_The first sound in the song of love
Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.
Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul,
And play the prelude of our fate._

--LONGFELLOW.

[Illustration: DUOMO AND CAMPANILE. FLORENCE.]


One day Malcom met an old fellow-student. Coming home, he told his
mother of him, and asked permission to bring him for introduction.

"His name is Howard Sinclair. I did not know him very well in the
school, for he was some way ahead of me. He is now in Harvard College.
But his lungs are very weak; and last winter the doctors sent him to
Egypt, and told him he must stay for at least two years in the warmer
countries. He is lonely and pretty blue, I judge; was glad enough to see
me."

"Poor boy! Yes, bring him here, and I will talk with him. Perhaps we can
make it more pleasant for him. You are sure his character is beyond
question, Malcom?"

"I think so. He has lots of money, and is inclined to spend it freely,
but I know he was called a pretty fine fellow in the school, though not
very well known by many. He is rather 'toney,' you know,--held his head
too high for common fellows. The teachers especially liked him; for he