bel's hands and drew her to me frightened and
trembling. Instantly I saw what I had done. Our life of frank
companionship fell away from us. A new birth was ours; but of what
wonder and terror and danger! Isabel exclaimed: "Oh, my friend!" Then
she lost her voice and whispered, "My friend!" She became relaxed,
leaned back her head, closed her eyes. Tears crept down her cheeks. And
I was silent, in a kind of madness of fear, passion, regret, nameless
sorrow. What could I say, to what could she listen? There was a long
silence. Then Isabel began to speak.

"Help me, my friend," she said. "How can I tell you how to be my friend?
Still it must be. I care for you so deeply. Let me speak, but understand
me as I try to speak, and help me. You are young and strong. You are so
companionable; I never grow tired of you--but you must know that I am
not different from you in all impulses, imaginings. But be my friend.
Take into your being the beauty we have together; these flowers of
friendship attend and keep for our garden--our Villa d'Este. Let it be
open to the sky and wind as this is, a place where innocence and
kindness may come, where children may play and the old rest. Ah, my
friend, you have lived and now be strong for me. Uncle Tom is so fond of
you. Think of all you have. You have had a wife, and you have a son. Be
noble, be understanding, for really you see I am poor and you are rich.
If possible these hands of passion which you have placed on mine must
change, and my hands must forget what you have done. Otherwise what is
the future to be?"

Isabel began to sob, between her words crying: "Oh, be my friend!" How
could I comfort her? The very comfort that her heart craved was that
which her sorrow strove to deny me the giving. I drew out my watch; we
had long overstayed our time, for we were to lunch at the Sibylla in
Tivoli. We walked slowly to the entrance where Serafino waited for us
with the carriage. He was smoking a pipe, calm and happy, and in
companionable conversation with the driver.

At a table near the Temple of Vesta here on the Castro Vetere, the
waterfalls below us, Horace's Villa above us, we dined and became happy
again.

When we got back to the pension Uncle Tom was there to greet us and to
receive Isabel's kiss upon a mischievously yielded cheek, and to hear
her rapturous account of the afternoon.

And I went forth with little Reverdy in the Borghese Gardens; afterwards
to continue my studies of t