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diff --git a/40922-8.txt b/40922-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c456131..0000000 --- a/40922-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16296 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Pietro Ghisleri, by F. (Francis) Marion Crawford - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Pietro Ghisleri - -Author: F. (Francis) Marion Crawford - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40922] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIETRO GHISLERI *** - - - - -Produced by Bruce Albrecht, Cathy Maxam, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -PIETRO GHISLERI - - - - -[Illustration: Publisher's logo] - - - - - PIETRO GHISLERI - - BY - F. MARION CRAWFORD - - AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "THE THREE FATES," ETC. - - - New York - MACMILLAN & CO. - AND LONDON - - 1893 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1892, - BY MACMILLAN & CO. - - Norwood Press: - J.S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith. - Boston, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - -PIETRO GHISLERI. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -The relation of two step-sisters is unusual. When the Honourable Mrs. -Carlyon came to Rome twenty years ago, a young widow and the mother of a -little girl named Laura, she did not foresee the complications which her -second marriage was to produce. She was a good woman in her way, and if -she had guessed what it would mean to be the step-mother of Adele -Braccio she might have hesitated before marrying Camillo of that name, -commonly known as the Prince of Gerano. For the Prince had also been -married before, and his first wife had left him this one child, Adele, -who was only a year and a half older than little Laura Carlyon. No -children were born to the Gerano couple, and the two girls were brought -up together as though they were sisters. The Prince and Princess were -deeply attached to each other and to them both, so that for many years -Casa Gerano was justly looked upon as a model household. - -Mrs. Carlyon was very poor when she came to Rome. Her husband had been a -careless, good-humoured, and rather reckless younger son, and when he -broke his neck in coming down the Gross Glockner he left his widow about -as much as men of his stamp generally leave to their families; to wit, a -fearful and wonderful confusion of unpaid debts and a considerable -number of promises to pay money, signed by persons whose promises were -not of much consequence, even when clearly set down on paper. It seems -to be a peculiarity of poor and good-natured men that they will lend -whatever money they have to impecunious friends in distress rather than -use it for the paying of the just debts they owe their tailors. - -Gerano was rich. It does not by any means follow that Mrs. Carlyon -married him for his money, though she could not have married him without -it. She fell in love with him. He, on his part, having made a marriage -of interest when he took his first wife, and having led by no means a -very peaceful existence with the deceased Princess, considered that he -had earned the right to please himself, and accordingly did so. -Moreover, Mrs. Carlyon was a Catholic, which singularly facilitated -matters in the eyes of Gerano's numerous relations. Jack Carlyon had -been of the Church of England; and though anything but a practising -believer, if he believed in anything at all, he had nevertheless -absolutely insisted that his daughter should be brought up in his own -creed. On this one point he had displayed all the tenacity he possessed, -and the supply then seemed to be exhausted so far as other matters were -concerned. His wife was a very conscientious woman, altogether superior -to him in character, and she continued to respect his wishes, even after -his death. Laura, she said, should choose for herself when she was old -enough. In the meantime she should go to the English Church. The -consequence was that the little girl had an English nurse and afterwards -an English governess, while Adele was taken care of and taught by -Catholics. Under these circumstances, and as the step-sisters were not -related by blood or even by race, it is not strange that they should -have grown up to be as different as possible, while living under the -same roof and calling the same persons father and mother. - -The question of religion alone could certainly not have brought about -the events here to be chronicled, and it may be as well to say at once -that this history is not in the least concerned with matters of faith, -creed, or dogma, which are better left to those good men whose business -it is to understand them. The main and striking points of contrast were -these. Adele was barely more than pretty. Laura was all but beautiful. -Adele was a great heiress, and Laura had nothing or next to nothing to -expect at her mother's death. Adele was quick-witted, lively, given to -exaggeration in her talk, and not very scrupulous as to questions of -fact. Laura was slow to decide, but tenacious of her decisions, and, on -the whole, very truthful. - -In appearance, so far as generalities were concerned, the contrast -between the two girls was less marked. Both were of the dark type, but -Laura's complexion was paler than Adele's and her hair was blacker, as -well as thicker and more glossy. Laura's eyes were large, very deep set, -and dark. There was something strange in their look, something quite -unusual, and which might almost be called holy, if that were not too -strong a word to use in connexion with a woman of the world. Spicca, the -melancholy duellist, who was still alive at that time, used to say that -no one could possibly be as good as Laura Carlyon looked; a remark which -showed that he was acquainted with the sayings of a great English wit, -and was not above making use of them. Probably some part of the effect -produced by Laura's eyes was due to the evenly perfect whiteness of her -skin and the straight black brows which divided them from the broad low -forehead. For her hair grew low, and she wore it in a simple fashion -without that abundance of little curls which even then were considered -almost essential to woman's beauty. Her pallor, too, was quite natural, -for she had a good constitution and had rarely even had a headache. In -figure she was well proportioned, of average height and rather strongly -made, with large, firm, well-shaped hands. On the whole, a graceful -girl, but not in that way remarkable among others of her own age. In her -face, and altogether in her presence, the chief attraction lay in the -look of her eyes, which made one forget to notice the well-chiselled -nose,--a little short perhaps,--the really beautiful mouth, and the -perfect teeth. The chin, too, was broad and firm--too firm, some might -have said, for one so young. Considering all these facts together, most -people agreed that Laura was not far from being a great beauty. - -Adele was somewhat shorter than her step-sister, and more inclined to be -stout. Her black eyes were set nearer together, and her eyebrows almost -met, while her lustreless hair curled naturally in a profusion of tiny -ringlets upon her forehead. The small fine nose reminded one of a -ferret, and the white teeth looked sharp and pointed when the somewhat -thin lips parted and showed them; but she was undoubtedly pretty, and -something more than pretty. Her face had colour and animation, she -carried her small head well, and her gestures were graceful and easy. -She was fluent, too, in conversation and ready at all times with a quick -answer. Any one could see, in spite of her plump figure, that she was of -a very nervous constitution, restless, unsettled, and easily moved, -capable of considerable determination when really affected. She never -understood Laura, nor did Laura really understand her. - -In the natural course of events, social and domestic, it became -necessary to choose a husband for Adele so soon as she made her first -appearance in society. At that time Laura was not yet seventeen. Gerano -had already looked about him and had made up his mind. He was a little -dark-eyed man, grey, thin and nervous, but gifted with an unusually -agreeable manner, a pleasant tone of voice, a frank glance, and an -extremely upright character--a man much liked in the world and a good -deal respected. - -He had determined that if possible his daughter should marry Don -Francesco Savelli, a worthy young person, his father's eldest son, heir -to a good estate and a still better name, and altogether a most -desirable husband from all points of view. Gerano met with no serious -difficulty in bringing about what he wished, and in due time Don -Francesco was affianced to Donna Adele, and was privileged to visit at -the Palazzo Braccio almost as often as he pleased. He thus saw Laura -Carlyon often, and he very naturally fell in love with her. He had no -particular inclination to marry Donna Adele, but obeyed his father -blindly, as a matter of course, just as Adele obeyed Gerano. That was a -part of the old Roman system. Laura, however, did not fall in love with -Francesco. She was perhaps too young yet, or it is quite possible that -Francesco was too dull and uninteresting a personage in her eyes. But -Adele saw these things, and was very angry when she was quite sure that -her future husband would have greatly preferred to marry her -step-sister. She may be pardoned for having been jealous, for the -situation was hardly bearable. - -Francesco did not, indeed, make love to Laura. Even had he been rash -enough for that, he was in reality too much a gentleman at heart to have -done such a thing. He knew very well that he was to marry Adele, whether -he cared for her or not, and he behaved with great propriety and with -not a little philosophy. The virtue of resignation had been carefully -developed in him from his childhood, and Francesco's parents now reaped -their reward: he would not have thought of opposing them by word or -deed. - -But he could not hide what he felt. Like many good young men, he was -sensitive, and if he alternately blushed and turned pale when Laura -spoke to him, it was not his fault. His father and mother could -assuredly not expect him to control the circulation of his blood when it -chose to rise above the line of his collar, or seemed to sink to the -level of his boots. Adele was, however, at first very angry, and then -very jealous, and at last hated her step-sister with all her heart, as -young women can hate under circumstances of great provocation. - -Meanwhile, Laura remained calmly unconscious of all that was happening. -Francesco Savelli's outward and worldly advantages did not appeal to her -in the least. The fact that he was fair had no interest for her any -more than the fact that the old Prince of Gerano was dark. She talked to -the young man a little, when the conversation was general, just as she -talked to every one else, when she had anything to say, because she was -not naturally shy. But she never attempted to manufacture remarks when -nothing came to her lips, because she was not yet called upon to do so. -Nor was her silence by any means golden, so far as Savelli was -concerned. When she was not speaking to him, she took no notice of him. -His hair might be as yellow as mustard and his eyes as blue as -periwinkles, as his admirers said; she did not care. If possible, Adele -hated her even more for caring so little. - -In due time Francesco Savelli married Adele Braccio and took her to live -under his father's roof. After the great event peace descended once more -upon the household for a time, and Laura Carlyon saw much less of her -adorer. Not, indeed, that there had been any open conflict between the -step-sisters, nor even a declaration of war. Laura had attributed -Adele's coldness to her excitement about the marriage, natural enough -under the circumstances, and had not been hurt by it, while Adele had -carefully kept her jealousy to herself; but when the two met afterwards, -Laura felt that she was immeasurably far removed from anything like -intimacy or real friendship with the bride, and she was surprised that -Francesco should pay so much attention to herself. - -The young couple came to the Palazzo Braccio at regular intervals, and -at all these family gatherings Savelli spent his time in making -conversation for Laura. He was a very worthy young man, as has been -said, and his talents were not of the highest order, but he did his -best, and succeeded at least in making Laura think him passably -agreeable. She was willing to hear him talk, and Adele noted the fact. -When she drove home from her father's house with her husband, he was -generally abstracted and gave random answers to her questions or -observations. At the end of a year it was clear that he still loved -Laura in a hopeless, helpless, sentimental fashion of his own, and Adele -hated her more than ever. A second year and a third went by, and Laura -had been some time in society; still the situation remained unchanged. -The world said that the young Savelli were a very happy couple, but it -always looked at Laura Carlyon with an odd expression, as though it knew -something strange about her; something not quite right, which it was -willing to tolerate for the sake of the amusement to be got by watching -her. The world is the generic appellation of all those who go down to -the sea of society in long gowns or white ties, and live and move and -have their being therein. Other people do not count, even when they are -quite bad, although they may have very big names and a great deal of -money. The world, therefore, wagged its head and said that Laura Carlyon -was in love with her brother-in-law, or, to be quite accurate, with her -step-brother-in-law, because she was dark and his hair was so -exceedingly yellow. The world also went on to say that Donna Adele -behaved very kindly about it, and that it was so good of Francesco -Savelli to talk to Laura just as if there were nothing wrong; for, it -added, if he were to avoid her, there would certainly be gossip before -long. No one who does not live in society need attempt to follow this -sequence of ideas. As usual, too, nobody took the least trouble to find -out the origin of the story, but everybody was quite sure of having -heard it at first hand from the one person who knew. - -The Princess of Gerano took her daughter everywhere. She had -conscientiously done her duty towards Adele, and was sincerely fond of -her besides; but she loved Laura almost as much as the good mother in -the story-book loves her only child when the latter has done something -particularly disgraceful. She was at first annoyed and then made -seriously anxious by the young girl's total failure in society, from the -social point of view. Laura was beautiful, good, and accomplished. Ugly, -spiteful, and stupid girls succeeded better than she, though some of -them had no better prospect of a dowry. The good lady sought in vain the -cause of the trouble, but failed to find it out. Had she been born in -Rome, she would doubtless have had many kind friends to help her in the -solution of the difficulty. But though she bore a Roman name, and had -adopted Roman customs and had led a Roman life for nearly twenty years, -she was tacitly looked upon as a foreigner, and her daughter was treated -in the same way, though she, at least, spoke the language as her own. -Moreover, the girl was not a Catholic, and that was an additional -disadvantage where matrimony was concerned. It became evident to the -Princess that she was not likely to find a husband for her -daughter--certainly not such a husband as she had dreamed that Laura -might love, and who was to love her and make her happy. - -It must not be supposed that Gerano himself would have been indifferent -if he had known the real facts of the case. But he did not. Like many -elderly Romans, he hardly ever went into society and took very little -interest in its doings. He was very much concerned with the -administration of his fortune, and for his own daughter's welfare in her -new surroundings. He spent a good deal of time at his club, and was -often in the country, even in the height of the season. He supposed that -no one asked for Laura's hand because she was dowerless, and he was -sincerely sorry for it; but it did not enter his mind to provide her -with a suitable portion out of his abundance. He was too conscientious -for that. What he had inherited from his father must go down intact to -his child and to her children,--a son had already been born to the young -Savelli,--and to divide the property, or to take from it anything like a -fortune for Laura, would be little short of actual robbery in the eyes -of a Braccio. - -Laura herself was perhaps less disturbed by the coldness she encountered -than her mother was for her sake. She had a certain contempt for young -girls of her age and younger, whose sole idea was to be married as soon -as possible and with the greatest advantage to themselves. She was not -very vain and did not expect great admiration on the one hand, nor any -particular dislike on the other. Her character, too, was one that must -develop slowly, if it were ever to attain its mature growth. She -doubtless had moments of annoyance and even of depression; for few young -girls, and certainly no women, are wholly unconscious of neglect in -society. But although she was naturally inclined to melancholy, as her -eyes clearly showed, she was not by nature morbid, and assuredly not -more than usually imaginative. - -The result of all this was, that she bore herself with considerable -dignity in the world, was generally believed to be older than she was, -and was to be seen more often dancing or talking with the foreigners at -parties than with the Romans. - -"Who is that, Ghisleri?" asked Lord Herbert Arden of his old friend, one -evening early in the season, as he caught sight of Laura for the first -time. - -"An English Roman girl," answered the Italian. "The daughter of the -Princess of Gerano by her first marriage--Miss Carlyon." - -Lord Herbert had not been in Rome for three or four years, and was, -moreover, by no means acquainted with all Roman society. - -"Will you introduce me?" he asked, looking up at Ghisleri. - -Ghisleri led him across the room, introduced him and left the two -together, he being at that time very particularly engaged in another -quarter. - -The contrast between the two men was very strong. Lord Herbert Arden was -almost, if not quite, a cripple, the victim in his infancy of a -serving-woman's carelessness. The nurse had let him fall, had concealed -the accident as long as she could, and the boy had grown up misshapen -and feeble. In despite of this, however, he was eminently a man at whom -every one looked twice. No one who had seen him could ever forget the -extreme nobility and delicacy of his pale face. Each feature completed -and gave dignity to the next--the broad, highly modelled forehead, the -prominent brow, the hollows at the temples, the clear, steady brown -eyes, the aquiline nose and sensitive nostrils, the calm, straight -mouth, and the firm, clearly cut chin--all were in harmony. And yet in -all the crowd that thronged the great drawing-rooms there was hardly a -man with whom the young Englishman would not have exchanged face and -figure, if only he might stand at the height of other men, straight and -square, and be free forever from the halting gait which made life in the -world so hard for him. He was very human, and made no great pretence of -resignation, nor indeed of any other virtue. - -Pietro Ghisleri was a very different personage except, perhaps, in point -of humanity. He had seen and enjoyed much, if he had suffered much also, -and his face bore the traces of past pleasure and of past pain, though -he was not more than two-and-thirty years of age. It was a strong face, -too, and not without signs of superior intelligence and resolution. The -keen blue eyes had that trick of fixing themselves in conversation, -which belongs to combative temperaments. At other times they were sad in -expression, and often wore a weary look. Ghisleri's complexion might -almost have been called weather-beaten; for frequent and long exposure -to sun and weather had permanently changed its original colouring, which -had been decidedly fair. To adopt the simple style of his passport, he -might be described as six feet high, eyes blue, hair and moustache -brown, nose large, mouth normal, chin prominent, face somewhat -bony,--particular sign, a scar on the left temple. Like his old friend -Lord Herbert, he was one of the dozen men who always attract attention -in a crowded room. But of all those who looked at him, having known him -long, very few understood his character in the least, and all would have -been very much surprised if they could have guessed his thoughts, -especially on that particular evening when he introduced Arden to Miss -Carlyon. As for the rest, he was alone in the world, his own master, the -last of a Tuscan family that had refused to bear a title when titles -meant something and had not seen any reason for changing its mind in the -course of three or four centuries. He had a small fortune, sufficient -for his wants, and a castle somewhere, considerably the worse for war -and wear. - -"I cannot dance, you see," said Arden, seating himself beside Laura, -"and I am afraid that I am not very brilliant in conversation. Are you a -very good-natured person?" - -Laura turned her sad eyes upon her new acquaintance, and immediately -felt a thrill of sympathy for him, and of interest in his remarkable -face. - -"No one ever told me," she answered. "Do you think you could find out? I -should like to know." - -"What form of sin do you most affect?" asked Arden, with a smile. "Do -you more often do the things you ought not to do, or do you leave undone -the things which you ought to do?" - -"Oh, I leave the good things undone, of course!" answered Laura. "I -suppose everybody does, as a rule." - -"You are decidedly good-natured, particularly so in making that last -remark. I am less afraid of you than I was when I sat down." - -The young girl looked at him again. His conversation was so far not like -that of the Englishmen she had known hitherto. - -"Were you afraid of me?" she asked, beginning to smile. - -"A little, I confess." - -"Why? And if you were, why did you make Signor Ghisleri introduce you to -me?" - -"Because nobody likes to own to being afraid. Besides, Ghisleri is a -very old friend of mine, and I can trust him not to lead me into -danger." - -"Have you known him long?" asked Laura. "I have often wondered what he -is really like. I mean his character, you know, and what he thinks -about." - -"He thinks a great deal. He is one of the most complicated characters I -ever knew, and I am not at all sure that I understand him yet, though we -have known each other ten years. He is a good friend and a rather -indifferent enemy, I should say. His chief apparent peculiarity is that -he hates gossip. You will not find it easy to get from him a -disagreeable remark about any one. Yet he is not good-natured." - -"Perhaps he is afraid to say what he thinks," suggested the young girl. - -"I doubt that," answered Arden, with a smile. "He has not a particularly -angelic reputation, I believe, but I never heard any one say that he was -timid." - -"As you pretend to be," added Laura. "Do you know? You have not answered -my question. Why were you afraid of me, if you really were?" - -Lord Herbert answered one question by another, and the conversation -continued pleasantly enough. It was a relief to him to find a young and -beautiful girl of his own nationality in surroundings with which neither -he nor she were really in sympathy. In the course of half an hour they -both felt as though they had known one another a long time. The -admiration Arden had felt for Laura at first sight had considerably -increased, and she on her side had half forgotten that he was a cripple. -Indeed, when he was seated, his deformities were far less noticeable -than when he stood or painfully moved about from place to place. - -The two talked of a variety of subjects, but, with the exception of the -few words spoken about Ghisleri, there was no more reference to -personalities for a long time. - -"I am keeping you away from the dancing," Arden said at last, as he -realised that the room was almost empty and that he had been absorbing -the beautiful Miss Carlyon's attention longer than might be pleasant to -her. - -"Not at all," answered Laura. "I do not dance much." - -"Why not? Do you not like dancing?" He asked the question in a tone of -surprise. - -"On the contrary. But I am not taken out very often--perhaps because -they think me a foreigner. It is natural enough." - -"Very unnatural, it seems to me. Besides, I believe you are -exaggerating, so as not to make me feel uncomfortable. It is of no use, -you know; I am not at all sensitive. Shall we go into the ball-room?" - -"No; I would rather not, just yet." - -"Shall I go and get Ghisleri to take you back?" inquired Arden, with a -little smile. - -"Why?" - -"Because I might make you look ridiculous," answered the cripple, -quietly. - -He watched her, and saw a quick, pained look pass over her face. It was -at that particular moment that he began to love her, as he afterwards -remembered. She turned her eyes upon him as she answered after a -moment's hesitation. - -"Lord Herbert, will you please never say anything like that to me -again?" - -"Certainly not, if it offends you." - -"It does not offend me. I do not mean that." - -"What, then? Please tell me. I am not at all sensitive." - -"It pains me. I do not like to fancy that any one can think such things -of me, much less...." she stopped short and looked down, slowly opening -and shutting her fan. - -"Much less?" - -Laura hesitated for some seconds, as though choosing her words with more -than ordinary care. - -"Much less one whom it might pain to think them," she said at last. - -The smile that had been on Arden's face faded away in the silence that -followed, and his lips moved a little as though he felt some kind of -emotion, while his large thin hands closed tightly upon his withered -knee. - -"Have I said too much?" she asked, suddenly breaking the long pause. - -"Or not quite enough, perhaps," he answered in a low voice. - -Again they were both silent, and they both wondered inwardly that in -less than an hour's acquaintance they should have reached something like -a crisis. At last Laura rose slowly and deliberately, intending to give -her companion time to get to his feet. - -"Will you give me your arm?" she said when he stood beside her. "I want -to introduce you to my mother." - -Arden bent his head and held up his right arm for her hand. He was -considerably shorter than she. Then they walked away together, she erect -and easy in her girlish gait, he weak-kneed and awkward, seeming to -unjoint half his body at every painful step, helping himself along at -her side with the stick he held in his free hand--a strangely assorted -couple, the world said, as they went by. - -"My mother's name is Gerano, Princess of Gerano," said Laura, by way of -explanation, as they came within sight of her. - -"And is your father--I mean, is Prince Gerano--living?" asked Arden. He -had almost forgotten her name and her nationality in the interest he -felt in herself. - -"Yes; but he rarely goes into society. I am very fond of him," she -added, scarcely knowing why. "Mother," she said, as they came up to the -Princess, "Lord Herbert Arden." - -The Princess smiled and held out her hand. At that moment Pietro -Ghisleri came up. He had not been seen since he had left Laura and Arden -together. By a coincidence, doubtless, the Contessa dell' Armi had -disappeared at about the same time: she had probably gone home, as she -was not seen again in the ball-room that evening. But the world in its -omniscience knew that there was a certain boudoir beyond the -supper-room, where couples who did not care to dance were left in -comparative peace for a long time. The world could have told with -precision the position of the small sofa on which Ghisleri and the -lovely Contessa invariably spent an hour when they met in that -particular house. - -"Will you give me a turn, Miss Carlyon?" asked Ghisleri, as Arden began -to talk with the Princess. - -"Yes." Laura was really fond of a certain amount of dancing when a good -partner presented himself. - -"What do you think of my friend?" inquired Pietro, as they moved away -together. - -"I like him very much. He interests me." - -"Then you ought to be grateful to me for bringing him to you." - -"Do you expect gratitude in a ball-room?" Laura laughed a little, more -in pleasant anticipation of the waltz than at what she said. - -"A little more than in the average asylum for the aged and infirm, which -most people call home," returned Ghisleri, carelessly. - -"You have no home. How can you talk about it in that way?" - -"For the sake of talking; shall we dance instead?" - -A moment later they were in the thick of the crowd. - -"There are too many people; please take me back," said Laura, after one -turn. - -"Will you come and talk in the conservatory?" asked Ghisleri as they -reached the door. - -"No; I would rather not." - -"You were talking a long time with Arden. I saw you come out of the -drawing-room together. Why will you not sit five minutes with me?" - -"Lord Herbert is different," said Laura, quietly. "He is an Englishman, -and I am English." - -"Oh! is that the reason?" - -He led her back and left her with her mother. Arden was still there. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -In spite of his own declarations to the contrary, Lord Herbert Arden was -a very sensitive man. When he said he was not, he was perhaps trying to -deceive himself, but the attempt was at best only partially successful. -Few men in his circumstances can escape the daily sting that lies in -comparing their unfortunate outward personality with the average -symmetry of the human race. Women seem to feel deformity less than men, -or perhaps one only thinks so because they bear it more bravely; it is -hard to say. If Darwin is right, men are far more vain of their -appearance than women; and there are many who believe that a woman's -passive courage is greater than a man's. Be that as it may, the -particular sufferer who made Laura Carlyon's acquaintance at the ball -was in reality as sensitive a man in almost all respects as could be met -with anywhere in ordinary life. When he discovered that he was seriously -in love with Laura Carlyon, his existence changed suddenly, and for the -worse, so far as his comfort was concerned. - -He reviewed the situation as calmly as he could, when a fortnight or -more had passed and he had seen her a dozen times at her step-father's -house and in the world. One main fact was now quite clear to him. She -was not what is called popular in society; she had not even any intimate -friends. As for his own chances, he did not like to think of them. -Though only the younger brother of a peer of high rank, he was entitled -to expect a large fortune from an uncle on his mother's side, who had -never made any secret of his intentions in regard to his property, and -who, being over eighty years of age, could not be expected to live much -longer in the ordinary course of nature. At present his modest portion -was quite sufficient for himself, but he doubted whether it would -suffice for his needs if he married. That, however, was of minor -importance. The great fortune was safe and he was an exceedingly good -match from a financial point of view. Miss Carlyon was poor, as he knew -from Ghisleri, and Ghisleri had very probably told her that Arden was -rich, or would be before long. He refused to believe that Laura, of her -own free will, might marry him for his money; but it was intolerable to -think that her mother and step-father might try to force her into the -match from considerations of interest. He was not just to the Princess -of Gerano, but he knew her very slightly as yet and had no means of -forming a positive opinion. - -In the meantime he had been introduced to Donna Adele Savelli, who had -received him with the greatest warmth, protesting her love for the -English people and everything English, and especially for her -step-mother and step-sister. He had also renewed his acquaintance with -young Savelli, whom he had known slightly during a former visit to Rome, -and who now, he thought, met him rather coldly. He attributed Adele's -gushing manner to a desire to bring about a marriage, and he did not -attempt to account for Don Francesco's stiffness; but he liked neither -the one manifestation nor the other, for both wounded him in different -degrees. - -Above all other difficulties, the one which was most natural to his -delicately organised nature was of a purely disinterested kind. He -feared lest Laura, who evidently felt both pity and sympathy for him, -should take the two together for genuine love and sacrifice herself in a -life which would by and by become unbearable to her. He could not but -see that at every meeting she grew more interested in his conversation, -until when he was present, she scarcely paid any attention to any one -else. Such a friendship, if it could have been a real friendship, might -have made Arden happy so long as it lasted; but on his side, at least, -nothing of the kind was possible. He knew that he was hopelessly in -love, and to pretend the contrary to himself was real pain. He guessed -with wonderful keenness the direction Laura's heart was taking, and he -was appalled by the vision of the misery which must spread over her -young life if, after she had married him, she should be roused to the -great truth that pity and love are not the same, though they be so near -akin as to be sometimes mistaken one for the other. - -His weak health suffered and he grew more and more restless. It would -have been a satisfaction to speak out a hundredth part of what he felt -to Ghisleri. But he was little given to making confidences, and Ghisleri -was, or seemed to be, the last man to invite them. They met constantly, -however, and talked upon all sorts of topics. - -One day Ghisleri came to breakfast with Arden in his rooms at the hotel, -looking more weather-beaten than usual, for he was losing the tan from -his last expedition in the south, and there were deep black shadows -under his eyes. Moreover, he was in an abominably bad humour with -everything and with everybody except his friend. Arden knew that he -never gambled, and he also knew the man well enough to guess at the true -cause of the disturbance. There was something serious the matter. - -They sat down to breakfast and began to talk of politics and the -weather, as old friends do when they are aware that there is something -wrong. Ghisleri spoke English perfectly, with an almost imperceptible -accent, as many Italians do nowadays. - -"Come along with me, Arden," he said at last, as though losing patience -with everything all at once. "Let us go to Paris or Timbuctoo. This -place is not fit to live in." - -"What is the matter with it?" asked Arden, in a tone of amusement. - -"The matter with it? It is dull, to begin with. Secondly, it is a -perfect witches' caldron of scandal. Thirdly, we are all as bad as we -can be. There are three points at least." - -"My dear fellow, I do not see them in the same light. Take some more -hock." - -"Oh, you--you are amusing yourself! Thank you--I will--half a glass. Of -course you like Rome--you always did--you foreigners always will. You -amuse yourselves--that is it." - -"I see you dancing every night as though you liked it," observed Arden. - -"No doubt!" - -Ghisleri suddenly grew thoughtful and a distant look came into his eyes, -while the shadows seemed to deepen under them, till they were almost -black. He had eaten hardly anything, and now, regardless of the fact -that the meal was not half over, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in -his chair as though he had finished. - -"You are not looking well, Arden," he said at last. "You must take care -of yourself. Take my advice. We will go somewhere together for a couple -of months." - -"There is nothing I should like better, but not just at present. I will -stay in Rome until the weather is a little warmer." - -Arden was not in the least conscious that his expression changed as he -thought of the reason which kept him in the city and which might keep -him long. But Ghisleri, who had been watching for that particular -hesitation of manner and for that almost imperceptible darkening of the -eyes, knew exactly what both meant. - -"Oh, very well," he answered indifferently. "We can go later. People -always invent absurd stories if one goes away in the middle of the -season without any apparent object." - -The remark was a little less than general, and Arden was at once -confirmed in his suspicion that something unpleasant had happened in -Ghisleri's life, most probably in connection with the Contessa dell' -Armi. His friend was in such a savage humour that he might almost become -communicative. Arden was a very keen-sighted man, and not without tact, -and he thought the opportunity a good one for approaching a subject -which had long been in his mind. But he had been in earnest when he had -told Laura that he knew Ghisleri's character to be what he called -complicated, and he was aware that Pietro's intelligence was even more -penetrating than his own. He was therefore very cautious. - -"You say that Rome is such a great place for gossip," he began, in -answer to Ghisleri's last observation. "I suppose you know it by -experience, but I cannot say that we strangers hear much of it." - -"Perhaps not," admitted Ghisleri, rather absently. - -"No, we do not hear much scandal. For instance, I go rather often to the -Gerano's. I do not remember to have heard there a single spiteful story, -except, perhaps,"--Arden stopped cautiously. - -"Precisely," said Pietro, "the exceptions are rare in that house. But -then, the Prince is generally away, and both the Princess and her -daughter are English, and especially nice people." - -Arden helped himself to something that chanced to be near him, and -glanced at his companion's rather impenetrable face. He knew that at the -present moment the latter was perfectly sincere in what he said, but he -knew also that Ghisleri spoke of most people in very much the same tone. -It was something which Arden could never quite understand. - -"Do you think," he began presently, "that the fact of their being -English has anything to do with Miss Carlyon's unpopularity here?" - -"My dear fellow, how should I know?" asked Ghisleri, with something -almost like a laugh. - -"You do know, of course. I wish you would tell me. As an Englishman, the -mother interests me." - -"From the point of view of our international relations, I see, -collecting information for an article in the Nineteenth Century, or else -your brother is going to speak on the subject in the Lords. What do you -think about the matter yourself? If I can put you right, I will." - -"What an extraordinary man you are!" exclaimed Arden. "You always insist -upon answering one question by another." - -"It gives one time to think," retorted Ghisleri. "These cigarettes are -distinctly bad; give me one of yours, please. I never can understand why -the government monopoly here should exist, and if it does why they -should not give us Russian--" - -"My dear Ghisleri," said Arden, interrupting him, "we were talking about -the Princess Gerano." - -"Were we? Oh, yes, and Miss Carlyon, too, I remember. Do you like them?" - -"Very much; and I think every one should. That is the reason why I am -surprised that Miss Carlyon should not receive much more attention than -she does. I fancy it is because she is English. Do you think I am -right?" - -"No," said Ghisleri, slowly, at last answering the direct question, "I -do not think you are." - -"Then what in the world is the reason? The fact is clear enough. She -knows it herself." - -"Probably some absurd bit of gossip. Who cares? I am sorry for her, -though." - -"How can there be any scandal about a young girl of her age?" asked -Arden, incredulously. - -"In this place you can start a story about a baby a year old," answered -Ghisleri. "It will be remembered, repeated, and properly adorned, and -will ultimately ruin the innocent woman when she is grown up. Nobody -seems to care for chronology here--anachronism is so much more -convenient." - -"Why are you so absurdly reticent with me, Ghisleri?" asked Arden, with -some impatience. "You talk as though we had not known each other ten -years." - -"On the contrary," answered Pietro, "if we were acquaintances of -yesterday, I would not talk at all. That is just the difference. As it -is, and because we are rather good friends, I tell you what I believe to -be the truth. I believe--well, I will allow that I know, that there is a -story about Miss Carlyon, which is commonly credited, and which is a -down-right lie. I will not tell you what it is. It does not, strictly -speaking, affect her reputation, but it has made her unpopular--since -you have used that word. Ask any of the gossips, if you care enough--I -am not going to repeat such nonsense. It never does any good to repeat -other peoples' lies." - -Arden was silent, and his long white fingers played uneasily upon the -edge of the table. It had been a hard matter to extract the information, -but such as it was he knew that it was absolutely reliable. When -Ghisleri spoke at all about such things, he spoke the truth, and when he -said that he would positively say no more, his decision was always -final. Arden had discovered that in the early days of their -acquaintance. Perhaps Pietro went to absurd lengths in this direction, -and there were people who called it affectation and made him out to be -an even worse man than he was, but his friend knew that it was genuine -in its way. He was all the more disturbed by what he had heard, and it -was a long time before he spoke again. - -Ghisleri smoked in silence and drank three cups of coffee while Arden -was drinking one. He looked at that time like a man who was living upon -his nerves, so to say, instead of upon proper nourishment. - -An hour later the two men went out together, Arden taking Pietro with -him in his carriage. The air was bright and keen and the afternoon -sunlight was already turning yellow with the gold of the coming evening. -The carriage was momentarily blocked at the corner of the Pincio near -the entrance, by one that was turning out of the enclosure opposite the -band stand. It chanced to be the Princess of Gerano's landau, and she -and her daughter were seated in it, closely wrapped in their furs. It -was Arden's victoria that had to pull up to let the Princess drive -across, and by a coincidence the Savelli couple were in the one which -hers would have to follow in the descending line after crossing the -road. - -Francesco Savelli bowed, smiled, and waved his hat, evidently to Laura -rather than to her mother. With a rather forced smile Adele slowly bent -her head. Arden bowed at the same moment, and looked from one carriage -to the other. Ghisleri followed his example, and there was the very -faintest expression of amusement on his face, which Arden of course -could not see. A number of men on foot lined the side of the road close -to the carriage. - -"People always come back to their first loves!" said a low voice at -Arden's elbow. - -He turned quickly and saw several men watching the Savelli across his -victoria. He knew none of them, and it was impossible to guess which had -spoken. Ghisleri, being on the right side, as Arden's guest, could not -have heard the words. Having just noticed the rather striking contrast -between Francesco Savelli's demonstrative greeting and his wife's almost -indifferent nod, it naturally struck the Englishman that the remark he -had overheard might refer to the person he was himself watching at that -moment. Donna Adele Savelli's expression might very well be taken for -one of jealousy, but her husband's behaviour was assuredly too marked -for anything more than friendship. Arden coupled the words with the -facts and concluded that he had discovered the story of which Ghisleri -had spoken. Francesco Savelli was said to be in love with Laura Carlyon. -That was evidently the gossip; but he had seen Laura's face, too, and it -was quite plain that she was wholly indifferent. On the whole, though -the tale reflected little credit on Savelli, it was not at all clear why -it should make Laura unpopular, unless people said that she encouraged -the man, which they probably did, thought Lord Herbert Arden, who was a -man of the world. - -The more he considered the matter the more convinced he became that he -was right, and the conviction was on the whole a relief. He had been -uneasy for some time, and Ghisleri's guarded words had not satisfied -him; chance, however, had done what Ghisleri would not do, and the -mystery was solved. The Princess of Gerano was at home that evening, and -Arden of course went to the palace early, and was the last to leave. - -Three times between half-past ten and half-past two o'clock Laura and he -installed themselves side by side at some distance from the -drawing-room, and each time their conversation lasted over half an hour. -It was not a set ball, but one of the regular weekly informal dances of -which there are so many in Rome during the season. The first -interruption of Arden's talk appeared in the shape of Don Francesco -Savelli, who asked Laura for a turn. Oddly enough she glanced at Lord -Herbert's face before accepting, and the action sent a strange thrill to -his heart. He struggled to his feet as she rose to go away with Savelli, -and then sank back again and remained some time where he was, absently -watching the people who passed. His face was very pale and weary now -that the excitement of conversation had subsided, and he felt that if he -was not positively ill, he was losing the little strength he had with -every day that passed. Late hours, heated rooms, and strong emotions -were not the best tonics for his feeble physical organisation, and he -knew it. At last he made an effort, got up, and moved about in the -crowd, exchanging a few words now and then with a passing acquaintance, -but too preoccupied and perhaps too tired to talk long with indifferent -people. He nodded as Ghisleri passed him with the Contessa dell' Armi on -his arm, and he thought there was a bad light in his friend's eyes, -though Pietro was looking better than in the afternoon. The two had -evidently been dancing together, for the Contessa's white neck heaved a -little, as though she were still out of breath. She was a short, slight -woman of exquisite figure, very fair, with deep violet eyes and small -classic features, almost hard in their regularity; evidently wilful and -dominant in character. Arden watched the pair as they went on in search -of a vacant sofa just big enough for two. - -They had scarcely sat down and he could see that Ghisleri was beginning -to talk, when Anastase Gouache appeared and stood still before them. To -Arden's surprise the Contessa welcomed him with a bright smile and -pointed to a chair at her side of the sofa. Anastase Gouache was a -celebrated painter who had married a Roman lady of high birth, and was a -very agreeable man, but Arden had not expected that he would be invited -so readily to interrupt so promising a conversation. Ghisleri's face -expressed nothing. He appeared to join in the talk for a few minutes and -then rose and left the Contessa with Gouache. She looked after him, and -Arden thought she grew a shade paler and frowned. A faint smile appeared -on the Englishman's face and was gone again in an instant as Ghisleri -came near him, returning again to the ball-room. Ghisleri had glanced at -him as he passed and had seen that he was not talking to a lady. - -"May I have the next dance, Miss Carlyon?" asked Pietro, when he found -Laura in a corner with Francesco Savelli. "Thanks," he said, as she -nodded graciously, and he passed on. - -"Will you give me the dance after the next?" he inquired a few minutes -later, coming up with Donna Adele, who was moving away on young -Frangipani's arm. - -"Certainly, caro Ghisleri," she answered, with alacrity, "as many as you -please." - -"You are very good," he said, with a slight bow, and withdrew to a -window near Laura to wait until the waltz began. He could see Arden -through the open door from the place where he stood. - -When the dance was over he led Laura out and took one turn through the -rooms, making a few commonplace remarks on the way. Coming back, he -stopped as though by accident close to Lord Herbert. - -"I am afraid you will think me very rude if I ask you to let me leave -you," he said. "I am engaged for the next dance--it is a quadrille--and -I must find a vis-à-vis." - -Arden of course heard and presented himself immediately in Ghisleri's -place. Laura was quite ready to go back with him to the sofa in the -corner, and they resumed their conversation almost at the point at which -it had been interrupted by Francesco Savelli. Neither of them ever knew -that Ghisleri had brought them together again by a little social skill, -just beyond what most people possess. Arden looked after him, half -believing that he had only given Laura an excuse for leaving her in -order to return to the Contessa dell' Armi, who was now surrounded by -half a dozen men, beginning with old Spicca, who, as has been said, was -still alive in those days, and ending with the little Vicomte de -Bompierre, a young French attaché with a pleasant voice, a bright smile, -and an incipient black moustache. But to Arden's surprise Ghisleri took -quite a different direction, and began to speak to one man after -another, evidently trying to secure a vis-à-vis for the square dance. - -"You must not let me bore you, or rather you must not bore yourself with -me," said Arden to Laura, after a short pause in the conversation. "You -are altogether much too good to me." - -"You never bore me," answered the young girl. "You are one of the few -people who do not." - -Arden smiled a little sadly. - -"I am glad to be one of the 'few people,'" he said, "even if I am the -last." - -"You are too modest." She tried to laugh, but the effort was not very -successful. - -"No, I am not. I have much more vanity than you would suppose, or think -possible, considering how little I have to be vain of." - -"Opinions may differ about that," answered Laura, looking into his eyes. -"You have much that many men might envy, and probably do." - -"What, for instance?" - -Laura hesitated, and then smiled, without effort this time. - -"You are very good looking," she said after a moment. - -"No one has ever told me that before," he answered. A very slight flush -rose in his pale face. - -"It is not of much importance, either. Would you like me to enumerate -your good qualities?" - -"Of all things!" - -"You are honest and kind, and you are very clever, I think, though I am -not clever enough to be sure. You have no right to be unhappy, and you -would not be if you were not so sensitive about--about not being so -strong and big as some men are. What difference does it make?" - -"You will almost tempt me to think that it makes none, if you talk in -that way," said Arden. - -"Do you mean to say that you would really and truly change places with -any one? With Signor Ghisleri, for instance?" - -"Indeed I would, with him, and very gladly. I would rather be Ghisleri -than any man I know." - -"I cannot understand that," answered Laura, thoughtfully. "If I were a -man, I would much rather be like you. Besides, they say Signor Ghisleri -has been dreadfully wild, and is anything but angelic now. You used that -very word about him the first evening we met; do you remember?" - -"Of course I do; but what has that to do with it? Must I necessarily -choose a saint for my friend, and pick out one to exchange places with -me if it were possible? A woman saint may be lovable, too lovable -perhaps, but a man saint about town is like a fish out of water. But you -are right about Ghisleri, up to a certain point, only you do not -understand him. He is an exceedingly righteous sinner, but a sinner he -is." - -"What do you mean by a righteous sinner?" asked Laura, gravely. - -"Do not bring me down to definitions. I have not at all a logical mind. -I mean Ghisleri--that is all I can say. I would much rather talk about -you." - -"No, I object to that. Tell me, since you wish so much to be Signor -Ghisleri, what do you think you would feel if you were?" - -"What he feels--everything that a man can feel!" answered Arden, with a -sudden change of tone. "To be straight and strong and a match for other -men. Half the happiness of life lies there." - -His voice shook a little, and Laura felt that the tears were almost in -her eyes as she looked earnestly into his. - -"You see what I am," he continued, more and more bitterly, "I am a -cripple. There is no denying it--why should I even try to hide it a -little? Nature, or Heaven, or what you please to call it, has been good -enough to make concealment impossible. If I am not quite a hunchback, I -am very near it, and I can hardly walk even with a stick. And look at -yourself, straight and graceful and beautiful--well, you pity me, at -least. Why should I make a fool of myself? It is the first time I ever -spoke like this to any one." - -"You are quite wrong," answered Laura, in a tone of conviction. "I do -not pity you--indeed I do not think you are the least to be pitied. I -see it quite differently. It hardly ever strikes me that you are not -just the same as other people, and when it does--I do not know--I mean -to say that when it does, it makes no painful impression upon me. You -see I am quite frank." - -While she was speaking the colour rose in two bright spots on Arden's -pale cheeks, and his bright eyes softened with a look of wonderful -happiness. - -"Are you quite in earnest, Miss Carlyon?" he asked, in a low voice. - -"Quite, quite in earnest. Please believe me when I say that it would -hurt me dreadfully if I thought you doubted it." - -"Hurt you? Why?" - -She turned her deep, sad eyes to him, and looked at him without -speaking. He was on the point of telling her that he loved her--then he -saw how beautiful she was, and he felt his withered knee under his hand, -and he was ashamed to speak. It was a cruel moment, and his nerves were -already overstrained by perpetual emotion, as well as tired from late -hours and lack of sleep. He hesitated a moment. Then bent his head and -covered his eyes with his hand. Laura said nothing for several moments, -but seeing that he did not move, she touched his sleeve. - -"Dear Lord Herbert, do not be so unhappy," she said softly. "You really -have no right to be, you know." - -"No right?" He looked up suddenly. "If you knew, you would not say -that." - -"I should always say it. As long as you have friends--friends who love -you, and would do anything for you, why should you make yourself so -miserable?" - -"I want more than a friend--even than friendship." - -"What?" - -"I want love." - -Again she gazed into his eyes and paused. Her face was very -white--whiter than his. Then she spoke. - -"Are you so sure you have not got that love?" she asked. Her own voice -trembled now. - -Arden started and a look of something almost like fear came into his -face. He could hardly speak. - -"Love?" he repeated, and he felt he could say nothing more. - -"Yes, I mean it." So she chose her fate. - -She thought there was a touch of the divine in poor Arden's expression -as he heard the words. Then his face grew pale, the light faded from his -eyes, and his head sank on his breast. Laura did not at first realise -what had happened. She felt so strongly herself, that nothing in his -manner would have surprised her. She heard nothing of the hum of the -voices in the room, or if she did, she heard the harmony of a happy -hymn, and the great branches of candles were the tapers upon an altar in -some sacred place. - -Still Arden did not move. Laura bent down and looked at his face. - -"Lord Herbert!" She called him softly. "Herbert, what is the matter?" - -No answer came. She looked round wildly for help. At that moment the -dance was just over and Ghisleri passed near her with Donna Adele on his -arm. Laura rose and overtook him swiftly, touching his arm in her -excitement. - -"Lord Herbert has fainted--for heaven's sake, help him!" she cried, in a -low voice. - -Pietro Ghisleri glanced at the sofa. - -"Excuse me," he said hastily to Donna Adele, and left her standing in -the middle of the room. He bent down and felt Arden's forehead and -hands. - -"Yes, he has fainted," he said to Laura. "Show me the way to a quiet -place." - -Thereupon he took his unconscious friend in his arms and followed Laura -quickly through the surging crowd that already filled the room, escaping -in haste from the heat as soon as the dance was over in the ball-room -beyond. - -For a few seconds one of those total silences fell upon the party which -always follow an accident. Then, as Ghisleri disappeared with his -burden, every one began to talk at once, speculating upon the nature of -Lord Herbert Arden's indisposition. Heart disease--epilepsy--nervous -prostration--most things were suggested. - -"Probably too much champagne," laughed Donna Adele in the ear of the -lady nearest to her. