But Isabel's mood was too serious, too majestic for me to
broach these definite subjects now. I looked into her eyes. It seemed to
me that my thoughts were silently communicated to her. She pressed my
hand gently. And so after some days of packing, in which I helped her
constantly, she sailed away and left me in Rome.
I tried to work but the time would not pass. All my drawings and
etchings were failures. What after all was art to me except a diversion?
Too late! The only art that I ever could achieve was that of giving
happiness to Isabel and being worthy of her devotion. Her letters came
frequently, always so full of wise observations, striking fancies and
imagery; so many with thanks for what I had been to her. She wrote me
that Uncle Tom's will, as he had dictated it, had been probated and
acquiesced in by every one.
Six months went by. I had gone with Reverdy to Lake Maggiore to escape
the heat in Rome. While I was there a letter came from Isabel asking me
to come to her. In three weeks I was by her side, having first placed
Reverdy in Phillips Exeter. We were together in the great homestead
which had belonged to Uncle Tom's father, there in Connecticut. It was
full of the treasures of old times. Priceless things gathered on
Isabel's travels--a great house set in a wonderful expanse of grounds
about a mile from a pretty village.
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