Bear it in mind. I will think of what you have said to me. Farewell. " She stepped into the carriage, and it rolled away. Rowlandstood for some minutes, looking after it, and then went his way witha sigh. If this expressed general mistrust, he ought, three daysafterward, to have been reassured. He received by the post a notecontaining these words:--

"I have done it. Begin and respect me!

"--C. L. "

To be perfectly satisfactory, indeed, the note required a commentary. He called that evening upon Roderick, and found one in the informationoffered him at the door, by the old serving-woman--the startlinginformation that the signorino had gone to Naples. 

CHAPTER VIII. Provocation

About a month later, Rowland addressed to his cousin Cecilia a letter ofwhich the following is a portion:--

. . . "So much for myself; yet I tell you but a tithe of my own storyunless I let you know how matters stand with poor Hudson, for he givesme more to think about just now than anything else in the world. I needa good deal of courage to begin this chapter. You warned me, you know, and I made rather light of your warning. I have had all kinds of hopesand fears, but hitherto, in writing to you, I have resolutely put thehopes foremost. Now, however, my pride has forsaken me, and I shouldlike hugely to give expression to a little comfortable despair. I shouldlike to say, 'My dear wise woman, you were right and I was wrong; youwere a shrewd observer and I was a meddlesome donkey!' When I think ofa little talk we had about the 'salubrity of genius, ' I feel my earstingle. If this is salubrity, give me raging disease! I 'm pestered todeath; I go about with a chronic heartache; there are moments when Icould shed salt tears. There 's a pretty portrait of the most placidof men! I wish I could make you understand; or rather, I wish you couldmake me! I don't understand a jot; it 's a hideous, mocking mystery; Igive it up! I don't in the least give it up, you know; I 'm incapableof giving it up. I sit holding my head by the hour, racking my brain, wondering what under heaven is to be done. You told me at Northamptonthat I took the thing too easily; you would tell me now, perhaps, thatI take it too hard. I do, altogether; but it can't be helped. Withoutflattering myself, I may say I 'm sympathetic. Many another man beforethis would have cast his perplexities to the winds and declared that Mr. Hudson must lie on his bed as he had made it. Some men, perhaps, wouldeven say that I am making a mighty ado about nothing; that I have onlyto give him rope, and he will tire himself out. But he tugs at his ropealtogether too hard for me to hold it comfortably. I certainly neverpretended the thing was anything else than an experiment; I promisednothing, I answered for nothing; I only said the case was hopeful, andthat it would be a shame to neglect it. I have done my best, and ifthe machine is running down I have a right to stand aside and let itscuttle. Amen, amen! No, I can write that, but I can't feel it. I can'tbe just; I can only be generous. I love the poor fellow and I can't givehim up. As for understanding him, that 's another matter; nowadays Idon't believe even you would. One's wits are sadly pestered over here, I assure you, and I 'm in the way of seeing more than one puzzlingspecimen of human nature. Roderick and Miss Light, between them!. . . Have n't I already told you about Miss Light? Last winter everything wasperfection. Roderick struck out bravely, did really great things, andproved himself, as I supposed, thoroughly solid. He was strong, he wasfirst-rate; I felt perfectly secure and sang private paeans of joy. Wehad passed at a bound into the open sea, and left danger behind. Butin the summer I began to be puzzled, though I succeeded in not beingalarmed. When we came back to Rome, however, I saw that the tide hadturned and that we were close upon the rocks. It is, in fact, anothercase of Ulysses alongside of the Sirens; only Roderick refuses to betied to the mast. He is the most extraordinary being, the strangestmixture of qualities. I don't understand so much force going with somuch weakness--such a brilliant gift being subject to such lapses. Thepoor fellow is incomplete, and it is really not his own fault; Naturehas given him the faculty out of hand and bidden him be hanged with it. I never knew a man harder to advise or assist, if he is not in the moodfor listening. I suppose there is some key or other to his character, but I try in vain to find it; and yet I can't believe that Providenceis so cruel as to have turned the lock and thrown the key away. Heperplexes me, as I say, to death, and though he tires out my patience, he still fascinates me. Sometimes I think he has n't a grain ofconscience, and sometimes I think that, in a way, he has an excess. Hetakes things at once too easily and too hard; he is both too lax and tootense, too reckless and too ambitious, too cold and too passionate. Hehas developed faster even than you prophesied, and for good and evilalike he takes up a formidable space. There 's too much of him for me, at any rate. Yes, he is hard; there is no mistake about that. He 'sinflexible, he 's brittle; and though he has plenty of spirit, plenty ofsoul, he has n't what I call a heart. He has something that Miss Garlandtook for one, and I 'm pretty sure she 's a judge. But she judged onscanty evidence. He has something that Christina Light, here, makesbelieve at times that she takes for one, but she is no judge at all! Ithink it is established that, in the long run, egotism makes a failurein conduct: is it also true that it makes a failure in the arts?. . . Roderick's standard is immensely high; I must do him that justice. Hewill do nothing beneath it, and while he is waiting for inspiration, hisimagination, his nerves, his senses must have something to amuse them. This is a highly philosophical way of saying that he has taken todissipation, and that he has just been spending a month at Naples--acity where 'pleasure' is actively cultivated--in very bad company. Are they all like that, all the men of genius? There are a great manyartists here who hammer away at their trade with exemplary industry; infact I am surprised at their success in reducing the matter to a steady, daily grind: but I really don't think that one of them has his exquisitequality of talent. It is in the matter of quantity that he has brokendown. The bottle won't pour; he turns it upside down; it 's no use!Sometimes he declares it 's empty--that he has done all he was made todo. This I consider great nonsense; but I would nevertheless take him onhis own terms if it was only I that was concerned. But I keep thinkingof those two praying, trusting neighbors of yours, and I feel wretchedlylike a swindler. If his working mood came but once in five years I wouldwillingly wait for it and maintain him in leisure, if need be, in theintervals; but that would be a sorry account to present to them. Fiveyears of this sort of thing, moreover, would effectually settle thequestion. I wish he were less of a genius and more of a charlatan! He 'stoo confoundedly all of one piece; he won't throw overboard a grainof the cargo to save the rest. Fancy him thus with all his brilliantpersonal charm, his handsome head, his careless step, his look as of anervous nineteenth-century Apollo, and you will understand that thereis mighty little comfort in seeing him in a bad way. He was tolerablyfoolish last summer at Baden Baden, but he got on his feet, and for awhile he was steady. Then he began to waver again, and at last toppledover. Now, literally, he 's lying prone. He came into my room lastnight, miserably tipsy. I assure you, it did n't amuse me. . . . . AboutMiss Light it 's a long story. She is one of the great beauties of alltime, and worth coming barefoot to Rome, like the pilgrims of old, tosee. Her complexion, her glance, her step, her dusky tresses, may havebeen seen before in a goddess, but never in a woman. And you may takethis for truth, because I 'm not in love with her. On the contrary! Hereducation has been simply infernal. She is corrupt, perverse, as proudas the queen of Sheba, and an appalling coquette; but she is generous, and with patience and skill you may enlist her imagination in a goodcause as well as in a bad one. The other day I tried to manipulate it alittle. Chance offered me an interview to which it was possible to givea serious turn, and I boldly broke ground and begged her to suffermy poor friend to go in peace. After a good deal of finessing sheconsented, and the next day, with a single word, packed him off toNaples to drown his sorrow in debauchery. I have come to the conclusionthat she is more dangerous in her virtuous moods than in her viciousones, and that she probably has a way of turning her back which is themost provoking thing in the world. She 's an actress, she could n'tforego doing the thing dramatically, and it was the dramatic touch thatmade it fatal. I wished her, of course, to let him down easily; butshe desired to have the curtain drop on an attitude, and her attitudesdeprive inflammable young artists of their reason. . . . . Roderick made anadmirable bust of her at the beginning of the winter, and a dozen womencame rushing to him to be done, mutatis mutandis, in the same style. They were all great ladies and ready to take him by the hand, but hetold them all their faces did n't interest him, and sent them awayvowing his destruction. "

At this point of his long effusion, Rowland had paused and put by hisletter. He kept it three days and then read it over. He was disposed atfirst to destroy it, but he decided finally to keep it, in the hope thatit might strike a spark of useful suggestion from the flint of Cecilia'sgood sense. We know he had a talent for taking advice. And then it mightbe, he reflected, that his cousin's answer would throw some light onMary Garland's present vision of things. In his altered mood he addedthese few lines:--

"I unburdened myself the other day of this monstrous load of perplexity;I think it did me good, and I let it stand. I was in a melancholymuddle, and I was trying to work myself free. You know I likediscussion, in a quiet way, and there is no one with whom I can have itas quietly as with you, most sagacious of cousins! There is an excellentold lady with whom I often chat, and who talks very much to the point. But Madame Grandoni has disliked Roderick from the first, and if I wereto take her advice I would wash my hands of him. You will laugh at mefor my long face, but you would do that in any circumstances. I am halfashamed of my letter, for I have a faith in my friend that is deeperthan my doubts. He was here last evening, talking about the NaplesMuseum, the Aristides, the bronzes, the Pompeian frescoes, with sucha beautiful intelligence that doubt of the ultimate future seemedblasphemy. I walked back to his lodging with him, and he was as mildas midsummer moonlight. He has the ineffable something that charms andconvinces; my last word about him shall not be a harsh one. "

Shortly after sending his letter, going one day into his friend'sstudio, he found Roderick suffering from the grave infliction of a visitfrom Mr. Leavenworth. Roderick submitted with extreme ill grace to beingbored, and he was now evidently in a state of high exasperation. He hadlately begun a representation of a lazzarone lounging in the sun; animage of serene, irresponsible, sensuous life. The real lazzarone, hehad admitted, was a vile fellow; but the ideal lazzarone--and his ownhad been subtly idealized--was a precursor of the millennium. 

Mr. Leavenworth had apparently just transferred his unhurrying gaze tothe figure. 

"Something in the style of the Dying Gladiator?" he sympatheticallyobserved. 

"Oh no, " said Roderick seriously, "he 's not dying, he 's only drunk!"

"Ah, but intoxication, you know, " Mr. Leavenworth rejoined, "is not aproper subject for sculpture. Sculpture should not deal with transitoryattitudes. "

"Lying dead drunk is not a transitory attitude! Nothing is morepermanent, more sculpturesque, more monumental!"

"An entertaining paradox, " said Mr. Leavenworth, "if we had time toexercise our wits upon it. I remember at Florence an intoxicated figureby Michael Angelo which seemed to me a deplorable aberration of agreat mind. I myself touch liquor in no shape whatever. I have traveledthrough Europe on cold water. The most varied and attractive lists ofwines are offered me, but I brush them aside. No cork has ever beendrawn at my command!"

"The movement of drawing a cork calls into play a very pretty setof muscles, " said Roderick. "I think I will make a figure in thatposition. "

"A Bacchus, realistically treated! My dear young friend, never triflewith your lofty mission. Spotless marble should represent virtue, notvice!" And Mr. Leavenworth placidly waved his hand, as if to exorcisethe spirit of levity, while his glance journeyed with leisurelybenignity to another object--a marble replica of the bust of Miss Light. "An ideal head, I presume, " he went on; "a fanciful representation ofone of the pagan goddesses--a Diana, a Flora, a naiad or dryad? I oftenregret that our American artists should not boldly cast off that extinctnomenclature. "

"She is neither a naiad nor a dryad, " said Roderick, "and her name is asgood as yours or mine. "

"You call her"--Mr. Leavenworth blandly inquired. 

"Miss Light, " Rowland interposed, in charity. 

"Ah, our great American beauty! Not a pagan goddess--an American, Christian lady! Yes, I have had the pleasure of conversing with MissLight. Her conversational powers are not remarkable, but her beautyis of a high order. I observed her the other evening at a large party, where some of the proudest members of the European aristocracy werepresent--duchesses, princesses, countesses, and others distinguished bysimilar titles. But for beauty, grace, and elegance my fair countrywomanleft them all nowhere. What women can compare with a truly refinedAmerican lady? The duchesses the other night had no attractions for myeyes; they looked coarse and sensual! It seemed to me that the tyrannyof class distinctions must indeed be terrible when such countenancescould inspire admiration. You see more beautiful girls in an hour onBroadway than in the whole tour of Europe. Miss Light, now, on Broadway, would excite no particular remark. "

"She has never been there!" cried Roderick, triumphantly. 

"I 'm afraid she never will be there. I suppose you have heard the newsabout her. "

"What news?" Roderick had stood with his back turned, fiercely pokingat his lazzarone; but at Mr. Leavenworth's last words he faced quicklyabout. 

"It 's the news of the hour, I believe. Miss Light is admired by thehighest people here. They tacitly recognize her superiority. She has hadoffers of marriage from various great lords. I was extremely happyto learn this circumstance, and to know that they all had been leftsighing. She has not been dazzled by their titles and their gildedcoronets. She has judged them simply as men, and found them wanting. Oneof them, however, a young Neapolitan prince, I believe, has after a longprobation succeeded in making himself acceptable. Miss Light has at lastsaid yes, and the engagement has just been announced. I am not generallya retailer of gossip of this description, but the fact was alluded toan hour ago by a lady with whom I was conversing, and here, in Europe, these conversational trifles usurp the lion's share of one's attention. I therefore retained the circumstance. Yes, I regret that Miss Lightshould marry one of these used-up foreigners. Americans should stand byeach other. If she wanted a brilliant match we could have fixed it forher. If she wanted a fine fellow--a fine, sharp, enterprising modernman--I would have undertaken to find him for her without going out ofthe city of New York. And if she wanted a big fortune, I would havefound her twenty that she would have had hard work to spend: moneydown--not tied up in fever-stricken lands and worm-eaten villas! What isthe name of the young man? Prince Castaway, or some such thing!"

It was well for Mr. Leavenworth that he was a voluminous andimperturbable talker; for the current of his eloquence floated himpast the short, sharp, startled cry with which Roderick greeted his"conversational trifle. " The young man stood looking at him with partedlips and an excited eye. 

"The position of woman, " Mr. Leavenworth placidly resumed, "is certainlya very degraded one in these countries. I doubt whether a Europeanprincess can command the respect which in our country is exhibitedtoward the obscurest females. The civilization of a country shouldbe measured by the deference shown to the weaker sex. Judged by thatstandard, where are they, over here?"

Though Mr. Leavenworth had not observed Roderick's emotion, it was notlost upon Rowland, who was making certain uncomfortable reflections uponit. He saw that it had instantly become one with the acute irritationproduced by the poor gentleman's oppressive personality, and thatan explosion of some sort was imminent. Mr. Leavenworth, with calmunconsciousness, proceeded to fire the mine. 

"And now for our Culture!" he said in the same sonorous tones, demandingwith a gesture the unveiling of the figure, which stood somewhat apart, muffled in a great sheet. 

Roderick stood looking at him for a moment with concentrated rancor, andthen strode to the statue and twitched off the cover. Mr. Leavenworthsettled himself into his chair with an air of flattered proprietorship, and scanned the unfinished image. "I can conscientiously express myselfas gratified with the general conception, " he said. "The figure hasconsiderable majesty, and the countenance wears a fine, open expression. The forehead, however, strikes me as not sufficiently intellectual. Ina statue of Culture, you know, that should be the great point. The eyeshould instinctively seek the forehead. Could n't you heighten it up alittle?"

Roderick, for all answer, tossed the sheet back over the statue. "Obligeme, sir, " he said, "oblige me! Never mention that thing again. "

"Never mention it? Why my dear sir"--

"Never mention it. It 's an abomination!"

"An abomination! My Culture!"

"Yours indeed!" cried Roderick. "It 's none of mine. I disown it. "

"Disown it, if you please, " said Mr. Leavenworth sternly, "but finish itfirst!"

"I 'd rather smash it!" cried Roderick. 

"This is folly, sir. You must keep your engagements. "

"I made no engagement. A sculptor is n't a tailor. Did you ever hear ofinspiration? Mine is dead! And it 's no laughing matter. You yourselfkilled it. "

"I--I--killed your inspiration?" cried Mr. Leavenworth, with the accentof righteous wrath. "You 're a very ungrateful boy! If ever I encouragedand cheered and sustained any one, I 'm sure I have done so to you. "

"I appreciate your good intentions, and I don't wish to be uncivil. Butyour encouragement is--superfluous. I can't work for you!"

"I call this ill-humor, young man!" said Mr. Leavenworth, as if he hadfound the damning word. 

"Oh, I 'm in an infernal humor!" Roderick answered. 

"Pray, sir, is it my infelicitous allusion to Miss Light's marriage?"

"It 's your infelicitous everything! I don't say that to offend you;I beg your pardon if it does. I say it by way of making our rupturecomplete, irretrievable!"

Rowland had stood by in silence, but he now interfered. "Listen to me, "he said, laying his hand on Roderick's arm. "You are standing on theedge of a gulf. If you suffer anything that has passed to interruptyour work on that figure, you take your plunge. It 's no matter thatyou don't like it; you will do the wisest thing you ever did if you makethat effort of will necessary for finishing it. Destroy the statue then, if you like, but make the effort. I speak the truth!"

Roderick looked at him with eyes that still inexorableness made almosttender. "You too!" he simply said. 

Rowland felt that he might as well attempt to squeeze water from apolished crystal as hope to move him. He turned away and walked into theadjoining room with a sense of sickening helplessness. In a few momentshe came back and found that Mr. Leavenworth had departed--presumably ina manner somewhat portentous. Roderick was sitting with his elbows onhis knees and his head in his hands. 

Rowland made one more attempt. "You decline to think of what I urge?"

"Absolutely. "

"There's one more point--that you shouldn't, for a month, go to Mrs. Light's. "

"I go there this evening. "

"That too is an utter folly. "

"There are such things as necessary follies. "

"You are not reflecting; you are speaking in passion. "

"Why then do you make me speak?"

Rowland meditated a moment. "Is it also necessary that you should losethe best friend you have?"

Roderick looked up. "That 's for you to settle!"

His best friend clapped on his hat and strode away; in a moment the doorclosed behind him. Rowland walked hard for nearly a couple of hours. He passed up the Corso, out of the Porta del Popolo and into the VillaBorghese, of which he made a complete circuit. The keenness of hisirritation subsided, but it left him with an intolerable weight upon hisheart. When dusk had fallen, he found himself near the lodging of hisfriend Madame Grandoni. He frequently paid her a visit during the hourwhich preceded dinner, and he now ascended her unillumined staircase andrang at her relaxed bell-rope with an especial desire for diversion. Hewas told that, for the moment, she was occupied, but that if he wouldcome in and wait, she would presently be with him. He had not satmusing in the firelight for ten minutes when he heard the jingle of thedoor-bell and then a rustling and murmuring in the hall. The door of thelittle saloon opened, but before the visitor appeared he had recognizedher voice. Christina Light swept forward, preceded by her poodle, andalmost filling the narrow parlor with the train of her dress. She wascolored here and there by the flicking firelight. 

"They told me you were here, " she said simply, as she took a seat. 

"And yet you came in? It is very brave, " said Rowland. 

"You are the brave one, when one thinks of it! Where is the padrona?"

"Occupied for the moment. But she is coming. "

"How soon?"

"I have already waited ten minutes; I expect her from moment to moment. "

"Meanwhile we are alone?" And she glanced into the dusky corners of theroom. 

"Unless Stenterello counts, " said Rowland. 

"Oh, he knows my secrets--unfortunate brute!" She sat silent awhile, looking into the firelight. Then at last, glancing at Rowland, "Come!say something pleasant!" she exclaimed. 

"I have been very happy to hear of your engagement. "

"No, I don't mean that. I have heard that so often, only sincebreakfast, that it has lost all sense. I mean some of those unexpected, charming things that you said to me a month ago at Saint Cecilia's. "

"I offended you, then, " said Rowland. "I was afraid I had. "

"Ah, it occurred to you? Why have n't I seen you since?"

"Really, I don't know. " And he began to hesitate for an explanation. "Ihave called, but you have never been at home. "

"You were careful to choose the wrong times. You have a way with apoor girl! You sit down and inform her that she is a person with whoma respectable young man cannot associate without contamination; yourfriend is a very nice fellow, you are very careful of his morals, youwish him to know none but nice people, and you beg me therefore todesist. You request me to take these suggestions to heart and to actupon them as promptly as possible. They are not particularly flatteringto my vanity. Vanity, however, is a sin, and I listen submissively, with an immense desire to be just. If I have many faults I know it, ina general way, and I try on the whole to do my best. 'Voyons, ' I sayto myself, 'it is n't particularly charming to hear one's self made outsuch a low person, but it is worth thinking over; there 's probably agood deal of truth in it, and at any rate we must be as good a girl aswe can. That 's the great point! And then here 's a magnificent chancefor humility. If there 's doubt in the matter, let the doubt countagainst one's self. That is what Saint Catherine did, and Saint Theresa, and all the others, and they are said to have had in consequence themost ineffable joys. Let us go in for a little ineffable joy!' I triedit; I swallowed my rising sobs, I made you my courtesy, I determined Iwould not be spiteful, nor passionate, nor vengeful, nor anything thatis supposed to be particularly feminine. I was a better girl thanyou made out--better at least than you thought; but I would let thedifference go and do magnificently right, lest I should not do rightenough. I thought of it a deal for six hours when I know I did n't seemto be, and then at last I did it! Santo Dio!"

"My dear Miss Light, my dear Miss Light!" said Rowland, pleadingly. 

"Since then, " the young girl went on, "I have been waiting for theineffable joys. They have n't yet turned up!"

"Pray listen to me!" Rowland urged. 

"Nothing, nothing, nothing has come of it. I have passed the dreariestmonth of my life!"

"My dear Miss Light, you are a very terrible young lady!" cried Rowland. 

"What do you mean by that?"

"A good many things. We 'll talk them over. But first, forgive me if Ihave offended you!"

She looked at him a moment, hesitating, and then thrust her hands intoher muff. "That means nothing. Forgiveness is between equals, and youdon't regard me as your equal. "

"Really, I don't understand!"

Christina rose and moved for a moment about the room. Then turningsuddenly, "You don't believe in me!" she cried; "not a grain! I don'tknow what I would not give to force you to believe in me!"

Rowland sprang up, protesting, but before he had time to go far one ofthe scanty portieres was raised, and Madame Grandoni came in, pullingher wig straight. "But you shall believe in me yet, " murmured Christina, as she passed toward her hostess. 

Madame Grandoni turned tenderly to Christina. "I must give you a verysolemn kiss, my dear; you are the heroine of the hour. You have reallyaccepted him, eh?"

"So they say!"

"But you ought to know best. "

"I don't know--I don't care!" She stood with her hand in MadameGrandoni's, but looking askance at Rowland. 

"That 's a pretty state of mind, " said the old lady, "for a young personwho is going to become a princess. "

Christina shrugged her shoulders. "Every one expects me to go intoecstacies over that! Could anything be more vulgar? They may chuckle bythemselves! Will you let me stay to dinner?"

"If you can dine on a risotto. But I imagine you are expected at home. "

"You are right. Prince Casamassima dines there, en famille. But I 'm notin his family, yet!"

"Do you know you are very wicked? I have half a mind not to keep you. "

Christina dropped her eyes, reflectively. "I beg you will let me stay, "she said. "If you wish to cure me of my wickedness you must be verypatient and kind with me. It will be worth the trouble. You mustshow confidence in me. " And she gave another glance at Rowland. Thensuddenly, in a different tone, "I don't know what I 'm saying!" shecried. "I am weary, I am more lonely than ever, I wish I were dead!" Thetears rose to her eyes, she struggled with them an instant, and buriedher face in her muff; but at last she burst into uncontrollable sobsand flung her arms upon Madame Grandoni's neck. This shrewd woman gaveRowland a significant nod, and a little shrug, over the young girl'sbeautiful bowed head, and then led Christina tenderly away into theadjoining room. Rowland, left alone, stood there for an instant, intolerably puzzled, face to face with Miss Light's poodle, who had setup a sharp, unearthly cry of sympathy with his mistress. Rowlandvented his confusion in dealing a rap with his stick at the animal'sunmelodious muzzle, and then rapidly left the house. He saw Mrs. Light'scarriage waiting at the door, and heard afterwards that Christina wenthome to dinner. 

A couple of days later he went, for a fortnight, to Florence. He hadtwenty minds to leave Italy altogether; and at Florence he could atleast more freely decide upon his future movements. He felt profoundly, incurably disgusted. Reflective benevolence stood prudently aside, andfor the time touched the source of his irritation with no softeningside-lights. 

It was the middle of March, and by the middle of March in Florence thespring is already warm and deep. He had an infinite relish for the placeand the season, but as he strolled by the Arno and paused here and therein the great galleries, they failed to soothe his irritation. He wassore at heart, and as the days went by the soreness deepened rather thanhealed. He felt as if he had a complaint against fortune; good-naturedas he was, his good-nature this time quite declined to let it pass. Hehad tried to be wise, he had tried to be kind, he had embarked upon anestimable enterprise; but his wisdom, his kindness, his energy, had beenthrown back in his face. He was disappointed, and his disappointmenthad an angry spark in it. The sense of wasted time, of wasted hope andfaith, kept him constant company. There were times when the beautifulthings about him only exasperated his discontent. He went to the PittiPalace, and Raphael's Madonna of the Chair seemed, in its soft serenity, to mock him with the suggestion of unattainable repose. He lingered onthe bridges at sunset, and knew that the light was enchanting and themountains divine, but there seemed to be something horribly invidiousand unwelcome in the fact. He felt, in a word, like a man who has beencruelly defrauded and who wishes to have his revenge. Life owed him, hethought, a compensation, and he would be restless and resentful until hefound it. He knew--or he seemed to know--where he should find it; but hehardly told himself, and thought of the thing under mental protest, as aman in want of money may think of certain funds that he holds in trust. In his melancholy meditations the idea of something better than allthis, something that might softly, richly interpose, something thatmight reconcile him to the future, something that might make one'stenure of life deep and zealous instead of harsh and uneven--the idea ofconcrete compensation, in a word--shaped itself sooner or later into theimage of Mary Garland. 

Very odd, you may say, that at this time of day Rowland should stillbe brooding over a plain girl of whom he had had but the lightest ofglimpses two years before; very odd that so deep an impression shouldhave been made by so lightly-pressed an instrument. We must admit theoddity and offer simply in explanation that his sentiment apparentlybelonged to that species of emotion of which, by the testimony of thepoets, the very name and essence is oddity. One night he slept buthalf an hour; he found his thoughts taking a turn which excited himportentously. He walked up and down his room half the night. It lookedout on the Arno; the noise of the river came in at the open window; hefelt like dressing and going down into the streets. Toward morninghe flung himself into a chair; though he was wide awake he was lessexcited. It seemed to him that he saw his idea from the outside, that hejudged it and condemned it; yet it stood there before him, distinct, and in a certain way imperious. During the day he tried to banish itand forget it; but it fascinated, haunted, at moments frightened him. Hetried to amuse himself, paid visits, resorted to several rather violentdevices for diverting his thoughts. If on the morrow he had committed acrime, the persons whom he had seen that day would have testifiedthat he had talked strangely and had not seemed like himself. He feltcertainly very unlike himself; long afterwards, in retrospect, he usedto reflect that during those days he had for a while been literallybeside himself. His idea persisted; it clung to him like a sturdybeggar. The sense of the matter, roughly expressed, was this: IfRoderick was really going, as he himself had phrased it, to "fizzleout, " one might help him on the way--one might smooth the descensusAverno. For forty-eight hours there swam before Rowland's eyes a visionof Roderick, graceful and beautiful as he passed, plunging, like adiver, from an eminence into a misty gulf. The gulf was destruction, annihilation, death; but if death was decreed, why should not the agonybe brief? Beyond this vision there faintly glimmered another, as in thechildren's game of the "magic lantern" a picture is superposed on thewhite wall before the last one has quite faded. It represented MaryGarland standing there with eyes in which the horror seemed slowly, slowly to expire, and hanging, motionless hands which at last made noresistance when his own offered to take them. When, of old, a man wasburnt at the stake it was cruel to have to be present; but if one waspresent it was kind to lend a hand to pile up the fuel and make theflames do their work quickly and the smoke muffle up the victim. Withall deference to your kindness, this was perhaps an obligation you wouldespecially feel if you had a reversionary interest in something thevictim was to leave behind him. 

One morning, in the midst of all this, Rowland walked heedlessly out ofone of the city gates and found himself on the road to Fiesole. It was acompletely lovely day; the March sun felt like May, as the English poetof Florence says; the thick-blossomed shrubs and vines that hung overthe walls of villa and podere flung their odorous promise into the warm, still air. Rowland followed the winding, climbing lanes; lingered, as hegot higher, beneath the rusty cypresses, beside the low parapets, whereyou look down on the charming city and sweep the vale of the Arno;reached the little square before the cathedral, and rested awhile in themassive, dusky church; then climbed higher, to the Franciscan conventwhich is poised on the very apex of the mountain. He rang at the littlegateway; a shabby, senile, red-faced brother admitted him with almostmaudlin friendliness. There was a dreary chill in the chapel and thecorridors, and he passed rapidly through them into the delightfullysteep and tangled old garden which runs wild over the forehead of thegreat hill. He had been in it before, and he was very fond of it. Thegarden hangs in the air, and you ramble from terrace to terrace andwonder how it keeps from slipping down, in full consummation of itsbereaved forlornness, into the nakedly romantic gorge beneath. It wasjust noon when Rowland went in, and after roaming about awhile he flunghimself in the sun on a mossy stone bench and pulled his hat over hiseyes. The short shadows of the brown-coated cypresses above him hadgrown very long, and yet he had not passed back through the convent. Oneof the monks, in his faded snuff-colored robe, came wandering out intothe garden, reading his greasy little breviary. Suddenly he came towardthe bench on which Rowland had stretched himself, and paused a moment, attentively. Rowland was lingering there still; he was sitting with hishead in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He seemed not to haveheard the sandaled tread of the good brother, but as the monk remainedwatching him, he at last looked up. It was not the ignoble old man whohad admitted him, but a pale, gaunt personage, of a graver and moreascetic, and yet of a benignant, aspect. Rowland's face bore the tracesof extreme trouble. The frate kept his finger in his little book, and folded his arms picturesquely across his breast. It can hardly bedetermined whether his attitude, as he bent his sympathetic Italianeye upon Rowland, was a happy accident or the result of an exquisitespiritual discernment. To Rowland, at any rate, under the emotion ofthat moment, it seemed blessedly opportune. He rose and approached themonk, and laid his hand on his arm. 

"My brother, " he said, "did you ever see the Devil?"

The frate gazed, gravely, and crossed himself. "Heaven forbid!"

"He was here, " Rowland went on, "here in this lovely garden, as he wasonce in Paradise, half an hour ago. But have no fear; I drove him out. "And Rowland stooped and picked up his hat, which had rolled away into abed of cyclamen, in vague symbolism of an actual physical tussle. 

"You have been tempted, my brother?" asked the friar, tenderly. 

"Hideously!"

"And you have resisted--and conquered!"

"I believe I have conquered. "

"The blessed Saint Francis be praised! It is well done. If you like, wewill offer a mass for you. "

"I am not a Catholic, " said Rowland. 

The frate smiled with dignity. "That is a reason the more. "

"But it 's for you, then, to choose. Shake hands with me, " Rowlandadded; "that will do as well; and suffer me, as I go out, to stop amoment in your chapel. "

They shook hands and separated. The frate crossed himself, opened hisbook, and wandered away, in relief against the western sky. Rowlandpassed back into the convent, and paused long enough in the chapel tolook for the alms-box. He had had what is vulgarly termed a great scare;he believed, very poignantly for the time, in the Devil, and he felt anirresistible need to subscribe to any institution which engaged to keephim at a distance. 

The next day he returned to Rome, and the day afterwards he went insearch of Roderick. He found him on the Pincian with his back turned tothe crowd, looking at the sunset. "I went to Florence, " Rowland said, "and I thought of going farther; but I came back on purpose to give youanother piece of advice. Once more, you refuse to leave Rome?"

"Never!" said Roderick. 

"The only chance that I see, then, of your reviving your sense ofresponsibility to--to those various sacred things you have forgotten, isin sending for your mother to join you here. "

Roderick stared. "For my mother?"

"For your mother--and for Miss Garland. "

Roderick still stared; and then, slowly and faintly, his face flushed. "For Mary Garland--for my mother?" he repeated. "Send for them?"

"Tell me this; I have often wondered, but till now I have forborne toask. You are still engaged to Miss Garland?"

Roderick frowned darkly, but assented. 

"It would give you pleasure, then, to see her?"

Roderick turned away and for some moments answered nothing. "Pleasure!"he said at last, huskily. "Call it pain. "

"I regard you as a sick man, " Rowland continued. "In such a case MissGarland would say that her place was at your side. "

Roderick looked at him some time askance, mistrustfully. "Is this adeep-laid snare?" he asked slowly. 

Rowland had come back with all his patience rekindled, but these wordsgave it an almost fatal chill. "Heaven forgive you!" he cried bitterly. "My idea has been simply this. Try, in decency, to understand it. I havetried to befriend you, to help you, to inspire you with confidence, and I have failed. I took you from the hands of your mother and yourbetrothed, and it seemed to me my duty to restore you to their hands. That 's all I have to say. "

He was going, but Roderick forcibly detained him. It would have beenbut a rough way of expressing it to say that one could never know howRoderick would take a thing. It had happened more than once that whenhit hard, deservedly, he had received the blow with touching gentleness. On the other hand, he had often resented the softest taps. The secondaryeffect of Rowland's present admonition seemed reassuring. "I beg you towait, " he said, "to forgive that shabby speech, and to let me reflect. "And he walked up and down awhile, reflecting. At last he stopped, witha look in his face that Rowland had not seen all winter. It was astrikingly beautiful look. 

"How strange it is, " he said, "that the simplest devices are the lastthat occur to one!" And he broke into a light laugh. "To see MaryGarland is just what I want. And my mother--my mother can't hurt menow. "

"You will write, then?"

