Their state-rooms were taken, their trunks packed, their preparations finished, they were just leaving Florence, when letters came, which, had they reached her a week earlier, would probably have induced them to remain in Italy.  But Margaret had already by letter appointed a rendezvous for the scattered members of her family in July; and she would not break her engagements with the commander of the barque.  It was destined that they were to sail,—­to sail in the Elizabeth, to sail then.  And, even in the hour of parting, clouds, whose tops were golden in the sunshine, whose base was gloomy on the waters, beckoned them onward.  “Beware of the sea,” had been a singular prophecy, given to Ossoli when a boy, by a fortune-teller, and this was the first ship he had ever set his foot on.  More than ordinary apprehensions of risk, too, hovered before Margaret.  “I am absurdly fearful,” she writes, “and various omens have combined to give me a dark feeling.  I am become indeed a miserable coward, for the sake of Angelino.  I fear heat and cold, fear the voyage, fear biting poverty.  I hope I shall not be forced to be as brave for him, as I have been for myself, and that, if I succeed to rear him, he will be neither a weak nor a bad man.  But I love him too much!  In case of mishap, however, I shall perish with my husband and my child, and we may be transferred to some happier state.”  And again:  “I feel perfectly willing to stay my threescore years and ten, if it be thought I need so much tuition from this planet; but it seems to me that my future upon earth will soon close.  It may be terribly trying, but it will not be so very long, now.  God will transplant the root, if he wills to rear it into fruit-bearing.”  And, finally:  “I have a vague expectation of some crisis,—­I know not what.  But it has long seemed, that, in the year 1850, I should stand on a plateau in the ascent of life, where I should be allowed to pause for a while, and take more clear and commanding views than ever before.  Yet my life proceeds as regularly as the fates of a Greek tragedy, and I can but accept the pages as they turn.” * *

* * * * *

These were her parting words:—­

“Florence, May 14, 1850.—­I will believe, I shall be welcome with my treasures,—­my husband and child.  For me, I long so much to see you!  Should anything hinder our meeting upon earth, think of your daughter, as one who always wished, at least, to do her duty, and who always cherished you, according as her mind opened to discover excellence.

    “Give dear love, too, to my brothers; and first to my eldest,
    faithful friend!  Eugene; a sister’s love to Ellen; love to my kind
    and good aunts, and to my dear cousin.  E.,—­God bless them!

    “I hope we shall be able to pass some time together yet, in this
    world.  But, if God decrees otherwise,—­here and HEREAFTER,—­my
    dearest mother,