"Some friends of Signor Leland: from America?" he said in good English and
with a polite bow.

"Yes. How is he?" Edward asked, stepping in and drawing his sister on with
him.

"Sick, signor, very sick, but he will grow better now. I shall expect to
see him up in a few weeks," the doctor answered with a significant glance
and smile as he turned, with a second and still lower bow, to the sweet,
fair maiden.

She did not see it, for her eyes were roving round the room--a disorderly
and comfortless place enough, but garnished with some gems of art; an
unfinished picture was on the easel; there were others with their faces to
the wall; models, statues in various stages of completion, and the
implements of painter and sculptor were scattered here and there; a
screen, an old lounge, a few chairs, and a table littered with books,
papers, and drawing materials, completed the furniture of the large,
dreary apartment.

An open door gave a glimpse into an inner room, from which came a slight
sound as of a restless movement, a sigh or groan.

Pointing to the chairs, the physician invited the strangers to be seated.

Edward put his sister in one and took possession of another close at her
side.

"How soon can we see Mr. Leland?" he asked, putting his card into the