In the mean time the others would complete their arrangements for the season, journey northward also, and take possession of their seaside cottage.

It was a sore disappointment to the whole family at Ion, but especially to Violet and her brother, that Elsie Leland could not be present at the wedding.  Lester’s health was almost entirely restored, but he felt it important to him as an artist to prolong his stay in Italy for at least some months.

Edward had remained with them through the winter, had left them in April, intending to make an extensive European tour before returning to his native land, but would surely hasten home for Vi’s wedding if his mother’s summons reached him in season.

CHAPTER XVI.

“Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings.”
—­Rowly.

It was Saturday evening.  Edward Travilla, travelling leisurely through France, had stopped in a village not many miles from Paris, to spend the Sabbath.

Having taken his supper and afterward a stroll through the village, he retired to his room to read and answer a budget of letters just received from America.

The first he opened was from his mother.  It told of Violet’s approaching marriage and urged his immediate return that he might be present at the ceremony.

“We are all longing to see you,” she wrote, “your mother more, I believe, than any one else.  If you have not had enough of Europe yet, my dear boy, you can go back again soon, if you wish, perhaps taking some of us with you.  And Vi will be sorely disappointed if you are not present on the occasion so important to her.”

“I must certainly go,” he mused, laying down the letter.  “I should not like to miss it.  Vi will be as lovely a bride as Elsie was.  I have never been able to decide which of the two is the more beautiful; but I wonder that she is allowed to marry so young—­just nineteen!  I should have had her wait a year or two at least.”

There was a step in the hall without, a rap on the door.

“Come in,” Edward said, and Ben appeared.

“Marse Ed’ard, dey tells me dars a ’Merican gentleman bery sick in de room cross de hall hyar; gwine ter die, I reckon.”

“Indeed!” Edward said with concern.  “I should be glad to be of assistance to him.  Is he quite alone, Ben?  I mean has he no friends with him?”

“I b’lieves dar’s a lady long wid him, Marse Ed’ard, but I mos’ly has to guess ’bout de half ob what dese Frenchers say.”

“You don’t know the name, Ben?”

“No, sah, couldn’t make it out de way dey dispronounces it.  But I understands, sah, dat dese folks—­meanin’ de sick gentleman and de lady—­and we’s de only ’Mericans in de town.”

“Then here, Ben, take my card to the lady and ask if I can be of service to them.  Say that I am a countryman of theirs and shall be most happy to do anything in my power.”