the river and the
hospital, and after Khartum fell I picked him up at Fort Atbara. To
Cairo by rail, a week at sea, and in the October days we were rattling
northward and homeward over the white Italian roads. We reached Rome.
I had one day in the Eternal City while Francois replaced a broken
gear, and then we went on to Foligno, where we paced the Corso for an
afternoon and the Frenchman fixed up his brakes. Late that night at
Perugia we broke down at the foot of the hill and we had to climb to
our hotel. At this last mishap Bennett began to show annoyance, for he
had not as yet recovered his full strength, and the next morning, over
our coffee and rolls, he proposed that we go by rail to Florence, where
he knew people, and wait there until the car caught up with us. To
Bennett's brother this suggestion was a reflection on the power of his
beloved machine. He resented it, and I, not wishing to inject myself
into a fraternal argument of some heat, went out to see the town,
promising to return when they had amicably settled our plans.

From the rampart, where I paused that morning, as I strolled out so
carelessly, leaning over the wall and looking over the Umbrian plain,
there is a fair prospect--the fairest, I think, that I have ever seen,
save one--and I hung there drinking in its peace and ruminating.
Across that plain, and I should take another step toward home. But it
was my boyhood's home alone, and yet I was going happily to sit again
on the horse-hair sofa in the parlor, with my father on one hand and my
mother on the other, and before me, perhaps, Mr. Pound, giving me his
blessing. I saw it all: the valley clad white in snow, the house on
the hill amid the bare oaks, the windows bright with potted plants, and
down the path my father and mother running to meet me. I thought, with
love in my heart, of that boyhood home and of my coming to it. Yet in
that same heart there was a longing unfulfilled. Where was my
manhood's home? Once I had had a tantalizing glimpse of it. That was
when I sat at Penelope's side by the carved mantel, under the eyes of
Reynolds's majestic lady. That for which I yearned so vainly was the
spot which she made sweeter by her presence. Were she here at my side,
looking with me over the Umbrian plain, this would be home. But
wherever I travelled, east or west, north or south, my journey could
have no such satisfying ending. Even in the valley, in the presence of
familiar, ho