"I will telegraph. They must come, at whatever cost. Striker can arrangeit all for them. "

In a couple of days he told Rowland that he had received a telegraphicanswer to his message, informing him that the two ladies were to sailimmediately for Leghorn, in one of the small steamers which ply betweenthat port and New York. They would arrive, therefore, in less than amonth. Rowland passed this month of expectation in no very serene frameof mind. His suggestion had had its source in the deepest places of hisagitated conscience; but there was something intolerable in the thoughtof the suffering to which the event was probably subjecting thoseundefended women. They had scraped together their scanty funds andembarked, at twenty-four hours' notice, upon the dreadful sea, tojourney tremulously to shores darkened by the shadow of deeper alarms. He could only promise himself to be their devoted friend and servant. Preoccupied as he was, he was able to observe that expectation, with Roderick, took a form which seemed singular even among hischaracteristic singularities. If redemption--Roderick seemed toreason--was to arrive with his mother and his affianced bride, theselast moments of error should be doubly erratic. He did nothing; butinaction, with him, took on an unwonted air of gentle gayety. He laughedand whistled and went often to Mrs. Light's; though Rowland knew notin what fashion present circumstances had modified his relations withChristina. The month ebbed away and Rowland daily expected to hear fromRoderick that he had gone to Leghorn to meet the ship. He heard nothing, and late one evening, not having seen his friend in three or four days, he stopped at Roderick's lodging to assure himself that he had gone atlast. A cab was standing in the street, but as it was a couple of doorsoff he hardly heeded it. The hall at the foot of the staircase was dark, like most Roman halls, and he paused in the street-doorway on hearingthe advancing footstep of a person with whom he wished to avoid cominginto collision. While he did so he heard another footstep behind him, and turning round found that Roderick in person had just overtaken him. At the same moment a woman's figure advanced from within, into the lightof the street-lamp, and a face, half-startled, glanced at him out ofthe darkness. He gave a cry--it was the face of Mary Garland. Her glanceflew past him to Roderick, and in a second a startled exclamation brokefrom her own lips. It made Rowland turn again. Roderick stood there, pale, apparently trying to speak, but saying nothing. His lips wereparted and he was wavering slightly with a strange movement--themovement of a man who has drunk too much. Then Rowland's eyes met MissGarland's again, and her own, which had rested a moment on Roderick's, were formidable!

CHAPTER IX. Mary Garland

How it befell that Roderick had failed to be in Leghorn on his mother'sarrival never clearly transpired; for he undertook to give no elaborateexplanation of his fault. He never indulged in professions (touchingpersonal conduct) as to the future, or in remorse as to the past, andas he would have asked no praise if he had traveled night and day toembrace his mother as she set foot on shore, he made (in Rowland'spresence, at least) no apology for having left her to come in search ofhim. It was to be said that, thanks to an unprecedentedly fine season, the voyage of the two ladies had been surprisingly rapid, and that, according to common probabilities, if Roderick had left Rome on themorrow (as he declared that he had intended), he would have had a day ortwo of waiting at Leghorn. Rowland's silent inference was thatChristina Light had beguiled him into letting the time slip, and it wasaccompanied with a silent inquiry whether she had done so unconsciouslyor maliciously. He had told her, presumably, that his mother and hiscousin were about to arrive; and it was pertinent to remember hereuponthat she was a young lady of mysterious impulses. Rowland heard in duetime the story of the adventures of the two ladies from Northampton. Miss Garland's wish, at Leghorn, on finding they were left at the mercyof circumstances, had been to telegraph to Roderick and await ananswer; for she knew that their arrival was a trifle premature. But Mrs. Hudson's maternal heart had taken the alarm. Roderick's sending for themwas, to her imagination, a confession of illness, and his not beingat Leghorn, a proof of it; an hour's delay was therefore cruel both toherself and to him. She insisted on immediate departure; and, unskilledas they were in the mysteries of foreign (or even of domestic) travel, they had hurried in trembling eagerness to Rome. They had arrived latein the evening, and, knowing nothing of inns, had got into a caband proceeded to Roderick's lodging. At the door, poor Mrs. Hudson'sfrightened anxiety had overcome her, and she had sat quaking and cryingin the vehicle, too weak to move. Miss Garland had bravely gone in, groped her way up the dusky staircase, reached Roderick's door, and, with the assistance of such acquaintance with the Italian tongue as shehad culled from a phrase-book during the calmer hours of the voyage, had learned from the old woman who had her cousin's household economy incharge that he was in the best of health and spirits, and had gone fortha few hours before with his hat on his ear, per divertirsi. 

These things Rowland learned during a visit he paid the two ladies theevening after their arrival. Mrs. Hudson spoke of them at great lengthand with an air of clinging confidence in Rowland which told him howfaithfully time had served him, in her imagination. But her fright wasover, though she was still catching her breath a little, like a persondragged ashore out of waters uncomfortably deep. She was excessivelybewildered and confused, and seemed more than ever to demand a tenderhandling from her friends. Before Miss Garland, Rowland was distinctlyconscious that he trembled. He wondered extremely what was going on inher mind; what was her silent commentary on the incidents of the nightbefore. He wondered all the more, because he immediately perceived thatshe was greatly changed since their parting, and that the change was byno means for the worse. She was older, easier, more free, more likea young woman who went sometimes into company. She had more beautyas well, inasmuch as her beauty before had been the depth of herexpression, and the sources from which this beauty was fed had inthese two years evidently not wasted themselves. Rowland felt almostinstantly--he could hardly have said why: it was in her voice, in hertone, in the air--that a total change had passed over her attitudetowards himself. She trusted him now, absolutely; whether or no sheliked him, she believed he was solid. He felt that during the comingweeks he would need to be solid. Mrs. Hudson was at one of the smallerhotels, and her sitting-room was frugally lighted by a couple ofcandles. Rowland made the most of this dim illumination to try to detectthe afterglow of that frightened flash from Miss Garland's eyesthe night before. It had been but a flash, for what provoked it hadinstantly vanished. Rowland had murmured a rapturous blessing onRoderick's head, as he perceived him instantly apprehend the situation. If he had been drinking, its gravity sobered him on the spot; in asingle moment he collected his wits. The next moment, with a ringing, jovial cry, he was folding the young girl in his arms, and the nexthe was beside his mother's carriage, half smothered in her sobs andcaresses. Rowland had recommended a hotel close at hand, and had thendiscreetly withdrawn. Roderick was at this time doing his part superbly, and Miss Garland's brow was serene. It was serene now, twenty-four hourslater; but nevertheless, her alarm had lasted an appreciable moment. What had become of it? It had dropped down deep into her memory, andit was lying there for the present in the shade. But with anotherweek, Rowland said to himself, it would leap erect again; the lightestfriction would strike a spark from it. Rowland thought he had schooledhimself to face the issue of Mary Garland's advent, casting it even ina tragical phase; but in her personal presence--in which he found apoignant mixture of the familiar and the strange--he seemed to faceit and all that it might bring with it for the first time. In vulgarparlance, he stood uneasy in his shoes. He felt like walking on tiptoe, not to arouse the sleeping shadows. He felt, indeed, almost like sayingthat they might have their own way later, if they would only allowto these first few days the clear light of ardent contemplation. ForRowland at last was ardent, and all the bells within his soul wereringing bravely in jubilee. Roderick, he learned, had been the wholeday with his mother, and had evidently responded to her purest trust. He appeared to her appealing eyes still unspotted by the world. Thatis what it is, thought Rowland, to be "gifted, " to escape not only thesuperficial, but the intrinsic penalties of misconduct. The two ladieshad spent the day within doors, resting from the fatigues of travel. Miss Garland, Rowland suspected, was not so fatigued as she sufferedit to be assumed. She had remained with Mrs. Hudson, to attend to herpersonal wants, which the latter seemed to think, now that she was ina foreign land, with a southern climate and a Catholic religion, wouldforthwith become very complex and formidable, though as yet they hadsimply resolved themselves into a desire for a great deal of tea and fora certain extremely familiar old black and white shawl across her feet, as she lay on the sofa. But the sense of novelty was evidently strongupon Miss Garland, and the light of expectation was in her eye. She wasrestless and excited; she moved about the room and went often to thewindow; she was observing keenly; she watched the Italian servantsintently, as they came and went; she had already had a long colloquywith the French chambermaid, who had expounded her views on the Romanquestion; she noted the small differences in the furniture, in the food, in the sounds that came in from the street. Rowland felt, in all this, that her intelligence, here, would have a great unfolding. He wishedimmensely he might have a share in it; he wished he might show her Rome. That, of course, would be Roderick's office. But he promised himself atleast to take advantage of off-hours. 

"It behooves you to appreciate your good fortune, " he said to her. "Tobe young and elastic, and yet old enough and wise enough to discriminateand reflect, and to come to Italy for the first time--that is one of thegreatest pleasures that life offers us. It is but right to remind you ofit, so that you make the most of opportunity and do not accuse yourself, later, of having wasted the precious season. "

Miss Garland looked at him, smiling intently, and went to the windowagain. "I expect to enjoy it, " she said. "Don't be afraid; I am notwasteful. "

"I am afraid we are not qualified, you know, " said Mrs. Hudson. "We aretold that you must know so much, that you must have read so many books. Our taste has not been cultivated. When I was a young lady at school, Iremember I had a medal, with a pink ribbon, for 'proficiency in AncientHistory'--the seven kings, or is it the seven hills? and Quintus Curtiusand Julius Caesar and--and that period, you know. I believe I have mymedal somewhere in a drawer, now, but I have forgotten all about thekings. But after Roderick came to Italy we tried to learn somethingabout it. Last winter Mary used to read 'Corinne' to me in the evenings, and in the mornings she used to read another book, to herself. What wasit, Mary, that book that was so long, you know, --in fifteen volumes?"

"It was Sismondi's Italian Republics, " said Mary, simply. 

Rowland could not help laughing; whereupon Mary blushed. "Did you finishit?" he asked. 

"Yes, and began another--a shorter one--Roscoe's Leo the Tenth. "

"Did you find them interesting?"

"Oh yes. "

"Do you like history?"

"Some of it. "

"That 's a woman's answer! And do you like art?"

She paused a moment. "I have never seen it!"

"You have great advantages, now, my dear, with Roderick and Mr. Mallet, "said Mrs. Hudson. "I am sure no young lady ever had such advantages. Youcome straight to the highest authorities. Roderick, I suppose, will showyou the practice of art, and Mr. Mallet, perhaps, if he will be sogood, will show you the theory. As an artist's wife, you ought to knowsomething about it. "

"One learns a good deal about it, here, by simply living, " said Rowland;"by going and coming about one's daily avocations. "

"Dear, dear, how wonderful that we should be here in the midst of it!"murmured Mrs. Hudson. "To think of art being out there in the streets!We did n't see much of it last evening, as we drove from the depot. Butthe streets were so dark and we were so frightened! But we are very easynow; are n't we, Mary?"

"I am very happy, " said Mary, gravely, and wandered back to the windowagain. 

Roderick came in at this moment and kissed his mother, and thenwent over and joined Miss Garland. Rowland sat with Mrs. Hudson, whoevidently had a word which she deemed of some value for his private ear. She followed Roderick with intensely earnest eyes. 

"I wish to tell you, sir, " she said, "how very grateful--how verythankful--what a happy mother I am! I feel as if I owed it all to you, sir. To find my poor boy so handsome, so prosperous, so elegant, sofamous--and ever to have doubted of you! What must you think of me? You're our guardian angel, sir. I often say so to Mary. "

Rowland wore, in response to this speech, a rather haggard brow. Hecould only murmur that he was glad she found Roderick looking well. He had of course promptly asked himself whether the best discretiondictated that he should give her a word of warning--just turn the handleof the door through which, later, disappointment might enter. He haddetermined to say nothing, but simply to wait in silence for Roderick tofind effective inspiration in those confidently expectant eyes. It wasto be supposed that he was seeking for it now; he remained sometime atthe window with his cousin. But at last he turned away and came over tothe fireside with a contraction of the eyebrows which seemed tointimate that Miss Garland's influence was for the moment, at least, not soothing. She presently followed him, and for an instant Rowlandobserved her watching him as if she thought him strange. "Strangeenough, " thought Rowland, "he may seem to her, if he will!" Roderickdirected his glance to his friend with a certain peremptory air, which--roughly interpreted--was equivalent to a request to share theintellectual expense of entertaining the ladies. "Good heavens!" Rowlandcried within himself; "is he already tired of them?"

"To-morrow, of course, we must begin to put you through the mill, "Roderick said to his mother. "And be it hereby known to Mallet that wecount upon him to turn the wheel. "

"I will do as you please, my son, " said Mrs. Hudson. "So long as I haveyou with me I don't care where I go. We must not take up too much of Mr. Mallet's time. "

"His time is inexhaustible; he has nothing under the sun to do. Haveyou, Rowland? If you had seen the big hole I have been making in it!Where will you go first? You have your choice--from the Scala Santa tothe Cloaca Maxima. "

"Let us take things in order, " said Rowland. "We will go first to SaintPeter's. Miss Garland, I hope you are impatient to see Saint Peter's. "

"I would like to go first to Roderick's studio, " said Miss Garland. 

"It 's a very nasty place, " said Roderick. "At your pleasure!"

"Yes, we must see your beautiful things before we can look contentedlyat anything else, " said Mrs. Hudson. 

"I have no beautiful things, " said Roderick. "You may see what there is!What makes you look so odd?"

This inquiry was abruptly addressed to his mother, who, in response, glanced appealingly at Mary and raised a startled hand to her smoothhair. 

"No, it 's your face, " said Roderick. "What has happened to it these twoyears? It has changed its expression. "

"Your mother has prayed a great deal, " said Miss Garland, simply. 

"I did n't suppose, of course, it was from doing anything bad! It makesyou a very good face--very interesting, very solemn. It has very finelines in it; something might be done with it. " And Rowland held one ofthe candles near the poor lady's head. 

She was covered with confusion. "My son, my son, " she said with dignity, "I don't understand you. "

In a flash all his old alacrity had come to him. "I suppose a man mayadmire his own mother!" he cried. "If you please, madame, you 'll sit tome for that head. I see it, I see it! I will make something that a queencan't get done for her. "

Rowland respectfully urged her to assent; he saw Roderick was in thevein and would probably do something eminently original. She gaveher promise, at last, after many soft, inarticulate protests and afrightened petition that she might be allowed to keep her knitting. 

Rowland returned the next day, with plenty of zeal for the part Roderickhad assigned to him. It had been arranged that they should go to SaintPeter's. Roderick was in high good-humor, and, in the carriage, waswatching his mother with a fine mixture of filial and professionaltenderness. Mrs. Hudson looked up mistrustfully at the tall, shabbyhouses, and grasped the side of the barouche in her hand, as if shewere in a sail-boat, in dangerous waters. Rowland sat opposite to MissGarland. She was totally oblivious of her companions; from the momentthe carriage left the hotel, she sat gazing, wide-eyed and absorbed, atthe objects about them. If Rowland had felt disposed he might have madea joke of her intense seriousness. From time to time he told her thename of a place or a building, and she nodded, without looking at him. When they emerged into the great square between Bernini's colonnades, she laid her hand on Mrs. Hudson's arm and sank back in the carriage, staring up at the vast yellow facade of the church. Inside thechurch, Roderick gave his arm to his mother, and Rowland constitutedhimself the especial guide of Miss Garland. He walked with her slowlyeverywhere, and made the entire circuit, telling her all he knew ofthe history of the building. This was a great deal, but she listenedattentively, keeping her eyes fixed on the dome. To Rowland himselfit had never seemed so radiantly sublime as at these moments; he feltalmost as if he had contrived it himself and had a right to be proud ofit. He left Miss Garland a while on the steps of the choir, where shehad seated herself to rest, and went to join their companions. Mrs. Hudson was watching a great circle of tattered contadini, who werekneeling before the image of Saint Peter. The fashion of their tattersfascinated her; she stood gazing at them in a sort of terrified pity, and could not be induced to look at anything else. Rowland went back toMiss Garland and sat down beside her. 

"Well, what do you think of Europe?" he asked, smiling. 

"I think it 's horrible!" she said abruptly. 

"Horrible?"

"I feel so strangely--I could almost cry. "

"How is it that you feel?"

"So sorry for the poor past, that seems to have died here, in my heart, in an hour!"

"But, surely, you 're pleased--you 're interested. "

"I am overwhelmed. Here in a single hour, everything is changed. It isas if a wall in my mind had been knocked down at a stroke. Before melies an immense new world, and it makes the old one, the poor littlenarrow, familiar one I have always known, seem pitiful. "

"But you did n't come to Rome to keep your eyes fastened on that narrowlittle world. Forget it, turn your back on it, and enjoy all this. "

"I want to enjoy it; but as I sat here just now, looking up at thatgolden mist in the dome, I seemed to see in it the vague shapes ofcertain people and things at home. To enjoy, as you say, as these thingsdemand of one to enjoy them, is to break with one's past. And breakingis a pain!"

"Don't mind the pain, and it will cease to trouble you. Enjoy, enjoy; itis your duty. Yours especially!"

"Why mine especially?"

"Because I am very sure that you have a mind capable of doing themost liberal justice to everything interesting and beautiful. You areextremely intelligent. "

"You don't know, " said Miss Garland, simply. 

"In that matter one feels. I really think that I know better than you. I don't want to seem patronizing, but I suspect that your mind issusceptible of a great development. Give it the best company, trust it, let it go!"

She looked away from him for some moments, down the gorgeous vista ofthe great church. "But what you say, " she said at last, "means change!"

"Change for the better!" cried Rowland. 

"How can one tell? As one stands, one knows the worst. It seems to mevery frightful to develop, " she added, with her complete smile. 

"One is in for it in one way or another, and one might as well do itwith a good grace as with a bad! Since one can't escape life, it isbetter to take it by the hand. "

"Is this what you call life?" she asked. 

"What do you mean by 'this'?"

"Saint Peter's--all this splendor, all Rome--pictures, ruins, statues, beggars, monks. "

"It is not all of it, but it is a large part of it. All these thingsare impregnated with life; they are the fruits of an old and complexcivilization. "

"An old and complex civilization: I am afraid I don't like that. "

"Don't conclude on that point just yet. Wait till you have testedit. While you wait, you will see an immense number of very beautifulthings--things that you are made to understand. They won't leave you asthey found you; then you can judge. Don't tell me I know nothing aboutyour understanding. I have a right to assume it. "

Miss Garland gazed awhile aloft in the dome. "I am not sure I understandthat, " she said. 

"I hope, at least, that at a cursory glance it pleases you, " saidRowland. "You need n't be afraid to tell the truth. What strikes somepeople is that it is so remarkably small. "

"Oh, it's large enough; it's very wonderful. There are things in Rome, then, " she added in a moment, turning and looking at him, "that arevery, very beautiful?"

"Lots of them. "

"Some of the most beautiful things in the world?"

"Unquestionably. "

"What are they? which things have most beauty?"

"That is according to taste. I should say the statues. "

"How long will it take to see them all? to know, at least, somethingabout them?"

"You can see them all, as far as mere seeing goes, in a fortnight. Butto know them is a thing for one's leisure. The more time you spend amongthem, the more you care for them. " After a moment's hesitation he wenton: "Why should you grudge time? It 's all in your way, since you are tobe an artist's wife. "

"I have thought of that, " she said. "It may be that I shall always livehere, among the most beautiful things in the world!"

"Very possibly! I should like to see you ten years hence. "

"I dare say I shall seem greatly altered. But I am sure of one thing. "

"Of what?"

"That for the most part I shall be quite the same. I ask nothing betterthan to believe the fine things you say about my understanding, but evenif they are true, it won't matter. I shall be what I was made, what I amnow--a young woman from the country! The fruit of a civilization not oldand complex, but new and simple. "

"I am delighted to hear it: that 's an excellent foundation. "

"Perhaps, if you show me anything more, you will not always think sokindly of it. Therefore I warn you. "

"I am not frightened. I should like vastly to say something to you: Bewhat you are, be what you choose; but do, sometimes, as I tell you. "

If Rowland was not frightened, neither, perhaps, was Miss Garland; butshe seemed at least slightly disturbed. She proposed that they shouldjoin their companions. 

Mrs. Hudson spoke under her breath; she could not be accused of the wantof reverence sometimes attributed to Protestants in the great Catholictemples. "Mary, dear, " she whispered, "suppose we had to kiss thatdreadful brass toe. If I could only have kept our door-knocker, atNorthampton, as bright as that! I think it's so heathenish; but Rodericksays he thinks it 's sublime. "

Roderick had evidently grown a trifle perverse. "It 's sublimer thananything that your religion asks you to do!" he exclaimed. 

"Surely our religion sometimes gives us very difficult duties, " saidMiss Garland. 

"The duty of sitting in a whitewashed meeting-house and listening to anasal Puritan! I admit that 's difficult. But it 's not sublime. I amspeaking of ceremonies, of forms. It is in my line, you know, to makemuch of forms. I think this is a very beautiful one. Could n't you doit?" he demanded, looking at his cousin. 

She looked back at him intently and then shook her head. "I think not!"

"Why not?"

"I don't know; I could n't!"

During this little discussion our four friends were standing near thevenerable image of Saint Peter, and a squalid, savage-looking peasant, a tattered ruffian of the most orthodox Italian aspect, had beenperforming his devotions before it. He turned away, crossing himself, and Mrs. Hudson gave a little shudder of horror. 

"After that, " she murmured, "I suppose he thinks he is as good as anyone! And here is another. Oh, what a beautiful person!"

A young lady had approached the sacred effigy, after having wanderedaway from a group of companions. She kissed the brazen toe, touched itwith her forehead, and turned round, facing our friends. Rowland thenrecognized Christina Light. He was stupefied: had she suddenly embracedthe Catholic faith? It was but a few weeks before that she had treatedhim to a passionate profession of indifference. Had she entered thechurch to put herself en regle with what was expected of a PrincessCasamassima? While Rowland was mentally asking these questions she wasapproaching him and his friends, on her way to the great altar. At firstshe did not perceive them. 

Mary Garland had been gazing at her. "You told me, " she said gently, toRowland, "that Rome contained some of the most beautiful things in theworld. This surely is one of them!"

At this moment Christina's eye met Rowland's and before giving himany sign of recognition she glanced rapidly at his companions. She sawRoderick, but she gave him no bow; she looked at Mrs. Hudson, she lookedat Mary Garland. At Mary Garland she looked fixedly, piercingly, fromhead to foot, as the slow pace at which she was advancing made possible. Then suddenly, as if she had perceived Roderick for the first time, she gave him a charming nod, a radiant smile. In a moment he was at herside. She stopped, and he stood talking to her; she continued to look atMiss Garland. 

"Why, Roderick knows her!" cried Mrs. Hudson, in an awe-struck whisper. "I supposed she was some great princess. "

"She is--almost!" said Rowland. "She is the most beautiful girl inEurope, and Roderick has made her bust. "

"Her bust? Dear, dear!" murmured Mrs. Hudson, vaguely shocked. "What astrange bonnet!"

"She has very strange eyes, " said Mary, and turned away. 

The two ladies, with Rowland, began to descend toward the door of thechurch. On their way they passed Mrs. Light, the Cavaliere, and thepoodle, and Rowland informed his companions of the relation in whichthese personages stood to Roderick's young lady. 

"Think of it, Mary!" said Mrs. Hudson. "What splendid people he mustknow! No wonder he found Northampton dull!"

"I like the poor little old gentleman, " said Mary. 

"Why do you call him poor?" Rowland asked, struck with the observation. 

"He seems so!" she answered simply. 

As they were reaching the door they were overtaken by Roderick, whoseinterview with Miss Light had perceptibly brightened his eye. "So youare acquainted with princesses!" said his mother softly, as they passedinto the portico. 

"Miss Light is not a princess!" said Roderick, curtly. 

"But Mr. Mallet says so, " urged Mrs. Hudson, rather disappointed. 

"I meant that she was going to be!" said Rowland. 

"It 's by no means certain that she is even going to be!" Roderickanswered. 

"Ah, " said Rowland, "I give it up!"

Roderick almost immediately demanded that his mother should sit to him, at his studio, for her portrait, and Rowland ventured to add anotherword of urgency. If Roderick's idea really held him, it was an immensepity that his inspiration should be wasted; inspiration, in these days, had become too precious a commodity. It was arranged therefore that, forthe present, during the mornings, Mrs. Hudson should place herself ather son's service. This involved but little sacrifice, for the goodlady's appetite for antiquities was diminutive and bird-like, theusual round of galleries and churches fatigued her, and she was gladto purchase immunity from sight-seeing by a regular afternoon drive. Itbecame natural in this way that, Miss Garland having her morningsfree, Rowland should propose to be the younger lady's guide in whateverexplorations she might be disposed to make. She said she knew nothingabout it, but she had a great curiosity, and would be glad to seeanything that he would show her. Rowland could not find it in his heartto accuse Roderick of neglect of the young girl; for it was natural thatthe inspirations of a capricious man of genius, when they came, shouldbe imperious; but of course he wondered how Miss Garland felt, as theyoung man's promised wife, on being thus expeditiously handed over toanother man to be entertained. However she felt, he was certain he wouldknow little about it. There had been, between them, none but indirectallusions to her engagement, and Rowland had no desire to discuss itmore largely; for he had no quarrel with matters as they stood. Theywore the same delightful aspect through the lovely month of May, and theineffable charm of Rome at that period seemed but the radiant sympathyof nature with his happy opportunity. The weather was divine; eachparticular morning, as he walked from his lodging to Mrs. Hudson'smodest inn, seemed to have a blessing upon it. The elder lady hadusually gone off to the studio, and he found Miss Garland sitting aloneat the open window, turning the leaves of some book of artistic orantiquarian reference that he had given her. She always had a smile, shewas always eager, alert, responsive. She might be grave by nature, shemight be sad by circumstance, she might have secret doubts and pangs, but she was essentially young and strong and fresh and able to enjoy. Her enjoyment was not especially demonstrative, but it was curiouslydiligent. Rowland felt that it was not amusement and sensation that shecoveted, but knowledge--facts that she might noiselessly lay away, pieceby piece, in the perfumed darkness of her serious mind, so that, underthis head at least, she should not be a perfectly portionless bride. Shenever merely pretended to understand; she let things go, in her modestfashion, at the moment, but she watched them on their way, over thecrest of the hill, and when her fancy seemed not likely to be missed itwent hurrying after them and ran breathless at their side, as it were, and begged them for the secret. Rowland took an immense satisfaction inobserving that she never mistook the second-best for the best, andthat when she was in the presence of a masterpiece, she recognized theoccasion as a mighty one. She said many things which he thought veryprofound--that is, if they really had the fine intention he suspected. This point he usually tried to ascertain; but he was obliged to proceedcautiously, for in her mistrustful shyness it seemed to her thatcross-examination must necessarily be ironical. She wished to know justwhere she was going--what she would gain or lose. This was partly onaccount of a native intellectual purity, a temper of mind that hadnot lived with its door ajar, as one might say, upon the high-road ofthought, for passing ideas to drop in and out at their pleasure; but hadmade much of a few long visits from guests cherished and honored--guestswhose presence was a solemnity. But it was even more because she wasconscious of a sort of growing self-respect, a sense of devoting herlife not to her own ends, but to those of another, whose life would belarge and brilliant. She had been brought up to think a great deal of"nature" and nature's innocent laws; but now Rowland had spoken to herardently of culture; her strenuous fancy had responded, and she waspursuing culture into retreats where the need for some intellectualeffort gave a noble severity to her purpose. She wished to be very sure, to take only the best, knowing it to be the best. There was somethingexquisite in this labor of pious self-adornment, and Rowland helped it, though its fruits were not for him. In spite of her lurking rigidityand angularity, it was very evident that a nervous, impulsive senseof beauty was constantly at play in her soul, and that her actualexperience of beautiful things moved her in some very deep places. Forall that she was not demonstrative, that her manner was simple, and hersmall-talk of no very ample flow; for all that, as she had said, she wasa young woman from the country, and the country was West Nazareth, andWest Nazareth was in its way a stubborn little fact, she was feelingthe direct influence of the great amenities of the world, and they wereshaping her with a divinely intelligent touch. "Oh exquisite virtue ofcircumstance!" cried Rowland to himself, "that takes us by the handand leads us forth out of corners where, perforce, our attitudes are atrifle contracted, and beguiles us into testing mistrusted faculties!"When he said to Mary Garland that he wished he might see her ten yearshence, he was paying mentally an equal compliment to circumstance andto the girl herself. Capacity was there, it could be freely trusted;observation would have but to sow its generous seed. "A superiorwoman"--the idea had harsh associations, but he watched it imagingitself in the vagueness of the future with a kind of hopelessconfidence. 

They went a great deal to Saint Peter's, for which Rowland had anexceeding affection, a large measure of which he succeeded in infusinginto his companion. She confessed very speedily that to climb the long, low, yellow steps, beneath the huge florid facade, and then to pushthe ponderous leathern apron of the door, to find one's self confrontedwith that builded, luminous sublimity, was a sensation of which thekeenness renewed itself with surprising generosity. In those days thehospitality of the Vatican had not been curtailed, and it was an easyand delightful matter to pass from the gorgeous church to the solemncompany of the antique marbles. Here Rowland had with his companion agreat deal of talk, and found himself expounding aesthetics a perte devue. He discovered that she made notes of her likes and dislikes in anew-looking little memorandum book, and he wondered to what extent shereported his own discourse. These were charming hours. The galleries hadbeen so cold all winter that Rowland had been an exile from them; butnow that the sun was already scorching in the great square between thecolonnades, where the twin fountains flashed almost fiercely, the marblecoolness of the long, image-bordered vistas made them a delightfulrefuge. The great herd of tourists had almost departed, and our twofriends often found themselves, for half an hour at a time, in sole andtranquil possession of the beautiful Braccio Nuovo. Here and there wasan open window, where they lingered and leaned, looking out into thewarm, dead air, over the towers of the city, at the soft-hued, historichills, at the stately shabby gardens of the palace, or at some sunny, empty, grass-grown court, lost in the heart of the labyrinthine pile. They went sometimes into the chambers painted by Raphael, and of coursepaid their respects to the Sistine Chapel; but Mary's evident preferencewas to linger among the statues. Once, when they were standing beforethat noblest of sculptured portraits, the so-called Demosthenes, in theBraccio Nuovo, she made the only spontaneous allusion to her projectedmarriage, direct or indirect, that had yet fallen from her lips. "I amso glad, " she said, "that Roderick is a sculptor and not a painter. "

The allusion resided chiefly in the extreme earnestness with which thewords were uttered. Rowland immediately asked her the reason of hergladness. 

"It 's not that painting is not fine, " she said, "but that sculpture isfiner. It is more manly. "

Rowland tried at times to make her talk about herself, but in this shehad little skill. She seemed to him so much older, so much more pliantto social uses than when he had seen her at home, that he had adesire to draw from her some categorical account of her occupation andthoughts. He told her his desire and what suggested it. "It appears, then, " she said, "that, after all, one can grow at home!"

"Unquestionably, if one has a motive. Your growth, then, wasunconscious? You did not watch yourself and water your roots?"

She paid no heed to his question. "I am willing to grant, " she said, "that Europe is more delightful than I supposed; and I don't think that, mentally, I had been stingy. But you must admit that America is betterthan you have supposed. "

"I have not a fault to find with the country which produced you!"Rowland thought he might risk this, smiling. 

"And yet you want me to change--to assimilate Europe, I suppose youwould call it. "

"I have felt that desire only on general principles. Shall I tell youwhat I feel now? America has made you thus far; let America finish you!I should like to ship you back without delay and see what becomesof you. That sounds unkind, and I admit there is a cold intellectualcuriosity in it. "

She shook her head. "The charm is broken; the thread is snapped! Iprefer to remain here. "

Invariably, when he was inclined to make of something they were talkingof a direct application to herself, she wholly failed to assist him; shemade no response. Whereupon, once, with a spark of ardent irritation, hetold her she was very "secretive. " At this she colored a little, andhe said that in default of any larger confidence it would at least bea satisfaction to make her confess to that charge. But even thissatisfaction she denied him, and his only revenge was in making, twoor three times afterward, a softly ironical allusion to her slyness. Hetold her that she was what is called in French a sournoise. "Very good, "she answered, almost indifferently, "and now please tell me again--Ihave forgotten it--what you said an 'architrave' was. "

It was on the occasion of her asking him a question of this kind thathe charged her, with a humorous emphasis in which, also, if she hadbeen curious in the matter, she might have detected a spark of restlessardor, with having an insatiable avidity for facts. "You are alwayssnatching at information, " he said; "you will never consent to have anydisinterested conversation. "

She frowned a little, as she always did when he arrested their talk uponsomething personal. But this time she assented, and said that she knewshe was eager for facts. "One must make hay while the sun shines, " sheadded. "I must lay up a store of learning against dark days. Somehow, my imagination refuses to compass the idea that I may be in Romeindefinitely. "

He knew he had divined her real motives; but he felt that if he mighthave said to her--what it seemed impossible to say--that fortunepossibly had in store for her a bitter disappointment, she would havebeen capable of answering, immediately after the first sense of pain, "Say then that I am laying up resources for solitude!"

But all the accusations were not his. He had been watching, once, duringsome brief argument, to see whether she would take her forefinger outof her Murray, into which she had inserted it to keep a certain page. It would have been hard to say why this point interested him, for he hadnot the slightest real apprehension that she was dry or pedantic. Thesimple human truth was, the poor fellow was jealous of science. In preaching science to her, he had over-estimated his powers ofself-effacement. Suddenly, sinking science for the moment, she looked athim very frankly and began to frown. At the same time she let the Murrayslide down to the ground, and he was so charmed with this circumstancethat he made no movement to pick it up. 

"You are singularly inconsistent, Mr. Mallet, " she said. 

"How?"

"That first day that we were in Saint Peter's you said things thatinspired me. You bade me plunge into all this. I was all ready; I onlywanted a little push; yours was a great one; here I am in mid-ocean! Andnow, as a reward for my bravery, you have repeatedly snubbed me. "

"Distinctly, then, " said Rowland, "I strike you as inconsistent?"

"That is the word. "

"Then I have played my part very ill. "

"Your part? What is your part supposed to have been?"

He hesitated a moment. "That of usefulness, pure and simple. "

"I don't understand you!" she said; and picking up her Murray, shefairly buried herself in it. 

That evening he said something to her which necessarily increased herperplexity, though it was not uttered with such an intention. "Do youremember, " he asked, "my begging you, the other day, to do occasionallyas I told you? It seemed to me you tacitly consented. "

"Very tacitly. "

"I have never yet really presumed on your consent. But now I wouldlike you to do this: whenever you catch me in the act of what you callinconsistency, ask me the meaning of some architectural term. I willknow what you mean; a word to the wise!"

One morning they spent among the ruins of the Palatine, that sunnydesolation of crumbling, over-tangled fragments, half excavated and halfidentified, known as the Palace of the Caesars. Nothing in Rome is moreinteresting, and no locality has such a confusion of picturesque charms. It is a vast, rambling garden, where you stumble at every step on thedisinterred bones of the past; where damp, frescoed corridors, relics, possibly, of Nero's Golden House, serve as gigantic bowers, and where, in the springtime, you may sit on a Latin inscription, in the shade ofa flowering almond-tree, and admire the composition of the Campagna. The day left a deep impression on Rowland's mind, partly owing to itsintrinsic sweetness, and partly because his companion, on this occasion, let her Murray lie unopened for an hour, and asked several questionsirrelevant to the Consuls and the Caesars. She had begun by sayingthat it was coming over her, after all, that Rome was a ponderously sadplace. The sirocco was gently blowing, the air was heavy, she was tired, she looked a little pale. 

