had a dream. In those eyes that had never seen the day, in that half-
shaped brain was a sensation of light! Light--that it never had seen.
Light--that perhaps it never should see. Light--that existed somewhere!

And already it had its reward: the Ideal was real to it.

London.



VII. IN A RUINED CHAPEL.

"I cannot forgive--I love."

There are four bare walls; there is a Christ upon the walls, in red,
carrying his cross; there is a Blessed Bambino with the face rubbed out;
there is Madonna in blue and red; there are Roman soldiers and a Christ
with tied hands. All the roof is gone; overhead is the blue, blue Italian
sky; the rain has beaten holes in the walls, and the plaster is peeling
from it. The chapel stands here alone upon the promontory, and by day and
by night the sea breaks at its feet. Some say that it was set here by the
monks from the island down below, that they might bring their sick here in
times of deadly plague. Some say that it was set here that the passing
monks and friars, as they hurried by upon the roadway, might stop and say
their prayers here. Now no one stops to pray here, and the sick come no
more to be healed.

Behind it runs the old Roman road. If you climb it and come and sit there
alone on a hot sunny day you may almost hear at last the clink of the Roman
soldiers upon the pavement, and the sound of that older time, as you sit