opinion to Emily,--that Trevelyan would
hardly have strength even to prepare for such a journey by himself.

On the intervening day, the Monday, Stanbury had no occupation
whatever, and he thought that since he was born no day had ever been
so long. Siena contains many monuments of interest, and much that is
valuable in art,--having had a school of painting of its own, and
still retaining in its public gallery specimens of its school, of
which as a city it is justly proud. There are palaces there to be
beaten for gloomy majesty by none in Italy. There is a cathedral
which was to have been the largest in the world, and than which few
are more worthy of prolonged inspection. The town is old, and quaint,
and picturesque, and dirty, and attractive,--as it becomes a town in
Italy to be. But in July all such charms are thrown away. In July
Italy is not a land of charms to an Englishman. Poor Stanbury did
wander into the cathedral, and finding it the coolest place in the
town, went to sleep on a stone step. He was awoke by the voice of the
priests as they began to chant the vespers. The good-natured Italians
had let him sleep, and would have let him sleep till the doors were
closed for the night. At five he dined with Mrs. Trevelyan, and then
endeavoured to while away the evening thinking of Nora with a pipe in
his mouth. He was standing in this way at the hotel gateway, when, on
a sudden, all Siena was made alive by the clatter of an open carriage
and four on its way through the town to the railway. On looking up,
Stanbury saw Lord Peterborough in the carriage,--with a lady whom
he did not doubt to be Lord Peterborough's wife. He himself had not
been recognised, but he slowly followed the carriage to the railway
station. After the Italian fashion, the arrival was three-quarters
of an hour before the proper time, and Stanbury had full opportunity
of learning their news and telling his own. They were coming up from
Rome, and thought it preferable to take the route by Siena than to
use the railway through the Maremma; and they intended to reach
Florence that night.

"And do you think he is really mad?" asked Lady Peterborough.

"He is undoubtedly so mad as to be unfit to manage anything for
himself, but he is not in such a condition that any one would wish to
see him put into confinement. If he were raving mad there would be
less difficulty, though there might be more distress."

A great deal was said about Nora, and both Lo