Let me recall something of the last few weeks, and remember, if I can, why and how I am here alone. My last written sentence was dated “Como, the 29th October,” and then comes a blank--now to fill it up.
Sir Gordon Howard was standing near the lake as I came up with him, nor was he aware of my approach till I had my hand on his arm. Whether that I had disturbed him in a moment of deep thought, or that something in my own sad and sickly face impressed him, I know not, but he did not speak, and merely drawing my arm within his own, we wandered along the waters edge. We sauntered slowly on till we came to a little moss-house, with stone benches, where, still in silence, we sat down. It belonged to the Villa d’Esté, and was one of those many little ornamental buildings that were erected by that most unhappy Princess, whose broken heart would seem inscribed on every tree and rock around.
To me the aspect of the spot, lovely as it is, has ever been associated with deep gloom. I never could tread the walks, nor sit to gaze upon the lake from chosen points of view, without my memory full of her who, in her exile, pined and suffered there. I know nothing of her history, save what all others know; I am neither defender nor apologist--too humble and too weak for either. I would but utter one cry for mercy on a memory that still is dearly cherished by the poor who dwelt around her, and by whom she is yet beloved.
Whatever were Sir Gordon’s thoughts, it was clear the few efforts he made to converse were not in accordance with them. The rumours of disturbance in Switzerland--the increasing watchfulness on the Lombard frontier--the growing feeling of uncertainty where and how far this new discord might extend--these he spoke of, but rather as it seemed to mask other themes, than because they were uppermost in his mind.
“We must think of leaving this,” said he, after a brief pause. “‘Where to?’ is the question. How would Genoa agree with _you?_”
“With _me!_ Let there be no question of _me_.”
“Nay, but there must,” said he, eagerly. “Remember, first of all, that we are now independent of Climate, at least of all that this side of the Alps possesses; and, secondly, bethink you that _you_ are the pilot that weathered the storm for us.”