"Everything, " she said, "seems to say that all things are vanity. If oneis doing something, I suppose one feels a certain strength within one tocontradict it. But if one is idle, surely it is depressing to live, yearafter year, among the ashes of things that once were mighty. If I wereto remain here I should either become permanently 'low, ' as they say, orI would take refuge in some dogged daily work. "

"What work?"

"I would open a school for those beautiful little beggars; though I amsadly afraid I should never bring myself to scold them. "

"I am idle, " said Rowland, "and yet I have kept up a certain spirit. "

"I don't call you idle, " she answered with emphasis. 

"It is very good of you. Do you remember our talking about that inNorthampton?"

"During that picnic? Perfectly. Has your coming abroad succeeded, foryourself, as well as you hoped?"

"I think I may say that it has turned out as well as I expected. "

"Are you happy?"

"Don't I look so?"

"So it seems to me. But"--and she hesitated a moment--"I imagine youlook happy whether you are so or not. "

"I 'm like that ancient comic mask that we saw just now in yonderexcavated fresco: I am made to grin. "

"Shall you come back here next winter?"

"Very probably. "

"Are you settled here forever?"

"'Forever' is a long time. I live only from year to year. "

"Shall you never marry?"

Rowland gave a laugh. "'Forever'--'never!' You handle large ideas. Ihave not taken a vow of celibacy. "

"Would n't you like to marry?"

"I should like it immensely. "

To this she made no rejoinder: but presently she asked, "Why don't youwrite a book?"

Rowland laughed, this time more freely. "A book! What book should Iwrite?"

"A history; something about art or antiquities. "

"I have neither the learning nor the talent. "

She made no attempt to contradict him; she simply said she had supposedotherwise. "You ought, at any rate, " she continued in a moment, "to dosomething for yourself. "

"For myself? I should have supposed that if ever a man seemed to livefor himself"--

"I don't know how it seems, " she interrupted, "to careless observers. But we know--we know that you have lived--a great deal--for us. "

Her voice trembled slightly, and she brought out the last words with alittle jerk. 

"She has had that speech on her conscience, " thought Rowland; "she hasbeen thinking she owed it to me, and it seemed to her that now was hertime to make it and have done with it. "

She went on in a way which confirmed these reflections, speaking withdue solemnity. "You ought to be made to know very well what we all feel. Mrs. Hudson tells me that she has told you what she feels. Of courseRoderick has expressed himself. I have been wanting to thank you too; Ido, from my heart. "

Rowland made no answer; his face at this moment resembled the tragicmask much more than the comic. But Miss Garland was not looking at him;she had taken up her Murray again. 

In the afternoon she usually drove with Mrs. Hudson, but Rowlandfrequently saw her again in the evening. He was apt to spend half anhour in the little sitting-room at the hotel-pension on the slope of thePincian, and Roderick, who dined regularly with his mother, was presenton these occasions. Rowland saw him little at other times, and forthree weeks no observations passed between them on the subject of Mrs. Hudson's advent. To Rowland's vision, as the weeks elapsed, the benefitsto proceed from the presence of the two ladies remained shrouded inmystery. Roderick was peculiarly inscrutable. He was preoccupied withhis work on his mother's portrait, which was taking a very happy turn;and often, when he sat silent, with his hands in his pockets, his legsoutstretched, his head thrown back, and his eyes on vacancy, it was tobe supposed that his fancy was hovering about the half-shaped image inhis studio, exquisite even in its immaturity. He said little, but hissilence did not of necessity imply disaffection, for he evidently foundit a deep personal luxury to lounge away the hours in an atmosphere socharged with feminine tenderness. He was not alert, he suggested nothingin the way of excursions (Rowland was the prime mover in such as wereattempted), but he conformed passively at least to the tranquil temperof the two women, and made no harsh comments nor sombre allusions. Rowland wondered whether he had, after all, done his friend injustice indenying him the sentiment of duty. He refused invitations, to Rowland'sknowledge, in order to dine at the jejune little table-d'hote; whereverhis spirit might be, he was present in the flesh with religiousconstancy. Mrs. Hudson's felicity betrayed itself in a remarkabletendency to finish her sentences and wear her best black silk gown. Hertremors had trembled away; she was like a child who discovers thatthe shaggy monster it has so long been afraid to touch is an inanimateterror, compounded of straw and saw-dust, and that it is even a safeaudacity to tickle its nose. As to whether the love-knot of which MaryGarland had the keeping still held firm, who should pronounce? The younggirl, as we know, did not wear it on her sleeve. She always sat atthe table, near the candles, with a piece of needle-work. This was theattitude in which Rowland had first seen her, and he thought, now thathe had seen her in several others, it was not the least becoming. 

CHAPTER X. The Cavaliere

There befell at last a couple of days during which Rowland was unableto go to the hotel. Late in the evening of the second one Roderick cameinto his room. In a few moments he announced that he had finished thebust of his mother. 

"And it 's magnificent!" he declared. "It 's one of the best things Ihave done. "

"I believe it, " said Rowland. "Never again talk to me about yourinspiration being dead. "

"Why not? This may be its last kick! I feel very tired. But it 's amasterpiece, though I do say it. They tell us we owe so much to ourparents. Well, I 've paid the filial debt handsomely!" He walked up anddown the room a few moments, with the purpose of his visit evidentlystill undischarged. "There 's one thing more I want to say, " hepresently resumed. "I feel as if I ought to tell you!" He stopped beforeRowland with his head high and his brilliant glance unclouded. "Yourinvention is a failure!"

"My invention?" Rowland repeated. 

"Bringing out my mother and Mary. "

"A failure?"

"It 's no use! They don't help me. "

Rowland had fancied that Roderick had no more surprises for him; but hewas now staring at him, wide-eyed. 

"They bore me!" Roderick went on. 

"Oh, oh!" cried Rowland. 

"Listen, listen!" said Roderick with perfect gentleness. "I am notcomplaining of them; I am simply stating a fact. I am very sorry forthem; I am greatly disappointed. "

"Have you given them a fair trial?"

"Should n't you say so? It seems to me I have behaved beautifully. "

"You have done very well; I have been building great hopes on it. "

"I have done too well, then. After the first forty-eight hours my ownhopes collapsed. But I determined to fight it out; to stand within thetemple; to let the spirit of the Lord descend! Do you want to know theresult? Another week of it, and I shall begin to hate them. I shall wantto poison them. "

"Miserable boy!" cried Rowland. "They are the loveliest of women!"

"Very likely! But they mean no more to me than a Bible text to anatheist!"

"I utterly fail, " said Rowland, in a moment, "to understand yourrelation to Miss Garland. "

Roderick shrugged his shoulders and let his hands drop at his sides. "She adores me! That 's my relation. " And he smiled strangely. 

"Have you broken your engagement?"

"Broken it? You can't break a ray of moonshine. "

"Have you absolutely no affection for her?"

Roderick placed his hand on his heart and held it there a moment. "Dead--dead--dead!" he said at last. 

"I wonder, " Rowland asked presently, "if you begin to comprehend thebeauty of Miss Garland's character. She is a person of the highestmerit. "

"Evidently--or I would not have cared for her!"

"Has that no charm for you now?"

"Oh, don't force a fellow to say rude things!"

"Well, I can only say that you don't know what you are giving up. "

Roderick gave a quickened glance. "Do you know, so well?"

"I admire her immeasurably. "

Roderick smiled, we may almost say sympathetically. "You have not wastedtime. "

Rowland's thoughts were crowding upon him fast. If Roderick wasresolute, why oppose him? If Mary was to be sacrificed, why, in thatway, try to save her? There was another way; it only needed a littlepresumption to make it possible. Rowland tried, mentally, to summonpresumption to his aid; but whether it came or not, it found consciencethere before it. Conscience had only three words, but they were cogent. "For her sake--for her sake, " it dumbly murmured, and Rowland resumedhis argument. "I don't know what I would n't do, " he said, "rather thanthat Miss Garland should suffer. "

"There is one thing to be said, " Roderick answered reflectively. "She isvery strong. "

"Well, then, if she 's strong, believe that with a longer chance, abetter chance, she will still regain your affection. "

"Do you know what you ask?" cried Roderick. "Make love to a girl Ihate?"

"You hate?"

"As her lover, I should hate her!"

"Listen to me!" said Rowland with vehemence. 

"No, listen you to me! Do you really urge my marrying a woman who wouldbore me to death? I would let her know it in very good season, and thenwhere would she be?"

Rowland walked the length of the room a couple of times and then stoppedsuddenly. "Go your way, then! Say all this to her, not to me!"

"To her? I am afraid of her; I want you to help me. "

"My dear Roderick, " said Rowland with an eloquent smile, "I can help youno more!"

Roderick frowned, hesitated a moment, and then took his hat. "Oh, well, "he said, "I am not so afraid of her as all that!" And he turned, as ifto depart. 

"Stop!" cried Rowland, as he laid his hand on the door. 

Roderick paused and stood waiting, with his irritated brow. 

"Come back; sit down there and listen to me. Of anything you were to sayin your present state of mind you would live most bitterly to repent. You don't know what you really think; you don't know what you reallyfeel. You don't know your own mind; you don't do justice to MissGarland. All this is impossible here, under these circumstances. You 'reblind, you 're deaf, you 're under a spell. To break it, you must leaveRome. "

"Leave Rome! Rome was never so dear to me. "

"That 's not of the smallest consequence. Leave it instantly. "

"And where shall I go?"

"Go to some place where you may be alone with your mother and MissGarland. "

"Alone? You will not come?"

"Oh, if you desire it, I will come. "

Roderick inclining his head a little, looked at his friend askance. "Idon't understand you, " he said; "I wish you liked Miss Garland either alittle less, or a little more. "

Rowland felt himself coloring, but he paid no heed to Roderick's speech. "You ask me to help you, " he went on. "On these present conditions I cando nothing. But if you will postpone all decision as to the continuanceof your engagement a couple of months longer, and meanwhile leave Rome, leave Italy, I will do what I can to 'help you, ' as you say, in theevent of your still wishing to break it. "

"I must do without your help then! Your conditions are impossible. Iwill leave Rome at the time I have always intended--at the end of June. My rooms and my mother's are taken till then; all my arrangements aremade accordingly. Then, I will depart; not before. "

"You are not frank, " said Rowland. "Your real reason for staying hasnothing to do with your rooms. "

Roderick's face betrayed neither embarrassment nor resentment. "If I 'mnot frank, it 's for the first time in my life. Since you know so muchabout my real reason, let me hear it! No, stop!" he suddenly added, "Iwon't trouble you. You are right, I have a motive. On the twenty-fourthof June Miss Light is to be married. I take an immense interest in allthat concerns her, and I wish to be present at her wedding. "

"But you said the other day at Saint Peter's that it was by no meanscertain her marriage would take place. "

"Apparently I was wrong: the invitations, I am told, are going out. "

Rowland felt that it would be utterly vain to remonstrate, and that theonly thing for him was to make the best terms possible. "If I offer nofurther opposition to your waiting for Miss Light's marriage, " he said, "will you promise, meanwhile and afterwards, for a certain period, todefer to my judgment--to say nothing that may be a cause of suffering toMiss Garland?"

"For a certain period? What period?" Roderick demanded. 

"Ah, don't drive so close a bargain! Don't you understand that I havetaken you away from her, that I suffer in every nerve in consequence, and that I must do what I can to restore you?"

"Do what you can, then, " said Roderick gravely, putting out his hand. "Do what you can!" His tone and his hand-shake seemed to constitute apromise, and upon this they parted. 

Roderick's bust of his mother, whether or no it was a discharge of whathe called the filial debt, was at least a most admirable production. Rowland, at the time it was finished, met Gloriani one evening, and thisunscrupulous genius immediately began to ask questions about it. "I amtold our high-flying friend has come down, " he said. "He has been doinga queer little old woman. "

"A queer little old woman!" Rowland exclaimed. "My dear sir, she isHudson's mother. "

"All the more reason for her being queer! It is a bust for terra-cotta, eh?"

"By no means; it is for marble. "

"That 's a pity. It was described to me as a charming piece ofquaintness: a little demure, thin-lipped old lady, with her head onone side, and the prettiest wrinkles in the world--a sort of fairygodmother. "

"Go and see it, and judge for yourself, " said Rowland. 

"No, I see I shall be disappointed. It 's quite the other thing, thesort of thing they put into the campo-santos. I wish that boy wouldlisten to me an hour!"

But a day or two later Rowland met him again in the street, and, asthey were near, proposed they should adjourn to Roderick's studio. He consented, and on entering they found the young master. Roderick'sdemeanor to Gloriani was never conciliatory, and on this occasionsupreme indifference was apparently all he had to offer. But Gloriani, like a genuine connoisseur, cared nothing for his manners; he cared onlyfor his skill. In the bust of Mrs. Hudson there was something almosttouching; it was an exquisite example of a ruling sense of beauty. Thepoor lady's small, neat, timorous face had certainly no great character, but Roderick had reproduced its sweetness, its mildness, its minuteness, its still maternal passion, with the most unerring art. It was perfectlyunflattered, and yet admirably tender; it was the poetry of fidelity. Gloriani stood looking at it a long time most intently. Roderickwandered away into the neighboring room. 

"I give it up!" said the sculptor at last. "I don't understand it. "

"But you like it?" said Rowland. 

"Like it? It 's a pearl of pearls. Tell me this, " he added: "is he veryfond of his mother; is he a very good son?" And he gave Rowland a sharplook. 

"Why, she adores him, " said Rowland, smiling. 

"That 's not an answer! But it 's none of my business. Only if I, in hisplace, being suspected of having--what shall I call it?--a cold heart, managed to do that piece of work, oh, oh! I should be called a prettylot of names. Charlatan, poseur, arrangeur! But he can do as he chooses!My dear young man, I know you don't like me, " he went on, as Roderickcame back. "It 's a pity; you are strong enough not to care about me atall. You are very strong. "

"Not at all, " said Roderick curtly. "I am very weak!"

"I told you last year that you would n't keep it up. I was a great ass. You will!"

"I beg your pardon--I won't!" retorted Roderick. 

"Though I 'm a great ass, all the same, eh? Well, call me what you will, so long as you turn out this sort of thing! I don't suppose it makes anyparticular difference, but I should like to say now I believe in you. "

Roderick stood looking at him for a moment with a strange hardness inhis face. It flushed slowly, and two glittering, angry tears filled hiseyes. It was the first time Rowland had ever seen them there; he sawthem but once again. Poor Gloriani, he was sure, had never in his lifespoken with less of irony; but to Roderick there was evidently a senseof mockery in his profession of faith. He turned away with a muttered, passionate imprecation. Gloriani was accustomed to deal with complexproblems, but this time he was hopelessly puzzled. "What 's the matterwith him?" he asked, simply. 

Rowland gave a sad smile, and touched his forehead. "Genius, I suppose. "

Gloriani sent another parting, lingering look at the bust of Mrs. Hudson. "Well, it 's deuced perfect, it 's deuced simple; I do believein him!" he said. "But I 'm glad I 'm not a genius. It makes, " he addedwith a laugh, as he looked for Roderick to wave him good-by, and saw hisback still turned, "it makes a more sociable studio. "

Rowland had purchased, as he supposed, temporary tranquillity for MaryGarland; but his own humor in these days was not especially peaceful. Hewas attempting, in a certain sense, to lead the ideal life, and he foundit, at the least, not easy. The days passed, but brought with them noofficial invitation to Miss Light's wedding. He occasionally met her, and he occasionally met Prince Casamassima; but always separately, never together. They were apparently taking their happiness in theinexpressive manner proper to people of social eminence. Rowlandcontinued to see Madame Grandoni, for whom he felt a confirmedaffection. He had always talked to her with frankness, but now he madeher a confidant of all his hidden dejection. Roderick and Roderick'sconcerns had been a common theme with him, and it was in the naturalcourse to talk of Mrs. Hudson's arrival and Miss Garland's fine smile. Madame Grandoni was an intelligent listener, and she lost no time inputting his case for him in a nutshell. "At one moment you tell me thegirl is plain, " she said; "the next you tell me she 's pretty. I willinvite them, and I shall see for myself. But one thing is very clear:you are in love with her. "

Rowland, for all answer, glanced round to see that no one heard her. 

"More than that, " she added, "you have been in love with her these twoyears. There was that certain something about you!. . . I knew you were amild, sweet fellow, but you had a touch of it more than was natural. Why did n't you tell me at once? You would have saved me a great deal oftrouble. And poor Augusta Blanchard too!" And herewith Madame Grandonicommunicated a pertinent fact: Augusta Blanchard and Mr. Leavenworthwere going to make a match. The young lady had been staying for a monthat Albano, and Mr. Leavenworth had been dancing attendance. The eventwas a matter of course. Rowland, who had been lately reproaching himselfwith a failure of attention to Miss Blanchard's doings, made some suchobservation. 

"But you did not find it so!" cried his hostess. "It was a matter ofcourse, perhaps, that Mr. Leavenworth, who seems to be going aboutEurope with the sole view of picking up furniture for his 'home, ' as hecalls it, should think Miss Blanchard a very handsome piece; but it wasnot a matter of course--or it need n't have been--that she should bewilling to become a sort of superior table-ornament. She would haveaccepted you if you had tried. "

"You are supposing the insupposable, " said Rowland. "She never gave me aparticle of encouragement. "

"What would you have had her do? The poor girl did her best, and I amsure that when she accepted Mr. Leavenworth she thought of you. "

"She thought of the pleasure her marriage would give me. "

"Ay, pleasure indeed! She is a thoroughly good girl, but she has herlittle grain of feminine spite, like the rest. Well, he 's richer thanyou, and she will have what she wants; but before I forgive you I mustwait and see this new arrival--what do you call her?--Miss Garland. IfI like her, I will forgive you; if I don't, I shall always bear you agrudge. "

Rowland answered that he was sorry to forfeit any advantage she mightoffer him, but that his exculpatory passion for Miss Garland was afigment of her fancy. Miss Garland was engaged to another man, and hehimself had no claims. 

"Well, then, " said Madame Grandoni, "if I like her, we 'll have it thatyou ought to be in love with her. If you fail in this, it will be adouble misdemeanor. The man she 's engaged to does n't care a straw forher. Leave me alone and I 'll tell her what I think of you. "

As to Christina Light's marriage, Madame Grandoni could make no definitestatement. The young girl, of late, had made her several flyingvisits, in the intervals of the usual pre-matrimonial shopping anddress-fitting; she had spoken of the event with a toss of her head, as amatter which, with a wise old friend who viewed things in theiressence, she need not pretend to treat as a solemnity. It was for PrinceCasamassima to do that. "It is what they call a marriage of reason, " sheonce said. "That means, you know, a marriage of madness!"

"What have you said in the way of advice?" Rowland asked. 

"Very little, but that little has favored the prince. I know nothing ofthe mysteries of the young lady's heart. It may be a gold-mine, but atany rate it 's a mine, and it 's a long journey down into it. But themarriage in itself is an excellent marriage. It 's not only brilliant, but it 's safe. I think Christina is quite capable of making it ameans of misery; but there is no position that would be sacred to her. Casamassima is an irreproachable young man; there is nothing againsthim but that he is a prince. It is not often, I fancy, that a prince hasbeen put through his paces at this rate. No one knows the wedding-day;the cards of invitation have been printed half a dozen times over, witha different date; each time Christina has destroyed them. There arepeople in Rome who are furious at the delay; they want to get away; theyare in a dreadful fright about the fever, but they are dying to see thewedding, and if the day were fixed, they would make their arrangementsto wait for it. I think it very possible that after having kept them amonth and produced a dozen cases of malaria, Christina will be marriedat midnight by an old friar, with simply the legal witnesses. "

"It is true, then, that she has become a Catholic?"

"So she tells me. One day she got up in the depths of despair; at herwit's end, I suppose, in other words, for a new sensation. Suddenly itoccurred to her that the Catholic church might after all hold the key, might give her what she wanted! She sent for a priest; he happened to bea clever man, and he contrived to interest her. She put on a black dressand a black lace veil, and looking handsomer than ever she rustled intothe Catholic church. The prince, who is very devout, and who had herheresy sorely on his conscience, was thrown into an ecstasy. May shenever have a caprice that pleases him less!"

Rowland had already asked Madame Grandoni what, to her perception, wasthe present state of matters between Christina and Roderick; and he nowrepeated his question with some earnestness of apprehension. "The girlis so deucedly dramatic, " he said, "that I don't know what coup detheatre she may have in store for us. Such a stroke was her turningCatholic; such a stroke would be her some day making her courtesy to adisappointed world as Princess Casamassima, married at midnight, in herbonnet. She might do--she may do--something that would make even morestarers! I 'm prepared for anything. "

"You mean that she might elope with your sculptor, eh?"

"I 'm prepared for anything!"

"Do you mean that he 's ready?"

"Do you think that she is?"

"They 're a precious pair! I think this. You by no means exhaust thesubject when you say that Christina is dramatic. It 's my belief that inthe course of her life she will do a certain number of things from puredisinterested passion. She 's immeasurably proud, and if that is oftena fault in a virtuous person, it may be a merit in a vicious one. Sheneeds to think well of herself; she knows a fine character, easily, when she meets one; she hates to suffer by comparison, even though thecomparison is made by herself alone; and when the estimate she mayhave made of herself grows vague, she needs to do something to giveit definite, impressive form. What she will do in such a case will bebetter or worse, according to her opportunity; but I imagine it willgenerally be something that will drive her mother to despair; somethingof the sort usually termed 'unworldly. '"

Rowland, as he was taking his leave, after some further exchange ofopinions, rendered Miss Light the tribute of a deeply meditative sigh. "She has bothered me half to death, " he said, "but somehow I can'tmanage, as I ought, to hate her. I admire her, half the time, and a goodpart of the rest I pity her. "

"I think I most pity her!" said Madame Grandoni. 

This enlightened woman came the next day to call upon the two ladiesfrom Northampton. She carried their shy affections by storm, and madethem promise to drink tea with her on the evening of the morrow. Hervisit was an era in the life of poor Mrs. Hudson, who did nothing butmake sudden desultory allusions to her, for the next thirty-six hours. "To think of her being a foreigner!" she would exclaim, after muchintent reflection, over her knitting; "she speaks so beautifully!"Then in a little while, "She was n't so much dressed as you might haveexpected. Did you notice how easy it was in the waist? I wonder if that's the fashion?" Or, "She 's very old to wear a hat; I should never dareto wear a hat!" Or, "Did you notice her hands?--very pretty hands forsuch a stout person. A great many rings, but nothing very handsome. Isuppose they are hereditary. " Or, "She 's certainly not handsome, butshe 's very sweet-looking. I wonder why she does n't have somethingdone to her teeth. " Rowland also received a summons to Madame Grandoni'stea-drinking, and went betimes, as he had been requested. He was eagerlydesirous to lend his mute applause to Mary Garland's debut in the Romansocial world. The two ladies had arrived, with Roderick, silent andcareless, in attendance. Miss Blanchard was also present, escorted byMr. Leavenworth, and the party was completed by a dozen artists of bothsexes and various nationalities. It was a friendly and easy assembly, like all Madame Grandoni's parties, and in the course of the eveningthere was some excellent music. People played and sang for MadameGrandoni, on easy terms, who, elsewhere, were not to be heard for theasking. She was herself a superior musician, and singers found it aprivilege to perform to her accompaniment. Rowland talked to variouspersons, but for the first time in his life his attention visiblywandered; he could not keep his eyes off Mary Garland. Madame Grandonihad said that he sometimes spoke of her as pretty and sometimes asplain; to-night, if he had had occasion to describe her appearance, hewould have called her beautiful. She was dressed more than he had everseen her; it was becoming, and gave her a deeper color and an amplerpresence. Two or three persons were introduced to her who wereapparently witty people, for she sat listening to them with herbrilliant natural smile. Rowland, from an opposite corner, reflectedthat he had never varied in his appreciation of Miss Blanchard's classiccontour, but that somehow, to-night, it impressed him hardly morethan an effigy stamped upon a coin of low value. Roderick could not beaccused of rancor, for he had approached Mr. Leavenworth with unstudiedfamiliarity, and, lounging against the wall, with hands in pockets, wasdiscoursing to him with candid serenity. Now that he had done him animpertinence, he evidently found him less intolerable. Mr. Leavenworthstood stirring his tea and silently opening and shutting his mouth, without looking at the young sculptor, like a large, drowsy dog snappingat flies. Rowland had found it disagreeable to be told Miss Blanchardwould have married him for the asking, and he would have felt someembarrassment in going to speak to her if his modesty had not foundincredulity so easy. The facile side of a union with Miss Blanchard hadnever been present to his mind; it had struck him as a thing, in allways, to be compassed with a great effort. He had half an hour's talkwith her; a farewell talk, as it seemed to him--a farewell not to a realillusion, but to the idea that for him, in that matter, there could everbe an acceptable pis-aller. He congratulated Miss Blanchard upon herengagement, and she received his compliment with a touch of primness. But she was always a trifle prim, even when she was quoting Mrs. Browning and George Sand, and this harmless defect did not prevent herresponding on this occasion that Mr. Leavenworth had a "glorious heart. "Rowland wished to manifest an extreme regard, but toward the end of thetalk his zeal relaxed, and he fell a-thinking that a certain naturalease in a woman was the most delightful thing in the world. There wasChristina Light, who had too much, and here was Miss Blanchard, who hadtoo little, and there was Mary Garland (in whom the quality was whollyuncultivated), who had just the right amount. 

He went to Madame Grandoni in an adjoining room, where she was pouringout tea. 

"I will make you an excellent cup, " she said, "because I have forgivenyou. "

He looked at her, answering nothing; but he swallowed his tea with greatgusto, and a slight deepening of his color; by all of which one wouldhave known that he was gratified. In a moment he intimated that, in sofar as he had sinned, he had forgiven himself. 

"She is a lovely girl, " said Madame Grandoni. "There is a great dealthere. I have taken a great fancy to her, and she must let me make afriend of her. "

"She is very plain, " said Rowland, slowly, "very simple, very ignorant. "

"Which, being interpreted, means, 'She is very handsome, very subtle, and has read hundreds of volumes on winter evenings in the country. '"

"You are a veritable sorceress, " cried Rowland; "you frighten me away!"As he was turning to leave her, there rose above the hum of voices inthe drawing-room the sharp, grotesque note of a barking dog. Their eyesmet in a glance of intelligence. 

"There is the sorceress!" said Madame Grandoni. "The sorceress and hernecromantic poodle!" And she hastened back to the post of hospitality. 

Rowland followed her, and found Christina Light standing in the middleof the drawing-room, and looking about in perplexity. Her poodle, sitting on his haunches and gazing at the company, had apparently beenexpressing a sympathetic displeasure at the absence of a welcome. Butin a moment Madame Grandoni had come to the young girl's relief, andChristina had tenderly kissed her. 

"I had no idea, " said Christina, surveying the assembly, "that you hadsuch a lot of grand people, or I would not have come in. The servantsaid nothing; he took me for an invitee. I came to spend a neighborlyhalf-hour; you know I have n't many left! It was too dismally dreary athome. I hoped I should find you alone, and I brought Stenterello to playwith the cat. I don't know that if I had known about all this I wouldhave dared to come in; but since I 've stumbled into the midst of it, Ibeg you 'll let me stay. I am not dressed, but am I very hideous? I willsit in a corner and no one will notice me. My dear, sweet lady, do letme stay. Pray, why did n't you ask me? I never have been to a littleparty like this. They must be very charming. No dancing--tea andconversation? No tea, thank you; but if you could spare a biscuit forStenterello; a sweet biscuit, please. Really, why did n't you ask me?Do you have these things often? Madame Grandoni, it 's very unkind!" Andthe young girl, who had delivered herself of the foregoing succession ofsentences in her usual low, cool, penetrating voice, uttered these lastwords with a certain tremor of feeling. "I see, " she went on, "I do verywell for balls and great banquets, but when people wish to have acosy, friendly, comfortable evening, they leave me out, with the bigflower-pots and the gilt candlesticks. "

"I 'm sure you 're welcome to stay, my dear, " said Madame Grandoni, "andat the risk of displeasing you I must confess that if I did n't inviteyou, it was because you 're too grand. Your dress will do very well, with its fifty flounces, and there is no need of your going into acorner. Indeed, since you 're here, I propose to have the glory of it. You must remain where my people can see you. "

"They are evidently determined to do that by the way they stare. Do theythink I intend to dance a tarantella? Who are they all; do I know them?"And lingering in the middle of the room, with her arm passed into MadameGrandoni's, she let her eyes wander slowly from group to group. They were of course observing her. Standing in the little circleof lamplight, with the hood of an Eastern burnous, shot with silverthreads, falling back from her beautiful head, one hand gatheringtogether its voluminous, shimmering folds, and the other playing withthe silken top-knot on the uplifted head of her poodle, she was a figureof radiant picturesqueness. She seemed to be a sort of extemporizedtableau vivant. Rowland's position made it becoming for him to speakto her without delay. As she looked at him he saw that, judging by thelight of her beautiful eyes, she was in a humor of which she had not yettreated him to a specimen. In a simpler person he would have called itexquisite kindness; but in this young lady's deportment the flower wasone thing and the perfume another. "Tell me about these people, " shesaid to him. "I had no idea there were so many people in Rome I had notseen. What are they all talking about? It 's all beyond me, I suppose. There is Miss Blanchard, sitting as usual in profile against a darkobject. She is like a head on a postage-stamp. And there is that nicelittle old lady in black, Mrs. Hudson. What a dear little woman for amother! Comme elle est proprette! And the other, the fiancee, of courseshe 's here. Ah, I see!" She paused; she was looking intently at MissGarland. Rowland measured the intentness of her glance, and suddenlyacquired a firm conviction. "I should like so much to know her!" shesaid, turning to Madame Grandoni. "She has a charming face; I am sureshe 's an angel. I wish very much you would introduce me. No, on secondthoughts, I had rather you did n't. I will speak to her bravely myself, as a friend of her cousin. " Madame Grandoni and Rowland exchangedglances of baffled conjecture, and Christina flung off her burnous, crumpled it together, and, with uplifted finger, tossing it into acorner, gave it in charge to her poodle. He stationed himself upon it, on his haunches, with upright vigilance. Christina crossed the room withthe step and smile of a ministering angel, and introduced herself toMary Garland. She had once told Rowland that she would show him, someday, how gracious her manners could be; she was now redeeming herpromise. Rowland, watching her, saw Mary Garland rise slowly, inresponse to her greeting, and look at her with serious deep-gazing eyes. The almost dramatic opposition of these two keenly interesting girlstouched Rowland with a nameless apprehension, and after a moment hepreferred to turn away. In doing so he noticed Roderick. The youngsculptor was standing planted on the train of a lady's dress, gazingacross at Christina's movements with undisguised earnestness. There wereseveral more pieces of music; Rowland sat in a corner and listened tothem. When they were over, several people began to take their leave, Mrs. Hudson among the number. Rowland saw her come up to MadameGrandoni, clinging shyly to Mary Garland's arm. Miss Garland had abrilliant eye and a deep color in her cheek. The two ladies lookedabout for Roderick, but Roderick had his back turned. He had approachedChristina, who, with an absent air, was sitting alone, where she hadtaken her place near Miss Garland, looking at the guests pass out of theroom. Christina's eye, like Miss Garland's, was bright, but her cheekwas pale. Hearing Roderick's voice, she looked up at him sharply; thensilently, with a single quick gesture, motioned him away. He obeyed her, and came and joined his mother in bidding good night to Madame Grandoni. Christina, in a moment, met Rowland's glance, and immediately beckonedhim to come to her. He was familiar with her spontaneity of movement, and was scarcely surprised. She made a place for him on the sofa besideher; he wondered what was coming now. He was not sure it was not a merefancy, but it seemed to him that he had never seen her look just asshe was looking then. It was a humble, touching, appealing look, and itthrew into wonderful relief the nobleness of her beauty. "How many moremetamorphoses, " he asked himself, "am I to be treated to before we havedone?"

"I want to tell you, " said Christina. "I have taken an immense fancy toMiss Garland. Are n't you glad?"

"Delighted!" exclaimed poor Rowland. 

"Ah, you don't believe it, " she said with soft dignity. 

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"Not that people in general should admire her, but that I should. But Iwant to tell you; I want to tell some one, and I can't tell Miss Garlandherself. She thinks me already a horrid false creature, and if I were toexpress to her frankly what I think of her, I should simply disgust her. She would be quite right; she has repose, and from that point of view Iand my doings must seem monstrous. Unfortunately, I have n't repose. Iam trembling now; if I could ask you to feel my arm, you would see!But I want to tell you that I admire Miss Garland more than any of thepeople who call themselves her friends--except of course you. Oh, I knowthat! To begin with, she is extremely handsome, and she does n't knowit. "

"She is not generally thought handsome, " said Rowland. 

"Evidently! That 's the vulgarity of the human mind. Her head has greatcharacter, great natural style. If a woman is not to be a supreme beautyin the regular way, she will choose, if she 's wise, to look like that. She 'll not be thought pretty by people in general, and desecrated, asshe passes, by the stare of every vile wretch who chooses to thrust hisnose under her bonnet; but a certain number of superior people will findit one of the delightful things of life to look at her. That lot is asgood as another! Then she has a beautiful character!"

"You found that out soon!" said Rowland, smiling. 

"How long did it take you? I found it out before I ever spoke to her. I met her the other day in Saint Peter's; I knew it then. I knew it--doyou want to know how long I have known it?"

"Really, " said Rowland, "I did n't mean to cross-examine you. "

"Do you remember mamma's ball in December? We had some talk and youthen mentioned her--not by name. You said but three words, but I sawyou admired her, and I knew that if you admired her she must have abeautiful character. That 's what you require!"

"Upon my word, " cried Rowland, "you make three words go very far!"

"Oh, Mr. Hudson has also spoken of her. "

"Ah, that 's better!" said Rowland. 

"I don't know; he does n't like her. "

"Did he tell you so?" The question left Rowland's lips before he couldstay it, which he would have done on a moment's reflection. 

Christina looked at him intently. "No!" she said at last. "That wouldhave been dishonorable, would n't it? But I know it from my knowledge ofhim. He does n't like perfection; he is not bent upon being safe, inhis likings; he 's willing to risk something! Poor fellow, he risks toomuch!"

