raver of the two, and the cannons, torpedoes and other
implements of modern warfare are proofs of man's cowardice and cruelty
as much as they are of his diabolical ingenuity. Calmly comparing the
ordinary lives of men and beasts--judging them by their abstract
virtues merely--I am inclined to think the beasts the more respectable
of the two!

CHAPTER XV.

"Welcome to Villa Romani!"

The words fell strangely on my ears. Was I dreaming, or was I actually
standing on the smooth green lawn of my own garden, mechanically
saluting my own wife, who, smiling sweetly, uttered this cordial
greeting? For a moment or two my brain became confused; the familiar
veranda with its clustering roses and jasmine swayed unsteadily before
my eyes; the stately house, the home of my childhood, the scene of my
past happiness, rocked in the air as though it were about to fall. A
choking sensation affected my throat. Even the sternest men shed tears
sometimes. Such tears too! wrung like drops of blood from the heart.
And I--I could have wept thus. Oh, the dear old home! and how fair and
yet how sad it seemed to my anguished gaze! It should have been in
ruins surely--broken and cast down in the dust like its master's peace
and honor. Its master, did I say? Who was its master? Involuntarily I
glanced at Ferrari, who stood beside me. Not he--not he; by Heaven he
should never be master! But where was MY authority? I came to the place
as a stranger and an alien. The starving beggar who knows not where to
lay his head has no emptier or more desolate heart than I had as I
looked wistfully on the home which was mine before I died! I noticed
some slight changes here and there; for instance, my deep easy-chair
that had always occupied one particular corner of the veranda was gone;
a little tame bird that I had loved, whose cage used to hang up among
the white roses on the wall, was also gone. My old butler, the servant
who admitted Ferrari and myself within the gates, had an expression of
weariness and injury on his aged features which he had not worn in my
time, and which I was sorry to see. And my dog, the noble black Scotch
colly, what had become of him, I wondered? He had been presented to me
by a young Highlander who had passed one winter with me in Rome, and
who, on returning to his native mountains, had sent me the dog, a
perfect specimen of its kind, as a souvenir of our friendly
intercourse. Poor Wyvis! I thought. Had they made away wit