On the following day, again early in the morning, Mrs Trevelyan and Stanbury were driven out to Casalunga. The country people along the road knew the carriage well, and the lady who occupied it, and would say that the English wife was going to see her mad husband. Mrs Trevelyan knew that these words were common in the people’s mouths, and explained to her companion how necessary it would be to use these rumours, to aid her in putting some restraint over her husband even in this country, should they fail in their effort to take him to England. She saw the doctor in Siena constantly, and had learned from him how such steps might be taken. The measure proposed would be slow, difficult, inefficient, and very hard to set aside, if once taken, but still it might be indispensable that something should be done. ‘He would be so much worse off here than he would be at home,’ she said, ‘if we could only make him understand that it would be so.’ Then Stanbury asked about the wine. It seemed that of late Trevelyan had taken to drink freely, but only of the wine of the country. But the wine of the country in these parts is sufficiently stimulating, and Mrs Trevelyan acknowledged that hence had arisen a further cause of fear.

They walked up the hill together, and Mrs Trevelyan, now well knowing the ways of the place, went round at once to the front terrace. There he was, seated in his arm-chair, dressed in the same way as yesterday, dirty, dishevelled, and gaudy with various colours; but Stanbury could see at once that his mood had greatly changed. He rose slowly, dragging himself up out of his chair, as they came up to him, but shewing as he did so, and perhaps somewhat assuming, the impotency of querulous sickness. His wife went to him, and took him by the hand, and placed him back in his chair. He was weak, he said, and had not slept, and suffered from the heat; and then he begged her to give him wine. This she did, half filling for him a tumbler, of which he swallowed the contents greedily. ‘You see me very poorly, Stanbury, very poorly,’ he said, seeming to ignore all that had taken place on the previous day.

‘You want change of climate, old fellow,’ said Stanbury.

‘Change of everything; I want change of everything,’ he said. ‘If I could have a new body and a new mind, and a new soul!’

‘The mind and soul, dear, will do well enough, if you will let us look after the body,’ said his wife, seating herself on a stool near his feet. Stanbury, who had settled beforehand how he would conduct himself, took out a cigar and lighted it and then they sat together silent, or nearly silent, for half an hour. She had said that if Hugh would do so, Trevelyan would soon become used to the presence of his old friend, and it seemed that he had already done so. More than once, when he coughed, his wife fetched him some drink in a cup, which he took from her without a word. And Stanbury the while went on smoking in silence.

‘You have heard, Louis,’ she said at last, ‘that, after all, Nora and Mr Stanbury are going to be married?’

‘Ah yes; I think I was told of it. I hope you may be happy, Stanbury, happier than I have been.’ This was unfortunate, but neither of the visitors winced, or said a word.

‘It will be a pity that papa and mamma cannot be present at the wedding,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

‘If I had to do it again, I should not regret your father’s absence; I must say that. He has been my enemy. Yes, Stanbury, my enemy. I don’t care who hears me say so. I am obliged to stay here, because that man would swear every shilling I have away from me if I were in England. He would strive to do so, and the struggle in my state of health would be too much for me.’

‘But Sir Marmaduke sails from Southampton this very week,’ said Stanbury.

‘I don’t know. He is always sailing, and always coming back again. I never asked him for a shilling in my life, and yet he has treated me as though I were his bitterest enemy.’

‘He will trouble you no more now, Louis,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

‘He cannot trouble you again. He will have left England before you can possibly reach it.’

‘He will have left other traitors behind him, though none as bad as himself,’ said Trevelyan.

Stanbury, when his cigar was finished, rose and left the husband and wife together on the terrace. There was little enough to be seen at Casalunga, but he strolled about looking at the place. He went into the huge granary, and then down among the olive trees, and up into the sheds which had been built for beasts. He stood and teased the lizards, and listened to the hum of the insects, and wiping away the perspiration which rose to his brow even as he was standing. And all the while he was thinking what he would do next, or what say next, with the view of getting Trevelyan away from the place. Hitherto he had been very tender with him, contradicting him in nothing, taking from him good humouredly any absurd insult which he chose to offer, pressing upon him none of the evil which he had himself occasioned, saying to him no word that could hurt either his pride or his comfort. But he could not see that this would be efficacious for the purpose desired. He had come thither to help Nora’s sister in her terrible distress, and he must take upon himself to make some plan for giving this aid. When he had thought of all this and made his plan, he sauntered back round the house on to the terrace. She was still there, sitting at her husband’s feet, and holding one of his hands in hers. It was well that the wife should be tender, but he doubted whether tenderness would suffice.

‘Trevelyan,’ he said, ‘you know why I have come over here?’

‘I suppose she told you to come,’ said Trevelyan.

