"Indeed, I do not wish, Cheiron," she said. "Perhaps he is very unhappy now--we do not know--so we should only send him good thoughts to cheer him. I dream of him often," she went on in a far-off voice, as though she had almost forgotten the Professor's presence, "and he cries to me in pain. And I could not bear it that you should be thinking badly of him, and so I had to speak because thoughts can help or injure people--and now he wants all the gentle currents we can send him to take him through this time." The Professor coughed violently; his spectacles had grown dim. Then Halcyone rubbed her soft cheek against his old withered hand. "You knew it, of course, Master," she said very softly. "I loved him always and I love him still--and, if I have forgiven any hurt which he brought me, surely it need not stand against him with you. To-night--oh, he is suffering so! I cannot bear that there should be one shadow going to him that I can take away. Cheiron, promise me you won't think hardly ever any more--promise me, Cheiron, dear!" The Professor's voice was almost the growl of a bear--but Halcyone knew he meant to acquiesce. "Cheiron," she whispered, while she caressed his stiff fingers, "the winter of our souls is almost past. I feel and know the spring is near at hand." "I hope to God it is," Mr. Carlyon said, very low. Next day they moved on into Italy, crossing the frontier and stopping the night at Turin where they proposed to hire a motor. From thence they intended to get down to Genoa to continue their pilgrimage. It was not such an easy matter, in those few years ago, as it is now to hire a motor, but one was promised to them at last--and off they started. Halcyone took the greatest interest in everything in that quaint and grand old town. Her keen judgment and that faculty she possessed of always seeing everything from the simplest standpoint of truth made her an ideal companion to wander with on this journey of cultured ease. "How strong a place this seems, Cheiron," she said, after two days of their sight-seeing. "All the spirits at the zenith of Genoa's greatness were strong--nothing weak or ascetic. They must have been filled with gratitude to God for giving them this beautiful life, those old patrons of decoration. There is nothing cheap or hurried; it is all an appreciation of the magnificence due to their noble station and their pride of race. For the _Guelphist_ of them seems to have been an aristocrat and an autocrat in his personal _ménage_. Is it not so, Master?" "I dare say," agreed Cheiron. He was watching with deep interest for her verdict upon things.