“Yes, for your sake, True,” she said softly. He touched her forehead reverently. “You are more noble than I, dear, for I cannot say as much as that,” he gravely returned. There were a few more days of perfect peace and content in Paris, and then Dr. Winthrop and his wife set out for Rome. They did not linger on their way, but arrived in Rome near the close of a pleasant afternoon during the latter part of December. They drove directly to the Hotel Quirinal in the Via Nazionale, where they found pleasant rooms and excellent service. After they had had their dinner, Dr. Winthrop repaired to the smoking-room to enjoy his cigar, hoping that he might find some one whom he knew. He had not been seated ten minutes when he was slapped upon the shoulder, and looking up, he saw his friend Tillinghast beside him. It was a joyful meeting. “I never dreamed of seeing you here to-night, old fellow!” the young man exclaimed. “When did you arrive?” “Not quite two hours ago,” Dr. Winthrop replied. “Then you have not seen your family. I called there a few nights ago and found them all well excepting your brother; he looks like a ghost, though he says he is all right,” Mr. Tillinghast remarked, wondering why his friend was stopping at a hotel instead of going to his family. “I suppose you will be going around there soon,” he said, in conclusion. “No, not to-night,” briefly returned the young physician. “Oh! then you intend to remain here over night?” “Yes, and possibly for some time.” “I tell you what, Winthrop,” his friend cried, all aglow with hospitality, and seeing that there was some mysterious reason why he did not join his family. “We—my father and the rest of us—have taken a villa not far from here—there are acres of room in it, and you must come home with me; my people are just dying to show you how grateful they are for saving me from that terrible plague. I will not take no for an answer—you shall not stop a single night in a beastly hotel,” he continued resolutely. “Beastly,” repeated Dr. Winthrop, smiling at his friend’s extravagant expression. “We have secured good rooms, the service is above that of the average foreign hotel, and we are very comfortable.” “Well, but all hotels are beastly compared with a well-ordered American home. But,” regarding his companion searchingly, “you used the plural; who are we?” “My wife and I.” “Your wife! Good gracious, man! it is an open secret among the American population here that you are going to marry Miss Rochester, and that the wedding is set for no distant date,” exclaimed Tillinghast, in undisguised astonishment. “That is a mistake,” Dr. Winthrop calmly replied, as he coolly dislodged the ashes from his cigar. “I am not going to marry Miss Rochester—possibly my brother may be the happy bridegroom if everything goes well. As for myself, I am already married, as I told you, and my wife is with me.”