"Ah, Signor Castenelli, it is too much for one day; 'tis no wonder the
Italian is a poet. You dwell in a maze of beauty in nature and art.
Dame nature with you wears such a rich warm dress; 'tis little wonder
your canvas, aye, and your own faces show such sun-warm tints."
"You should dwell with us, Signora; you feel the poetry of our land."
On parting from the Italian he tendered to Vaura for herself and Lady Esmondet his box at the theatre, as being more favourably situated than the only one Captain Trevalyon had been able to procure, and at Vaura's invitation he dined at the villa Iberia, escorting them afterwards to hear the wonderful voice of Patti.
On the morning of the 28th a telegram arrived from Lionel which read as follows:
"To Lady Esmondet.
"Villa Iberia, Rome, Italy.
"Sir Vincent Trevalyon died at 11 p.m. the 27th inst. Shall write to-day.
"LIONEL TREVALYON, "The Langham, London, England. "28th December, 1877."
"Poor Sir Vincent gone. And so generations pass. When death bowls out one man another takes the bat; so now Captain is Sir Lionel Trevalyon," said Lady Esmondet, as she read the telegram.
"Yes. None shall triumph for a whole life long, for death is one and the Fates are three," said Vaura.
On the 30th came from Lionel two letters, extracts from which we shall give.