Slowly and wearily the night wore on. Sometimes she stole to the window, and looked out on the sleeping city, on the peaceful Arno which was bathed in silvery moonlight, and on the old, irregular houses, thinking what struggles and agonies this place had witnessed in past times, and realizing what an infinitesimal bit of the world's sufferings she was called to bear. Sometimes she lighted a candle and read, sometimes prayed, but for the most part just lay still, silently enduring, learning, though she did not think it, the true meaning of pain. Somewhat later than usual she joined her father the next morning in the coffee room. “Brian tells me he is off today,” was Raeburn's greeting. “It seems that he must see that patient at Genoa again, and he wants to get a clear fortnight in Switzerland.” “Is it nor rather early for Switzerland?” “I should have thought so, but he knows more about it than I do. He has written to try to persuade your friend, Mr. Farrant, to join him in the Whitsuntide recess.” “Oh, I am glad of that,” said Erica, greatly relieved. Directly after breakfast she went out with her father, going first of all to French's bank, where Raeburn had to change a circular note. “It is upstairs,” he said as they reached the house. “Don't you trouble to come up; you'll have stairs enough presently at the Uffizzi.” “Very well,” she replied, “I will wait for you here.” She stood in the doorway looking out thoughtfully at the busy Tornabuoni and its gay shops; but in a minute a step she knew sounded on the staircase, and the color rushed to her cheeks. “I have just said goodbye to your father,” said Brian. “I am leaving Florence this morning. You must forgive me for having written last night. I ought not to have done it, and I understood your silence.” He spoke calmly, in the repressed voice of a man who holds “passion in a leash.” Erica was thankful to have the last sight of him thus calm and strong and self-restrained. It was a nobler side of love than that which had inspired his letter nobler because freer from thought of self. “I am so glad you will have Donovan,” she said. “Goodbye.” He took her hand in his, pressed it, and turned away without a word. CHAPTER XXXIII. “Right Onward” Therefore my Hope arose From out her swound and gazed upon Thy face. And, meeting there that soft subduing look Which Peter's spirit shook Sunk downward in a rapture to embrace Thy pierced hands and feet with kisses close, And prayed Thee to assist her evermore To “reach the things before.” E. B. Browning “I'm really thankful it is the last time I shall have to get this abominable paper money,” said Raeburn, coming down the stairs. “Just count these twos and fives for me, dear; fifteen of each there should be.”