Chapter XVII.
Robert Sumner is Imprudent.
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well—
When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us,
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.
—Shakespeare.
CAMPO SANTO, BOLOGNA.
Early one morning very soon after the return to Rome, Bettina, with a troubled face, knocked at Mrs. Douglas's door.
"Barbara is ill," said she. "I knew in the night that she was very restless, but not until just now did I see that she is really ill."