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -It is perhaps useless to attempt to trace and recapitulate the causes -which had led Laura Carlyon to the state of mind in which she had found -courage to tell Arden that she loved him. There might be harder moments -in store for her, but this had been the hardest she had known hitherto. -Nothing short of a real and great love, she believed, could have carried -her through it, and she had been conscious for some days that if the -opportunity came she meant to do what she had done. In other words, she -had been quite sure that Arden loved her and that she loved him. This -being granted, it was in accordance with her character to take the -initiative. With far less sympathy than she felt in all her thoughts, -she would have understood that a man of his instincts would never speak -of his love to her unless almost directly bidden to do so. Laura was -slow to make up her mind, sure of her decision when reached, and -determined to act upon it without consulting any one. Many people said -later that she had sacrificed herself for Lord Herbert's expected -fortune, or for his position. A few said that she was a very good woman -and that, finding herself neglected, she had decided to devote her life -to the happiness of a very unhappy man for whom she felt a sincere -friendship. That was at least the more charitable view. But neither was -at all the right one. She honestly and really believed that she loved -the man: she saw beyond a doubt that he loved her, and she took the -shortest and most direct way of ending all doubts on the subject. On -that same night when Arden had quite recovered and had gone home with -Ghisleri, she spoke to her mother and told her exactly what had -happened. - -The Princess of Gerano opened her quiet brown eyes very wide when she -heard the news. She was handsome still at five and forty, a little -stout, perhaps, but well proportioned. Her light brown hair was turning -grey at the temples, but there were few lines in her smooth, calm face, -and her complexion was still almost youthful, though with little -colouring. She looked what she was, a woman of the world, very far from -worldly, not conscious of half the evil that went on around her, and -much given to inward contemplation of a religious kind when not actively -engaged in social duty. She had seen Laura's growing appreciation of -Arden and had noticed the frequency of the latter's visits to the house. -But she had herself learned to like him very much during the last month, -and it never suggested itself to her that he could wish to marry Laura -nor that Laura could care for him, considering that he was undeniably a -cripple. It was no wonder that she was surprised. - -"Dear child," she said, "I do not know what to say. Of course I have -found out what a really good man he is, though he is so fond of that -wild Ghisleri--they are always together. I have a great admiration for -Lord Herbert. As far as position goes, there is nothing better, and I -suppose he is rich enough to support you, though I do not know. You see, -darling, you have nothing but the little I can give you. But never mind -that--there is only that one other thing--I wish he were not--" - -She checked herself, far too delicate to hurt her daughter by too direct -a reference to Arden's physical shortcomings. But Laura, strange to say, -was not sensitive on that point. - -"I know, mother," she said, "he is deformed. It is of no use denying it, -as he says himself. But if I do not mind that--if I do not think of it -at all when I am with him, why should any one else care? After all, if I -marry him, it is to please myself, and not the people who will ask us to -dinner." - -The young girl laughed happily as she thought of the new life before -her, and of how she would make everything easy for poor Arden, and make -him quite forget that he could hardly walk. Her mother looked at her -with quiet wonder. - -"Think well before you act, dear," she said. "Marriage is a very serious -thing. There is no drawing back afterwards, and if you were to be at all -unkind after you are married--" - -"O mother, how can you think that of me?" - -"No--at least, you would never mean it. You are too good for that. But -it would break the poor man's heart. He is very sensitive, it is not -every man who faints when he finds out that a young girl loves -him--fortunately, not every man," she added with a smile. - -"If every one loved as we do, the world would be much happier," said -Laura, kissing her mother. "Do not be afraid, I will not break his -heart." - -"God grant you may not break your own, dear!" The Princess spoke in a -lower voice, and turned away her face to hide the tears that stood in -her eyes. - -"Mine, mother!" Laura bent over her as she sat in her dressing-chair. -"What is it?" she asked anxiously, as she saw that her mother's cheek -was wet. - -"You are very dear to me, child," murmured the Princess, drawing the -young head down to her breast, and kissing the thick black hair. - -So the matter was settled, and Laura had her way. It is not easy to say -how most mothers would have behaved under the circumstances. There are -worldly ones enough who would have received the news far more gladly -than the Princess of Gerano did; and there are doubtless many who would -refuse a cripple for a son-in-law on any condition whatever. Laura's -mother did what she thought right, which is more than most of us can say -of our actions. - -The Prince was almost as much surprised as his wife when he learned the -news, but he was convinced that he had nothing to say in the matter. -Laura was quite free to do as she pleased, and, moreover, it was a good -thing that she should marry a man of her own faith, and ultimately live -among her own people, since nothing could make either a Catholic or a -Roman of her. But he was not altogether pleased with her choice. He had -an Italian's exaggerated horror of deformity, and though he liked Lord -Herbert, he could never quite overcome his repulsion for his outward -defects. There was nothing to be done, however, and on the whole the -marriage had much in its favour in his eyes. - -The engagement was accordingly announced with due formality, and the -wedding day was fixed for the Saturday after Easter, which fell early in -that year. Not until the day before the Princess told the news to every -one did Arden communicate it to Ghisleri. He had perfect confidence in -his friend's discretion, but having said that he would not speak of the -engagement to any one until the Princess wished it, he kept his word to -the letter. He asked Pietro to drive with him, far out upon the -campagna. When they had passed the last houses and were in the open -country he spoke. - -"I am going to marry Miss Carlyon," he said simply, but he glanced at -Ghisleri's face to see the look of surprise he expected. - -"Since you announce it, my dear friend, I congratulate you with all my -heart," answered Pietro. "Of course I knew it some time ago." - -"You knew it?" Arden was very much astonished. - -"It was not very hard to guess. You loved each other, you went -constantly to the house and you spent your evenings with her in other -people's houses, there was no reason why you should not -marry--accordingly, I took it for granted that you would be married. You -see that I was right. I am delighted. Ask me to the wedding." - -Arden laughed. - -"I thought you would never enter one of our churches!" he exclaimed. - -"I did not know that I had such a reputation for devout obedience to -general rules," answered Ghisleri. - -"As for your reputation, my dear fellow, it is not that of a saint. But -I once saw you saying your prayers." - -"I dare say," replied Pietro, indifferently. "I sometimes do, but not -generally in the Corso, nor on the Pincio. How long ago was that? Do you -happen to remember?" - -"Six or seven years, I fancy--oh, yes! It was in that little church in -Dieppe, just before you went off on that long cruise--you remember it, -too, I fancy." - -"I suppose I thought I was going to be drowned, and was seized with a -passing ague of premature repentance," said Ghisleri, lighting a -cigarette. - -"What a queer fellow you are!" observed Arden, striking a light in his -turn. "I was talking with Miss Carlyon about you some time ago, and I -told her you were a sinner, but a righteous one." - -"A shade worse than others, perhaps, because I know a little better what -I am doing," answered Ghisleri, with a sneer, evidently intended for -himself. - -He was looking at the tomb of Cecilia Metella, as it rose in sight above -the horses' heads at the turn of the road, and he thought of what had -happened to him there years ago, and of the consequences. Arden knew -nothing of the associations the ruin had for his friend, and laughed -again. He was in a very happy humour on that day, as he was for many -days afterwards. - -"I can never quite make you out," he said. "Are you good, bad, or a -humbug? You cannot be both good and bad at once, you know." - -"No. But one may be often bad, and sometimes do decently good deeds," -observed Ghisleri, with a dry laugh. "Let us talk of your marriage -instead of speculating on my salvation, or more probable perdition, if -there really is such a thing. When is the wedding day?" - -Arden was full of plans for the future, and they drove far out, talking -of all that was before the young couple. - -On the following day the news was announced to the city and the world. -The world held up its hands in wonder, and its tongue wagged for a whole -week and a few days more. Laura Carlyon was to marry a penniless cripple -of the most dissipated habits. How shocking! Of course every one knew -that Lord Herbert had not fainted at all on that night at the Palazzo -Braccio, but had succumbed, in the natural course of events, to the -effects of the champagne he had taken at dinner. That was now quite -certain. And the whole world was well aware that his father had cut him -off with a pittance on account of his evil ways, and that his brother -had twice paid his gambling debts to save the family name from disgrace. -Englishmen as a race, and English cripples in particular, were given to -drink and high play. The man had actually been the worse for wine when -talking to Laura Carlyon in her mother's house, and Ghisleri had been -obliged to carry him out for decency's sake before anything worse -happened. Scandalous! It was a wonder that Ghisleri, who, after all, was -a gentleman, could associate with such a fellow. After all, nobody ever -liked Laura Carlyon since she had first appeared in society, soon after -dear Donna Adele's marriage. It was as well that she should go to -England and live with her tipsy cripple. She was good-looking, as some -people admitted. She might win the heart of her brother-in-law and -induce him to pay her husband's debts a third time. They were said to be -enormous. - -The men were, on the whole, more charitable. Conscious of their own -shortcomings, they did not blame Lord Herbert very severely for taking a -little too much "extra dry." They did, however, abuse him somewhat -roundly at the club, for having gone to the Gerano party at all when he -should have known that he was not steady. Of the facts themselves they -had not the slightest doubt. Unfortunately for one of them who happened -to be declaiming on the subject, but who was really by no means a bad -fellow, he did not notice that Ghisleri had entered the room before he -had finished his speech. When he had quite done, Ghisleri came forward. - -"Arden is my old friend," he said quietly. "He never drinks. He has a -disease of the heart and he fainted from the heat. The doctor and I took -him home together. I hope that none of you will take up this disgusting -story, which was started by the women. And I hope Pietrasanta, there, -will do me the honour to believe what I say, and to tell you that he was -mistaken." - -Ghisleri was not a pleasant person to quarrel with, and moreover had the -reputation of being truthful. His story, too, was quite as probable as -the other, to say the least of it. Don Gianbattista Pietrasanta glanced -quickly from one to the other of the men who were seated around him as -though to ask their advice in the matter. Several of them nodded almost -imperceptibly, as though counselling him to do as Ghisleri requested. -There was nothing at all aggressive in the latter's manner, either, as -he quietly lit a cigarette while waiting for the other's answer. -Suddenly a deep voice was heard from another corner of the room. The -Marchese di San Giacinto, giant in body and fortune, had been reading -the paper with the utmost indifference during all the previous -conversation. All at once he spoke, deliberately and to the point. - -"It is no business of mine," he said, "as I do not know Lord Herbert -Arden except by sight. But I was at the dance the other night, and half -an hour before the occurrence you are discussing, Lord Herbert was -standing beside me, talking of the Egyptian difficulty with the French -ambassador. I have often seen men drunk. Lord Herbert Arden was, in my -opinion, perfectly sober." - -Having delivered himself of this statement, San Giacinto put his very -black cigar between his teeth again and took up the evening paper he had -been reading. - -In the face of such men as Ghisleri and the Marchese, it would have been -the merest folly to continue any opposition. Moreover, Pietrasanta was -neither stupid nor bad, and he was not a coward. - -"I do not know Lord Herbert Arden myself," he said without affectation. -"What I said I got on hearsay, and the whole story is evidently a -fabrication which we ought to deny. For the rest, Ghisleri, if you are -not quite satisfied--" He stopped and looked at Pietro. - -"My dear fellow," said the latter, "what more could I have to say about -the affair? You all seemed to be in the dark, and I wanted to clear the -matter up for the sake of my old friend. That is all. I am very much -obliged to you." - -After this incident there was less talk at the clubs, and in a few days -the subject dropped. But the world said, as usual, that all the men were -afraid of Ghisleri, who was a duellist, and of San Giacinto, who was a -giant, and who had taken the trouble to learn to fence when he first -came to Rome, and that they had basely eaten their words. Men were such -cowards, said the world. - -Lord Herbert and Laura lived in blissful ignorance of what was said -about them. The preparations for the wedding were already begun, and -Laura's modest trousseau was almost all ordered. She and Arden had -discussed their future, and having realised that they must live in a -very economical fashion for the present and so long as it pleased Heaven -to preserve Arden's maternal uncle among the living, they decided that -the wedding should be as quiet and unostentatious as possible. The old -Prince, however, though far too conscientious to have settled a penny of -his inherited fortune upon Laura, even if she had chosen to marry a -pauper, was not ungenerous in other ways, and considered himself at -liberty to offer the pair some very magnificent silver, which he was -able to pay for out of his private economies. As for Donna Adele, she -presented them with a couple of handsome wine-coolers--doubtless in -delicate allusion to the fictitious story about the champagne Lord -Herbert was supposed to have taken. The implied insult, if there was -any, was not at all noticed by those who had never heard the tale, -however, and Adele had to bide her time for the present. - -Meanwhile the season tore along at a break-neck pace, and Lent was fast -approaching. Everybody saw and danced with almost everybody else every -night, and some of them supped afterwards and gambled till midday, and -were surprised to find that their nerves were shaky, and their livers -slightly eccentric, and their eyes anything but limpid. But they all -knew that the quiet time was coming, the Lent wherein no man can dance, -nor woman either, and they amused themselves with a contempt for human -life which would have amounted to heroism if displayed in a good cause. -"They" of course means the gay set of that particular year. As the -Princess of Gerano gave regular informal dances, and two balls at the -end of Carnival, she and her daughter were considered to belong more or -less to the company of the chief merry-makers. The Savelli couple were -in it, also, as a matter of course. Gouache was in it when he pleased, a -dozen or fifteen young members of the diplomatic corps, old Spicca, who -always went everywhere, the Contessa dell' Armi, whose husband was in -parliament and rarely went into society, Ghisleri and twenty or thirty -others, men and women who were young or thought themselves so. - -About three weeks before Ash Wednesday, Anastase Gouache, the -perennially young, had a brilliant inspiration. His studio was in an -historical palace, and consisted of three halls which might have passed -for churches in any other country, so far as their size was concerned. -He determined to give a Shrove Tuesday supper to the gay set, with a -tableau, and a long final waltz afterwards, by way of interring the -mangled remains of the season, as he expressed it. The supper should be -at the usual dinner hour instead of at one o'clock, because the gay set -was not altogether as scarlet as it was painted, and did not, as a -whole, care to dance into the morning of Ash Wednesday. The tableau -should represent Carnival meeting Lent. The Contessa dell' Armi should -be in it, and Ghisleri, and Donna Adele, and possibly San Giacinto might -be induced to appear as a mask. His enormous stature would be very -imposing. The Contessa, with her classic features and violet eyes, would -make an admirable nun, and there would be no difficulty in getting -together a train of revellers. Ghisleri, lean, straight, and tall, would -do for a Satanic being of some kind, and could head the Carnival -procession. The whole thing would not last five minutes and the dancing -should begin at once. - -"Could you not say something, my friend?" asked Gouache, as he talked -the matter over with Ghisleri. - -"I could, if you could find something for me to say," answered the -latter. "But of what use would it be?" - -"The density of the public," replied the great painter, "is, to use the -jargon of science, as cotton wool multiplied into cast iron. You either -sink into it and make no noise at all, or you knock your head against -and cannot get through it. You have never sent a picture to the Salon -without naming it, or you would understand exactly what I mean. They -took a picture I once painted, as an altar piece, for a scene from the -Decameron, I believe--but that was when I was young and had illusions. -On the whole, you had better find something to say, and say it--verse, -if possible. They say you have a knack at verses." - -"Carnival meeting Lent," said Ghisleri, thoughtfully. Then he laughed. -"I will try--though I am no poet. I will trust a little to my acting to -help my lame feet." - -Ghisleri laughed again, as though an amusing idea had struck him. That -night he went home early, and as very often happened, in a bad humour -with himself and with most things. He was a very unhappy man, who felt -himself to be always the centre of a conflict between opposing passions, -and he had long been in the habit of throwing into a rough, impersonal -shape, the thoughts that crossed his mind about himself and others, when -he was alone at night. Being, as he very truly said, no poet, he quickly -tore up such odds and ends of halting rhyme or stumbling prose, either -as soon as they were written, or the next morning. Whatever the form of -these productions might be, the ideas they expressed were rarely feeble -and were indeed sometimes so strong that they might have even shocked -some unusually sensitive person in the gay set. - -Being, as has been said, in a bad humour on that particular evening, he -naturally had something to say to himself on paper, and as he took his -pencil he thought of Gouache's suggestion. In a couple of hours he had -got what he wanted and went to sleep. The great artist liked the verses -when Ghisleri read them to him on the following day, the Contessa -consented to act the part of the nun, and the affair was settled. - -It was a great success. Gouache's wife, Donna Faustina, had entered into -her husband's plans with all her heart. She was of the Montevarchi -family, sister to the Marchesa di San Giacinto, the latter's husband -being a Saracinesca, as every Italian knows. Gouache did things in a -princely fashion, and sixty people, including all the gay set and a few -others, sat down to the dinner which Anastase was pleased to call a -supper. Every one was very gay. Almost every one was in some fancy dress -or mask, there was no order of precedence, and all were placed where -they would have the best chance of amusing themselves. The halls of the -studio, with their magnificent tapestries and almost priceless objects -of art, were wonderful to see in the bright light. Many of the costumes -were really superb and all were brilliant. No one knew what was to take -place after supper, but every one was sure there was to be dancing, and -all were aware that it was the last dance before Easter, and that the -best dancers in Rome were all present. - -One of the halls had been hastily fitted up as a theatre, with a little -stage, a row of footlights, and a background representing a dark wall, -with a deep archway in the middle, like the door of a church. When every -one was seated, a deep, clear voice spoke out a little prologue from -behind the scenes, and the figures, as they were described, moved out -from opposite sides of the stage to meet and group themselves before the -painted doorway. Let prologue and verse speak for themselves. - -"It was nearly midnight--the midnight that ends Shrove Tuesday and -begins Ash Wednesday, dividing Carnival from Lent. I left the tables, -where all the world of Rome was feasting, and pretending that the feast -was the last of the year. The brilliant light flashed upon silver and -gold, dyed itself in amber and purple wine, ran riot amongst jewels, and -blazed upon many a fair face and snowy neck. The clocks were all -stopped, lest some tinkling bell should warn men and women that the day -of laughter was over, and that the hour of tears had struck. But I, -broken-hearted, sick in soul and weary of the two months' struggle with -evil fate, turned away from them and left them to all they loved, and to -all that I could never love again. - -"I passed through the deserted ball-room, and my heart sank as I thought -of what was over and done. The polished floor was strewn with withered -blossoms, with torn and crumpled favours from the dance, with shreds of -gauze and lace; many chairs were overturned; the light streamed down -like day upon a great desolation; the heated air was faint with the sad -odour of dead flowers. There was the corner where we sat, she and I, -to-night, last week, a week before that--where we shall never sit again, -for neither of us would. I shivered as I went out into the night. - -"Through the dark streets I went, not knowing and not caring whither, -nor hearing the tinkling mandolines and changing songs of the revellers -who passed me on their homeward way." - -At this point a mandoline was really heard in the very faintest tones -from behind the scenes, playing scarcely above a whisper, as it were, -the famous "Tout pour l'amour" waltz of Waldteuffel. - -"Suddenly," the voice resumed, above the delicate notes of the -instrument, "the bells rang out and I knew that my last Carnival was -dead." Here deep-toned bells struck twelve, while the mandoline still -continued. "Then, all at once, I was aware of two figures in the gloom, -advancing towards the door of a church in front of me. The one was a -woman, a nun in white robe and black hood, whose saintly violet eyes -seemed to shine in the darkness. The other was a monk." - -The Contessa dell' Armi came slowly forward, her pale, clear face lifted -and thrown into strong relief by the black head-dress, grasping a heavy -rosary in her folded hands. Behind her came San Giacinto, recognisable -only by his colossal stature, his face hidden in the shadow of a black -cowl. Both were admirable, and a murmur of satisfaction ran through the -room. - -"As they reached the door," continued the reader, "a wild train of -maskers broke into the street." - -Ghisleri entered from the opposite side, arrayed somewhat in the manner -of Mephistopheles, a mandoline slung over his shoulder, on which he was -playing. Donna Adele and a dozen others followed him closely, in every -variety of brilliant Carnival dress, dancing forward with tambourines -and castanets, their eyes bright, their steps cadenced to the rhythm of -the waltz tune which now broke out loud and clear--fair young women with -flushed cheeks, all life, and motion, and laughter; and young men -following them closely, laughing, and talking, and singing, all dancing -in and out with changing steps. Then all at once the music died away to -a whisper; the nun and the monk stood back as though in horror against -the church door, while the revellers grouped themselves together in -varied poses around them, Ghisleri the central figure in the midst, -bowing with a diabolical smile before the white-robed nun. - -"In front of all," said the voice again, "stood one whose face I shall -never forget, for it was like my own. The features were mine, but upon -them were reflected all the sins of my life, and all the evil I have -done. I thought the other revellers did not see him." - -Again the music swelled and rose, and the train of dancers passed on -with song and laughter, and disappeared on the opposite side of the -stage. Ghisleri alone stood still before the saint-like figure of the -Contessa dell' Armi, bowing low and holding out to her a tall red glass. - -"He who was like me stayed behind," continued the reader, "and the light -from his glass seemed to shine upon the saintly woman's face, and she -drew back as though from contamination, to the monk's side for -protection. I knew her face when I saw it--the face I have known too -long, too well. Then he who was like me spoke to her, and the voice was -my own, but as I would have had it when I have been worst." - -As the reader ceased Ghisleri began to speak. His voice was strong, but -capable of considerable softness and passionate expression, and he did -his best to render his own irregular verses both intelligible and moving -to his hearers, in which effort he was much helped by the dress he wore -and by the gestures he made use of. - - "So we meet at the last! You the saint, I the time-proved sinner; - You the young, I the old; I the world-worn, you the beginner; - At the end of the season here, with a glass of wine - To discuss the salvation and--well--the mine and thine - Of all the souls we have met this year, and dealt with, - Of those you have tried to make feel, and those I've felt with: - Though, after all, dear Saint, had we met in heaven - Before you got saintship, or I the infernal leaven - That works so hot to kill the old angel in me-- - If you had seen the world then, as I was able to see - Before Sergeant-Major Michael gave me that fall,-- - Not a right fall, mind you, taking the facts in all,-- - We might have been on the same side both. But now - It is yours to cry over lost souls, as it's mine to show them how - They may stumble and tumble into the infernal slough. - So here we are. Now tell me--your honour true-- - What do you think of our season? Which wins? I? You? - Ha, ha, ha! Sweet friend, you can hardly doubt - The result of this two months' hard-fought wrestling bout. - I have won. You have lost the game. I drive a trade - Which I invented--perhaps--but you have made. - Without your heaven, friend Saint, what would be my hell? - Without your goodness, could I hope to do well - With the poor little peddler's pack of original sin - They handed me down, when they turned me out to begin - My devil's trade with souls. But now I ask - Why for eternal penance they gave me so light a task? - You have not condescended from heaven to taste our carnival feast, - But if you had tasted it, you would admit at least - That the meats were passably sweet, and might allure - The nicest of angels, whose tastes are wholly pure. - Old friend--I hate you! I hate your saintly face, - Your holy eyes, your vague celestial grace! - You are too cold for me, whose soul must smelt - In fires whose fury you have never felt. - But come, unbend a little. Let us chatter - Of what we like best, of what our pride may flatter,-- - Salvation and damnation--there's the theme-- - Your trade and mine--what I am, and what you seem. - Come, count the souls we have played for, you and I, - The broken hearts you have lost on a careless jog of the die, - Hearts that were broken in ire, by one short, sharp fault of the head, - Souls lifted on pinions of fire, to sink on wings of lead. - We have gambled, and I have won, while you have steadily lost, - I laughing, you weeping your senseless saintly tears each time you - tossed. - So now--give it up! Dry your eyes; your heaven's a dream! - Sell your saintship for what it is worth, and come over--the Devil's - supreme! - Make Judas Iscariot envy the sweets of our sin-- - Poor Judas, who ended himself where I could have wished to begin! - A chosen complexion--hell's fruit would not have been wasted - Had he lived to eat his fill at the feast he barely tasted. - Ah, my friend, you are horribly good! Oh! I know you of old; - I know all your virtues, your graces, your beauties; I know they are - cold! - But I know that far down in the depths of your crystalline soul - There's a spot the archangel physician might not pronounce whole. - There's a hell in your heaven; there's a heaven in my hell. There we - meet. - What's perdition to you is salvation to me. Ah, the delicate sweet - Of mad meetings, of broken confessions, of nights unblest! - Oh, the shadowy horror of hate that haunts love's steps without rest, - The desire to be dead--to see dead both the beings one hates, - One's self and the other, twin victims of opposite fates! - How I hate you! You thing beyond Satan's supremest temptation, - You creature of light for whom God has ordained no damnation, - You escape me, the being whose searing hand lovingly lingers - On the neck of each sinner to brand him with five red-hot fingers! - You escape me--you dare scoff at me--and I, poor old pretender, - Must sue for your beautiful soul with temptation more tender - Than a man can find for a woman, when night in her moonlit glory - Silvers a word to a poem, makes a poem of a commonplace story! - So I sue here at your feet for your soul and the gold of your heart, - To break my own if I lose you--Lose you? No--do not start. - You angel--you bitter-sweet creature of heaven, I love you and hate - you! - For I know what you are, and I know that my sin cannot mate you. - I know you are better than I--by the blessing of God!-- - And I hate what is better than I by the blessing of God! - What right has the Being Magnificent, reigning supreme, - To wield the huge might that is his, in a measure extreme? - What right has God got of his strength to make you all good, - And me bad from the first and weighed down in my sin's leaden hood? - What right have you to be pure, my angel, when I am foul? - What right have you to the light, while I, like an owl, - Must blink in hell's darkness and count my sins by the bead-- - While you can get all you pray for, the wine and the mead - Of a heavenly blessing, showered upon you straight-- - Because you chance to stand on the consecrate side of the gate? - Ah! Give me a little nature, give me a human truth! - Give me a heart that feels--and falls, as a heart should--without - ruth! - Give me a woman who loves and a man who loves again, - Give me the instant's joy that ends in an age of pain, - Give me the one dear touch that I love--and that you fear-- - And I will give my empire for the Kingdom you hold dear! - I will cease from tempting and torturing, I will let the poor sinner - go, - I will turn my blind eyes heavenward and forget this world below, - I will change from lying to truth, and be forever true-- - If you will only love me--and give the Devil his due!" - -It had been previously arranged that at the last words the nun should -thrust back his Satanic majesty and take refuge in the church. But it -turned out otherwise. As he drew near the conclusion, Ghisleri crept -stealthily up to the Contessa's side, and threw all the persuasion he -possessed into his voice. But it was most probably the Contessa's love -of surprising the world which led her to do the contrary of what was -expected. At the last line of his speech, she made one wild gesture of -despair, and threw herself backward upon Ghisleri's ready arm. For one -moment he looked down into her white upturned face, and his own grew -pale as his gleaming eyes met hers. With characteristic presence of -mind, San Giacinto, the monk, bent his head, and stalked away in holy -horror as the curtain fell. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -As the curtain went down, a burst of applause rang through the room. The -poetry, if it could be called poetry, had assuredly not been of a high -order, and as for the sentiments it expressed, a good number of the -audience were more than usually shocked. But the whole thing had been -effective, unexpected, and striking, especially the ending, over which -the world smacked its lips. - -"I do not like it at all," said Laura Carlyon to Arden, as they left the -seats where they had sat together through the little performance. - -"They looked very well," he answered thoughtfully. "As for what he said, -it was Ghisleri. That is the man's character. He will talk in that way -while he does not believe a word he says, or only one out of ten." - -"Then I do not like his character, nor him," returned the young lady, -frankly. "But I should not say it to you, dear, because he is your best -friend. He shows you all the good there is in him, I suppose, and he -shows us all the bad." - -"No one ever said a truer thing of him," said Arden, limping along by -her side. "But I admire the man's careless strength in what he does." - -"It is easy to use strong language," replied Laura, quietly. "It is -quite another thing to be strong. I believe he is weak, morally -speaking. But then, how should I know? One only guesses at such things, -after all." - -"Yes, it is all guess-work. But I think I understand him better to-night -than before." - -A moment later the sound of dance music came from the most distant and -the largest of the rooms. Ghisleri and the Contessa dell' Armi were -already there. She was so slight of figure, that she draped her nun's -dress over her gown, and had only to drop it to be herself again. They -took a first turn together, and Ghisleri talked softly all the time as -he danced. - -"Shockingly delightful--the whole thing!" exclaimed Donna Adele, -watching them. "How well they acted it! They must have rehearsed very -often." - -"Quite often enough, I have no doubt," said the Marchesa di San -Giacinto, with a laugh. - -An hour or two passed away and Laura Carlyon found herself walking about -with Ghisleri after dancing with him. He was a very magnificent -personage in his scarlet, black and gold costume, and Laura herself -looked far more saintly in her evening gown than the Contessa dell' Armi -had looked in the dress of a nun. The two made a fine contrast, and some -one said so, unfortunately within hearing of both Adele Savelli and -Maddalena dell' Armi. The latter turned her cold face quickly and looked -at Laura and Ghisleri, but her expression did not change. - -"What a very uncertain person that dear Ghisleri is!" observed Donna -Adele to Pietrasanta, as she noticed the Contessa's movement. She spoke -just so loud that the latter could hear her, then turned away with her -companion and walked in the opposite direction. - -Meanwhile Ghisleri and Laura were together. The young girl felt an odd -sensation as her hand lay on his arm, as though she were doing something -wrong. She did not understand his life, nor him, being far too young and -innocent of life's darker thoughts and deeds. She had said that she -disliked him, because that seemed best to express what she felt--a -certain vague wish not to be too near him, a certain timidity when he -was within hearing which she did not feel at other times. - -"You did not mean any of those things you said, did you, Signor -Ghisleri?" she asked, scarcely knowing why she put the question. - -"I meant them all, and much more of the same kind," answered Pietro, -with a hard laugh. - -"I am sorry--I would rather not believe it." - -"Why?" - -"Because it is not right to think such things, nor even to say them in a -play." - -Ghisleri looked at her in some surprise. Laura felt a sort of impulse of -conscience to say what she thought. - -"Ah! you are horribly good!" laughed Ghisleri, quoting his own verse. - -Laura felt uncomfortable as she met his glance. He really looked very -Satanic just then, as his eyebrows went up and the deep lines deepened -between his eyes and on his forehead. - -"Either one believes or one does not," she said. "If one does--" She -hesitated. - -"If one does, does it follow that because God is good to you, He has -been good to me also, Miss Carlyon?" - -His expression changed, and his voice was grave and almost sad. Laura -sighed almost inaudibly, but said nothing. - -"Will you have anything?" he asked indifferently, after the short pause. -"A cup of tea?" - -"Thanks, no. I think I will go to my mother." - -Ghisleri took her to the Princess's side and left her. - -"You seemed to be having a very interesting conversation with Miss -Carlyon just now," said the Contessa dell' Armi as he sat down beside -her a quarter of an hour later. "What were you talking about?" - -"Sin," answered Ghisleri, laconically. - -"With a young girl!" exclaimed the Contessa. "But then--English--" - -"You need not raise your eyebrows, nor talk in that tone, my dear lady," -replied Ghisleri. "Miss Carlyon is quite beyond sarcasms of that sort. -Since you are curious, she was telling me that it was sinful to say the -things you were good enough to listen to in the tableau, even in a -play." - -"Ah? And you will be persuaded, I dare say. What beautiful eyes she has. -It is a pity she is so clumsy and heavily made. Really, has she got you -to promise that you will never say any of those things again--after the -way I ended the piece for you?" - -"No. I have not promised to be good yet. As for your ending of the -performance, I confess I was surprised." - -"You did not show it." - -"It would hardly have been in keeping with my part, would it? But I can -show you that I am grateful at least." - -"For what?" asked the Contessa, raising her eyebrows again. "Do you -think I meant anything by it?" - -"Certainly not," replied Ghisleri, with the utmost calmness. "I suppose -your instinct told you that it would be more novel and effective if the -Saint yielded than if she played the old-fashioned scene of crushing the -devil under her foot." - -"Would you have let yourself be crushed?" - -"By you--yes." Ghisleri spoke slowly and looked steadily into her eyes. - -The Contessa's face softened a little, and she paused before she -answered him. - -"I wish I knew--I wish I were sure whether I really have any influence -over you," she said softly, and then sighed and looked away. - -It was very late when the party broke up, though all had professed the -most positive intention of going home when the clock struck twelve. The -Princess of Gerano offered Arden a seat in her carriage, and Pietro -Ghisleri went away alone. As he passed through the deserted dining-room, -and through the hall where he had sat so long with the Contessa, he -could not help glancing at the corner where they had talked, and he -thought involuntarily of the prologue to the tableau. His face was set -rather sternly, but he smiled, too, as he went by. - -"It is not my last Carnival yet," he said to himself, as he drew on a -great driving-coat which covered his costume completely. Then he went -out. - -It is very hard to say whether he was a sentimental man or not. Men who -write second-rate verses when they are alone, generally are; but, on the -other hand, those who knew him would not have allowed that he possessed -a grain of what is commonly called sentimentality. The word probably -means a sort of vague desire to experience rather fictitious emotions, -with the intention of believing oneself to be passionate by nature, and -in that sense the weakness could not justly be attributed to Ghisleri. -But on this particular night he did a thing which many people would -undoubtedly have called sentimental. He turned aside from the highway -when he left the great palace in which Gouache lived, and he allowed -himself to wander aimlessly on through the older part of the city, until -he stopped opposite to the door of a church which stood in a broad -street near the end of the last by-way he had traversed. The night was -dark and gloomy and the stillness was only broken now and then by a -distant snatch of song, a burst of laughter, or the careless twang of a -guitar, just as Ghisleri had described it. Indeed it was by no means the -first time that he had walked home in the small hours of Ash Wednesday -morning, after a night of gaiety and emotion. - -It chanced that the church upon which he had accidentally come was the -one known as the Church of Prayer and Death. It stands in the Via -Giulia, behind the Palazzo Farnese. He realised the fact at once, and it -seemed like a bad omen. He stood still a long time, looking at the -gloomy door with steady eyes. - -"Just such a place as this," he said, in a low tone. "Just such a church -as that, just such a man as I am. Is this the comedy and was this -evening the reality? Or is it the other way?" - -He called up before his eyes the scene in which he had acted, and his -imagination obeyed him readily enough. He could fancy how the monk and -the nun would look, and the train of revellers, and their movements and -gestures. But the nun's face was not that of the Contessa. Another shone -out vividly in its place. - -"Just God!" ejaculated the lonely man. "Am I so bad as that? Not to care -after so much?" - -He turned upon his heel as though to escape the vision, and walked -quickly away, hating himself. But he was mistaken. He cared--as he -expressed it--far more than he dreamed of, more deeply, perhaps, in his -own self-contradictory, irregular fashion than the woman of whom he was -thinking. - -People talked for some time of the Shrove Tuesday feast at Gouache's -studio. Then they fell to talking about other things. Lent passed in the -usual way, and there was not much change in the lives of the persons -most concerned in this history. Ghisleri saw much less of Arden than -formerly, of course, as the latter was wholly absorbed by his passion -for his future wife. As for the world, it was as much occupied with -dinner parties, musical evenings, and private theatricals as it had -formerly been with dancing. The time sped quickly. The past season had -left behind it an enormous Corpus Scandalorum Romanorum which made -conversation both easy and delightful. How many of the unpleasant -stories concerning Lord Herbert Arden, Laura Carlyon, Pietro Ghisleri, -and Maddalena dell' Armi could have been distinctly traced to Adele -Savelli, it is not easy to say. As a matter of fact, very few persons -excepting Ghisleri himself took any trouble to trace them at all. To the -average worldly taste it is as unpleasant to follow up the origin of a -delightfully savoury lie, as it is to think, while eating, of the true -history of a beefsteak, from the meadow to the table by way of the -slaughter-house and the cook's fingers. - -Holy week came, and the muffled bells and the silence in houses at other -times full and noisy, and the general air of depression which results, -most probably, from a certain amount of genuine repentance and devotion -which is felt in a place where by no means all are bad at heart, and -many are sincerely good. The gay set felt uncomfortable, and a certain -number experienced for the first time the most distinct aversion to -confessing their misdeeds, as they ought to do at least once a year. As -far as they were concerned, Ghisleri's verses expressed more truth than -they had expected to find in them. Ghisleri himself was rarely troubled -by any return of the qualm which had seized him before the door of the -Church of Prayer and Death, and never again in the same degree. If he -did not go on his way rejoicing, he at all events proceeded without -remorse, and was wicked enough and selfish enough to congratulate -himself upon the fact. - -Arden and Laura were perfectly happy. They, at least, had little cause -to reproach themselves with any evil done in the world since they had -met, and Arden had assuredly better reason for congratulating himself. -It would indeed have been hard to find a happier man than he, and his -happiness was perfectly legitimate and well founded. Whether it would -prove durable was another matter, not so easy of decision. But the facts -of the present were strong enough to crush all apprehension for the -future. It was not strange that it should be so. - -He could not be said to have led a lonely life. His family were deeply -attached to him, and from earliest boyhood everything had been done to -alleviate the moral suffering inevitable in his case, and to make his -material existence as bearable as possible, in spite of his terrible -infirmities. But for the unvarying sympathy of many loving hearts, and -the unrelaxing care of those who were sincerely devoted to him, Arden -could hardly have hoped to attain to manhood at all, much less to the -healthy moral growth which made him very unlike most men in his -condition, or the comparative health of body whereby he was able to -enjoy without danger much of what came in his way. He was in reality a -much more social and sociable man than his friend Ghisleri, though he -did not possess the same elements of success in society. He was, indeed, -sensitive, as has been said, in spite of his denial of the fact, but he -was not bitter about his great misfortune. Hitherto only one very -painful thought had been connected with his deformity, beyond the -constant sense of physical inferiority to other men. He had felt, and -not without reason, that he must renounce the love of woman and the hope -of wedded happiness, as being utterly beyond the bounds of all human -possibility. And now, as though Heaven meant to compensate him to the -full for the suffering inflicted and patiently borne, he had won, almost -without an effort, the devoted love of the first woman for whom he had -seriously cared. It was almost too good. - -Love had taken him, and had clothed him in a new humanity, as it seemed -to him, straightening the feeble limbs, strengthening the poor -ill-matched shoulders, broadening and deepening the sunken chest that -never held breath enough before wherewith to speak out full words of -passionate happiness. Love had dawned upon the dusk of his dark morning -as the dawn of day upon a leaden sea, scattering unearthly blossoms in -the path of the royal sun, breathing the sweet breeze of living joy upon -the flat waters of unprofitable discontent. - -To those who watch the changing world with its manifold scenes and its -innumerable actors, whose merest farce is ever and only the prologue to -the tragedy which awaits all, there is nothing more wonderful, nothing -more beautiful, nothing more touching--perhaps few things more -sacred--than the awakening of a noble heart at love's first magic touch. -The greater miracle of spring is done before our eyes each year, the sun -shines and the grass grows, it rains and all things are refreshed, and -the dead seed's heart breaks with the joy of coming life, bursts and -shoots up to meet the warmth of the sunshine and be kissed by the west -wind. But we do not see, or seeing, care for none of these things in the -same measure in which we care for ourselves--and perhaps for others. We -turn from the budding flower wearily enough at last, and we own that -though it speak to us and touch us, its language is all but strange and -its meaning wholly a mystery. Nature tells us little except by -association with hearts that have beaten for ours, and then sometimes -she tells us all. But the heart itself is the thing, the reality, the -seat of all our thoughts and the stay of all our being. Selfishly we see -what it does in ourselves, and in others we may see it and watch it -without thought of self. It is asleep to-day, lethargic, heavy, dull, -scarce moving in the breast that holds it. To-morrow it is awake, -leaping, breaking, splendidly alive, the very source of action, the -leader in life's fight, the conqueror of the whole opposing world, -bursting to-day the chains of which only yesterday it could not lift a -link, overthrowing now, with a touch, the barriers which once seemed so -impenetrable and so strong, scorning the deathlike inaction of the past, -tossing the mountains of impossibility before it as a child tosses -pebbles by the sea. The miracle is done, and love has done it, as only -love really can. - -But it must be the right sort of love and the heart it touches must be -neither common nor unclean in the broad, true sense--such a heart, say, -as Herbert Arden's, and such love as he felt for Laura, then and -afterwards. - -"My life began on the evening when I first met you, dear," he said, as -they sat by the open window on Easter Day, looking down at the flowers -on the terrace behind the Palazzo Braccio. - -"You cannot make me believe that you loved me at first sight!" Laura -laughed happily. - -"Why not?" he asked gravely. "No woman ever spoke to me as you did then, -and I felt it. Is it strange? But it hurt me, too, at first, and I used -to suffer during that first month." - -"Let that be the first and the last pain you ever have by me," answered -the young girl. "I know you suffered, though I cannot even now tell why. -Can you?" - -"Easily enough," said Arden, resting his chin upon his folded hands as -they lay upon the white marble sill of the window, scarcely less white -than they. The attitude was habitual to him when he was in that place. -He could not rest his elbow on the slab as Laura could, for he was too -short as he sat in his chair. - -"Easily?" she asked. "Then tell me." - -"Very easily. You can understand it too. When I knew that I loved you, I -knew--I believed, at least, that another suffering had been found for -me, as though I had not enough already. Of course, I was hopeless. How -could I tell, how could any one guess that you--you of all women--with -your beauty, your youth, your splendid woman's heart--could ever care -for me? Oh, my darling--dear, dearest--is there no other word? If I -could only tell you half!" - -"If you could tell me all, you would only have told half, love," said -Laura. "There is mine to tell, too--and it is not a little." She bent -down to him and softly kissed the beautiful pale forehead. - -The bright flush came to Arden's cheek and died away again in the happy -silence that followed. But he raised his head, and his two hands took -one of hers and gently covered it. - -"You must always be the same to me," he said, almost under his breath. -"You have given me this new life--do not take it from me again--the old -would be impossible now, not to be lived." - -"It need never be lived, it never shall be, if I live myself," answered -Laura. "If only I could make you sure of that, I should be really happy. -But you do not really doubt it, Herbert, do you?" - -"No, dear, to doubt you would be to doubt everything--though it is hard -to believe that it can all be so good, and last." - -"It does not seem hard to me. Perhaps a woman believes everything more -easily than a man does. She needs to believe more, I suppose, and so she -finds it easy." - -"No woman ever needed to believe as much as I," answered Arden, -thoughtfully. He still held her hand, and passed one of his own lightly -over it, just pressing it now and then, as though to make sure that it -was real. "Except yourself, dear one," he added a moment later, with a -sharp, short breath, as though something hurt him. - -Laura was quick to understand him, and to feel all that he felt. She -heard the little sigh and looked into his face and saw the expression of -something like pain there. She laid her free hand upon his shoulder and -gazed into his soft brown eyes. - -"Herbert dear," she said, "I know what you are thinking about. I was put -into the world to make you forget those things, and, God willing, I -will. You shall forget them as completely as I do, or if you remember -them they shall be dear to you, in a way, as they are to me." - -A wonderful look of loving gratitude was in his face, and he pressed her -fingers closely in his. - -"Tell me one thing, Laura--only this once and I will not speak of it -again. When you touch me--when you lay your hand on my shoulder--when -you kiss my forehead--tell me quite truly, dear, do you not feel -anything like--like a sort of horror, a kind of repulsion, as if you -were touching something--well--unpleasant to touch?" - -Poor Arden really did not know how much he was loved. Laura's deep eyes -opened wide for an instant, as he spoke, then almost closed again, and -her lips quivered. Then suddenly without warning the bright tears welled -up and overflowed. