love him.  But all such dreams as that were over.  To repay him for his tenderness, his boy was always dumb before him.  Louey would not prattle as he had used to do.  He would not even smile, or give back the kisses with which his father had attempted to win him.  In mercy to the boy he would send him back to his mother—­in mercy to the boy if not to the mother also.  It was in vain that he should look for any joy in any quarter.  Were he to return to England, they would say that he was mad!

He lay there by the brook-side till the evening was far advanced, and then he arose and slowly returned to the house.  The labour of ascending the hill was so great to him that he was forced to pause and hold by the olive trees as he slowly performed his task.  The perspiration came in profusion from his pores, and he found himself to be so weak that he must in future regard the brook as being beyond the tether of his daily exercise.  Eighteen months ago he had been a strong walker, and the snow-bound paths of Swiss mountains had been a joy to him.  He paused as he was slowly dragging himself on, and looked up at the wretched, desolate, comfortless abode which he called his home.  Its dreariness was so odious to him that he was half-minded to lay himself down where he was, and let the night air come upon him and do its worst.  In such case, however, some Italian doctor would be sent down who would say that he was mad.  Above all the things, and to the last, he must save himself from that degradation.

When he had crawled up to the house, he went to his child, and found that the woman had put the boy to bed.  Then he was angry with himself in that he himself had not seen to this, and kept up his practice of attending the child to the last.  He would, at least, be true to his resolution, and prepare for the boy’s return to his mother.  Not knowing how otherwise to manage it, he wrote that night the following note to Mr Glascock: 

’Casalunga,

Thursday night.

My Dear Sir,

Since you last were considerate enough to call upon me I have resolved to take a step in my affairs which, though it will rob me of my only remaining gratification, will tend to lessen the troubles under which Mrs Trevelyan is labouring.  If she desires it, as no doubt she does, I will consent to place our boy again in her custody, trusting to her sense of honour to restore him to me should I demand it.  In my present unfortunate position I cannot suggest that she should come for the boy.  I am unable to support the excitement occasioned by her presence.  I will, however, deliver up my darling either to you, or to any messenger sent by you whom I can trust.  I beg heartily to apologise for the trouble I am giving you, and to subscribe myself yours very faithfully.

Louis Trevelyan

The Hon. C. Glascock.

P.S.  It is as well, perhaps, that I should explain that I must decline to receive any visit from Sir Marmaduke Rowley.  Sir Marmaduke has insulted me grossly on each occasion on which I have seen him since his return home.’