re so unhappy here, come back yourself with the child. Your
wife would desire nothing better."

"Yes;--and submit to her, and her father, and her mother. No,--Mr.
Glascock; never, never. Let her come to me."

"But you will not receive her."

"Let her come in a proper spirit, and I will receive her. She is the
wife of my bosom, and I will receive her with joy. But if she is to
come to me and tell me that she forgives me,--forgives me for the
evil that she has done,--then, sir, she had better stay away. Mr.
Glascock, you are going to be married. Believe me,--no man should
submit to be forgiven by his wife. Everything must go astray if that
be done. I would rather encounter their mad doctors, one of them
after another till they had made me mad;--I would encounter anything
rather than that. But, sir, you neither eat nor drink, and I fear
that my speech disturbs you."

It was like enough that it may have done so. Trevelyan, as he had
been speaking, had walked about the room, going from one extremity to
the other with hurried steps, gesticulating with his arms, and every
now and then pushing back with his hands the long hair from off his
forehead. Mr. Glascock was in truth very much disturbed. He had come
there with an express object; but, whenever he mentioned the child,
the father became almost rabid in his wrath. "I have done very well,
thank you," said Mr. Glascock. "I will not eat any more, and I
believe I must be thinking of going back to Siena."

"I had hoped you would spend the day with me, Mr. Glascock."

"I am to be married, you see, in two days; and I must be in Florence
early to-morrow. I am to meet my--wife, as she will be, and the
Rowleys, and your wife. Upon my word I can't stay. Won't you just say
a word to the young woman and let the boy be got ready?"

"I think not;--no, I think not."

"And am I to have had all this journey for nothing? You will have
made a fool of me in writing to me."

"I intended to be honest, Mr. Glascock."

"Stick to your honesty, and send the boy back to his mother. It will
be better for you, Trevelyan."

"Better for me! Nothing can be better for me. All must be worst. It
will be better for me, you say; and you ask me to give up the last
drop of cold water wherewith I can touch my parched lips. Even in my
hell I had so much left to me of a limpid stream, and you tell me
that it will be better for me to pour it away. You may take him, Mr.
Glascock. The woman will make him