‘Well; yes; she did tell me. I came to try and get you back to England. If you remain here, the climate and solitude together will kill you.’

‘As for the climate, I like it, and as for the solitude, I have got used even to that.’

‘And then there is another thing,’ said Stanbury.

‘What is that?’ asked Trevelyan, starting.

‘You are not safe here.’

‘How not safe?’

‘She could not tell you, but I must.’ His wife was still holding his hand, and he did not at once attempt to withdraw it; but he raised himself in his chair, and fixed his eyes fiercely on Stanbury. ‘They will not let you remain here quietly,’ said Stanbury.

‘Who will not?’

‘The Italians. They are already saying that you are not fit to be alone; and if once they get you into their hands under some Italian medical board, perhaps into some Italian asylum, it might be years before you could get out, if ever. I have come to tell you what the danger is. I do not know whether you will believe me.’

‘Is it so?’ he said, turning to his wife.

‘I believe it is, Louis.’

‘And who has told them? Who has been putting them up to it?’ Now his hand had been withdrawn. ‘My God, am I to be followed here too with such persecution as this?’

‘Nobody has told them, but people have eyes.’

‘Liar, traitor, fiend! it is you!’ he said, turning upon his wife.

‘Louis, as I hope for mercy, I have said not a word to any one that could injure you.’

‘Trevelyan, do not be so unjust, and so foolish,’ said Stanbury. ‘It is not her doing. Do you suppose that you can live here like this and give rise to no remarks? Do you think that people’s eyes are not open, and that their tongues will not speak? I tell you, you are in danger here.’

‘What am I to do? Where am I to go? Can not they let me stay till I die? Whom am I hurting here? She may have all my money, if she wants it. She has got my child.’

‘I want nothing, Louis, but to take you where you may be safe and well.’

‘Why are you afraid of going to England?’ Stanbury asked.

‘Because they have threatened to put me in a mad-house.’

‘Nobody ever thought of so treating you,’ said his wife.

‘Your father did and your mother. They told me so.’

‘Look here, Trevelyan. Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley are gone. They will have sailed, at least, before we can reach England. Whatever may have been either their wishes or their power, they can do nothing now. Here something would be done very soon; you may take my word for that. If you will return with me and your wife, you shall choose your own place of abode. Is not that so, Emily?’

‘He shall choose everything. His boy will be with him, and I will be with him, and he shall be contradicted in nothing. If he only knew my heart towards him!’

‘You hear what she says, Trevelyan?’

‘Yes; I hear her.’

‘And you believe her?’

‘I’m not so sure of that, Stanbury; how should you like to be locked up in a madhouse and grin through the bars till your heart was broken. It would not take long with me, I know.’

‘You shall never be locked up, never be touched,’ said his wife.

‘I am very harmless here,’ he said, almost crying; ‘very harmless. I do not think anybody here will touch me,’ he added afterwards. ‘And there are other places. There are other places. My God, that I should be driven about the world like this!’ The conference was ended by his saying that he would take two days to think of it, and by his then desiring that they would both leave him. They did so, and descended the hill together, knowing that he was watching them, that he would watch them till they were out of sight from the gate for, as Mrs Trevelyan said, he never came down the hill now, knowing that the labour of ascending it was too much for him. When they were at the carriage they were met by one of the women of the house, and strict injunctions were given to her by Mrs Trevelyan to send on word to Siena if the Signore should prepare to move. ‘He cannot go far without my knowing it,’ said she, ‘because he draws his money in Siena, and lately I have taken to him what he wants. He has not enough with him for a long journey.’ For Stanbury had suggested that he might be off to seek another residence in another country, and that they would find Casalunga vacant when they reached it on the following Tuesday. But he told himself almost immediately, not caring to express such an opinion to Emily, that Trevelyan would hardly have strength even to prepare for such a journey by himself.

On the intervening day, the Monday, Stanbury had no occupation whatever, and he thought that since he was born no day had ever been so long. Siena contains many monuments of interest, and much that is valuable in art, having had a school of painting of its own, and still retaining in its public gallery specimens of its school, of which as a city it is justly proud. There are palaces there to be beaten for gloomy majesty by none in Italy. There is a cathedral which was to have been the largest in the world, and than which few are more worthy of prolonged inspection. The town is old, and quaint, and picturesque, and dirty, and attractive, as it becomes a town in Italy to be. But in July all such charms are thrown away. In July Italy is not a land of charms to an Englishman. Poor Stanbury did wander into the cathedral, and finding it the coolest place in the town, went to sleep on a stone step. He was awoke by the voice of the priests as they began to chant the vespers. The good-natured Italians had let him sleep, and would have let him sleep till the doors were closed for the night. At five he dined with Mrs Trevelyan, and then endeavoured to while away the evening thinking of Nor............