And the end was that Mrs. Norton was taken in “for good,” and her big box dislodged from the cab, and carried to a pretty room very near Diana’s. She was not sent away even to the pleasant solitude of the Red House. When Mrs. Hunstanton heard of this, she came over in hot haste to know, first, how long it was going to last; second, how Diana could be so incredibly foolish; and lastly, whether anything was to be found out about the pair whom even she now was compelled to call the Pandolfinis. But Mrs. Norton, it need not be said, put on triple armour of defence against the assaults of this unkindly critic. She met her with smiles more impenetrable than chain-armour. The dear baby was so well, and Sophy was so well, she had taken the opportunity to run over and see her friends. “For, however happy one may be,” Mrs. Norton said with feeling, “and however great may be the happiness one sees around, one’s heart yearns for one’s old friends.” Thus the enemy was baffled with equal skill and sweetness: and no one ever heard from Diana why it was that Sophy’s aunt had come back. She took to watching over Diana, growing pale when she coughed, and miserable when her head ached, as she had watched over Sophy; and settled down into her pretty rooms, with pretty little protestations that it was too much--far too much! yet pious hopes that she might be of use to Diana, who was so good to everybody. And Mrs. Norton clearly saw a Higher Hand in all that had led to this final arrangement, which was so happy a solution of all difficulties. “The hand of Providence was never more clear,” she would say with cheerful solemnity from her easy-chair. “If Sophy had not had that cough, neither Diana nor any of us would have gone to Pisa, and we never should have met dear Count Pandolfo, and Sophy would never have married him. And if Sophy had never been established in Italy, and so comfortable, you would not have thought of taking me into your own delightful house, and making me so happy. Oh, how thankful we should be, Diana! This is how everything works for good. It is seldom, very seldom, that one sees it so very clear!” Was it so clear?--was it all for this that the Palazzo dei Sogni had witnessed so many agitations, and that life had changed so strangely for that one grave Tuscan, whose days were so full of business, and whose little English wife had so many gossips? Poor Pandolfini! Diana made no answer to her guest’s happy trust in the Providence which had made such elaborate arrangements for her comfort. That chapter of life was over, whatever might have been in it,--over and closed and ended, till the time when the harvest shall be gathered, and all shall be known--where the tares came from, and where the wheat.