Rowland was silent; he did not care for the thrust; but he wasprofoundly mystified. Christina beckoned to her poodle, and thedog marched stiffly across to her. She gave a loving twist to hisrose-colored top-knot, and bade him go and fetch her burnous. He obeyed, gathered it up in his teeth, and returned with great solemnity, draggingit along the floor. 

"I do her justice. I do her full justice, " she went on, with softearnestness. "I like to say that, I like to be able to say it. She 'sfull of intelligence and courage and devotion. She does n't do me agrain of justice; but that is no harm. There is something so fine in theaversions of a good woman!"

"If you would give Miss Garland a chance, " said Rowland, "I am sure shewould be glad to be your friend. "

"What do you mean by a chance? She has only to take it. I told herI liked her immensely, and she frowned as if I had said somethingdisgusting. She looks very handsome when she frowns. " Christina rose, with these words, and began to gather her mantle about her. "I don'toften like women, " she went on. "In fact I generally detest them. ButI should like to know Miss Garland well. I should like to have afriendship with her; I have never had one; they must be very delightful. But I shan't have one now, either--not if she can help it! Ask her whatshe thinks of me; see what she will say. I don't want to know; keep itto yourself. It 's too sad. So we go through life. It 's fatality--that's what they call it, is n't it? We please the people we don't care for, we displease those we do! But I appreciate her, I do her justice; that's the more important thing. It 's because I have imagination. She hasnone. Never mind; it 's her only fault. I do her justice; I understandvery well. " She kept softly murmuring and looking about for MadameGrandoni. She saw the good lady near the door, and put out her hand toRowland for good night. She held his hand an instant, fixing him withher eyes, the living splendor of which, at this moment, was somethingtranscendent. "Yes, I do her justice, " she repeated. "And you do hermore; you would lay down your life for her. " With this she turned away, and before he could answer, she left him. She went to Madame Grandoni, grasped her two hands, and held out her forehead to be kissed. The nextmoment she was gone. 

"That was a happy accident!" said Madame Grandoni. "She never looked sobeautiful, and she made my little party brilliant. "

"Beautiful, verily!" Rowland answered. "But it was no accident. "

"What was it, then?"

"It was a plan. She wished to see Miss Garland. She knew she was to behere. "

"How so?"

"By Roderick, evidently. "

"And why did she wish to see Miss Garland?"

"Heaven knows! I give it up!"

"Ah, the wicked girl!" murmured Madame Grandoni. 

"No, " said Rowland; "don't say that now. She 's too beautiful. "

"Oh, you men! The best of you!"

"Well, then, " cried Rowland, "she 's too good!"

The opportunity presenting itself the next day, he failed not, as youmay imagine, to ask Mary Garland what she thought of Miss Light. It wasa Saturday afternoon, the time at which the beautiful marbles of theVilla Borghese are thrown open to the public. Mary had told him thatRoderick had promised to take her to see them, with his mother, and hejoined the party in the splendid Casino. The warm weather had left sofew strangers in Rome that they had the place almost to themselves. Mrs. Hudson had confessed to an invincible fear of treading, even with thehelp of her son's arm, the polished marble floors, and was sittingpatiently on a stool, with folded hands, looking shyly, here and there, at the undraped paganism around her. Roderick had sauntered off alone, with an irritated brow, which seemed to betray the conflict betweenthe instinct of observation and the perplexities of circumstance. Miss Garland was wandering in another direction, and though she wasconsulting her catalogue, Rowland fancied it was from habit; she toowas preoccupied. He joined her, and she presently sat down on a divan, rather wearily, and closed her Murray. Then he asked her abruptly howChristina had pleased her. 

She started the least bit at the question, and he felt that she had beenthinking of Christina. 

"I don't like her!" she said with decision. 

"What do you think of her?"

"I think she 's false. " This was said without petulance or bitterness, but with a very positive air. 

"But she wished to please you; she tried, " Rowland rejoined, in amoment. 

"I think not. She wished to please herself!"

Rowland felt himself at liberty to say no more. No allusion to Christinahad passed between them since the day they met her at Saint Peter's, but he knew that she knew, by that infallible sixth sense of a woman wholoves, that this strange, beautiful girl had the power to injure her. To what extent she had the will, Mary was uncertain; but last night'sinterview, apparently, had not reassured her. It was, under thesecircumstances, equally unbecoming for Rowland either to depreciate orto defend Christina, and he had to content himself with simply havingverified the girl's own assurance that she had made a bad impression. He tried to talk of indifferent matters--about the statues and thefrescoes; but to-day, plainly, aesthetic curiosity, with Miss Garland, had folded its wings. Curiosity of another sort had taken its place. Mary was longing, he was sure, to question him about Christina; but shefound a dozen reasons for hesitating. Her questions would imply thatRoderick had not treated her with confidence, for information on thispoint should properly have come from him. They would imply that she wasjealous, and to betray her jealousy was intolerable to her pride. Forsome minutes, as she sat scratching the brilliant pavement with thepoint of her umbrella, it was to be supposed that her pride and heranxiety held an earnest debate. At last anxiety won. 

"A propos of Miss Light, " she asked, "do you know her well?"

"I can hardly say that. But I have seen her repeatedly. "

"Do you like her?"

"Yes and no. I think I am sorry for her. "

Mary had spoken with her eyes on the pavement. At this she looked up. "Sorry for her? Why?"

"Well--she is unhappy. "

"What are her misfortunes?"

"Well--she has a horrible mother, and she has had a most injuriouseducation. "

For a moment Miss Garland was silent. Then, "Is n't she very beautiful?"she asked. 

"Don't you think so?"

"That 's measured by what men think! She is extremely clever, too. "

"Oh, incontestably. "

"She has beautiful dresses. "

"Yes, any number of them. "

"And beautiful manners. "

"Yes--sometimes. "

"And plenty of money. "

"Money enough, apparently. "

"And she receives great admiration. "

"Very true. "

"And she is to marry a prince. "

"So they say. "

Miss Garland rose and turned to rejoin her companions, commenting theseadmissions with a pregnant silence. "Poor Miss Light!" she said atlast, simply. And in this it seemed to Rowland there was a touch ofbitterness. 

Very late on the following evening his servant brought him the card of avisitor. He was surprised at a visit at such an hour, but it may besaid that when he read the inscription--Cavaliere Giuseppe Giacosa--hissurprise declined. He had had an unformulated conviction that there wasto be a sequel to the apparition at Madame Grandoni's; the Cavaliere hadcome to usher it in. 

He had come, evidently, on a portentous errand. He was as pale as ashesand prodigiously serious; his little cold black eye had grown ardent, and he had left his caressing smile at home. He saluted Rowland, however, with his usual obsequious bow. 

"You have more than once done me the honor to invite me to call uponyou, " he said. "I am ashamed of my long delay, and I can only say toyou, frankly, that my time this winter has not been my own. " Rowlandassented, ungrudgingly fumbled for the Italian correlative of the adage"Better late than never, " begged him to be seated, and offered him acigar. The Cavaliere sniffed imperceptibly the fragrant weed, and thendeclared that, if his kind host would allow him, he would reserve it forconsumption at another time. He apparently desired to intimate thatthe solemnity of his errand left him no breath for idle smoke-puffings. Rowland stayed himself, just in time, from an enthusiastic offer of adozen more cigars, and, as he watched the Cavaliere stow his treasuretenderly away in his pocket-book, reflected that only an Italian couldgo through such a performance with uncompromised dignity. "I mustconfess, " the little old man resumed, "that even now I come on businessnot of my own--or my own, at least, only in a secondary sense. I havebeen dispatched as an ambassador, an envoy extraordinary, I may say, bymy dear friend Mrs. Light. "

"If I can in any way be of service to Mrs. Light, I shall be happy, "Rowland said. 

"Well then, dear sir, Casa Light is in commotion. The signora is introuble--in terrible trouble. " For a moment Rowland expected to hearthat the signora's trouble was of a nature that a loan of five thousandfrancs would assuage. But the Cavaliere continued: "Miss Light hascommitted a great crime; she has plunged a dagger into the heart of hermother. "

"A dagger!" cried Rowland. 

The Cavaliere patted the air an instant with his finger-tips. "I speakfiguratively. She has broken off her marriage. "

"Broken it off?"

"Short! She has turned the prince from the door. " And the Cavaliere, when he had made this announcement, folded his arms and bent uponRowland his intense, inscrutable gaze. It seemed to Rowland that hedetected in the polished depths of it a sort of fantastic gleam ofirony or of triumph; but superficially, at least, Giacosa did nothingto discredit his character as a presumably sympathetic representative ofMrs. Light's affliction. 

Rowland heard his news with a kind of fierce disgust; it seemed thesinister counterpart of Christina's preternatural mildness at MadameGrandoni's tea-party. She had been too plausible to be honest. Withoutbeing able to trace the connection, he yet instinctively associated herpresent rebellion with her meeting with Mary Garland. If she had notseen Mary, she would have let things stand. It was monstrous to supposethat she could have sacrificed so brilliant a fortune to a mere movementof jealousy, to a refined instinct of feminine deviltry, to a desire tofrighten poor Mary from her security by again appearing in the field. Yet Rowland remembered his first impression of her; she was "dangerous, "and she had measured in each direction the perturbing effect of herrupture. She was smiling her sweetest smile at it! For half an hourRowland simply detested her, and longed to denounce her to her face. Ofcourse all he could say to Giacosa was that he was extremely sorry. "ButI am not surprised, " he added. 

"You are not surprised?"

"With Miss Light everything is possible. Is n't that true?"

Another ripple seemed to play for an instant in the current of the oldman's irony, but he waived response. "It was a magnificent marriage, "he said, solemnly. "I do not respect many people, but I respect PrinceCasamassima. "

"I should judge him indeed to be a very honorable young man, " saidRowland. 

"Eh, young as he is, he 's made of the old stuff. And now, perhaps he's blowing his brains out. He is the last of his house; it 's a greathouse. But Miss Light will have put an end to it!"

"Is that the view she takes of it?" Rowland ventured to ask. 

This time, unmistakably, the Cavaliere smiled, but still in that veryout-of-the-way place. "You have observed Miss Light with attention, " hesaid, "and this brings me to my errand. Mrs. Light has a high opinionof your wisdom, of your kindness, and she has reason to believe you haveinfluence with her daughter. "

"I--with her daughter? Not a grain!"

"That is possibly your modesty. Mrs. Light believes that something mayyet be done, and that Christina will listen to you. She begs you to comeand see her before it is too late. "

"But all this, my dear Cavaliere, is none of my business, " Rowlandobjected. "I can't possibly, in such a matter, take the responsibilityof advising Miss Light. "

The Cavaliere fixed his eyes for a moment on the floor, in brief butintense reflection. Then looking up, "Unfortunately, " he said, "she hasno man near her whom she respects; she has no father!"

"And a fatally foolish mother!" Rowland gave himself the satisfaction ofexclaiming. 

The Cavaliere was so pale that he could not easily have turned paler;yet it seemed for a moment that his dead complexion blanched. "Eh, signore, such as she is, the mother appeals to you. A very handsomewoman--disheveled, in tears, in despair, in dishabille!"

Rowland reflected a moment, not on the attractions of Mrs. Lightunder the circumstances thus indicated by the Cavaliere, but on thesatisfaction he would take in accusing Christina to her face of havingstruck a cruel blow. 

"I must add, " said the Cavaliere, "that Mrs. Light desires also to speakto you on the subject of Mr. Hudson. "

"She considers Mr. Hudson, then, connected with this step of herdaughter's?"

"Intimately. He must be got out of Rome. "

"Mrs. Light, then, must get an order from the Pope to remove him. It 'snot in my power. "

The Cavaliere assented, deferentially. "Mrs. Light is equally helpless. She would leave Rome to-morrow, but Christina will not budge. An orderfrom the Pope would do nothing. A bull in council would do nothing. "

"She 's a remarkable young lady, " said Rowland, with bitterness. 

But the Cavaliere rose and responded coldly, "She has a great spirit. "And it seemed to Rowland that her great spirit, for mysterious reasons, gave him more pleasure than the distressing use she made of it gave himpain. He was on the point of charging him with his inconsistency, whenGiacosa resumed: "But if the marriage can be saved, it must be saved. It's a beautiful marriage. It will be saved. "

"Notwithstanding Miss Light's great spirit to the contrary?"

"Miss Light, notwithstanding her great spirit, will call PrinceCasamassima back. "

"Heaven grant it!" said Rowland. 

"I don't know, " said the Cavaliere, solemnly, "that heaven will havemuch to do with it. "

Rowland gave him a questioning look, but he laid his finger on his lips. And with Rowland's promise to present himself on the morrow at CasaLight, he shortly afterwards departed. He left Rowland revolving manythings: Christina's magnanimity, Christina's perversity, Roderick'scontingent fortune, Mary Garland's certain trouble, and the Cavaliere'sown fine ambiguities. 

Rowland's promise to the Cavaliere obliged him to withdraw from anexcursion which he had arranged with the two ladies from Northampton. Before going to Casa Light he repaired in person to Mrs. Hudson's hotel, to make his excuses. 

He found Roderick's mother sitting with tearful eyes, staring at an opennote that lay in her lap. At the window sat Miss Garland, who turned herintense regard upon him as he came in. Mrs. Hudson quickly rose and cameto him, holding out the note. 

"In pity's name, " she cried, "what is the matter with my boy? If he isill, I entreat you to take me to him!"

"He is not ill, to my knowledge, " said Rowland. "What have you there?"

"A note--a dreadful note. He tells us we are not to see him for a week. If I could only go to his room! But I am afraid, I am afraid!"

"I imagine there is no need of going to his room. What is the occasion, may I ask, of his note?"

"He was to have gone with us on this drive to--what is the place?--toCervara. You know it was arranged yesterday morning. In the evening hewas to have dined with us. But he never came, and this morning arrivesthis awful thing. Oh dear, I 'm so excited! Would you mind reading it?"

Rowland took the note and glanced at its half-dozen lines. "I cannot goto Cervara, " they ran; "I have something else to do. This will occupy meperhaps for a week, and you 'll not see me. Don't miss me--learn not tomiss me. R. H. "

"Why, it means, " Rowland commented, "that he has taken up a pieceof work, and that it is all-absorbing. That 's very good news. " Thisexplanation was not sincere; but he had not the courage not to offer itas a stop-gap. But he found he needed all his courage to maintain it, for Miss Garland had left her place and approached him, formidablyunsatisfied. 

"He does not work in the evening, " said Mrs. Hudson. "Can't he comefor five minutes? Why does he write such a cruel, cold note to his poormother--to poor Mary? What have we done that he acts so strangely? It's this wicked, infectious, heathenish place!" And the poor lady'ssuppressed mistrust of the Eternal City broke out passionately. "Oh, dear Mr. Mallet, " she went on, "I am sure he has the fever and he 'salready delirious!"

"I am very sure it 's not that, " said Miss Garland, with a certaindryness. 

She was still looking at Rowland; his eyes met hers, and his own glancefell. This made him angry, and to carry off his confusion he pretendedto be looking at the floor, in meditation. After all, what had he to beashamed of? For a moment he was on the point of making a clean breast ofit, of crying out, "Dearest friends, I abdicate: I can't help you!" Buthe checked himself; he felt so impatient to have his three words withChristina. He grasped his hat. 

"I will see what it is!" he cried. And then he was glad he had notabdicated, for as he turned away he glanced again at Mary and saw that, though her eyes were full of trouble, they were not hard and accusing, but charged with appealing friendship. 

He went straight to Roderick's apartment, deeming this, at an earlyhour, the safest place to seek him. He found him in his sitting-room, which had been closely darkened to keep out the heat. The carpets andrugs had been removed, the floor of speckled concrete was bare andlightly sprinkled with water. Here and there, over it, certain stronglyperfumed flowers had been scattered. Roderick was lying on his divan ina white dressing-gown, staring up at the frescoed ceiling. The roomwas deliciously cool, and filled with the moist, sweet odor of thecircumjacent roses and violets. All this seemed highly fantastic, andyet Rowland hardly felt surprised. 

"Your mother was greatly alarmed at your note, " he said, "and I cameto satisfy myself that, as I believed, you are not ill. " Roderick laymotionless, except that he slightly turned his head toward his friend. He was smelling a large white rose, and he continued to present it tohis nose. In the darkness of the room he looked exceedingly pale, buthis handsome eyes had an extraordinary brilliancy. He let them rest forsome time on Rowland, lying there like a Buddhist in an intellectualswoon, whose perception should be slowly ebbing back to temporalmatters. "Oh, I 'm not ill, " he said at last. "I have never beenbetter. "

"Your note, nevertheless, and your absence, " Rowland said, "have verynaturally alarmed your mother. I advise you to go to her directly andreassure her. "

"Go to her? Going to her would be worse than staying away. Staying awayat present is a kindness. " And he inhaled deeply his huge rose, lookingup over it at Rowland. "My presence, in fact, would be indecent. "

"Indecent? Pray explain. "

"Why, you see, as regards Mary Garland. I am divinely happy! Does n'tit strike you? You ought to agree with me. You wish me to spare herfeelings; I spare them by staying away. Last night I heard something"--

"I heard it, too, " said Rowland with brevity. "And it 's in honor ofthis piece of news that you have taken to your bed in this fashion?"

"Extremes meet! I can't get up for joy. "

"May I inquire how you heard your joyous news?--from Miss Lightherself?"

"By no means. It was brought me by her maid, who is in my service aswell. "

"Casamassima's loss, then, is to a certainty your gain?"

"I don't talk about certainties. I don't want to be arrogant, I don'twant to offend the immortal gods. I 'm keeping very quiet, but I can'thelp being happy. I shall wait a while; I shall bide my time. "

"And then?"

"And then that transcendent girl will confess to me that when she threwoverboard her prince she remembered that I adored her!"

"I feel bound to tell you, " was in the course of a moment Rowland'sresponse to this speech, "that I am now on my way to Mrs. Light's. "

"I congratulate you, I envy you!" Roderick murmured, imperturbably. 

"Mrs. Light has sent for me to remonstrate with her daughter, with whomshe has taken it into her head that I have influence. I don't know towhat extent I shall remonstrate, but I give you notice I shall not speakin your interest. "

Roderick looked at him a moment with a lazy radiance in his eyes. "Praydon't!" he simply answered. 

"You deserve I should tell her you are a very shabby fellow. "

"My dear Rowland, the comfort with you is that I can trust you. You 'reincapable of doing anything disloyal. "

"You mean to lie here, then, smelling your roses and nursing yourvisions, and leaving your mother and Miss Garland to fall ill withanxiety?"

"Can I go and flaunt my felicity in their faces? Wait till I get usedto it a trifle. I have done them a palpable wrong, but I can at leastforbear to add insult to injury. I may be an arrant fool, but, forthe moment, I have taken it into my head to be prodigiously pleased. Ishould n't be able to conceal it; my pleasure would offend them; so Ilock myself up as a dangerous character. "

"Well, I can only say, 'May your pleasure never grow less, or yourdanger greater!'"

Roderick closed his eyes again, and sniffed at his rose. "God's will bedone!"

On this Rowland left him and repaired directly to Mrs. Light's. Thisafflicted lady hurried forward to meet him. Since the Cavaliere's reportof her condition she had somewhat smoothed and trimmed the exuberanceof her distress, but she was evidently in extreme tribulation, and sheclutched Rowland by his two hands, as if, in the shipwreck of her hopes, he were her single floating spar. Rowland greatly pitied her, for thereis something respectable in passionate grief, even in a very bad cause;and as pity is akin to love, he endured her rather better than he haddone hitherto. 

"Speak to her, plead with her, command her!" she cried, pressing andshaking his hands. "She 'll not heed us, no more than if we were a pairof clocks a-ticking. Perhaps she will listen to you; she always likedyou. "

"She always disliked me, " said Rowland. "But that does n't matter now. I have come here simply because you sent for me, not because I can helpyou. I cannot advise your daughter. "

"Oh, cruel, deadly man! You must advise her; you shan't leave this housetill you have advised her!" the poor woman passionately retorted. "Lookat me in my misery and refuse to help me! Oh, you need n't be afraid, Iknow I 'm a fright, I have n't an idea what I have on. If this goeson, we may both as well turn scarecrows. If ever a woman was desperate, frantic, heart-broken, I am that woman. I can't begin to tell you. Tohave nourished a serpent, sir, all these years! to have lavished one'sself upon a viper that turns and stings her own poor mother! To havetoiled and prayed, to have pushed and struggled, to have eaten the breadof bitterness, and all the rest of it, sir--and at the end of all thingsto find myself at this pass. It can't be, it 's too cruel, such thingsdon't happen, the Lord don't allow it. I 'm a religious woman, sir, and the Lord knows all about me. With his own hand he had given me hisreward! I would have lain down in the dust and let her walk over me; Iwould have given her the eyes out of my head, if she had taken a fancyto them. No, she 's a cruel, wicked, heartless, unnatural girl! I speakto you, Mr. Mallet, in my dire distress, as to my only friend. There isn't a creature here that I can look to--not one of them all that I havefaith in. But I always admired you. I said to Christina the first time Isaw you that there at last was a real gentleman. Come, don't disappointme now! I feel so terribly alone, you see; I feel what a nasty, hard, heartless world it is that has come and devoured my dinners and dancedto my fiddles, and yet that has n't a word to throw to me in my agony!Oh, the money, alone, that I have put into this thing, would melt theheart of a Turk!"

During this frenzied outbreak Rowland had had time to look round theroom, and to see the Cavaliere sitting in a corner, like a major-domo onthe divan of an antechamber, pale, rigid, and inscrutable. 

"I have it at heart to tell you, " Rowland said, "that if you consider myfriend Hudson"--

Mrs. Light gave a toss of her head and hands. "Oh, it 's not that. Shetold me last night to bother her no longer with Hudson, Hudson! She didn't care a button for Hudson. I almost wish she did; then perhaps onemight understand it. But she does n't care for anything in the wideworld, except to do her own hard, wicked will, and to crush me and shameme with her cruelty. "

"Ah, then, " said Rowland, "I am as much at sea as you, and my presencehere is an impertinence. I should like to say three words to Miss Lighton my own account. But I must absolutely and inexorably decline to urgethe cause of Prince Casamassima. This is simply impossible. "

Mrs. Light burst into angry tears. "Because the poor boy is a prince, eh? because he 's of a great family, and has an income of millions, eh?That 's why you grudge him and hate him. I knew there were vulgar peopleof that way of feeling, but I did n't expect it of you. Make an effort, Mr. Mallet; rise to the occasion; forgive the poor fellow his splendor. Be just, be reasonable! It 's not his fault, and it 's not mine. He 'sthe best, the kindest young man in the world, and the most correct andmoral and virtuous! If he were standing here in rags, I would say it allthe same. The man first--the money afterwards: that was always my motto, and always will be. What do you take me for? Do you suppose I wouldgive Christina to a vicious person? do you suppose I would sacrifice myprecious child, little comfort as I have in her, to a man against whosecharacter one word could be breathed? Casamassima is only too good, he's a saint of saints, he 's stupidly good! There is n't such anotherin the length and breadth of Europe. What he has been through in thishouse, not a common peasant would endure. Christina has treated him asyou would n't treat a dog. He has been insulted, outraged, persecuted!He has been driven hither and thither till he did n't know where hewas. He has stood there where you stand--there, with his name and hismillions and his devotion--as white as your handkerchief, with hot tearsin his eyes, and me ready to go down on my knees to him and say, 'My ownsweet prince, I could kiss the ground you tread on, but it is n't decentthat I should allow you to enter my house and expose yourself to thesehorrors again. ' And he would come back, and he would come back, and gothrough it all again, and take all that was given him, and only want thegirl the more! I was his confidant; I know everything. He used to begmy forgiveness for Christina. What do you say to that? I seized him onceand kissed him, I did! To find that and to find all the rest with it, and to believe it was a gift straight from the pitying angels of heaven, and then to see it dashed away before your eyes and to stand herehelpless--oh, it 's a fate I hope you may ever be spared!"

"It would seem, then, that in the interest of Prince Casamassima himselfI ought to refuse to interfere, " said Rowland. 

Mrs. Light looked at him hard, slowly drying her eyes. The intensityof her grief and anger gave her a kind of majesty, and Rowland, forthe moment, felt ashamed of the ironical ring of his observation. "Verygood, sir, " she said. "I 'm sorry your heart is not so tender as yourconscience. My compliments to your conscience! It must give you greathappiness. Heaven help me! Since you fail us, we are indeed driven tothe wall. But I have fought my own battles before, and I have never lostcourage, and I don't see why I should break down now. Cavaliere, comehere!"

Giacosa rose at her summons and advanced with his usual deferentialalacrity. He shook hands with Rowland in silence. 

"Mr. Mallet refuses to say a word, " Mrs. Light went on. "Time presses, every moment is precious. Heaven knows what that poor boy may be doing. If at this moment a clever woman should get hold of him she might be asugly as she pleased! It 's horrible to think of it. "

The Cavaliere fixed his eyes on Rowland, and his look, which the nightbefore had been singular, was now most extraordinary. There was anameless force of anguish in it which seemed to grapple with the youngman's reluctance, to plead, to entreat, and at the same time to beglazed over with a reflection of strange things. 

Suddenly, though most vaguely, Rowland felt the presence of a newelement in the drama that was going on before him. He looked from theCavaliere to Mrs. Light, whose eyes were now quite dry, and were fixedin stony hardness on the floor. 

"If you could bring yourself, " the Cavaliere said, in a low, soft, caressing voice, "to address a few words of solemn remonstrance to MissLight, you would, perhaps, do more for us than you know. You wouldsave several persons a great pain. The dear signora, first, and thenChristina herself. Christina in particular. Me too, I might take theliberty to add!"

There was, to Rowland, something acutely touching in this humblepetition. He had always felt a sort of imaginative tenderness for poorlittle unexplained Giacosa, and these words seemed a supreme contortionof the mysterious obliquity of his life. All of a sudden, as he watchedthe Cavaliere, something occurred to him; it was something very odd, andit stayed his glance suddenly from again turning to Mrs. Light. His ideaembarrassed him, and to carry off his embarrassment, he repeated thatit was folly to suppose that his words would have any weight withChristina. 

The Cavaliere stepped forward and laid two fingers on Rowland's breast. "Do you wish to know the truth? You are the only man whose words sheremembers. "

Rowland was going from surprise to surprise. "I will say what I can!"he said. By this time he had ventured to glance at Mrs. Light. She waslooking at him askance, as if, upon this, she was suddenly mistrustinghis motives. 

"If you fail, " she said sharply, "we have something else! But please tolose no time. "

She had hardly spoken when the sound of a short, sharp growl caused thecompany to turn. Christina's fleecy poodle stood in the middle of thevast saloon, with his muzzle lowered, in pompous defiance of the threeconspirators against the comfort of his mistress. This young lady'sclaims for him seemed justified; he was an animal of amazingly delicateinstincts. He had preceded Christina as a sort of van-guard of defense, and she now slowly advanced from a neighboring room. 

"You will be so good as to listen to Mr. Mallet, " her mother said, in aterrible voice, "and to reflect carefully upon what he says. I supposeyou will admit that he is disinterested. In half an hour you shall hearfrom me again!" And passing her hand through the Cavaliere's arm, sheswept rapidly out of the room. 

Christina looked hard at Rowland, but offered him no greeting. She wasvery pale, and, strangely enough, it at first seemed to Rowland thather beauty was in eclipse. But he very soon perceived that it had onlychanged its character, and that if it was a trifle less brilliant thanusual, it was admirably touching and noble. The clouded light of hereyes, the magnificent gravity of her features, the conscious erectnessof her head, might have belonged to a deposed sovereign or a condemnedmartyr. "Why have you come here at this time?" she asked. 

"Your mother sent for me in pressing terms, and I was very glad to havean opportunity to speak to you. "

"Have you come to help me, or to persecute me?"

"I have as little power to do one as I have desire to do the other. I came in great part to ask you a question. First, your decision isirrevocable?"

Christina's two hands had been hanging clasped in front of her; sheseparated them and flung them apart by an admirable gesture. 

"Would you have done this if you had not seen Miss Garland?"

She looked at him with quickened attention; then suddenly, "This isinteresting!" she cried. "Let us have it out. " And she flung herselfinto a chair and pointed to another. 

"You don't answer my question, " Rowland said. 

"You have no right, that I know of, to ask it. But it 's a very cleverone; so clever that it deserves an answer. Very likely I would not. "

"Last night, when I said that to myself, I was extremely angry, " Rowlandrejoined. 

"Oh, dear, and you are not angry now?"

"I am less angry. "

"How very stupid! But you can say something at least. "

"If I were to say what is uppermost in my mind, I would say that, faceto face with you, it is never possible to condemn you. "

"Perche?"

"You know, yourself! But I can at least say now what I felt last night. It seemed to me that you had consciously, cruelly dealt a blow at thatpoor girl. Do you understand?"

"Wait a moment!" And with her eyes fixed on him, she inclined her headon one side, meditatively. Then a cold, brilliant smile coveredher face, and she made a gesture of negation. "I see your train ofreasoning, but it 's quite wrong. I meant no harm to Miss Garland; Ishould be extremely sorry to make her suffer. Tell me you believe that. "

This was said with ineffable candor. Rowland heard himself answering, "Ibelieve it!"

"And yet, in a sense, your supposition was true, " Christina continued. "I conceived, as I told you, a great admiration for Miss Garland, and Ifrankly confess I was jealous of her. What I envied her was simplyher character! I said to myself, 'She, in my place, would n't marryCasamassima. ' I could not help saying it, and I said it so often that Ifound a kind of inspiration in it. I hated the idea of being worse thanshe--of doing something that she would n't do. I might be bad by nature, but I need n't be by volition. The end of it all was that I found itimpossible not to tell the prince that I was his very humble servant, but that I could not marry him. "

"Are you sure it was only of Miss Garland's character that you werejealous, not of--not of"--

"Speak out, I beg you. We are talking philosophy!"

"Not of her affection for her cousin?"

"Sure is a good deal to ask. Still, I think I may say it! There are tworeasons; one, at least, I can tell you: her affection has not a shadow'sweight with Mr. Hudson! Why then should one fear it?"

"And what is the other reason?"

"Excuse me; that is my own affair. "

Rowland was puzzled, baffled, charmed, inspired, almost, all at once. "Ihave promised your mother, " he presently resumed, "to say something infavor of Prince Casamassima. "

She shook her head sadly. "Prince Casamassima needs nothing that you cansay for him. He is a magnificent parti. I know it perfectly. "

"You know also of the extreme affliction of your mother?"

"Her affliction is demonstrative. She has been abusing me for the lasttwenty-four hours as if I were the vilest of the vile. " To see Christinasit there in the purity of her beauty and say this, might have made onebow one's head with a kind of awe. "I have failed of respect to herat other times, but I have not done so now. Since we are talkingphilosophy, " she pursued with a gentle smile, "I may say it 's a simplematter! I don't love him. Or rather, perhaps, since we are talkingphilosophy, I may say it 's not a simple matter. I spoke just now ofinspiration. The inspiration has been great, but--I frankly confessit--the choice has been hard. Shall I tell you?" she demanded, withsudden ardor; "will you understand me? It was on the one side the world, the splendid, beautiful, powerful, interesting world. I know what thatis; I have tasted of the cup, I know its sweetness. Ah, if I chose, if Ilet myself go, if I flung everything to the winds, the world and I wouldbe famous friends! I know its merits, and I think, without vanity, itwould see mine. You would see some fine things! I should like to be aprincess, and I think I should be a very good one; I would play my partwell. I am fond of luxury, I am fond of a great society, I am fond ofbeing looked at. I am corrupt, corruptible, corruption! Ah, what a pitythat could n't be, too! Mercy of Heaven!" There was a passionate tremorin her voice; she covered her face with her hands and sat motionless. Rowland saw that an intense agitation, hitherto successfully repressed, underlay her calmness, and he could easily believe that her battle hadbeen fierce. She rose quickly and turned away, walked a few paces, andstopped. In a moment she was facing him again, with tears in her eyesand a flush in her cheeks. "But you need n't think I 'm afraid!" shesaid. "I have chosen, and I shall hold to it. I have something here, here, here!" and she patted her heart. "It 's my own. I shan't partwith it. Is it what you call an ideal? I don't know; I don't care! It isbrighter than the Casamassima diamonds!"

"You say that certain things are your own affair, " Rowland presentlyrejoined; "but I must nevertheless make an attempt to learn what allthis means--what it promises for my friend Hudson. Is there any hope forhim?"

"This is a point I can't discuss with you minutely. I like him verymuch. "

"Would you marry him if he were to ask you?"

"He has asked me. "

"And if he asks again?"

"I shall marry no one just now. "

"Roderick, " said Rowland, "has great hopes. "

"Does he know of my rupture with the prince?"

"He is making a great holiday of it. "

Christina pulled her poodle towards her and began to smooth his silkyfleece. "I like him very much, " she repeated; "much more than I used to. Since you told me all that about him at Saint Cecilia's, I have felt agreat friendship for him. There 's something very fine about him; he 'snot afraid of anything. He is not afraid of failure; he is not afraid ofruin or death. "

"Poor fellow!" said Rowland, bitterly; "he is fatally picturesque. "

"Picturesque, yes; that 's what he is. I am very sorry for him. "

"Your mother told me just now that you had said that you did n't care astraw for him. "

"Very likely! I meant as a lover. One does n't want a lover one pities, and one does n't want--of all things in the world--a picturesquehusband! I should like Mr. Hudson as something else. I wish he were mybrother, so that he could never talk to me of marriage. Then I couldadore him. I would nurse him, I would wait on him and save him alldisagreeable rubs and shocks. I am much stronger than he, and I wouldstand between him and the world. Indeed, with Mr. Hudson for my brother, I should be willing to live and die an old maid!"

"Have you ever told him all this?"

"I suppose so; I 've told him five hundred things! If it would pleaseyou, I will tell him again. "

"Oh, Heaven forbid!" cried poor Rowland, with a groan. 

He was lingering there, weighing his sympathy against his irritation, and feeling it sink in the scale, when the curtain of a distant doorwaywas lifted and Mrs. Light passed across the room. She stopped half-way, and gave the young persons a flushed and menacing look. It foundapparently little to reassure her, and she moved away with a passionatetoss of her drapery. Rowland thought with horror of the sinistercompulsion to which the young girl was to be subjected. In this etherealflight of hers there was a certain painful effort and tension of wing;but it was none the less piteous to imagine her being rudely jerked downto the base earth she was doing her adventurous utmost to spurn. Shewould need all her magnanimity for her own trial, and it seemed gross tomake further demands upon it on Roderick's behalf. 

