How indignant would the fair sentimentalist have been at a whisper of her caring for the thing before it was too late! Cornelia now daily trod the red pathways under the firs, and really imagined herself to be surprised, even vexed, when she met Mr.Barrett there at last.

Emilia was by his side, near a drooping birch.

She beckoned to Cornelia, whose North Pole armour was doing its best to keep down a thumping heart.
"We are taking our last walk in the old wood," said, Mr.Barrett, admirably collected.

"That is, I must speak for myself." "You leave early ?" Cornelia felt her throat rattle hideously.
"In two days, I expect--I hope," said he.
"Why does he hope ?" thought Cornelia, wounded, until a vision of the detaining Chips struck her with pity and remorse.
She turned to Emilia.

"Our dear child is also going to leave us." "I ?" cried Emilia, fierily out of languor.
"Does not your Italy claim you ?" "I am nothing to Italy any more.