Two days later Natalina, coming into Roma's bedroom, threw open the
shutters and said:
"Letter with a foreign postmark, Excellency--'Sister Angelica, care of
the Porter.' It was delivered at the Convent, and the porter sent it
over here."
"Give it to me," said Roma eagerly. "It's quite right. I know whom it is
for, and if any more letters come for the same person bring them to me
immediately."
Almost before the maid had left the room Roma had torn the letter open.
It was dated from a street in Soho.
"MY DEAR WIFE,--As you see, I have reached London, and now I am
thinking of you always, wondering what sufferings are being
inflicted upon you for my sake and how you meet and bear them. To
think of you there, in the midst of our enemies, is a spur and an
inspiration. Only wait! If my absence is cruel to you it is still
more hard to me. I will see your lovely eyes again before long,
and there will be an end of all our sadness. Meantime continue to
love me, and that will work miracles. It will make all the slings
and slurs of life seem to be a long way off and of no account.
Only those who love can know this law of the human heart, but how
true it is and how beautiful!
"We reached London in the early morning, when the grey old city
was beginning to stir after its sleepless rest. I had telegraphed
the time of my arrival to the committee of our association, and
early as it was some hundreds of our people were at Charing Cross
to meet me. They must have been surprised to see a man step out of
the train in the disguise of driver of a wine-cart on the
Campagna, but perhaps that helped them to understand the position
better, and they formed into procession and marched to Trafalgar
Square as if they had forgotten they were in a foreign country.
"To me it was a strange and moving spectacle. The mist like a
shroud over the great city, some stars of leaden hue paling out
overhead, the day dawning over the vast square, the wide silence
with the far-off hum of awakening life, the English workmen
stopping to look at us as they went by to their work, and our
company of dark-bearded men, emigrants and exiles, sending their
hearts out in sympathy to their brothers in the south. As I spoke
from the base of the Gordon statue and turned towards St. Martin's
Church, I could fancy I saw your white-haired father on the steps
with his little daughter in his arms.
"I will write again in a day or two, telling you what we are
doing. Meantime I enclose a Proclamation to the People, which I
wish you to get printed and posted up. Take it to old Albert
Pelegrino in the Stamperia by the Trevi. Tell him to mention the
cost and the money shall follow. Call at the Piazza Navona and see
what is happening to Elena. Poor girl! Poor Bruno! And my poor
dear little darling!
"Take care of yourself, my dear one. I am always thinking of you.
It is a fearful thing to have taken up the burden of one who is
branded as an outcast and an outlaw. I cannot help but reproach
myself. There was a time when I saw my duty to you in another way,
but love came like a hurricane out of the skies and swept all
sense of duty away. My wife! my Roma! You have hazarded everything
for me, and some day I will give up everything for you. D. R."