On the Via di Bocca di Leona we found the home of the Brownings; close by, the house that sheltered Thackeray in Rome; and not far away, the place where Adelaide Sartoris lived. In rapid succession, then, we made "little journeys" to the Italian homes of Louisa Alcott, Helen Hunt Jackson, George Eliot, and the house where Mrs. Jameson held Sunday soirées in a wee two-by-four room. Mr. Hutton and I did good work, for after all other sights had failed to interest, our (?) literary landmarks succeeded in saving the day.
ORVIETO:
After the rather strenuous day, the account of which closed my last letter, we settled up our affairs in Rome, heard for the last time the Pope's angel choir, sent off our luggage, purchased our tickets, with innumerable stop-overs, and, hardest of all, bade good-bye to our friends.
Just before we were leaving, Mrs. F.'s footman brought to the door of our compartment in the traveling-carriage an armful of roses and a letter. The flowers brightened all the hot dusty day, but the letter—oh, that letter will brighten all the years that may come to me, and I have tucked the precious words away in the warmest corner of my heart, to be taken out on the rainy days of life, and fondled like some of childhood's memories.
I did not see her again after she left me at the door that evening, nor had she spoken one word to indicate that she knew that I knew. She paid me the highest tribute of friendship—silence.
Among other things in the letter, she said:
"The Catholic Church has not a monopoly of 'ears that hear yet hear not, eyes that see and are blind,' for I find in you one who is built fine-grained enough not to mistake silence for stupidity, nor to consider the absence of an interrogation mark as lack of sympathy. The very evident fact that your beautiful companion knows nothing of my sorrow stamps you as a splendid friend, and I want you for such.... Your going has taken away my strongest staff. You have been bravely permitting me to lean on you, too hard I fear, these last days, but you understand, and, understanding, forget.
"I should come to you in person to bid you good-speed, but I should break down and perhaps not be able to let you go, so I am sending instead this message. I have determined to be brave, to end this deceit, to go away from Rome; to begin aright in some other place; to live the truth."
I left the eternal city with a light and happy heart, for my new heart's sister (new if we count by that false estimate—time) is free. I still do not know what her given name is, as all her notes have been signed with her initials, and her surname does not resemble mine in the least.