beckoned
me to come inside. We went upstairs. 'What's the matter?' I said.
'Rosa!' says Rebecca. 'She went out this evening to meet you, she said,
and she's not back yet.'

"For a moment I couldn't quite see the drift. Perhaps I'm slow. But then
I realized what might have happened. I took my hat and ran downstairs.
Outside a carriage was crawling past. I jumped into it and told the man
to drive all he knew to the _Bristol_. It's a stiff climb, but those two
horses tore along the _Principe_, past the station, through _Piazza
Caricamento_, up _Via Lorenzo_, full tilt. I jumped out and ran into the
hotel and asked for the manager. I described my brother as well as I
could. 'Yes, yes,' he said, 'that would be _Signore Lord_.' He had just
paid his bill and gone. He was to get the Twenty-fifteen for Milan. The
commissionaire said the _Signore Lord_ had driven to the _Brignole_
station, though he had been advised to go to the _Principe_, where he
could get a better seat. I gave the man a franc and bolted out again.
'_Stazione Brignole_,' I told the man, and away we went. The
'Twenty-fifteen' would be there in about ten minutes. Five minutes later
I was in the dreary, half-lighted, bare-looking waiting-room. There was
only one person in sight. It was Rosa."

* * * * *

Mr. Carville paused and raised his head. We became aware of some one
calling. I turned and beheld Mrs. Carville standing, her hands on her
hips, at her door. She was calling to her husband in a clear, strong,
vibrant voice. With a slight shrug, he rose.

"_Si, si, Rosa_," he replied equably, and then to us he smiled and,
raising his hat, set it well over his eyes. He looked at his watch.

"Gee!" he said, "I must be off. I'll have to finish the yarn another
time. Good day to you."

Looking down at his boots for a moment reflectively, and pocketing his
pipe, he stepped down and walked sedately towards his house.

CHAPTER X

ANOTHER LETTER FROM WIGBOROUGH

For a few moments we sat still, oblivious of the flight of time. The
afternoon sun threw long shadows across the road. Mrs. Wederslen flew
past in her automobile, inclining her haughty southern head as she sat,
erect and dominant, behind the steering-wheel. The rumble of the
trolley-cars came up on the still air from the valley. My friend and I
looked at each other and knocked out our pipes.

I do not think that, had we been left to ourselves, we would have broken