She did not speak her thought to Signor Giuseppe. In the present circumstances she was almost ashamed of having such a thought. They had now left the wilder campagna, and were within a mile of the villa gates. They had got into the region of cultivated fields and trees--into the home of the almond and olive. The former grew in orchards showing every shade of blossom, from a shell-tinted white to the deepest, richest rose-pink. The exquisite bloom hung like clouds over the fields. In the hedges were masses of blackthorn, like fairy lace flung over the boughs. Now and then a whiff of perfume betrayed the near presence of hidden violets--it was all nearly over, at the last stage of its loveliness. In another week it would be too late to see all this magic of spring. Blossoms would be shed; the fairy colours would have given place to ordinary green leaves. The early flowers would be over. One might mourn them, but who could forget that the compensation would be--roses? The carriage stopped at the gaudy modern gate which is the entrance to the solemnly beautiful cypress avenue, the beginning of the great expanse of ruined grandeur and desolate beauty which were once Hadrian’s summer palace. They got out, and arranged with the driver to meet them at the gates many hours later. Minna rejoiced his heart by a noble _buona mano_ for himself and his horses, bidding him refresh himself and them as he listed. Then they entered the avenue, and in ten minutes were wandering, untroubled by guides or _custodi_, through those gardens and passages, past those almost obliterated ruins and buildings which yet in their decay and wreck call aloud to attest the wonder and splendour, beyond words to describe, of which they once had formed a part. The hours flew by while they walked or sat and ate their lunch, and speculated and wondered as to the meaning of this, that, and the other, and Signor Giuseppe was beguiled into a long, learned, ingenious dissertation on the character of Hadrian, which, it will readily be understood, he had studied with both ardour and acumen; and Minna, seated in the deserted nymphæum, with its falling water, and melancholy statues, and waving trees, with a golden sky above, a wilderness of purple violets below, murmured to herself, ‘Animula, vagula, blandula,’ and the rest of it, and had almost forgotten her own heartache in pondering on the past, when suddenly her companion, snatching his watch from its place, looked at it, and said, in an indescribable voice: ‘Past five. It must be all over and done with now.’ Minna’s heart sank like lead. She felt a criminal for being here, for having for one moment felt something that might be called enjoyment. ‘Let us go,’ she said abruptly, starting from her place. * * * * * They were well on the homeward way to Rome, and had been almost silent the whole time. Then Minna said casually: