And my dog, the noble black Scotch colly, what had become of him, I wondered?
He had been presented to me by a young Highlander who had passed one winter with me in Rome, and who, on returning to his native mountains, had sent me the dog, a perfect specimen of its kind, as a souvenir of our friendly intercourse.

Poor Wyvis! I thought.

Had they made away with him?
Formerly he had always been visible about the house or garden; his favorite place was on the lowest veranda step, where he loved to bask in the heat of the sun.

And now he was nowhere visible.

I was mutely indignant at his disappearance, but I kept strict watch over my feelings, and remembered in time the part I had to play.
"Welcome to Villa Romani!" so said my wife.