Having finished and addressed some half a dozen brief letters, Mrs. Baske brooded for several minutes before she began to write on the next sheet of paper.  It was intended for her sister-in-law, a lady of middle age, who shared in the occupancy of Redheck House.  At length she penned the introductory formula, but again became absent, and sat gazing at the branches of a pine-tree which stood in strong relief against cloudless blue.  A sigh, an impatient gesture, and she went on with her task.

“It is very kind of you to be so active in attending to the things which you know I have at heart.  You say I shall find everything as I could wish it on my return, but you cannot think what a stranger to Bartles I already feel.  It will soon be six months Since I lived my real life there; during my illness I might as well have been absent, then came those weeks in the Isle of Wight, and now this exile.  I feel it as exile, bitterly.  To be sure Naples is beautiful, but it does not interest me.  You need not envy me the bright sky, for it gives me no pleasure.  There is so much to pain and sadden; so much that makes me angry.  On Sunday I was miserable.  The Spences are as kind as any one could be, but—­I won’t write about it; no doubt you understand me.

“What do you think ought to be done about Mrs. Ackworth and her daughter?  It is shameful, after all they have received from me.  Will you tell them that I am gravely displeased to hear of their absenting themselves from chapel.  I have a very good mind to write to Mr. Higginson and beg him to suspend the girl from his employment until she becomes regular in her attendance at worship.  Perhaps that would seem malicious, but she and her mother ought to be punished in some way.  Speak to them very sternly.

“I do not understand how young Brooks has dared to tell you I promised him work in the greenhouse.  He is irreclaimable; the worst character that ever came under my notice; he shall not set foot on the premises.  If he is in want, he has only himself to blame.  I do not like to think of his wife suffering, but it is the attribute of sins such as his that they involve the innocent with the guilty; and then she has shown herself so wretchedly weak.  Try, however, to help her secretly if her distress becomes too acute.

“It was impertinent in Mrs. Walker to make such reference to me in public.  This is the result of my absence and helplessness.  I shall write to her—­two lines.”

A flush had risen to her cheek, and in adding the last two words she all but pierced through the thin note-paper.  Then her hand trembled so much that she was obliged to pause.  At the same moment there sounded a tap at the door, and, on Mrs. Baske’s giving permission, a lady entered.  This was Mrs. Spence, a cousin of the young widow; she and her husband had an apartment here in the Villa Sannazaro, and were able to devote certain rooms to the convenience of their relative during her stay at Naples.  Her age was about thirty; she had a graceful figure, a manner of much refinement, and a bright, gentle, intellectual face, which just now bore an announcement of news.