"Howard ought not to have spent the winter here in the cold winds of Florence," Mrs. Douglas often had said to her brother. "But what could we do?"
They were thinking of hastening their departure for Rome on his account, when one morning his servant came to the house in great alarm, to beg Mrs. Douglas to go to his young master at once.
"He is very ill," he said, "and asks for you continually."
When Mrs. Douglas and her brother reached Howard's hotel, they found that already one of the most skilful physicians of the city was there, and that he wished to send for trained nurses.
"I fear pneumonia," he said, "and the poor young man is indeed illy prepared to endure such a disease."
"Spare no pains, no expense," urged Mr. Sumner; "let the utmost possible be done."
"I will stay with you," said Mrs. Douglas, as the hot hand eagerly clasped hers. "I will not leave you, my poor boy, while you are ill." And, sending for all she needed, she prepared to watch over him as if he were her own son.
But all endeavors to check the progress of the disease were futile. The enfeebled lungs could offer no resistance. One day, after having lain as if asleep for some time, Howard opened his eyes, to find Mrs. Douglas beside him. With a faint smile he whispered:—
"I have been thinking so much. I am glad now that Barbara does not love me, for it would only give her pain—sometime tell her of my love for her—"
Then by and by, with the tenderest look in his large eyes, he added, "May she come, to let me see her once more?—You will surely trust me now!"