So he gave it up, but walked on mile after mile, until the night
shades were beginning to fall, and be realized how late it was, and that
his aunt must be getting anxious about him. Hailing a carriage, he was
driven back to his hotel, and found, as he expected, his aunt alarmed at
his protracted absence, and still more alarmed at the whiteness of his
face and the strange look in his eyes. He had never told her a word of
Bessie, or the fever, and he would not do so now. So he merely said he
had walked too far and was tired. He should be all right in the morning,
and he asked permission to retire early to his room where he could be
alone with his sorrow.
They left Florence the next day, for Miss Grey, who had made a long stop
there early in the winter, when on her way to Rome, was anxious to leave
Italy as soon as possible, fancying that the climate did not agree with
Grey, who had not seemed himself since he came from Egypt and joined her
in Rome. Arrived in Venice, Grey's first act was to inquire for letters,
but there was nothing from Rome, nothing from Flossie, who had promised
him to write.
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