Rowland took up his hat. "You asked a while ago if I had come to helpyou, " he said. "If I knew how I might help you, I should be particularlyglad. "

She stood silent a moment, reflecting. Then at last, looking up, "Youremember, " she said, "your promising me six months ago to tell me whatyou finally thought of me? I should like you to tell me now. "

He could hardly help smiling. Madame Grandoni had insisted on the factthat Christina was an actress, though a sincere one; and this littlespeech seemed a glimpse of the cloven foot. She had played her greatscene, she had made her point, and now she had her eye at the holein the curtain and she was watching the house! But she blushed as sheperceived his smile, and her blush, which was beautiful, made her faultvenial. 

"You are an excellent girl!" he said, in a particular tone, and gave herhis hand in farewell. 

There was a great chain of rooms in Mrs. Light's apartment, the prideand joy of the hostess on festal evenings, through which the departingvisitor passed before reaching the door. In one of the first of theseRowland found himself waylaid and arrested by the distracted ladyherself. 

"Well, well?" she cried, seizing his arm. "Has she listened to you--haveyou moved her?"

"In Heaven's name, dear madame, " Rowland begged, "leave the poor girlalone! She is behaving very well!"

"Behaving very well? Is that all you have to tell me? I don't believeyou said a proper word to her. You are conspiring together to kill me!"

Rowland tried to soothe her, to remonstrate, to persuade her that it wasequally cruel and unwise to try to force matters. But she answered himonly with harsh lamentations and imprecations, and ended by telling himthat her daughter was her property, not his, and that his interferencewas most insolent and most scandalous. Her disappointment seemed reallyto have crazed her, and his only possible rejoinder was to take asummary departure. 

A moment later he came upon the Cavaliere, who was sitting with hiselbows on his knees and his head in his hands, so buried in thought thatRowland had to call him before he roused himself. Giacosa looked at hima moment keenly, and then gave a shake of the head, interrogatively. 

Rowland gave a shake negative, to which the Cavaliere responded by along, melancholy sigh. "But her mother is determined to force matters, "said Rowland. 

"It seems that it must be!"

"Do you consider that it must be?"

"I don't differ with Mrs. Light!"

"It will be a great cruelty!"

The Cavaliere gave a tragic shrug. "Eh! it is n't an easy world. "

"You should do nothing to make it harder, then. "

"What will you have? It 's a magnificent marriage. "

"You disappoint me, Cavaliere, " said Rowland, solemnly. "I imagined youappreciated the great elevation of Miss Light's attitude. She does n'tlove the prince; she has let the matter stand or fall by that. "

The old man grasped him by the hand and stood a moment with avertedeyes. At last, looking at him, he held up two fingers. 

"I have two hearts, " he said, "one for myself, one for the world. Thisone opposes Miss Light, the other adores her! One suffers horribly atwhat the other does. "

"I don't understand double people, Cavaliere, " Rowland said, "and Idon't pretend to understand you. But I have guessed that you are goingto play some secret card. "

"The card is Mrs. Light's, not mine, " said the Cavaliere. 

"It 's a menace, at any rate?"

"The sword of Damocles! It hangs by a hair. Christina is to be given tenminutes to recant, under penalty of having it fall. On the blade thereis something written in strange characters. Don't scratch your head; youwill not make it out. "

"I think I have guessed it, " Rowland said, after a pregnant silence. TheCavaliere looked at him blankly but intently, and Rowland added, "Thoughthere are some signs, indeed, I don't understand. "

"Puzzle them out at your leisure, " said the Cavaliere, shaking his hand. "I hear Mrs. Light; I must go to my post. I wish you were a Catholic; Iwould beg you to step into the first church you come to, and pray for usthe next half-hour. "

"For 'us'? For whom?"

"For all of us. At any rate remember this: I worship the Christina!"

Rowland heard the rustle of Mrs. Light's dress; he turned away, and theCavaliere went, as he said, to his post. Rowland for the next couple ofdays pondered his riddle. 

CHAPTER XI. Mrs. Hudson

Of Roderick, meanwhile, Rowland saw nothing; but he immediately went toMrs. Hudson and assured her that her son was in even exceptionally goodhealth and spirits. After this he called again on the two ladies fromNorthampton, but, as Roderick's absence continued, he was able neitherto furnish nor to obtain much comfort. Miss Garland's apprehensiveface seemed to him an image of his own state of mind. He was profoundlydepressed; he felt that there was a storm in the air, and he wishedit would come, without more delay, and perform its ravages. On theafternoon of the third day he went into Saint Peter's, his frequentresort whenever the outer world was disagreeable. From a heart-ache toa Roman rain there were few importunate pains the great church did nothelp him to forget. He had wandered there for half an hour, when he cameupon a short figure, lurking in the shadow of one of the great piers. Hesaw it was that of an artist, hastily transferring to his sketch-book amemento of some fleeting variation in the scenery of the basilica; andin a moment he perceived that the artist was little Sam Singleton. 

Singleton pocketed his sketch-book with a guilty air, as if it cost hismodesty a pang to be detected in this greedy culture of opportunity. Rowland always enjoyed meeting him; talking with him, in these days, was as good as a wayside gush of clear, cold water, on a long, hot walk. There was, perhaps, no drinking-vessel, and you had to apply your lipsto some simple natural conduit; but the result was always a sense ofextreme moral refreshment. On this occasion he mentally blessed theingenuous little artist, and heard presently with keen regret that hewas to leave Rome on the morrow. Singleton had come to bid farewellto Saint Peter's, and he was gathering a few supreme memories. He hadearned a purse-full of money, and he was meaning to take a summer'sholiday; going to Switzerland, to Germany, to Paris. In the autumn hewas to return home; his family--composed, as Rowland knew, of a fatherwho was cashier in a bank and five unmarried sisters, one of whom gavelyceum-lectures on woman's rights, the whole resident at Buffalo, NewYork--had been writing him peremptory letters and appealing to him asa son, brother, and fellow-citizen. He would have been grateful foranother year in Rome, but what must be must be, and he had laid uptreasure which, in Buffalo, would seem infinite. They talked some time;Rowland hoped they might meet in Switzerland, and take a walk or twotogether. Singleton seemed to feel that Buffalo had marked him for herown; he was afraid he should not see Rome again for many a year. 

"So you expect to live at Buffalo?" Rowland asked sympathetically. 

"Well, it will depend upon the views--upon the attitude--of my family, "Singleton replied. "Oh, I think I shall get on; I think it can be done. If I find it can be done, I shall really be quite proud of it; as anartist of course I mean, you know. Do you know I have some nine hundredsketches? I shall live in my portfolio. And so long as one is not inRome, pray what does it matter where one is? But how I shall envy allyou Romans--you and Mr. Gloriani, and Mr. Hudson, especially!"

"Don't envy Hudson; he has nothing to envy. "

Singleton grinned at what he considered a harmless jest. "Yes, he 'sgoing to be the great man of our time! And I say, Mr. Mallet, is n't ita mighty comfort that it 's we who have turned him out?"

"Between ourselves, " said Rowland, "he has disappointed me. "

Singleton stared, open-mouthed. "Dear me, what did you expect?"

"Truly, " said Rowland to himself, "what did I expect?"

"I confess, " cried Singleton, "I can't judge him rationally. Hefascinates me; he 's the sort of man one makes one's hero of. "

"Strictly speaking, he is not a hero, " said Rowland. 

Singleton looked intensely grave, and, with almost tearful eyes, "Isthere anything amiss--anything out of the way, about him?" he timidlyasked. Then, as Rowland hesitated to reply, he quickly added, "Please, if there is, don't tell me! I want to know no evil of him, and I thinkI should hardly believe it. In my memories of this Roman artist-life, he will be the central figure. He will stand there in radiant relief, asbeautiful and unspotted as one of his own statues!"

"Amen!" said Rowland, gravely. He remembered afresh that the sea isinhabited by big fishes and little, and that the latter often find theirway down the throats of the former. Singleton was going to spend theafternoon in taking last looks at certain other places, and Rowlandoffered to join him on his sentimental circuit. But as they werepreparing to leave the church, he heard himself suddenly addressed frombehind. Turning, he beheld a young woman whom he immediately recognizedas Madame Grandoni's maid. Her mistress was present, she said, andbegged to confer with him before he departed. 

This summons obliged Rowland to separate from Singleton, to whom he badefarewell. He followed the messenger, and presently found Madame Grandonioccupying a liberal area on the steps of the tribune, behind the greataltar, where, spreading a shawl on the polished red marble, she hadcomfortably seated herself. He expected that she had something especialto impart, and she lost no time in bringing forth her treasure. 

"Don't shout very loud, " she said, "remember that we are in church;there 's a limit to the noise one may make even in Saint Peter's. Christina Light was married this morning to Prince Casamassima. "

Rowland did not shout at all; he gave a deep, short murmur:"Married--this morning?"

"Married this morning, at seven o'clock, le plus tranquillement dumonde, before three or four persons. The young couple left Rome an hourafterwards. "

For some moments this seemed to him really terrible; the dark littledrama of which he had caught a glimpse had played itself out. He hadbelieved that Christina would resist; that she had succumbed was a proofthat the pressure had been cruel. Rowland's imagination followed herforth with an irresistible tremor into the world toward which she wasrolling away, with her detested husband and her stifled ideal; but itmust be confessed that if the first impulse of his compassion wasfor Christina, the second was for Prince Casamassima. Madame Grandoniacknowledged an extreme curiosity as to the secret springs of thesestrange doings: Casamassima's sudden dismissal, his still more suddenrecall, the hurried private marriage. "Listen, " said Rowland, hereupon, "and I will tell you something. " And he related, in detail, his lastvisit to Mrs. Light and his talk with this lady, with Christina, andwith the Cavaliere. 

"Good, " she said; "it 's all very curious. But it 's a riddle, and Ionly half guess it. "

"Well, " said Rowland, "I desire to harm no one; but certain suppositionshave taken shape in my mind which serve as a solvent to severalambiguities. "

"It is very true, " Madame Grandoni answered, "that the Cavaliere, as hestands, has always needed to be explained. "

"He is explained by the hypothesis that, three-and-twenty years ago, atAncona, Mrs. Light had a lover. "

"I see. Ancona was dull, Mrs. Light was lively, and--three-and-twentyyears ago--perhaps, the Cavaliere was fascinating. Doubtless it would befairer to say that he was fascinated. Poor Giacosa!"

"He has had his compensation, " Rowland said. "He has been passionatelyfond of Christina. "

"Naturally. But has Christina never wondered why?"

"If she had been near guessing, her mother's shabby treatment of himwould have put her off the scent. Mrs. Light's conscience has apparentlytold her that she could expiate an hour's too great kindness by twentyyears' contempt. So she kept her secret. But what is the profit ofhaving a secret unless you can make some use of it? The day at last camewhen she could turn hers to account; she could let the skeleton out ofthe closet and create a panic. "

"I don't understand. "

"Neither do I morally, " said Rowland. "I only conceive that there was ahorrible, fabulous scene. The poor Cavaliere stood outside, at thedoor, white as a corpse and as dumb. The mother and daughter had it outtogether. Mrs. Light burnt her ships. When she came out she had threelines of writing in her daughter's hand, which the Cavaliere wasdispatched with to the prince. They overtook the young man in time, and, when he reappeared, he was delighted to dispense with further waiting. Idon't know what he thought of the look in his bride's face; but that ishow I roughly reconstruct history. "

"Christina was forced to decide, then, that she could not afford not tobe a princess?"

"She was reduced by humiliation. She was assured that it was not for herto make conditions, but to thank her stars that there were none made forher. If she persisted, she might find it coming to pass that there wouldbe conditions, and the formal rupture--the rupture that the world wouldhear of and pry into--would then proceed from the prince and not fromher. "

"That 's all nonsense!" said Madame Grandoni, energetically. 

"To us, yes; but not to the proudest girl in the world, deeply woundedin her pride, and not stopping to calculate probabilities, but mufflingher shame, with an almost sensuous relief, in a splendor that stoodwithin her grasp and asked no questions. Is it not possible that thelate Mr. Light had made an outbreak before witnesses who are stillliving?"

"Certainly her marriage now, " said Madame Grandoni, less analytically, "has the advantage that it takes her away from her--parents!"

This lady's farther comments upon the event are not immediatelypertinent to our history; there were some other comments of whichRowland had a deeply oppressive foreboding. He called, on the eveningof the morrow upon Mrs. Hudson, and found Roderick with the twoladies. Their companion had apparently but lately entered, and Rowlandafterwards learned that it was his first appearance since the writing ofthe note which had so distressed his mother. He had flung himself upona sofa, where he sat with his chin upon his breast, staring before himwith a sinister spark in his eye. He fixed his gaze on Rowland, but gavehim no greeting. He had evidently been saying something to startle thewomen; Mrs. Hudson had gone and seated herself, timidly and imploringly, on the edge of the sofa, trying to take his hand. Miss Garland wasapplying herself to some needlework with conscious intentness. 

Mrs. Hudson gave Rowland, on his entrance, a touching look of gratitude. "Oh, we have such blessed news!" she said. "Roderick is ready to leaveRome. "

"It 's not blessed news; it 's most damnable news!" cried Roderick. 

"Oh, but we are very glad, my son, and I am sure you will be when youget away. You 're looking most dreadfully thin; is n't he, Mr. Mallet?It 's plain enough you need a change. I 'm sure we will go wherever youlike. Where would you like to go?"

Roderick turned his head slowly and looked at her. He had let her takehis hand, which she pressed tenderly between her own. He gazed ather for some time in silence. "Poor mother!" he said at last, in aportentous tone. 

"My own dear son!" murmured Mrs. Hudson in all the innocence of hertrust. 

"I don't care a straw where you go! I don't care a straw for anything!"

"Oh, my dear boy, you must not say that before all of us here--beforeMary, before Mr. Mallet!"

"Mary--Mr. Mallet?" Roderick repeated, almost savagely. He releasedhimself from the clasp of his mother's hand and turned away, leaninghis elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. There was asilence; Rowland said nothing because he was watching Miss Garland. "Whyshould I stand on ceremony with Mary and Mr. Mallet?" Roderick presentlyadded. "Mary pretends to believe I 'm a fine fellow, and if she believesit as she ought to, nothing I can say will alter her opinion. Malletknows I 'm a hopeless humbug; so I need n't mince my words with him. "

"Ah, my dear, don't use such dreadful language!" said Mrs. Hudson. "Aren't we all devoted to you, and proud of you, and waiting only to hearwhat you want, so that we may do it?"

Roderick got up, and began to walk about the room; he was evidently in arestless, reckless, profoundly demoralized condition. Rowland felt thatit was literally true that he did not care a straw for anything, buthe observed with anxiety that Mrs. Hudson, who did not know on whatdelicate ground she was treading, was disposed to chide him caressingly, as a mere expression of tenderness. He foresaw that she would bring downthe hovering thunderbolt on her head. 

"In God's name, " Roderick cried, "don't remind me of my obligations! It's intolerable to me, and I don't believe it 's pleasant to Mallet. I know they 're tremendous--I know I shall never repay them. I 'mbankrupt! Do you know what that means?"

The poor lady sat staring, dismayed, and Rowland angrily interfered. "Don't talk such stuff to your mother!" he cried. "Don't you see you 'refrightening her?"

"Frightening her? she may as well be frightened first as last. Do Ifrighten you, mother?" Roderick demanded. 

"Oh, Roderick, what do you mean?" whimpered the poor lady. "Mr. Mallet, what does he mean?"

"I mean that I 'm an angry, savage, disappointed, miserable man!"Roderick went on. "I mean that I can't do a stroke of work nor thinka profitable thought! I mean that I 'm in a state of helpless rage andgrief and shame! Helpless, helpless--that 's what it is. You can't helpme, poor mother--not with kisses, nor tears, nor prayers! Mary can'thelp me--not for all the honor she does me, nor all the big books on artthat she pores over. Mallet can't help me--not with all his money, norall his good example, nor all his friendship, which I 'm so profoundlywell aware of: not with it all multiplied a thousand times and repeatedto all eternity! I thought you would help me, you and Mary; that 's whyI sent for you. But you can't, don't think it! The sooner you give upthe idea the better for you. Give up being proud of me, too; there's nothing left of me to be proud of! A year ago I was a mighty finefellow; but do you know what has become of me now? I have gone to thedevil!"

There was something in the ring of Roderick's voice, as he uttered thesewords, which sent them home with convincing force. He was not talkingfor effect, or the mere sensuous pleasure of extravagant and paradoxicalutterance, as had often enough been the case ere this; he was noteven talking viciously or ill-humoredly. He was talking passionately, desperately, and from an irresistible need to throw off the oppressiveburden of his mother's confidence. His cruel eloquence brought the poorlady to her feet, and she stood there with clasped hands, petrifiedand voiceless. Mary Garland quickly left her place, came straight toRoderick, and laid her hand on his arm, looking at him with all hertormented heart in her eyes. He made no movement to disengage himself;he simply shook his head several times, in dogged negation of herhealing powers. Rowland had been living for the past month in suchintolerable expectancy of disaster that now that the ice was broken, andthe fatal plunge taken, his foremost feeling was almost elation; butin a moment his orderly instincts and his natural love of superficialsmoothness overtook it. 

"I really don't see, Roderick, " he said, "the profit of your talking injust this way at just this time. Don't you see how you are making yourmother suffer?"

"Do I enjoy it myself?" cried Roderick. "Is the suffering all on yourside and theirs? Do I look as if I were happy, and were stirring youup with a stick for my amusement? Here we all are in the same boat; wemight as well understand each other! These women must know that I 'm notto be counted on. That sounds remarkably cool, no doubt, and I certainlydon't deny your right to be utterly disgusted with me. "

"Will you keep what you have got to say till another time, " said Mary, "and let me hear it alone?"

"Oh, I 'll let you hear it as often as you please; but what 's the useof keeping it? I 'm in the humor; it won't keep! It 's a very simplematter. I 'm a failure, that 's all; I 'm not a first-rate man. I 'msecond-rate, tenth-rate, anything you please. After that, it 's allone!"

Mary Garland turned away and buried her face in her hands; but Roderick, struck, apparently, in some unwonted fashion with her gesture, drewher towards him again, and went on in a somewhat different tone. "It 'shardly worth while we should have any private talk about this, Mary, " hesaid. "The thing would be comfortable for neither of us. It 's better, after all, that it be said once for all and dismissed. There arethings I can't talk to you about. Can I, at least? You are such a queercreature!"

"I can imagine nothing you should n't talk to me about, " said Mary. 

"You are not afraid?" he demanded, sharply, looking at her. 

She turned away abruptly, with lowered eyes, hesitating a moment. "Anything you think I should hear, I will hear, " she said. And then shereturned to her place at the window and took up her work. 

"I have had a great blow, " said Roderick. "I was a great ass, but itdoes n't make the blow any easier to bear. "

"Mr. Mallet, tell me what Roderick means!" said Mrs. Hudson, who hadfound her voice, in a tone more peremptory than Rowland had ever heardher use. 

"He ought to have told you before, " said Roderick. "Really, Rowland, if you will allow me to say so, you ought! You could have given a muchbetter account of all this than I myself; better, especially, in thatit would have been more lenient to me. You ought to have let them downgently; it would have saved them a great deal of pain. But you alwayswant to keep things so smooth! Allow me to say that it 's very weak ofyou. "

"I hereby renounce such weakness!" said Rowland. 

"Oh, what is it, sir; what is it?" groaned Mrs. Hudson, insistently. 

"It 's what Roderick says: he 's a failure!"

Mary Garland, on hearing this declaration, gave Rowland a single glanceand then rose, laid down her work, and walked rapidly out of the room. Mrs. Hudson tossed her head and timidly bristled. "This from you, Mr. Mallet!" she said with an injured air which Rowland found harrowing. 

But Roderick, most characteristically, did not in the least resent hisfriend's assertion; he sent him, on the contrary, one of those large, clear looks of his, which seemed to express a stoical pleasure inRowland's frankness, and which set his companion, then and there, wondering again, as he had so often done before, at the extraordinarycontradictions of his temperament. "My dear mother, " Roderick said, "ifyou had had eyes that were not blinded by this sad maternal vanity, youwould have seen all this for yourself; you would have seen that I 'manything but prosperous. "

"Is it anything about money?" cried Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, do write to Mr. Striker!"

"Money?" said Roderick. "I have n't a cent of money; I 'm bankrupt!"

"Oh, Mr. Mallet, how could you let him?" asked Mrs. Hudson, terribly. 

"Everything I have is at his service, " said Rowland, feeling ill. 

"Of course Mr. Mallet will help you, my son!" cried the poor lady, eagerly. 

"Oh, leave Mr. Mallet alone!" said Roderick. "I have squeezed him dry;it 's not my fault, at least, if I have n't!"

"Roderick, what have you done with all your money?" his mother demanded. 

"Thrown it away! It was no such great amount. I have done nothing thiswinter. "

"You have done nothing?"

"I have done no work! Why in the world did n't you guess it and spare meall this? Could n't you see I was idle, distracted, dissipated?"

"Dissipated, my dear son?" Mrs. Hudson repeated. 

"That 's over for the present! But could n't you see--could n't Marysee--that I was in a damnably bad way?"

"I have no doubt Miss Garland saw, " said Rowland. 

"Mary has said nothing!" cried Mrs. Hudson. 

"Oh, she 's a fine girl!" Rowland said. 

"Have you done anything that will hurt poor Mary?" Mrs. Hudson asked. 

"I have only been thinking night and day of another woman!"

Mrs. Hudson dropped helplessly into her seat again. "Oh dear, dear, hadn't we better go home?"

"Not to get out of her way!" Roderick said. "She has started on a careerof her own, and she does n't care a straw for me. My head was filledwith her; I could think of nothing else; I would have sacrificedeverything to her--you, Mary, Mallet, my work, my fortune, my future, myhonor! I was in a fine state, eh? I don't pretend to be giving you goodnews; but I 'm telling the simple, literal truth, so that you may knowwhy I have gone to the dogs. She pretended to care greatly for all this, and to be willing to make any sacrifice in return; she had a magnificentchance, for she was being forced into a mercenary marriage with a manshe detested. She led me to believe that she would give this up, andbreak short off, and keep herself free and sacred and pure for me. Thiswas a great honor, and you may believe that I valued it. It turnedmy head, and I lived only to see my happiness come to pass. She dideverything to encourage me to hope it would; everything that herinfernal coquetry and falsity could suggest. "

"Oh, I say, this is too much!" Rowland broke out. 

"Do you defend her?" Roderick cried, with a renewal of his passion. "Doyou pretend to say that she gave me no hopes?" He had been speakingwith growing bitterness, quite losing sight of his mother's pain andbewilderment in the passionate joy of publishing his wrongs. Since hewas hurt, he must cry out; since he was in pain, he must scatter hispain abroad. Of his never thinking of others, save as they spoke andmoved from his cue, as it were, this extraordinary insensibility to theinjurious effects of his eloquence was a capital example; the more soas the motive of his eloquence was never an appeal for sympathy orcompassion, things to which he seemed perfectly indifferent and of whichhe could make no use. The great and characteristic point with him wasthe perfect absoluteness of his own emotions and experience. He neversaw himself as part of a whole; only as the clear-cut, sharp-edged, isolated individual, rejoicing or raging, as the case might be, butneeding in any case absolutely to affirm himself. All this, to Rowland, was ancient history, but his perception of it stirred within him afresh, at the sight of Roderick's sense of having been betrayed. That he, under the circumstances, should not in fairness be the first to lodge acomplaint of betrayal was a point to which, at his leisure, Rowland wasof course capable of rendering impartial justice; but Roderick'spresent desperation was so peremptory that it imposed itself on one'ssympathies. "Do you pretend to say, " he went on, "that she did n't leadme along to the very edge of fulfillment and stupefy me with all thatshe suffered me to believe, all that she sacredly promised? It amusedher to do it, and she knew perfectly well what she really meant. Shenever meant to be sincere; she never dreamed she could be. She 's aravenous flirt, and why a flirt is a flirt is more than I can tell you. I can't understand playing with those matters; for me they 're serious, whether I take them up or lay them down. I don't see what 's in yourhead, Rowland, to attempt to defend Miss Light; you were the first tocry out against her! You told me she was dangerous, and I pooh-poohedyou. You were right; you 're always right. She 's as cold and false andheartless as she 's beautiful, and she has sold her heartless beauty tothe highest bidder. I hope he knows what he gets!"

"Oh, my son, " cried Mrs. Hudson, plaintively, "how could you ever carefor such a dreadful creature?"

"It would take long to tell you, dear mother!"

Rowland's lately-deepened sympathy and compassion for Christina wasstill throbbing in his mind, and he felt that, in loyalty to it, hemust say a word for her. "You believed in her too much at first, " hedeclared, "and you believe in her too little now. "

Roderick looked at him with eyes almost lurid, beneath lowering brows. "She is an angel, then, after all?--that 's what you want to prove!"he cried. "That 's consoling for me, who have lost her! You 're alwaysright, I say; but, dear friend, in mercy, be wrong for once!"

"Oh yes, Mr. Mallet, be merciful!" said Mrs. Hudson, in a tone which, for all its gentleness, made Rowland stare. The poor fellow's starecovered a great deal of concentrated wonder and apprehension--apresentiment of what a small, sweet, feeble, elderly lady might becapable of, in the way of suddenly generated animosity. There was nospace in Mrs. Hudson's tiny maternal mind for complications of feeling, and one emotion existed only by turning another over flat and perchingon top of it. She was evidently not following Roderick at all in hisdusky aberrations. Sitting without, in dismay, she only saw that all wasdarkness and trouble, and as Roderick's glory had now quite outstrippedher powers of imagination and urged him beyond her jurisdiction, so thathe had become a thing too precious and sacred for blame, she found itinfinitely comfortable to lay the burden of their common affliction uponRowland's broad shoulders. Had he not promised to make them all rich andhappy? And this was the end of it! Rowland felt as if his trials were, in a sense, only beginning. "Had n't you better forget all this, mydear?" Mrs. Hudson said. "Had n't you better just quietly attend to yourwork?"

"Work, madame?" cried Roderick. "My work 's over. I can't work--I haven't worked all winter. If I were fit for anything, this sentimentalcollapse would have been just the thing to cure me of my apathy andbreak the spell of my idleness. But there 's a perfect vacuum here!" Andhe tapped his forehead. "It 's bigger than ever; it grows bigger everyhour!"

"I 'm sure you have made a beautiful likeness of your poor littlemother, " said Mrs. Hudson, coaxingly. 

"I had done nothing before, and I have done nothing since! I quarreledwith an excellent man, the other day, from mere exasperation of mynerves, and threw away five thousand dollars!"

"Threw away--five thousand dollars!" Roderick had been wandering amongformidable abstractions and allusions too dark to penetrate. But herewas a concrete fact, lucidly stated, and poor Mrs. Hudson, for a moment, looked it in the face. She repeated her son's words a third time with agasping murmur, and then, suddenly, she burst into tears. Roderickwent to her, sat down beside her, put his arm round her, fixed his eyescoldly on the floor, and waited for her to weep herself out. She leanedher head on his shoulder and sobbed broken-heartedly. She said not aword, she made no attempt to scold; but the desolation of her tears wasoverwhelming. It lasted some time--too long for Rowland's courage. Hehad stood silent, wishing simply to appear very respectful; but theelation that was mentioned a while since had utterly ebbed, and he foundhis situation intolerable. He walked away--not, perhaps, on tiptoe, butwith a total absence of bravado in his tread. 

The next day, while he was at home, the servant brought him the card ofa visitor. He read with surprise the name of Mrs. Hudson, and hurriedforward to meet her. He found her in his sitting-room, leaning on thearm of her son and looking very pale, her eyes red with weeping, and herlips tightly compressed. Her advent puzzled him, and it was not forsome time that he began to understand the motive of it. Roderick'scountenance threw no light upon it; but Roderick's countenance, full oflight as it was, in a way, itself, had never thrown light upon anything. He had not been in Rowland's rooms for several weeks, and he immediatelybegan to look at those of his own works that adorned them. He losthimself in silent contemplation. Mrs. Hudson had evidently armed herselfwith dignity, and, so far as she might, she meant to be impressive. Her success may be measured by the fact that Rowland's whole attentioncentred in the fear of seeing her begin to weep. She told him that shehad come to him for practical advice; she begged to remind him that shewas a stranger in the land. Where were they to go, please? what werethey to do? Rowland glanced at Roderick, but Roderick had his backturned and was gazing at his Adam with the intensity with which he mighthave examined Michael Angelo's Moses. 

"Roderick says he does n't know, he does n't care, " Mrs. Hudson said;"he leaves it entirely to you. "

Many another man, in Rowland's place, would have greeted thisinformation with an irate and sarcastic laugh, and told his visitorsthat he thanked them infinitely for their confidence, but that, really, as things stood now, they must settle these matters between themselves;many another man might have so demeaned himself, even if, like Rowland, he had been in love with Mary Garland and pressingly conscious thather destiny was also part of the question. But Rowland swallowed allhilarity and all sarcasm, and let himself seriously consider Mrs. Hudson's petition. His wits, however, were but indifferently at hiscommand; they were dulled by his sense of the inexpressible change inMrs. Hudson's attitude. Her visit was evidently intended as a formalreminder of the responsiblities Rowland had worn so lightly. Mrs. Hudsonwas doubtless too sincerely humble a person to suppose that if he hadbeen recreant to his vows of vigilance and tenderness, her still, smallpresence would operate as a chastisement. But by some diminutive logicalprocess of her own she had convinced herself that she had been weaklytrustful, and that she had suffered Rowland to think too meanly, notonly of her understanding, but of her social consequence. A visit inher best gown would have an admonitory effect as regards both of theseattributes; it would cancel some favors received, and show him that shewas no such fool! These were the reflections of a very shy woman, who, determining for once in her life to hold up her head, was perhapscarrying it a trifle extravagantly. 

"You know we have very little money to spend, " she said, as Rowlandremained silent. "Roderick tells me that he has debts and nothing at allto pay them with. He says I must write to Mr. Striker to sell my housefor what it will bring, and send me out the money. When the money comesI must give it to him. I 'm sure I don't know; I never heard of anythingso dreadful! My house is all I have. But that is all Roderick will say. We must be very economical. "

Before this speech was finished Mrs. Hudson's voice had begun to quaversoftly, and her face, which had no capacity for the expression ofsuperior wisdom, to look as humbly appealing as before. Rowland turnedto Roderick and spoke like a school-master. "Come away from thosestatues, and sit down here and listen to me!"

Roderick started, but obeyed with the most graceful docility. 

"What do you propose to your mother to do?" Rowland asked. 

"Propose?" said Roderick, absently. "Oh, I propose nothing. "

The tone, the glance, the gesture with which this was said were horriblyirritating (though obviously without the slightest intention of beingso), and for an instant an imprecation rose to Rowland's lips. But hechecked it, and he was afterwards glad he had done so. "You must dosomething, " he said. "Choose, select, decide!"

"My dear Rowland, how you talk!" Roderick cried. "The very point of thematter is that I can't do anything. I will do as I 'm told, but I don'tcall that doing. We must leave Rome, I suppose, though I don't see why. We have got no money, and you have to pay money on the railroads. "

Mrs. Hudson surreptitiously wrung her hands. "Listen to him, please!"she cried. "Not leave Rome, when we have staid here later than anyChristians ever did before! It 's this dreadful place that has made usso unhappy. "

"That 's very true, " said Roderick, serenely. "If I had not come toRome, I would n't have risen, and if I had not risen, I should n't havefallen. "

"Fallen--fallen!" murmured Mrs. Hudson. "Just hear him!"

"I will do anything you say, Rowland, " Roderick added. "I will doanything you want. I have not been unkind to my mother--have I, mother?I was unkind yesterday, without meaning it; for after all, all that hadto be said. Murder will out, and my low spirits can't be hidden. But wetalked it over and made it up, did n't we? It seemed to me we did. Let Rowland decide it, mother; whatever he suggests will be the rightthing. " And Roderick, who had hardly removed his eyes from the statues, got up again and went back to look at them. 

Mrs. Hudson fixed her eyes upon the floor in silence. There was nota trace in Roderick's face, or in his voice, of the bitterness of hisemotion of the day before, and not a hint of his having the lightestweight upon his conscience. He looked at Rowland with his frank, luminous eye as if there had never been a difference of opinion betweenthem; as if each had ever been for both, unalterably, and both for each. 

Rowland had received a few days before a letter from a lady of hisacquaintance, a worthy Scotswoman domiciled in a villa upon one of theolive-covered hills near Florence. She held her apartment in the villaupon a long lease, and she enjoyed for a sum not worth mentioning thepossession of an extraordinary number of noble, stone-floored rooms, with ceilings vaulted and frescoed, and barred windows commanding theloveliest view in the world. She was a needy and thrifty spinster, whonever hesitated to declare that the lovely view was all very well, butthat for her own part she lived in the villa for cheapness, and thatif she had a clear three hundred pounds a year she would go and reallyenjoy life near her sister, a baronet's lady, at Glasgow. She was nowproposing to make a visit to that exhilarating city, and she desired toturn an honest penny by sub-letting for a few weeks her historic Italianchambers. The terms on which she occupied them enabled her to ask a rentalmost jocosely small, and she begged Rowland to do what she called alittle genteel advertising for her. Would he say a good word for herrooms to his numerous friends, as they left Rome? He said a good wordfor them now to Mrs. Hudson, and told her in dollars and cents how cheapa summer's lodging she might secure. He dwelt upon the fact that shewould strike a truce with tables-d'hote and have a cook of her own, amenable possibly to instruction in the Northampton mysteries. Hehad touched a tender chord; Mrs. Hudson became almost cheerful. Hersentiments upon the table-d'hote system and upon foreign householdhabits generally were remarkable, and, if we had space for it, wouldrepay analysis; and the idea of reclaiming a lost soul to the Puritaniccanons of cookery quite lightened the burden of her depression. WhileRowland set forth his case Roderick was slowly walking round themagnificent Adam, with his hands in his pockets. Rowland waited for himto manifest an interest in their discussion, but the statue seemed tofascinate him and he remained calmly heedless. Rowland was a practicalman; he possessed conspicuously what is called the sense of detail. Heentered into Mrs. Hudson's position minutely, and told her exactly whyit seemed good that she should remove immediately to the Florentinevilla. She received his advice with great frigidity, looking hard at thefloor and sighing, like a person well on her guard against an insidiousoptimism. But she had nothing better to propose, and Rowland receivedher permission to write to his friend that he had let the rooms. 

Roderick assented to this decision without either sighs or smiles. "AFlorentine villa is a good thing!" he said. "I am at your service. "

"I 'm sure I hope you 'll get better there, " moaned his mother, gathering her shawl together. 

