himself to enjoy his tranquil labors for nearly an
hour, and Bessie stood in her cool white dress like a statue of
Patience, hearing Lady Latimer discourse until the sun had evaporated
the dew from the roses. Then Miss Juliana and Miss Charlotte appeared,
returning from a stroll beyond the bounds of the garden, and announced
that the day was growing very hot. "Yes, it is almost too hot to walk
now; but will you come to my room, Elizabeth? I have some photographs
that I am sure would interest you," urged my lady. She seemed surprised
and displeased when Harry entreated comically that his wife might not be
taken away, waving his hand to the numerous tasks that awaited them.

"We also have photographs: let us compare them in the drowsy hours of
afternoon," said he; and when Bessie offered to hush his odd speeches,
he boldly averred that she was indispensable: "She has allowed me to get
into the bad habit of not being able to work without her."

My lady could only take her leave with a hope that they would be at
leisure later in the day, and was soon after seen to foregather with an
American gentleman as ardent in the pursuit of knowledge as herself.
Afterward she found her way to the village school, and had an
instructive interview with an old priest; and on the way back to the
Villa Giulia, falling in with a very poor woman and two barefooted
little boys, her children, she administered charitable relief and earned
many heartfelt blessings. The review of photographs took place in the
afternoon, as Harry suggested, and in the cool of the evening, after the
_table d'hote_, they had a boat on the lake and paid the Lucases a visit
before their departure for Como. Then they sauntered home to their inn
by narrow, circuitous lanes between walled gardens--steep, stony lanes
where, by and by, they came upon an iron gate standing open for the
convenience of a man who was busy within amongst the graves, for this
was the little cemetery of Bellagio. It had its grand ponderosity in
stone and marble sacred to the memory of noble dust, and a throng of
poor iron crosses, leaning this way and that amidst the unkempt, tall
grasses.

Lady Latimer walked in; Harry Musgrave and Bessie waited outside. My
lady had many questions to ask of the gardener about the tenants of the
vaults beneath the huge monuments, and many inscriptions upon the wall
to read--pathetic, quaint, or fulsome. At length she turned to rejoin
her companions. They were gaz