than mere friendly interest might prompt such constant and lavish attentions.  With newly opened eyes, she saw that while Howard generously gave to them all of such things as he could in return for their hospitality, yet there was a something different in his manner toward Barbara and Bettina.  Their room was always bright and fragrant with the most costly flowers, and not a wish did they express but Howard was eager to gratify it.

She was troubled; and since the air of Florence was beginning to take on the chill of winter—­to become too cold for such an invalid as Howard—­she ventured one day, when they happened to be alone together, to ask him if he would soon go farther south for the winter.

“Malcom told me you had stopped for only a time here on your way to the south of Italy,” she added.

The color rushed in a torrent over Howard’s pale face, and he did not speak for a minute; then, turning abruptly to her, said:—­

“I cannot go away from Florence, Mrs. Douglas.  Do you not see, do you not know, how I have loved Barbara ever since I first saw her?  You must have seen it, for I have not been able sometimes to conceal my feelings.  They have taken complete possession of me.  I think only of her day and night.  I have often thought I ought to tell you of it.  Now, I am glad I have.  Do you not think she will sometime love me?  She must.  I could not live without it.”  And his voice, which had trembled with excitement, suddenly faltered and broke.

Poor Mrs. Douglas strove for words.

“You must not let her know this,” she finally said.  “She is only a little girl whom her father and mother have entrusted to me.  What would they say if they knew how blind I have been!  Why, you have known her but a few weeks!  You must be mistaken.  It is a fancy.  It will pass away.  Conquer yourself.  Go away.  Oh, do go away, Howard, for a time at least!”

“I cannot, I will not.  Mrs. Douglas, I have never longed for a thing in my life but it has come to me.  I long for Barbara’s love more than I ever wished for any other thing in the world.  She must give it to me.  Oh, were I only well and strong, I know I could compel it.”

“Listen to me, Howard.  I know that Barbara has never had one thought of this.  Her mind is completely occupied with her study, the pleasures and the novelties that each day is bringing her.  She does not conceal anything.  She has no reason to do so.  She and Bettina are no silly girls who think of a lover in every young man they meet.  They are as sweet and fresh and free from all sentimentalities as when they were children.  Barbara would be frightened could she hear you talk,—­should she for a moment suspect how you feel.  You must conceal it; for your own sake, you must.”

“I will not show what I feel any more than I already have.  I will not speak to Barbara yet of my love.  Only let me stay here, where I can see her every day.  Do not send me away.  Mrs. Douglas, you do not know how lonely my life has been—­without brother or sister—­without father or mother.  It has been like a bit of Paradise to go in and out of your household; and to think—­to hope that perhaps Barbara would sometime love me and be with me always.  My love has become a passion, stronger than life itself.  Look at me!  Do you not believe my words, Mrs. Douglas?”