Such a revelation came at that moment into the heart of Minna Hastings, as she sat with her hands clasped round her knees, and looked up at her own handiwork, standing on its pedestal, and gazing forth with nameless sadness into life. Minna had never had a child of her own; she had, however, above all things, a mother’s heart, and craved with unspeakable craving for motherhood. All children and young things were dear to her: they all loved her and confided in her. She had known many girls since her own girlhood; had heard from their own lips the histories of their griefs and joys, their hopes and fears; had loved them, counselled them, admonished them, been patient and kind and helpful to them; but she had never loved one of them with such a love as that which she had borne to Fulvia Dietrich. Of all the girls she had known, Fulvia was the one whom she would most have desired to be her own child. It swept over her heart now, this deep love, like a great wave, strong as ever, pitiful, yearning as ever, and she knew how Fulvia’s lot had saddened her own bright life. She realized what that sudden meeting with her had meant. As she looked and looked, her sadness increased, till it was almost more than she could bear. Great tears gathered in her eyes, fell from them, rolled down her cheeks and into her hands, and before she knew what was happening she was shaking with sobs--the sobs of an endless pity and compunction, the sobs of one who would fain help to overthrow some great wrong, heal some immense grief and injustice, and who cannot. Without her being aware of it, the door of the room had been opened by someone who had knocked twice and received no answer. It was Signor Giuseppe, who came in and first made her aware of his presence by laying his hand upon her shoulder. ‘Why are you weeping?’ he asked in a husky voice. ‘I could not wait any longer. Why do you weep? Has she been complaining? Has she told you her griefs?’ ‘No,’ said Minna sadly. ‘I wish she had; it would have been better. I should have felt happier if she were crying all day, than that she should have become what she is. You will see; you must know what I mean.’ ‘I know what you think,’ he said slowly. ‘And don’t you think the same?’ ‘I don’t know. We shall see, as you say. She practically promised me to come here.’ ‘Promised you? When?’ ‘I saw her alone for a few minutes,’ he said with a smile. ‘It was before lunch--before she made that brilliant dissertation to you on the subject of women and their spheres. I diritti della donna,’ he added with a little laugh. ‘It sounded very well. She is a brave girl, that Fulvia! She will come here and be near us.’ But Minna, looking at the marble likeness of Fulvia Dietrich, shook her head, and her heart misgave her. END OF VOL. II. BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES Changes made to text: