“There, there,” said her sister, kissing her again, “don’t look so sad, Minnie darling.  It’s for your own good.  We must go away, or else you’ll have another of those dreadful people.  You must trust to me now, dearest, and not interfere with me in anyway.”

“Well, well, you mustn’t be unkind to poor Rufus K. Gunn,” said Minnie.

“Unkind?  Why, we won’t be any thing to him at all.”

“And am I never to—­to—­see him again?”

“No!” said her sister, firmly.

Minnie started, and looked at Mrs. Willoughby, and saw in her face a fixed resolution.

“No, never!” repeated Mrs. Willoughby.  “I am going to take you back to England.  I’m afraid to take any railroad or steamboat.  I’ll hire a carriage, and we’ll all go in a quiet way to Florence.  Then we can take the railroad to Leghorn, and go home by the way of Marseilles.  No one will know that we’ve gone away.  They’ll think we have gone on an excursion.  Now we’ll go out driving this morning, and this afternoon we must keep the outer door locked, and not let any one in.  I suppose there is no danger of meeting him in the morning.  He must be on duty then.”

“But mayn’t I see him at all before we go?”

“No!”

“Just once—­only once?”

“No, not once.  You’ve seen that horrid man for the last time.”

Minnie again looked at her sister, and again read her resolution in her face.  She turned away, her head dropped, a sob escaped from her, and then she burst into tears.

Mrs. Willoughby left the room.

CHAPTER XIX.

JEALOUSY.

Lord Hawbury had come to Rome for the sole purpose of watching over his friend Scone Dacres.  But he had not found it so easy to do so.  His friend kept by himself more than he used to, and for several days Hawbury had seen nothing of him.  Once while with the ladies he had met him, and noticed the sadness and the gloom of his brow.  He saw by this that he was still a prey to those feelings the exhibition of which had alarmed him at Naples, and made him resolve to accompany him here.

A few days afterward, while Hawbury was in his room, his friend entered.  Hawbury arose and greeted him with unfeigned joy.

“Well, old man,” he said, “you’ve kept yourself close, too.  What have you been doing with yourself?  I’ve only had one glimpse of you for an age.  Doing Rome, hey?  Antiquities, arts, churches, palaces, and all that sort of thing, I suppose.  Come now, old boy, sit down and give an account of yourself.  Have a weed?  Here’s Bass in prime order.  Light up, my dear fellow, and let me look at you as you compose your manly form for a friendly smoke.  And don’t speak till you feel inclined.”

Dacres took his seat with a melancholy smile, and selecting a cigar, lighted it, and smoked in silence for some time.

“Who was that Zouave fellow?” he asked at length:  “the fellow that I saw riding by the carriage the other day?”