d in his heart. In the midst of all these
would he break off suddenly with some recollection of Alfieri, who
filled every avenue of his thoughts: his proud but graceful demeanour,
his low, deep-toned voice, his smile so kind and yet so sad withal; a
gentleness, too, in his manner that invited confidence, seemed to dwell
in Gerald's memory, and shed, as it were, a soft and pleasing light over
all that had passed.

'And I am to see him again to-morrow, Marietta,' continued he proudly;
'he is to take me with him to the Galleries. I am to see the Pitti and
the Offizzi, where in the Tribune the great triumphs of Raffael are
placed, and the statue of Venus, too: he is to show me these, and the
portraits of all the illustrious men who have made Italy glorious.
How eager I am to know how they looked in life, and if their features
revealed the consciousness of the fame they were to inherit! And when I
come back at night to thee, Marietta, how full shall I be of all these,
and how overjoyed if I can pour into your heart the pleasures that swell
in my own! Is it not good, dearest, that I should go forth thus to bring
back to you the glad tidings of so many beautiful things--will you not
be happier for _yourself_, prouder in _me_? Will it not be better to
have the love of one whose mind is daily expanding, straining to greater
efforts, growing in knowledge and gaining in cultivation? Shall I not be
more worthy of _you_ if I win praise from others? And I am resolved to
do this, Marietta. I will not be satisfied to be ever the mean, ignoble
thing I now am.'

'Our life did not seem so unworthy in your eyes a day or two ago,'
said she sighing. 'You told me, as we came up the Val d'Arno, that our
wandering, wayward existence had a poetry of its own that you loved
dearly. That to you ambition could never offer a path equal to that
wayside rambling life, over whose little accidents the softening
influences of divine verse shed their mild light, so that the ideal
world dominated the actual.'

'All these will I realise, but in a higher sphere, Marietta. The great
Alfieri himself told me that a life without labour is an ignominy and a
shame. That he who strains his faculties to attain a goal is nobler far
than one whose higher gifts lie rusting in disuse. Man lives not for
himself, but for his fellows, said he, nor is there such incarnate
selfishness as indolence.'

'And where, and how, and when is this wondrous life of exertion to be
b