r's case; she
would sometimes bring her friend a letter of her father's, or a fragment
of journal from that full and tragic store which the solicitors had now
placed in her hands; generally escaping afterward from all comment; only
able to bear a look, a pressure of the hand. But, as a rule, she kept
her pain out of sight. In the long dumb debate with herself she had
grown thin and pale. There was nothing, however, to be done, nothing to
be said. The devoted friend could only watch and wait. Meanwhile, of
Oliver Marsham not a word was ever spoken between them.

* * * * *

The travellers climbed the hill as the sun sank behind the mountains,
made for the Subasio Hotel, found letters, and ordered rooms.

Among her letters, Diana opened one from Sir James Chide. "The House
will be up on Thursday for the recess, and at last I have persuaded
Ferrier to let me carry him off. He is looking worn out, and, as I tell
him, will break down before the election unless he takes a holiday now.
So he comes--protesting. We shall probably join you somewhere in
Umbria--at Perugia or Assisi. If I don't find you at one or the other, I
shall write to Siena, where you said you meant to be by the first week
in June. And, by-the-way, I shouldn't wonder if Bobbie Forbes were with
us. He amuses Ferrier, who is very fond of him. But, of course, you
needn't see anything of him unless you like."

The letter was passed on to Muriel, who thought she perceived that the
news it contained seemed to make Diana shrink into herself. She was much
attached to Sir James Chide, and had evidently felt pleasure in the
expectation of his coming out to join them. But Mr. Ferrier--and Bobbie
Forbes--both of them associated with the Marshams and Tallyn? Mrs.
Colwood noticed the look of effort in the girl's delicate face, and
wished that Sir James had been inspired to come alone.

After unpacking, there still remained half an hour before dark. They
hurried out for a first look at the double church.

The evening was cold and the wind chill. Spring comes tardily to the
high mountain town, and a light powdering of snow still lay on the
topmost slope of Monte Subasio. Before going into the church they turned
up the street that leads to the Duomo and the temple of Minerva. Assisi
seemed deserted--a city of ghosts. Not a soul in the street, not a light
in the windows. On either hand, houses built of a marvellous red stone
or marble, which