Roderick laid one hand on her arm and with the other pointed toRowland's statues. "Better or worse, remember this: I did those things!"he said. 

Mrs. Hudson gazed at them vaguely, and Rowland said, "Remember ityourself!"

"They are horribly good!" said Roderick. 

Rowland solemnly shrugged his shoulders; it seemed to him that hehad nothing more to say. But as the others were going, a last lightpulsation of the sense of undischarged duty led him to address toRoderick a few words of parting advice. "You 'll find the VillaPandolfini very delightful, very comfortable, " he said. "You ought tobe very contented there. Whether you work or whether you loaf, it 's aplace for an artist to be happy in. I hope you will work. "

"I hope I may!" said Roderick with a magnificent smile. 

"When we meet again, have something to show me. "

"When we meet again? Where the deuce are you going?" Roderick demanded. 

"Oh, I hardly know; over the Alps. "

"Over the Alps! You 're going to leave me?" Roderick cried. 

Rowland had most distinctly meant to leave him, but his resolutionimmediately wavered. He glanced at Mrs. Hudson and saw that her eyebrowswere lifted and her lips parted in soft irony. She seemed to accuse himof a craven shirking of trouble, to demand of him to repair hiscruel havoc in her life by a solemn renewal of zeal. But Roderick'sexpectations were the oddest! Such as they were, Rowland asked himselfwhy he should n't make a bargain with them. "You desire me to go withyou?" he asked. 

"If you don't go, I won't--that 's all! How in the world shall I getthrough the summer without you?"

"How will you get through it with me? That 's the question. "

"I don't pretend to say; the future is a dead blank. But without you it's not a blank--it 's certain damnation!"

"Mercy, mercy!" murmured Mrs. Hudson. 

Rowland made an effort to stand firm, and for a moment succeeded. "If Igo with you, will you try to work?"

Roderick, up to this moment, had been looking as unperturbed as if thedeep agitation of the day before were a thing of the remote past. But atthese words his face changed formidably; he flushed and scowled, and allhis passion returned. "Try to work!" he cried. "Try--try! work--work! InGod's name don't talk that way, or you 'll drive me mad! Do you supposeI 'm trying not to work? Do you suppose I stand rotting here for the funof it? Don't you suppose I would try to work for myself before I triedfor you?"

"Mr. Mallet, " cried Mrs. Hudson, piteously, "will you leave me alonewith this?"

Rowland turned to her and informed her, gently, that he would go withher to Florence. After he had so pledged himself he thought not at allof the pain of his position as mediator between the mother's resentfulgrief and the son's incurable weakness; he drank deep, only, of thesatisfaction of not separating from Mary Garland. If the future was ablank to Roderick, it was hardly less so to himself. He had at momentsa lively foreboding of impending calamity. He paid it no especialdeference, but it made him feel indisposed to take the future into hisaccount. When, on his going to take leave of Madame Grandoni, this ladyasked at what time he would come back to Rome, he answered that he wascoming back either never or forever. When she asked him what he meant, he said he really could n't tell her, and parted from her with muchgenuine emotion; the more so, doubtless, that she blessed him in a quiteloving, maternal fashion, and told him she honestly believed him to bethe best fellow in the world. 

The Villa Pandolfini stood directly upon a small grass-grown piazza, on the top of a hill which sloped straight from one of the gates ofFlorence. It offered to the outer world a long, rather low facade, colored a dull, dark yellow, and pierced with windows of various sizes, no one of which, save those on the ground floor, was on the same levelwith any other. Within, it had a great, cool, gray cortile, with high, light arches around it, heavily-corniced doors, of majestic altitude, opening out of it, and a beautiful mediaeval well on one side of it. Mrs. Hudson's rooms opened into a small garden supported on immensesubstructions, which were planted on the farther side of the hill, asit sloped steeply away. This garden was a charming place. Its south wallwas curtained with a dense orange vine, a dozen fig-trees offered youtheir large-leaved shade, and over the low parapet the soft, graveTuscan landscape kept you company. The rooms themselves were as high aschapels and as cool as royal sepulchres. Silence, peace, and securityseemed to abide in the ancient house and make it an ideal refuge foraching hearts. Mrs. Hudson had a stunted, brown-faced Maddalena, whowore a crimson handkerchief passed over her coarse, black locks and tiedunder her sharp, pertinacious chin, and a smile which was as brilliantas a prolonged flash of lightning. She smiled at everything in life, especially the things she did n't like and which kept her talent formendacity in healthy exercise. A glance, a word, a motion was sufficientto make her show her teeth at you like a cheerful she-wolf. Thisinexpugnable smile constituted her whole vocabulary in her dealings withher melancholy mistress, to whom she had been bequeathed by the lateoccupant of the apartment, and who, to Rowland's satisfaction, promised to be diverted from her maternal sorrows by the stilldeeper perplexities of Maddalena's theory of roasting, sweeping, andbed-making. 

Rowland took rooms at a villa a trifle nearer Florence, whence inthe summer mornings he had five minutes' walk in the sharp, black, shadow-strip projected by winding, flower-topped walls, to join hisfriends. The life at the Villa Pandolfini, when it had fairly defineditself, was tranquil and monotonous, but it might have borrowed fromexquisite circumstance an absorbing charm. If a sensible shadow restedupon it, this was because it had an inherent vice; it was feigning arepose which it very scantily felt. Roderick had lost no time in givingthe full measure of his uncompromising chagrin, and as he was thecentral figure of the little group, as he held its heart-strings all inhis own hand, it reflected faithfully the eclipse of his own genius. Noone had ventured upon the cheerful commonplace of saying that the changeof air and of scene would restore his spirits; this would have had, under the circumstances, altogether too silly a sound. The change inquestion had done nothing of the sort, and his companions had, at least, the comfort of their perspicacity. An essential spring had dried upwithin him, and there was no visible spiritual law for making it flowagain. He was rarely violent, he expressed little of the irritation andennui that he must have constantly felt; it was as if he believed thata spiritual miracle for his redemption was just barely possible, and wastherefore worth waiting for. The most that one could do, however, wasto wait grimly and doggedly, suppressing an imprecation as, from time totime, one looked at one's watch. An attitude of positive urbanity towardlife was not to be expected; it was doing one's duty to hold one'stongue and keep one's hands off one's own windpipe, and other people's. Roderick had long silences, fits of profound lethargy, almost ofstupefaction. He used to sit in the garden by the hour, with his headthrown back, his legs outstretched, his hands in his pockets, and hiseyes fastened upon the blinding summer sky. He would gather a dozenbooks about him, tumble them out on the ground, take one into his lap, and leave it with the pages unturned. These moods would alternate withhours of extreme restlessness, during which he mysteriously absentedhimself. He bore the heat of the Italian summer like a salamander, andused to start off at high noon for long walks over the hills. He oftenwent down into Florence, rambled through her close, dim streets, andlounged away mornings in the churches and galleries. On many of theseoccasions Rowland bore him company, for they were the times when hewas most like his former self. Before Michael Angelo's statues and thepictures of the early Tuscans, he quite forgot his own infelicities, andpicked up the thread of his old aesthetic loquacity. He had a particularfondness for Andrea del Sarto, and affirmed that if he had been apainter he would have taken the author of the Madonna del Sacco for hismodel. He found in Florence some of his Roman friends, and went down oncertain evenings to meet them. More than once he asked Mary Garland togo with him into town, and showed her the things he most cared for. Hehad some modeling clay brought up to the villa and deposited in a roomsuitable for his work; but when this had been done he turned the key inthe door and the clay never was touched. His eye was heavy and his handcold, and his mother put up a secret prayer that he might be inducedto see a doctor. But on a certain occasion, when her prayer becamearticulate, he had a great outburst of anger and begged her to know, once for all, that his health was better than it had ever been. Onthe whole, and most of the time, he was a sad spectacle; he looked sohopelessly idle. If he was not querulous and bitter, it was because hehad taken an extraordinary vow not to be; a vow heroic, for him, a vowwhich those who knew him well had the tenderness to appreciate. Talkingwith him was like skating on thin ice, and his companions had a constantmental vision of spots designated "dangerous. "

This was a difficult time for Rowland; he said to himself that he wouldendure it to the end, but that it must be his last adventure of thekind. Mrs. Hudson divided her time between looking askance at her son, with her hands tightly clasped about her pocket-handkerchief, as if shewere wringing it dry of the last hour's tears, and turning her eyesmuch more directly upon Rowland, in the mutest, the feeblest, the mostintolerable reproachfulness. She never phrased her accusations, but hefelt that in the unillumined void of the poor lady's mind they loomedup like vaguely-outlined monsters. Her demeanor caused him the acutestsuffering, and if, at the outset of his enterprise, he had seen, howdimly soever, one of those plaintive eye-beams in the opposite scale, the brilliancy of Roderick's promises would have counted for little. They made their way to the softest spot in his conscience and kept itchronically aching. If Mrs. Hudson had been loquacious and vulgar, hewould have borne even a less valid persecution with greater fortitude. But somehow, neat and noiseless and dismally lady-like, as she satthere, keeping her grievance green with her soft-dropping tears, herdispleasure conveyed an overwhelming imputation of brutality. He feltlike a reckless trustee who has speculated with the widow's mite, and ishaunted with the reflection of ruin that he sees in her tearful eyes. Hedid everything conceivable to be polite to Mrs. Hudson, and to treat herwith distinguished deference. Perhaps his exasperated nerves made himovershoot the mark, and rendered his civilities a trifle peremptory. Sheseemed capable of believing that he was trying to make a fool of her;she would have thought him cruelly recreant if he had suddenlydeparted in desperation, and yet she gave him no visible credit for hisconstancy. Women are said by some authorities to be cruel; I don't knowhow true this is, but it may at least be pertinent to remark that Mrs. Hudson was very much of a woman. It often seemed to Rowland that hehad too decidedly forfeited his freedom, and that there was somethingpositively grotesque in a man of his age and circumstances living insuch a moral bondage. 

But Mary Garland had helped him before, and she helped him now--helpedhim not less than he had assured himself she would when he found himselfdrifting to Florence. Yet her help was rendered in the same unconscious, unacknowledged fashion as before; there was no explicit change in theirrelations. After that distressing scene in Rome which had immediatelypreceded their departure, it was of course impossible that there shouldnot be on Miss Garland's part some frankness of allusion to Roderick'ssad condition. She had been present, the reader will remember, duringonly half of his unsparing confession, and Rowland had not seen herconfronted with any absolute proof of Roderick's passion for ChristinaLight. But he knew that she knew far too much for her happiness;Roderick had told him, shortly after their settlement at the VillaPandolfini, that he had had a "tremendous talk" with his cousin. Rowlandasked no questions about it; he preferred not to know what had passedbetween them. If their interview had been purely painful, he wishedto ignore it for Miss Garland's sake; and if it had sown the seeds ofreconciliation, he wished to close his eyes to it for his own--for thesake of that unshaped idea, forever dismissed and yet forever present, which hovered in the background of his consciousness, with a hanginghead, as it were, and yet an unshamed glance, and whose lightest motionswere an effectual bribe to patience. Was the engagement broken? Rowlandwondered, yet without asking. But it hardly mattered, for if, as wasmore than probable, Miss Garland had peremptorily released her cousin, her own heart had by no means recovered its liberty. It was very certainto Rowland's mind that if she had given him up she had by no meansceased to care for him passionately, and that, to exhaust her charityfor his weaknesses, Roderick would have, as the phrase is, a long row tohoe. She spoke of Roderick as she might have done of a person sufferingfrom a serious malady which demanded much tenderness; but if Rowlandhad found it possible to accuse her of dishonesty he would have said nowthat she believed appreciably less than she pretended to in her victim'sbeing an involuntary patient. There are women whose love is care-takingand patronizing, and who rather prefer a weak man because he gives thema comfortable sense of strength. It did not in the least please Rowlandto believe that Mary Garland was one of these; for he held that suchwomen were only males in petticoats, and he was convinced that MissGarland's heart was constructed after the most perfect feminine model. That she was a very different woman from Christina Light did not at allprove that she was less a woman, and if the Princess Casamassima hadgone up into a high place to publish her disrelish of a man who lackedthe virile will, it was very certain that Mary Garland was not a personto put up, at any point, with what might be called the princess'sleavings. It was Christina's constant practice to remind you of thecomplexity of her character, of the subtlety of her mind, of hertroublous faculty of seeing everything in a dozen different lights. MaryGarland had never pretended not to be simple; but Rowland had a theorythat she had really a more multitudinous sense of human things, a moredelicate imagination, and a finer instinct of character. She did you thehonors of her mind with a grace far less regal, but was not that facultyof quite as remarkable an adjustment? If in poor Christina's strangelycommingled nature there was circle within circle, and depth beneathdepth, it was to be believed that Mary Garland, though she did not amuseherself with dropping stones into her soul, and waiting to hear themfall, laid quite as many sources of spiritual life under contribution. She had believed Roderick was a fine fellow when she bade him farewellbeneath the Northampton elms, and this belief, to her young, strenuous, concentrated imagination, had meant many things. If it was to grow cold, it would be because disenchantment had become total and won the battleat each successive point. 

Miss Garland had even in her face and carriage something of thepreoccupied and wearied look of a person who is watching at a sick-bed;Roderick's broken fortunes, his dead ambitions, were a cruel burden tothe heart of a girl who had believed that he possessed "genius, " andsupposed that genius was to one's spiritual economy what full pocketswere to one's domestic. And yet, with her, Rowland never felt, aswith Mrs. Hudson, that undercurrent of reproach and bitterness towardhimself, that impertinent implication that he had defrauded her ofhappiness. Was this justice, in Miss Garland, or was it mercy? Theanswer would have been difficult, for she had almost let Rowland feelbefore leaving Rome that she liked him well enough to forgive him aninjury. It was partly, Rowland fancied, that there were occasionallapses, deep and sweet, in her sense of injury. When, on arrivingat Florence, she saw the place Rowland had brought them to in theirtrouble, she had given him a look and said a few words to him thathad seemed not only a remission of guilt but a positive reward. This happened in the court of the villa--the large gray quadrangle, overstretched, from edge to edge of the red-tiled roof, by the softItalian sky. Mary had felt on the spot the sovereign charm of theplace; it was reflected in her deeply intelligent glance, and Rowlandimmediately accused himself of not having done the villa justice. MissGarland took a mighty fancy to Florence, and used to look down wistfullyat the towered city from the windows and garden. Roderick having now nopretext for not being her cicerone, Rowland was no longer at liberty, ashe had been in Rome, to propose frequent excursions to her. Roderick'sown invitations, however, were not frequent, and Rowland more than onceventured to introduce her to a gallery or a church. These expeditionswere not so blissful, to his sense, as the rambles they had takentogether in Rome, for his companion only half surrendered herself to herenjoyment, and seemed to have but a divided attention at her command. Often, when she had begun with looking intently at a picture, hersilence, after an interval, made him turn and glance at her. He usuallyfound that if she was looking at the picture still, she was not seeingit. Her eyes were fixed, but her thoughts were wandering, and an imagemore vivid than any that Raphael or Titian had drawn had superposeditself upon the canvas. She asked fewer questions than before, andseemed to have lost heart for consulting guide-books and encyclopaedias. From time to time, however, she uttered a deep, full murmur ofgratification. Florence in midsummer was perfectly void of travelers, and the dense little city gave forth its aesthetic aroma with a largerfrankness, as the nightingale sings when the listeners have departed. The churches were deliciously cool, but the gray streets were stifling, and the great, dove-tailed polygons of pavement as hot to the tread asmolten lava. Rowland, who suffered from intense heat, would have foundall this uncomfortable in solitude; but Florence had never charmed himso completely as during these midsummer strolls with his preoccupiedcompanion. One evening they had arranged to go on the morrow to theAcademy. Miss Garland kept her appointment, but as soon as she appeared, Rowland saw that something painful had befallen her. She was doing herbest to look at her ease, but her face bore the marks of tears. Rowlandtold her that he was afraid she was ill, and that if she preferred togive up the visit to Florence he would submit with what grace he might. She hesitated a moment, and then said she preferred to adhere to theirplan. "I am not well, " she presently added, "but it 's a moral malady, and in such cases I consider your company beneficial. "

"But if I am to be your doctor, " said Rowland, "you must tell me howyour illness began. "

"I can tell you very little. It began with Mrs. Hudson being unjust tome, for the first time in her life. And now I am already better!"

I mention this incident because it confirmed an impression of Rowland'sfrom which he had derived a certain consolation. He knew that Mrs. Hudson considered her son's ill-regulated passion for Christina Light avery regrettable affair, but he suspected that her manifest compassionhad been all for Roderick, and not in the least for Mary Garland. Shewas fond of the young girl, but she had valued her primarily, during thelast two years, as a kind of assistant priestess at Roderick's shrine. Roderick had honored her by asking her to become his wife, but that poorMary had any rights in consequence Mrs. Hudson was quite incapableof perceiving. Her sentiment on the subject was of course not veryvigorously formulated, but she was unprepared to admit that Miss Garlandhad any ground for complaint. Roderick was very unhappy; that wasenough, and Mary's duty was to join her patience and her prayers tothose of his doting mother. Roderick might fall in love with whom hepleased; no doubt that women trained in the mysterious Roman arts wereonly too proud and too happy to make it easy for him; and it was verypresuming in poor, plain Mary to feel any personal resentment. Mrs. Hudson's philosophy was of too narrow a scope to suggest that a mothermay forgive where a mistress cannot, and she thought herself greatlyaggrieved that Miss Garland was not so disinterested as herself. She wasready to drop dead in Roderick's service, and she was quite capableof seeing her companion falter and grow faint, without a tremor ofcompassion. Mary, apparently, had given some intimation of her beliefthat if constancy is the flower of devotion, reciprocity is theguarantee of constancy, and Mrs. Hudson had rebuked her failing faithand called it cruelty. That Miss Garland had found it hard to reasonwith Mrs. Hudson, that she suffered deeply from the elder lady'ssoftly bitter imputations, and that, in short, he had companionshipin misfortune--all this made Rowland find a certain luxury in hisdiscomfort. 

The party at Villa Pandolfini used to sit in the garden in the evenings, which Rowland almost always spent with them. Their entertainment was inthe heavily perfumed air, in the dim, far starlight, in the crenelatedtower of a neighboring villa, which loomed vaguely above them in thewarm darkness, and in such conversation as depressing reflectionsallowed. Roderick, clad always in white, roamed about like a restlessghost, silent for the most part, but making from time to time a briefobservation, characterized by the most fantastic cynicism. Roderick'scontributions to the conversation were indeed always so fantastic that, though half the time they wearied him unspeakably, Rowland made aneffort to treat them humorously. With Rowland alone Roderick talked agreat deal more; often about things related to his own work, or aboutartistic and aesthetic matters in general. He talked as well as ever, or even better; but his talk always ended in a torrent of groans andcurses. When this current set in, Rowland straightway turned his backor stopped his ears, and Roderick now witnessed these movements withperfect indifference. When the latter was absent from the star-litcircle in the garden, as often happened, Rowland knew nothing of hiswhereabouts; he supposed him to be in Florence, but he never learnedwhat he did there. All this was not enlivening, but with an even, muffled tread the days followed each other, and brought the monthof August to a close. One particular evening at this time was mostenchanting; there was a perfect moon, looking so extraordinarily largethat it made everything its light fell upon seem small; the heat wastempered by a soft west wind, and the wind was laden with the odors ofthe early harvest. The hills, the vale of the Arno, the shrunken river, the domes of Florence, were vaguely effaced by the dense moonshine; theylooked as if they were melting out of sight like an exorcised vision. Rowland had found the two ladies alone at the villa, and he had sat withthem for an hour. He felt absolutely hushed by the solemn splendor ofthe scene, but he had risked the remark that, whatever life might yethave in store for either of them, this was a night that they would neverforget. 

"It 's a night to remember on one's death-bed!" Miss Garland exclaimed. 

"Oh, Mary, how can you!" murmured Mrs. Hudson, to whom this savoredof profanity, and to whose shrinking sense, indeed, the accumulatedloveliness of the night seemed to have something shameless and defiant. 

They were silent after this, for some time, but at last Rowlandaddressed certain idle words to Miss Garland. She made no reply, and heturned to look at her. She was sitting motionless, with her head pressedto Mrs. Hudson's shoulder, and the latter lady was gazing at him throughthe silvered dusk with a look which gave a sort of spectral solemnity tothe sad, weak meaning of her eyes. She had the air, for the moment, ofa little old malevolent fairy. Miss Garland, Rowland perceived in aninstant, was not absolutely motionless; a tremor passed through herfigure. She was weeping, or on the point of weeping, and she could nottrust herself to speak. Rowland left his place and wandered to anotherpart of the garden, wondering at the motive of her sudden tears. Ofwomen's sobs in general he had a sovereign dread, but these, somehow, gave him a certain pleasure. When he returned to his place Miss Garlandhad raised her head and banished her tears. She came away from Mrs. Hudson, and they stood for a short time leaning against the parapet. 

"It seems to you very strange, I suppose, " said Rowland, "that thereshould be any trouble in such a world as this. "

"I used to think, " she answered, "that if any trouble came to me I wouldbear it like a stoic. But that was at home, where things don't speak tous of enjoyment as they do here. Here it is such a mixture; one does n'tknow what to choose, what to believe. Beauty stands there--beauty suchas this night and this place, and all this sad, strange summer, havebeen so full of--and it penetrates to one's soul and lodges there, andkeeps saying that man was not made to suffer, but to enjoy. This placehas undermined my stoicism, but--shall I tell you? I feel as if I weresaying something sinful--I love it!"

"If it is sinful, I absolve you, " said Rowland, "in so far as I havepower. We are made, I suppose, both to suffer and to enjoy. As you say, it 's a mixture. Just now and here, it seems a peculiarly strange one. But we must take things in turn. "

His words had a singular aptness, for he had hardly uttered them whenRoderick came out from the house, evidently in his darkest mood. Hestood for a moment gazing hard at the view. 

"It 's a very beautiful night, my son, " said his mother, going to himtimidly, and touching his arm. 

He passed his hand through his hair and let it stay there, claspinghis thick locks. "Beautiful?" he cried; "of course it 's beautiful!Everything is beautiful; everything is insolent, defiant, atrocious withbeauty. Nothing is ugly but me--me and my poor dead brain!"

"Oh, my dearest son, " pleaded poor Mrs. Hudson, "don't you feel anybetter?"

Roderick made no immediate answer; but at last he spoke in a differentvoice. "I came expressly to tell you that you need n't troubleyourselves any longer to wait for something to turn up. Nothing willturn up! It 's all over! I said when I came here I would give it achance. I have given it a chance. Have n't I, eh? Have n't I, Rowland?It 's no use; the thing 's a failure! Do with me now what you please. Irecommend you to set me up there at the end of the garden and shoot me. "

"I feel strongly inclined, " said Rowland gravely, "to go and get myrevolver. "

"Oh, mercy on us, what language!" cried Mrs. Hudson. 

"Why not?" Roderick went on. "This would be a lovely night for it, and Ishould be a lucky fellow to be buried in this garden. But bury me alive, if you prefer. Take me back to Northampton. "

"Roderick, will you really come?" cried his mother. 

"Oh yes, I 'll go! I might as well be there as anywhere--reverting toidiocy and living upon alms. I can do nothing with all this; perhaps Ishould really like Northampton. If I 'm to vegetate for the rest of mydays, I can do it there better than here. "

"Oh, come home, come home, " Mrs. Hudson said, "and we shall all be safeand quiet and happy. My dearest son, come home with your poor mother!"

"Let us go, then, and go quickly!"

Mrs. Hudson flung herself upon his neck for gratitude. "We 'll goto-morrow!" she cried. "The Lord is very good to me!"

Mary Garland said nothing to this; but she looked at Rowland, and hereyes seemed to contain a kind of alarmed appeal. Rowland noted it withexultation, but even without it he would have broken into an eagerprotest. 

"Are you serious, Roderick?" he demanded. 

"Serious? of course not! How can a man with a crack in his brain beserious? how can a muddlehead reason? But I 'm not jesting, either; Ican no more make jokes than utter oracles!"

"Are you willing to go home?"

"Willing? God forbid! I am simply amenable to force; if my motherchooses to take me, I won't resist. I can't! I have come to that!"

"Let me resist, then, " said Rowland. "Go home as you are now? I can'tstand by and see it. "

It may have been true that Roderick had lost his sense of humor, but hescratched his head with a gesture that was almost comical in its effect. "You are a queer fellow! I should think I would disgust you horribly. "

"Stay another year, " Rowland simply said. 

"Doing nothing?"

"You shall do something. I am responsible for your doing something. "

"To whom are you responsible?"

Rowland, before replying, glanced at Miss Garland, and his glance madeher speak quickly. "Not to me!"

"I 'm responsible to myself, " Rowland declared. 

"My poor, dear fellow!" said Roderick. 

"Oh, Mr. Mallet, are n't you satisfied?" cried Mrs. Hudson, in the tonein which Niobe may have addressed the avenging archers, after she hadseen her eldest-born fall. "It 's out of all nature keeping him here. When we 're in a poor way, surely our own dear native land is the placefor us. Do leave us to ourselves, sir!"

This just failed of being a dismissal in form, and Rowland bowed hishead to it. Roderick was silent for some moments; then, suddenly, hecovered his face with his two hands. "Take me at least out of thisterrible Italy, " he cried, "where everything mocks and reproaches andtorments and eludes me! Take me out of this land of impossible beautyand put me in the midst of ugliness. Set me down where nature is coarseand flat, and men and manners are vulgar. There must be somethingawfully ugly in Germany. Pack me off there!"

Rowland answered that if he wished to leave Italy the thing might bearranged; he would think it over and submit a proposal on the morrow. He suggested to Mrs. Hudson, in consequence, that she should spend theautumn in Switzerland, where she would find a fine tonic climate, plentyof fresh milk, and several pensions at three francs and a half a day. Switzerland, of course, was not ugly, but one could not have everything. 

Mrs. Hudson neither thanked him nor assented; but she wept and packedher trunks. Rowland had a theory, after the scene which led to thesepreparations, that Mary Garland was weary of waiting for Roderick tocome to his senses, that the faith which had bravely borne his manhoodcompany hitherto, on the tortuous march he was leading it, had begunto believe it had gone far enough. This theory was not vitiated bysomething she said to him on the day before that on which Mrs. Hudsonhad arranged to leave Florence. 

"Cousin Sarah, the other evening, " she said, "asked you to please leaveus. I think she hardly knew what she was saying, and I hope you have nottaken offense. "

"By no means; but I honestly believe that my leaving you wouldcontribute greatly to Mrs. Hudson's comfort. I can be your hiddenprovidence, you know; I can watch you at a distance, and come upon thescene at critical moments. "

Miss Garland looked for a moment at the ground; and then, with suddenearnestness, "I beg you to come with us!" she said. 

It need hardly be added that after this Rowland went with them. 

CHAPTER XII. The Princess Casamassima

Rowland had a very friendly memory of a little mountain inn, accessiblewith moderate trouble from Lucerne, where he had once spent a blissfulten days. He had at that time been trudging, knapsack on back, over halfSwitzerland, and not being, on his legs, a particularly light weight, it was no shame to him to confess that he was mortally tired. The innof which I speak presented striking analogies with a cow-stable; butin spite of this circumstance, it was crowded with hungry tourists. It stood in a high, shallow valley, with flower-strewn Alpine meadowssloping down to it from the base of certain rugged rocks whose outlineswere grotesque against the evening sky. Rowland had seen grander placesin Switzerland that pleased him less, and whenever afterwards he wishedto think of Alpine opportunities at their best, he recalled this grassyconcave among the mountain-tops, and the August days he spent there, resting deliciously, at his length, in the lee of a sun-warmed boulder, with the light cool air stirring about his temples, the wafted odors ofthe pines in his nostrils, the tinkle of the cattle-bells in his ears, the vast progression of the mountain shadows before his eyes, and avolume of Wordsworth in his pocket. His face, on the Swiss hill-sides, had been scorched to within a shade of the color nowadays calledmagenta, and his bed was a pallet in a loft, which he shared with aGerman botanist of colossal stature--every inch of him quaking at anopen window. These had been drawbacks to felicity, but Rowland hardlycared where or how he was lodged, for he spent the livelong day underthe sky, on the crest of a slope that looked at the Jungfrau. Heremembered all this on leaving Florence with his friends, and hereflected that, as the midseason was over, accommodations would be moreample, and charges more modest. He communicated with his old friend thelandlord, and, while September was yet young, his companions establishedthemselves under his guidance in the grassy valley. 

He had crossed the Saint Gothard Pass with them, in the same carriage. During the journey from Florence, and especially during this portionof it, the cloud that hung over the little party had been almostdissipated, and they had looked at each other, in the close contiguityof the train and the posting-carriage, without either accusing orconsoling glances. It was impossible not to enjoy the magnificentscenery of the Apennines and the Italian Alps, and there was a tacitagreement among the travelers to abstain from sombre allusions. Theeffect of this delicate compact seemed excellent; it ensured them aweek's intellectual sunshine. Roderick sat and gazed out of the windowwith a fascinated stare, and with a perfect docility of attitude. Heconcerned himself not a particle about the itinerary, or about anyof the wayside arrangements; he took no trouble, and he gave none. Heassented to everything that was proposed, talked very little, and ledfor a week a perfectly contemplative life. His mother rarely removedher eyes from him; and if, a while before, this would have extremelyirritated him, he now seemed perfectly unconscious of her observationand profoundly indifferent to anything that might befall him. They spenta couple of days on the Lake of Como, at a hotel with white porticoessmothered in oleander and myrtle, and the terrace-steps leading downto little boats with striped awnings. They agreed it was the earthlyparadise, and they passed the mornings strolling through the perfumedalleys of classic villas, and the evenings floating in the moonlight ina circle of outlined mountains, to the music of silver-tricklingoars. One day, in the afternoon, the two young men took a long strolltogether. They followed the winding footway that led toward Como, closeto the lake-side, past the gates of villas and the walls of vineyards, through little hamlets propped on a dozen arches, and bathing their feetand their pendant tatters in the gray-green ripple; past frescoed wallsand crumbling campaniles and grassy village piazzas, and the mouthof soft ravines that wound upward, through belts of swinging vine andvaporous olive and splendid chestnut, to high ledges where white chapelsgleamed amid the paler boskage, and bare cliff-surfaces, with theirsun-cracked lips, drank in the azure light. It all was confoundinglypicturesque; it was the Italy that we know from the steel engravings inold keepsakes and annuals, from the vignettes on music-sheets andthe drop-curtains at theatres; an Italy that we can never confess toourselves--in spite of our own changes and of Italy's--that we haveceased to believe in. Rowland and Roderick turned aside from the littlepaved footway that clambered and dipped and wound and doubled besidethe lake, and stretched themselves idly beneath a fig-tree, on a grassypromontory. Rowland had never known anything so divinely soothing as thedreamy softness of that early autumn afternoon. The iridescent mountainsshut him in; the little waves, beneath him, fretted the white pebbles atthe laziest intervals; the festooned vines above him swayed just visiblyin the all but motionless air. 

Roderick lay observing it all with his arms thrown back and his handsunder his head. "This suits me, " he said; "I could be happy here andforget everything. Why not stay here forever?" He kept his position fora long time and seemed lost in his thoughts. Rowland spoke to him, buthe made vague answers; at last he closed his eyes. It seemed to Rowland, also, a place to stay in forever; a place for perfect oblivion of thedisagreeable. Suddenly Roderick turned over on his face, and buried itin his arms. There had been something passionate in his movement; butRowland was nevertheless surprised, when he at last jerked himself backinto a sitting posture, to perceive the trace of tears in his eyes. Roderick turned to his friend, stretching his two hands out toward thelake and mountains, and shaking them with an eloquent gesture, as if hisheart was too full for utterance. 

"Pity me, sir; pity me!" he presently cried. "Look at this lovely world, and think what it must be to be dead to it!"

"Dead?" said Rowland. 

"Dead, dead; dead and buried! Buried in an open grave, where you liestaring up at the sailing clouds, smelling the waving flowers, andhearing all nature live and grow above you! That 's the way I feel!"

"I am glad to hear it, " said Rowland. "Death of that sort is very nearto resurrection. "

"It 's too horrible, " Roderick went on; "it has all come over me heretremendously! If I were not ashamed, I could shed a bushel of tears. Forone hour of what I have been, I would give up anything I may be!"

"Never mind what you have been; be something better!"

"I shall never be anything again: it 's no use talking! But I don't knowwhat secret spring has been touched since I have lain here. Somethingin my heart seemed suddenly to open and let in a flood of beauty anddesire. I know what I have lost, and I think it horrible! Mind you, I know it, I feel it! Remember that hereafter. Don't say that hewas stupefied and senseless; that his perception was dulled and hisaspiration dead. Say that he trembled in every nerve with a sense ofthe beauty and sweetness of life; that he rebelled and protested andshrieked; that he was buried alive, with his eyes open, and his heartbeating to madness; that he clung to every blade of grass and everyway-side thorn as he passed; that it was the most horrible spectacle youever witnessed; that it was an outrage, a murder, a massacre!"

"Good heavens, man, are you insane?" Rowland cried. 

"I never have been saner. I don't want to be bad company, and in thisbeautiful spot, at this delightful hour, it seems an outrage to breakthe charm. But I am bidding farewell to Italy, to beauty, to honor, tolife! I only want to assure you that I know what I lose. I know it inevery pulse of my heart! Here, where these things are all loveliest, Itake leave of them. Farewell, farewell!"

During their passage of the Saint Gothard, Roderick absented himselfmuch of the time from the carriage, and rambled far in advance, alongthe huge zigzags of the road. He displayed an extraordinary activity;his light weight and slender figure made him an excellent pedestrian, and his friends frequently saw him skirting the edge of plunging chasms, loosening the stones on long, steep slopes, or lifting himself againstthe sky, from the top of rocky pinnacles. Mary Garland walked a greatdeal, but she remained near the carriage to be with Mrs. Hudson. Rowlandremained near it to be with Miss Garland. He trudged by her side up thatmagnificent ascent from Italy, and found himself regretting that theAlps were so low, and that their trudging was not to last a week. Shewas exhilarated; she liked to walk; in the way of mountains, untilwithin the last few weeks, she had seen nothing greater than MountHolyoke, and she found that the Alps amply justified their reputation. Rowland knew that she loved nature, but he was struck afresh with thevivacity of her observation of it, and with her knowledge of plants andstones. At that season the wild flowers had mostly departed, but a fewof them lingered, and Miss Garland never failed to espy them in theiroutlying corners. They interested her greatly; she was charmed whenthey were old friends, and charmed even more when they were new. Shedisplayed a very light foot in going in quest of them, and had sooncovered the front seat of the carriage with a tangle of strangevegetation. Rowland of course was alert in her service, and he gatheredfor her several botanical specimens which at first seemed inaccessible. One of these, indeed, had at first appeared easier of capture than hisattempt attested, and he had paused a moment at the base of the littlepeak on which it grew, measuring the risk of farther pursuit. Suddenly, as he stood there, he remembered Roderick's defiance of danger and ofMiss Light, at the Coliseum, and he was seized with a strong desire totest the courage of his companion. She had just scrambled up a grassyslope near him, and had seen that the flower was out of reach. As heprepared to approach it, she called to him eagerly to stop; the thingwas impossible! Poor Rowland, whose passion had been terribly starved, enjoyed immensely the thought of having her care, for three minutes, what became of him. He was the least brutal of men, but for a moment hewas perfectly indifferent to her suffering. 