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. - -"Oh, Herbert," she cried, "that you should think it of me, when I love -you as though my heart would break!" - -With a movement that would have cost him a painful effort at any other -time, Arden rose and clasped her to him and tried to soothe her, -caressing her thick black hair, and kissing her forehead tenderly, with -a sort of passionate reverence that was his own, and speaking such words -as came to his lips in the deep emotion of the moment. - -"Forgive me, darling, how could I hurt you? Laura--sweetheart -Laura--beloved--do not cry--I know it now--I shall never think of it -again. No, dear, no--there, say you have forgiven me!" - -"Forgiven you, dear--what is there to forgive?" She looked up with -streaming eyes. - -"Everything, love--those tears of yours, first of all--" - -She dried her eyes and made him sit down again before she spoke, looking -out of the window at the flowers. - -"It is not your fault," she said at last. "I have not shown you how I -love yet--that is all. But I will, soon." - -"You have shown it already, dear--far more than you know." - -The world might have been surprised could it have seen the two -together--the tipsy cripple, as it called Arden, and the girl who loved -Francesco Savelli, as it unhesitatingly denominated Laura. It would have -been a little surprised at first, and then, on mature reflection, it -would have said that it was all a comedy, and that both acted it very -well. Was it not natural that Arden should want a pretty wife and that -Laura should take any husband that presented himself, since she could -get no better? And in that case why should not each act a comedy to gain -the other's hand? The world did that sort of thing every day, and what -the world did Arden and Laura could very well afford to do; and after -all, it was not of the slightest importance, since they were both going -away, so why should one talk about them? The answer to that last -question is so very hard to find that it may be left to those who put -it. Donna Adele seemed satisfied, and that was the principal -consideration for the present. - -"My poor sister!" she exclaimed to Ghisleri one day. - -"Step-sister," observed Pietro, correcting her. - -"Oh, we were always quite like real sisters," answered Adele. "Of -course, my dear Ghisleri, I know what a splendid man Lord Herbert is, in -everything but his unfortunate deformity. Any one can see that in his -face, and besides, you would not have chosen him for your friend if he -were not immensely superior to other men." - -Ghisleri puffed at his cigarette, looked at her, laughed, and puffed -again. - -"But that one thing," continued Adele, "I cannot understand how she can -overlook it, can you? I assure you if my father had told me to marry -Lord Herbert, I should have done something quite desperate. I think I -should almost have refused. I would almost rather have had to marry -you." - -"Really?" Pietro showed some amusement. "Do you think you could have -loved me in the end?" he inquired as though he were asking for -information of the most commonplace kind. - -"Loved you?" Adele laughed rather unnaturally. "It would have been -something definite, at all events," she added. "Either love or hate." - -"And you do not believe that your step-sister can ever love or hate -Arden? There is more in him than you imagine." - -"I dare say, but not of the kind I should like. Besides, they say that -though he never drinks quite too much, he is sometimes very excited and -behaves and talks very strangely." - -"They say that, do they? Who are 'they'?" Ghisleri's eyes suddenly grew -hard, and his jaw seemed to become extremely square. - -"They? Oh, many people, of course. The world says so. Do not be so -dreadfully angry. What difference can it make to you? I never said that -he drank too much." - -"If you should hear people talking about him in that way," said -Ghisleri, quietly, "you might say that the story is not true, since -there is really no truth in it at all. Arden is almost like an invalid. -He drinks a glass of hock at breakfast and a glass or two of claret at -dinner. I rarely see him touch champagne, and he never takes liqueurs. -As for his being excited and behaving strangely, that is a pure -fabrication. He is the quietest man I know." - -"It is really of no use to be so impressive," answered Adele. "It makes -me uncomfortable." - -"That is almost as disagreeable a thing as to meet a looking-glass when -one comes home at seven in the morning," observed Pietro. "Let us not -talk about it." - -Donna Adele had gone as near as she dared to saying something -unpleasant about Lord Herbert Arden, and Ghisleri had checked her with a -wholesome shock. In his experience he had generally found that his words -carried weight with them, for some reason which he did not even attempt -to explain. If the truth were known, it would appear that Adele was at -that time much inclined to like Ghisleri, and was willing to sacrifice -even the pleasure of saying a sharp thing rather than offend him. The -short conversation here reported took place in her boudoir late in the -afternoon, and when Ghisleri went away his place was soon taken by the -Marchesa di San Giacinto--a lady of sufficiently good heart, but of too -ready tongue, with coal-black, sparkling eyes, and a dark complexion -relieved by a bright and healthy colour--rather a contrast to the rest -of the Montevarchi tribe. - -"Pietro Ghisleri has been here," observed Adele, in the course of -conversation. - -"To meet Maddalena, I suppose," laughed the Marchesa, not meaning any -harm. - -"No. They did it once, and I told Pietro that I would not have that sort -of thing in my house," said Adele, with dignity. - -As a matter of fact, she had not dared to say a word to Ghisleri on the -subject, but he and the Contessa had decided that Adele's drawing-room -was not a safe place for meeting, and it was quite true that they had -carefully avoided finding themselves there together ever since. But -Adele was well aware that Flavia San Giacinto and Ghisleri were by no -means intimate, and were not likely to exchange confidences; and though -the Marchesa was ready enough at repeating harmless tales in the world, -she was reticent with her husband, whom she really loved, and whose good -opinion she valued. - -"Was he amusing?" asked Flavia. "He sometimes is." - -"He was not to-day, but the conversation was. You know how intimate he -is with Laura's little lord?" - -"Of course! What did he say?" - -"And you remember the story about the champagne at the Gerano ball, when -he carried Arden out of the room and put him to bed?" - -"Perfectly," answered the Marchesa, with a smile. - -"Yes. Well, I pressed him very hard to-day, to find out what the little -man's habits really are. You see he is to be of the family, and we must -really find out. My dear, it is quite dreadful! He says positively that -Arden never touches liqueurs, but when I drove him to it, he had to -admit that he drinks all sorts of wines--Rhine wine, claret, burgundy, -champagne--everything! It is no wonder that it goes to his head, poor -little fellow. But I am sorry for Laura." - -"After all," said Flavia, "one cannot blame him much, if he tries to be -a little gay. He must suffer terribly." - -"Oh, no, one cannot blame him," assented Adele. - -Flavia San Giacinto was somewhat amused, knowing, as she did, that Adele -had herself originated the tale about Lord Herbert. And late that -evening the temptation to repeat what she had heard became too strong -for her. She told it all in the strictest confidence to her dearest -friend, Donna Maria Boccapaduli. But Donna Maria was a little -absent-minded at the moment, her eldest boy having got a cold which -threatened to turn into whooping cough, and her husband having written -to her from the country, asking her to come down the next day and give -her advice about some necessary repairs in the castle. - -On the following afternoon--it was still during Lent--she met the -Contessa dell' Armi on the steps of a church after hearing a sermon. The -Contessa was very pale and looked as though she had been crying. - -"Only think, my dear," began Donna Maria. "It is quite true that Lord -Herbert drinks. Adele knows all about it." - -"Does she?" asked the Contessa, indifferently enough. "How did she find -it out?" - -"Ghisleri told her ever so many stories about it yesterday afternoon--in -the strictest confidence, you know." - -"Indeed! I did not think that Signor Ghisleri was the sort of man who -gossiped about his friends. Good-bye, dear. I shall see more of you when -Lent is over." - -Thereupon the Contessa got into the carriage with rather an odd -expression on her face. As she drove away alone, she bit her lip, and -looked as though she were trying to keep back certain tears that rose in -her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -On the Saturday succeeding Easter, Lord Herbert Arden and Laura Carlyon -were married. The ceremony was conducted, as they both desired, very -quietly and unostentatiously, as was becoming for a young couple who -must live economically. Few persons were asked to be present at the -wedding service, and among them was Pietro Ghisleri. He had seen English -weddings before, but he looked on with some curiosity and with rather -mixed feelings of satisfaction and regret. He thought of his own life as -he stood there, and for one moment he sincerely wished that he were only -awaiting his turn to be dealt with as Arden was, to be taken by the -hand, joined to the woman he loved, and turned out upon the world a -well-behaved, proper, married man. The next moment he smiled faintly and -rather bitterly. Marriage had not been instituted for men like him, -thought Ghisleri. If it had been, it would hardly have been so -successful an institution as it has proved itself. As for the young -couple, he wished them well. Arden was almost the only man for whom he -felt any attachment, and he had the most sincere admiration for Laura. - -Without feeling anything in the least resembling affection for the -lovely English girl, he was conscious that he thought of her very often. -Her eyes, which he called holy, and saintly, and sweet, and dark in his -rough rhymed impressions of the day, haunted him by night, like the -eyes of a sad angel following him in his unblest wanderings through -life. Of love for her, he felt not the slightest thrill. His pulse never -quickened when she came, nor was he at all depressed by her departure. -If he had cared for her in the very least, it must have caused him some -little pain to see her married to another before his eyes. Instead, the -only passing regret he felt, was that he could not himself stand in some -such position as Arden, but by another woman's side. To that other he -gave all, as he honestly believed, which he had to give. It was long, -too, since the very possibility of loving a young girl had crossed his -mind, and since his early youth there had not been anything approaching -to the reality of such a love in his life. And yet he knew that he was -in some degree under Laura's influence, and in a way in which he was -assuredly not under that of the Contessa dell' Armi. The consciousness -of this fact annoyed him. There was a good deal of a certain sort of -loyalty in his nature, bad as he believed himself to be, and bad as many -honest and good people who read this history will undoubtedly say that -he was. If such badness could be justified or even excused, it would not -be hard to find some reasonable excuses for him, and after all he was -probably not worse than a hundred others to be found in the society of -every great city. He thought he was worse, sometimes, as he had told -Arden, because he himself also thought that he was more fully aware than -most men of what he was doing and of the consequences of his deeds. It -is most likely, considering his character, that at that time Laura -Carlyon represented to him a species of ideal such as he could admire -with all his heart at a distance, and so nearly coinciding with his own -as to be very often in his thoughts in the place of the one he had so -long ago contracted for himself. All this sounds very complicated, while -the facts in the case were broadly plain. He appreciated Laura in the -highest degree, and did not love her at all. He was sincerely glad that -his best if not his only intimate friend should marry her, and when he -bid them good-bye he did not feel the smallest twinge of regret except -as at a temporary parting from two persons whom he liked. - -"You must come and stop with us this summer," said Arden, looking up at -him with flushed and happy face. "You know how glad my brother always is -to see you. Besides, you are an old friend of my wife's, if any further -reasons are necessary. She wants you to come too." - -"Of course I do," said Laura, promptly, as she held out her hand. - -Strange to say, she had felt far less of that unpleasant, half-timid, -half-pained dislike for Ghisleri, since she had grown used to the idea -of being Herbert Arden's wife. - -And now that her name was really changed, and she was forever bound to -her husband, she felt it not at all. It was strange, considering the -circumstances, that she should have the certainty that Arden could and -would protect her, come what might. The poor little shrunken frame -certainly did not suggest the manly strength to shield a woman in -danger, which every woman loves to feel. The thin, white hand would have -been but a bundle of threads in Ghisleri's strong grip. And yet Laura -Arden, as she now was to be called, knew that she would trust her -husband to take her part and win against a stronger and a worse man than -Ghisleri, should she ever be in need; and, what is more, Ghisleri saw -that she did, and his admiration rose still higher. There must be -something magnificent in a woman who could so wholly forget such outward -frailness and deformity in the man she loved, as to forget also that -sometimes in life a man's hand may need that same common brute strength, -just to match it against another's, for a woman's dear sake. Such love -as that, thought Pietro, must be supremely noble, unselfish, and -lasting. Being founded upon no outward illusion, there was no reason why -anything should undermine it, nor why the foundation itself should ever -crumble away. - -That was his view, and, on the whole, it was not an unjust one. For the -facts were true. If, when they drove away to the station, Herbert Arden -had suddenly, by magic, been clothed in the colossal frame and iron -strength of San Giacinto himself, Laura would have felt no safer nor -more perfectly shielded and guarded from earthly harm than she really -did while she was pulling up the window lest her husband should catch -cold even in the mild April air, and lovingly arranging the heavy silk -scarf about his neck. - -They went southward by common consent, as indeed they did everything. -They would go to England later in the year, in June perhaps, when it was -warmer. In the meanwhile Arden's brother had offered them his yacht, and -they could cruise for a month in the Mediterranean, almost choosing -their own climate day by day, and wholly independent of all the manifold -annoyances, inconveniences, and positive sufferings which beset the path -of young married couples who have not yachts at their disposal. What -both most desired was to be alone together, to have enough of each other -at last, free from the tiresome daily little crowd of social spectators, -and this they could nowhere accomplish so pleasantly and completely as -in the luxuriously fitted vessel lent them by Arden's brother. The -latter had not seen fit to come to the wedding, but Arden had in no way -taken it amiss, though the world had found plenty to say on the subject, -and not by any means to Arden's credit. The said brother was a decidedly -eccentric person of enormous wealth, who hated anything at all -resembling publicity or public ceremony, and was, moreover, a very bad -correspondent. - -"I am very glad to hear of your engagement, my dear old brother," he -wrote. "They say Miss Carlyon is good and beautiful. I have no doubt she -is, though I do not at this moment recollect knowing any woman who was -both. I have sent the yacht to Naples for you, if you care for a cruise. -Keep her as long as you like, and telegraph if you want her sent -anywhere else--Nice, for instance, or Venice. Ask your wife to wear the -pearls by way of making acquaintance at second hand. They are what I -could find. I send a man with them, as they might get lost. Now -good-bye, dear boy, enjoy yourself and come to us as soon as you can. -Yours ever, HARRY. - -"P.S. As it is often such a bore to draw money in those funny Italian -towns, I enclose a few circular notes which may be useful. Bess and the -children are all well and send love and lots of congratulations. I -suppose you have written to Uncle Herbert." - -The few circular notes thus casually alluded to amounted to two thousand -pounds, and it would be unsafe to speculate on the value of the pearls -which the messenger brought on his person and delivered safely into -Arden's hands. "Harry" was not over-lavish, except where his brother was -concerned, and always inwardly regretted that Herbert needed so little -and insisted upon living within his modest income. To "give things to -Herbert" was one of the few real pleasures he extracted from his great -fortune. On the present occasion Arden was glad to accept the money, for -he had the very most vague notions of the expense of married life, and -had anticipated real economy during his honeymoon, which, of course, -could not be quite as pleasant to Laura as having plenty of money to -spend. That last little difficulty being removed, he felt that he could -give himself up light-hearted to the idyl of perfect love which Laura -had brought into his existence. - -And forthwith the idyl began, delicate, gentle, lovely as love's life -can be where soul and heart are in harmony, heart to soul, while purity -teaches innocence what it is to be man and wife. - -The harmony was real. Laura and her husband had much in common, -intellectually and morally. Not, indeed, that she made any pretence to -superior intelligence or extended culture. Even had she possessed very -remarkable capabilities, the surroundings in which she had been brought -up had not been of a nature to develop them beyond the average. But she -was not especially gifted, except perhaps in having a good memory and a -somewhat unusually sound judgment in most matters. Yet she was not -without taste, and such as she had was not only both healthy and -refined, but coincided to an extraordinary degree with Arden's own. Both -liked the same authors, the same general kind of art, the same things in -nature, and very generally the same people. Both were perhaps at that -time somewhat morbidly inclined to a sort of semi-transcendentalism, -Arden by nature and circumstances, and Laura by attraction. It must not -be supposed that they went to any lengths in that direction. They did -not speculate on spiritual marriage, nor did they agree with that famous -philosopher who at the last was sure that the earth was turning into a -bun and the sea into lemonade in order that man might eat, drink, and be -happy without effort. They did not pursue improbable theories nor offer -subtle perfumes before the altar of impossibility. But they felt a -certain almost unnatural indifference to the concrete world, and lived -in a world of ideas, thoughts, and affections which were quite their -own. It was impossible to predict whether such an existence would last, -or whether it would ultimately change into one more evidently stable, if -also less removed from earth. For the present, at least, both were -indescribably happy. - -The question how far it is possible for one of two loving beings to -forget and grow unconscious of very great physical defect in the other -is in itself interesting as showing how far, in a well-organised nature, -the immaterial can get the better of grosser things. To explain what -Laura felt would be to explain the deepest impulses of humanity, and -those may attempt it who feel themselves equal to the task and are -attracted by it. The fact, as such, is undeniable. On the whole, too, it -may be said that there is no great reason why a very refined -intelligence should not overlook material considerations as completely -as in the majority of cases the more coarsely planned consciousness -forgets the existence of intellectual and moral deformity. - -Such extreme refinement may not be durable. There is a refinement of -nature, inborn, delicate, and sensitive, and there is a refinement which -depends for its existence upon youth and innocence. Laura possessed all -the latter, and something of the former as well. She would have been -shocked and deeply wounded had she been told that she had married -Herbert Arden out of pity, and yet pity had undeniably given the first -impulse to her love. - -The circumstances, too, were favourable for its growth. Neither had felt -much regret in leaving Rome. Apart from her affection for her mother, -Laura had never found much that was congenial in the city in which she -had been brought up as though it had been her birthplace. As for Arden -himself, he was too much accustomed to travelling from place to place to -prefer one city to another in any great degree. So the two were alone -together and desired nothing beyond what they had, which, perhaps, is -the ideal condition for lovers. To most people, however, the honeymoon -is a terrible trial--probably because most young couples are not very -desperately in love with each other. They wander aimlessly about in all -directions, a sort of joint sacrifice, perpetually tortured and daily -offered up on the altar of the diabolical courier, crushed beneath the -ubiquitous Juggernaut hotel-keeper, bound continually in new and arid -places to be torn by the vulture guide, and ultimately sent home more or -less penniless, quite temperless, and perhaps permanently disgusted with -one another and with married life. And yet the absurd farce is kept up, -in ninety and nine cases out of a hundred, because custom sanctions -it--as though the sanction of custom were necessary when two people wish -to be harmlessly happy in their own way. - -But with the Ardens it was quite different. They were quite beyond the -regions of the guide, the courier, and the hotel-keeper, and they loved -each other so much that neither ever irritated the other, a condition of -existence probably closely resembling that of the saints in paradise. - -Nothing could exceed Laura's watchfulness and care where Arden's health -was concerned, and, fortunately for her, he was not one of those men who -resent being constantly taken care of. Indeed, poor man, he needed all -she gave him in that way, for the winter season with its unusual gaiety -and the necessary exposure to a certain amount of night air in all -weathers, had severely tried his constitution. But now the sea and the -southern sun strengthened him, and sometimes there was even something -like healthy colour in his face. Happiness, too, is said to be a good -medicine, better perhaps than any in the world, and Arden had his share -of it, and a most abundant share. Never, he said to himself, had a man -been so blessed as he, nor at a time when he so little expected -blessings, having made up his mind that all he could hope for had -already been given him in this world. He almost forgot that he was a -cripple, as he sat in his deep cane chair by Laura's side, looking from -her to the dancing light on the water, and from the blue water to her -dark eyes again. He seemed to go every day through a round of beauty, -from one delicious vision to another, returning between each to that one -of all others which he loved best, and knew to be all his own. And those -same eyes of Laura's grew less sad than they had been in the beginning. -The sunlight got into them, as into dark jewels, and made stars of light -about their central depths. The soft wind blew on her clear white cheek -and lent her natural, healthy pallor a warmth it had not before. Her -very step grew more elastic, and the firm, well-shaped hands seemed more -than ever strong. Almost beautiful before, there were moments when she -was quite beautiful indeed, as innocent girlhood changed to pure -womanhood in the sweet southern air. - -Laura read aloud a great deal in the intervals of conversation, and the -days passed almost too quickly. The vessel was a large steam-yacht, of -the modern type, comfortable in the extreme, and capable of -accommodating a large party--for two persons it was almost palatial. -Whatever the weather, cool or hot, rainy or dry, rough or fair, there -was always a place where they could install themselves in the morning or -the afternoon, and talk and read to their hearts' content. They had no -fixed plan either in their wanderings, but went where their fancy took -them, to Palermo, to Messina, to Syracuse. They sat together in the vast -ruined theatre above magic Taormina, and gazed on the sunlit sea and -Etna's snowy crest. They went to Malta, they drove, side by side, -through the lovely gardens of Corfu. They ran in fair weather up to the -lagoons of Venice, and wandered in a gondola through the wide canals and -narrow water lanes of the most beautiful city in the world. Then down -the long Adriatic again, past Zara and Xanthe, round Matapan to the -Piræus--then, when they had had their fill of Athens, away by one long -run to Sicily again, to Algiers next, and then to Barcelona and the -Spanish coast, homeward bound at last, towards England. For the weather -was growing warm now, and Laura noticed that she saw less often in -Arden's face the colour she had watched with such pleasure during the -first weeks. There was no cause for anxiety, she thought, but it was -possible that he needed always an even temperature, neither cold nor -hot, and it was time to reach England, before the July sun had scorched -the southern land. - -And throughout all this quiet time the song of happiness was ever in -their ears. The world they cared so little for, and which had taken the -trouble to say such disagreeable things about them, was left infinitely -far behind in their new life. From time to time letters reached Laura -from Rome, and Arden had one from Ghisleri, containing little detailed -news, but full of angry threats at a kind of general undefined enemy, -which might be humanity taken all together, or might be some one -particular person whom the writer had in his mind. Pietro generally -wrote in that way. Rarely, indeed, did he mention people by name, and -then only when he had something to say to their credit. It was a part -of what Arden called his absurd reticence, and which, absurd or not, was -certainly exaggerated. Possibly Ghisleri had, at some time in his youth, -experienced the extremely unpleasant consequences of being indiscreet, -and had promised himself not to succumb to that form of weakness again. -At all events, he found that though Arden sometimes laughed at him, he -never got into trouble through being discreet, and other people were not -disposed to be merry at his expense. It was a long time since he had -quarrelled with any one, and, having turned peaceable, the world -promptly accused him of cynicism and indifference, an accusation which -did not annoy him at all. Indeed, it was rather convenient than -otherwise, that people should think of him as they did, since the result -was that less was expected of him than of most people. - -Laura's mother wrote loving letters, full of simple household news, and -of solicitude for her daughter and Arden, asking many questions as to -their plans for the future, and continually expressing the hope that -they would spend the coming winter in Rome. - -"What do you think of it?" Laura asked one day, as they sat together on -deck in the sunshine. - -"That is one of those things which you must decide, dear," answered -Arden. "Of course I suppose I ought to spend the winter in the south as -usual. I do not believe I could stand England in December and January. -There are lots of delightful southern places where we could stay a few -months, besides Rome--but then, in Rome you will have your mother. That -makes a great difference." - -"You are first now, love," said Laura. "You come before my mother--much -as I love her." - -"Darling--how good you are!" He took her hand and kissed it softly. - -"Not half as good as I ought to be. But there are two things to be -considered, dear. There is the climate, as you say, and then there is a -social question we have never talked about--it seems so far away now. In -the first place, does Rome really suit you? Are you always well there, -as you were last winter?" - -"Oh, yes. I have always been perfectly well in Rome, and I like the -place immensely, besides." - -"And you have your friend, Signor Ghisleri, too. That is another point. -On the other hand, I do not think either of us would ever wish to stay a -whole winter with my mother and step-father. We must live somewhere by -ourselves, and we shall have to live very quietly." - -"The more quietly the better. Is that the social question, darling?" - -"No," answered Laura, "but it is connected with it. There is something I -never spoke of. Did it ever strike you, when you first knew me, that -somehow I was not so much liked as other girls in society? Do not think -I ask the question out of any sort of vanity. I want to know what your -impression was. Tell me quite frankly, will you?" - -"Of course I will. It did strike me--I never knew whether you were aware -of it. I even tried to find out the reason of it, and to some extent I -believe I did." - -"Did you?" asked Laura, with sudden interest. "I wish I knew--I have so -often thought about it all." - -Arden laughed, leaning back in his chair and looking at her face. - -"It is the most absurd story I ever heard," he said. "I ought not even -to say I heard it, for I guessed it from little things that happened. -People think that your step-sister's husband, Savelli, is in love with -you, and I suppose they imagine that you have something to do with -it--encouraged him, and that sort of thing. I am quite sure that Donna -Adele--am I to call her Adele now?--is jealous, for I have witnessed the -manifestation with my own eyes. It is all too utterly ridiculous, but as -you are quite English you were at a disadvantage, and were not as -popular as you ought to have been." - -He laughed again, and this time Laura joined in his laughter. - -"Is that it?" she cried. "Poor Francesco! To think of any one suspecting -that he could be in love with me, when he is so perfectly happy with his -wife! And he is always so nice, and talks to me more than any one. -Whenever I am stranded at a party, he comes and takes care of me." - -"That is probably the origin of the gossip," observed Arden, still -smiling. "But I do not think we shall have any nonsense of that sort -now. Do you think your mother understood it all?" - -"No--and I believe she was far less conscious that there was anything -wrong, than I was. Poor Francesco! I cannot help laughing." - -Laura was sincerely amused by the tale, as she well might be, and as -Pietro Ghisleri would have been, had he heard it. The story Arden had -put together out of the evidence he had was, as a matter of fact, the -very converse of the one actually circulated. - -"I do not see," said he, "why this bit of fantastic gossip need be taken -into consideration, when we are talking of our winter in Rome. What -difference can it possibly make?" - -"For you, dear--and a little for me, too. Neither of us would care to go -back to a society where there was anything to make us disliked. As you -say, there are plenty of other places, and as for my mother, she could -come and see us, and stop a little while, and I am sure she would if we -asked her." - -"Do you mean to say, Laura, that you seriously believe our position -would not be everything it ought to be?" asked Arden, in some surprise. - -"Oh, no; it would be all right, of course. Only we might not be exactly -the centre of the gay set." - -"Which neither of us care to be in the least." - -"Not in the least. We are our own set, you and I--are we not?" - -Laura thought of what Arden had told her for a long time afterwards, and -tried to explain to herself by his theory all the infinitesimal details -which had formerly shown her that she was not a universal favourite. But -the story did not cover all the ground. Of one thing, however, she -became almost certain--Adele was her enemy, for some reason or other, -and was a person to beware of, should Laura and her husband return to -Rome. It had taken her long to form this conviction, but being once -formed it promised to be durable, as her convictions generally were. - -It was with sincere regret that the couple left the yacht at last. They -had grown to look upon it almost as a permanent home, and to wish that -it might be so altogether. Nevertheless Laura could not but see that -Arden's health improved again as they reached a cooler climate and -travelled northward towards his brother's home. The season was not yet -over in London, but "Harry" did not like London much, and did not like -the season there at all. What the Marchioness thought about it no one -knows to this day, but she appeared to resign herself with a good grace -to the life her husband chose to lead. The latter welcomed his brother -and Laura in his own fashion, with an odd mixture of cordiality and -stiffness, the latter only superficial, the former thoroughly genuine -and heartfelt, as Arden explained to his wife without delay. - -Existence in an English country house was quite new to her, and but for -the abominable weather for which that year remained famous, she would at -first have enjoyed it very much. The rain, however, seemed -inexhaustible. Day after day it poured, night after night the heavy -mists rose from park, and woodland, and meadow, and moor. It seemed as -though the sun would never shine again. Arden never grew weary of those -long days spent with Laura, nor indeed was she ever tired of being with -the man she loved. But being young and strong, she would gladly have -breathed the bright air again, while he, on his part, lost appetite, -caught cold continually, and grew daily paler and more languid. Little -by little Laura became anxious about him and her care redoubled. He had -never looked as he looked now, even when most worn and wearied out with -the life of society he had led in Rome before his marriage. His face was -growing thin, almost to emaciation, and his hands were transparent. -Laura made up her mind that something must be done at once. It was clear -that he longed for the south again, and it was probable that nothing -else could restore him to comparative strength. - -"Let us go away, Herbert," she said one day. "You are not looking well, -and I believe we shall never see the sun again unless we go to the -south." - -"No," answered Arden, "I am not well. I shall be all right again as soon -as we get to Rome." - -He seemed to take it for granted that Rome should be their destination, -and on the whole Laura was glad of it. She would be glad to see her -mother, too, after so many months of separation. So it was decided, and -before long they were once more on their way. - -It was not an easy journey for either of them. Arden was now decidedly -out of health, and needed much care at all times, while Laura herself -was so nervous and anxious about him that she often felt her hand -tremble violently when she smoothed his cushion in the railway carriage, -or poured him out something to drink. She would not hear of being -helped, when her husband's man, who had been with him since his boyhood, -privately entreated her to take a nurse, and to give herself rest from -time to time, especially during the journey. - -"We must not let his lordship know how ill he is, Donald," she answered -gently. "You must be very careful about that, too, when you are alone -with him. He will be quite well again in Rome," she added hopefully. - -Donald shook his head wisely, and refrained from further expostulation. -He had discovered that his new mistress did not easily change her mind -upon any subject, and never changed it at all when she thought she was -right in regard to Lord Herbert's health. - -And in due time they reached the end of their journey, and took up -their quarters in the old house known as the Tempietto, which stands -just where the Via Gregoriana and the Via Sistina end together in the -open square of the Trinità de' Monti--a quarter and a house dear to -English people since the first invasion of foreigners, but by no means -liked or considered especially healthy by the Romans. