"Well, then," said she, "stay you here and pursue your education. I will go in your place. For Marcella Cuciniera must be relieved." She rose, and moved towards the darkling front of the Castle.
"Hang education! I'll go with you," said John, following.
"I shall only stop a moment, to see how she is," said Maria Dolores. "Then I must hurry home, to get my packing begun."
"Your packing?" faltered John.
"To-morrow morning Frau Brandt and I are leaving for Austria—for Schloss Mischenau, where my brother lives."
"Good Lord!" said John. "Ah, well, I suppose it is what they would call the proper course," he admitted with gloomy resignation. "But think how dreadfully you'll be missed—by Annunziata."
"Annunziata is so much better, I can easily be spared," said Maria Dolores; "and anyhow—'tis needs must. I think you will probably soon receive a letter from my brother, asking you to visit him. Mischenau is a place worth seeing, in its northern style. And, in his northern style, my brother is a man worth meeting. I counsel you to go."
"I shall certainly go," said John. "I shall linger here at Sant' Alessina like a soul in durance, counting the hours till my release. I shall be particularly glad to meet your brother, as I have matters of importance to arrange with him."
"Until then," said she, smiling, "I think we must do with those—matters of importance"—her voice quavered on the word—"what is it that the Pope sometimes does with Cardinals?"
"Yes," moodily consented John, "I suppose we must. But oh me, what a dreary, blank, stale, and unprofitable desolation this garden will become,—and at every turn the ghost of some past joy!"