CHAPTER XIII.

ROME.

As we rode up to the ruinous stretch of the battered wall, and saw

before us the gate, lying open against the mottled green and grey

high-ground of the Aventine, that old hill, covered with straggling

and unkempt vineyards, and studded with the walls of monasteries, I

was moved more than I can tell, for I was about to realise a dream of

my life, and put foot once again in the place of my birth, a spot not

only bound to me by that tie, but sacred with the hundred legends of

my forefathers' history, men who had for centuries played so great a