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Meanwhile, the lives of some of the other persons concerned in this -history were less idyllic, and very probably more satisfactory to -themselves. Having survived the season, and having borne the severe -Lenten mortification implied in not capering nightly to the tune of two -or three fiddles and a piano, the world arose after Easter like a giant -refreshed with wine, and enjoyed a final fling before breaking up for -the summer. Having danced with the windows shut, it now danced with the -windows open, and found the change delightful, as indeed it is. Instead -of sitting in corners together, the couples who had anything to say to -one another now stood or sat in the deep embrasures, glancing up at the -starlit sky to see whether the dawn were yet breaking. As for the rest, -there was little change at all. The little Vicomte de Bompierre had -transferred his attentions from the Marchesa di San Giacinto to Donna -Maria Boccapaduli, and the Marchesa, who was in love with her husband, -did not seem to care at all, but remained on the best of terms with -Donna Maria, to the latter's infinite satisfaction. The Contessa dell' -Armi attracted more attention because some one had started the report -that dell' Armi himself was in a state of jealousy bordering upon -delirium, that he had repeatedly struck her, and that he spent the few -hours he could spare from this unwholesome exercise and from his -parliamentary duties in tearing out his hair by the handful. The -picture of dell' Armi evoked by these stories was striking, dramatic, -and somewhat novel, so that every one was delighted. As a matter of -fact, the Count did not care a straw for his wife, rarely saw her at -all, and then only to discuss the weather. He had married her in order -that her fortune might help him in his political career, he had got what -he wanted, and he was supremely indifferent to the rest. The sad part of -the matter was--if any one had known the truth--that poor Maddalena -dell' Armi had been married out of a convent, and had then and there -fallen madly in love with him, her own husband. He had resented her -excessive affection, as it interfered with his occupations and -amusements, and after an interval of five years, during which the -unhappy young wife shed endless tears and suffered intensely, he had the -satisfaction of seeing that she no longer loved him in the least, and -rather avoided him than otherwise. In taking a fancy to Pietro Ghisleri -he thought she had shown considerable discrimination, since every one -knew that Ghisleri was a very discreet man. The amazing cynicism of his -view altogether escaped him. He was occupied in politics. If he had -observed it, he would have undoubtedly laughed as heartily as he did -when a lady on the outskirts of society told him that he was supposed to -be a jealous husband. - -But the rest of the world watched Maddalena and Pietro with great -interest. They had quarrelled--or they had made it up--they had not -danced together during one whole evening--they had danced a waltz and -then a quadrille, the one after the other--Maddalena had been crying--by -a coincidence, Ghisleri looked unusually strong and well--Pietro, again, -was looking somewhat haggard and weary, and the Contessa met the world -that evening with a stony stare. There was endless matter for -speculation, and accordingly the world speculated without end, and, as -usual, to no purpose. Ghisleri was absolutely reticent, and Maddalena -was a very proud woman, who, in spite of her past sufferings, did her -best not to let any one suspect that she and her husband were on bad -terms. She was also unhappy in the present about a very different -matter, concerning which she was not inclined to speak with any one. -Donna Adele's last decided attempt to defame Lord Herbert Arden had, to -a certain extent, been successful, but it had also produced another -result of which Adele did not know, but which would have given her even -greater satisfaction. It had almost caused a quarrel between Ghisleri -and the Contessa. - -It will be remembered that the latter heard the story from Donna Maria -Boccapaduli on the steps of a church in Holy Week. She was at the time -more unhappy than usual. Something had touched the finer chords of her -nature, and she felt a sort of horror of herself and of the life she was -leading--very genuine in its way, and intensely painful. Donna Maria's -story was revolting to her, for just then everything and everybody -seemed to be false--even Ghisleri. She did not even stop, as she would -have done at any other time, to weigh the value of the story, and to ask -herself whether it were likely that he could thus deliberately betray -his friend, and especially to Adele Savelli whom she believed he -disliked. Even with her he was reticent, and she had never quite assured -herself of his opinion concerning Adele, but she had watched him -narrowly and had drawn her own conclusions. And now, if he had betrayed -the man whom he called his friend, he must be capable of betraying the -woman he loved. - -"Is it true that you have been talking to Donna Adele Savelli about your -friend Arden?" she asked, when they met later on the same afternoon. - -"Quite true," answered Ghisleri, indifferently. "We were talking about -him yesterday afternoon." - -"Do you mind telling me what you said?" asked the Contessa, her eyes -hardening and her whole face growing scornful. - -"I have not the least objection," said Ghisleri, coldly. He at once -gave her all the details of the conversation as far as he could remember -them; his memory was accurate in such matters and he scarcely omitted a -word. - -"Am I to believe you or her?" asked the Contessa when she had listened -to the end. - -"As I am speaking the truth, it might be as well to believe me." - -"And how am I to know that you are speaking the truth, now or at any -other time? You would not change colour, nor look at me less frankly, if -you were telling me the greatest falsehood imaginable. Why should I -believe you?" - -"I am sure I do not know," answered Ghisleri. "I would only like to be -sure whether, as a general rule, you mean to believe me in future, or -not. If you do not, I need not say anything, I suppose. Conversation -would be singularly simplified." - -"You would not be so angry with me now, if your story were true," said -the Contessa, with a forced laugh. - -"A man may reasonably be annoyed at being called a liar even by a lady," -retorted Ghisleri. - -"And you do not take the least trouble to defend yourself--" - -"Not the least. Why should you believe my defence any more than my plain -statement? You have rather a logical mind--you ought to see that." - -"Are you trying to quarrel with me? You will succeed if you go on in -this way." - -"No. I am doing my best to answer your questions. I should be very sorry -to quarrel with you. You know it. Or are you going to doubt that too?" - -"From the tone in which you say it, and from the way you act, I am -inclined to." - -"You are in a very unbelieving humour to-day." - -"I have reason to be." - -"Am I the cause?" - -"Yes." The Contessa was not quite sure why she said it, but for the -moment she felt that it was true, as perhaps it was in an indirect way. - -"Do you know that although you have asked me a great many questions -which I have answered as well as I could, you have not told me what it -is I am accused of saying?" - -"You are accused of saying," answered the Contessa, looking straight -into his eyes, "that your friend Lord Herbert Arden is in the habit of -taking too much wine. Is that so nice a thing to have said?" - -Ghisleri's face darkened, and the blood throbbed in his temples. - -"As I have told you precisely what I really said," he replied, "I shall -say nothing more. Only this--if you have any sense of justice left, -which I begin to doubt, you will ask San Giacinto whether he thinks it -probable that I would say such a thing. That is all. I suppose you will -believe him." - -"I do not think I believe any one. Besides, as you say, he can only -testify to your character, and say that the thing is improbable. Of -course he would do that. Men always defend each other against women." - -"He can tell you something more if he chooses," answered Ghisleri. - -"If he chooses!" The Contessa's scornful expression returned. "If he -tells me nothing you will remind me of that word, and say that he did -not choose. How you always arrange everything beforehand to leave -yourself a way of escape." - -"I am sorry you should think so," said Ghisleri, gravely. - -"I am sorry that I have to think so. It does not increase my -self-respect, nor my vanity in my judgment." - -They parted on very bad terms that day, and two or three days more -passed before they saw each other again. The Contessa had almost made up -her mind that she would not speak to San Giacinto at all, and Ghisleri -began to think that she wished to break with him permanently. Far more -sensitive than any one supposed, he had been deeply wounded by her words -and tone, so deeply indeed that he scarcely wished to meet her for the -present. The world did not fail to see the coldness that had come -between them, and laughed heartily over it. The Contessa, said the -world, thought that the way to keep Ghisleri was to be cold to him and -encourage Pietrasanta, but she did not know dear Ghisleri, who did not -care in the very least, who had not a particle of sensitiveness in him, -and had never really loved any one but the beautiful Princess Corleone -who died of fever in Naples five years ago, and of whom he never spoke. - -But as chance would have it, the Contessa found herself talking to San -Giacinto one evening, when she was feeling very lonely and unhappy, and -her half-formed resolution broke down as suddenly as it had presented -itself. The giant looked at her keenly for a moment, bent his heavy -black brows, and then told her the story of what had taken place at the -club. He, who saw most things, and talked little of them, noted the -gradual change in her face, and how the light came back to it while he -was speaking. She understood that the man whom she had accused of -betraying his friend had faced a roomful of men in his defence, and on -the very ground now under discussion, and she repented of what she had -done. Then she swore vengeance on Adele Savelli. - -The world saw that a reconciliation had taken place, and concluded that -Maddalena dell' Armi had abandoned her foolish plan of trying to attract -Ghisleri by being cold to him. Ghisleri, indeed! As though he cared! - -"But I have no particular wish to be revenged on Donna Adele," objected -Ghisleri, when the Contessa spoke to him on the subject. "That sort of -thing is a disease of the brain. There are people who cannot see things -as they are. She is one of them." - -"How indifferent you are!" sighed Maddalena. "I wonder whether you were -always so." - -"Not always," answered Pietro, thoughtfully. - -In due time the short Easter season was over, the foreigners departed, -and many of the Romans followed their example, especially those whose -country places were within easy reach of the city, by carriage or by -rail. The Contessa went to pay her regular annual visit at her -father's, near Florence,--her mother had long been dead,--and Ghisleri -remained in Rome, unable to make up his mind what to do. Something -seemed to bind him to the town this year, and though he went away for a -day or two from time to time, he always came back very soon. Even his -damaged old castle did not attract him as it usually did, though he had -begun to restore it a little during the last few years, a little at a -time, as his modest fortune allowed. There was an odd sort of foresight -in his character. He laughed at the idea of being married, and yet he -had a presentiment that he would some day change his mind and take a -wife. In case that should ever happen, Torre de' Ghisleri would be at -once a beautiful and an economical retreat for the summer months. Though -he had a reputation for extravagance and for living always a little -beyond his income, he was in reality increasing his property. He was -constantly buying small bits of land in the neighbourhood of his castle, -with a vague idea that he might ultimately get the old estate together -again. He generally bought on mortgage, binding himself to pay at a -certain date, and as he was a very honourable man in all financial -transactions, he invariably paid, though sometimes at considerable -sacrifice. He said to himself that unless he were bound he would -inevitably throw away the little money he had to spare. It was a -curiously practical trait in such an unruly and almost lawless -character, but he did such things when he could, and then thought no -more about them until a fresh opportunity presented itself. He was a man -whose life and whole power of interest in life were almost constantly -absorbed by the two or three persons to whom he was sincerely attached, -a fact never realised by those who knew him--a passionate man at heart, -and one who despised himself for many reasons--a man who would have -wished to be a Launcelot in fidelity, a Galahad in cleanness of heart, -an Arthur for justice and frankness, but who was indeed terribly far -from resembling any of the three. A man liable to most human weaknesses, -but having just enough of something better to make him hate weakness in -himself and understand it in others without condemning it too harshly in -them. He had the wish to overcome it in his own character and life, but -when the victory looked too easy it did not tempt him, for his vanity -was of the kind which is only satisfied with winning hard fights, and -rarely roused except by the prospect of them, while quite indifferent to -small success of any kind--either for good or evil. - -And this year, for some reason which he did not attempt to explain to -himself, he lingered on in Rome, living a lonely life, avoiding the club -where many of his acquaintances still congregated, taking his meals -irregularly at garden restaurants, and spending most of his evenings in -wandering about Rome by himself. The old places attracted him strongly. -Many associations clung to the shady streets, the huge old palaces, and -the dusky churches. Ten years of such a life as he had led had left many -traces behind them, many sensitive spots in his complicated nature which -inanimate things had power to touch keenly and thrill again with pain or -pleasure. There was much that was sad, indeed, in these recollections, -but there were also many memories dear and tender and almost free from -the sting of self-reproach. He was not one to crave excitement for its -own sake, nor to miss it when it was past. It often chanced, indeed, -that he could find the few things that pleased him, the few people he -liked, in the midst of the world's noisiest fair, but he would always -have preferred to be alone with them, to meet with them when he was -quite sure of being altogether himself and not the overwrought, nervous -being which he came to be during the rush of the season, in spite of his -undeniable physical strength. Those who need excitement most are either -those who have never lived in it, or those unhappily morbid beings who -cannot live without it, because by force of habit it has become the only -atmosphere which their lungs can breathe and in which they can act more -or less normally. - -Ghisleri followed the Ardens in imagination as they pursued their -wedding trip. He rarely knew exactly where they were, but he was -familiar with all the places they were visiting, and he liked to fancy -them enjoying together all there was to be seen and done. Had he not -himself still been young, he would almost have fancied that he felt a -fatherly interest in their doings. Then he heard that they were in -England, and at last, when he had made up his mind to go away for a -month or two, he learned that Arden was in bad health. He was distressed -by the news, and wished he could see his old friend, if only for a day, -to judge for himself of his condition. But that was impossible at -present. He was not always free to dispose of his time as he pleased, -and as he had been during the past months. Moreover, the world was not -quite just when it said that Ghisleri did not "care," as it expressed -the state of mind it attributed to him. Between going to England, and -going to Vallombrosa, near Florence, he did not hesitate a moment. - -So the autumn came round again, and when he returned to his lodging in -Rome, he found that the Ardens were already installed in the Tempietto. -The Savelli couple were still out of town at the family castle in the -Sabines, but the Prince and Princess of Gerano had come back. - -Ghisleri found both Laura and Arden greatly changed. The latter's -appearance shocked him especially, and he felt almost from the first -that his friend was doomed. The man who was not supposed to care spent -at least one sleepless night, turning over in his mind the various -possibilities of life and death. On the following morning at twelve -o'clock, he climbed the steps to the Trinità de' Monti, and asked to see -Lady Herbert Arden alone, a request which was easily granted, as her -husband now rarely rose until one, and then only for a few hours. - -Laura's eyes looked preternaturally large and deep--almost sunken, -Ghisleri thought--and she had grown thin, and even paler than she -usually was when in good health. He took the seat she pointed to, by the -open fire, and stared into the flames absently for some seconds. It was -a rather dreary morning early in November, and the air in the streets -was raw and damp. At last he looked up. - -"You are anxious about your husband, Lady Herbert?" he said. - -Laura sighed, and opened her white hands to the warmth, as she sat on -the other side of the fireplace. But she said nothing. She could not -deny what he had told her, for she was in mortal anxiety by day and -night. - -"It is very natural," said Ghisleri, trying to speak more cheerfully. -"But I do not think there is any very serious reason for anticipating -danger. I have known Arden many years, and I have often known him to be -ill before now." - -Laura glanced nervously at Pietro, and looked away again almost -instantly. There was a frightened look in her face as though she feared -something unexpected. Perhaps she was afraid of believing too readily in -Ghisleri's comforting view. - -"All the same," he continued, "there is no denying that he is in very -bad health. Forgive me if I seem officious. I do not love him as you do, -of course, but we have been more or less good friends these many -years--since very long before you knew him." - -"More or less good friends!" repeated Laura, in a disappointed tone. -"Herbert calls you his best friend." - -"I dare say he has many better than I am," answered Ghisleri, quietly. -"But I have certainly never liked any man as much as I like him. That is -why I come to you to-day. Do you not think that he should be taken care -of, or, at least thoroughly examined by the best specialist to be -found?" - -"I have thought of it," said Laura, after a short pause. "Of course the -doctor comes regularly, but I do not think he is a really great -authority. I am afraid that anything like a consultation might alarm -Herbert. I see how determined he is to be cheerful, but I cannot help -seeing also that he is despondent about himself." - -"There need be nothing like a consultation. Will you trust me in this -matter?" - -Laura looked at him. She felt, on a sudden, the old, almost -inexplicable, timid dislike of him with which she had long been -familiar, and she hesitated before she answered. - -"Could I not manage it myself?" she asked abruptly. "It would seem more -natural." - -Ghisleri's face grew slowly cold, and his eyes fixed themselves on the -fire. - -"I thought I might be able to help you," he said. "Have you any -particular reason for distrusting me as you do, Lady Herbert?" - -Laura's face contracted. She was not angry, but she was sorry that she -had shown him what she thought, and it was hard to answer the question -truthfully, for she was not really sure whether she had any excuse for -doubting his frankness or not. In the present instance she assuredly had -none. - -"I should certainly never distrust you where Herbert is concerned," she -said, after a short pause. "It is only that it seems more natural, as I -said, that I should be the one to speak to him and to arrange about the -specialist's visit." - -"Very well. Forgive me, as I begged you to at first, if I have seemed -officious. I will come and see your husband this afternoon." - -The consequence of this conversation was that Laura, being even more -seriously alarmed than before, since she realised that Ghisleri himself -was anxious, spoke to Arden about the necessity for seeing a better -doctor, breaking it to him with all the loving gentleness she knew how -to use with him, and Arden consented without much apparent reluctance to -being examined by a man who had a great reputation. The latter took a -long time before he gave an opinion, and ultimately declared to Laura -that her husband was consumptive and would probably not live a year. -Laura suffered in that moment as she would not have believed it possible -to suffer, and it was long before she could compose herself enough to -go to Arden. It was of course impossible to tell him all the doctor had -said. She told him that his lungs were delicate, and that he must be -very careful. - -"It seems to me I am always very careful," said Lord Herbert, patiently. - -She looked at him and saw for the hundredth time how ill he seemed. She -tried to turn quickly and leave the room, but she could not. Suddenly -the passionate tears broke out, and she fell on her knees beside his -chair and clasped the poor little body in her arms. - -"Oh, Herbert, my love,--my love!" she sobbed. - -Then he felt that he was doomed. Had she loved him less, she could have -kept the secret better. But he was brave still. - -"Hush, darling, hush!" he said, gently stroking her coal-black hair with -his transparent hand. "You must not believe these foolish doctors. I -have been just as ill before." - -But the mischief was done, and she felt that she had done it, and her -remorse knew no bounds. In spite of his courage, Arden lost heart. The -next time Ghisleri saw him he was much worse. Laura went out and left -the two together. - -"Has anything worried you?" asked Ghisleri. "You look tired." - -Arden was silent for a long time, and his friend knew that he was -carefully weighing his answer. - -"Yes," he said at last, "something has worried me very much. I can trust -you not to speak--never to speak, even to my wife, of what I am going to -say--especially if anything should happen," he added, as though with a -painful afterthought. - -"I will never speak of it," replied Pietro, gravely. - -"I know you will not. We had a consultation the other day. Of course -they were very careful not to tell me what they thought, but I could not -help guessing it. You know how truthful my wife is--she could not deny -it when I put the question directly. It is all up with me, my dear -fellow, and I know it. I am consumptive. It will last a year at the -most." - -"I do not believe a word of it!" exclaimed Ghisleri, with unusual heat. -"You are not in the least like a consumptive man!" - -"The doctor is a good specialist," said Arden, quietly. "But that is not -all. I have been so happy--I am so happy in many ways still--that I am -weak enough to cling to my life, such as it is. But there is something -else, Ghisleri. I knew I was ill, and I knew there was danger--but this -is different. I had hoped to see my child, even if I were to die. I do -not hope to see it now--you understand? Those things are always -inherited." - -A deadly paleness came over Arden's face, and his clear brown eyes -seemed unsteady for a moment. His face twitched nervously, and his hands -were strained as they grasped the arms of his chair. Ghisleri looked -very grave. - -"I repeat that I believe the doctor to be wholly mistaken. It would -hardly be the first time that doctors have made such mistakes. -Consumptive people do not behave as you do. They always feel that they -are getting well, until the very last, and they have a regular cough, -not to be mistaken, and they eat a great deal. You are quite different." - -"But he examined, me so carefully," objected Arden, though he could not -help seeing a ray of hope. - -"I cannot help that. He was mistaken." - -That afternoon Ghisleri telegraphed to a great European celebrity whom -he knew in Paris, to come if possible at once, no matter at what -sacrifice of money. Forty-eight hours later the man of genius was -breakfasting with Pietro in his rooms. - -"I will ask leave to bring you as a friend," said the latter. "I have -begged you to come on my own responsibility." - -He wrote a note to Laura, explaining that an old acquaintance, a man of -world-wide fame, was spending a couple of days with him, and begged -permission to introduce him. He might amuse Arden, he said. He did not -mention the doctor's profession. It was just possible that neither Arden -nor Laura had ever heard of the man who was so great in a world not -theirs. Laura asked them both to tea by way of answer. - -As it turned out, the Ardens had a very vague idea that the Frenchman -was a man of science. In the course of conversation he admitted that he -had studied medicine, and then went on to talk about the latest news -from Paris, social, artistic, and literary. Arden was charmed with him, -and Laura was really grateful to Ghisleri for helping to amuse her -husband. - -Would they both come to luncheon the next day? They would, with -pleasure, and they went away together. - -"Well?" asked Ghisleri, as they walked towards the Pincio in the early -dusk, just to breathe the air. - -"I think he may live," answered the great man. "I believe it is a -trouble of the heart with an almost exhausted vitality." - -Laura was left alone with her husband. Whether it was the doctor's -personal influence, or whether Arden was really momentarily better, she -could not tell, but he looked as he had not looked for two months. - -"That man delights me," he said dreamily. "I do not know what there is -about him, and it is very foolish--but I fancy that if he were a doctor, -he might cure me--or keep me alive longer," he added, with a sort of -reluctant sadness. - -Laura looked at him in surprise. - -"He said he had studied medicine," she answered. "Shall I ask Signor -Ghisleri, if, as a friend, he would come and give his opinion?" - -"It is too much to ask of a stranger." - -"Nothing is too much to ask," she said quietly. In her own room she -wrote a note to Pietro. - -With many apologies, she explained to him that her husband was so -delighted with Ghisleri's friend, that she believed it might make a -difference if, as a doctor--since he was one--the latter would be -willing to see him once and give his opinion. - -Pietro smiled when he read the note. On the following day the great man -went again to the Tempietto, and with many protestations of incompetence -did as he was requested, assuring Lady Herbert that it was only in -deference to her wishes that he did so. - -"You are not consumptive--in the least, and you may even become strong," -he said, after a very long and thorough examination. "That, at least," -he added, "is my humble opinion." - -Arden's face brightened suddenly. But Laura and Ghisleri remained alone -together for a moment afterwards, while the doctor was already putting -on his coat. - -"After all," said Laura, despondently, "it was to please Herbert. The -man says that his opinion is not worth very much." - -"He is the greatest living authority on the subject," answered Ghisleri. -"You may safely take his opinion." - -Laura's face expressed her surprise, and at the same time, an -unspeakable relief. - -"Are you sure?" she asked, in trembling tones. - -"Ask your doctor. He will tell you. Will you forgive me my little trick, -Lady Herbert? As he was here, I thought you might like to see him." -Ghisleri put out his hand to take his leave, and Laura pressed it -warmly. - -"If I had ever had anything to forgive, I would forgive you--for your -great kindness to me," she said, and the tears were almost in her eyes. -"It is you who should forgive me for not trusting you when you first -spoke. How wrong I was!" - -"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ghisleri. "It was very natural." - -And so it seemed to him, perhaps. But such little tricks, as he called -what he had done, cost money, and that year Ghisleri did not buy the bit -of land which stood next on the list in his scheme for reacquiring the -old estate. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Arden's health improved, at first very rapidly, and then more slowly, as -he seemed to approach what, for him, was a normal condition of strength. -The month of December was fine, and he was able to drive out constantly, -to be up most of the day, and to talk with acquaintances without any -great fatigue. As a natural consequence, too, Laura regained in a very -short time all that she had lost, and her eyes no longer looked sunken -and haggard nor her face unnaturally pale. - -Her gratitude to Ghisleri was boundless, and as the days went on and -Arden had no relapse, she began to wonder how she could ever have felt -anything approaching to dislike for the man to whom she almost owed her -husband's life. Pietro, on his part, came often to the house and saw the -change that had taken place in her manner towards him. He was pleased, -though he had not thought of producing any impression upon her by what -he had done solely for Arden's sake, for he had long admired her, and -felt that she was very like a certain ideal of woman of which he never -talked. But his pleasure was not very genuine, after all. He hardly -believed that Laura's mood would last, because he had hitherto had -little experience of lasting moods in women. For the present, at least, -she believed in him and was grateful. - -About this time Donna Adele, her husband, and his father and mother all -came back from the country, and at or near the same period the great -majority of the old society stagers appeared again as forerunners of the -coming season. The gay set was not yet all assembled, and it was even -reported that some of them would not come at all, for there was -financial trouble in the air, and many people had lost money, or found -their incomes diminished by the general depression. Nevertheless, when -Christmas came, few of the familiar faces of the previous year were -missing, and those few have not been seen in this history. - -"This is the beginning," said Gouache to Ghisleri. "You may remember -that charming description of chaos in the sacred writings: 'in the -beginning darkness was over all the earth'--very like Rome before the -season begins. The resemblance ends there, my dear friend. The sentence -which follows would hardly be applicable. Are we to have another Shrove -Tuesday feast this year for the sake of giving sin a last chance? Have -you another diabolical production ready?" - -"I am afraid not," answered Ghisleri. "Besides, one should never repeat -a good thing." - -"That is what my wife says," observed Anastase, thoughtfully. "That dear -woman! But for her, I should do nothing but repeat my successful -pictures--if possible by a chemical process. It would be so easy! That -is the way the modern galleries of old masters are formed. There is a -little man in the Via da' Falegnami who turns out the article at a fixed -price, including the cost of the green wood for smoking the Rembrandts, -and the genuine old panels for doing the Botticellis. I often go to see -him. He knows more about grinding colours, and about vehicles and -varnishes, and the price of lamp-black than any artist I ever knew. He -painted that portrait of Raphael by himself--by Raphael, I mean, for -Prince Durakoff last year, and found the documents to prove its -existence among his papers. It took him six months, but it was well -done, especially the parchments. There was even the receipt for the -money paid to Raphael for the picture by the Most Excellent House of -Frangipani, signed by the painter himself--I mean by Raphael. Cheap, at -ten thousand francs. Durakoff paid the dealer eighty thousand without -bargaining. He did not reflect that if it had been genuine it would have -been worth five hundred thousand, and, if not, that it was not worth -fifty centimes." - -"Rather like a friend," observed Ghisleri. - -"Friendship is a matter of fortune," said Gouache, "as love is a -question of climate." - -"You are not usually so cynical. What has happened?" - -"My wife has been amusing me, this morning, with an account of society's -opinions on various subjects. One-half of her friends assure her that -black is white, and the other half tell her it is a vivid yellow. That -is called conversation. They give it you with tea, milk, and sugar, -between five and seven in the afternoon." - -Gouache seemed to be in a somewhat communicative frame of mind. As a -matter of fact he often was with Ghisleri, whom he trusted more than -most men. - -"What was it all about?" inquired the latter. - -"People, people, and then people again. What does everybody talk about? -Silly stories about Lady Herbert Arden and Savelli, and about Lord -Herbert himself, and his dissipated life. The Ardens do not seem to be -liked. He is a great friend of yours, is he not?" - -"Yes, we have known each other almost ten years." Ghisleri began to -smoke, rather gloomily, for he perceived that there was trouble in store -for Laura. - -"It is Donna Adele who does all the mischief," continued Gouache, -putting a dash of bright blue into the face of the portrait he was -painting, a proceeding which, as Ghisleri noticed with some surprise, -improved the likeness. "It is Donna Adele. You know the old story. -Savelli loved Miss Carlyon but could not marry her. Donna Adele never -forgave her, and she will end by doing her a great deal of harm. She -pretends that Savelli has told her that Lady Herbert is already talking -to him and to everybody of her own wretched married life--rather hinting -that if Savelli would care to depart this life of respectability she -would go with him, a proposition which, of course, Savelli scorns in the -most virtuous and approved fashion, rolling his fine paternal language -as in the fourth act of a tragedy at the Comedie Française. I suppose -you cannot stop this sort of thing, can you?" - -"I will try," said Ghisleri, in a tone that made Gouache look round from -his painting. He had not often witnessed even such a slight -manifestation of real anger on Pietro's part, as was apparent in the -enunciation of the three words. - -"You might, perhaps, better than any one else," observed Gouache. "From -other things she has said, it is quite apparent that she would like to -see you at her feet." - -Ghisleri looked at Anastase rather sharply, but said nothing. It was not -the fact that Donna Adele wished him to pay her more attention that -struck him; he was wondering what the other remarks might have been, to -which Gouache alluded. They might have been directed against the -Contessa--or they might have been such as to show that Adele suspected -Ghisleri of an attachment for Laura Arden since he now went so often to -the house. As Gouache did not volunteer any further information, -however, Ghisleri thought it wiser to ask no questions, and he was -inclined to infer that the aforesaid observations had been directed -against Maddalena dell' Armi. - -Ghisleri went away in a very bad humour. So long as the gossip came from -the men, he had a very simple and definite course open to him, and he -knew that his personal influence was considerable. But when the worst -things said were said by women, there seemed to be no remedy possible. -It would not be an easy matter to go to Adele and tax her with lying, -slandering, and evil speaking. She would very properly be angry, and -would of course deny that she had ever spoken on the matter, her friends -would support her in her denial, and he would be no further advanced -than before. He could not possibly go to Francesco Savelli and demand of -the latter an explanation of Donna Adele's conduct. That was out of the -question. To let Donna Adele know that both Laura and Arden were quite -unconscious of her attacks and, in their present life of almost enforced -retirement, were likely to remain in ignorance of them, might annoy -Donna Adele, but could do no good. It would be positively unkind to -speak to the Princess of Gerano and ask her to use her influence with -her step-daughter, but Ghisleri thought he had struck a possibility at -last--he could go to old Gerano himself and explain matters. After all, -Gerano was Adele's father and had some authority over her still. -Ghisleri came rather hastily to the conclusion that this would be the -wisest course to follow, and acted almost immediately upon his decision, -for it chanced that he found the Prince at the club, and had the -opportunity he needed within half an hour after forming his plan of -action. - -He approached the subject coolly and diplomatically, while Gerano -blandly listened and puffed at a cigarette. Donna Adele, he said, had of -course no intention of injuring her step-sister, but she was too young -to know the weight a careless tale often carried with it in the world, -and had no idea of the harm she was doing. No one, not even the Prince -himself, was ignorant of the fact that Don Francesco Savelli's first -inclination had been rather for Miss Carlyon than for Donna Adele, but -that it had been a mere young man's fancy, without any importance, and -that having yielded to parental authority, Don Francesco was now a -perfectly happy man. Perhaps Donna Adele had not been able to forget -this apparent slight upon her beauty and charm, as far as her -step-sister was concerned, though well aware that her husband thought no -more about Lady Herbert. It was natural and womanly in her to resent it. -But that was not a good reason why she should say--as she seemed to be -saying constantly--that Lady Herbert was very much in love with Don -Francesco. - -Here Ghisleri paused, and the Prince opened his eyes very wide at first, -and then almost shut them as he scrutinised his companion's face. He -knew the man well, however, and guessed that the matter must be serious -indeed, since he took the trouble to treat it in such earnest. - -"I suppose," said Gerano, "that you are quite prepared to support your -words if any question arises. This is a strange tale." - -"Yes," answered Ghisleri. "I am always ready." He spoke with such -gravity that the Prince was impressed. - -Pietro went on to say that Donna Adele, doubtless out of pure -carelessness, had certainly, by a foolish jest, suggested the story that -Lord Herbert was very intemperate, a story which Ghisleri had last year -been obliged to deny in the most formal manner in the very room in which -they were now talking, to a number of men. The tale had of late been -revived in a form even more virulent than before, and such untruths, -even when they have originated in a harmless bit of fun, could damage a -man's reputation for life. - -"Of course they can, and they do," asserted the Prince, who was becoming -rather anxious. - -"As, for instance," continued Ghisleri, "it is now said that Lady -Herbert Arden, your step-daughter, now talks to Don Francesco and to -everybody--which probably means the few persons who circulate the -myth--about her wretched married life, and other suggestions which I -will not repeat are added, which are very insulting to her. For my part, -my business is to defend Arden, who is my friend, and who is -unfortunately too ill to defend himself should all this come to his -ears. I do not say that this last addition concerning Lady Herbert's -confidences comes from Donna Adele Savelli. But it is undoubtedly -current, and proceeds directly from the former gossip, as its natural -consequence." - -"Evidently," said the Prince, who kept his temper admirably, in -consideration of the gravity of the case. "And now what do you expect me -to do?" - -"You are Donna Adele's father," answered Ghisleri. "She is assuredly -ignorant of the harm she has caused. It would seem quite natural if you -suggested to her that it is in her power to undo what she has -unintentionally done." - -"How, may I ask? By an apology?" Gerano did not like the idea, but -Ghisleri smiled. - -"That would make matters worse," he said. "She could put everything -right merely by saying a few pleasant things about the Ardens to half a -dozen people of her acquaintance--at random. Donna Maria Boccapaduli, -the Marchesa di San Giacinto, the Contessa dell' Armi--even Donna -Faustina Gouache. She might ask the Ardens to dinner--" - -"I observe that you do not name any men," observed the Prince. - -"It is not the men who have been talking, so far as I know--nor if they -did, would their gossip do so much damage." - -"That may be. As for the rest, I will say this. You have said some -exceedingly unpleasant things to me this afternoon, but I know you well -enough to be sure that you are not only in earnest, but wish to avert -trouble rather than cause it. Otherwise I should not have listened to -you as I have. I am very deeply attached to my only child, though I am -also very fond of my step-daughter. However, I will take this question -in hand and find out the truth, and do what I can to mend matters. If I -find you have been misinformed, I will ask the favour of another -interview." - -"I shall always be at your service." - -They parted rather stiffly, but without any nearer approach to hostility -than was implied in the last formal words they exchanged. Gerano walked -slowly homeward, revolving the situation in his mind, and wondering how -he should act in order to get at the truth in the case. Being very fond -of his wife, his first impulse was to tell her the whole story, and to -take counsel with her before doing anything definite. It would have been -better had he gone directly to Donna Adele, though he might not have -accomplished anything at all, and might have believed her, and might -also have quarrelled with Ghisleri afterwards. But he did not foresee -the consequences. - -The Princess was very much overcome by the account he gave her of his -interview with Ghisleri, of whom she had a high opinion as a man of -truthful character, bad as he seemed to be in other respects. She knew -instinctively and at once that every one of his statements must have -been perfectly well founded, and that if he had erred it had assuredly -not been in the direction of exaggerating the facts. She was in much the -same position as her husband, except that her own daughter was the -victim, while his was the aggressor. It was strange that in so many -years neither should have understood Adele's character well enough to -suspect that she could be capable of any treachery, and yet both were -now convinced that the case against her was not by any means a fiction. -The Princess was now in the gravest distress, and she could not keep -back her tears as she tried to find arguments in Adele's favour, wishing -to the last to defend her husband's child, while never for a moment -losing sight of her own. - -She was an eminently good woman, but very far from worldly-wise. Indeed, -as events proceeded that day, there seemed to be a diminution of wisdom -in the action of each in turn as compared with that of the last person -concerned. Ghisleri had not really allowed himself time to consider the -situation in all its bearings before speaking to Gerano, or he might not -have spoken at all. Gerano, next, had scarcely hesitated in confiding -the whole affair to his wife, and she, in despair, turned to the one -person of all others with whom she was really most in sympathy, to Laura -Arden herself, regardless of the consequences to every one concerned. -Lord Herbert was resting before dinner, and she found her daughter -alone. - -Her heart was almost bursting, and she poured out the story in all its -details, accurately, as she had heard it, though hardly knowing what she -said. At first Laura was tempted to laugh. She had been so much happier -of late that laughing had grown easy, but she very soon saw the real -meaning of the situation, and she grew pale as she silently listened to -the end. Then her mother broke down again. - -"And I have loved her so!" cried the poor lady. "Almost as I have loved -you, my child! To think of it all--oh, it is not to be believed!" - -Laura was not at that moment inclined to shed tears. It was almost the -first time in her life when she was really angry, for her temper was not -easily roused. It was not destined to be the last. Dry-eyed and pale, -she sat beside the Princess, holding her hands, then drying her fast -flowing tears, then caressing her, and saying all she could to soothe -and calm her, while almost choking herself to keep down the rage she -felt. Her eyes had been opened at last, and she saw what the story -really was at which Arden had made such a poor guess. As the Princess -grew more calm, she began to look at her daughter in surprise. - -"What is the matter, darling?" she asked anxiously. "Are you ill, dear, -you look so changed!" - -"I am angry, mother," answered Laura, quietly enough. "I shall get over -it soon, I dare say." - -Even her voice did not sound like her own. It was hollow and strange. -Her mother was frightened. - -"I have done very wrong to tell you, Laura," she said, realising too -late that the revelation must have been startling in the extreme. - -"I do not know," answered Lady Herbert, still speaking in the same -peculiar tone, and with an effort. "Adele and I meet constantly. Of -course we have been brought up like real sisters, and though we were -never intensely fond of one another we talk about everything as if we -were. I will be careful in future. This may not be all true, but there -is truth in it, if you have remembered exactly what Signor Ghisleri -said--or rather, if the Prince has." - -The Princess started slightly. Laura had always called Gerano father, as -though she had really been his daughter, but the shock had been very -sudden, and she found it hard to call by that name the man whose -daughter was Adele Savelli. - -"I hope it will turn out to be all a mistake!" exclaimed the Princess, -weakly, and on the point of bursting into tears again. - -"Until we are sure of it, I shall try and behave as usual to Adele, if -we have to meet," said Laura. "After that, if it is all true--I do not -know--" - -When the Princess went home, she was a little frightened at what she had -done, and repented bitterly of having yielded to her own unreasoning -longing to talk the matter over with Laura--natural enough indeed, when -it is remembered that the two loved one another so dearly. It had been a -mistake, she was sure, and she would have given anything to undo it. She -only hoped that she should not be obliged to explain to her husband. - -Laura sat alone by the fireside. Herbert was lying down and would not -appear until dinner time, so that she had almost an hour in which to -think over the situation. She determined to master her anger and to look -the matter in the face calmly. After all, it was only gossip, town-talk, -insignificant chatter, which must all be forgotten in the light of the -true facts. So she tried to persuade herself, at least, but she found it -a very hard matter to believe her own statement of it all. The more she -thought it over, the more despicable it all seemed in her eyes, the more -savagely she hated Adele. She could have borne the story about herself -better, if it had come alone, but she could neither forgive nor find an -excuse for what had been said against her husband. To know that people -openly called him intemperate--a drunkard, that would be the word! Him, -of all living men! The assertion was so monstrous that all Laura's -resolution to control herself gave way suddenly, and she, in her turn, -burst into a flood of tears, hot, angry, almost agonising, impossible to -check. - -She might have been proud to shed them, for they showed how much more -she loved her husband than she cared for herself, but she was conscious -only of the intense desire to face Adele, and do her some grievous -bodily hurt and be revenged for the foul slander cast on Herbert Arden. -She opened and shut her hands convulsively, as though she were clutching -some one and strangling the breath in a living throat. Every drop of -blood in her young body was fire, every tear that rolled down her pale -cheek was molten lead, every beat of her angry pulse brought an angry -thought to her brain. How long she remained in this state she did not -know. - -She did not hear her husband's laboured, halting step on the soft -carpet, and before she was aware of his presence he was standing before -her, with a look of pain and almost of horror in his delicate face. That -was the most terrible moment in his life. - -Highly sensitive as he was, loving her almost to distraction as he did, -he had always found it hard to understand her love for him. To suspect -that all of it was pity, or that a part of it had grown weak of late, -was almost impossible to him, and yet the possibility of doubt was -there. He had entered the room as usual, without any precaution, but she -had not heard him; he had seen her apparently struggling with herself -and with some unseen enemy, in a paroxysm of grief and rage. Instantly -the doubt rose supreme and struck him, like a sudden blow in the face. - -"She has found out her mistake too late--she does not love me, and she -longs to be free." That was what Herbert Arden said to himself as he -stood before her, and the horror of it was almost greater than he could -bear. Yet there was a great and manly courage in his narrow breast. He -felt that he must die, but she should not suffer any more than was -necessary until then. He drew the best breath he could, as though it -were his last. She started, wild-eyed, as he spoke. - -"Laura darling--it has been a terrible mistake--and it is all my fault. -Will you forgive me, dear one? I thought that you would love me--I see -how it is when you are alone. No woman could have borne this bondage of -yours as you have borne it since you have found out--" - -"Herbert! Herbert!" cried Laura, in sudden agony. She thought he was -going mad before her eyes. - -"No, dear," he said, with an immense effort, and making a gesture with -his hand as though to keep her in her place. "It is better to say it -now, and it need never be said again. Perhaps I should not have the -strength. I see it all. You are so kind and good that you will never -show it to me--but when you are alone--then you let yourself go--is it -any wonder? Are you to blame? You see that you have made the great -mistake--that it was all pity and not love--and you long to be free from -me as you should be, as you shall be, dear." - -A wild cry broke from Laura's very heart when she realised what he -meant. - -"Love! Darling--Herbert! I never loved you as I love you now!" - -She did not know that she spoke articulate words as she sprang to her -feet and clasped him in her arms, half mad with grief at the thought of -what he must have suffered, and loving him as she said she did, far -beyond the love of earlier days. But he hardly understood yet that it -was really love, and he tried to look up into her face, almost fainting -with the terrible strain he had borne so bravely, and still struggling -to be calm. - -"Laura darling," he said, in a low voice, "it was all too natural. -Unless you tell me what it was that made you act as I saw you just now, -how can I understand?" - -She turned her deep eyes straight to his. - -"Do you doubt me still, Herbert?" she asked. And she saw that he could -not help doubting. - -"But if I tell you that what I was thinking of would pain you very much, -and that it would be of no use--" - -"It cannot be like the pain I feel now," he answered simply. - -She realised that what he said was true. Then she told him the whole -story, as she knew it. And so, in a few hours, the conversation Ghisleri -had held with Gouache began to bear fruit in a direction where neither -of them had suspected it possible that their words could penetrate. - -Arden had allowed himself to sink into a chair at Laura's side, and he -listened with half-closed eyes and folded hands while she spoke. Under -ordinary circumstances he would probably have betrayed some emotion, and -might have interrupted her with a question or two, but the terrible -excitement of the last few minutes was followed by a reaction, and he -felt himself growing colder and calmer every moment, while his heart, -which had been beating furiously when he had first spoken to her, seemed -now about to stand still. As she proceeded, however, he was aware of the -most conflicting feelings of happiness and anger--the latter of the -quiet and dangerous sort. He saw at once that he had been utterly -mistaken in doubting Laura's love, and from that direction peace -descended upon his heart; but when he heard what the world was saying of -her, he felt that weak as he was, he had the sudden strength to dare and -do anything to avenge the insult. He was human enough, too, to resent -bitterly the story about himself, though that, after all, was but a -secondary affair in comparison with the gossip about Laura. - -When she had finished, he rose slowly, and sat upon the arm of her -easy-chair, drawing her head to his shoulder. He kissed her hair -tenderly. - -"My beloved--can you forgive me?" he asked, in a very gentle voice. "My -darling--that I should have doubted you!" - -"I am glad you did, dear--this once," she answered. "You see how it is. -You are all the world to me--the mere thought that any one can hurt you -by word or deed--oh, it drives me mad!" - -And she, who was usually so very calm and collected, again made that -desperate gesture with her hands, as though she had them on a woman's -throat and would strangle out the life of her in the grip of her firm -fingers. - -"As for me, it matters little enough," said Arden, taking her hands and -stroking them as though to soothe her anger. "Of course it is an absurd -and disgusting story, and I suppose some people believe it. But what -they say of you is a very different matter." - -"I do not think so," broke in Laura, indignantly. "Of course every one -knows that we love each other, and that it is all a lie--but when such a -tale is started about a man--that he drinks--oh, it is too utterly -vile!" - -"Dear--shall we try and forget it? At least for this evening. Let us do -our best. You have made me so happy in another way--I suffered in that -moment very much." - -She looked up into his face as he sat on the arm of the chair, and she -saw that he looked very ill. The scene had been almost too much for him, -and she realised that when he spoke of forgetting it was because he -could bear no more. - -"Yes, love," she said, "we will put it all away for this evening and be -happy together as we always are." - -Each was conscious, no doubt, that the other was making a great effort, -but neither of them referred to the matter again that night. They talked -of all manner of subjects, rather nervously and resolutely at first, -then naturally and easily as ever, when the deep sympathy which existed -between them had asserted itself. During two hours, at least, they -nearly forgot what had so violently moved them both. - -When Arden laid his head upon his pillow, his anger had not subsided, -but he knew that his love had taken greater strength and depth than ever -before. He spent a sleepless night indeed, but when he rose in the -morning he did not feel tired. Something within him which was quite new -seemed to sustain him and nourish him. He could not tell whether it was -love for Laura, or anger against the woman who slandered her, or both -acting at once, and he did not waste much time in speculating upon his -mental condition. He had formed a resolution upon which he meant to act -without delay. - -It was a rainy morning, chilly and raw again, as the weather had been -earlier in the year. - -"Give me warm clothes, Donald," he said to his man. "I am going out." - -"Going out, my lord! In this weather!" Donald's face expressed the -greatest anxiety. - -"Never mind the weather," said Arden. "Give me warm clothes, and send -for a closed carriage." - -Donald obeyed, shaking his head, and muttering in detached expressions -of disapproval. He was a privileged person. