"Yes," he said. "You know they've been here long enough. They want to
see Rome. Holy-week, you know. No end of excitement. Illumination of
St. Peter's, and all that sort of thing, you know."

Dacres relapsed into sombre silence. For more than half an hour he did
not say a word. Hawbury respected his mood, and watched him with
something approaching to anxiety.

"Hawbury," said he at last.

"Well, old man?"

"I'm going to Rome."

"You--to Rome!"

"Yes, me, to Rome."

"Oh, nonsense! See here, old boy. You'd really better not, you know.
Break it up. You can't do any thing."

"I'm going to Rome," repeated Dacres, stolidly. "I've made up my
mind."

"But, really," remonstrated Hawbury. "See here now, my dear fellow;
look here, you know. By Jove! you don't consider, really."

"Oh yes, I do. I know every thing; I consider every thing."

"But what good will it do?"