"Well, there _is_ a God, to know all, and direct all, and that consciousness, must rob the future of all apprehension. Shall I write to Lady Desmond, on our return, and tell her of our indecision and its causes?" "By all means. Yet, dear child, I wish _you_ would accept her invitation, you want change, and I could remain quite comfortably with nurse and--" "Do not utter such treason! Leave you! and to amuse myself in Italy, when there is a chance that so far from being able to do without me, you may peculiarly want me." "My dear, dear, unselfish child." "Not a bit unselfish--_tout au contraire_. I should be miserable away, besides--but here are our friends, Winter and Gilpin, so, dearest grandpapa, leave the future to take care of itself; all will be arranged for the best." There was no time to say more, as the painter and organist approached; but though the Colonel made no reply, some unexplained current of feeling induced him to pass his arm through Kate's, instead of offering it, as was his habit, for her support. "Ha! Miss Vernon, I see you have taken advantage of a stray gleam of sun, to seduce the Colonel into risking another cold--the wind is truly detestable, but as I could not keep Gilpin in doors, I came out with him, he has not a grain of prudence!" "My dear Winter, it is a remarkable fine day for March, I am glad, Gilpin, you felt equal to a walk." "I think you look better," observed Kate. "Yes: I think I am better, I feel to revive at the approach, however boisterous, of spring." "_Cospetto!_ three months in Italy would make you a new man; but here, the great mystery to me is, how any one who catches a cold ever loses it." "The remedy is worse than the disease; imagine a depressed invalid in a strange country, without a single friend, or, even acquaintance, and ignorant of its language," returned Gilpin. "Wretched indeed! but wait for me, Mr. Gilpin, we have some thoughts of taking a flight to Italy, this summer," said Miss Vernon. "_Corpo di Baccho!_ I'll not be left behind: to act as Miss Vernon's _cicerone_, would be something more than commonly delightful--what a state of enjoyment you would be in; but what put such a move into your head, Colonel?" "An invitation from Lady Desmond, who is at Florence," said Colonel Vernon, "Our acceptance of it however is very uncertain, though I see Kate is full of the project. I had another letter, Messieurs, which I think will give you pleasure--here; read it, Winter." "Bombay--Fred Egerton--_che gusto_." A quick glance at Kate. The whole party moved slowly towards Abbey Gardens, the Colonel and Winter, who read the letter aloud, and Gilpin close behind with Kate. "_Ad ogni uccello suo nido é bello_," said Winter, as he concluded the epistle, "here am I shivering and pining for a warm sun, which many years' custom has made natural to me, and there is that young scape-grace, revelling in baths; and slaves, and sunshine, dying to be back among east winds and consumption!"