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Arden, for the first time in his life, paid no attention to Laura's -remonstrances when she tried to prevent him from going out in the rain, -and he would not hear of her accompanying him on any condition. He -assured her that with his fur coat, and in a closed carriage with a -foot-warmer, he was as safe as at home in the drawing-room, and he gave -her to understand that he had a small surprise in store for her, of -which all the effect would be spoiled if she went with him. Very -reluctantly she let him go. Even after he was gone, when she heard the -brougham rattling down the Via Gregoriana, she was tempted to open the -window and call the driver back. Then she reflected that she was -probably foolish in being so anxious, since he now seemed almost as well -as ever. - -When he left the house, Arden drove to a certain studio, and then and -there bought a small picture which Laura had admired very much, and had -been two or three times to see. To the artist's surprise, he insisted -upon carrying it away with him at once, just as it was. Then he told the -coachman to drive to the Palazzo Savelli. He sent up his card and asked -to see Don Francesco, and at once received an answer, begging him to go -up stairs. - -Francesco was very much surprised by the visit, and could not conceive -what had brought Lord Herbert Arden to him at eleven o'clock in the -morning. He awaited him in a vast and gloomy drawing-room in which there -was no fire. The walls were hung with old portraits of the Savelli in -armour, the carpet was of a sombre hue, and the furniture consisted of -three superb marble tables with carved and gilt feet, and sixteen chairs -of the style of Louis the Fourteenth's reign, all precisely alike, and -standing side by side against the walls. Francesco Savelli stood facing -the door, his yellow hair, blue eyes, and fresh complexion contrasting -strongly with the dark background. He was a fine-looking fellow, with a -mild face, a quiet manner, and a good deal of old-fashioned formality, -which latter, however, seemed to wear off every evening in society, -coming back as soon as he returned to the dim and shadowy halls of his -home. - -The connexion between him and Arden was in reality so distant, that they -had never assumed even the outward forms of intimacy, though their wives -called each other sister. Savelli disliked Lord Herbert because he was a -cripple, and chiefly because he had married Laura Carlyon. Arden, on his -side, was more or less indifferent to Francesco, but treated him always -with a shade more warmth than an ordinary acquaintance, as being, in a -sense, a member of his wife's family. - -Savelli came forward as Arden entered. The servant allowed the heavy -curtain to drop, closed the door, and went out, and the two men were -left alone. - -"Good morning, my dear Arden," said Savelli, taking his hand. "I hope -you are quite well. Pray be seated." - -"Good morning. Thanks." Both spoke in French. - -They sat down, side by side, on the stiff, high-backed gilt chairs, and -each looked at the other. - -"I have something especial to say to you," began Arden, in his calm and -even voice--a man quicker-witted than Savelli would have noticed the -look of determination about the smooth-shaven lips and the prominent -chin--the look of a man who will not be trifled with, and will say what -he means in spite of all difficulties and all opposition. - -"I am entirely at your service," answered Don Francesco, politely. - -"Thanks. I have thought it best to come to you directly, because my -business concerns your wife and mine, and it is better that we should -settle such matters between us without the intervention of others." - -Savelli opened his eyes in surprise, but said nothing, only making a -slight inclination of the head in answer. Arden continued in the cool -and collected manner with which he had begun. - -"A number of outrageous lies," he said slowly, "are in circulation -concerning my wife, and some of them concern myself. May I inquire -whether you have heard them?" - -"It would facilitate matters, if you would tell me something of their -nature," observed Savelli, more and more astonished. - -"There is no difficulty about that. I can even repeat them to you, word -for word, or nearly so. It is said, in the first place, that my wife is -very much in love with you--" - -"With me?" cried Savelli, startled out of his formality for once. - -"Yes--with you--and that she has loved you long. Secondly, it is said -that I am a confirmed drunkard, and that my wife leads a most unhappy -existence with me in consequence. It is further stated that she makes no -secret of this supposed fact, but complains loudly to her friends, and -especially selects you for her confidence in the matter." - -"That is totally untrue," said Don Francesco, gravely. "She has never -spoken of you to me except in terms of the highest praise." - -"I am aware that it is not true, but I am much obliged to you for your -very plain statement. I will go on. It is asserted that my wife has -given you to understand that she loves you, and that, if you would -consent, she would be ready to leave me and Rome in your company. These -things, it appears, are current gossip, and are confidently stated as -positive truths." - -"I have not heard any of them, except some vague reports about yourself, -to the effect that you once took too much wine at the Gerano's house. -But Ghisleri made a scene about it at the club, and I have heard no more -of the absurd story." - -"I did not know that Ghisleri had actively taken my part," answered -Arden. "But the story has now reached the form in which I repeated it. -For myself, I care very little. It is on account of its connexion with -the tales about my wife that I have told it to you." - -"May I ask who your informant is?" - -"My wife." - -"And hers?" - -"A reliable and truthful person, whom I shall not name at present. The -affair concerns you and me. I have not come to the most important point, -which will explain why I came to you." - -"I supposed that you came, as to a connexion of the family, to ask -advice or assistance." - -"No. That is not it. I do not need either, thank you. I come to you -because all these stories are distinctly traceable to Donna Adele -Savelli." - -Francesco started violently, and almost rose from his seat, his face -flushing suddenly. - -"Lord Herbert--take care!" he cried in a loud and angry voice, and with -a passionate gesture. - -"Be calm," said Arden, in an unnaturally quiet tone. "If you strike me, -you will be disgraced for life, because I am a cripple. But I assure you -that I am not in the least afraid of you." - -"You are wrong!" exclaimed Savelli, still furious, and turning upon him -savagely. - -"Not at all," returned the Englishman, unmoved. "I came here to settle -this business, and I have not the smallest intention of going away until -I have said all I meant to say. After that, if you are inclined to -demand satisfaction of me, as is the custom here, you can do so. I will -consider the matter. I shall probably not exchange shots with you, -because I believe that duelling is wrong. But let me say that I do not -in the least mean to insult you, nor, as I think, have I been lacking in -civility to-day. I have given you a number of facts which I have every -reason for believing to be true. You will in all likelihood have no -difficulty in finding out whether they are true or not. If we, jointly, -are convinced that the statements are false, I shall be happy to offer -you my best apologies; if not, and if you are convinced that Donna Adele -has been slandering my wife, I shall expect you to act upon your -conviction, as a man of honour should, and take measures to have these -reports instantly and fully denied everywhere by Donna Adele herself. I -think I have stated the case plainly, and what I have said ought not to -offend you, in my opinion." - -"It is certainly impossible to be more plain," answered Savelli, -regaining something of his outward calm. "As to what may or may not give -offence, opinions may differ in England and in Italy." - -"They probably do," returned Arden, coolly. "It is not my intention to -offend you." - -Francesco Savelli looked at the shrunken figure and the thin hands with -an odd sensation of repulsion and respect. He had been very far from -supposing that Herbert Arden possessed such undeniable courage and -imperturbable coolness, and not being by any means a coward himself, he -could not help admiring bravery in others. He was none the less angry, -however, though he made a great effort to keep his temper. He did not -love his wife, but he had all the Roman traditions concerning the -sacredness of the family honour, which he now felt was really at stake, -and he had all a Roman's dread of a public scandal. - -"I must beg you once more to tell me by whom these stories were told to -Lady Herbert," he said, after a pause. - -"I cannot do so, without consulting that person," answered Arden. "I do -not wish to drag other people into the affair. You will be able to find -out for yourself, and probably through members of your own family, how -much truth there is in it all." - -"You positively refuse to tell me?" - -"I have said so. If you wish to be confronted with the person in -question, I will consult that person, as I said before." - -"And if I then, on my side, positively refuse to do anything without -having previously spoken to that person--to him or to her--what then?" - -"In my opinion, you will be allowing a state of things to continue which -will not ultimately reflect credit upon you or yours. Moreover, you will -oblige me to take some still more active measures." - -"What measures?" - -"I do not know. I will think about it. And now I will wish you good -morning." - -He got upon his feet, and stood before Savelli. - -"Good morning," said the latter, very stiffly. "Allow me to accompany -you to the hall." - -"Thanks," said Arden, as he began to move towards the door in his -ungainly, dislocated fashion, while Savelli walked slowly beside him, -towering above him by a third of his own height. - -Arden shivered as he slipped on his fur coat in the hall, for it had -been very cold in the drawing-room though he had scarcely noticed the -fact in his preoccupied state of mind. While driving homeward, he looked -at the little picture as it stood opposite to him on the seat of the -carriage. It was one of those exquisite views of the Campagna, looking -across the Tiber, which Sartorio does so wonderfully in pastel. - -"She will be glad to have it," said Arden to himself, "and she will -understand why I went out alone." - -He was tolerably well satisfied with the morning's work. It had seemed -to him that there was nothing else to be done under the circumstances, -and he certainly did not choose the least wise course, in going directly -to Savelli. He did not regret a word of what he had said, nor did he -feel that he had said too little. As he anticipated, Laura suspected -nothing, and was delighted with the picture. She scolded him a little -for having insisted upon going out on such a morning, especially for her -sake, but as the clouds just then were breaking and the sunshine was -streaming into the room, she felt as though it could not have been a -great risk after all. Before they had finished luncheon, a note was -brought in. Laura laughed oddly as she read it. - -"It is an invitation to dinner from Adele," she said. "It is for the day -after to-morrow, shall we accept?" - -Arden's face grew thoughtful. He could not be sure whether the -invitation had been sent before his interview with Savelli, or since. It -was therefore not easy to decide upon the wisest course. - -"Better to accept it, is it not?" asked Laura. "It is of no use to make -an open breach." - -"No. It is of no use. Accept, dear. It is more sensible." - -Neither of them liked the thought of dining at the Palazzo Savelli just -then, and Laura, at least, knew that she would find it hard to behave as -though nothing had happened. Both would have been very much surprised, -could they have known why they were asked, and that the idea had -originated with Pietro Ghisleri. - -On the previous evening, Gerano had taken pains to see his daughter -alone at her own house, on pretence of talking to her about business. -With considerable skill he had led the conversation up to the required -point, and had laid a trap for her. - -"Do you see much of the Ardens just now?" he asked. - -"No. We do not meet often," answered Adele, with a little movement of -the shoulders. - -"I wish you did. I wish you saw them every day," observed the Prince, -more gravely. - -"Do you, papa? Why?" - -"You might find out something that I wish very much to know. It would -not be hard at all. We are rather anxious about it." - -"What is the matter?" asked Adele, with sudden interest. - -"That is it. There is a disagreeable story afloat. More than one, in -fact. It has reached my ears on good authority that Arden drinks far too -much. You know what a brave girl Laura is. She hides it as well as she -can, but she is terribly unhappy. Have you any idea whether there is any -truth in all this?" - -Adele hesitated a moment, and looked earnestly into her teacup, as -though seeking advice. The moment was important. Her father had brought -her own story back to her for confirmation, as it were. It might be -dangerous to take the other side now. Suddenly she looked up with a -well-feigned little smile of embarrassment. - -"I would rather not say what I think, papa," she said, with the evident -intention of not denying the tale. - -"But, my dear," protested her father, "you must see how anxious we are -on Laura's account. Really, my child, have a little confidence in -me--tell me what you know." - -"If you insist--well, I suppose I must. I am afraid there is no doubt -about it. Laura's husband is very intemperate." - -"Ah me! I feared so, from what I had heard," said the Prince, looking -down, and shaking his head very sadly. - -"You see, the people first began to talk about it last year, when he was -in such a disgraceful condition in your house, and Pietro Ghisleri had -to take him home." - -"Yes, yes!" Gerano still shook his head sorrowfully. "I ought to have -known, but they told me it was a fainting fit. And the worst of it is, -my dear Adele, that there are other stories, and worse ones, too, about -Laura. I hear that she is seriously in love with Francesco. Poor thing! -it is no wonder--she is so unhappy at home, and Francesco is such a fine -fellow, and always so kind to her everywhere." - -"No, it is no wonder," assented Adele, who felt that she was launched, -and must go to the end, though she had no time to consider the -consequences. - -"I suppose there is really some evidence about Arden's habits," resumed -the Prince. "Of course he will deny it all, and I would like to have -something to fall back upon--to convince myself more thoroughly, you -understand." - -Adele paused a moment. - -"Arden has a Scotch servant," she said presently. "It appears that he is -very intimate with our butler, who has often seen him going into the -Tempietto with bottles of brandy hidden in an overcoat he carries on his -arm." - -"Dear me! How shocking!" exclaimed the Prince. "So old Giuseppe has -actually seen that!" - -"Often," replied Adele, with conviction. "But then, after all--so many -men drink. If it were not for Laura--poor Laura!" - -"Poor Laura,--yes, as I said, it is no wonder if she has fallen in love -with Francesco--such a handsome fellow, too! She has shown good taste, -at least." The Prince laughed gently. "At all events, you are not -jealous, Adele; I can see that." - -"I?" exclaimed Adele, with indignant scorn. "No, indeed!" - -Gerano began to feel his pockets, as though searching for something he -could not find. Then he rang the bell at his elbow. - -"I have forgotten my cigarettes, my dear, I must have left them in my -coat," he said. - -The old butler answered his summons in person, for Gerano knew the usage -of the house and had pressed the button three times, unnoticed by Adele, -which meant that Giuseppe was wanted. - -"I have left my cigarettes in my coat, Giuseppe," said the Prince. Then -as the man turned to go, he called him back. "Giuseppe!" - -"Excellency!" - -"I want you to do a little commission for me. I have a little surprise -for Donna Laura, and I do not want her to know where it comes from. It -must be placed on her table, do you see? Now Donna Adele tells me that -you are very intimate with Lord Herbert's Scotch servant--" - -"I, Excellency?" Giuseppe was very much astonished. - -"Yes--the man with sandy grey hair, and a big nose, and a red face--a -most excellent servant, who has been with Lord Herbert since he was a -child. Donna Adele says you know him very well--" - -"Her Excellency must be mistaken. It must have been some other servant -who told her. I never saw the man." - -"You said Giuseppe, did you not?" asked the Prince very blandly, and -turning to Adele. She bit her lip in silence. "Never mind," he -continued. "It is a misunderstanding, and I will manage the surprise in -quite another way. My cigarettes, Giuseppe." - -The man went out, and Adele and the Prince sat without exchanging a -word, until he returned with the case, Gerano all the time looking very -gentle. When the servant was gone a second time, the Prince's expression -changed suddenly, and he spoke in a stern voice. - -"Now that you have sufficiently disgraced yourself, my daughter, you -will begin to make reparation at once," he said. - -Adele started as though she had been struck, and stared at him. - -"I am in earnest," he added. - -"What do you mean, papa?" she asked, frightened by his manner. -"Disgraced myself? You must be mad!" - -"You know perfectly well what I mean," answered her father. "I have been -playing a little comedy with you, and I have found out the truth. You -know as well as I that everything you have repeated to me this evening -is absolutely untrue, and there is some reason to believe that you have -invented these tales and set them going in the world out of jealousy, -and for no other reason, with deliberate intention to do harm. Even if -it were not you who began, it would still be disgraceful enough on your -part to say such things even to me, and you have said them to others. -That last vile little invention about the bottles was produced on the -spur of the moment--I saw you hesitate. You are responsible for all -this, and no one else. I will go into the world more in future than I -have done hitherto, and will watch you. You are to make full reparation -for what you have done. I insist upon it." - -"And if I deny that I originated this gossip, and refuse to obey you, -what will you do?" asked Adele, defiantly. - -"You are aware that under the present laws I can dispose of half my -property as I please," observed the Prince. "Laura has nothing--" He -stopped significantly. - -Adele turned pale. She was terrified, not so much at the thought of -losing the millions in question, but at the idea of the consequence to -herself in her father-in-law's house. Casa Savelli counted upon the -whole fortune as confidently as though it were already theirs. She knew -very well how she should be treated during the rest of her life, if -one-half of the great property were lost to her husband's family through -her fault. - -"You are forcing me to acknowledge myself guilty of what I never did," -she said, still trying to make a stand. "What do you wish me to do?" - -"You will everywhere say nice things about Laura and her husband. You -will say that you are now positively sure that Arden does not drink. You -will say that there is no truth whatever in the report that Laura is in -love with Francesco, and that you are absolutely certain that the Ardens -are very happy together. Those are the principal points, I believe. You -will also at once ask them to dinner, and you will repeat your -invitation often, and behave to both in a proper way." - -Adele laughed scornfully, though her mirth had something of affectation -in it. - -"Say pretty things, and invite them to dinner!" she exclaimed. "That is -not very hard. I have not the slightest objection to doing that, because -I should do it in any case, even if you had not made me this absurd -scene." - -"In future, my child, before you call anything I do or say absurd, I -recommend you to think of the law regarding wills, to which I called -your attention." - -Adele was silent, for she saw that she was completely in her father's -power. Being really guilty of the social misdeeds with which she was -charged, she was not now surprised by his manner. What really amazed her -was the display of diplomatic talent he had made, while entrapping her -into what amounted to a confession. She had never supposed him capable -of anything of the kind. But he was a quiet man, much more occupied in -dealing with humanity in the management of his property than most people -realised. No genius--certainly,--for if he had been, he would not have -told the whole story to his wife, as he had done on the previous -evening, but possessing the talent to choose the wise course at least as -often as not, which is more than can be said for most people. There was -something of the old-fashioned father about him, too, and he showed it -in the little speech he made before leaving Adele that evening. - -"And now, my dear daughter," he said, rising and standing before her as -he spoke, "I have one word more to say before I go. You are my only -child, and, in spite of all that has happened, I love you very much. I -do not believe that you have ever done anything of the kind until now, -and I do not think you will fall into the same fault in the future. If -you do all that I have told you to do, I shall never refer to the matter -after this, and we will try and forget it. But you have learned a lesson -which you will remember all your life. Jealousy is a great sin, and -slander is not only vile and degrading, but is also the greatest -mistake possible from a worldly point of view. Remember that. If you -wish to be successful in society, never speak an unkind word about any -one. And now good night, my dear. Do what I have bidden you, and let us -think no more about it." - -Having concluded his sermon, Gerano kissed Adele on the forehead, as he -was accustomed to do. She bent her head in silence, for she was so angry -that she could not trust herself to speak, and he left her at the door -and went home. All things considered, she knew that she had reason to be -grateful for his forbearance. She was quite sure that her father-in-law -would have behaved differently, and the stories she had heard of old -Prince Saracinesca's temper showed clearly that the race of violent -fathers was by no means yet extinct. She was not even called upon to -make a formal apology to Laura in her father's presence, which was what -she had at first expected and feared. Nothing, in fact, was required of -her except to avoid gossip and treat the Ardens with a decent show of -sisterly affection. She could scarcely have got better terms of peace, -had she dictated them herself. - -But she was far too angry to look at the affair in this light and far -too deeply humiliated to forgive her father or the Ardens. If anything -were necessary to complete her shame, it was the knowledge that she was -utterly unable to cope with Gerano, who could disinherit her and her -children of an enormous sum by a stroke of the pen, if he pleased; and -he would please, if she did not obey him to the letter. - -With a trembling hand she wrote the invitation required of her and gave -it to be taken in the morning. Then she sat down and tried to read, -taking up a great French review and opening it hap-hazard. The article -chanced to be one on a medical subject, written by a very eminent -practitioner, but not at all likely to interest Adele Savelli. But she -felt the necessity of composing herself before meeting her husband when -he should come home from the club, and she followed the lines with a -sort of resolute determination which belonged to her character at -certain moments. It was very hard to understand a word of what she was -reading, but she at last became absorbed in the effort, and ultimately -reached the end of the paper. - -In the meantime, Francesco Savelli had spent his day in deliberately -thinking over the situation, and he had determined, very wisely, that it -would be a great mistake to speak to his wife on the subject. He went -over in his mind all the men of his acquaintance whom he might consult -with safety and with some prospect of obtaining a truthful answer to his -question, and he saw that they were by no means many. Wisdom and -frankness are rare enough separately, but rarer still in combination in -the same person, though a few are aware that the truest wisdom is the -most consistent frankness. Most of those of whom Savelli thought were -men considerably older than himself, and not men with whom he had any -great intimacy. The Prince of Sant' Ilario and his cousin, the Marchese -di San Giacinto, Spicca, the melancholy and sarcastic, and perhaps -Pietro Ghisleri--there were not many more, and the last named, who was -the nearest to him in point of age, was not, as Savelli thought, very -friendly to him. On the whole, he determined to wait and bide his time, -watching Adele carefully, and collecting such evidence as he could while -studiously keeping his own counsel. He saw very little of his wife on -that day, and when he next spoke to her about the Ardens, her manner was -so cordial and apparently sincere, that he at once formed an opinion in -her favour, as indeed he desired to do, though it was more for the sake -of his family as a whole, than for her own. - -"I have asked them to dinner," she said, "because we never see anything -of them, any more than if they were not in Rome. Shall we have my father -and the Princess, too? It will make a family party." - -"By all means," answered Savelli, who did not enjoy the prospect of -having the Ardens as the only guests, after what had recently passed -between himself and Lord Herbert. "By all means--a family party--a sort -of rejoicing over Arden's recovery." - -"Dear Arden!" exclaimed Adele. "I like him now. I used to have the -greatest antipathy for him because he is a cripple, poor fellow! I -suppose that is natural, but I have quite got over it." - -"I am very glad," observed Francesco. "You and Laura were brought up -like sisters--there ought never to be any coldness between you." - -"Oh, as for Laura, there never has been the least difference since we -were children. We are sisters still, just as we used to be when you -first came to the house. Do you remember, Francesco--four years ago? I -used to think you liked Laura better than me. Indeed I did! It was so -foolish, and now you are always so good to me that I see how silly I -was. It never was true, carissimo, was it?" - -"No, indeed!" answered Savelli, with an awkward laugh, and turning away -his face to hide the colour that rose in his cheeks. - -"Of course not. And as for Laura, she is so much in love with her -husband that I believe she was dreaming of him even then, before she had -ever seen him, and long before she was old enough to think of marrying -any one. How she loves him! Is it not wonderful?" - -Francesco glanced at his wife, and he believed that he was not mistaken -in her. There was a look of genuine admiration almost amounting to -enthusiasm in her face. He suppressed a slight sigh, for he still loved -Laura in his helpless and hopeless way. - -"Yes," he said, "it is wonderful, all things considered." - -"But then," concluded Adele, "with Arden's beautiful character--well, I -am not surprised." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -Adele Savelli was a very good actress, and she deceived her husband -without much trouble, making him believe that she had never felt -ill-disposed towards Laura, and that the repulsion she had felt for -Arden had depended upon his deformity, to which she had now grown -accustomed, as was quite natural. She had aways been careful not to -speak out her mind upon the subject to Francesco, and had been more than -cautious in other respects. She was far too clever a woman to let him -hear the gossip she had originated except through outsiders, in the way -of general conversation, and now she found it easy to change her tactics -completely without doing anything to rouse his suspicion. She seemed -very much preoccupied, however, in spite of her efforts to seem cheerful -and agreeable during the two days which preceded the dinner party her -father had obliged her to give. There were domestic details, too, which -gave her trouble, and she had more than enough to occupy her. Her maid -had been very ill, too, and was barely beginning to recover. Every woman -of the world knows what it means to be suddenly deprived of a thoroughly -good maid's services just at the opening of the season. That was one -more annoyance among the many she encountered, and, in her opinion, not -the smallest. - -There was, of course, no open humiliation in what she was now forced to -do, but she felt the shame of defeat very keenly whenever she thought of -her interview with her father. It was not surprising that her hatred of -the Ardens should suddenly take greater proportions under circumstances -so favourable to its growth. And she hated them both with all her heart, -while preparing herself to receive them with open arms and protestations -of affection. But she did everything in her power to make the meeting -effective. She even went so far as to buy pretty little gifts for the -Prince and Princess of Gerano, and for Laura and Arden, which she took -the trouble to conceal with her own hands in the folds of each one's -napkin just before dinner; pretty little chiselled silver sweetmeat -boxes for the two ladies, and tiny matchboxes for the men. Both the -elder Savelli being away at the time, she arranged everything according -to her own taste, which was excellent, thus taking advantage of her -position as temporary mistress of the house. There were flowers -scattered on the table, a form of decoration of which the old butler -disapproved, shaking his head mournfully as he carried out Adele's -directions. - -She did not over-act her part when the evening came, for she knew how to -be very charming when she pleased, and she meant on the present occasion -to produce a very strong impression upon every one present at dinner. -She succeeded well. The Ardens themselves were surprised at the pleasant -feeling which seemed to pervade everything. Gerano looked at his -daughter approvingly, repeatedly smiled, nodded to her, and at last -drank her health. Don Francesco was delighted, for he saw in his wife's -manner the strongest refutation of all that Arden had told him two days -earlier. Moreover, he had Laura Arden on his left and was at liberty to -talk to her as much as he pleased, which was in itself a great -satisfaction, especially as she herself was more than usually cordial, -being determined not to betray herself. Francesco looked across the -table at Arden more than once, with a significant glance, and inwardly -congratulated himself upon having said nothing to his wife about the -difficulty. - -Arden looked ill. He had caught cold during that interview with Savelli -in the icy drawing-room, and even an ordinary cold told quickly upon his -appearance in his weak state of health. But he did all in his power to -seem cheerful and talked more than usually well, so that his wife alone -knew that he was making an effort. - -So the dinner passed off admirably--so well, indeed, that when all were -going home, Laura and her mother looked at one another as though they -could hardly believe what they had seen and heard. The Princess of -Gerano began to doubt the truth of the accusations against Adele, and -even Laura fancied that they must have been very much exaggerated. The -Prince, himself, the only one of the party who had heard the slander -from Adele's own lips, sentence by sentence, and almost word for word as -Ghisleri had repeated it to him, wisely held his peace, while by no -means so wisely believing that his daughter had repented and was -carrying out his instructions in all sincerity. He kissed her -affectionately on the forehead when he went away, and she felt that she -had won a victory. - -"You look a little pale, my child," he said. "I have noticed it all the -evening. Be very careful of your health, my dear." - -"Yes, papa--but I am quite well, thank you," answered Adele. - -Yet she did not look well. There was an odd, half-frightened look in her -eyes when they were all gone and she was left alone with her husband. -But he did not notice it, and made it easy for her, bestowing infinite -praise upon her tact and talent as a hostess. Though she did not hear -all he said, she was vaguely pleased, that, after spending the whole -evening at Laura's side, he should stay at home instead of going to the -club, and find so many pleasant things to say. In spite of her success, -however, she spent a restless night. - -Laura looked anxiously at Arden's face when they got home. He looked -worse, and coughed two or three times in a way she did not like. - -"You are very tired, dear," she said. "You had better not get up -to-morrow. The rest will do you good." - -"I think you are right," he answered. "I need rest." - -The next morning his cold was worse, and he did not rise. He seemed -restless and nervous, too, perhaps from the fatigue of the previous -evening. The doctor came and said there was no danger, as the cold was -not on the lungs, and that the best thing to be done was to stay in bed -two or three days. Later in the afternoon Pietro Ghisleri called, and -Laura, at Arden's express desire, received him alone, promising to bring -him into the bedroom afterwards. Several days had passed since they had -met. Ghisleri was looking fresher and less nervous than the last time -Laura had seen him. He, on his part, saw that she was anxious again, for -there were dark shadows under her eyes as there had been when she had -first returned from England. - -"Is there anything wrong?" he asked, as soon as they met. - -"Herbert has a bad cold," she answered. "The doctor says it is nothing -serious, but he coughs, and I am worried about him." - -Ghisleri reminded her that there was nothing the matter with Arden's -lungs, and that a cough might be a very insignificant affair, after all. -Then she told him of the dinner party on the previous evening, dwelling -at length on the tact and amiability Adele had displayed. Pietro was -inclined to smile, when he understood that what he had said to Gerano -had borne fruit so soon. He was quite sure that before night he should -hear of some even more amiable doings on Adele's part, for he guessed at -once that the Prince had forced her to change her behaviour. But he kept -his reflections to himself. There was no reason why any one but Gerano -should ever know that he had been concerned in the matter. He had no -idea that everything had been repeated through the family, till it had -reached Laura herself. - -"Donna Adele has great social talent," he remarked, finding, as usual, -the one thing to be said in her favour. - -"Indeed she has!" assented Laura, with a constrained little laugh, and -looking into his blue eyes. - -Ghisleri made no sign, however, and presently began to talk of other -matters. He always felt a singular satisfaction in being with Laura, and -this year he noticed that it was growing upon him. The impression he -had first formed of her, when she had appeared in society, was confirmed -year by year, and appealed to a side of his nature of which few people -suspected the existence. It depended largely on Laura's looks, no doubt, -which strongly suggested the high predominance of all that was good over -the ordinary instincts of average human nature. He felt a sort of -reverence for her which he had never felt for any one; he knew that she -was good, he imagined that she was almost saintly in her life, and he -believed that she might, under certain circumstances become, in the best -religious sense, a holy woman. Had he seen her on that evening when -Arden had found her strangling an imaginary enemy in a fit of -exceedingly human anger, he could hardly have accepted the evidence of -his senses. All that was good in her appealed directly through all that -was bad in him to the small remnant of the better nature which had -survived through his misspent life. It did not, indeed, rouse in him the -slightest active desire to imitate her virtues. The very idea that he -could ever be virtuous in any sense, brought a smile to his face. But he -could not help admiring what he knew to be so very far beyond his -sphere--what he believed, perhaps, to be even further from his reach -than it actually was. He had reached that almost morbid stage of -self-contempt in which a man, while still admiring goodness in others, -checks even the aspiration towards it in his own heart, because he is -convinced that it cannot be really genuine, and looks upon it as one of -the affectations most to be despised in himself. He had got so far -sometimes as to refuse a very wretched beggar a penny, merely because he -doubted the sincerity of the charitable impulse which impelled his hand -towards his pocket--laughing bitterly at himself afterwards when he -thought of the poor wretch's disappointed face, and going back to find -him again, perhaps, and to bestow a silver coin, simply because he could -not resist the temptation to be kind. - -Such unhealthy conditions of mind may seem inconceivable and -incomprehensible to men of other nature, all whose thoughts are natural, -logical, and sound. They exist, none the less, and not by any means -necessarily in persons otherwise weak or morbid. The very absurdity of -them, which cannot escape the man himself, makes him seem still more -despicable in his own eyes, increases his distrust of himself and gives -rise, completing the vicious circle, to conditions each time more -senselessly self-torturing than the last. It is hard to bring such men -to see how untenable their own position is. They will not even believe -that a good instinct underlies the superstructure of morbid fancy, and -that the latter could not exist without it. - -Ghisleri looked long at Laura and admired her more than ever, realising -at the same time how deeply her personality was impressed in his -thoughts, and how vividly he was able at all times to evoke her outward -image, and the conception he had formed of her character. He almost -hated old Spicca for having said that no one could possibly be as good -as she looked. In her own self she was the most overwhelming refutation -of that remark; but then, he reflected, Spicca did not know her well -enough, and habitually believed in nothing and in nobody. At least every -one supposed that was Spicca's view of the world. - -Before long Laura took Pietro to see Arden, and left the two together. - -"There is something seriously wrong with me, Ghisleri," said his friend. -"I am going to be very ill. I feel it." - -It was not like him to speak in that way, for he was brave and generally -did his best to hide his sufferings from every one. Ghisleri looked at -him anxiously. His face was drawn and pinched, and there were spots of -colour on his cheeks which had not been there a few hours earlier. - -"Perhaps you have a little fever with the cold," suggested Pietro, in a -reassuring tone. "It often happens in this country." - -"I dare say," replied Arden. "It may be so. At all events, your -specialist was right about the main thing, and I am no more consumptive -than you are. But I feel--I cannot tell why--that I am going to be very -ill indeed. It may be an impression, and even if I am, I shall probably -weather it." - -"Of course you will." But Ghisleri was in reality alarmed. - -"I am so glad you came to-day," continued Arden, speaking more rapidly. -"If I should get worse to-morrow, really ill, you know--you must write -to my brother. I would not ask my wife to do it for worlds. Do you -understand?" - -"Perfectly--but I do not believe there will be any reason--" - -"Never mind that!" exclaimed Arden, interrupting him almost impatiently. -"If there is any reason, you will write. I cannot tell you all about it. -Of course I may not be delirious, you know, but again, I may be--one is -never sure, and then it would be too late. Uncle Herbert is alive still, -thank God, and quite well, and if anything should happen to me, his will -would be worth nothing. Laura would not get a penny and would be -dreadfully poor. Henry must do something for her. Do you understand me? -He must. You must see to it, too, or he will never think of it--kind as -he is. Those things do not strike him. You see I have only my small -portion--which is little enough, as you know, because there are so many -sisters--and they are not all rich, either. We could not go on living in -this way long--but Henry was very generous. He sent me two thousand -pounds when we were married, and the yacht too, so that we spent very -little--" - -"You are exhausting yourself, my dear fellow," said Ghisleri, growing -more anxious as he listened to the sick man's excited talk. "You have -told me all this before, and your brother knows it too; he will not -allow Lady Herbert--" - -"One never can tell what he will do," broke in Arden, raising himself a -little on his elbow, and facing his friend. His eyes were unnaturally -brilliant. "He is so eccentric. And Laura must have money--she must have -plenty--not that she is extravagant, but you know how she was brought up -in the Gerano's house, and I should never have thought of marrying her, -but for Uncle Herbert's money." - -"You would both have been perfectly happy on a hundred a year," observed -Pietro. "People are when they love each other as you do." - -Arden's face softened at once, and Ghisleri saw that he was thinking of -his wife. He was silent for a few moments. - -"That is all very well," he said, suddenly rousing himself again. "That -might do so long as I should be there to make life smooth for her. But -when she is left alone--especially here--Ghisleri, I do not like to -think that she must live here after I am gone--" - -"For Heaven's sake do not begin to talk in that way, Arden! It is -perfectly absurd. You only have a cold, after all!" - -"Perhaps so. I believe I have something worse. Never mind! I was saying -that I could not bear to think of her living here without me. It is -quite true. No--it is not sentiment--something much more reasonable and -real. There are people here who hate us both, who positively hate us, -and who will make her life unbearable when there is no one to protect -her--the more so, if she is poor. And besides, you know what will happen -before long--oh, I cannot think of it!" - -Ghisleri did not answer at once, for it was not clear to him how Arden -had discovered that he had enemies. But the latter waited for no answer, -and went on after a few seconds, still speaking excitedly. - -"You see," he said, "how necessary it is that Harry should come--that -you should write to him--that he should be made to understand--he must -do something for Laura, Ghisleri--he really must." - -There was something painful in the persistent repetition of the thought, -and then, oddly enough, Pietro started as he heard his own name -pronounced almost without an interval, immediately after that of Laura. -It sounded very strangely--Laura Ghisleri--he had never thought of it -before. A moment later he scorned himself for thinking of it at all. - -"My dear Arden," he said, "you are really making yourself ill about -nothing. Put it all out of your mind for the present, and remember that -I am always ready if you need anything. You have only to send for me, -and besides, I shall come every day until you are quite well." - -"Thank you, my dear fellow, you are a good friend. Perhaps you are -right. But as I lie here, thinking of all the possibilities--" - -"You are beginning again," interrupted Ghisleri. "I must go away or you -will talk yourself into a fever." - -At that moment Laura re-entered the room. She started a little when she -saw her husband's face. - -"How do you find him?" she asked quickly of Ghisleri. - -"He has a cold," answered the latter, cheerfully, "and perhaps there is -a little fever with it. I am going to leave him, for he ought to keep -quiet and not tire himself with too much talking." - -He shook hands with Arden. Laura followed him out into the passage -beyond. - -"He is very ill!" she exclaimed, in a low voice, touching his sleeve in -her excitement. "I can see it. He never looked like that." - -"It may not be anything serious," answered Ghisleri. "But he ought to -see the doctor at once. I have a cab down stairs, and I will go and find -him and bring him here. Keep him quiet; do not let him talk." - -"Yes. You are so kind." - -She left him and went back to Arden's bedside. He was tossing uneasily -as though he could not find rest in any position, and the great round -spots on his cheeks had deepened almost to a purple colour. He scarcely -seemed to notice her entrance, but as she turned to move something on -the table, after smoothing his pillow, he caught her suddenly by the -skirt of her frock. - -"Laura! Laura! do not go away!" he cried. "Do not leave me alone." - -"No, love, I am not going," she answered gently, and sat down by his -side. - -Ghisleri was not gone long. By a mere chance he found the doctor at -home, and brought him back. Then he waited in the drawing-room to hear -the result of the visit. The physician's face was graver when he -returned, and Laura was not with him. - -"Is it anything serious?" asked Ghisleri. - -"I am afraid so. I shall be better able to tell in a couple of hours. -The fever is very high, the other symptoms will develop before long, and -we shall know what it is." - -"What do you think it might be?" - -"It might be scarlet fever," answered the doctor. "I am afraid it is. -But say nothing at present. You should get a nurse at once, for some one -must sit up with him all night. I will send him something to take -immediately, and I will come back myself in about two hours." - -They went away together, but when the doctor returned, he found Ghisleri -waiting for him in the street. It was now five o'clock and quite dark. -Pietro remained down stairs while the visit lasted. - -"Well?" he asked, when the physician came down again. - -"It is scarlet fever, as I was afraid--one of the most sudden cases I -ever knew. They have not got a nurse yet, the idea seems to frighten -Lady Herbert." - -"I will see to it," said Ghisleri. "By the bye, it is contagious, is it -not? I have a visit to pay before dinner; ought I to change my -clothes?" - -The doctor smiled. He did not know Ghisleri, and fancied that he might -be timid. - -"It is not contagious yet," he answered, "or hardly at all. I do not -think there is any danger." - -"There might be a little--even a very little, you think?" asked Pietro, -insisting. - -"Of course it can do no harm to change one's clothes," replied the -other, somewhat surprised. - -"You have told Lady Herbert exactly what must be done, I suppose. In -that case I shall not go up." - -The doctor was confirmed in his suspicion that Ghisleri was afraid of -catching the fever, and got into his carriage, musing on the deceptive -nature of appearances. Pietro wrote a few words on his card, telling -Laura that he would be back before dinner time with the best nurse to be -found, and sent it up by the porter. Then he drove home as quickly as -possible, dressed himself entirely afresh, and went to see the Contessa -dell' Armi. - -"I have come," he said, after the first greeting, "to tell you that you -will not see me for several days. Arden has got the scarlet fever, and I -shall be there taking care of him, more or less, until he is out of -danger." - -"Can they not have a nurse for him?" asked Maddalena, raising her -eyebrows. - -"There will be a nurse, too. I am going to get one now and take her -there." - -"You do not seem anxious to consult me in the least," said the Contessa. -"You never do nowadays." - -"What do you mean? Do you think this is a case of consulting any one? I -do not understand." - -"Do you think you have any right to risk your life in this way? Do you -think you contribute to my happiness by doing it? And yet I have heard -you say that my happiness is first in your thoughts. Not that I ever -believed it." - -"You are wrong," answered Ghisleri, gently. "I would do almost anything -for you." - -"What a clever reservation--'almost' anything. You know that if you did -not put it in that way, I should tell you not to go near the Ardens -until there is no danger of catching the fever." - -"Of course," assented Pietro. - -"You ought not to be so diplomatic. You used to talk very differently. -Do you remember that evening by the waterfall at Vallombrosa? You have -changed since then." - -Her classic face began to harden in the way he knew so well. - -"There is no question of diplomacy," he said quietly. "Arden has been my -friend these ten years, and he is in very great danger. I mean to take -care of him as long as I am needed because I do not trust nurses, and -because Lady Herbert is anything but strong herself at the present time, -and may break down or lose her head. As for risking my life, there is no -risk at all in the matter. I have very little belief in contagion, -though the doctors talk about it." - -"I suppose you have just seen him," observed the Contessa, who was -determined to find fault. "You do not seem to ask yourself whether I -share your disbelief." - -"Since you ask," said Ghisleri, with a smile, "I admit that I changed my -clothes before coming to see you, for that very reason. Some people do -believe in danger of that kind." - -"I am glad you admit it. So I am not to see you until Lord Herbert is -quite well again. I will not answer for the consequences. I have -something to say to you to-day. Are you in a hurry?" - -"Not in the least." - -"It will not take long. I have discovered another proof of your -desertion. You know what pleasant things Adele Savelli says about -me--and you, too. I have told you more than once exactly what was -repeated to me. Did you ever take any steps to prevent her talking about -me?" - -"No, I never did. I do not even see how I could. Can I quarrel with -Francesco Savelli, because his wife spreads scandalous reports about -you? It would look singularly like fighting your battles." - -"And yet," retorted the Contessa, speaking slowly, and fixing her eyes -on his, "there is no sooner something said against Lady Herbert Arden, -than you show your teeth and fight in earnest. Can you deny it?" - -"No, I do not lie," answered Ghisleri. "But I did not know that you were -aware of the fact. Some one has been indiscreet, as usual." - -"Of course. That sort of thing cannot be a secret long. All Rome knows -that there was a dinner of reconciliation at the Palazzo Savelli last -night, that every one embraced every one else, that Adele looks like -death to-day, and is going about everywhere saying the most delightful -things about the Ardens, in the most horribly nervous way. You see what -power you have when you choose to use it." - -She spoke bitterly, though she was conscious that the right was not all -on her side, and that Ghisleri, as he said, could defend the Ardens -without fear of adverse criticism, whereas it would be a very different -matter if he entered the lists in her defence. - -"You are not quite just to me, my dear lady," he said, after a moment's -reflection. "You are not the wife of my old friend, and an otherwise -indifferent person--" - -"Quite indifferent?" She looked keenly at him. - -"Quite," he answered, with perfect sincerity. "A person is indifferent -whom one neither loves nor calls an intimate friend. Yet Lady Herbert is -beautiful and good, and is admirable in many ways. But the world knows -that I am no more in love with her than with Donna Adele, and I am quite -free, therefore, to defend her." - -"Of course you are. The only thing that surprises me is your alacrity in -doing so. You do not generally like to give yourself trouble for -indifferent people. But then, as Arden really is your friend--" She -stopped, with a little impatient movement of the shoulders. - -"I wish you could bring yourself for once to believe that I am not -altogether insincere and calculating in everything I do," said -Ghisleri, weary of her perpetual suspicion. - -"I wish I could," she answered coldly. "But how can I? There are such -extraordinary inconsistencies in your character, such contradictions--it -is very hard to believe in you. And yet," she added sadly, "God knows I -must--for my own sake." - -"Then do!" exclaimed Pietro, with energy. "Make an end of all this -doubting. Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever made a promise to you and -not kept it? How have I deceived you? And yet you never trust me -altogether, and I know it." - -"It is not that--it is not that!" repeated Maddalena. "What you say is -all true, in its way. It is--how shall I say it--you did not deceive me, -but I was deceived in you. You are not what I thought you were. You used -to say that you would stand at nothing--that my word was your law--all -those fine phrases you used to make to me, and they all seem to come to -nothing when reality begins." - -"If you would tell me what you expect me to do, you would not find me -slow in doing it." - -"That is the thing. If you loved me as you say you do, would you need -any direction? Your heart would tell you." - -"You are angry with me now, because you do not wish me to take care of -Arden--" - -"Can I wish that you should be willing to cut yourself off from me for a -week--or two weeks? I suppose that is your idea of love. It is not -mine." - -"Then be frank in your turn. You have the right to ask what you please -of me. Say plainly that you wish me to give up the idea, to leave Arden -to the doctors and the nurses, and I will obey you unhesitatingly." - -"I would not have the sacrifice now--not as a gift," murmured Maddalena, -passionately. "If you could think of doing it, you shall do it. I will -force you to it now. I will not see you until Arden does not need you -any more--not even if you never go near him. If you do not think of me -naturally, I would rather that you should never think of me again." - -Ghisleri rose and went to the fireplace, and looked at the objects on -the mantelpiece for a long time, without seeing them. There was a -strange conflict in his heart at that moment. He could not tell whether -he loved her or not--that he had loved her a very short time since, he -was sure. At the present juncture it would be very easy to tell her the -truth, if his love were no longer real, and to break with her once and -for ever. Did she love him? Cruelly and coldly he compared her love with -that of another whom he had sacrificed long ago--a memory that haunted -him still at times. That had been love indeed. Was this also love, but -of another kind? Then, suddenly, he despised himself for his fickleness, -and he thought of what Maddalena had done and risked for him, and for -him alone. - -"Maddalena," he said, and his voice shook as he came to her side, and -took her small white hand. "Forgive me, forgive me all there is to -forgive. I am a brute sometimes. I cannot help it." - -Her lip trembled a little, but her face did not relax. - -"There is nothing to forgive," she said. "It is I who have been -mistaken." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Ghisleri left the Contessa's house anything but calm. To hate himself -and the whole world in general, with one or two unvarying exceptions, -was by no means a new sensation. He was quite familiar with it and -looked upon it as a necessary condition of mind, through which he must -pass from time to time, and from which he was never very far removed. -But he had rarely, in his ever-changing life, been in such strange -perturbation of spirit as on this particular evening. He was almost -beyond reasoning, and he seemed to be staring at the facts that faced -him in a day-dream horribly like reality. He knew that if he really -loved Maddalena, he would sacrifice his friend, even after what the -Contessa had said, and that, after a day or two, she would probably -relent. Nor did the sacrifice seem a very great one. People were ill all -the year round, were taken care of by the members of their own family -and by nurses, and recovered or died as the case might be. He had no -especial knowledge to help him in watching over Herbert Arden, though he -believed himself quiet and skilful in a sick-room, and had more than -once done what he could in such cases. He felt, indeed, that he was more -deeply attached to the man than he had supposed himself to be, but he -had not imagined that, at the critical moment, that attachment would -outweigh all consideration for Maddalena Delmar. And yet, he not only -clung to the belief that he loved her, but was conscious that there was -a broad foundation of truth for that belief to rest upon. He asked -himself in vain why he was at that moment going from her house to -Arden's, and he found no answer. That Laura herself contributed in any -way to strengthen his resolve was too monstrous to be believed, even by -himself, against himself. He was not so bad as that yet. He laughed -bitterly at his inability to comprehend his own motives and impulses, as -he drove to the little convent of the French Sisters of the "Bon -Secours," to ask for the best nurse they could give him. It was strange, -too, that he should be coming directly from Maddalena's side to the -habitation of a community of almost saintly women--stranger still, that -he should be on his way to a house where, during the next few days, he -expected to spend his time in the society of a woman who ranked even -higher than they in his exalted estimate of her character. - -He got the nurse, and she was despatched in the company of another -sister in a separate cab, while Ghisleri followed in his own. When they -reached the house, they found that Arden was much worse. His mind was -wandering, and, though he constantly called for Laura, he did not know -her when she came to his side, trying to keep back the scalding tears, -lest they should fall on him as she bent down to catch his words. The -doctor had been sent for a third time in great haste. Meanwhile, the -sister went about her duties silently and systematically, making herself -thoroughly familiar with the arrangements of the room, and preparing all -that could be needed during the night, so far as she could foresee the -doctor's possible instructions. She smoothed Arden's pillows with a hand -the practised perfection of whose touch told a wonderful tale of -life-long labour among the sick. - -"Madame should not be here," she said to Ghisleri, in a quiet, even -voice. "It may soon be contagious." - -Laura heard the words as she stood on the other side of the bed, -watching every passing expression on Arden's flushed face. - -"I will not leave him," she said simply. - -The sister did not answer. She had done her duty in giving the warning, -and she could do no more. When she had finished all her arrangements, -she sat down, accustomed to husband her strength always, against the -strain that must inevitably fall upon it day by day. She took out her -small black book and began to read, glancing at Arden at regular -intervals of about a minute. - -Ghisleri entreated Laura to take some rest, or at least to follow the -sister's example and sit down, since nothing could be done. She did not -seem to understand. He was glad he had come, for he fancied she was -losing her head already. He stood beside her watching his friend and -waiting for the doctor, who appeared before long. - -"It is one of the most extraordinarily virulent cases I ever knew," he -said to Ghisleri, when the two were alone together in the drawing-room, -for Laura would not leave her husband's side for a moment. "I hardly -know what to make of it, though of course there can be no doubt as to -what it is. It is better that you should know how serious the case is. I -presume you are an intimate friend of Lord Herbert Arden's?" - -"Yes, an old friend." - -"And you are not afraid of catching the fever?" asked the doctor. - -"Not in the least." - -"Oh, I thought from a question you asked--" He hesitated. - -"I was going to see a friend, and I wanted to be on the safe side," said -Ghisleri. - -"I am glad of that; it is just as well that there should be a man at -hand. Shall you spend the night here?" - -"Yes," replied Ghisleri. - -"Very good. I have told the sister to send for me if the temperature -rises more than two-tenths of a degree centigrade higher than it is now. -It ought to go down. If I am called anywhere I will leave the address at -my lodgings, where one of my servants will sit up all night. I confess -that I am surprised by the case. In Rome the scarlet fever is rarely so -dangerous." - -Thereupon the doctor took his leave and Ghisleri remained alone in the -drawing-room. He sat down and took up a book. For the present it seemed -best not to go back to Arden's room. His constant presence might be -disagreeable to Laura, since she could not be induced to leave her -husband as yet. Ghisleri's turn would come when she was exhausted, or -when he had an opportunity of persuading her to take some rest. Until -then there was nothing to be done but to wait. A servant came in and put -wood on the fire and turned down a lamp that was smoking a little. He -inquired of Ghisleri whether her ladyship would wish any dinner served, -and Pietro told him to keep something in readiness in case she should be -hungry. He himself rarely had much appetite, and to-night he had none at -all. He tried to read, without much success, for his own thoughts -crowded upon each other so quickly and tumultuously that he found it -impossible to concentrate his attention. - -The clocks struck half-past eight, nine, ten, and half-past ten, and -still he sat motionless in his place. Again the Italian servant came in, -put wood on the fire and looked to the lamps. Did the Signore know what -orders were to be given for the night? The Signore did not know, as her -ladyship was still with his lordship, and was not to be disturbed, but -some food must be kept ready in case she needed it. Eleven, half-past, -twelve. Again the door opened. There was something awful in the monotony -of it all, Ghisleri thought, but this time Donald appeared instead of -the Italian, who had been sent to bed. After making very much the same -inquiries as the latter, Donald paused. - -"His lordship is very ill, sir, as I understand," he said. He had known -Ghisleri as his master's friend for years. - -"Yes, Donald, he is very ill," answered Ghisleri, gravely. "It is -scarlet fever, the doctor says. We must all help to take care of him." - -"Yes, sir." - -The few insignificant words exchanged with the servant seemed to rouse -Ghisleri from the reverie in which he had sat so many hours. When Donald -was gone he rose from the chair and began to walk up and down the -drawing-room. The inaction was irksome, and he longed to be of use. He -would have gone to Arden's room, but he fancied it would be better to -let Laura stay there without him, until she was very tired, and then to -take her place. She would be more likely to rest if she had a long watch -at first, he thought. As a matter of fact, an odd sort of delicacy -influenced him, too, almost without his knowing it,--an undefined -instinct which made him leave her with the man she so dearly loved in -the presence only of a stranger and a woman, rather than intrude himself -as the third person and the witness of her anxiety. - -As he turned for the fiftieth time in his short, monotonous walk, he saw -Laura entering at the opposite end of the room. She was dressed all in -white, in a loose robe of some soft and warm material, gathered about -the waist and hanging in straight folds. Her heavy black hair was -fastened in a great knot, low at the back of her head. The light fell -full upon her pale face and deep, dark eyes as she caught sight of -Ghisleri, and stood still at the door, her hand upon the curtain as she -thrust it aside from before her. She was so really beautiful at that -moment that Pietro started and stared at her. - -"I did not know you were here," she said softly. He came forward to meet -her. - -"I will take my turn when you are willing to go and rest," he answered. -"I have waited for that reason. How is he now?" - -"Much more quiet," answered Laura. "The sister persuaded me that my -being there perhaps prevented his going to sleep, and so I came away. -She will call me if there is any change. Oh! if he could only sleep!" - -Ghisleri knew how very improbable such a fortunate circumstance was at -the outset of such a severe illness, but he said nothing about it. Any -idea which could give Laura hope was good in itself. She sank into a -deep chair by the fire and watched the flames, her chin resting on her -hand. She seemed almost unconscious of Ghisleri's presence as he stood -leaning against the mantelpiece and looking down at her. - -"I will go and see how he is," he said at last, and went towards the -door. Just as he touched the handle she called him in an odd tone as -though she were startled by something. - -"Signor Ghisleri! Please come back." - -He obeyed, and resumed his former attitude. - -"I am very nervous," she said, with a little shiver. "Please do not -leave me--I--I am afraid to be alone. If you wish to go, we will go -together." - -Ghisleri concealed his surprise, which was considerable. The wish she -expressed was very foreign to her usually quiet and collected nature. He -saw that her nerves were rudely shaken. - -"It is very weak of me," she said presently, in an apologetic tone. "But -I see his face all the time, and I hear that dreadful wandering talk--I -cannot bear it." - -"I do not wonder," answered Pietro, quietly. "You must be very tired, -too. Will you not lie down on the sofa, while I sit here and wait? It -would be so much better. You will need your strength to-morrow." - -"That is true," she said, as though struck by the truth of the last -words. - -She crossed the room and lay down upon a large sofa at a little distance -from the fire, arranged the folds of her dress with that modest, womanly -dignity some women have in their smallest actions, clasped her hands, -and closed her eyes. Pietro sat down and looked at her, musing over the -strange combination of circumstances which formed themselves in his -life. It seemed odd that he should be where he was, towards the small -hours of the morning, watching over one of the women he admired most in -the world, keeping his place at her especial request, when he had in -reality come to help in taking care of her husband. How the world would -wag its head and talk, he thought, if it could guess where he was! - -For a long time Laura did not move, and he was sure that she was still -awake. Then, all at once, he saw her hands relax and loosen from each -other, her head turned a little on the dark velvet cushion, and she -sighed as she sank to sleep. She was less quiet after that. Her lips -moved, and she stirred uneasily from time to time, evidently dreaming -over again the painful scenes of the evening. Ghisleri rang the bell, -crossed the room swiftly, and opened the door without noise. Donald -appeared in the hall outside. - -"Her ladyship has fallen asleep on the sofa," said Pietro. "She does not -wish to be left alone. Is there any woman servant awake in the house?" - -"No, sir. Her ladyship sent her maid to bed." - -"Never mind. Go and sit quietly in the drawing-room, in case she should -need anything, while I go and see how Lord Herbert is." - -"Very good, sir." - -The world would have been even more surprised now than before, -especially if it could have understood the meaning of what Ghisleri did, -and the refined reverence implied in his unwillingness to remain in the -drawing-room longer than necessary. It would not have believed in his -motive, and it would have added that he was very foolish not to enjoy -the artistic pleasure of watching over the beautiful woman in her sleep -as long as he could, more especially as she had gone to the length of -asking him to do so. But Ghisleri thought very differently. - -He entered the sick-room, and sat down by the bedside. Arden was in a -restless state between waking and unconsciousness, moaning aloud without -articulating any words, his face flushed to a deep purple hue, his eyes -half open and turned up under the lids, so that only the white was -visible. The sister was seated by the table, on which stood a small -lamp, the light being screened from Arden by a makeshift consisting of -the cover of a bandbox supported by a few heavy books. When Ghisleri had -entered she had glanced at him, and explained by a sign that there was -no change. Neither he nor she thought of speaking during the hour that -followed. The sister had a watch before her on the table, and at regular -intervals she rose, poured a spoonful of something into Arden's mouth, -smoothed his pillow, saw that he was as comfortable as he could be, and -went back to her seat. At the end of the hour she took Arden's -temperature with the fever thermometer, and wrote down the result on a -sheet of paper. It had fallen one-tenth of a degree since midnight. - -"It generally does towards morning," said the sister, in a low voice, in -answer to Ghisleri's inquiry as to whether this was a really favourable -symptom of a change for the better. - -The night passed wearily. Pietro felt that he was of little use, unless -his presence in the house afforded Laura some sort of moral support. So -far as the nursing was concerned, the sister neither needed nor expected -any assistance. Towards five o'clock, Laura entered the room. On waking -from her sleep, she had seen Donald seated in Ghisleri's place, and had -wondered why the latter had gone away. - -"He seems better," she whispered, bending over her husband, and softly -smoothing the thick brown hair from his forehead. - -"The temperature has fallen," answered Ghisleri, giving her the only -encouragement he could. - -"Thank God!" Laura sat down by the opposite side of the bed. Presently, -by a sign, she asked Ghisleri whether he would not go home. - -"I will wait in the drawing-room until the doctor comes, and the other -sister has arrived for the day," he said, coming to her side. - -She merely nodded, and he quietly went out. Before long, Donald brought -him some coffee, and he sat where he had sat in the early part of the -night, anxiously awaiting the doctor's coming. - -There was little enough to be learned, when the latter actually came. A -very bad case, he said, so bad that he would not be averse to asking the -opinion of a colleague,--and later, the same colleague came, saw Arden, -shook his head, and said that it was the worst case he had ever seen, -but that the treatment so far was perfectly correct. - -There was nothing to be done, but to take the best care possible of the -patient. Ghisleri had no hope whatever, and Laura became almost totally -silent. She could not be paler than she was, but Pietro almost fancied -that she was growing hourly thinner, while the sad eyes seemed to sink -deeper and deeper beneath the marble brow. He went home for a few hours -to dress, and returned at midday. The loss of one night's rest had not -even told upon his face, but his expression was grave and reserved in -the extreme, and his manner even more than usually quiet. Laura had not -slept since her nap in the drawing-room, and looked exhausted, though -she was not yet really tired out. Ghisleri thought it was time to speak -seriously to her. - -"My dear Lady Herbert," he said, "forgive me for being quite frank. This -is not a time for turning phrases. You must positively rest, or you will -break down and you may be dangerously ill yourself." - -"I do not feel tired," she said. - -"Your nerves keep you up. I entreat you to think of what I say, and I -must say it. You may risk your own life, if you please; it is natural -that you should run at least the risk of contagion, but you have no -right to risk another life than your own by uselessly wearing out your -strength. Besides, Arden is unconscious now; when he begins to recover -he will need you far more, and will not need me at all." - -A very slight blush rose in Laura's pale cheeks, and she turned away her -face. A short pause followed. - -"I think you are right," she said at last. Then, without looking at him, -she left the room. - -Ghisleri watched her until she disappeared, and there was a strange -expression in his usually hard blue eyes. It seemed as though the woman -could do nothing without touching some sensitive, sympathetic chord in -his inner nature, though her presence left him apparently perfectly cold -and indifferent. Yet he had known himself so long, that he dreaded the -sensation, and his ever-ready self-contempt rose at the idea that he -could possibly find himself capable of loving his friend's wife, even in -the most distant future. Besides, there was nothing at all really -resembling love in what he felt, so far as he could judge. If it ever -developed into love, it would turn out to be a love so far nobler than -anything there had been in his life, as to be at present beyond his -comprehension. - -He did not see Laura again for several hours. He spent the day in -Arden's room, and for the first time felt that he was of use when his -strength was needed to lift the frail body from one bed to the other. -Arden grew rapidly worse, Ghisleri thought, and the doctor confirmed his -opinion when he came for the third time that day. - -"To be quite frank," he said gravely, as he took leave of Pietro in the -hall, "I have no hope of his recovery, and I doubt whether he will last -until to-morrow night." - -This was no surprise to Ghisleri, who knew how little strength of -resistance lay in the crippled frame. He bent his head in silence as the -physician went out, and he almost shivered as he thought of what was -before him. He knew now that he must stand by Laura's side at the near -last moment of great suffering, when she was to see the one being she -loved pass away before her eyes. He was more than ever glad that he had -induced her to rest. Arden's mind was still wandering, and she could be -of no immediate use. - -So the day ended at last and the night began and wore on, much like the -previous one, saving that the anxiety of all was trebled. The other -sister had returned, and Ghisleri saw by her face that she had no hope. -With the same faultless regularity she performed her duties through the -long hours. - -Towards midnight Laura and Ghisleri met in the drawing-room. For several -minutes she stood in silence before the fire. Pietro could see that her -lips were trembling as though she were on the point of bursting into -tears. He knew how proud she must be, and he moved away towards the -door. She heard his step behind her, and without turning round she -beckoned to him with her hand to stay. He came back and stood at a -little distance from her. Still she was silent for a moment; then she -spoke. - -"It is coming," she said unsteadily. "You must help me to bear it." - -"I will do my best," answered Ghisleri, earnestly. - -Another pause followed. Then again she made a gesture, hurried and -almost violent, bidding him leave her. Before he could reach the door he -heard her first sob, and as he closed it behind him the storm of her -passionate grief broke upon the silence of the night. He was not a man -easily moved to any outward demonstration of feeling, but the tears -stood in his eyes as he went back to Arden's bedside, and they were not -for the friend he was so soon to lose. - -The sick man was unconscious and lay quite still on his back with closed -lids. The sister was on her feet, watching him intently. She shook her -head sadly when Ghisleri looked at her. The end was not far off, as she -in her great experience well knew. In hot haste Pietro sent for the -doctor, with a message saying that Lord Herbert was dying. But when he -came he admitted reluctantly that he could do nothing; there was no hope -even of prolonging life until morning. - -"Lady Herbert should be told the truth," he said. "If you wish it I will -wait in another room until the end." - -"I think it would be better. Lady Herbert knows that there is no hope, -but she will feel less nervous if you are at hand. How long do you -expect--?" - -"He will not live many minutes after he comes to himself, I should say. -The little strength there was is all gone. There will be a lucid -interval of a few moments, and then the heart will stop. It was always -defective." - -"Then Lady Herbert ought to be with him now, in case it comes," said -Ghisleri. - -He left the doctor in the little room which Arden had used as a study, -and went back to the drawing-room, feeling that one of the hardest -moments of his life had come. Laura was seated in a deep chair, leaning -back, her eyes half-closed and her cheeks still wet with tears. She -started as Ghisleri entered. - -"The doctor has seen him again," he said. "If you are able, it would be -better--" He stopped, for he saw that she understood. - -They went back together. As they entered the room they heard Arden's -weak voice. - -"Laura, darling, where are you?" he was asking. Ghisleri saw that he was -quite in possession of his faculties and went quietly out, leaving him -with his wife and the sister. - -"I am here, love," Laura answered, coming swiftly up to his side and -supporting him as he tried to sit up. - -"It was so long," he said faintly. "I am so glad you have come, dear." - -"You must not try to talk. You must not tire yourself." - -"It can make no difference now," he answered, letting his head rest upon -her shoulder. "I must speak, dear one--this once before I die. Yes, I -know I am dying. It is better so. I have had in you all that God has to -give, all the happiness of a long life, in these short months." - -He paused and drew a painful breath. Laura's face was like alabaster, -but she did not break down again now until all was over. - -"I owe it all to you--my life's love. You have given me so much, and I -have given you so little. But God will give it all back to you, dear, -some day. There is one thing I must say--oh, my breath!" - -He gasped in an agonised way, and almost choked. Laura thought it was -the end, but he rallied again presently. - -"One thing, darling--you must remember, if you have loved me--ah, and -you have, dear--that no promise binds you. You must try and think that -if you forego any happiness for the memory of me, you will be taking -that same happiness from me as well as from yourself. It will be right -and just that you should marry if you wish to." - -"Oh, Herbert! Herbert!" cried Laura, pressing him to her, "do not talk -so!" - -"Promise me that you will never think yourself bound," he said -earnestly, speaking with more and more effort. "I shall not die happily -unless you do." - -Laura bowed her head. - -"I promise it, dear, because you wish it." - -"Thank you, love." - -He was silent for some time. He seemed to be thinking, or at least -trying to collect his last thoughts. - -"If it is a little girl, call her Laura," he said, in a breaking voice. -"Then I shall know her in heaven, if she comes to me before you." - -"Or else Herbert," said Laura, softly. - -He moved his head a little in assent. - -"Darling," he said presently, "always remember that my last breath is a -blessing for you." - -Very tenderly she pressed him to her heart and kissed him. Not till long -afterwards did she realise the perfect unselfishness of the man's end, -nor how every word so painfully spoken was meant to forestall and soothe -her coming sorrow. - -"Say a prayer for me, darling--it is not far off. Say something in your -own words--they will be better heard." - -Still supporting him against her breast, Laura raised her eyes -heavenwards. The sister, little used to seeing men die without comfort -of Holy Church, knelt down by the table. Then Laura's soft voice was -heard in the quiet chamber. - -"Almighty God, I beseech Thee to receive the soul of this pure and -true-hearted man amongst the spotless ones that are with Thee, to -forgive all his sins, if any are yet unforgiven, and to render to him in -heavenly joy all the happiness he has brought her who loves him on -earth, through our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen." - -She ceased, forcing back the tears. He moved his head a little and -kissed the hand that supported him. A long silence followed. - -"I thought Ghisleri came to the door with you and went out again," he -said very feebly. - -"Would you like to see him, darling?" - -"Yes. He is a dear friend--better in every way than any one knows." - -At a word from Laura the sister rose and called Pietro. He was waiting -in the passage. He came to the bedside and stood opposite to Laura, -bending down and pressing Arden's wasted hand; he was very pale. - -"Ghisleri--dear old friend--good-bye--I am going. Take care of her--you -and Harry--" He gasped for breath. - -"So help me God, I will do my best," answered Pietro, solemnly. - -Arden gave him one grateful look. Then with a last effort he drew -Laura's face to his and kissed her once more. - -"Love--love--love--" - -The light went out in his eyes and Herbert Arden was dead, dying as he -had lived of late, and perhaps all his life, unselfish in every thought -and deed. - -With a cry that seemed to break her heart, Laura fell forward upon the -shadowy form that seemed so unnaturally small as it lay there under the -white coverlet. Ghisleri knelt in silence a few minutes beside his dead -friend, and then rose to his feet. - -"She has fainted," said the sister softly. "If you could lift her with -me--" - -But Ghisleri needed no help as he lifted the unconscious woman in his -arms and carried her swiftly from the room. He laid her upon the very -sofa on which he had seen her fall asleep on the previous night, and -rang for Donald as he had then done. - -"His lordship is dead," he said in a low voice, as the Scotchman -entered. "Her ladyship has fainted. Please send me her maid." - -Donald turned very white and left the room without a word. When Laura -came to herself the women were with her and Ghisleri was gone. With an -experienced man's coolness he gave all necessary orders, and foresaw -details which no one else would have remembered. Then he went back to -the chamber of death. No strange, unloving hands should touch the frail -body of the man he had known so well. Pietro Ghisleri, who, as the world -said, "never cared," was oddly sensitive at times. On that memorable -night he would let no one help him in performing the last offices for -Herbert Arden. When Laura next saw her husband, the calm and beautiful -face lay on its snowy pillow surrounded with masses of white flowers. -That was at daybreak. - -Late on the following night Ghisleri followed the men who bore the heavy -burden down the stairs. A quiet-looking woman of middle age met them and -crossed herself as she waited for them to pass her on the landing. She -came to take care of Herbert Arden's son. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The season had begun, but Pietro Ghisleri had little heart for going -into the world. Apart from the very sad scenes of which he had been a -witness so recently, he really mourned the loss of his friend with a -sincerity for which few would have given him credit. It would, of -course, have been an exaggeration to act as though Arden had been his -brother and to cast himself off from society for several months; but -during a fortnight after he had laid Lord Herbert in the Protestant -Cemetery at Monte Testaccio, he was seen nowhere. He went, indeed, to -the house of the Contessa dell' Armi, but he made his visits at hours -when no one else was received, as everybody knew, and he consequently -saw none of his acquaintances except in the street. Twice daily at -first, and then once, he went to the door of the Tempietto and sent up -for news of Laura and the child. Strange to say, after the first three -or four days the news became uniformly good. Ghisleri learned that the -little boy had come into the world sound and strong at all points, -without the slightest apparent tendency to inherit his father's physical -defects which, indeed, had been wholly the result of accident. The -Princess of Gerano who, by Laura's express wish, had been kept in -ignorance of Arden's illness on the first day and had not learned that -he was seriously ill until he was actually dead, had now established -herself permanently at the Tempietto, and her presence doubtless did -much towards hastening her daughter's recovery. It was wonderful that -Laura should have escaped the fever, still more so that she should rally -so rapidly from a series of shocks which might have ruined an ordinary -constitution; but Laura was very strong. - -The Princess told Ghisleri that the child seemed to have taken Herbert's -place. He was to be called Herbert too, and the other dearly loved one -who had borne the name was never spoken of. No one would ever know what -Laura felt, but those who knew her well guessed at the depth of a sorrow -beyond words or outward signs of grief. In the meanwhile life revived in -her and she began to live for her child, as she had lived for her -husband, loving the baby boy with a twofold love, for himself and for -his father's sake. - -Ghisleri had written to the Marquess of Lulworth, Arden's brother, but a -letter from him to Arden himself arrived on the day after the latter's -death, telling him that Lord and Lady Lulworth were just starting to go -round the world in their yacht. The Lulworths were people whose -movements it was impossible to foretell, and after sending a number of -telegrams to ports they were likely to touch at, Ghisleri abandoned all -hope of hearing from them for a long time. - -Meanwhile, he ascertained that Laura was likely to be hampered for ready -money. Her mother's private resources were very slender, and Laura was -far too proud to accept any assistance from Adele Savelli's father. She -could not dispose, as a matter of fact, of anything which her husband -had left her except the actual ready money which happened to be in the -house; for she could not even draw upon his letters of credit until the -will was proved and the legal formalities all carried out. It was -natural, too, that at such a time she should neither be aware of her -position nor give a thought to such a trivial matter as household -expenses. - -One morning Donald came to Ghisleri's rooms in considerable distress, to -ask advice of his master's old friend. He would not disturb Lady -Herbert, he said, and he was ashamed to tell the Princess that there was -no money in the house. Ghisleri's first impulse was to give him all the -cash he had; but he reflected that in the first place the sum might not -be sufficient, for Donald, in a rather broken voice, had referred to -"the necessary expenses when his lordship died," and which must now be -met: and secondly, Pietro felt that when Laura came to know the truth -she would not like to find herself under a serious obligation to him. - -"Donald," he said, after a few moments' reflection, "it is none of my -business, but you have been a long time with Lord Herbert, and you are a -Scotchman, and the Scotch are said to be careful; have you saved a -little money?" - -"Well, yes sir," answered Donald; "since you ask me, I may say that I -have saved a trifle. And I am sure, sir, it would be most heartily at -her ladyship's disposal if I could go home and get it." - -"You need not go for it, Donald. I will lend you the equivalent, in our -money, of a couple of hundred pounds. You can then pay everything, and -when the law business is finished and you come to settle with her -ladyship, you can say that you advanced the sum yourself. That will be -quite true, because I lend it to you, personally, as money for your use, -and when you get it back you will pay it to me. Do you see?" - -"Yes, sir; it is a good way, too. But if you will excuse me, sir, you -might very well lend the money to her ladyship's self without pretending -anything." - -"No, Donald, I would rather not. Do you understand? Lady Herbert would -much rather borrow from you than from a stranger." - -"A stranger, sir! Well, well, if his poor lordship could hear you call -yourself a stranger, sir!" - -"One who is no relation. She might feel uncomfortable about it, just as -you would rather come to me than go to the Princess of Gerano." - -"Yes, sir. When you put it in that way. I see it." - -So Ghisleri took Donald with him to a banker's and drew upon his slender -resources for five thousand francs, which he gave to the Scotchman in -notes. It had seemed to him the simplest way of providing for Laura's -immediate necessities, while keeping her in ignorance of the fact that -any necessity at all really existed. The sensation of helping her with -money was an odd one, he confessed to himself, as he sent Donald home -and walked idly away in the opposite direction through the crowded -streets. - -As he strolled down the Corso thinking of Laura's position, he came -suddenly upon Donna Adele Savelli, alone and on foot. Even through the -veil she wore he could see that she was very much changed. She had grown -thin and pale, and her manner was unaccountably nervous when she stopped -and spoke to him. - -"Have you been ill?" he inquired, scrutinising her face. - -"No, not ill," she answered, looking restlessly to the right and left of -him and avoiding his eyes. "I cannot tell what is the matter with me. I -cannot sleep of late--perhaps it is that. My husband says it is nothing, -of course. I would give anything to go away for a month or two." - -"You, who are so fond of society! Just at the beginning of the season, -too! How odd. But you should be careful of yourself if you are losing -your sleep. Insomnia is a dangerous disease. Take sulphonal in small -doses. It does real good, and it never becomes a habit, as chloral -does." - -"Sulphonal? I never heard of it. Is it really good? Will you write it -down for me?" - -Ghisleri took one of his cards and wrote the word in pencil. - -"Any good chemist will tell you how much to take. Even in great -quantities it is not dangerous." - -"Thanks." - -Donna Adele left him rather abruptly, taking the card with her and -holding it in her hand, evidently intending to make use of it at once. -Ghisleri had good cause for not liking her and wondered inwardly why he -had suggested a means of alleviating her sufferings. It would have been -much better to let her bear them, he thought. Then he laughed at -himself--any doctor would have told her what to take and would probably -have given her a store of good advice besides. - -Nearly a month had passed when Ghisleri was at last admitted to see -Laura. He found her lying upon the same sofa on which she had slept a -few hours during the memorable night before her husband died. She was -even thinner now, he thought, and her eyes seemed to be set deeper than -ever, while her face was almost transparent in its pallor. But the look -was different--it was that of a person growing stronger rather than of -one breaking down under a heavy strain. She held out her hand to him and -looked up with a faint smile as he came to her side. The greeting was -not a very cordial one, and Ghisleri felt a slight shock as he realised -the fact. - -She could not help it. As Herbert Arden breathed his last, the old sense -of vague, uneasy dislike for Pietro returned almost with the cry she -uttered when she lost consciousness. It was quite beyond her control, -although it had been wholly forgotten during those hours of suffering -and joint nursing which preceded her husband's death. Ghisleri was quite -conscious of it, and was inwardly hurt. It was hard, too, to talk of -indifferent subjects, as he felt that he must, carefully avoiding any -allusion to the time when they had last been together. - -"How do you pass the time?" he asked, after a few words of commonplace -greeting and inquiry. "It must be very tiresome for you, I should -think." - -"I never was so busy in my life," Laura answered. "You have no idea what -it is to take care of a baby!" - -"No," said Ghisleri, with a smile, "I have no idea. But your mother -tells me he is a splendid child." - -"Of course I think so, and my mother does. You shall see him one of -these days--he is asleep now. Would you like to know how my day is -passed?" - -And she went on to give him an account of the baby life that so wholly -absorbed her thoughts. Ghisleri listened quietly as though he understood -it all. He wished, indeed, that it were possible to talk of something -else, and he felt something like a sensation of pain as Laura constantly -called the child "Herbert," just as she had formerly been used to speak -of her husband. Nevertheless, he was conscious also of a certain sense -of satisfaction. During the month which had elapsed she had learned to -hide her great trouble under the joy of early motherhood. There was -something very beautiful in her devotion to the child of her sorrow, and -hurt though Ghisleri was by her manner to him, she seemed more lovely -and more admirable than ever in his eyes. He said so when he went to see -Maddalena dell' Armi late in the afternoon. - -"I have seen Lady Herbert to-day," he began. "It is the first time since -poor Arden died." - -"Is she very unhappy?" asked the Contessa. - -"She must be, for she never speaks of him. She talks of nothing but the -child." - -"I understand that," said Maddalena, thoughtfully. "And then, it is such -a compensation." - -"Yes." Ghisleri sighed. He was thinking of what her life might have been -if children had been born to her, and he guessed that the same thoughts -were in her mind at the time. - -"Did you ever think," she asked after a short pause, "what would become -of me if you left me? I should be quite alone; do you realise that?" - -Ghisleri remembered how nearly he had broken with her more than once and -his conscience smote him. - -"I would rather not think of it," he said simply. - -"You should," she answered. "It will come some day. I know it. When it -does I shall turn into a very bad woman, much worse than I am now." - -"Please do not speak so; it hurts me." - -"That is a phrase, my dear friend," said Maddalena. "I always tell you -that you are too fond of making phrases. You ought not to do it with me. -You are not really at all sensitive. I do not even believe that you have -much heart, though you used to make me believe that you had." - -"Have I shown you that I am heartless?" - -"That is always your way of answering. You are a very strange compound -of contradictions." - -"Do you know, my dear lady, that you are falling into the habit of never -believing a word I say?" - -"I am afraid it is true," assented Maddalena, sadly. "And yet I would -not be unjust to you for the world. You have given me almost the only -happiness I ever knew, and yet, from having believed too much, I know -that I am coming to believe too little." - -"And you even think it is a mere phrase when I tell you that your -distrust hurts me." - -"Sometimes. You are not easily hurt, and I do not believe either--" She -stopped suddenly in the midst of her speech. - -"What?" asked Ghisleri. - -"I will not say it. I say things to you occasionally which I regret -later. I told you that I would not be unjust, and I will try not to be. -Be faithful, if you can, but be honest with me. Do not pretend that you -care for me one hour longer than you really do. It would be dreadful to -know the truth, but it is much worse to doubt. Will you promise?" - -"Yes," answered Pietro, gravely. "I have promised it before now." - -"Then remember it. Be sure of what you mean and of yourself, if you -can,--be quite, quite sure. You know what it would mean to me to break. -I have not even a little child to love me, as Laura Arden has. I shall -have nothing when you are gone--nothing but the memory of all the wrong -I have done, all that can never be undone in this world or the next." - -Ghisleri was moved and his strong face grew very pale while she was -speaking. He had often realised it all of late, and he knew how greatly -he had wronged her. It was not the first time in his life that he had -been so placed, and that remorse, real while it lasted, had taken hold -of him even before love was extinct. But he had never felt so strongly -as he felt to-day, and he did his best to comfort himself with the -shadowy medicine of good resolutions. He had honestly hoped that he -might never love woman again besides Maddalena dell' Armi, and as that -hope grew fainter he felt as though the very last poor fragments of -self-respect he had left were being torn from him piecemeal. She, on her -part, was very far from guessing what he suffered, for she was unjust to -him, in spite of her real desire not to be so, and it was in a measure -this same injustice which was undermining what had been once a very -sincere love--good in that one way, if sinful and guilty in all other -respects. Unbelief is, perhaps, what a man's love can bear the least; as -a woman's may break and die at the very smallest unfaithfulness in him -she loves, and as average human nature is largely compounded of -faithlessness and unbelief, it is not surprising that true love should -so rarely prove lasting. - -Ghisleri saw no one after he left Maddalena on that day. He went home -and shut himself up alone in his room, as he had done many times before -that in his life, despairingly attempting to see clearly into his own -heart, and to distinguish, if possible, the right course from the wrong -in the dim light of the only morality left to him then, which was his -sense of honour. And the position was a very hard one. He knew too well -that his love for Maddalena was waning, and he even doubted whether it -had ever been love at all. Most bitterly he reproached himself for the -evil he had already brought into her existence, and for the suffering -that awaited her in the future. Again and again he went over in his mind -the hours of the past, recalling vividly each word and gesture out of -the time when the truest sympathy had seemed to exist between them, and -asking himself why it might not take a new life again and be all that it -once had been. The answer that suggested itself was too despicable in -his eyes for him to accept it, for it told him that Maddalena herself -had changed and was no longer the same woman whom he had once loved, and -whom he could love still, he fancied, if she were still with him. It -seemed so utterly disloyal to cast any of the blame on her that the -lonely man put the thought from him with an angry oath. Of that baseness -at least he would not have to accuse himself. He would never, by the -merest suggestion, suffer himself to think one unkind thought of -Maddalena dell' Armi. - -But the great question remained unsolved. Was what was now left really -love in any sense, or not, and if not must he keep his promise and tell -her the truth, or would it be more honourable to live for her sake by a -rule of devotion and faithfulness which his strong will could make real -in itself and in the letter, if not in the spirit? He knew that she was -in earnest in what she had said. If she knew that he had ceased to love -her, she would feel utterly alone in the world, and might well be driven -to almost any lengths in the desperate search for distraction. She had -not said it, but he knew that in her heart she would lay all the sins of -her life at his door and that in this at least she would not be wholly -unjust. - -With such a character as Ghisleri's it is not easy to foresee what -direction impulse will take when it comes at last. He was quite capable -of giving up the attempt to understand himself and of leaving the whole -matter to chance, with a coolness which would have seemed cruel and -cynical if it had not been the result of something like despair. He was -capable, if he failed to reach a conclusion by logical means, of tossing -up a coin to decide whether he should tell poor Maddalena dell' Armi -that he did not love her, or else stand by her in spite of every -obstacle and devote his whole life to the elaborate fiction of an unreal -attachment. Strangely enough Laura Arden played a part, and an important -one, in bringing about his ultimate decision. He assuredly had no -thought of loving her, nor of the possibility of loving her at that -time. He would even have thought it an exaggeration to say that he was -devotedly attached to her in the way of friendship. And yet he felt that -she exercised a dominating influence over his mind. He found himself -laying the matter before her in imagination, as he should never be -likely to do in fact, and submitting it to her judgment as to that of a -person supremely capable of distinguishing right from wrong and false -from true. It was singular, too, that he should make no comparison -between her and Maddalena, though possibly no such comparison could have -been made. But he compared himself with her--the depth of his moral -degradation in his own eyes with the lofty purity of thought and purpose -which he attributed to her. The consequence could hardly fail to be a -certain aspiration, vague and almost sentimental, to become such a man -as might not seem to her wholly unworthy of trust. This did not help him -much, however, and when at last he went to bed, having forgotten to go -out and dine, and weary of the hard problem, he was not much further -advanced than when he had sat down to think of it last in the afternoon. - -In the morning everything seemed simpler, and the necessity for -immediate decision disappeared. He had not yet by any means reached the -point of not loving Maddalena at all, and until he did there was no -reason why he should form any plan of action. It would in any case, be -very hard to act upon such a plan, for the dreaded moment would in all -likelihood be a stormy one, and he could not foresee in the least what -Maddalena herself would do. - -After that he felt for a long time much more of the old sympathy with -her than he had known of late, and he tormented himself less often with -the direction of his own motives and thoughts. He saw much of Laura, -too, in those days, and spent long hours beside her as she lay upon her -sofa. He always left her with a sensation of having been soothed and -rested, though he could not say of her that she was much inclined to -talk, or showed any great satisfaction at his coming. Probably, he -thought, she was willing to see him so often because he had been Arden's -friend. He did not understand that she did not quite like him and that -his presence was often irksome to her, for she was far too kind by -nature to let him suspect it. He only thought that he was in her eyes a -perfectly indifferent person, and he saw no reason for depriving himself -of her society so long as she consented to receive him. They rarely -talked of subjects at all relating to themselves, either, and their -conversation turned chiefly upon books and general topics. Ghisleri read -a good deal in a desultory way, and his memory was good. It interested -him, too, to propound problems for her judgment and to see how nearly -she would solve them in the way he expected her to choose. He was rarely -mistaken in his expectations. - -Little by little, though Laura's principal feeling in regard to him did -not change perceptibly, she became interested in his nature, beginning -to perceive that there were depths in it which she had not suspected. - -"Are you a happy man?" she once asked him rather abruptly, and watching -the expression of his face. - -"Certainly not at present," he answered, looking away from her as though -to hinder her from reading his thoughts. "Why do you ask that?" - -"Forgive me. I should not put such a question, I suppose. But you -interest me." - -"Do I?" He glanced quickly at her as he spoke, and she saw that he was -pleased. "I am very glad that you should take any interest in me,--of -any kind whatever. Would you like to know why I am unhappy?" - -"Yes." - -"I can only tell you in a general way. I make no pretence to any sort of -goodness or moral rectitude, beyond what we men commonly include in what -we call the code of honour. But I am perpetually tormented about my own -motives. Knowing myself to be what I am, I distrust every good impulse I -have, merely because it is not a bad one, because my natural impulses -are bad, and because I will not allow myself to act any sort of comedy, -even in my own feelings. That sort of honesty, or desire for honesty, is -all I have left--on it hangs the last shred of my tattered -self-respect." - -"How dreadful!" Laura's deep eyes rested on him for the first time with -a new expression. There was both pity and wonder in their look--pity for -the man and wonder at a state of mind of which she had never dreamed. - -"Does it seem dreadful to you?" he asked. - -"If you really feel as you say you do," answered Laura, "I can -understand that you should be very unhappy." - -"Why do you doubt that I feel what I have told you?" Ghisleri wondered, -as he asked the question, whether he was ever to be believed again by -any woman. "Do you think I am untruthful?" - -"No," said Laura, quickly. "Indeed I do not. On the contrary, I think -you very scrupulously exact when you speak of things you know about. But -any one may be mistaken in judging of himself." - -"That is precisely