"I can get the flower, " he called to her. "Will you trust me?"

"I don't want it; I would rather not have it!" she cried. 

"Will you trust me?" he repeated, looking at her. 

She looked at him and then at the flower; he wondered whether she wouldshriek and swoon, as Miss Light had done. "I wish it were somethingbetter!" she said simply; and then stood watching him, while he began toclamber. Rowland was not shaped for an acrobat, and his enterprisewas difficult; but he kept his wits about him, made the most of narrowfoot-holds and coigns of vantage, and at last secured his prize. He managed to stick it into his buttonhole and then he contrived todescend. There was more than one chance for an ugly fall, but he evadedthem all. It was doubtless not gracefully done, but it was done, andthat was all he had proposed to himself. He was red in the face whenhe offered Miss Garland the flower, and she was visibly pale. She hadwatched him without moving. All this had passed without the knowledgeof Mrs. Hudson, who was dozing beneath the hood of the carriage. MaryGarland's eyes did not perhaps display that ardent admiration whichwas formerly conferred by the queen of beauty at a tournament; but theyexpressed something in which Rowland found his reward. "Why did you dothat?" she asked, gravely. 

He hesitated. He felt that it was physically possible to say, "BecauseI love you!" but that it was not morally possible. He lowered his pitchand answered, simply, "Because I wanted to do something for you. "

"Suppose you had fallen, " said Miss Garland. 

"I believed I would not fall. And you believed it, I think. "

"I believed nothing. I simply trusted you, as you asked me. "

"Quod erat demonstrandum!" cried Rowland. "I think you know Latin. "

When our four friends were established in what I have called theirgrassy valley, there was a good deal of scrambling over slopes bothgrassy and stony, a good deal of flower-plucking on narrow ledges, agreat many long walks, and, thanks to the lucid mountain air, not alittle exhilaration. Mrs. Hudson was obliged to intermit her suspicionsof the deleterious atmosphere of the old world, and to acknowledge theedifying purity of the breezes of Engelthal. She was certainly moreplacid than she had been in Italy; having always lived in the country, she had missed in Rome and Florence that social solitude mitigated bybushes and rocks which is so dear to the true New England temperament. The little unpainted inn at Engelthal, with its plank partitions, itsmilk-pans standing in the sun, its "help, " in the form of angular youngwomen of the country-side, reminded her of places of summer sojournin her native land; and the beautiful historic chambers of the VillaPandolfini passed from her memory without a regret, and without havingin the least modified her ideal of domiciliary grace. Roderick hadchanged his sky, but he had not changed his mind; his humor was stillthat of which he had given Rowland a glimpse in that tragic explosion onthe Lake of Como. He kept his despair to himself, and he went doggedlyabout the ordinary business of life; but it was easy to see that hisspirit was mortally heavy, and that he lived and moved and talked simplyfrom the force of habit. In that sad half-hour among the Italian olivesthere had been such a fierce sincerity in his tone, that Rowlandbegan to abdicate the critical attitude. He began to feel that it wasessentially vain to appeal to the poor fellow's will; there was no willleft; its place was an impotent void. This view of the case indeed wasoccasionally contravened by certain indications on Roderick's part ofthe power of resistance to disagreeable obligations: one might stillhave said, if one had been disposed to be didactic at any hazard, that there was a method in his madness, that his moral energy had itssleeping and its waking hours, and that, in a cause that pleased it, itwas capable of rising with the dawn. But on the other hand, pleasure, inthis case, was quite at one with effort; evidently the greatest bliss inlife, for Roderick, would have been to have a plastic idea. And then, itwas impossible not to feel tenderly to a despair which had so ceased tobe aggressive--not to forgive a great deal of apathy to a temperwhich had so unlearned its irritability. Roderick said frankly thatSwitzerland made him less miserable than Italy, and the Alps seemed lessto mock at his enforced leisure than the Apennines. He indulged inlong rambles, generally alone, and was very fond of climbing into dizzyplaces, where no sound could overtake him, and there, flinging himselfon the never-trodden moss, of pulling his hat over his eyes and loungingaway the hours in perfect immobility. Rowland sometimes walked withhim; though Roderick never invited him, he seemed duly grateful for hissociety. Rowland now made it a rule to treat him like a perfectly saneman, to assume that all things were well with him, and never to alludeto the prosperity he had forfeited or to the work he was not doing. Hewould have still said, had you questioned him, that Roderick's conditionwas a mood--certainly a puzzling one. It might last yet for many a wearyhour; but it was a long lane that had no turning. Roderick's blues wouldnot last forever. Rowland's interest in Miss Garland's relations withher cousin was still profoundly attentive, and perplexed as he was onall sides, he found nothing transparent here. After their arrival atEngelthal, Roderick appeared to seek the young girl's society more thanhe had done hitherto, and this revival of ardor could not fail to sethis friend a-wondering. They sat together and strolled together, andMiss Garland often read aloud to him. One day, on their coming todinner, after he had been lying half the morning at her feet, in theshadow of a rock, Rowland asked him what she had been reading. 

"I don't know, " Roderick said, "I don't heed the sense. " Miss Garlandheard this, and Rowland looked at her. She looked at Roderick sharplyand with a little blush. "I listen to Mary, " Roderick continued, "for the sake of her voice. It 's distractingly sweet!" At this MissGarland's blush deepened, and she looked away. 

Rowland, in Florence, as we know, had suffered his imagination towander in the direction of certain conjectures which the reader may deemunflattering to Miss Garland's constancy. He had asked himself whetherher faith in Roderick had not faltered, and that demand of hers whichhad brought about his own departure for Switzerland had seemed almostequivalent to a confession that she needed his help to believe. Rowlandwas essentially a modest man, and he did not risk the supposition thatMiss Garland had contrasted him with Roderick to his own advantage; buthe had a certain consciousness of duty resolutely done which alloweditself to fancy, at moments, that it might be not illogically rewardedby the bestowal of such stray grains of enthusiasm as had crumbled awayfrom her estimate of his companion. If some day she had declared, in asudden burst of passion, that she was outwearied and sickened, and thatshe gave up her recreant lover, Rowland's expectation would have gonehalf-way to meet her. And certainly if her passion had taken this courseno generous critic would utterly condemn her. She had been neglected, ignored, forsaken, treated with a contempt which no girl of a finetemper could endure. There were girls, indeed, whose fineness, like thatof Burd Helen in the ballad, lay in clinging to the man of their lovethrough thick and thin, and in bowing their head to all hard usage. Thisattitude had often an exquisite beauty of its own, but Rowland deemedthat he had solid reason to believe it never could be Mary Garland's. She was not a passive creature; she was not soft and meek and gratefulfor chance bounties. With all her reserve of manner she was proud andeager; she asked much and she wanted what she asked; she believed infine things and she never could long persuade herself that fine thingsmissed were as beautiful as fine things achieved. Once Rowland passed anangry day. He had dreamed--it was the most insubstantial of dreams--thatshe had given him the right to believe that she looked to him totransmute her discontent. And yet here she was throwing herself backinto Roderick's arms at his lightest overture, and playing with his ownhalf fearful, half shameful hopes! Rowland declared to himself thathis position was essentially detestable, and that all the philosophyhe could bring to bear upon it would make it neither honorable norcomfortable. He would go away and make an end of it. He did not go away;he simply took a long walk, stayed away from the inn all day, and on hisreturn found Miss Garland sitting out in the moonlight with Roderick. 

Rowland, communing with himself during the restless ramble in question, had determined that he would at least cease to observe, to heed, orto care for what Miss Garland and Roderick might do or might not dotogether. Nevertheless, some three days afterward, the opportunitypresenting itself, he deliberately broached the subject with Roderick. He knew this was inconsistent and faint-hearted; it was indulgenceto the fingers that itched to handle forbidden fruit. But he said tohimself that it was really more logical to be inconsistent than thereverse; for they had formerly discussed these mysteries very candidly. Was it not perfectly reasonable that he should wish to know the sequelof the situation which Roderick had then delineated? Roderick had madehim promises, and it was to be expected that he should ascertain howthe promises had been kept. Rowland could not say to himself that ifthe promises had been extorted for Mary Garland's sake, his presentattention to them was equally disinterested; and so he had to admitthat he was indeed faint-hearted. He may perhaps be deemed too narrowa casuist, but we have repeated more than once that he was solidlyburdened with a conscience. 

"I imagine, " he said to Roderick, "that you are not sorry, at present, to have allowed yourself to be dissuaded from making a final rupturewith Miss Garland. "

Roderick eyed him with the vague and absent look which had lately becomehabitual to his face, and repeated "Dissuaded?"

"Don't you remember that, in Rome, you wished to break your engagement, and that I urged you to respect it, though it seemed to hang by soslender a thread? I wished you to see what would come of it? If I am notmistaken, you are reconciled to it. "

"Oh yes, " said Roderick, "I remember what you said; you made it akind of personal favor to yourself that I should remain faithful. Iconsented, but afterwards, when I thought of it, your attitude greatlyamused me. Had it ever been seen before?--a man asking another man togratify him by not suspending his attentions to a pretty girl!"

"It was as selfish as anything else, " said Rowland. "One man puts hisselfishness into one thing, and one into another. It would have utterlymarred my comfort to see Miss Garland in low spirits. "

"But you liked her--you admired her, eh? So you intimated. "

"I admire her profoundly. "

"It was your originality then--to do you justice you have a great deal, of a certain sort--to wish her happiness secured in just that fashion. Many a man would have liked better himself to make the woman he admiredhappy, and would have welcomed her low spirits as an opening forsympathy. You were awfully queer about it. "

"So be it!" said Rowland. "The question is, Are you not glad I wasqueer? Are you not finding that your affection for Miss Garland has apermanent quality which you rather underestimated?"

"I don't pretend to say. When she arrived in Rome, I found I did n'tcare for her, and I honestly proposed that we should have no humbugabout it. If you, on the contrary, thought there was something to begained by having a little humbug, I was willing to try it! I don't seethat the situation is really changed. Mary Garland is all that she everwas--more than all. But I don't care for her! I don't care for anything, and I don't find myself inspired to make an exception in her favor. Theonly difference is that I don't care now, whether I care for her or not. Of course, marrying such a useless lout as I am is out of the questionfor any woman, and I should pay Miss Garland a poor compliment to assumethat she is in a hurry to celebrate our nuptials. "

"Oh, you 're in love!" said Rowland, not very logically. It must beconfessed, at any cost, that this assertion was made for the solepurpose of hearing Roderick deny it. 

But it quite failed of its aim. Roderick gave a liberal shrug of hisshoulders and an irresponsible toss of his head. "Call it what youplease! I am past caring for names. "

Rowland had not only been illogical, he had also been slightlydisingenuous. He did not believe that his companion was in love; hehad argued the false to learn the true. The true was that Roderick wasagain, in some degree, under a charm, and that he found a healing virtuein Mary's presence, indisposed though he was to admit it. He had said, shortly before, that her voice was sweet to his ear; and this was apromising beginning. If her voice was sweet it was probable that herglance was not amiss, that her touch had a quiet magic, and that herwhole personal presence had learned the art of not being irritating. So Rowland reasoned, and invested Mary Garland with a still finerloveliness. 

It was true that she herself helped him little to definite conclusions, and that he remained in puzzled doubt as to whether these happy toucheswere still a matter of the heart, or had become simply a matter of theconscience. He watched for signs that she rejoiced in Roderick's renewedacceptance of her society; but it seemed to him that she was on herguard against interpreting it too largely. It was now her turn--hefancied that he sometimes gathered from certain nameless indications ofglance and tone and gesture--it was now her turn to be indifferent, tocare for other things. Again and again Rowland asked himself what thesethings were that Miss Garland might be supposed to care for, to theinjury of ideal constancy; and again, having designated them, he dividedthem into two portions. One was that larger experience, in general, which had come to her with her arrival in Europe; the vague sense, bornein upon her imagination, that there were more things one might do withone's life than youth and ignorance and Northampton had dreamt of; therevision of old pledges in the light of new emotions. The other was theexperience, in especial, of Rowland's--what? Here Rowland always paused, in perfect sincerity, to measure afresh his possible claim to the younggirl's regard. What might he call it? It had been more than civility andyet it had been less than devotion. It had spoken of a desire to serve, but it had said nothing of a hope of reward. Nevertheless, Rowland'sfancy hovered about the idea that it was recompensable, and hisreflections ended in a reverie which perhaps did not define it, butat least, on each occasion, added a little to its volume. Since MissGarland had asked him as a sort of favor to herself to come also toSwitzerland, he thought it possible she might let him know whether heseemed to have effectively served her. The days passed without her doingso, and at last Rowland walked away to an isolated eminence somefive miles from the inn and murmured to the silent rocks that she wasungrateful. Listening nature seemed not to contradict him, so that, on the morrow, he asked the young girl, with an infinitesimal touch ofirony, whether it struck her that his deflection from his Florentineplan had been attended with brilliant results. 

"Why, we are delighted that you are with us!" she answered. 

He was anything but satisfied with this; it seemed to imply that she hadforgotten that she had solemnly asked him to come. He reminded herof her request, and recalled the place and time. "That evening on theterrace, late, after Mrs. Hudson had gone to bed, and Roderick beingabsent. "

She perfectly remembered, but the memory seemed to trouble her. "I amafraid your kindness has been a great charge upon you, " she said. "Youwanted very much to do something else. "

"I wanted above all things to oblige you, and I made no sacrifice. Butif I had made an immense one, it would be more than made up to me by anyassurance that I have helped Roderick into a better mood. "

She was silent a moment, and then, "Why do you ask me?" she said. "Youare able to judge quite as well as I. "

Rowland blushed; he desired to justify himself in the most veraciousmanner. "The truth is, " he said, "that I am afraid I care only in thesecond place for Roderick's holding up his head. What I care for in thefirst place is your happiness. "

"I don't know why that should be, " she answered. "I have certainlydone nothing to make you so much my friend. If you were to tell me youintended to leave us to-morrow, I am afraid that I should not ventureto ask you to stay. But whether you go or stay, let us not talk ofRoderick!"

"But that, " said Rowland, "does n't answer my question. Is he better?"

"No!" she said, and turned away. 

He was careful not to tell her that he intended to leave them. One day, shortly after this, as the two young men sat at the inn-door watchingthe sunset, which on that evening was very striking and lurid, Rowlandmade an attempt to sound his companion's present sentiment touchingChristina Light. "I wonder where she is, " he said, "and what sort of alife she is leading her prince. "

Roderick at first made no response. He was watching a figure onthe summit of some distant rocks, opposite to them. The figure wasapparently descending into the valley, and in relief against the crimsonscreen of the western sky, it looked gigantic. "Christina Light?"Roderick at last repeated, as if arousing himself from a reverie. "Whereshe is? It 's extraordinary how little I care!"

"Have you, then, completely got over it?"

To this Roderick made no direct reply; he sat brooding a while. "She 'sa humbug!" he presently exclaimed. 

"Possibly!" said Rowland. "But I have known worse ones. "

"She disappointed me!" Roderick continued in the same tone. 

"Had she, then, really given you hopes?"

"Oh, don't recall it!" Roderick cried. "Why the devil should I thinkof it? It was only three months ago, but it seems like ten years. "His friend said nothing more, and after a while he went on of hisown accord. "I believed there was a future in it all! She pleasedme--pleased me; and when an artist--such as I was--is pleased, youknow!" And he paused again. "You never saw her as I did; you never heardher in her great moments. But there is no use talking about that! Atfirst she would n't regard me seriously; she chaffed me and made lightof me. But at last I forced her to admit I was a great man. Think ofthat, sir! Christina Light called me a great man. A great man was whatshe was looking for, and we agreed to find our happiness for life ineach other. To please me she promised not to marry till I gave herleave. I was not in a marrying way myself, but it was damnation to thinkof another man possessing her. To spare my sensibilities, she promisedto turn off her prince, and the idea of her doing so made me as happy asto see a perfect statue shaping itself in the block. You have seen howshe kept her promise! When I learned it, it was as if the statue hadsuddenly cracked and turned hideous. She died for me, like that!" Andhe snapped his fingers. "Was it wounded vanity, disappointed desire, betrayed confidence? I am sure I don't know; you certainly have somename for it. "

"The poor girl did the best she could, " said Rowland. 

"If that was her best, so much the worse for her! I have hardly thoughtof her these two months, but I have not forgiven her. "

"Well, you may believe that you are avenged. I can't think of her ashappy. "

"I don't pity her!" said Roderick. Then he relapsed into silence, andthe two sat watching the colossal figure as it made its way downwardalong the jagged silhouette of the rocks. "Who is this mighty man, "cried Roderick at last, "and what is he coming down upon us for? We aresmall people here, and we can't undertake to keep company with giants. "

"Wait till we meet him on our own level, " said Rowland, "and perhaps hewill not overtop us. "

"For ten minutes, at least, " Roderick rejoined, "he will have been agreat man!" At this moment the figure sank beneath the horizon lineand became invisible in the uncertain light. Suddenly Roderick said, "Iwould like to see her once more--simply to look at her. "

"I would not advise it, " said Rowland. 

"It was her beauty that did it!" Roderick went on. "It was all herbeauty; in comparison, the rest was nothing. What befooled me was tothink of it as my property! And I had made it mine--no one else hadstudied it as I had, no one else understood it. What does that stick ofa Casamassima know about it at this hour? I should like to see it justonce more; it 's the only thing in the world of which I can say so. "

"I would not advise it, " Rowland repeated. 

"That 's right, dear Rowland, " said Roderick; "don't advise! That 's nouse now. "

The dusk meanwhile had thickened, and they had not perceived a figureapproaching them across the open space in front of the house. Suddenlyit stepped into the circle of light projected from the door and windows, and they beheld little Sam Singleton stopping to stare at them. He wasthe giant whom they had seen descending along the rocks. When this wasmade apparent Roderick was seized with a fit of intense hilarity--it wasthe first time he had laughed in three months. Singleton, who carrieda knapsack and walking-staff, received from Rowland the friendliestwelcome. He was in the serenest possible humor, and if in the way ofluggage his knapsack contained nothing but a comb and a second shirt, heproduced from it a dozen admirable sketches. He had been trudging overhalf Switzerland and making everywhere the most vivid pictorial notes. They were mostly in a box at Interlaken, and in gratitude for Rowland'sappreciation, he presently telegraphed for his box, which, according tothe excellent Swiss method, was punctually delivered by post. The nightswere cold, and our friends, with three or four other chance sojourners, sat in-doors over a fire of logs. Even with Roderick sitting moodily inthe outer shadow they made a sympathetic little circle, and they turnedover Singleton's drawings, while he perched in the chimney-corner, blushing and grinning, with his feet on the rounds of his chair. He hadbeen pedestrianizing for six weeks, and he was glad to rest awhile atEngelthal. It was an economic repose, however, for he sallied forthevery morning, with his sketching tools on his back, in search ofmaterial for new studies. Roderick's hilarity, after the first evening, had subsided, and he watched the little painter's serene activity with agravity that was almost portentous. Singleton, who was not in the secretof his personal misfortunes, still treated him with timid frankness asthe rising star of American art. Roderick had said to Rowland, atfirst, that Singleton reminded him of some curious little insect with aremarkable mechanical instinct in its antennae; but as the days went byit was apparent that the modest landscapist's unflagging industry grewto have an oppressive meaning for him. It pointed a moral, and Roderickused to sit and con the moral as he saw it figured in Singleton's bentback, on the hot hill-sides, protruding from beneath his white umbrella. One day he wandered up a long slope and overtook him as he sat at work;Singleton related the incident afterwards to Rowland, who, after givinghim in Rome a hint of Roderick's aberrations, had strictly kept his owncounsel. 

"Are you always like this?" said Roderick, in almost sepulchral accents. 

"Like this?" repeated Singleton, blinking confusedly, with an alarmedconscience. 

"You remind me of a watch that never runs down. If one listens hard onehears you always--tic-tic, tic-tic. "

"Oh, I see, " said Singleton, beaming ingenuously. "I am very equable. "

"You are very equable, yes. And do you find it pleasant to be equable?"

Singleton turned and grinned more brightly, while he sucked the waterfrom his camel's-hair brush. Then, with a quickened sense of hisindebtedness to a Providence that had endowed him with intrinsicfacilities, "Oh, delightful!" he exclaimed. 

Roderick stood looking at him a moment. "Damnation!" he said at last, solemnly, and turned his back. 

One morning, shortly after this, Rowland and Roderick took a long walk. They had walked before in a dozen different directions, but they had notyet crossed a charming little wooded pass, which shut in their valleyon one side and descended into the vale of Engelberg. In coming fromLucerne they had approached their inn by this path, and, feeling thatthey knew it, had hitherto neglected it in favor of untrodden ways. Butat last the list of these was exhausted, and Rowland proposed the walkto Engelberg as a novelty. The place is half bleak and half pastoral; ahuge white monastery rises abruptly from the green floor of the valleyand complicates its picturesqueness with an element rare in Swissscenery. Hard by is a group of chalets and inns, with the usualappurtenances of a prosperous Swiss resort--lean brown guides in baggyhomespun, lounging under carved wooden galleries, stacks of alpenstocksin every doorway, sun-scorched Englishmen without shirt-collars. Our twofriends sat a while at the door of an inn, discussing a pint of wine, and then Roderick, who was indefatigable, announced his intention ofclimbing to a certain rocky pinnacle which overhung the valley, and, according to the testimony of one of the guides, commanded a view of theLake of Lucerne. To go and come back was only a matter of an hour, butRowland, with the prospect of his homeward trudge before him, confessedto a preference for lounging on his bench, or at most strolling a triflefarther and taking a look at the monastery. Roderick went off alone, andhis companion after a while bent his steps to the monasterial church. Itwas remarkable, like most of the churches of Catholic Switzerland, fora hideous style of devotional ornament; but it had a certain cold andmusty picturesqueness, and Rowland lingered there with some tendernessfor Alpine piety. While he was near the high-altar some people came inat the west door; but he did not notice them, and was presently engagedin deciphering a curious old German epitaph on one of the mural tablets. At last he turned away, wondering whether its syntax or its theology wasthe more uncomfortable, and, to this infinite surprise, found himselfconfronted with the Prince and Princess Casamassima. 

The surprise on Christina's part, for an instant, was equal, and atfirst she seemed disposed to turn away without letting it give place toa greeting. The prince, however, saluted gravely, and then Christina, insilence, put out her hand. Rowland immediately asked whether they werestaying at Engelberg, but Christina only looked at him without speaking. The prince answered his questions, and related that they had beenmaking a month's tour in Switzerland, that at Lucerne his wife had beensomewhat obstinately indisposed, and that the physician had recommendeda week's trial of the tonic air and goat's milk of Engelberg. Thescenery, said the prince, was stupendous, but the life was terriblysad--and they had three days more! It was a blessing, he urbanely added, to see a good Roman face. 

Christina's attitude, her solemn silence and her penetrating gazeseemed to Rowland, at first, to savor of affectation; but he presentlyperceived that she was profoundly agitated, and that she was afraid ofbetraying herself. "Do let us leave this hideous edifice, " she said;"there are things here that set one's teeth on edge. " They moved slowlyto the door, and when they stood outside, in the sunny coolness of thevalley, she turned to Rowland and said, "I am extremely glad to seeyou. " Then she glanced about her and observed, against the wall of thechurch, an old stone seat. She looked at Prince Casamassima a moment, and he smiled more intensely, Rowland thought, than the occasiondemanded. "I wish to sit here, " she said, "and speak to Mr. Mallet--alone. "

"At your pleasure, dear friend, " said the prince. 

The tone of each was measured, to Rowland's ear; but that of Christinawas dry, and that of her husband was splendidly urbane. Rowlandremembered that the Cavaliere Giacosa had told him that Mrs. Light'scandidate was thoroughly a prince, and our friend wondered how herelished a peremptory accent. Casamassima was an Italian of theundemonstrative type, but Rowland nevertheless divined that, like otherprinces before him, he had made the acquaintance of the thing calledcompromise. "Shall I come back?" he asked with the same smile. 

"In half an hour, " said Christina. 

In the clear outer light, Rowland's first impression of her was that shewas more beautiful than ever. And yet in three months she could hardlyhave changed; the change was in Rowland's own vision of her, which thatlast interview, on the eve of her marriage, had made unprecedentedlytender. 

"How came you here?" she asked. "Are you staying in this place?"

"I am staying at Engelthal, some ten miles away; I walked over. "

"Are you alone?"

"I am with Mr. Hudson. "

"Is he here with you?"

"He went half an hour ago to climb a rock for a view. "

"And his mother and that young girl, where are they?"

"They also are at Engelthal. "

"What do you do there?"

"What do you do here?" said Rowland, smiling. 

"I count the minutes till my week is up. I hate mountains; they depressme to death. I am sure Miss Garland likes them. "

"She is very fond of them, I believe. "

"You believe--don't you know? But I have given up trying to imitate MissGarland, " said Christina. 

"You surely need imitate no one. "

"Don't say that, " she said gravely. "So you have walked ten miles thismorning? And you are to walk back again?"

"Back again to supper. "

"And Mr. Hudson too?"

"Mr. Hudson especially. He is a great walker. "

"You men are happy!" Christina cried. "I believe I should enjoy themountains if I could do such things. It is sitting still and having themscowl down at you! Prince Casamassina never rides. He only goes on amule. He was carried up the Faulhorn on a litter. "

"On a litter?" said Rowland. 

"In one of those machines--a chaise a porteurs--like a woman. "

Rowland received this information in silence; it was equally unbecomingto either to relish or deprecate its irony. 

"Is Mr. Hudson to join you again? Will he come here?" Christina asked. 

"I shall soon begin to expect him. "

"What shall you do when you leave Switzerland?" Christina continued. "Shall you go back to Rome?"

"I rather doubt it. My plans are very uncertain. "

"They depend upon Mr. Hudson, eh?"

"In a great measure. "

"I want you to tell me about him. Is he still in that perverse state ofmind that afflicted you so much?"

Rowland looked at her mistrustfully, without answering. He wasindisposed, instinctively, to tell her that Roderick was unhappy; it waspossible she might offer to help him back to happiness. She immediatelyperceived his hesitation. 

"I see no reason why we should not be frank, " she said. "I should thinkwe were excellently placed for that sort of thing. You remember thatformerly I cared very little what I said, don't you? Well, I careabsolutely not at all now. I say what I please, I do what I please! Howdid Mr. Hudson receive the news of my marriage?"

"Very badly, " said Rowland. 

"With rage and reproaches?" And as Rowland hesitated again--"With silentcontempt?"

"I can tell you but little. He spoke to me on the subject, but I stoppedhim. I told him it was none of his business, or of mine. "

"That was an excellent answer!" said Christina, softly. "Yet it was alittle your business, after those sublime protestations I treated youto. I was really very fine that morning, eh?"

"You do yourself injustice, " said Rowland. "I should be at liberty nowto believe you were insincere. "

"What does it matter now whether I was insincere or not? I can'tconceive of anything mattering less. I was very fine--is n't it true?"

"You know what I think of you, " said Rowland. And for fear of beingforced to betray his suspicion of the cause of her change, he tookrefuge in a commonplace. "Your mother, I hope, is well. "

"My mother is in the enjoyment of superb health, and may be seenevery evening at the Casino, at the Baths of Lucca, confiding to everynew-comer that she has married her daughter to a pearl of a prince. "

Rowland was anxious for news of Mrs. Light's companion, and the naturalcourse was frankly to inquire about him. "And the Cavaliere Giacosa iswell?" he asked. 

Christina hesitated, but she betrayed no other embarrassment. "TheCavaliere has retired to his native city of Ancona, upon a pension, forthe rest of his natural life. He is a very good old man!"

"I have a great regard for him, " said Rowland, gravely, at the same timethat he privately wondered whether the Cavaliere's pension was paidby Prince Casamassima for services rendered in connection with hismarriage. Had the Cavaliere received his commission? "And what do youdo, " Rowland continued, "on leaving this place?"

"We go to Italy--we go to Naples. " She rose and stood silent a moment, looking down the valley. The figure of Prince Casamassima appeared inthe distance, balancing his white umbrella. As her eyes rested upon it, Rowland imagined that he saw something deeper in the strange expressionwhich had lurked in her face while he talked to her. At first he hadbeen dazzled by her blooming beauty, to which the lapse of weeks hadonly added splendor; then he had seen a heavier ray in the light of hereye--a sinister intimation of sadness and bitterness. It was the outwardmark of her sacrificed ideal. Her eyes grew cold as she looked at herhusband, and when, after a moment, she turned them upon Rowland, theystruck him as intensely tragical. He felt a singular mixture of sympathyand dread; he wished to give her a proof of friendship, and yet itseemed to him that she had now turned her face in a direction wherefriendship was impotent to interpose. She half read his feelings, apparently, and she gave a beautiful, sad smile. "I hope we may nevermeet again!" she said. And as Rowland gave her a protesting look--"Youhave seen me at my best. I wish to tell you solemnly, I was sincere! Iknow appearances are against me, " she went on quickly. "There is a greatdeal I can't tell you. Perhaps you have guessed it; I care very little. You know, at any rate, I did my best. It would n't serve; I was beatenand broken; they were stronger than I. Now it 's another affair!"

"It seems to me you have a large chance for happiness yet, " saidRowland, vaguely. 

"Happiness? I mean to cultivate rapture; I mean to go in for blissineffable! You remember I told you that I was, in part, the world's andthe devil's. Now they have taken me all. It was their choice; may theynever repent!"

"I shall hear of you, " said Rowland. 

"You will hear of me. And whatever you do hear, remember this: I wassincere!"

Prince Casamassima had approached, and Rowland looked at him with agood deal of simple compassion as a part of that "world" against whichChristina had launched her mysterious menace. It was obvious that hewas a good fellow, and that he could not, in the nature of things, bea positively bad husband; but his distinguished inoffensiveness onlydeepened the infelicity of Christina's situation by depriving herdefiant attitude of the sanction of relative justice. So long as she hadbeen free to choose, she had esteemed him: but from the moment she wasforced to marry him she had detested him. Rowland read in the youngman's elastic Italian mask a profound consciousness of all this; andas he found there also a record of other curious things--of pride, oftemper, of bigotry, of an immense heritage of more or less aggressivetraditions--he reflected that the matrimonial conjunction of his twocompanions might be sufficiently prolific in incident. 

"You are going to Naples?" Rowland said to the prince by way ofconversation. 

"We are going to Paris, " Christina interposed, slowly and softly. "We are going to London. We are going to Vienna. We are going to St. Petersburg. "

Prince Casamassima dropped his eyes and fretted the earth with the pointof his umbrella. While he engaged Rowland's attention Christina turnedaway. When Rowland glanced at her again he saw a change pass over herface; she was observing something that was concealed from his own eyesby the angle of the church-wall. In a moment Roderick stepped intosight. 

He stopped short, astonished; his face and figure were jaded, hisgarments dusty. He looked at Christina from head to foot, and then, slowly, his cheek flushed and his eye expanded. Christina returned hisgaze, and for some moments there was a singular silence. "You don't lookwell!" Christina said at last. 

Roderick answered nothing; he only looked and looked, as if she had beena statue. "You are no less beautiful!" he presently cried. 

She turned away with a smile, and stood a while gazing down the valley;Roderick stared at Prince Casamassima. Christina then put out her handto Rowland. "Farewell, " she said. "If you are near me in future, don't try to see me!" And then, after a pause, in a lower tone, "I wassincere!" She addressed herself again to Roderick and asked him somecommonplace about his walk. But he said nothing; he only looked ather. Rowland at first had expected an outbreak of reproach, but it wasevident that the danger was every moment diminishing. He was forgettingeverything but her beauty, and as she stood there and let him feast uponit, Rowland was sure that she knew it. "I won't say farewell to you, "she said; "we shall meet again!" And she moved gravely away. PrinceCasamassima took leave courteously of Rowland; upon Roderick he bestoweda bow of exaggerated civility. Roderick appeared not to see it; hewas still watching Christina, as she passed over the grass. His eyesfollowed her until she reached the door of her inn. Here she stopped andlooked back at him. 

CHAPTER XIII. Switzerland

On the homeward walk, that evening, Roderick preserved a silence whichRowland allowed to make him uneasy. Early on the morrow Roderick, saying nothing of his intentions, started off on a walk; Rowland sawhim striding with light steps along the rugged path to Engelberg. He wasabsent all day and he gave no account of himself on his return. He saidhe was deadly tired, and he went to bed early. When he had left the roomMiss Garland drew near to Rowland. 

"I wish to ask you a question, " she said. "What happened to Roderickyesterday at Engelberg?"

"You have discovered that something happened?" Rowland answered. 

"I am sure of it. Was it something painful?"

"I don't know how, at the present moment, he judges it. He met thePrincess Casamassima. "

"Thank you!" said Miss Garland, simply, and turned away. 

The conversation had been brief, but, like many small things, itfurnished Rowland with food for reflection. When one is looking forsymptoms one easily finds them. This was the first time Mary Garland hadasked Rowland a question which it was in Roderick's power to answer, the first time she had frankly betrayed Roderick's reticence. Rowlandventured to think it marked an era. 

