“Besides,” she added confusedly, “I want to have a little private talk with Captain Hulbert, while Allegra is busy with her everlasting memoranda in that dirty little sketchbook which is stuffed with the pictures of the future. May I?” She looked from her husband to Captain Hulbert pleadingly. The latter was first to answer. “I am at your service, Mrs. Disney; ready to be interrogated, or lectured, or advised, whichever you like.” “I am not going to do either of the three. I am going to ask you a favour.” “Consider that to ask is to be obeyed.” They alighted in the road by the tomb a few minutes afterwards. Allegra’s note-book was out immediately, a true artist’s book, crammed with every conceivable form of artistic reminiscence. “Go and talk,” she said, waving her hand to Isola and Hulbert; and then she clambered up a bank opposite that tower of other days to get a vantage ground for her sketch. She had made a score of sketches on the same spot, but there were always new details to jot down, new effects and ideas, on that vast level which frames the grandeur of Rome. Yonder the long line of the aqueduct; here the living beauty of broad-fronted oxen moving with stately paces along the dusty way, the incarnation of strength and majesty, patience and labour. “Stay here and smoke your cigar, Martin,” said Isola, “while Captain Hulbert and I go for a stroll.” Her husband smiled at her tenderly, cheered by her unwonted cheerfulness. His days and hours alternated between hope and despair. This was a moment of hope. “My dearest, you are full of mystery to-day,” he said, “and I am as full of curiosity. But I can wait. Consider me a statue of patience standing by the way-side, and take your time.” She put her hand through Hulbert’s arm, and led him away from the other two, sauntering slowly along beside the grassy bank. “I want to talk about your wedding,” she said, as soon as they were out of hearing. “When are you and Allegra going to be married?” “My dear Mrs. Disney, you know that I pledged myself to wait a year from the time of our engagement--a year from last Christmas--you must remember. That was to be my probation.” “Yes, I remember; but that is all foolishness--idle romance. Allegra knows that you love her. I don’t think she could know it any better after another half-year’s devotion on your part.” “I don’t think she could know it better after another half century. I know I could never love her more than I do now. I know I shall never love her less.” “I believe that you are good and true,” said Isola. “As true and--almost--as good as he is”--with a backward glance at her husband. “If I did not believe that I should not have thought of saying what I am going to say.” “I am honoured by your confidence in me.”