the point. I am afraid of finding myself mistaken, -and so I do not trust my own motives." - -"Yes--I see. But then, if you do what is right, you need not let your -motives trouble you. That seems so simple." - -"To you. Do you remember? I once told you that you were horribly good." - -"I am not," said Laura, "but if I were, I should not see anything -horrible in it." - -"I should, and I do. When I see how good you are I am horrified at -myself. That is what I mean." - -"Why do you so often talk about being bad? You will end by making me -believe that you are--if I do not believe it already." - -"As you do, I fancy. What difference can it make to you?" - -"Everything makes a difference which lowers one's estimate of human -nature," Laura answered, with a wisdom beyond her age or experience. -"After all, to go back to the point, the choice lies with you. You know -what is right; do it, and give up wasting time on useless -self-examination." - -"Useless self-examination!" repeated Ghisleri, with rather a sour smile. -"I suppose that is what it really is, after all. How you saints bowl -over our wretched attempts at artificial morality!" - -"No; do not say that, please, and do not be so bitter. I do not like it. -Tell me instead why you cannot do as I suggest. If a thing is right, do -it; if it is wrong, leave it undone." - -"If I could tell you that, I should understand the meaning of this life -and the next, instead of being quite in the dark about the one and the -other." - -Laura was silent. She was surprised by the result of the question she -had at first put to him, and was at the same time conscious that she did -not feel towards him as she had hitherto felt. Not that she liked him -any better. She was perhaps further than ever from that, though her -likes and dislikes did not depend at all upon the moral estimate she -formed of people's characters. But she understood what he meant far -better than he guessed, and she pitied him and wished that she could say -something to make him take a simpler and more sensible view of himself -and the world. He interested her much more than half an hour earlier. - -They did not return to the subject the next time they met, and Ghisleri -fancied she had forgotten what he had said, whereas, in reality, she -often thought of it and of him. Before long she was able to go out, and -they met less frequently. She began to lead the life which she supposed -was in store for her during the remainder of her existence. The only -difference in the future would be that by and by she would not wear -black any longer, that next year she would move into a more modest -apartment, and that as time went on little Herbert would grow up to be a -man and Laura would be an elderly woman. - -Matters had been settled at last in England, and the momentary -embarrassment which so much distressed Donald had ceased. The good man -had felt somewhat guilty when Laura had thanked him for using what she -supposed to be his savings in order to save her trouble. But he -remembered what Ghisleri had told him and held his tongue, afterwards -going early in the morning to Pietro's lodgings to repay the loan. - -Laura had heard from the Lulworths, too. Ghisleri's letter and one of -his telegrams had reached them at the same time somewhere in South -America. Lulworth wrote himself to Laura and there was a deep, strong -feeling in his few words which made her like him better than ever. He -did not speak of coming back, and she thought it quite natural that he -should stay away. He only said in a postscript that if she chose to go -to England his house was at her disposal, but that he himself might be -in Rome during the following winter. - -But she would not have gone to England for anything. Her mother's -presence was a quite sufficient reason for staying where she was, and -she knew also that her modest income would seem less restricted in -Italy. The Princess of Gerano had proposed to her to come and live in -the palace, but Laura would not do that--she would never put herself -under any obligation to Adele's father, much as she herself was attached -to him. Her mother represented to her that she was too young to live -quite alone, but Laura remained unshaken in her determination. - -"Herbert protects me," she said quietly, but the Princess did not feel -sure what she meant by the words, nor whether the Herbert in question -was poor Arden, or the baby boy asleep in his cradle in the next room. - -There was in either case a certain amount of truth in what she said. -Great sorrow is undeniably a protection to a woman, and so is her child, -under most circumstances. - -"And as for my living alone," added Laura, "Signor Ghisleri is the only -man I receive, and people would be ingenious to couple his name with -mine." - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Adele Savelli followed Ghisleri's advice, and took the new medicine he -had so carelessly recommended. At first it did her good and she regained -something of her natural manner. But her nerves seemed to be -mysteriously affected and terribly unstrung. Her husband, watching her -with the cool judgment of a person neither prejudiced by dislike nor -over-anxious through great affection, came to the conclusion that she -was turning into one of those nervous, hysterical women whom he -especially disliked, and whom she herself professed to despise. The -world, for a wonder, was at a loss to find a reason for her state, and -contented itself with suggesting that the family skeleton in Casa -Savelli had probably grown restless of late, and was rattling his bones -in his closet in a way which disturbed poor dear Adele, who was such a -delicately organised being. To what particular tribe the Savellis' -skeleton belonged, the world was not sure. Some said that he was called -Insanity, some whispered that his name was Epilepsy, and not a few -surmised that his nature was financial. As a matter of fact, no one knew -anything about him, though every one was sure that he was just now in a -state of abnormal activity, and that his antics accounted for Adele's -pale face and startled eyes. - -There was no doubt of the fact that she was ill, though she would -scarcely admit it, and went through the season with a sort of feverish, -unnatural gaiety. Being in reality no relation at all to Laura, she -merely wore black for three weeks as a token of respect, but did not -especially restrict herself in the matter of amusements even during that -time, and when it was over, she threw herself into the very central -whirl of the gay set with a sort of desperate recklessness which people -noticed and commented upon. They were careful, however, not to speak too -loud. Adele Savelli was very popular in society, and a very important -person altogether, so that the world did not dare to talk about her as -it discussed poor Laura Arden. And it found much good to say of Adele. -It was so nice of her, it remarked, to change completely in her way of -speaking of her step-sister, since the latter had lost that wretched -little husband of hers. He, of course, as every one knew, had fallen a -victim to his abominable habit of drinking brandy. It was all very well -to call it scarlet fever--the world was well aware what that meant. The -name of the thing was delirium tremens, and they said the last scene was -quite appalling. The cripple, in the violence of the crisis, had twice -sprung up and thrown down Ghisleri, who was a very strong man, -nevertheless, and who had behaved in the most admirable way. He had not -allowed any one to be present except the doctor, and it was impossible -to extract a word of the truth from him. That was how it happened and, -well--after all, it was a great mercy, and it was no wonder that Laura -should have recovered so easily from the shock, and should already be -beginning to amuse herself with Ghisleri. There was no doubt about that, -either, for he went there every day, as regularly as he went to see the -Contessa dell' Armi. And it was really angelic of Adele to stand up so -resolutely for her step-sister, considering how the latter had always -behaved. Adele took so much trouble to deny the stories that were -circulated, that some people learned them for the first time through her -denial. - -In this, as in many other things, Adele was consistent. She denied -everything. - -"It is not even true," she said to Donna Maria Boccapaduli, "that Laura -has the evil eye." - -But as she said it, she quickly folded her two middle fingers over her -bent thumb, making what Italians call "horns" with the forefinger and -little finger. Donna Maria saw the action, instinctively imitated it, -and fell into the habit of repeating it whenever Laura was mentioned. - -"Why do you do that?" asked the Marchesa di San Giacinto of her the next -day. - -"Eh--my dear! Poor Laura Arden is a terrible jettatrice, you know. Adele -says it is not true, but she makes horns behind her back all the same, -just as every one else does." - -Thereupon the Marchesa did the same thing, wondering that she should so -long have been ignorant that Laura had the evil eye. In a week's time -all Rome made horns when Laura was mentioned. At a dinner party a -servant broke a glass when she was being discussed, and at once every -one laughed and stuck up two fingers. San Giacinto, who, lean as he was, -weighed hard upon sixteen stone, sat down upon a light chair in Casa -Frangipani, just as he was saying that this new story about Laura was -all nonsense, and the chair collapsed into a little heap of straw and -varnished sticks under his weight. It was no wonder, people said, that -Arden should have fainted that night at the Palazzo Braccio, for Laura -had just accepted him. They seemed to have forgotten how they had -interpreted that very scene hitherto. The world was not at all surprised -that he should have died in the first year of his marriage, considering -that he had married a notorious jettatrice. Look at poor Adele herself! -She had never been well since that dinner at which the reconciliation -with Laura was sealed and ratified. Pietro Ghisleri should be careful. -It was very unwise of him to go and see her every day. Something awful -would happen to him. Indeed it had been noticed that he was not looking -at all well of late. That dreadful woman would kill him to a certainty. - -Ghisleri was furious when the tale reached him, as it did before long. -He knew very well how dangerous a thing it was to have the reputation of -possessing the evil eye. It is a strange fact that at the present day -such things should be believed, and well-nigh universally, by a cultured -society of men and women. And yet it is a fact, and an undeniable one. -Let it once get abroad that a man or a woman "projects"--to translate -the Italian "jetta"--the baneful influence which causes accidents of -every description, and he or she may as well bid farewell to society -forever. Such a person is shunned as one contaminated; at his approach, -every hand is hidden to make the sign of defence; no one will speak to -him who can help it, and then always with concealed fingers kept rigidly -bent in the orthodox fashion, or clasped upon a charm of proved -efficacy. Few, indeed, are those brave enough to ask such a man to -dinner, and they are esteemed almost miraculously fortunate if no -misfortune befalls them during the succeeding four and twenty hours, if -their houses do not burn, and their children do not develop the measles. -Incredible as it may appear to northern people, a man or woman may be -socially ruined by the imputation of "projecting," when it is sustained -by the coinciding of the very smallest accident with their presence, or -with the mention of their names, and quite enough of such coincidences -were actually noted in Laura's case to make the reputation of being a -jettatrice cling to her for life. Ghisleri knew this, and his wrath was -kindled, and smouldered, and grew hot, till it was ready to burst out at -a moment's notice and do considerable damage. - -"It is an abominable shame," he said to Maddalena dell' Armi. "It is all -Adele Savelli's doing. She has taken a new departure. Instead of -starting bad reports as true, she begins by denying things of which -nobody ever heard. I am quite sure she is at the bottom of it, but I do -not see how I can stop the story." - -"You seem to care a great deal," said Maddalena. - -"Yes. I do care. If it would do any good, I would call out Francesco -Savelli and fight about it." - -"For Laura Arden's sake?" It was the first time she had ever heard -Ghisleri even hint that he would do so much for any one, though she knew -that he would for herself. - -"No," he answered, with sudden gentleness. "Not for Lady Herbert's sake, -my dear lady. I would do it because, just when he was dying, Arden told -me that I must take care of her, and I mean to do my best, as I promised -him." - -"You are quite right," answered Maddalena, taking his hand and pressing -it a little. "I would not have you do otherwise, if I could--if I had -all the influence over you which I have not. But oh--if you can help -fighting--please--for my sake, if you care--" - -Maddalena's cold face and small classic features expressed a great deal -at that moment, and there were bright tears in her violet eyes. In her -own way she loved him more than ever. He was deeply touched as he -tenderly kissed the hand that held his. - -"For your sake, I will do all that a man can do to avoid a quarrel," he -said earnestly. - -"I know you will," she answered. - -During a few moments there was silence between them, and Maddalena -recovered control of herself. - -"That is the true reason why I ask you," she said. "There are plenty of -others which you may care for more than I. You would not care to have it -said that you were fighting her battles. Will you promise not to be -angry if I tell you something you will not like--something I know -positively?" - -"Yes. I promise. What is it?" - -"People are beginning to say already that you are making love to her, -and that you are always at the house." - -"The brutes!" exclaimed Ghisleri, fiercely. "Who says that?" - -"The women, of course. The men are much too sensible, and none of them -care to quarrel with you." - -"Oh!" Pietro contented himself with the exclamation, and controlled his -anger as best he could. - -"Was I wrong to tell you?" asked Maddalena. - -"No, indeed. I am very glad you have told me. I shall be more careful in -future." - -"It will make very little difference. You know the world as well as I -do, and better. People have begun to say that you go to see Lady Herbert -every day--they will still say it after you have not been to her house -for months." - -"Yes. That is the way the world talks. I hope this will not reach her -ears--though I suppose it ultimately will. Some dear kind friend will go -and tell her in confidence, and give her good advice." - -"Probably. That is generally the way. Only, as she is in deep mourning -and receives very few people, it may be a little longer than usual in -such cases before the affectionate friend gets at her. Then, too, the -idea that she is a jettatrice will keep many of her old acquaintances -away. You know how seriously they take those things here." - -It will be remembered that both Maddalena and Ghisleri were from the -north of Italy, where the superstition about the evil eye is much less -general amongst the upper classes than in Rome and the south. Pietro -himself had not the slightest belief in it, and he had so often laughed -at it in conversation with the Contessa that if she had ever had any -vague tendency to put faith in the jettatura, it had completely -disappeared. But both of them were thoroughly familiar with the society -in which they lived, and understood the position in which Laura was -placed. - -"I will help you as much as I can," said Maddalena, "though I cannot do -much. At all events, I can laugh at the whole thing and show that I do -not believe in it. But as for the rest,--placed as I am, I can hardly -make an intimate friend of Lady Herbert Arden, much as I like her." - -She spoke sadly and a little bitterly. Ghisleri made no reference to the -last remark when he answered her. - -"I shall be very sincerely grateful for anything you can do to help the -wife of my old friend," he said. "And I think you can do a good deal. -You have great influence in the gay set--and that means the people who -talk the most--Donna Adele, Donna Maria Boccapaduli, the Marchesa di San -Giacinto, and all the rest, who are, more or less, your intimates. It is -very good of you to help me--Lady Herbert needs all the help she can -get. Spicca is a useful man, too. If he can be prevailed upon to say -something particularly witty at the right moment, it will do good." - -"I rarely see him," said Maddalena. "He does not like me, I believe." - -"He admires you, at all events," answered Ghisleri. "I have heard him -talk about your beauty in the most enthusiastic way, and he is rarely -enthusiastic about anything." - -Maddalena was pleased, as was natural. She chanced to be in one of her -best humours on that day, and indeed of late she had been much more her -former self when she was with Ghisleri. A month earlier, the discussion -about Laura Arden could not have passed off so peaceably, for the -Contessa would then have resented anything approaching to the intimacy -which now appeared to exist between Lady Herbert and Pietro. The latter -wondered what change had taken place in her character, but accepted her -gentle behaviour towards him very gratefully as a relief from a former -phase of jealous fault-finding which had cost him many moments of -bitterness. As he saw, from time to time, how her cold face softened, he -almost believed that he loved her as dearly as ever, though the illusion -was not of long duration. He left her, on that afternoon, with a regret -which he had not felt for some time at the moment of parting, and he -would gladly have stayed with her longer. They agreed to meet in the -evening at one of the embassies, where there was to be a dance. In the -mean time, they were to dine out at different houses, and the Contessa -had a visit to make before going to the ball. - -Pietro was sorry that he had promised not to quarrel about the story of -the evil eye. The affair irritated him to an extraordinary degree, and -though he had grown calmer under Maddalena's influence, his anger -revived as he walked home and thought over it all. He dined that evening -in Casa San Giacinto, and found himself placed between Donna Maria -Boccapaduli and Donna Christina Campodonico. The latter was a slim, -dark, graceful woman of five and twenty, remarkably quiet, and reported -to be very learned, a fact which contributed less to her popularity than -her own beauty and her husband's rather exceptional reputation. -Gianforte Campodonico was a man whom Ghisleri would have liked if they -had not known each other some years previously in circumstances which -made liking an impossibility. He respected him more than most people, -for he had fought a rather serious duel with him in days gone by, and -had seen the man's courage and determination. Campodonico was the -brother of the beautiful Princess Corleone who had died in Naples -shortly after the above-mentioned duel, and who was said to have been -the love of Ghisleri's life. Gianforte, for his sister's sake, had made -up his mind to kill Ghisleri or to die in the attempt, with a desperate -energy of purpose that savoured of earlier ages. He was, moreover, a -first rate swordsman, and the encounter had remained memorable in the -annals of duelling. Ghisleri had done all in his power to avoid the -necessity of fighting at all, but Campodonico had forced him into it at -last, and the weapons had been foils. The world said that Ghisleri was -not to be killed so easily. He was as good a fencer as his adversary, -and was left-handed besides, which gave him a considerable advantage. -The result was that he defended himself successfully throughout one of -the longest duels on record, until at last he almost unintentionally ran -Gianforte through the sword arm and disabled him. The latter, humiliated -and furious at his defeat, had demanded pistols then and there, and -Ghisleri had professed himself ready, and had placed himself in the -hands of his seconds. But both his own friends and Gianforte's decided -that honour was satisfied, and refused to be parties to any further -fighting, so that Campodonico had been obliged to accept their verdict. -He sought an opportunity of quarrelling again, however, for he was a -determined man, and he would probably have succeeded in the end; but at -this juncture the Princess died after a short illness, and after -exacting a solemn promise from both men that they would never fight -again. That was the last act of her brief life of love and unhappiness, -and it was at least a good one. Loving her with all their hearts, in -their different ways, both Ghisleri and Campodonico respected the -obligation they had taken as something supremely sacred. Ghisleri went -and lived alone in a remote village of the south for more than a year -afterwards, and Gianforte spent an even longer period in almost total -seclusion from the world, and in the sole society of his widowed mother. -Three years before the time now reached in this chronicle, he had -married, as people said, for love, and for once people were right. His -elder brother bore the title, and as there was another sister besides -the Princess Corleone, Gianforte's portion had been small, for the -family was not rich, and he and his wife lived very modestly in a small -apartment in the upper part of the city, the Palazzo Campodonico having -long ago passed into the hands of the Savelli. - -And now, at the San Giacinto's dinner table, Ghisleri found himself -seated next to Donna Christina, and nearly opposite to her husband. It -had long been known and generally understood that Pietro and Gianforte -had buried their enmity with the beautiful woman about whom they had -fought, and that they had no objection to meeting in the world, and even -to conversing occasionally on general subjects, so that there was -nothing surprising in the fact that at a dinner of eighteen persons they -should be asked together. It chanced that, by the inevitable law of -precedence, Ghisleri sat where he did. Donna Christina of course knew -the story above related, and in her eyes it lent Ghisleri a somewhat -singular interest. - -Now it happened, towards the end of dinner, that some one mentioned Lady -Herbert Arden. Instantly Donna Maria, on Pietro's right, made the sign -of the horns with both hands, laughing in a foolish way at the same -time. Ghisleri saw it, and a glance round the table showed him that the -majority of the guests did the same thing. - -"How can you believe in such silly tales?" he asked, turning to Donna -Maria. - -"Everybody does," answered the sprightly lady. "Why should not I? And -besides, look at the facts--San Giacinto had the name of the lady we do -not mention on his lips when he broke that chair the other day--there, I -told you so!" she exclaimed suddenly. - -Young Pietrasanta, who, as it happened, had been the one to speak of -Laura Arden, had upset a glass, which, being very delicate and falling -against a piece of massive silver, was shivered instantly. The claret -ran out in a broad stain. - -"Allegria--joy!" laughed the lady of the house. Italians very often -utter this exclamation when wine is spilled. It is probably a survival -of some primeval superstition. - -"Joy!" repeated Pietrasanta, with quite a different intonation. "If ever -I mention that name again!" - -"You see," said Donna Maria triumphantly to Ghisleri. "There is no doubt -about it." - -"I beg your pardon for contradicting you," answered Ghisleri, coldly, -"but I think there is so much doubt that I do not believe in the -possibility of the evil eye at all, much less in the ridiculous story -that Lady Herbert Arden's name can upset a glass of wine or break a -chair." - -"I agree with you," said Donna Christina, in her quiet voice, on -Pietro's other side. "It is almost the only point on which my husband -and I differ--is it not true, Gianforte?" she asked, speaking across the -table to Campodonico. There had been a momentary lull in the -conversation after the little accident, so that he had heard what had -been said. - -"It is quite true," he answered. "I believe in the jettatura, just as -most people do, but my wife is a sceptic." - -"And do you really believe that Pietrasanta upset his glass because he -mentioned Lady Herbert?" asked Pietro. - -"Yes, I do." Their eyes met quietly as they looked at each other, but -the whole party became silent, and listened to the remarks exchanged by -the two men who had once fought such a memorable fight. - -Gianforte Campodonico was a very dark man, of medium height, strongly -built, and not yet of an age to be stout, with bold aquiline features, -keen black eyes, and a prominent chin. A somewhat too heavy moustache -almost quite concealed his mouth. At first sight, most people would have -taken him for a soldier. Of his type he was very handsome. - -"Can you give any good reason for believing in anything so improbable?" -asked Ghisleri. - -"There are plenty of facts," answered Campodonico, calmly. "Any one here -will give you fifty--a hundred instances, so many indeed, that you -cannot attribute them all to coincidence. Do you not agree with me, -Marchese?" he asked, appealing to the master of the house, whose opinion -was often asked by men, and generally accepted. - -"I suppose I do," said the giant, indifferently. "I never took the -trouble to think of it. Most of us believe in the evil eye. But as for -this story about Lady Herbert Arden, I think it is nonsense in the first -place, and a malicious lie in the second, invented by some person or -persons unknown--or perhaps very well known to some of you. Half of it -rests on that absurd story about the chair I broke in Casa Frangipani. -If any of you can grow to be of my size, you will know how easily chairs -are broken." - -There was a laugh at his remark, in which Campodonico joined. - -"But it is true that you were speaking of the lady one does not mention -at the moment when the chair gave way," he said. - -"Yes," said San Giacinto, "I admit that." - -"I agree with San Giacinto, though I do not believe in the evil eye at -all," said Ghisleri. "And I will go a little further, and say that I -think it malicious to encourage the story about Lady Herbert. She has -had trouble enough as it is, without adding to it gratuitously." - -"I do not see that we are doing her any harm," observed Campodonico. - -"The gossip may be perfectly indifferent to her now," said Ghisleri. -"She is most probably quite ignorant of what is said. But in the natural -course of events, two or three years hence she will go into the world -again, and you know what an injury it will be to her then." - -"You are looking very far ahead, it seems to me. As for wishing to do -her an injury, as you call it, why should I?" - -"Exactly. Why should you?" - -"I do not." - -"I beg your pardon. I think every one who contributes to the circulation -of this fable does harm to Lady Herbert, most distinctly." - -"In other words, we are not of the same opinion," said Campodonico, in a -tone of irritation. - -"And I express mine because poor Arden was my oldest friend," answered -Ghisleri, with the utmost calm. "If I cannot persuade you, let us agree -to differ." - -"By all means," replied Gianforte, and he turned and began to talk with -the lady on his right. - -Donna Christina leaned towards Ghisleri and spoke to him in a very low -voice, quite inaudible to other ears than his, as the hum of general -conversation rose again. - -"Is it true," she asked, "that you and my husband agreed, years ago, -that you would never quarrel again?" - -Ghisleri looked at her in cold surprise. He was amazed that she should -refer to that part of his past life, of which no one ever spoke to him. - -"It is true," he answered briefly. - -"I am very glad," said Donna Christina. "I thought you were near a -quarrel just now about this absurd affair. You hate each other, and -Gianforte is very hot-tempered." - -"There is no danger. But I am sorry you think that I hate your husband. -He is one of the few men whom I really respect. There are other reasons -why I should not hate him, and why I should not be surprised if he hates -me with all his heart, as I dare say he does, from what you say." - -He glanced at her, but she did not answer at once. She was still young -and truthful, and it did not occur to her to be tactful at the expense -of veracity. - -"I am glad you defended Lady Herbert as you did," she said, after a -short pause. "It was nice of you." Then she turned and talked with the -man on her other side. - -Donna Maria Boccapaduli had been waiting for her opportunity and -attacked Ghisleri as soon as he had ceased talking with his other -neighbour. - -"Tell me," she said, "you like Laura Arden very much, do you not?" Of -course she made the sign at Laura's name. - -"Yes. She is a very charming woman." - -"She ought to be grateful to you. She would be, if she knew how you -stood up for her just now." - -"I should be sorry if she ever came to know that she needed to be -defended," answered Ghisleri, almost indifferently. - -"She will, of course. It will be all over Rome to-night that you and -Campodonico almost quarrelled about her. She is sure to hear about it. -Why do you take so much interest in her?" - -"Because her husband was my friend," Pietro replied, rather wearily. "I -just said so." - -"You need not be so angry with me because I ask questions," said Donna -Maria with a laugh. "I always do--it is the way to find out what one -wants to know." - -"And what do you want to know?" - -"You will be angry if I ask you." - -"Then ask me something else." - -"But I want to know so much," objected Donna Maria, with an expression -that made Ghisleri smile. - -"Then you must take the risk," he said. "It is not very great." - -"Well, then, I will." She dropped her voice almost to a whisper. "Is the -lady in question--I mean--is she the sort of woman you can imagine -falling in love with?" - -"I do not think I should ever fall in love with her," answered Ghisleri, -without betraying emotion or surprise. - -"Why not? There must be some reason. So many men have said the same -thing about her." - -"She is too good a woman for any of us to love. We feel that she is too -far above us to be quite human as we are." - -"What a strange man you are, Ghisleri! I should never have dreamt that -you could say such a thing as that. It is not at all like your -reputation you know, and not in the least like those delightfully -dreadful verses you addressed to the saint last year on Shrove Tuesday -at Gouache's studio. I should think that Mephistopheles would delight in -making love to saints." - -"In real life Mephistopheles would get the worst of it, and be shown to -the door with very little ceremony." - -"I doubt that. Every woman likes a spice of devilry in the man she -loves--and as for being shown to the door, that is ridiculous. Is there -any reason in the world why you should not fall in love with a woman -exactly like the unmentionable lady and marry her, too, if you love her -enough--or little enough, according to your views of married life? You -are quite free, and so is she, and you said yourself that in the course -of time she would naturally come back to the world." - -"No," said Ghisleri, thoughtfully, "I suppose there is no reason why I -should not ask Lady Herbert Arden to marry me in four or five years, -except that I do not love her in the least, and that she would most -certainly refuse me. And those are two very good reasons." - -The dinner was over and the party returned to the drawing-room. Ghisleri -stood a little apart from the rest, examining a painting with which he -had long been familiar, and slowly inhaling the smoke of a cigarette. It -was a small copy of one of Zichy's famous pictures illustrating -Lermontoff's "Demon"--the one in which Tamara yields at last, in the -convent, and throws her arms round the Demon's neck. Prince Durakoff had -ordered the copy and had presented it to the Marchesa di San Giacinto. -Ghisleri had always liked it, and had a photograph of the original in -his rooms. He now stood looking at it and recalling the strange, half -allegorical romance of which the great Russian made such wonderful -poetry. - -Presently he was aware that some one was standing at his elbow. He -turned to see who it was, and found himself face to face with Gianforte -Campodonico, who was looking at him with an expression of indescribable -hatred in his black eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Pietro at once realised the situation and the meaning of the look he -saw. Something was passing in his old enemy's mind which had passed -through his own while he was looking at the picture, for Campodonico and -Ghisleri were both thinking of the extraordinary resemblance between -poor Bianca Corleone and the Tamara of Zichy's painting. That -resemblance, striking in a high degree, was the reason why Ghisleri -liked it, and had a photograph of it at his lodging. He regretted now -that he should have been so tactless as to stand long before it when -Campodonico was in the room. It was too late, however, and there was -nothing to be done but to meet the man's angry look quietly, and go -away. It was unfortunate that there should have been any discussion -between them at dinner, too, for Campodonico, as his wife said, was -hot-tempered in the extreme, and Ghisleri, though outwardly calm, had -always been liable to outbreaks of dangerous anger. There was, indeed, -in the present instance, a very solemn promise given to a dying woman -beloved by both, to keep them from quarrelling, and both really meant to -respect it as they had done in past years. But to see Ghisleri calmly -contemplating a picture which seemed intended to represent Bianca -Corleone falling into the arms of a demon lover, was almost too much for -the equanimity of Gianforte, which was by no means at any time very -stable. Moreover, he not only hated Ghisleri with his whole heart as -much as ever, but he despised him quite as much as Pietro despised -himself, and probably a little more. He would never have forgiven him, -at the best; but he might have respected him if Ghisleri had honoured -Bianca's memory by leading a different life. It made his blood sting to -think that a man who had been loved to the latest breath by such a woman -as Bianca should throw himself at the feet of Maddalena dell' Armi--not -to mention any of the others for whom Pietro had felt an ephemeral -passion during the last six years and more. And Pietro, on his side, -knew that Campodonico was right in judging him as he judged himself, -harshly and without mercy. Unfortunately, Pietro's judgments on himself -generally came too late, when the evil he hated had already been done, -and self-condemnation was of very little use. He had great temptations, -too--far greater than most men, and was fatally attracted by difficulty -in any shape. - -On the present occasion he really desired to avoid doing the least thing -which could irritate Campodonico, and if the latter had not done what he -did Pietro would certainly have gone quietly away. He could not help -being a little surprised at the persistent stare of his old adversary, -considering that for years they had met and acted with perfectly civil -indifference towards one another. Nevertheless, he relit his cigarette -which had gone out, and made a step towards the other side of the room. -To Campodonico, the calm expression of his face seemed like scorn, and -he became exasperated in a moment. He called the other back. They were -at some distance from the other guests, and out of hearing if they spoke -in low tones. - -"Ghisleri!" Campodonico pronounced the name he detested with an almost -contemptuous accent. Pietro knew that an exchange of unfriendly words -was inevitable. He turned instantly and came close to Gianforte, -standing before him and looking down into his fierce eyes, for he was by -far the taller man. - -"What is it?" he asked, controlling his voice wonderfully. - -"Do you not think there are circumstances under which one is justified -in breaking a solemn promise?" asked Campodonico. - -"No. I do not." - -"I do." - -"I am very sorry. I suppose you mean to say that you wish to quarrel -with me again. Is that it?" - -"Yes." - -"You will find it hard. I shall do my very best to be patient whatever -you do or say. In the first place, I begin by telling you that I -sincerely regret having irritated you twice, as I have done this -evening, the second time, as I know, very seriously." - -"I did not ask you for an apology," said Gianforte, with contempt. - -"But I have offered you one which you will find it hard not to accept." - -"You were not formerly so ready with excuses. I dare say you have grown -cautious with age, though you are not much older than I." - -"Perhaps I have." Ghisleri grew slowly pale, as he bore one insult after -the other for the dead woman's sake. - -"In other words, you are a coward," said Campodonico, lowering his voice -still more. - -Pietro opened his lips and shut them without speaking. He glanced at the -passionate white face of the woman in the picture before he answered. - -"I do not think so," he said. "But I make no pretence of bravery. Have -you done?" - -"No. You make a pretence of other things if not of courage. You pretend -that you will not quarrel now because of the promise you gave." - -"It is true." - -"I do not believe you." - -"I am sorry for it," answered Pietro. - -"And do you mean to tell me that the promise binds us? If you had acted -as a man should, if you had led a life that showed the slightest respect -for that memory, it might be binding on me still." - -"I think it is." Ghisleri was trembling with anger from head to foot, -but his voice was still steady. - -"I do not," answered Gianforte, scornfully. "If she were here to judge -us, if she could see that the man who was loved to the last by Bianca -Corleone--God give her rest!--would live down to such a level, would -live to throw himself at the feet of a Maddalena dell' Armi--ah, I have -touched you now!--she would--" - -Ghisleri's face was livid. - -"She whose name you are not more worthy to speak than I, never meant -that I should not defend a good and helpless woman because the liar who -accuses her chances to be called Gianforte Campodonico." - -"And the one who defends her, Pietro Ghisleri," retorted Gianforte. -"Where can my friends find yours?" - -"At my lodging, if that suits them." - -"Perfectly." - -Campodonico turned on his heel and slowly went towards the group at the -other end of the room. Ghisleri followed him at a distance, lighting a -fresh cigarette as he walked. He had recovered his composure the moment -he had felt himself freed from the obligation to bear the insults heaped -upon him by Bianca Corleone's brother. - -It must not be supposed that no one had watched the two as they stood -talking before the picture. More than one person had noticed the fierce -look in Campodonico's eyes, and the unnatural paleness of Ghisleri's -face. One of these was Donna Maria Boccapaduli. - -"I suppose you have been discussing that painting," she said carelessly -to Pietro. "People always do." - -"Yes," answered Ghisleri, as indifferently as he could. - -"And what was the result of the discussion?" - -"We agreed to differ." Pietro laughed a little harshly. - -As soon as possible he excused himself and got away, for he had only -just the time necessary to find a couple of friends and explain matters, -before going to the ball to meet the Contessa, as he had promised to do. -He had forgotten an important detail, however, and as he passed -Campodonico who was also going away, and without his wife, on pretence -of an engagement at the club, he stopped him. - -"By the by," he said, "I suppose we are ostensibly quarrelling about a -painter, or something of that sort." - -"Yes--anything. Zichy, for instance. Everybody saw us looking at the -picture. You like it and I do not." - -"Very well." - -So they parted, to meet, in all probability, at dawn on the following -morning, in a quiet place outside the city. Ghisleri found two friends -in whose hands he placed himself, telling them that he was quite -indifferent to the weapons, and only desired to meet his adversary's -wishes as far as possible, since the affair was very insignificant. He -remarked in an indifferent tone that, as he had once fought with -Campodonico, using foils, and as the latter had not seemed satisfied on -that occasion, he had no objection to pistols, if the opposite side -preferred them. He wished everything to be arranged as amicably as -possible, he said, and without any undue publicity. He left them at his -lodging and departed to keep his engagement at the embassy. As he drove -through the bitter air in an open cab, he meditated on his position, and -wondered what Maddalena would say when she learned that he had been out -with his old adversary. She should not know anything about the encounter -until it was over, if he could keep it from her. At all events, he -reflected, he had done all that a man could do to keep out of a quarrel, -as he had promised her he would, and he had been driven to break a -promise of a far more sacred nature than the one he had given her. If -she knew the truth, too, it was for her, and for her alone, that he was -to fight. He wondered whether people would say it was for Laura Arden's -sake, on account of the discussion about the evil eye which had taken -place at table. The suggestion annoyed him very much, but he reached his -destination before he had found time to reason out the whole case, or to -decide what to do. In any event it would be better if people thought -that he had taken the foils in defence of an unprotected widow like -Laura, than for the good name of the Contessa dell' Armi. - -She was there before him, looking very lovely in a gown of palest green, -half covered with old lace. The shade suited her fair hair and dazzling -skin, and she looked taller in faint colours, as short women do. He -found her seated in one of the smaller rooms through which he had to -pass on his way to the great ball-room, and she was surrounded by four -or five men of the gay set, all talking to her at once, all trying to be -extremely witty, and all wishing that the others would go away. But the -Contessa held her own with them, making no distinction, and keeping up -the lively, empty, rattling conversation without any apparent -difficulty. Pietro sat down in the circle, and made a remark from time -to time, to which she generally gave a direct answer, until, little by -little, she was talking with him alone, and the others began to drop -away as they always did in the course of half an hour when Ghisleri -appeared in Maddalena's neighbourhood. It was a thing perfectly -understood, as a matter not even worth mentioning. - -"Will you get me something to drink?" she said when only Spicca was left -by her side. - -Pietro went off towards the supper-room, which was rather distant, and -as a dance was just over and the place was crowded, it was some minutes -before he could get what he wanted, and go back to her with it. Spicca -looked at him with an odd expression of something between amusement and -sympathy as he rose and left the two together, and Ghisleri at once saw -that something unusual had occurred in his absence, for Maddalena was -very pale, and her hand shook violently as she took the glass he brought -her. - -"What is the matter?" he asked anxiously, as he sat down. - -"Something very disagreeable has happened," she answered, looking round -nervously. - -The sofa on which they sat stood out from one side of a marble pillar, -with its back to the side of the room the guests crossed who went -directly to the ball-room, and facing the side by which they went from -the ball-room to the rooms beyond, and to the supper-room, for there -were four doors, opposite each other, two of which opened into the -great hall where the dancing was going on. Maddalena was seated at the -end of the sofa which was against the pillar, so that a person passing -through behind her might easily not notice her presence. - -"Pray tell me what it is," said Ghisleri. - -"Just as you went to get me the lemonade, I heard two people talking in -a low voice behind me," said Maddalena. "They must have stopped first by -the door--I looked round afterwards and saw them, but I do not know -either of them--some new people from one of the other embassies, or -merely foreigners here on a visit. They spoke rather bad French. There -was a man and a lady. They saw you cross the room and the lady asked the -man who you were, and the man told her, saying that he only knew you by -sight. The lady uttered an exclamation, and said that you were the one -man in Rome whom she wished to see because you had been loved by--you -know whom I mean--I know it hurts you to speak of her, and I understand -it. The man laughed and said there had been others since, and that there -was especially a certain Marquise d' Armi, as he called me, who was -madly in love with you. The most amusing part of the whole thing, -concluded the man, was that you were perfectly indifferent to her, as -everybody knew. It was horrible, and I almost fainted. Dear old Spicca -went on talking, trying to prevent me from hearing them. It was just -like him." - -The Contessa's lip trembled, and her eyes glittered strangely as she -looked at Pietro. - -"It is horrible," he said, in a low voice. He had thought that he had -felt enough emotions during that day, but he was mistaken. Even now -there were more in store for him. He was deeply shocked, for he guessed -what she must have suffered. - -"Horrible--yes! But oh--can you not tell me it is not true? Do you not -see that my heart is breaking?" - -"No, dearest lady," he answered tenderly, trying to soothe her. "Not -one word of it is true. How can you make yourself unhappy by thinking -such a thing?" - -Maddalena drew a painful breath. He spoke very kindly, but there was no -ringing note of passion in his voice as there had once been. With a -sudden determination that surprised him, she rose to her feet. - -"Take me to the ball-room," she said hurriedly. "I shall cry if I stay -here." - -It was almost a relief to Ghisleri to see her accept the first man who -presented himself as a partner and whirl away with him into the great -hall. He stood leaning against the marble door-post, watching her as she -wound her way in and out among the many moving couples. He was conscious -that he might very possibly never see her again. Campodonico would of -course select pistols, and meant to kill him if he could. He might -succeed, though duels rarely ended fatally now-a-days. And if he did, -Maddalena dell' Armi would be left to her fate. He was horror-struck -when he thought of it. She might never know why he had fought, and she -would perhaps believe to her last day that he had sacrificed his life -for Laura Arden. He could leave a letter for her, but letters often fell -into the wrong hands through faithless servants when the people who had -written them were dead. Besides, would she believe his words? She had -very little faith in his love for her. He sighed bitterly as he thought -how right she was in that. He could see the pale, small, classic -features, and the half pitiful, half scornful look of the beautiful -mouth. "His last bit of comedy!" she would exclaim to herself, as she -tossed his last note into the fire. And again she would be right, in a -measure. In the case of risking sudden death, he said to himself that it -was indeed a strange bit of comedy. He knew that he did not love her as -he should. Why should he fight for her, then? - -But his manliness rose up at this and smote his cynicism out of the -field for a time. That little he owed Maddalena, at least--he could not -do less than defend her, at whatever cost, and he knew well enough that -he always would. As for his wish that she might know it, that was -nothing but his own detestable vanity. For his own part, he wished with -all his heart that the next morning might end his existence. He had -never valued his life very highly, and of late it had been so little to -his taste that he was more than ready to part with it, even violently. -The future did not appall him, although, strangely enough, he was very -far from being an unbeliever, and had been brought up to consider a -sudden end, in mortal sin, as the most horrible and irreparable of -misfortunes. To him, in his experience of himself, no imaginable -suffering could be worse than the self-doubt, the self-contempt, and the -self-hatred which had so often tormented him during the past years. If -he were to be punished for his misdeeds with the same torture, even -though it were to be never-ending, at least he should bear the pain of -it alone, such as it was, without the necessity for hiding it and for -going through the daily mummery of life with an indifferent face. And in -that state there would be no more temptation of the kind he feared. What -he had done up to the hour of death would close the chronicle of evil, -and in all ages there would be no more. He was used to such refinements -of cruelty as perdition could threaten him with, for he had practised -them upon his own heart. - -So the man "who did not care" stood watching the ball, and people envied -him his successes, and his past and present happiness, and all that he -had enjoyed in his three-and-thirty years of life, little dreaming of -what was even then passing in his thoughts, still less that he was -waiting for the message which should inform him of the place and hour -fixed for encountering the man who most hated him in the world, and who -had once before vainly attempted to take his life. - -At the other end of the great hall the Contessa dell' Armi had paused in -her waltz to take breath, and found herself next to Donna Maria -Boccapaduli. - -"You have not heard the news," said the latter in a low voice, bending -towards Maddalena, and holding up her fan before her face. "We have all -been dining at Casa San Giacinto, sixteen of us besides themselves--the -two Campodonico, ourselves, Pietrasanta--ever so many of us. Ghisleri -was there, next to me, and there was a discussion about the evil eye, -because Pietrasanta broke a glass just as he uttered the name of the -lady we do not mention--you know which--Ghisleri's friend. And then, I -do not know how it was, but Ghisleri and Campodonico contradicted each -other about it, because Campodonico said she was a jettatrice and -Ghisleri said she was not, you know. After dinner the two went and -talked in whispers at the other end of the big room, and Ghisleri looked -ghastly white, and Campodonico was so angry that his eyes were like -coals. A few minutes later, they both went away in a great -hurry--Campodonico left his wife there. It certainly looks as though -there were to be a duel to-morrow. You know how they hate each other, -and how they fought long ago about that wonderful Princess Corleone who -died. I can remember seeing her before I was married." - -The Contessa listened to the end. She could not have grown paler than -she was on that evening, but while Donna Maria was speaking the shadows -deepened almost to black under her eyes, and the veins in her throat -swelled and throbbed so that they hurt her. She succeeded in controlling -all other outward signs of emotion, however, and when she spoke her -voice was calm and quiet. - -"I hardly believe that those two will fight," she said. "But, of