of the Baptistery, the graceful shaft of the Campanile, the
medieval grandeur of the Palazzo Vecchio; and the severe Etruscan
massiveness of the Pitti Palace was just below. Far away the Arno
wound on, through the verdurous plain, while on either side the hills
arose dotted with white villas and deep green olive groves. Is there
any view on earth which can surpass this one, where

"Arno wins us to the fair white walls,
Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps
A softer feeling for her fairy halls.
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps
Her corn and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps
To laughing life, with her redundant horn.
Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps
Was modern Luxury of Commerce born,
And buried Learning rose, redeemed, to a new morn."

It was upon this scene that Lord Chetwynde was looking out, lost in
thoughts which were sometimes taken up with the historic charms of
this unrivaled valley, and sometimes with his own sombre future, when
suddenly his attention was arrested by a figure passing along the
pathway immediately beneath him. The new-comer was a tall,
broad-shouldered, square-faced man; he wore a dress-coat and a felt
hat; he had no gloves, but his thumbs were inserted in the arm-holes
of his waistcoat; and as he sauntered along he looked around with a
leisurely yet comprehensive stare. Lord Chetwynde was seated in a
place which made him unseen to any in the path, while it afforded him
the fullest opportunities of seeing others. This man, who thus walked
on, turned his full face toward him and disclosed the well-known
features of Obed Chute.

The sight of this man sent a strange thrill to the inmost heart of
Lord Chetwynde. He here! In Florence! And his family, were they with
him? And she--when he saw him in London he said that she was yet with
him--was she with him now? Such were the thoughts which came to Lord
Chetwynde at the sight of that face. The next instant he rose,
hurried down to the path after Obed, who had strode onward and
catching his arm, he said:

"Mr. Chute, you here! When did you arrive?"

Obed turned with a start and saw his friend.

"Windham again!" he exclaimed, "by all that's wonderful! But how did
you get here?"

"I? Oh, I've been here two or three weeks. But it doesn't seem
possible that it should really be you," he added, with greater warmth
than was usual to him, as he wrung Obed's hand.

"It's possible," said Obed, with a char