on the map.  All seemed to be perfectly correct in the arrangements.  To go to London was Wilfrid’s thought; and the rest were almost as much occupied with their own ideas.  Captain Gambier received their semi-ironical congratulations and condolences incident to the man who is left alone in the charge of sweet ladies; and the Hon. Mrs. Bayruffle remarked, that she supposed ten hours not a long period of time, though her responsibility was onerous.

“Lady Gosstre is at the island,” said Lady Charlotte, to show where it might end, if she pleased.  Within an hour the yacht was flying for the island with a full Western breeze:  and Mrs. Chump and Wilfrid were speeding to Brookfield, as the latter permitted her to imagine.  Braintop realized the fruits of the sacrifice of his return ticket by facing Mrs. Chump in the train.  Merthyr had telegraphed to Marini to meet Emilia at the station in London, and instructed Braintop to deliver a letter for her at Marini’s house.  To Marini he wrote:  “Let Giulia guard her as no one but a woman can in such a case.  By this time Giulia will know her value.  There is dangerous stuff in her now, and my anxiety is very great.  Have you seen what a nature it is?  You have not alluded to her beyond answers to instructions, but her character cannot have escaped you.  I am never mistaken in my estimates of Italian and Cymric blood.  Singularly, too, she is part Welsh on the mother’s side, to judge by the name.  Leave her mind entirely free till it craves openly for some counteraction.  Her Italy and her music will not do.  Let them be.  My fear is that you have seen too clearly what a daughter of Italy I have found for you.  But whatever you put up now to distract her, you sacrifice.  My good Marini! bear that in mind.  It will be a disgust in her memory, and I wish her to love her country and her Art when she recovers.  So we treat the disease, dear friend.  Let your Italy have no sorrows for her ears till the storm within is tranquil.  I am with you speedily.”

Marini’s reply said:  “Among all the things we have to thank our Merthyr for, this treasure, if it is not the greatest he has given to us, makes us grateful the most.  We met her at the station.  Ah! there was an elbow when she gave her hand.  She thought to be alone, and started, and hated, till Giulia smothered her face.  And there was dead fire in the eyes, which is powder when you spring it.  We go with her to her new lodging, and the track is lost.  This is your wish?  It is pitching new camps to avoid the enemy.  But so! a man takes this disease and his common work at once of a woman—­she is all the disease, till it is extinct, or she!  What is this disease but a silly, a senseless waste?  Giulia—­woman that she is!—­will not call it so.  See her eyes doze and her voice go a soft buzz when she speaks it!  As a dove of the woods!  That it almost makes it sweet to me!  Yes, a daughter of Italy!  So Giulia has been:—­will be?  I know not!  So