What was it he saw?
Asteel engraving, dim and gray, like the house, like the walls on which it hung; framed in dingy gold, spotted and streaked. Within, as in a dull mirror, appeared towers and temples, columned porticos and triumphal arches: the whole seemed to be steeped in pale sunshine; in the background rose a monstrous shape which Romulus' practised eye, familiar with the illustrations in the General History, recognized as the Coliseum. "That's Rome!" said Narcissa, softly. "Ain't it elegant?"
The young man glanced at her, with a light of sympathetic amusement in his eyes. This was her little joke; he had hardly thought she would make jokes, she was so quiet. But the smile faded into a look of bewilderment, which quickly strove to efface itself; for Narcissa was not in jest. She was gazing at the picture with a rapt look, with almost passionate enjoyment. She had forgotten him for the moment, and had entered the city of her dreams as she so often entered it, robed in velvet and satin (it was the tansy-colored velvet this time, and the buttons were very splendid indeed, and she had a bunch of roses in her hand), riding in a chariot. She was passing under those wonderful arches; that soft, mysterious sunshine wrapped her in a cloud of glory. Presently she would meet other beings, splendidly dressed like herself, who would greet her with smiles, and tell her of other strange and beautiful things that she was going to see. Ah, to be in Rome! to be really going there!
"Ain't it handsome?" she repeated, turning her soft eyes on her companion. "You're real fortunate to be going there."
Romulus Patten stammered. "You—you're sure that is Rome?" he said. "This same Rome, down east here? It don't hardly seem just like a down-east place, does it?"
The soft eyes grew wide, and the lips smiled a little. "Why, it says so!" said Narcissa. "See here, right under the picture, 'Rome.' So it couldn't be any place else, could it?"
"I—I suppose not," murmured Romulus, hanging his head, like one found in an unpardonable ignorance.
"I hope to go there some day," the girl went on. "It's never been so I could, yet; and folks don't go much from about here. Ain't it queer? They'll go the other way, to Tupham, and Cyrus, and other places that's just like—like to home here,—" and she gave a little disparaging glance along the bleak road, with its straggling willows and birches,—"and there's scarcely anybody goes to Rome. And it like that!" she added, with another look of loving reverence at the old picture.
"You said something about your uncle going," suggested Romulus. "Hasn't he ever told you about the place,—whether it's like the picture?"
Narcissa shook her head. "I asked him last time he come back," she said. "I've asked him two or three times; but all he does is nod his head and laugh, the way he has. He ain't one to talk, Uncle Pinker ain't. He goes to Rome once every fall, when he kills the turkeys. The biggest part of 'em goes the other way, to Tupham and on beyond, but he allers takes some portion to Rome. He says they're great on turkeys there. I should think they would be, shouldn't you?"