“Why are we going to Orvieto, uncle?” asked Malcom, as they were waiting at Chiusi for their connection with the train from Florence to Orvieto.

“For several reasons, Malcom.  In the first place, it is one of the best preserved of the ancient cities of Italy.  So long ago as the eighth century it was called urbs vetus (old city) and its modern name is derived from that.  Enclosed by its massive walls, it still stands on the summit of its rocky hill, which was called urbibentum by the old historian, Procopius.  It is comparatively seldom visited by the ordinary tourist, and is thoroughly unique and interesting.  In the second place, in its Cathedral are most valuable examples of Fra Angelico’s, Benozzo Gozzoli’s, and Signorelli’s paintings; and, in the third place, I love the little old city, and never can go to or from Rome without spending at least a few hours there if it is possible for me to do so.  Are these weighty enough reasons?” and Mr. Sumner drew his arm affectionately into that of the tall young man he loved so well.  “But here comes our train.”

“This cable-tram does not look very ancient,” said Malcom, when a half hour later they stood on the platform of the little railway station at Orvieto and looked up at the hillside.

“No; its only merit is that it takes us up quickly,” replied his mother, as they reached the waiting car.  “All try if you can to get seats with back to the hill, so that you will command the view of this beautiful valley as we rise.”

The city did indeed look foreign as they entered its wall, left the cable-car, and, in a hotel omnibus, rattled through the streets, so narrow that it is barely possible for two carriages to pass each other.

“Is everybody old here, do you suppose?” slyly whispered Bettina to Barbara, as they were taken in charge by a very old woman, who led the way to the rooms already engaged for the party.  “I should be afraid to come here all alone; everything is so strange.

“Oh! but how pleasant,” she added, brightly, as they were shown into a sweet, clean room, whose windows opened upon a small garden filled with rose-bushes, and whose two little beds were snowy white.  “How delightful to be here a little later, when these roses will be in bloom!”

The brown withered face of the old chambermaid beamed upon the two young girls, and showed her satisfaction at their evident delight, and when she found that they could understand and speak a little of her own language, her heart was indeed won, and she bustled about seeking whatever she could do to add to their comfort, just for the pleasure of being near them.

“It must be a delightful place to visit,” said Barbara, when finally they were alone, “but I should not like to have to live here for any length of time, I know; so gray, so old, so desolate it all seemed on our way through the streets,” and a slight shiver ran through her at the remembrance.