ength, by many devious paths, they reached a house on a sunny
elevation, at the western extremity of the garden. It was a house such
as one sees only in Rome,--a wide expanse of stuccoed wall with six or
seven windows of different sizes scattered at random over its surface.
Long tufts of fine grass depended from the gutters of the roof, and
the plain pillars supporting the round arches of the _loggias_ had a
humid and weather-beaten look. The whole edifice, instead of asserting
itself glaringly as a product of human art, blended with soft
gradations into the surrounding landscape. Even the rude fresco of the
Mother of Sorrows over the door was half overgrown with a greenish,
semi-visible moss which allowed the original colors to shine faintly
through, and the coarse lines of the dial in the middle of the wall
were almost obliterated by sun and rain. But what especially attracted
Cranbrook's attention was a card, hung out under one of the windows,
upon which was written, with big, scrawling letters,--"_Appartamento
Mobiliato d'Affitarsi_." He determined on the spot to become the
occupant of this apartment whatever its deficiencies might be;
therefore, without further delay, he introduced himself to
Annunciata's mother, Monna Nina, as a _forestiero_ in search of
lodgings; and, after having gone through the formality of inspecting
the room, he accepted Monna Nina's price and terms with an eagerness
which made the excellent woman repent in her heart that she had not
asked more.

The next day Cranbrook parted amicably from Vincent, who, it must be
admitted, was beginning to have serious doubts of his sanity. They had
had many a quarrel in days past, but Jack had always come to his
senses again and been the first to make up. Vincent had the
comfortable certainty of being himself always in the right, and it
therefore never occurred to him that it might be his place to
apologize. He had invariably accepted Jack's apologies good-naturedly
and consented gracefully to let by-gones be by-gones, even though he
were himself the offender; and the glow of conscious virtue which at
such times pervaded him well rewarded him for his self-sacrifice. But
this time, it seemed, Jack had taken some mysterious resolution, and
his reason had hopelessly forsaken him. He even refused all offers of
money, and talked about remaining in Rome and making his living by
writing for the newspapers. He cherished no ill-will against Harry, he
said, but had