And perhaps in all our life there must be
oppression and particular injustice in order to produce the finest
blossom."
Uncle Tom seemed to be falling into more frequent indisposition. He
often lay in bed for the greater part of the morning. There were days
when he did not leave his room. Again he would go forth to Canape's; and
while he was rarely in anything like a stagger, he was often saturated
with wine, heavy and sleepy from its influence. Isabel through it all
treated him with unfailing kindness; and some of our excursions were
interrupted because of Uncle Tom's taking to bed after returning from
Canape's; or because he could not arise before noon after an evening
with his friends. She would not desert his side. Was there something in
my presence with his life with Isabel, our friendship for each other,
that woke nerves to suffering which only drink could dull?
The day of the service in St. Peter's we all set forth in one carriage,
Reverdy riding on the box, and Isabel, Uncle Tom, and I in the seat. I
noticed that Uncle Tom was more than usually self-absorbed. Isabel
patted his hand or held it, and talked to him of the objects of interest
along the way.
The service was about to begin when we entered. We walked as far as the
bronze plate which marks the comparative length of the Cathedral of
Milan, and I was looking toward the bronze pavilion with its twisted
columns which tents the tomb of St.
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