tion, except during the sultry hours. In the cool of
the morning and evening she walked out constantly, varying her direction
as much as possible, with the vague hope that if Baldassarre were still
alive she might encounter him. Perhaps some illness had brought a new
paralysis of memory, and he had forgotten where she lived--forgotten
even her existence. That was her most sanguine explanation of his
non-appearance. The explanation she felt to be most probable was, that
he had died of the Plague.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE OTHER WIFE.

The morning warmth was already beginning to be rather oppressive to
Romola, when, after a walk along by the walls on her way from San Marco,
she turned towards the intersecting streets again at the gate of Santa
Croce.

The Borgo La Croce was so still, that she listened to her own footsteps
on the pavement in the sunny silence, until, on approaching a bend in
the street, she saw, a few yards before her, a little child not more
than three years old, with no other clothing than his white shirt, pause
from a waddling run and look around him. In the first moment of coming
nearer she could only see his back--a boy's back, square and sturdy,
with a cloud of reddish-brown curls above it; but in the next he turned
towards her, and she could see his dark eyes wide with tears, and his
lower lip pushed up and trembling, while his fat brown fists clutched
his shirt helplessly. The glimpse of a tall black figure sending a
shadow over him brought his bewildered fear to a climax, and a loud
crying sob sent the big tears rolling.

Romola, with the ready maternal instinct which was one hidden source of
her passionate tenderness, instantly uncovered her head, and, stooping
down on the pavement, put her arms round him, and her cheeks against
his, while she spoke to him in caressing tones. At first his sobs were
only the louder, but he made no effort to get away, and presently the
outburst ceased with that strange abruptness which belongs to childish
joys and griefs: his face lost its distortion, and was fixed in an
open-mouthed gaze at Romola.

"You have lost yourself, little one," she said, kissing him. "Never
mind! we will find the house again. Perhaps mamma will meet us."

She divined that he had made his escape at a moment when the mother's
eyes were turned away from him, and thought it likely that he would soon
be followed.

"Oh, what a heavy, heavy boy!" she said, trying to lift hi