The next morning was sultry, and the air, usually so fresh at thosealtitudes, was oppressively heavy. Rowland lounged on the grass a while, near Singleton, who was at work under his white umbrella, within view ofthe house; and then in quest of coolness he wandered away to the rockyridge whence you looked across at the Jungfrau. To-day, however, thewhite summits were invisible; their heads were muffled in sullen cloudsand the valleys beneath them curtained in dun-colored mist. Rowland hada book in his pocket, and he took it out and opened it. But his pageremained unturned; his own thoughts were more importunate. His interviewwith Christina Light had made a great impression upon him, and he washaunted with the memory of her almost blameless bitterness, and of allthat was tragic and fatal in her latest transformation. These thingswere immensely appealing, and Rowland thought with infinite impatienceof Roderick's having again encountered them. It required littleimagination to apprehend that the young sculptor's condition hadalso appealed to Christina. His consummate indifference, his supremedefiance, would make him a magnificent trophy, and Christina hadannounced with sufficient distinctness that she had said good-by toscruples. It was her fancy at present to treat the world as a garden ofpleasure, and if, hitherto, she had played with Roderick's passion onits stem, there was little doubt that now she would pluck it with anunfaltering hand and drain it of its acrid sweetness. And why thedeuce need Roderick have gone marching back to destruction? Rowland'smeditations, even when they began in rancor, often brought him peace;but on this occasion they ushered in a quite peculiar quality of unrest. He felt conscious of a sudden collapse in his moral energy; a currentthat had been flowing for two years with liquid strength seemed at lastto pause and evaporate. Rowland looked away at the stagnant vapors onthe mountains; their dreariness seemed a symbol of the dreariness whichhis own generosity had bequeathed him. At last he had arrived at theuttermost limit of the deference a sane man might pay to other people'sfolly; nay, rather, he had transgressed it; he had been befooled on agigantic scale. He turned to his book and tried to woo back patience, but it gave him cold comfort and he tossed it angrily away. He pulledhis hat over his eyes, and tried to wonder, dispassionately, whetheratmospheric conditions had not something to do with his ill-humor. Heremained for some time in this attitude, but was finally aroused fromit by a singular sense that, although he had heard nothing, some one hadapproached him. He looked up and saw Roderick standing before him on theturf. His mood made the spectacle unwelcome, and for a moment he feltlike uttering an uncivil speech. Roderick stood looking at him with anexpression of countenance which had of late become rare. There was anunfamiliar spark in his eye and a certain imperious alertness in hiscarriage. Confirmed habit, with Rowland, came speedily to the front. "What is it now?" he asked himself, and invited Roderick to sit down. Roderick had evidently something particular to say, and if he remainedsilent for a time it was not because he was ashamed of it. 

"I would like you to do me a favor, " he said at last. "Lend me somemoney. "

"How much do you wish?" Rowland asked. 

"Say a thousand francs. "

Rowland hesitated a moment. "I don't wish to be indiscreet, but may Iask what you propose to do with a thousand francs?"

"To go to Interlaken. "

"And why are you going to Interlaken?"

Roderick replied without a shadow of wavering, "Because that woman is tobe there. "

Rowland burst out laughing, but Roderick remained serenely grave. "Youhave forgiven her, then?" said Rowland. 

"Not a bit of it!"

"I don't understand. "

"Neither do I. I only know that she is incomparably beautiful, and thatshe has waked me up amazingly. Besides, she asked me to come. "

"She asked you?"

"Yesterday, in so many words. "

"Ah, the jade!"

"Exactly. I am willing to take her for that. "

"Why in the name of common sense did you go back to her?"

"Why did I find her standing there like a goddess who had just steppedout of her cloud? Why did I look at her? Before I knew where I was, theharm was done. "

Rowland, who had been sitting erect, threw himself back on the grass andlay for some time staring up at the sky. At last, raising himself, "Areyou perfectly serious?" he asked. 

"Deadly serious. "

"Your idea is to remain at Interlaken some time?"

"Indefinitely!" said Roderick; and it seemed to his companion that thetone in which he said this made it immensely well worth hearing. 

"And your mother and cousin, meanwhile, are to remain here? It will soonbe getting very cold, you know. "

"It does n't seem much like it to-day. "

"Very true; but to-day is a day by itself. "

"There is nothing to prevent their going back to Lucerne. I depend uponyour taking charge of them. "

At this Rowland reclined upon the grass again; and again, afterreflection, he faced his friend. "How would you express, " he asked, "thecharacter of the profit that you expect to derive from your excursion?"

"I see no need of expressing it. The proof of the pudding is in theeating! The case is simply this. I desire immensely to be near ChristinaLight, and it is such a huge refreshment to find myself again desiringsomething, that I propose to drift with the current. As I say, she haswaked me up, and it is possible something may come of it. She makes mefeel as if I were alive again. This, " and he glanced down at the inn, "Icall death!"

"That I am very grateful to hear. You really feel as if you might dosomething?"

"Don't ask too much. I only know that she makes my heart beat, makes mesee visions. "

"You feel encouraged?"

"I feel excited. "

"You are really looking better. "

"I am glad to hear it. Now that I have answered your questions, pleaseto give me the money. "

Rowland shook his head. "For that purpose, I can't!"

"You can't?"

"It 's impossible. Your plan is rank folly. I can't help you in it. "

Roderick flushed a little, and his eye expanded. "I will borrow whatmoney I can, then, from Mary!" This was not viciously said; it hadsimply the ring of passionate resolution. 

Instantly it brought Rowland to terms. He took a bunch of keys fromhis pocket and tossed it upon the grass. "The little brass one opens mydressing-case, " he said. "You will find money in it. "

Roderick let the keys lie; something seemed to have struck him; helooked askance at his friend. "You are awfully gallant!"

"You certainly are not. Your proposal is an outrage. "

"Very likely. It 's a proof the more of my desire. "

"If you have so much steam on, then, use it for something else. You sayyou are awake again. I am delighted; only be so in the best sense. Isn't it very plain? If you have the energy to desire, you have also theenergy to reason and to judge. If you can care to go, you can also careto stay, and staying being the more profitable course, the inspiration, on that side, for a man who has his self-confidence to win back again, should be greater. "

Roderick, plainly, did not relish this simple logic, and his eye grewangry as he listened to its echo. "Oh, the devil!" he cried. 

Rowland went on. "Do you believe that hanging about Christina Light willdo you any good? Do you believe it won't? In either case you should keepaway from her. If it won't, it 's your duty; and if it will, you can geton without it. "

"Do me good?" cried Roderick. "What do I want of 'good'--what should Ido with 'good'? I want what she gives me, call it by what name you will. I want to ask no questions, but to take what comes and let it fill theimpossible hours! But I did n't come to discuss the matter. "

"I have not the least desire to discuss it, " said Rowland. "I simplyprotest. "

Roderick meditated a moment. "I have never yet thought twice ofaccepting a favor of you, " he said at last; "but this one sticks in mythroat. "

"It is not a favor; I lend you the money only under compulsion. "

"Well, then, I will take it only under compulsion!" Roderick exclaimed. And he sprang up abruptly and marched away. 

His words were ambiguous; Rowland lay on the grass, wondering what theymeant. Half an hour had not elapsed before Roderick reappeared, heatedwith rapid walking, and wiping his forehead. He flung himself down andlooked at his friend with an eye which expressed something purer thanbravado and yet baser than conviction. 

"I have done my best!" he said. "My mother is out of money; she isexpecting next week some circular notes from London. She had only tenfrancs in her pocket. Mary Garland gave me every sou she possessed inthe world. It makes exactly thirty-four francs. That 's not enough. "

"You asked Miss Garland?" cried Rowland. 

"I asked her. "

"And told her your purpose?"

"I named no names. But she knew!"

"What did she say?"

"Not a syllable. She simply emptied her purse. "

Rowland turned over and buried his face in his arms. He felt a movementof irrepressible elation, and he barely stifled a cry of joy. Now, surely, Roderick had shattered the last link in the chain that boundMary to him, and after this she would be free!. . . When he turned aboutagain, Roderick was still sitting there, and he had not touched the keyswhich lay on the grass. 

"I don't know what is the matter with me, " said Roderick, "but I have aninsurmountable aversion to taking your money. "

"The matter, I suppose, is that you have a grain of wisdom left. "

"No, it 's not that. It 's a kind of brute instinct. I find it extremelyprovoking!" He sat there for some time with his head in his hands andhis eyes on the ground. His lips were compressed, and he was evidently, in fact, in a state of profound irritation. "You have succeeded inmaking this thing excessively unpleasant!" he exclaimed. 

"I am sorry, " said Rowland, "but I can't see it in any other way. "

"That I believe, and I resent the range of your vision pretending tobe the limit of my action. You can't feel for me nor judge for me, andthere are certain things you know nothing about. I have suffered, sir!"Roderick went on with increasing emphasis. "I have suffered damnabletorments. Have I been such a placid, contented, comfortable man thislast six months, that when I find a chance to forget my misery, I shouldtake such pains not to profit by it? You ask too much, for a man whohimself has no occasion to play the hero. I don't say that invidiously;it 's your disposition, and you can't help it. But decidedly, there arecertain things you know nothing about. "

Rowland listened to this outbreak with open eyes, and Roderick, ifhe had been less intent upon his own eloquence, would probably haveperceived that he turned pale. "These things--what are they?" Rowlandasked. 

"They are women, principally, and what relates to women. Women foryou, by what I can make out, mean nothing. You have no imagination--nosensibility!"

"That 's a serious charge, " said Rowland, gravely. 

"I don't make it without proof!"

"And what is your proof?"

Roderick hesitated a moment. "The way you treated Christina Light. Icall that grossly obtuse. "

"Obtuse?" Rowland repeated, frowning. 

"Thick-skinned, beneath your good fortune. "

"My good fortune?"

"There it is--it 's all news to you! You had pleased her. I don't sayshe was dying of love for you, but she took a fancy to you. "

"We will let this pass!" said Rowland, after a silence. 

"Oh, I don't insist. I have only her own word for it. "

"She told you this?"

"You noticed, at least, I suppose, that she was not afraid to speak. Inever repeated it, not because I was jealous, but because I was curiousto see how long your ignorance would last if left to itself. "

"I frankly confess it would have lasted forever. And yet I don'tconsider that my insensibility is proved. "

"Oh, don't say that, " cried Roderick, "or I shall begin to suspect--whatI must do you the justice to say that I never have suspected--that youare a trifle conceited. Upon my word, when I think of all this, yourprotest, as you call it, against my following Christina Light seemsto me thoroughly offensive. There is something monstrous in a man'spretending to lay down the law to a sort of emotion with which he isquite unacquainted--in his asking a fellow to give up a lovely woman forconscience' sake, when he has never had the impulse to strike a blow forone for passion's!"

"Oh, oh!" cried Rowland. 

"All that 's very easy to say, " Roderick went on; "but you must rememberthat there are such things as nerves, and senses, and imagination, anda restless demon within that may sleep sometimes for a day, or for sixmonths, but that sooner or later wakes up and thumps at your ribs tillyou listen to him! If you can't understand it, take it on trust, and leta poor imaginative devil live his life as he can!"

Roderick's words seemed at first to Rowland like something heard in adream; it was impossible they had been actually spoken--so supreme anexpression were they of the insolence of egotism. Reality was never soconsistent as that! But Roderick sat there balancing his beautifulhead, and the echoes of his strident accent still lingered along thehalf-muffled mountain-side. Rowland suddenly felt that the cup of hischagrin was full to overflowing, and his long-gathered bitterness surgedinto the simple, wholesome passion of anger for wasted kindness. Buthe spoke without violence, and Roderick was probably at first far frommeasuring the force that lay beneath his words. 

"You are incredibly ungrateful, " he said. "You are talking arrogantnonsense. What do you know about my sensibilities and my imagination?How do you know whether I have loved or suffered? If I have held mytongue and not troubled you with my complaints, you find it the mostnatural thing in the world to put an ignoble construction on my silence. I loved quite as well as you; indeed, I think I may say rather better. Ihave been constant. I have been willing to give more than I received. Ihave not forsaken one mistress because I thought another more beautiful, nor given up the other and believed all manner of evil about her becauseI had not my way with her. I have been a good friend to Christina Light, and it seems to me my friendship does her quite as much honor as yourlove!"

"Your love--your suffering--your silence--your friendship!" criedRoderick. "I declare I don't understand!"

"I dare say not. You are not used to understanding such things--you arenot used to hearing me talk of my feelings. You are altogether toomuch taken up with your own. Be as much so as you please; I have alwaysrespected your right. Only when I have kept myself in durance on purposeto leave you an open field, don't, by way of thanking me, come and callme an idiot. "

"Oh, you claim then that you have made sacrifices?"

"Several! You have never suspected it?"

"If I had, do you suppose I would have allowed it?" cried Roderick. 

"They were the sacrifices of friendship and they were easily made; onlyI don't enjoy having them thrown back in my teeth. "

This was, under the circumstances, a sufficiently generous speech; butRoderick was not in the humor to take it generously. "Come, be moredefinite, " he said. "Let me know where it is the shoe has pinched. "

Rowland frowned; if Roderick would not take generosity, he should havefull justice. "It 's a perpetual sacrifice, " he said, "to live with aperfect egotist. "

"I am an egotist?" cried Roderick. 

"Did it never occur to you?"

"An egotist to whom you have made perpetual sacrifices?" He repeatedthe words in a singular tone; a tone that denoted neither exactlyindignation nor incredulity, but (strange as it may seem) a suddenviolent curiosity for news about himself. 

"You are selfish, " said Rowland; "you think only of yourself and believeonly in yourself. You regard other people only as they play into yourown hands. You have always been very frank about it, and the thingseemed so mixed up with the temper of your genius and the very structureof your mind, that often one was willing to take the evil with the goodand to be thankful that, considering your great talent, you were noworse. But if one believed in you, as I have done, one paid a tax uponit. "

Roderick leaned his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, andcrossed them, shadewise, over his eyes. In this attitude, for amoment, he sat looking coldly at his friend. "So I have made you veryuncomfortable?" he went on. 

"Extremely so. "

"I have been eager, grasping, obstinate, vain, ungrateful, indifferent, cruel?"

"I have accused you, mentally, of all these things, with the exceptionof vanity. "

"You have often hated me?"

"Never. I should have parted company with you before coming to that. "

"But you have wanted to part company, to bid me go my way and behanged!"

"Repeatedly. Then I have had patience and forgiven you. "

"Forgiven me, eh? Suffering all the while?"

"Yes, you may call it suffering. "

"Why did you never tell me all this before?"

"Because my affection was always stronger than my resentment; becauseI preferred to err on the side of kindness; because I had, myself, in ameasure, launched you in the world and thrown you into temptations; andbecause nothing short of your unwarrantable aggression just now couldhave made me say these painful things. "

Roderick picked up a blade of long grass and began to bite it; Rowlandwas puzzled by his expression and manner. They seemed strangely cynical;there was something revolting in his deepening calmness. "I must havebeen hideous, " Roderick presently resumed. 

"I am not talking for your entertainment, " said Rowland. 

"Of course not. For my edification!" As Roderick said these words therewas not a ray of warmth in his brilliant eye. 

"I have spoken for my own relief, " Rowland went on, "and so that youneed never again go so utterly astray as you have done this morning. "

"It has been a terrible mistake, then?" What his tone expressed was notwillful mockery, but a kind of persistent irresponsibility which Rowlandfound equally exasperating. He answered nothing. 

"And all this time, " Roderick continued, "you have been in love? Tell methe woman. "

Rowland felt an immense desire to give him a visible, palpable pang. "Her name is Mary Garland, " he said. 

Apparently he succeeded. The surprise was great; Roderick colored as hehad never done. "Mary Garland? Heaven forgive us!"

Rowland observed the "us;" Roderick threw himself back on the turf. Thelatter lay for some time staring at the sky. At last he sprang to hisfeet, and Rowland rose also, rejoicing keenly, it must be confessed, inhis companion's confusion. 

"For how long has this been?" Roderick demanded. 

"Since I first knew her. "

"Two years! And you have never told her?"

"Never. "

"You have told no one?"

"You are the first person. "

"Why have you been silent?"

"Because of your engagement. "

"But you have done your best to keep that up. "

"That 's another matter!"

"It 's very strange!" said Roderick, presently. "It 's like something ina novel. "

"We need n't expatiate on it, " said Rowland. "All I wished to do was torebut your charge that I am an abnormal being. "

But still Roderick pondered. "All these months, while I was going on! Iwish you had mentioned it. "

"I acted as was necessary, and that 's the end of it. "

"You have a very high opinion of her?"

"The highest. "

"I remember now your occasionally expressing it and my being struck withit. But I never dreamed you were in love with her. It 's a pity she doesn't care for you!"

Rowland had made his point and he had no wish to prolong theconversation; but he had a desire to hear more of this, and he remainedsilent. 

"You hope, I suppose, that some day she may?"

"I should n't have offered to say so; but since you ask me, I do. "

"I don't believe it. She idolizes me, and if she never were to see meagain she would idolize my memory. "

This might be profound insight, and it might be profound fatuity. Rowland turned away; he could not trust himself to speak. 

"My indifference, my neglect of her, must have seemed to you horrible. Altogether, I must have appeared simply hideous. "

"Do you really care, " Rowland asked, "what you appeared?"

"Certainly. I have been damnably stupid. Is n't an artist supposed to bea man of perceptions? I am hugely disgusted. "

"Well, you understand now, and we can start afresh. "

"And yet, " said Roderick, "though you have suffered, in a degree, Idon't believe you have suffered so much as some other men would havedone. "

"Very likely not. In such matters quantitative analysis is difficult. "

Roderick picked up his stick and stood looking at the ground. "Nevertheless, I must have seemed hideous, " he repeated--"hideous. " Heturned away, scowling, and Rowland offered no contradiction. 

They were both silent for some time, and at last Roderick gave a heavysigh and began to walk away. "Where are you going?" Rowland then asked. 

"Oh, I don't care! To walk; you have given me something to thinkof. " This seemed a salutary impulse, and yet Rowland felt a namelessperplexity. "To have been so stupid damns me more than anything!"Roderick went on. "Certainly, I can shut up shop now. "

Rowland felt in no smiling humor, and yet, in spite of himself, he couldalmost have smiled at the very consistency of the fellow. It was egotismstill: aesthetic disgust at the graceless contour of his conduct, butnever a hint of simple sorrow for the pain he had given. Rowland lethim go, and for some moments stood watching him. Suddenly Mallet becameconscious of a singular and most illogical impulse--a desire to stophim, to have another word with him--not to lose sight of him. He calledhim and Roderick turned. "I should like to go with you, " said Rowland. 

"I am fit only to be alone. I am damned!"

"You had better not think of it at all, " Rowland cried, "than think inthat way. "

"There is only one way. I have been hideous!" And he broke off andmarched away with his long, elastic step, swinging his stick. Rowlandwatched him and at the end of a moment called to him. Roderick stoppedand looked at him in silence, and then abruptly turned, and disappearedbelow the crest of a hill. 

Rowland passed the remainder of the day uncomfortably. He was halfirritated, half depressed; he had an insufferable feeling of having beenplaced in the wrong, in spite of his excellent cause. Roderick did notcome home to dinner; but of this, with his passion for brooding away thehours on far-off mountain sides, he had almost made a habit. Mrs. Hudsonappeared at the noonday repast with a face which showed that Roderick'sdemand for money had unsealed the fountains of her distress. LittleSingleton consumed an enormous and well-earned dinner. Miss Garland, Rowland observed, had not contributed her scanty assistance to herkinsman's pursuit of the Princess Casamassima without an effort. Theeffort was visible in her pale face and her silence; she looked so illthat when they left the table Rowland felt almost bound to remark uponit. They had come out upon the grass in front of the inn. 

"I have a headache, " she said. And then suddenly, looking about at themenacing sky and motionless air, "It 's this horrible day!"

Rowland that afternoon tried to write a letter to his cousin Cecilia, but his head and his heart were alike heavy, and he traced upon thepaper but a single line. "I believe there is such a thing as being tooreasonable. But when once the habit is formed, what is one to do?" Hehad occasion to use his keys and he felt for them in his pocket; theywere missing, and he remembered that he had left them lying on thehill-top where he had had his talk with Roderick. He went forth insearch of them and found them where he had thrown them. He flunghimself down in the same place again; he felt indisposed to walk. Hewas conscious that his mood had vastly changed since the morning;his extraordinary, acute sense of his rights had been replaced by thefamiliar, chronic sense of his duties. Only, his duties now seemedimpracticable; he turned over and buried his face in his arms. He layso a long time, thinking of many things; the sum of them all was thatRoderick had beaten him. At last he was startled by an extraordinarysound; it took him a moment to perceive that it was a portentous growlof thunder. He roused himself and saw that the whole face of the sky hadaltered. The clouds that had hung motionless all day were moving fromtheir stations, and getting into position, as it were, for a battle. Thewind was rising; the sallow vapors were turning dark and consolidatingtheir masses. It was a striking spectacle, but Rowland judged best toobserve it briefly, as a storm was evidently imminent. He took his waydown to the inn and found Singleton still at his post, profiting by thelast of the rapidly-failing light to finish his study, and yet at thesame time taking rapid notes of the actual condition of the clouds. 

"We are going to have a most interesting storm, " the little paintergleefully cried. "I should like awfully to do it. "

Rowland adjured him to pack up his tools and decamp, and repaired tothe house. The air by this time had become portentously dark, and thethunder was incessant and tremendous; in the midst of it the lightningflashed and vanished, like the treble shrilling upon the bass. Theinnkeeper and his servants had crowded to the doorway, and were lookingat the scene with faces which seemed a proof that it was unprecedented. As Rowland approached, the group divided, to let some one pass fromwithin, and Mrs. Hudson came forth, as white as a corpse and tremblingin every limb. 

"My boy, my boy, where is my boy?" she cried. "Mr. Mallet, why are youhere without him? Bring him to me!"

"Has no one seen Mr. Hudson?" Rowland asked of the others. "Has he notreturned?"

Each one shook his head and looked grave, and Rowland attempted toreassure Mrs. Hudson by saying that of course he had taken refuge in achalet. 

"Go and find him, go and find him!" she cried, insanely. "Don't standthere and talk, or I shall die!" It was now as dark as evening, andRowland could just distinguish the figure of Singleton scamperinghomeward with his box and easel. "And where is Mary?" Mrs. Hudson wenton; "what in mercy's name has become of her? Mr. Mallet, why did youever bring us here?"

There came a prodigious flash of lightning, and the limitless tumultabout them turned clearer than midsummer noonday. The brightness lastedlong enough to enable Rowland to see a woman's figure on the top ofan eminence near the house. It was Mary Garland, questioning the luriddarkness for Roderick. Rowland sprang out to interrupt her vigil, but ina moment he encountered her, retreating. He seized her hand and hurriedher to the house, where, as soon as she stepped into the coveredgallery, Mrs. Hudson fell upon her with frantic lamentations. 

"Did you see nothing, --nothing?" she cried. "Tell Mr. Mallet he must goand find him, with some men, some lights, some wrappings. Go, go, go, sir! In mercy, go!"

Rowland was extremely perturbed by the poor lady's vociferous folly, forhe deemed her anxiety superfluous. He had offered his suggestion withsincerity; nothing was more probable than that Roderick had foundshelter in a herdsman's cabin. These were numerous on the neighboringmountains, and the storm had given fair warning of its approach. MissGarland stood there very pale, saying nothing, but looking at him. Heexpected that she would check her cousin's importunity. "Could you findhim?" she suddenly asked. "Would it be of use?"

The question seemed to him a flash intenser than the lightning that wasraking the sky before them. It shattered his dream that he weighed inthe scale! But before he could answer, the full fury of the storm wasupon them; the rain descended in sounding torrents. Every one fell backinto the house. There had been no time to light lamps, and in the littleuncarpeted parlor, in the unnatural darkness, Rowland felt Mary's handupon his arm. For a moment it had an eloquent pressure; it seemed toretract her senseless challenge, and to say that she believed, forRoderick, what he believed. But nevertheless, thought Rowland, the cryhad come, her heart had spoken; her first impulse had been to sacrificehim. He had been uncertain before; here, at least, was the comfort ofcertainty!

It must be confessed, however, that the certainty in question did littleto enliven the gloom of that formidable evening. There was a noisycrowd about him in the room--noisy even with the accompaniment of thecontinual thunder-peals; lodgers and servants, chattering, shuffling, and bustling, and annoying him equally by making too light of thetempest and by vociferating their alarm. In the disorder, it was sometime before a lamp was lighted, and the first thing he saw, as it wasswung from the ceiling, was the white face of Mrs. Hudson, who was beingcarried out of the room in a swoon by two stout maid-servants, with MaryGarland forcing a passage. He rendered what help he could, but when theyhad laid the poor woman on her bed, Miss Garland motioned him away. 

"I think you make her worse, " she said. 

Rowland went to his own chamber. The partitions in Swiss mountain-innsare thin, and from time to time he heard Mrs. Hudson moaning, threerooms off. Considering its great fury, the storm took long to expenditself; it was upwards of three hours before the thunder ceased. Buteven then the rain continued to fall heavily, and the night, which hadcome on, was impenetrably black. This lasted till near midnight. Rowlandthought of Mary Garland's challenge in the porch, but he thought evenmore that, although the fetid interior of a high-nestling chalet mayoffer a convenient refuge from an Alpine tempest, there was no possiblemusic in the universe so sweet as the sound of Roderick's voice. Atmidnight, through his dripping window-pane, he saw a star, and heimmediately went downstairs and out into the gallery. The rain hadceased, the cloud-masses were dissevered here and there, and severalstars were visible. In a few minutes he heard a step behind him, and, turning, saw Miss Garland. He asked about Mrs. Hudson and learned thatshe was sleeping, exhausted by her fruitless lamentations. Miss Garlandkept scanning the darkness, but she said nothing to cast doubt onRoderick's having found a refuge. Rowland noticed it. "This also have Iguaranteed!" he said to himself. There was something that Mary wished tolearn, and a question presently revealed it. 

"What made him start on a long walk so suddenly?" she asked. "I saw himat eleven o'clock, and then he meant to go to Engelberg, and sleep. "

"On his way to Interlaken?" Rowland said. 

"Yes, " she answered, under cover of the darkness. 

"We had some talk, " said Rowland, "and he seemed, for the day, to havegiven up Interlaken. "

"Did you dissuade him?"

"Not exactly. We discussed another question, which, for the time, superseded his plan. "

Miss Garland was silent. Then--"May I ask whether your discussion wasviolent?" she said. 

"I am afraid it was agreeable to neither of us. "

"And Roderick left you in--in irritation?"

"I offered him my company on his walk. He declined it. "

Miss Garland paced slowly to the end of the gallery and then came back. "If he had gone to Engelberg, " she said, "he would have reached thehotel before the storm began. "

Rowland felt a sudden explosion of ferocity. "Oh, if you like, " hecried, "he can start for Interlaken as soon as he comes back!"

But she did not even notice his wrath. "Will he come back early?" shewent on. 

"We may suppose so. "

"He will know how anxious we are, and he will start with the firstlight!"

Rowland was on the point of declaring that Roderick's readiness to throwhimself into the feelings of others made this extremely probable; but hechecked himself and said, simply, "I expect him at sunrise. "

Miss Garland bent her eyes once more upon the irresponsive darkness, andthen, in silence, went into the house. Rowland, it must be averred, inspite of his resolution not to be nervous, found no sleep that night. When the early dawn began to tremble in the east, he came forth againinto the open air. The storm had completely purged the atmosphere, andthe day gave promise of cloudless splendor. Rowland watched the earlysun-shafts slowly reaching higher, and remembered that if Roderickdid not come back to breakfast, there were two things to be takeninto account. One was the heaviness of the soil on the mountain-sides, saturated with the rain; this would make him walk slowly: the otherwas the fact that, speaking without irony, he was not remarkable forthrowing himself into the sentiments of others. Breakfast, at the inn, was early, and by breakfast-time Roderick had not appeared. Then Rowlandadmitted that he was nervous. Neither Mrs. Hudson nor Miss Garland hadleft their apartment; Rowland had a mental vision of them sitting therepraying and listening; he had no desire to see them more directly. Therewere a couple of men who hung about the inn as guides for the ascent ofthe Titlis; Rowland sent each of them forth in a different direction, to ask the news of Roderick at every chalet door within a morning'swalk. Then he called Sam Singleton, whose peregrinations had made him anexcellent mountaineer, and whose zeal and sympathy were now unbounded, and the two started together on a voyage of research. By the timethey had lost sight of the inn, Rowland was obliged to confess that, decidedly, Roderick had had time to come back. 

He wandered about for several hours, but he found only the sunnystillness of the mountain-sides. Before long he parted company withSingleton, who, to his suggestion that separation would multiply theirresources, assented with a silent, frightened look which reflected toovividly his own rapidly-dawning thought. The day was magnificent; thesun was everywhere; the storm had lashed the lower slopes into a deeperflush of autumnal color, and the snow-peaks reared themselves againstthe near horizon in glaring blocks and dazzling spires. Rowland made hisway to several chalets, but most of them were empty. He thumped at theirlow, foul doors with a kind of nervous, savage anger; he challenged thestupid silence to tell him something about his friend. Some of theseplaces had evidently not been open in months. The silence everywherewas horrible; it seemed to mock at his impatience and to be a conscioussymbol of calamity. In the midst of it, at the door of one of thechalets, quite alone, sat a hideous cretin, who grinned at Rowland overhis goitre when, hardly knowing what he did, he questioned him. Thecreature's family was scattered on the mountain-sides; he could giveRowland no help to find them. Rowland climbed into many awkwardplaces, and skirted, intently and peeringly, many an ugly chasm andsteep-dropping ledge. But the sun, as I have said, was everywhere; itillumined the deep places over which, not knowing where to turn next, he halted and lingered, and showed him nothing but the stony Alpinevoid--nothing so human even as death. At noon he paused in his quest andsat down on a stone; the conviction was pressing upon him that the worstthat was now possible was true. He suspended his search; he was afraidto go on. He sat there for an hour, sick to the depths of his soul. Without his knowing why, several things, chiefly trivial, that hadhappened during the last two years and that he had quite forgotten, became vividly present to his mind. He was aroused at last by the soundof a stone dislodged near by, which rattled down the mountain. In amoment, on a steep, rocky slope opposite to him, he beheld a figurecautiously descending--a figure which was not Roderick. It wasSingleton, who had seen him and began to beckon to him. 

"Come down--come down!" cried the painter, steadily making his own waydown. Rowland saw that as he moved, and even as he selected his footholdand watched his steps, he was looking at something at the bottom of thecliff. This was a great rugged wall which had fallen backward fromthe perpendicular, and the descent, though difficult, was with caresufficiently practicable. 

"What do you see?" cried Rowland. 

Singleton stopped, looked across at him and seemed to hesitate; then, "Come down--come down!" he simply repeated. 

Rowland's course was also a steep descent, and he attacked it soprecipitately that he afterwards marveled he had not broken his neck. It was a ten minutes' headlong scramble. Half-way down he saw somethingthat made him dizzy; he saw what Singleton had seen. In the gorge belowthem a vague white mass lay tumbled upon the stones. He let himself go, blindly, fiercely. Singleton had reached the rocky bottom of the ravinebefore him, and had bounded forward and fallen upon his knees. Rowlandovertook him and his own legs collapsed. The thing that yesterday washis friend lay before him as the chance of the last breath had left it, and out of it Roderick's face stared upward, open-eyed, at the sky. 

He had fallen from a great height, but he was singularly littledisfigured. The rain had spent its torrents upon him, and his clothesand hair were as wet as if the billows of the ocean had flung him uponthe strand. An attempt to move him would show some hideous fracture, some horrible physical dishonor; but what Rowland saw on first lookingat him was only a strangely serene expression of life. The eyes weredead, but in a short time, when Rowland had closed them, the wholeface seemed to awake. The rain had washed away all blood; it was as ifViolence, having done her work, had stolen away in shame. Roderick'sface might have shamed her; it looked admirably handsome. 

"He was a beautiful man!" said Singleton. 

They looked up through their horror at the cliff from which he hadapparently fallen, and which lifted its blank and stony face abovehim, with no care now but to drink the sunshine on which his eyes wereclosed, and then Rowland had an immense outbreak of pity and anguish. Atlast they spoke of carrying him back to the inn. "There must be three orfour men, " Rowland said, "and they must be brought here quickly. I havenot the least idea where we are. "

"We are at about three hours' walk from home, " said Singleton. "I willgo for help; I can find my way. "

"Remember, " said Rowland, "whom you will have to face. "

"I remember, " the excellent fellow answered. "There was nothing I couldever do for him in life; I will do what I can now. "

He went off, and Rowland stayed there alone. He watched for seven longhours, and his vigil was forever memorable. The most rational of men wasfor an hour the most passionate. He reviled himself with transcendentbitterness, he accused himself of cruelty and injustice, he wouldhave lain down there in Roderick's place to unsay the words that hadyesterday driven him forth on his lonely ramble. Roderick had been fondof saying that there are such things as necessary follies, and Rowlandwas now proving it. At last he grew almost used to the dumb exultationof the cliff above him. He saw that Roderick was a mass of hideousinjury, and he tried to understand what had happened. Not that it helpedhim; before that confounding mortality one hypothesis after anotherfaltered and swooned away. Roderick's passionate walk had carried himfarther and higher than he knew; he had outstayed, supposably, the firstmenace of the storm, and perhaps even found a defiant entertainmentin watching it. Perhaps he had simply lost himself. The tempest hadovertaken him, and when he tried to return, it was too late. Hehad attempted to descend the cliff in the darkness, he had made theinevitable slip, and whether he had fallen fifty feet or three hundredlittle mattered. The condition of his body indicated the shorter fall. Now that all was over, Rowland understood how exclusively, for twoyears, Roderick had filled his life. His occupation was gone. 

Singleton came back with four men--one of them the landlord of the inn. They had formed a sort of rude bier of the frame of a chaise a porteurs, and by taking a very round-about course homeward were able to follow atolerably level path and carry their burden with a certain decency. ToRowland it seemed as if the little procession would never reach the inn;but as they drew near it he would have given his right hand for a longerdelay. The people of the inn came forward to meet them, in a littlesilent, solemn convoy. In the doorway, clinging together, appeared thetwo bereaved women. Mrs. Hudson tottered forward with outstretched handsand the expression of a blind person; but before she reached her son, Mary Garland had rushed past her, and, in the face of the staring, pitying, awe-stricken crowd, had flung herself, with the magnificentmovement of one whose rights were supreme, and with a loud, tremendouscry, upon the senseless vestige of her love. 

That cry still lives in Rowland's ears. It interposes, persistently, against the reflection that when he sometimes--very rarely--sees her, she is unreservedly kind to him; against the memory that during thedreary journey back to America, made of course with his assistance, there was a great frankness in her gratitude, a great gratitude in herfrankness. Miss Garland lives with Mrs. Hudson, at Northampton, whereRowland visits his cousin Cecilia more frequently than of old. When hecalls upon Miss Garland he never sees Mrs. Hudson. Cecilia, who, havingher shrewd impression that he comes to see Miss Garland as much as tosee herself, does not feel obliged to seem unduly flattered, calls him, whenever he reappears, the most restless of mortals. But he always saysto her in answer, "No, I assure you I am the most patient!"