"Mother," went on Andrea, "will you kindly summon my father and the others. Miss Meredith, oblige me and stay a few moments; I am sorry to trouble you." They came in slowly through the open door, the old man, his son and the two younger ladies, anxious, expectant. Andrea turned towards them. "My father," he said, "this lady refuses to marry me, and no doubt everybody is content. That she declines to face the hostility, the discourtesy of my family, is not perhaps greatly to be wondered at. It is evident that I am not considered worthy of so great a sacrifice on her part; I do not blame her; rather I blame my own credulity in thinking my love returned. But I wish you all to know," he added, "that I have entirely altered my plans. I shall write off my appointment in England, and shall start to-night for Livorno, on my way to America. My mother, you will kindly send for an _orario_ that I may know at what time to order the carriage. Miss Meredith, I bid you good-bye." He turned round suddenly and faced me, holding out his hand with an air of ceremony. As for me, I glanced from the dear hand, the dear eyes, to the circle of dismayed faces beyond, then, without a word, I rushed through the open door to my room. Not daring to allow myself a moment's thought, I fell to immediately packing--fitting in a neat mosaic of stockings and petticoats as though it were the one object of existence. I do not know if it were minutes or hours before the Marchesa came in, pale and unusually agitated, with no air of enjoying her victory. "Signorina," she said, "the train for Genoa leaves at 8; I have ordered the carriage for 7.15. You would prefer, perhaps, to dine in your room?" "I do not wish for dinner, thank you." "You must allow me to thank you once again, Miss Meredith." "Do not thank me," I cried, with sudden passion; "I have done nothing to be thanked for." For, indeed, I was enjoying none of the compensations of martyrdom; for me it was the pang without the palm, as the poet says. I had fallen in a cause in which I did not believe, had been pressed into a service for which I had no enthusiasm. "If you will excuse me, Marchesa," I went on, "there are some books of mine in the schoolroom which I must fetch;" and with a little bow, I swept into the corridor with an air as stately as her own. Andrea's room was on the same floor as my own, but at the other end of the passage, and I had to pass it on my way to the schoolroom. The door stood wide open, and just outside was a large trunk, which Pasquale, the servant, was engaged in packing, while his master gave directions and handed things from the threshold. I heard their voices as I came. "At what time does the train go for Livorno, did you say?" "At 9, _excellenza_. The carriage will be back in time from the station."