y of this man a future with Isabel took form
in my heart. Love is a great solemnity itself. And in this moment I felt
that Isabel shared my vision.

We buried Uncle Tom. Then Isabel began to prepare to sail for America.
Of course no trip now around the world. She must go back to Connecticut,
but she must go alone. That was her wish. It was understood that I
should follow her later. This much was definite between us. Many plans
filled her mind. She had a large estate to put in order. There were
lawyers and agents to consult. I really wished to return with her in
order to assist her. But she said: "It is best for you to stay here for
a while. We shall write to each other. Later I wish you to come."

The question in my mind was not shall we be married, but when shall we
be married. But Isabel's mood was too serious, too majestic for me to
broach these definite subjects now. I looked into her eyes. It seemed to
me that my thoughts were silently communicated to her. She pressed my
hand gently. And so after some days of packing, in which I helped her
constantly, she sailed away and left me in Rome.

I tried to work but the time would not pass. All my drawings and
etchings were failures. What after all was art to me except a diversion?
Too late! The only art that I ever could achieve was that of giving
happiness to Isabel and being worthy of her devotion. Her letters came
frequently, always so full of wise observations, striking fancies and
imagery; so many with thanks for what I had been to her. She wrote me
that Uncle Tom's will, as he had dictated it, had been probated and
acquiesced in by every one.

Six months went by. I had gone with Reverdy to Lake Maggiore to escape
the heat in Rome. While I was there a letter came from Isabel asking me
to come to her. In three weeks I was by her side, having first placed
Reverdy in Phillips Exeter. We were together in the great homestead
which had belonged to Uncle Tom's father, there in Connecticut. It was
full of the treasures of old times. Priceless things gathered on
Isabel's travels--a great house set in a wonderful expanse of grounds
about a mile from a pretty village. It was October. The earth was aflame
with the fires of the forest. Jays cried from the maples. The air was
subtle with a delicate scent of pine needles and fallen leaves.

She had other guests in the house. But they dispersed themselves
gracefully. We were much alone, reading, listening to music played
softly