doubting of her way;--for Mr. Glascock had described it all to
her, making a small plan of the premises, and even explaining to her
the position of the room in which her boy and her husband slept. She
found the door open, and an Italian maid-servant at once welcomed
her to the house, and assured her that the signor would be with her
immediately. She was sure that the girl knew that she was the boy's
mother, and was almost tempted to ask questions at once as to the
state of the household; but her knowledge of Italian was slight, and
she felt that she was so utterly a stranger in the land that she
could dare to trust no one. Though the heat was great, her face was
covered with a thick veil. Her dress was black, from head to foot,
and she was as a woman who mourned for her husband. She was led into
the room which her father had been allowed to enter through the
window; and here she sat, in her husband's house, feeling that in no
position in the world could she be more utterly separated from the
interests of all around her. In a few minutes the door was opened,
and her husband was with her, bringing the boy in his hand. He had
dressed himself with some care; but it may be doubted whether the
garments which he wore did not make him appear thinner even and more
haggard than he had looked to be in his old dressing-gown. He had not
shaved himself, but his long hair was brushed back from his forehead,
after a fashion quaint and very foreign to his former ideas of
dress. His wife had not expected that her child would come to her
at once,--had thought that some entreaties would be necessary, some
obedience perhaps exacted from her, before she would be allowed to
see him; and now her heart was softened, and she was grateful to her
husband. But she could not speak to him till she had had the boy in
her arms. She tore off her bonnet, and then clinging to the child,
covered him with kisses. "Louey, my darling! Louey; you remember
mamma?" The child pressed himself close to the mother's bosom, but
spoke never a word. He was cowed and overcome, not only by the
incidents of the moment, but by the terrible melancholy of his
whole life. He had been taught to understand, without actual spoken
lessons, that he was to live with his father, and that the former
woman-given happinesses of his life were at an end. In this second
visit from his mother he did not forget her. He recognised the luxury
of her love; but it did not occur to him even to h