I glided past as rapidly as possible, filled with a certain mournful humour at this spectacle of the gentleman packing his box at one end of the hall, while the lady packed hers at the other. My room was empty when I regained it, and with a heavy heart I finished my sad task, locking the box, labelling and strapping it. Then I put on my grey travelling dress, my hat, veil, and gloves, and sat down by the window. It was only half-past five, and these preparations were a little premature; but this confused, chaotic day seemed beyond the ordinary measurements of time. A maid-servant, with a dainty little dinner on a tray, was the next arrival on the scene. She set it down on a table near me, but I took no heed. As if I could have swallowed a mouthful! I was quite calm now, only unutterably mournful. "I have spoilt my life," I thought, as my eyes fixed themselves drearily on the river, the old houses opposite, the marble bridge--once all so strange, now grown so dear; "I have spoilt my life, and for what? Ah, if mother had only been here to stand by me! But I was alone. What was I to do? Oh, Andrea, do you hate me?" The tears streamed down my face as I sat. "Oh, my beloved Pisa," I thought again, "how can I bear to leave you!" Once more came a knock at the door--the little, quick knock of the Marchesa; and as I responded duly, I reflected: "No doubt she comes to insult me with my salary. And the worst of it is, I shall have to take it; for if I don't, how am I to get home?" She looked very unlike her usual, self-possessed self as she came towards me. "Miss Meredith, my husband wishes to speak to you." I rose wearily in mechanical obedience, and followed her, silent and dejected, downstairs to the Marchese's room. Here, amid his books and papers, sat the old man, looking the picture of wretchedness. "Ah, signorina," he said, "what will you think of me, of us all? Of the favour which, very humbly, I have to beg of you? I cannot bear thus to part from my son; he is going far away from me, in anger, for an indefinite time. It is you, and you only, who can persuade him to stop!" I look up in sudden astonishment. "My child, go to him; tell him that he can stay." "Marchese, I am sorry, but you ask what is impossible." "I do not wonder," he said, with a most touching yet dignified humility, "I do not wonder at your reply. My wife, it is your part to speak to this lady." With set lips yet unblanching front, the gallant little Marchesa advanced. "Miss Meredith, do not in this matter consider yourself bound by any promise you have made to me. I release you from it." "May not the matter be considered ended?" I cried in very weariness; "that I have come between your son and his family no one regrets more than I. Only let me go away!" The old man rose slowly, left the room, and went to the foot of the stairs. "Andrea, Andrea," I heard him call. "His excellency has not finished packing," answered the voice of Pasquale.