Greatly he
longed to say something to break up that look; and could not find the
words. The beauty and the peace of the external world wrought, as it
sometimes does, by the power of contrast; and had set Dolly to thinking
of her father and of his and her very doubtful future. What would
become of him if his present manner of life went on?--and what would
become of his wife and of her? What could she do, more than she had
done, in vain? Dolly tried to think, and could not find. Suddenly, by
some sweet association of rays of light, there came into her mind the
night before Christmas, and the moonshine in Christina's room, and the
words that were so good to her then. "Who shall separate us from the
love of Christ?" Yes, thought Dolly,--that is sure. Nothing can come
between. Nothing can take _that_ joy from me; "neither death nor life;
nor things present, nor things to come." But, oh! I wish my father and
mother had it too!--With that came a rush of tears to her eyes; she
turned her face away from Rupert so that he might not see them. Had she
done anything, made any efforts, to bring them to that knowledge? With
her mother, yes; with her father, no. It had seemed hopelessly
difficult. How could she set about it? As she pondered this question,
Rupert saw that the expression of her face had changed, and now he
ventured to speak.

"Miss Dolly, you set me a thinking in Rome."

"Did I?" said Dolly, brightening. "About what?"

"And in Naples you drove the nail further in."

"What nail? what are you talking about, Rupert?"

"Do you remember what you said when we were coming from the Capitoline
Museum? We were looking at the Colosseum."

"I do not recollect."

"I do. You drove the nail in then; and when we were in Naples, at the
museum there, you gave it another hit. It's in now."

Dolly could not help laughing.

"You are quite a riddle, Rupert. I make nothing of it."

"Miss Dolly, I've been thinking that I will go home."

"Home?" And Dolly's face now grew very grave indeed.

"Yes. I've been splitting my head thinking; and I've about made up my
mind. I think I'll go home." Rupert was very serious too, and pulled
the oars with a leisurely, mechanical stroke, which showed he was not
thinking of _them_.

"What home? London, do you mean?"

"Well, not exactly. I should think not! No, I mean Boston, or Lynn
rather. There's my old mother."

"Oh!--your mother," said Dolly slowly. "And she is at Lynn. Is she
_alone_ th