would have done such a thing," said Mrs. Douglas; "and only in the
mediæval age of the world."

"But," she went on with a bright smile, "it is the same spirit that has
reared such exquisite buildings for the worship of God and filled them
with rare, sacred marbles and paintings that are beyond price to the
world of art. I always feel when I come hither and see the present
poverty of the beautiful land that the whole world is its debtor, and
can never repay what it owes."




Chapter III.

In Beautiful Florence.

_For to the highest she did still aspyre;
Or, if ought higher were then that, did it desyre._

--SPENSER.

[Illustration: CHURCH OF THE ANNUNZIATA, FLORENCE.]


One afternoon, about two weeks later, Barbara and Bettina were sitting
in their pleasant room in Florence. The wide-open windows looked out
upon the slopes of that lovely hill on whose summit is perched Fiesole,
the poor little old mother of Florence, who still holds watch over her
beautiful daughter stretched at her feet. Scented airs which had swept