"Marse Ed'ard, dey tells me dars a 'Merican gentleman bery sick in de room cross de hall hyar; gwine ter die, I reckon." "Indeed!" Edward said with concern. "I should be glad to be of assistance to him. Is he quite alone, Ben? I mean has he no friends with him?" "I b'lieves dar's a lady long wid him, Marse Ed'ard, but I mos'ly has to guess 'bout de half ob what dese Frenchers say." "You don't know the name, Ben?" "No, sah, couldn't make it out de way dey dispronounces it. But I understands, sah, dat dese folks--meanin' de sick gentleman and de lady--and we's de only 'Mericans in de town." "Then here, Ben, take my card to the lady and ask if I can be of service to them. Say that I am a countryman of theirs and shall be most happy to do anything in my power." Ben came back the next moment with a face full of grave concern. "Marse Ed'ard," he said, "it's Mistah Love and Miss Zoe." "Is it possible!" cried Edward, starting up. "And is he really so very ill?" "Berry sick, Marse Ed'ard, looks like he's dyin' sho nuff." "Oh, dreadful! And no one with him but his daughter?" "Dat's all, sah. De young lady come to de do', and when I give her de card, she look at it and den at me an' say, 'O Ben! I thought we hadn't a friend in all dis country! and papa so very sick! Please tell Mr. Travilla we'll be glad to see him.'" Edward went to them at once, bidding Ben remain near at hand lest he should be needed to do some errand. The Loves had remained in Rome for a few weeks after Elsie's marriage, during which Edward had met them frequently, his liking for the father and admiration of the daughter's beauty and sprightliness increasing with every interview. He had found Mr. Love a sensible, well-informed Christian gentleman. The daughter was a mere child--only fifteen--extremely pretty and engaging, but evidently too much petted and indulged, her father's spoiled darling. Edward knew that she was an only child and motherless, and was much shocked and grieved to hear that she was likely to lose her only remaining parent. Zoe herself opened the door in answer to his gentle rap. "O Mr. Travilla!" she said, giving him both hands in her joy at seeing a friendly face in this hour of sore distress, but with tears streaming down her cheeks, "I am so glad you have come! Papa is so sick, and I don't know what to do, or where to turn." "My poor child! we must hope for the best," Edward said, pressing the little hands compassionately in his. "You must call upon me for help and let me do whatever I can for you and your poor father, just as if I were his son and your brother." "Oh, thank you! you are very kind. Will you come now and speak to him?" and she led the way to the bedside. "Travilla!" the sick man exclaimed, feebly holding out his hand. "Thank God for sending you here!" Edward took the offered hand in his, saying with an effort to steady his tones, "I am glad indeed to be here, sir, if you can make use of me, but very sorry to see you so ill."