"I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. ” When he brought home papers from Florence verifying that she had been declared dead having committed suicide the fateful day at the manor, she could barely believe Gianfrancesco’s signature at the bottom of the page. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. CHAPTER XII.
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