At last Mary's father went to him and pressed his hand--his eyes were moistened--the mother wept silently in her handkerchief. "You know enough," said the old man; "it is needless for us to speak only one thing--when do you begin its execution in marble! I have altered my plan; I only wish a stone to be placed over my son's grave, bearing a simple inscription. This relief I must place in the room where he lived, on the place where stood his couch; we cannot consecrate the spot better. But the time will seem very long to me till it is our own. You will be the best judge of the marble. Do not delay for an hour!" Meanwhile the mother had recovered her composure. She turned and gave Theodore her hand, drew him towards her and kissed him on the lips, which she had done but once before, on the day when she betrothed her child to him--then they all left the studio. The sky was clear and serene, and brightly shone the sun over the banks of the Tiber. THE END. * * * * * PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON.