here was she now? He closed his eyes and tried to picture her. She was
reading his letter. He recalled particular passages, and saw the smile
with which she read them. Peace be with her! The light pressure of her
soft fingers was on his hands already, and through the _tran-tran_ of
the train he could hear her softest tones.

Nature as well as humanity seemed to smile on Rossi that day. He thought
the lakes had never looked so lovely. It was early when they ran along
the shores of Lucerne, and the white mists, wrapping themselves up on
the mountains, were gliding away like ghosts. One after another the
great peaks looked over each other's shoulders, covered with pines as
with vast armies crossing the Alps, thick at the bottom and with thinner
files of daring spirits at the top. The sun danced on the waters of the
lake like fairies on a floor of glass, and when the train stopped at
Fluelen the sound of waterfalls mingled with the singing of birds and
the ringing of the church bells. It was the Gloria. All the earth was
singing its Gloria. "Glory to God in the highest."

Rossi's happiness became almost boyish as the train approached Italy.
When the great tunnel was passed through, the signs of a new race came
thick and fast. Shrines of the Madonna, instead of shrines of the
Christ; long lines of field-workers, each with his hoe, instead of
little groups with the plough; grey oxen with great horns and slow step,
instead of brisk horses with tinkling bells.

Signs of doubtful augury for the most part, but Rossi was in no mood to
think of that. He let down the carriage window that he might drink in
the air of his own country. In spite of his opinions he could not help
doing that. The mystic call that comes to a man's heart from the soil
that gave him birth was coming to him also. He heard the voice of the
vine-dresser in the vineyard singing of love--always of love. He saw the
oranges and lemons, and the roses white and red. He caught a glimpse of
the first of the little cities high up on the crags, with its walls and
tower, and Campo Santo outside. His lips parted, his breast swelled. It
was home! Home!

The day waned, the sky darkened, and the passengers in the train, who
had been talking incessantly, began to doze. Rossi returned to his seat,
and thought more seriously about Roma. All his soul went out to the
young wife who had shared his sufferings. In his mind's eye he was
reading between the lines of her letters, and