her very soul, and she could not forget it for a moment when alone.

A certain sense of loss which she could not define followed her.
Somehow, it did mean more to her than it did to any one else, that
Howard was gone from their lives, but she knew that not even Betty would
understand. Indeed, she could not herself understand, for she was sure
that she had not loved Howard.

Though Barbara did not know it, the truth was that for a single instant
she had felt what it is to be loved as Howard loved her; and the loss
she felt was the loss of love,--not Howard's love--but love for itself
alone. She was not just the same girl she was when she had entered
Florence a few months ago, nor ever again would be; and between her and
Bettina,--the sisters who before this had been "as one soul in two
bodies,"--ran a mysterious Rubicon, the outer shore of which Bettina's
feet had not yet touched.

The hasty return of Mr. Sumner and Malcom with two lusty _facchini_, who
seized the hand-luggage, the hurry to be among the first at the opening
of the big doors upon the platform beside which their train was drawn
up, and the little bustle of excitement consequent on the desire to
secure an entire compartment for their party filled the next few
minutes, and soon they were off.

The journey led through a charming country lying at the base of the
Apennines. Picturesque castles and city-crowned hills against the
background of blue mountains, many of whose summits were covered with
gleaming snow, kept them looking and exclaiming with delight, until
finally they reached Lucca, and, sweeping in a half circle around Monte
San Giuliano, which, as Dante wrote, hides the two cities, Lucca and