“I am not quite sure now,” he said, as they were dining, “whether a trip to Australia or America would not do us both more good than lingering about these mild, warm places. I think our constitutions both require bracing rather than coddling. Australia is a grand young country! I have often contemplated paying her a visit. What would you say to it, Hally?” “I should enjoy it as much as yourself, Tony! You so often have a headache now! I think the drainage of these southern towns must be defective!” “Oh! shocking! They are famous for typhoid and malarial fevers. They are not drained at all!” “Don’t let us stay here long then! What should I do if you were to fall ill?” “You are far more liable to fall sick of the two, my darling,” returned her husband, “I do not think your beautiful little body has much strength to sustain it. And then what should _I_ do?” “Ah! neither of us could do without the other, Tony!” “Of course we couldn’t, and so we will provide against such a contingency by moving on before our systems get saturated with miasma and mistral. Will you sing to me to-night, Hally?” “Not unless you very much wish it! I am a little tired. I feel as if I couldn’t throw any expression into my songs to-night!” “Then come here and sit down on the sofa beside me, and let us talk!” She did as he desired, but Pennell was too sleepy to talk. In five minutes he had fallen fast asleep, and it was with difficulty she could persuade him to abandon the couch and drag his weary limbs up to bed, where he threw himself down in a profound slumber. Harriet was also tired. Her husband was breathing heavily as she slipped into her place beside him. His arm was thrown out over her pillow, as though he feared she might go to sleep without remembering to wish him good-night! She bent over him and kissed him passionately on the lips. “Good-night, my beloved,” she whispered, “sleep well, and wake in happiness!” She kissed the big hand too that lay upon her pillow and composed herself to sleep while it still encircled her. The dawn is early in Florence, but it had broken for some time before she roused herself again. The sun was streaming brightly into the long, narrow, uncurtained windows, and everything it lighted on was touched with a molten glory. Harriet started up in bed. Her husband’s arm was still beneath her body. “Oh! my poor darling!” she exclaimed, as though the fault were her own, “how cramped he must be! How soundly we must have slept not to have once moved through the night!” She raised Tony’s arm and commenced to chafe it. How strangely heavy and cold it felt. Why! he was cold all over! She drew up the bedclothes and tucked them in around his chin. Then, for the first time, she looked at his face. His eyes were open. “Tony, Tony!” she exclaimed, “are you making fun of me? Have you been awake all the time?” She bent over his face laughingly, and pressed a kiss upon his cheek.