" "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. I cannot work, I cannot teach. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. ‘I know just what he was doing. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. “Don’t!” she begged. .
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