“But where does he get such strange ideas?” asked the sobbing Clara.
“Where do our dreams come from?” said Assunta. “I think, however, that this fancy can be traced to the night when we visited the Colosseum, and sat for a long time on the steps of the cross in the centre. You know it is a black one,” she added, smiling, to reassure her friend. “And now, Clara, I really think you ought to order the close carriage, and take a drive this morning. It would do you good, and you will not be needed at all for the next two or three hours.”
Mrs. Grey's face brightened perceptibly. It was the very thing for which she was longing, but she would not propose it herself for fear it would seem heartless. To seem, and not to be, was her motto.
“But would not people think it very strange,” she asked, “and Severn so sick?”
“I do not believe that people will know or think anything about it,” answered Assunta patiently. “You can take Amalie with you for company, and drive out on the Campagna.” And having lightened one [pg 066] load, she turned towards her guardian's room.
“Are you not coming to breakfast?” said Mrs. Grey.
“Presently.” And Assunta hastened to the bedside. Giovanni had been entirely unable to control the panic which seemed to have taken possession of Mr. Carlisle. He continued his cries for assistance, and the suffering he evidently endured showed how real the fancy was to him.
“Dear friend,” said the young girl, pushing back the hair from his burning forehead, “look at me. Do you not see that I am safe?”
Mr. Carlisle turned towards her, and, in sudden revulsion of feeling, burst into a wild laugh.
“I knew,” he said, “that, if they would only come and help me, I should succeed. But it was very heavy; it has made me very tired.”