course, -they may. We shall probably know to-morrow." - -Making a little sign to her partner, she began to dance with him again, -and continued to waltz until the music ceased a few minutes later. She -stopped near the door where Ghisleri was standing, and looked at him. He -immediately came to her side, and she left the man she had been dancing -with and moved away with Pietro towards a distant room, not speaking on -the way. They sat down together in a quiet corner, and he saw that she -was very much moved and probably very angry with him. - -"Will you please to tell me the truth?" she said, in a hard voice. "I -have something to ask you." - -"Yes. I always do," he answered. - -"Is it true that there is a quarrel between you and Don Gianforte -Campodonico?" - -"Yes--it is true," replied Ghisleri, after hesitating a few seconds. - -"And that you had a discussion with him about Lady Herbert at the San -Giacinto's dinner table?" - -"Yes," admitted Ghisleri, who saw that his worst fears were about to be -realised. - -"Are you going to fight?" asked Maddalena, in a metallic tone. - -"Yes. We are going to fight." - -"So you have already forgotten what you promised me this afternoon. You -said you would do all a man could do to avoid a quarrel--for my sake. -Six hours had not passed before you had broken your word. That is the -sort of faith you keep with me." - -Pietro Ghisleri began to think that his misfortunes would never end. For -some time he sat in silence, staring before him. Should he tell her the -whole story? Should he go over the abominable scene with Campodonico, -and tell her all the atrocious insults he had patiently borne for Bianca -Corleone's sake, until Maddalena's own name had seemed to set him free -from his obligation to the dead woman? He reflected that it would sound -extremely theatrical and perhaps improbable in her ears, for she -distrusted him enough already. Besides, if she believed him, to tell her -would only be to afford his own vanity a base satisfaction. This last -view was perhaps a false one, but with his character it was not -unnatural. - -"I have kept my word," he said at last, "for I have borne all that a man -can bear to avoid this quarrel." - -"I am sorry you should be able to bear so little for me," answered -Maddalena, her voice as hard as ever. - -"I have done my best. I am only a man after all. If you had heard what -passed, you would probably now say that I am right." - -"You always take shelter behind assertions of that kind. I know it is of -no use to ask you to tell me the whole story, for if you were willing to -tell it, you would have told it to me already. No one can conceal fact -as you can and yet never be caught in a downright falsehood. Half an -hour ago, when we were sitting in that other room, you knew just as well -as you do now that you were to fight to-morrow, and you had not the -slightest intention of telling me." - -"Not the slightest. Men do not talk about such things. It is not in good -taste, and not particularly honourable, in my opinion." - -"Good taste and honour!" exclaimed the Contessa, scornfully. "You talk -as though we were strangers! Indeed, I think we are coming to that, as -fast as we can." - -"I trust not." - -"The phrase, again! What should you say, after all? You must say -something when I put the matter plainly. It would not be in good taste, -if you did not contradict me when I tell you that you do not love me. -All things considered, perhaps you do not even think it honourable. You -are very considerate, and I am immensely grateful. Perhaps you are -thinking, too, that it would be more decent, and in better taste on my -part, to let you go, now that I have discovered the truth. I am almost -inclined to think so. I have seen it long, and I have been foolish to -doubt my senses." - -"For Heaven's sake, do not be so bitter and unjust," said Ghisleri -earnestly. - -"I am neither. Do you know why I have clung to you? Shall I tell you? It -may hurt you, and I am bad enough to wish to hurt you to-night--to wish -that you might suffer something of what I feel." - -"I am ready," answered Pietro. - -"Do you know why I have clung to you, I ask? I will tell you the truth. -It was my last chance of respecting myself, my last hold on womanliness, -on everything that a woman cares to be. And you have succeeded in taking -that from me. You found me a good wife. You know what I am now--what you -have made me. Remember that to-morrow morning, when you are risking your -life for Lady Herbert Arden. Do you understand me? Have I hurt you?" - -"Yes." Ghisleri bowed his head, and passed his hand over his forehead. - -What she said was terribly, irrefutably true. The vision of true love, -revived within the last few days, and delusive still that very -afternoon, had vanished, and only the other, the vision of sin, -remained, clear, sharp, and cruelly well-defined. He made no attempt to -deny what she said, even in his own heart, for it would not be denied. - -"I cannot even ask you to forgive me that," he said at last in a low -tone. - -"No. You cannot even ask that, for you knew what you were doing--I -scarcely did. Not that I excuse myself. I was willing to risk -everything, and I did, blindly, for the sake of a real love. You see -what I have got. You cannot love me, but you shall not forget me. Heaven -is too just. And so, good-bye!" - -"I hope it may be good-bye, indeed," said Ghisleri. - -"Not that--no, not that!" exclaimed Maddalena. "I wish you no evil--no -harm. I had a right to say what I have said. I shall never say it -again--for there will be no need. Take me back, please." - -She rose to go, and her finely chiselled face was as hard as steel. In -silence they went back to the supper-room, and a few moments later -Ghisleri left her with Francesco Savelli and went home. On his table he -found a note from his seconds, as had been arranged, naming the place -and hour agreed upon for the duel, and stating that they would call for -him in good time. He tossed it into the fire which still smouldered on -the hearth, as he did with everything in the nature of notes and letters -which came to him. He never kept a scrap of writing of any sort, except -such as chanced to be connected with business matters and the -administration of his small estate. He hesitated long as to whether he -should write to Maddalena or not, sitting for nearly half an hour at his -writing-table with a pen in his fingers and a sheet of paper before him. - -After all, what could he write? A justification of himself in the -question of fighting with Campodonico? What difference could it make -now? All had been said, and the end had come, as he had of late known -that it must, though it had been abrupt and unexpected at the last -minute. It was all the same now whether he should afterwards be said to -have fought for Laura or for Maddalena. Besides, in real truth, if it -were known, he was fighting for neither. Gianforte's old hatred had -suddenly flamed up again, and if he had spoken Maddalena's name it was -only because he found that no other means could prevail upon the man he -hated to break his solemn vow, and because he knew that no man would -bear tamely an insult of that kind cast upon a woman he was bound in -honour to defend. But all that had been only the result of -circumstances. The quarrel was really the old one in which they had -fought so desperately, long ago. The dead Bianca's memory still lived, -and had power to bring two brave men face to face in a death struggle. - -Ghisleri rose from the table and stood before the photograph of the -picture which had brought matters to the present pass. For the -thousandth time he gazed at the wonderful likeness of her he had loved, -perfect in all points, as chance had made it under the hand of a man who -had never seen her. - -"I made a promise to you once," he said, in a low voice, "and I have -kept it as well as I could. I will make another, for your dear sake and -memory. I will not again bring unhappiness upon any woman." - -Sentimental and theatrical, the world would have said. But the man who -could bear to be unjustly called liar and coward rather than break his -oath was able to keep such a promise if he chose. And he did. - -So far as he was humanly able, too, in the world to which he belonged, -he kept the first one also; for, when they bent over him as he lay upon -the wet grass a few hours later, the pistol he held was loaded still. -The world said that he had been shot before he had time to fire, because -he was trying to aim too carefully. But Gianforte Campodonico bared his -head and bent it respectfully as they carried Pietro Ghisleri away. - -"There goes the bravest man I ever knew," he said to his second. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -The report that Ghisleri had been killed by his old adversary in a -quarrel about Laura Arden spread like wildfire through society. It was -not until San Giacinto formally proclaimed that he had been to -Ghisleri's lodging, and that, although shot through the right lung, he -was alive and might recover, that the world knew the truth. - -It was of course perfectly evident that Laura was the cause of the -difference. Even San Giacinto had no other explanation to suggest, when -he was appealed to, and could only say that it seemed incredible that -two men should fight with pistols at a dangerously short distance, -because the one said that Lady Herbert was a jettatrice, and the other -denied it. If Campodonico had been less universally liked than he was, -he would have become very unpopular in consequence of the duel; for, -although few persons were intimate with Ghisleri, he also was a -favourite with the world. - -The Gerano faction was very angry with both men, though Adele was -secretly delighted. It was a scandalous thing, they said, that a duel -should be fought about a young widow, whose husband had not been buried -much more than two months. Both should have known better. And then, -Campodonico was a young married man, which made matters far worse. -Duelling was an abominable sin, of course; but Ghisleri, at least, was -alone in the world and could risk his soul and body without the danger -of bringing unhappiness on others. Gianforte's case was different and -far less pardonable. - -But Casa Gerano and Casa Savelli belonged rather to the old-fashioned -part of society, though Adele and her husband were undeniably in the gay -set, and there were many who judged the two men more leniently. The -world had certainly been saying for some time that Ghisleri went very -often to see Lady Herbert, and was neglecting Maddalena dell' Armi. The -cruel words the Contessa had overheard at the Embassy were but part of -the current gossip, for otherwise mere strangers, like those who had -spoken, could not have already learned to repeat them. If, then, -Ghisleri was in love with Laura Arden, it was natural enough that he -should resent the story about the evil eye. Meanwhile, poor man, no one -could tell whether he could ever recover from his dangerous wound. - -The Contessa dell' Armi was one of the very first to know the truth. She -had spent a miserable and sleepless night, and it was still very early -in the morning when she sent to Ghisleri's lodgings for news. She was -very anxious, for she knew more than most people about the old story, -and she guessed that Campodonico would do his best to hurt Pietro. But -she had no idea that pistols were to be the weapons, and Ghisleri's -reputation as a swordsman was very good. Short of an accident, she -thought, nothing would be really dangerous to him. But then, accidents -sometimes happened. - -The answer came back, short and decisive. He was shot through the very -middle of the right lung, he had not fired upon his adversary, and he -lay in great danger, between life and death, in the care of a surgeon -and a Sister of Charity, neither of whom left his side for a moment. - -Maddalena did not hesitate. She dressed herself in an old black frock -she found among her things, put on a thick veil, went out alone, and -drove to Pietro's lodgings. Such rash things may be done with impunity -in Paris or London, but they rarely remain long concealed in a small -city like Rome. He was still unconscious from weakness and loss of -blood. His eyes were half closed and his face was transparently white. -Maddalena stood still at the foot of the bed and looked at him, while -the doctor and the nurse gazed at her in surprise. During what seemed an -endless time to them she did not move. Then she beckoned to the surgeon, -and led him away to the window. - -"Will he live?" she asked, hardly able to pronounce the words. - -"He may. There is some hope, for he is very strong. I cannot say more -than that for the present." - -For a few moments Maddalena was silent. She had never seen the doctor, -and he evidently did not know her. - -"My place should be here," she said at last. "Would an emotion be bad -for him--if he were angry, perhaps?" - -"Probably fatal," answered the surgeon with decision. "If he is likely -to experience any emotion on seeing you, I beg you not to stay long. He -may soon be fully conscious." - -"He cannot know me now?" she asked anxiously. - -"No. Not yet." - -"Not if I went quite near to him--if I touched him?" - -The doctor glanced back at the white face on the pillow. - -"No," he answered. "But be quick." - -Maddalena went swiftly to the bedside, and, bending down, kissed -Ghisleri's forehead, gazed at him for a moment, and then turned away. -She slipped a little gold bracelet formed of simple links without -ornament or distinctive mark from her wrist, and put it into the -Sister's hand. - -"If you think he is dying, give him this, and say I came and kissed him. -If he is in no danger, sell it, and give the money to some poor person. -Can I trust you, my sister?" - -"Yes, madame," answered the French nun quietly as she dropped the -trinket into her capacious pocket. - -With one glance more at Ghisleri's face, the Contessa left the room. A -quarter of an hour later she was at home again. The servants supposed -that she had gone to an early mass, as she sometimes did, possibly to -pray for the soul of the Signor Ghisleri. The man who had gone for news -of him had not failed to inform the whole household of Pietro's -dangerous state, and as Pietro was a constant visitor, and was generous -with his five-franc notes, considerable anxiety was felt in the lower -regions for his welfare, and numerous prayers were offered for his -recovery. - -Maddalena sent to make inquiries several times in the course of the day, -and towards evening was informed that there was more hope, but that if -he got well at all it would be by a long convalescence. She herself saw -no one, and no one ever knew what she suffered in those endless hours of -solitude. - -Laura Arden heard of the duel through her mother, who was very angry -about it, as has been seen. Laura herself was greatly shocked, for at -first almost every one thought that Ghisleri must die of his wound. -Having been brought up in Rome, in the midst of Roman ideas, she had not -the English aversion to duelling, nor, being an Anglican, had she a -Catholic's horror of sudden death. She did not even yet really like -Ghisleri. But she was horror-struck, though she could hardly have told -why, at the thought that the strong man who had been with her when her -husband died, and whom she had talked with so often since, should be -taken away without warning, in the midst of his youth and strength, for -a word said in her defence. Of course the Princess told her all the -details of the story as she had heard them, laying particular stress -upon the fact that the duel had been fought for Laura. The seconds in -the affair had gravely alleged a dispute about the painter Zichy as the -true cause of the quarrel, but the world had found time to make up its -mind on the previous evening, and was not to be deceived by such absurd -tales. - -"It is not my fault, mother, if they fought about me," said Laura. "But -I am dreadfully distressed. I wish I could do anything." - -"The best thing is to do nothing," answered the Princess, "for nothing -can do any good. The harm is done, whether it has been in any way your -fault or not. To think it should all have begun in that insane -superstition about the evil eye!" - -"I never even knew that I was suspected of being a jettatrice. People -must be mad to believe in such things. You are right, of course. What -could any of us do except make inquiries? Poor man! I hope he will get -over it." - -"God grant he may live to be a better man," said the Princess, devoutly. -She had never had a very high opinion of Ghisleri's moral worth, and -late events had confirmed her in the estimate she had made. "One thing I -must say, my dear," she continued. "If he recovers, as I pray he may, -you must see less of him than hitherto. You cannot let people talk about -you as they will talk, especially after this dreadful affair." - -"I will be very careful," Laura answered. "Not that there is any danger. -The poor man will be ill for weeks, at the best, and the summer will be -almost here before he is out of the house. Then I shall be going away, -for I do not mean to keep Herbert here during the heat." - -The Princess was quite used to hearing Laura speak of the little child -in that way, and she had never once referred to her husband by name -since his death. She meant that the one Herbert should take the place of -the other, once and for always, to be cared for and loved, and thought -of at every hour of the day. She had silently planned out her life -during the weeks of her recovery, and she believed that nothing could -prevent her from living it as she intended. Everything should be for -little Herbert, from first to last. She looked at the baby face, in -which she saw so plainly the father's likeness where others could see -only a pair of big brown eyes, plump cheeks, and a mouth like a flower, -and she promised herself that all the happiness she would have made for -the one who had been taken should be the lot of the one given to her -almost on the same day. Her future seemed anything but dark to her, -though its greater light had gone out. The anguish, the agonising -anxiety, the first moment's joy, and at last the full pride of -motherhood, had come between her and the past, deadening the terrible -shock at first, and making the memory of it less keen and poignant -afterwards, while not in any way dimming the bright recollection of the -love that had united her to her husband. She could take pleasure now in -looking forward to her boy's coming years, to the time when he should be -at first a companion, then a friend, and then a protector of whom she -would be proud when he stood among other men. She could think of his -schooldays, and she could already feel the pain of parting from him and -the joy of meeting him again, taller and stronger and braver at every -return. And far away in the hazy distance before her she could see a -shadowy but lovely figure, yet unknown to-day--Herbert's wife that was -to be, a perfect woman, and worthy of him in all ways. It might be also -that somewhere there were great deeds for Herbert to do, fame for him to -achieve, glory for him to win. All this was possible, but she thought -little of it. Her ambition was to know him some day to be all that his -father had been in heart, and to see him all that his father should have -been in outward form and stature. More than that she neither hoped nor -asked for, and perhaps it was enough. And so she dreamed on, while no -one thought she was dreaming at all, for she was always active and busy -with something that concerned the child, and her attention never -wandered when it was needed. - -Her mother watched her and was glad of it all. To her, it seemed very -merciful that Arden should have died when he did, fond as she herself -had been of him. She had not believed that Laura could be permanently -happy with such a sufferer, and she had never desired the marriage, -though she had done nothing to oppose it when she saw how deeply her -daughter loved the man she had chosen. She was very much relieved when -she saw how Laura behaved in her sorrow, and realised that there was no -morbid tendency in her to dwell over-long on her grief. One thing, which -has already been mentioned, alone showed that Laura felt very -deeply,--she never spoke of Arden, even to her mother. On this point -there seemed to be a tacit understanding between her and Donald. The -faithful old servant seemed to know instinctively what she wished done. -When all was over, and while Laura was still far too ill to be -consulted, he had taken all Arden's clothes and other little effects, -even to his brushes and other dressing things, and had packed everything -in his dead master's own boxes as though for a long journey. The boxes -themselves he locked up in a small spare room, and laid the key in the -drawer of Laura's writing-table with a label on which were written the -words, "His lordship's effects." Laura found it the first time she came -to the drawing-room, and was grateful to the old Scotchman for what he -had done. But she could not bring herself to speak of it, even to -Donald, though he knew that she was pleased by the look she gave him. - -Of course, her manner was greatly changed from what it had been. She -never laughed now, and rarely ever smiled, except when she held the -child in her arms. But there was nothing morbid nor brooding in her -gravity. She had accepted her lot and was determined to make the best of -it according to her light. In time she would grow more cheerful, and by -and by she would be her old self again--more womanly, perhaps, and -certainly more mature, but not materially altered in character or -disposition. The short months which had sufficed for what had hitherto -been the chief acts of her life had not been filled with violent or -conflicting emotions, and it is emotion more than anything else which -changes the natures of men and women for better or for worse. The love -that had been born of mingled pity and sympathy of thought had risen -quickly in the peaceful, remote places of her heart, and had flowed -smoothly through the sweet garden of her maidenly soul, unruffled and -undeviating, until it had suddenly disappeared into the abyss of -eternity. It had left no wreck and no ruin behind, no devastation and no -poisonous, stagnant pools, as some loves do. The soil over which it had -passed had been refreshed and made fertile by it, and would bear flowers -and fruit hereafter as fragrant and as sweet as it could ever have -borne; and at the last, in that one great moment of pain when she had -stood at the brink and seen all she loved plunge out of sight for ever -in the darkness, she had heard in her ear the tender cry of a new young -life calling to her to turn back and tend it, and love it, and show it -the paths that lead to such happiness as the world holds for the pure in -heart. - -She was calm, therefore, and not, in the ordinary sense, broken by her -sorrow,--a fact which the world, in its omniscience, very soon -discovered. It did not fail to say that she was well rid of her husband, -and that she knew it, and was glad to be free, though she managed with -considerable effort to keep up a sufficient outward semblance of -mourning to satisfy the customs and fashions of polite society--just -that much, and not a jot more. - -But Adele Savelli said repeatedly that all this was not true, and that -only a positively angelic nature like Laura's could bear such an awful -bereavement so calmly. It was a strange thing, Adele added, that very -good people should always seem so much better able to resign themselves -to the decrees of Providence than their less perfect neighbours. Of -course it could not be that they were colder and felt less than others, -and consequently could not suffer so much. Besides, Laura must have -loved Arden sincerely to marry him at all, since it appeared to be -certain that the rich uncle who was to have left him so much money only -existed in the imagination of the gossips, and had evidently been -invented by them merely in order to make out that Laura had a secret -reason for marrying that uncle's favourite nephew. But then, people -would talk, of course, and all that the relations of the family could do -was to deny such calumnious reports consistently and at every turn. - -Adele was looking very ill when the season came to an end. She had grown -thin, and her eyes had a restless, hunted look in them which had never -been there before. Her husband noticed that she was very much overcome -when she heard the first report to the effect that Ghisleri was killed. -She seemed particularly horrified at the statement that the original -cause of the duel had been the reputation for possessing the evil eye -which Laura Arden had so suddenly acquired, and which, as she herself -had been the very first to say, was so utterly unfounded. It was -evidently a very great relief to her to hear, later in the day, that -Pietro was not yet dead, and might even have a chance of recovery. - -No one could tell what Gianforte Campodonico thought of the matter. He -shut himself up obstinately and awaited events. It is not probable that -he felt any remorse for what he had done, or that he would have felt any -if he had left Ghisleri dead on the field, instead of with a bare chance -of life. He had taken the vengeance he had longed for and he was glad of -it, but the impression he had of the man was not the same which he had -been accustomed to for so many years. He, who generally reflected -little, asked himself whether he could have found the courage to bear -what Ghisleri had borne for the sake of the promise they had made -together, and which he had been the first to break. He was a brave man, -too, in his way, and it would not have been safe to predict that he -would fail at any given point if put to the test. But he was conscious -that, in the present case, Ghisleri had played the nobler part, and he -was manly enough to acknowledge the fact to himself, and to respect his -adversary as he had not done before. If he stayed at home and refused to -be seen in the world or even at his club immediately after the duel, it -was because he would not be thought willing to glory in his victory. - -But, before many days were gone by, it became apparent, so far as the -world could judge, that Pietro Ghisleri would not die of the dangerous -wound he had received. It would have killed most men, the surgeon said, -but Ghisleri was not like other people. He, the doctor, had never seen a -stronger constitution, nor one so perfectly untainted by any hereditary -evil or weakness. Such blood was rare now, especially in the old -families, and such strength would have been rare in any age. He had no -longer any hesitation in saying that the patient had a very fair -prospect of recovery, and might possibly be as healthy as ever before -the end of the summer. - -The Sister of Charity went about with Maddalena's bracelet in her -pocket, feeling very uncomfortable about it, since she had been quite -sure from the first that there was something very sinful in the whole -affair. But she was quite ready to fulfil her promise if Ghisleri showed -signs of departing this life, which he did not, however, either when he -first regained consciousness or later. So she, on her part, said -nothing, and waited for the day when she might deliver up the trinket to -the Mother Superior, to be sold for the poor, as Maddalena had directed. -In that, at least, there could be no harm, and she was very thankful -that she was not called upon to deliver the message to Ghisleri himself, -for that, she felt sure, would have been sinful, or something very like -it. - -The surgeon was surprised by something else in the case. As a general -rule, when a man fights a desperate duel in the very middle of the -season, and especially such a man as he knew Ghisleri to be, and is -severely hurt, he finds himself cut off from society in the midst of -some chain of events in which the whole present interest of his life is -engaged. He is consequently disturbed in mind, impatient of confinement, -and feverishly anxious to get back to the world,--a state of temper by -no means conducive to convalescence. Ghisleri, on the contrary, seemed -to have forgotten to care for anything. No preoccupation appeared to -possess him; no desire to be back again in the throng made him restless. -He was perfectly calm and peaceful, always patient, and always resigned -to whatever treatment seemed necessary. The Sister wondered much that a -man of such marvellous gentleness and resignation could have found it in -him to commit mortal sin in fighting a duel, and, perhaps, far down in -her woman's heart, she did not wonder at all at what Maddalena had done -on that first morning. The surgeon said that Ghisleri's sweet temper had -much to do with his rapid recovery. - -It need not be supposed from this that his character had undergone any -radical change, nor that he was turning, all at once, into the saint he -was never intended to be. It was very simple. The events of the night -preceding the duel had brought his life to a crisis which, once past, -had left little behind it to disturb him. First in his mind was the -consciousness that his love for Maddalena dell' Armi was gone for ever, -and that she herself expected no return of it. That alone was enough to -change his whole existence in the present, and in the immediate future. -Then, too, he felt that he had at least settled old scores with -Campodonico and had in a measure expiated one, at least, of his past -misdeeds, almost at the cost of his life. Morally speaking, too, he had -kept his oath to Bianca Corleone, for under the utmost provocation he -had refused to fight in the old quarrel, and even when driven to bay and -forced upon new ground by Campodonico's implacable hatred, he had stood -up to be killed without so much as firing at Bianca's brother. There -was a deep and real satisfaction in that, and he was perhaps too ill as -yet to torture himself by stigmatising it as a bit of vanity. The world -might think what it pleased. Maddalena might misjudge his motives, and -Gianforte might triumph in his victory--it all made no difference to -him. He was conscious that to the best of his ability he had acted -according to the dictates of true honour, as he understood it; and at -night he closed his eyes and fell peacefully asleep, and in the morning -he opened them quietly again upon the little world of his invalid's -surroundings. - -He was not happy, however. What he felt, and what perhaps saved his -life, was a momentary absence of responsibility, an absolute certainty -that nothing more could be required of him, because, in the events in -which he had played a part, that part had been acted out to the very -end. He even went so far as to believe that, if he had died, it would -not have made any difference to any one, except that his death might -possibly have been an added satisfaction to Campodonico. He would have -left no sorrowing heart behind to mourn him, nor any gap in any circle -which another man could not fill up. Herbert Arden, the only friend who -would have really regretted him, was already dead, and there was no one -else who stood to him in any relation of acquaintance at all so close as -to be called friendship. All this contributed materially to his peace of -mind, though in one respect he was mistaken. There was one person who -loved him still, for himself, though she knew well enough that his love -for her was dead. - -And it was of her, though he was mistaken about her, that he thought the -most during the long hours when he lay there quietly watching the -sunbeams stealing across the room when it was fine, or listening to the -raindrops pattering against the windows when the weather was stormy. In -her was centred the great present regret of his life, and for her sake -he felt the most sincere remorse. He asked himself, as she had asked -him, what was to become of her, now that he had left her. The fact that -she had been really the one to speak the word and cause the first break -did not change the truth in the least. It had been his fault from the -first to the last. He had not broken her heart, perhaps, because hearts -are not now-a-days easily broken, if, indeed, they ever really were; but -he had ruined her existence wantonly, uselessly, on the plea of a love -neither pure nor lasting, and he fully realised what he had done. What -chance had she ever had against him--she, young, inexperienced, -trusting, wretchedly unhappy with a husband who had despised and trodden -out the simple, girlish love she had offered--what chance had she -against Pietro Ghisleri, the hardened, cool-headed man of the world, -whose only weakness was that he sometimes believed himself sincere, as -he had with her? He was not happy as he thought of it all. There had -been little manliness in what he had done, and not much of the honour -which he called his last shred of morality. And yet, in the world in -which he had his being, few men would blame him, and none, perhaps, -venture to condemn him. But that consideration did not cross his mind. -He was willing to bear both condemnation and blame, and he heaped both -upon himself in a plentiful measure. - -Nevertheless, he was conscious of being surprised at the calmness of his -own repentance, as he called it rather contemptuously, and he wished -himself, as usual, quite different from what he was. And yet he had not -forgotten the semi-theatrical resolution to change his life, which he -had made on the night before the duel, still less had he any intention -of breaking it. He had always laughed at men and women who made sudden -and important resolutions under the influence of emotion, and, on the -whole, he had never seen any reason for looking upon such gratuitous -promises as valid, unless there had been witnesses to them, and human -vanity afterwards came into play. But now, in his own case, he meant to -try the experiment. It made no difference whether he were vain about it -or not, if he succeeded, nor, if he failed, whether he scorned his own -weakness a little more than before. No one would ever know, and since by -Laura Arden's rigid standard of right and wrong the end to be gained -belonged distinctly to the right, he would be in a measure following her -advice in regard to life in general. Deeper down in his nature, too, -there lay another thought which he would not now evoke, lest he should -himself condemn it as sentimental. That secret promise had been honestly -intended, and had been addressed to the memory of one who, though long -dead, still had a stronger influence over him than any one now living. -He hardly dared to acknowledge the truth of this and the real meaning of -what he had done, lest, if he failed hereafter, he should have to accuse -himself of faithlessness towards the one woman to whom he had been -really true, and whom, if she had lived, he would have loved till the -end, in spite of obstacles, in spite of mankind, in spite, he added -defiantly, of Heaven itself. All this he tried to keep out of sight, -while firmly resolving, in his own cynical way, to try the experiment of -goodness for once, and to do no more harm in the world if he could help -it. - -He thought of Laura Arden, too, in his long convalescence, and her image -was always pleasant to his inner vision, as the impression she had -produced on him was soothing to recall. There were times when her holy -eyes seemed to gaze at him out of the darker corners of the room, and he -tried often to bring back her whole presence. The pleasure such useless -feats of imagination gave him was artistic if it was anything, because -he admired her beauty and had always delighted in it. He tried to fancy -what she was doing, on certain days when he thought more of her than -usual, and to follow her life a little, always trying in a vague way to -fathom the secret of the character that was so wonderful in his -estimation. And always, when he had been thinking of her, he came back -to the contemplation of his own immediate interests with a renewed calm -and with a peaceful sense that there might yet be better days in store -for him--possibly days in which he should himself be better than he had -been heretofore. - -How the world would have jeered, could it have suspected that Pietro -Ghisleri was thinking almost seriously of such a very commonplace -subject as moral goodness, as he lay on his back, day after day, in the -quiet of his room. How gladly would Adele Savelli have changed places -with the man who, as she thought, for the sake of a bit of gossip she -had invented out of spite, had nearly lost his life! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -When Ghisleri was at last able to go out of the house, his first visit -was to Maddalena dell' Armi. He had written a line to say that he was -coming, and she expected him. The meeting was a strange one, for both -felt at first the constraint of their mutual position. Ghisleri looked -at her face, which had been so hard when he had last seen it, and he saw -that it had softened. There were no signs of suffering, however, and her -expression was almost as placid as his own. He raised her hand to his -lips and sat down opposite to her. Then the light fell on his face and -she saw how changed he was. She remembered how he had looked when she -had seen him after he was wounded, and she saw that he was almost as -pale now as then, and that he was thin almost to emaciation. - -"Are you really growing strong again?" she asked in a tone of anxiety. - -"Yes, indeed," he answered with a smile. "I feel as though I were quite -well--a little gaunt and weak, perhaps, but that will soon pass. And -you--how have you spent your time in all these weeks since I last saw -you?" - -"Very much as usual," replied Maddalena, and suddenly a weary look came -into her eyes. "If you care to know--as long as you were really in -danger I did not go out. Then I went everywhere again, and tried to -amuse myself." - -"Did you succeed?" asked Ghisleri, trying hard to speak cheerfully. -There had been something hopeless in Maddalena's tone which shocked him -and pained him. - -"More or less. Why do you ask me that?" - -"Because I am interested." - -"Do you care for me in the least--in any way?" she asked abruptly. - -"You know that I do--" - -"How should I know it?" - -Ghisleri did not reply at once, for the question was not easily -answered. Maddalena waited in silence until he should speak. - -"Perhaps you are right," he said at last. "You have no means of knowing -it, and I have no means of proving it. Dearest lady, since we have both -changed so much, do you not think you could believe a little in my -friendship?" - -"We ought to be friends--you should be my best friend." - -"I mean to be, if you will let me." - -A long silence followed. Maddalena sat quite still, leaning back in a -corner of the sofa and looking at a picture on the opposite wall. -Ghisleri sat upright on a chair at a little distance from her. - -"You say that you will be my friend, if I will let you," she said -slowly, after several minutes. "Even if you could imagine that I could -not wish it, you ought to be my best friend just the same. If I made you -suffer every hour of the day as I did on that last night, you ought to -bear it, and never have one unkind thought of me. No; do not answer me -yet: I have much more to say. You know that I have always told you just -what I have felt, when I have told you anything about myself. I was -very unhappy when we met at that ball--or, rather, when we parted--so -unhappy that I hardly knew what I said. I ought to have waited and -thought before I spoke. If I could have guessed that you were to be -wounded--well, it is of no use now. I am very, very fond of you. In -spite of everything, if you felt the least love for me still, however -little, I would say, 'Let us be as we were, as long as it can last.' As -it is--" - -She paused and looked at him. He knew what she meant. If there were a -spark of love, she would forget everything and take him back on any -terms. For a moment the old struggle was violently resumed in his heart. -Ought he not, for her sake, to pretend love, and to live out his life as -best he could in the letter of devotion if not in the true spirit of -love? Or would not such an attempt necessarily be a failure, and bring -her more and more unhappiness with each month and year? He only -hesitated for an instant while she paused; then he determined to say -nothing. That was really the turning-point in Pietro Ghisleri's life. - -"As it is," continued Maddalena, a little unsteadily, but with a brave -effort, "nothing but friendship is possible. Let it at least be a true -and honest friendship which neither of us need be ashamed of. Let all -the world see it. Go your way, and I will go mine, so far as the rest is -concerned. If you love Lady Herbert, marry her, if she will have you, -when her mourning is over." - -"I do not love Lady Herbert at all," said Ghisleri with perfect truth. - -"Well--if you should, or any other woman. Let the world say what it -will, it cannot invent anything worse than it has said of me already. -You owe me nothing--nothing but that,--to be a true friend to me always, -as I will be to you as long as I live." - -She put out her hand, and he took it and pressed it. As she felt his, -the bright tears started to her eyes. - -"What is it?" he asked tenderly, bending towards her as he spoke. - -"Nothing," she answered hastily. "Your hand is so thin--how foolish of -me! I suppose you will grow to be as strong as ever?" - -He saw how she still loved him, in spite of all. It was not too late -even now to renew the comedy, but his resolution had grown strong and -unalterable in a few moments. - -"You are much too good to me," he said softly. "I have not deserved -it--but I will try to." - -"Do not let us speak of all this any more for the present," she replied. -"Since we are friends, let us talk of other things, as friends do." - -It was not easy, but Ghisleri did his best, feeling that the effort must -be made sooner or later and had therefore best be made at once. He kept -up the conversation for nearly half an hour, and then rose to go. - -"Are you not very tired?" asked Maddalena, anxiously. - -"Not at all. I am much stronger than I look." - -"Indeed I hope you are!" she answered, looking at him sadly. "Good-bye. -Come soon again." - -"Yes, I will come very soon." - -Ghisleri went out and had himself driven about the city for an hour in -the bright spring weather. It was all new to him now, and he looked at -people and things with a sort of interest he had long forgotten to feel. -A few of his acquaintances recognised him at once, and waved their hats -to him if they chanced to be men, or made pretty gestures with their -hands if they were women. But the greater number did not know him at -first, and stared after the death-like face and the gaunt figure wrapped -in a fur coat that had grown far too wide. - -He was very glad that the first meeting with Maddalena was over, for he -had looked forward to it with considerable anxiety. Something like what -had actually been said about friendship had been inevitable, as he now -saw, but he had not realised how much he was still loved, nor that -Maddalena could so far humiliate herself as to show that she cared for -him still, and to offer a renewal of their old relations. Even now, -could he have seen her pale and tear-stained face as she sat motionless -in the place where he had left her, he might possibly have been weak -enough to yield, strong as his determination was not to do so. But that -sight was spared him, and he was glad that he had held his peace when -she had paused to give him an opportunity of speaking. It was far better -so. To act a miserable play with her, no matter from what so-called -honourable motive of consideration, would be to make her life far more -unhappy than it would ultimately be if she knew the truth. He was -satisfied with what he had done, therefore, when he went back to his -rooms and lay down to rest after the fatigue of his first day out. But -the meeting had left a very sad and painful impression, and all that he -felt of remorse and regret for what he had done was doubled now. He -hated to think that by his fault she was cast upon the world, with -little left to save her, "trying to amuse herself," as she had said, and -he wondered at her gentleness and kindness to himself, so different from -her behaviour at their last meeting. That, at least, comforted him. In a -woman who could thus forgive there must be depths of goodness which -would ultimately come to the surface. He remembered how often he had -thought her hard, unjust, unkind, and, above all, unbelieving, in the -days that succeeded the first outbursts of unreasoning love, and how, -even while loving her, he had not always found it easy not to judge her -harshly. She was very different now. Possibly, since she felt that she -had lost her old power over him, she would be less impatient with him -when she did not understand him, and when he displeased her. Come what -might, treat him as she would, he owed her faithful allegiance and -service--and those at least he could give. He could never atone to her, -but in the changing scenes of the world he might, by devoting to her -interest all the skill and tact he possessed, make her life happier and -easier. - -Before night he received a note from Laura Arden. She wrote that she had -seen him driving, though he had not seen her pass, as he had been -looking in the opposite direction. If he was able to bear the fatigue of -making a call, she begged that he would come to her at any hour he chose -to name, as she wished to speak to him. He answered at once that he -would be at her house on the following day at three o'clock. - -He knew very well what she wanted, and why she did not wait until he -came of his own accord. She meant to speak to him of the duel, and her -questions would be hard to answer, since she was probably in ignorance -of many details of his former life, familiar enough to people of his own -age. He knew, of course, that the world said he had really fought on her -account, and that he could never prevail upon the world to think -otherwise. But he was very anxious that Laura herself should know the -truth. She might forgive him for having let people believe that she had -been concerned in the matter rather than Maddalena dell' Armi, out of -womanly consideration for the latter, but she would assuredly not pardon -him if she continued to suppose that he had made her the subject of -useless gossip. - -The situation was not an easy one. - -At the appointed hour he entered her drawing-room. He was almost -startled by her beauty when he first saw her standing opposite to him. -She had developed in every way during the many weeks since he had seen -her. The perfectly calm and regular life she led had produced its -inevitable good effect. She, on her part, was almost as much shocked by -his looks as Maddalena had been. - -"Have I not asked too much of you?" she inquired, pushing forward a -comfortable chair for him, and arranging a cushion in it. - -"Not at all. Thanks," he added, as he sat down, "you are very good, but -pray do not imagine that I am an invalid." - -"I only saw you in the street," she said, almost apologetically. "I did -not realise how desperately ill you still looked. Please forgive me." - -"But I should have come to-day or to-morrow in any case," protested -Ghisleri. "After what has happened--yes, I think I know why you sent for -me. You have heard what every one is saying. The men who came to see me -before I could go out told me all about it. I knew beforehand that it -would turn out as it has, though we gave our seconds another excuse, as -you have probably also heard, and which, if the truth were known, was -much nearer to betraying the cause of the quarrel than any one supposed. -Am I right? You wished to ask me why I had the impertinence to fight a -duel about you. Is that it?" - -"I would not put it in that way," said Laura. "But I did wish to ask you -why you took the matter up so violently. Please do not enter into the -question now--you are not strong enough. I am very sorry indeed that I -wrote to you." - -"You need not be, for I am quite able to tell you all about it. I have -thought the matter over, and I think you will forgive me if I tell you -the whole story from beginning to end. It is a confidence, and I have -not the least fear that you will betray it. If you are not willing to -hear it, you will always believe that I have wantonly made you the talk -of the town. It is entirely to justify myself in your eyes that I ask -you to listen to what I am going to say. Some points may shock you a -little. Have I your leave?" - -"Yes--if you really wish to tell me for your own sake. For mine, I do -not ask you to tell me anything." - -"It is for my own sake. I am quite selfish. When you have heard all, you -will know more or less the history of my life, of which many people know -certain details." - -He paused and leaned back in his deep chair, closing his eyes a moment -as though he were collecting his thoughts. Laura settled herself to -listen, turning in her seat so as not to face him, but so that she -could look at him while he was speaking. - -"I have never told any one this story," he began, "for I have never had -any good reason for doing so. When I was a very young man I loved the -Princess Corleone, who was, by her maiden name, Donna Bianca -Campodonico, the daughter of the old Duca di Norba who died of -paralysis, and own sister to Gianforte Campodonico, with whom I fought -this duel. I loved that lady with all my heart to the day of her death, -and being young and tactless, I showed it too much. Her brother, -Gianforte, hated me in consequence, because there was talk about his -sister and me--and our names were constantly coupled together. I did my -best to remain on civil terms with him, but at last he insulted me -openly and we fought. This first duel took place a little more than six -years ago, in Naples, where Donna Bianca lived after her marriage. -Campodonico did his best to kill me, and at last I ran him through the -arm. On the ground, without heeding the slight wound which disabled his -right arm, he demanded pistols, but the seconds on both sides refused, -and declared the affair terminated. As the original challenge had come -from me, his position was quite untenable. He sought occasion after that -to insult me again, but I avoided him. Then the Princess fell ill. Two -days before she died, she had herself carried into the drawing-room, and -sent for me. Her brother was already there. She made us both promise -that for her sake we would never quarrel again. We joined hands and -solemnly bound ourselves, for we knew she was dying. Then I took leave -of her. I never saw her again, and I shall not see her hereafter." - -He paused a moment, but not a muscle of his face betrayed emotion. Laura -had listened with breathless interest. - -"Do not say that," she said softly. - -"I lived alone for a long time," continued Ghisleri, without heeding her -remark. "Then at last I came back to the world, and did many things, -mostly bad, of which I need not speak. I fell a little in love, now and -then, and at last somewhat more seriously with a lady of whom we will -not speak, against whose good name no slander had ever been breathed. -Now I come to the events which caused the duel. People have been saying -that you have the evil eye and are a jettatrice. The absurd tale is -repeated from mouth to mouth, and will ultimately make society here -unbearable for you. You are enough of a Roman to understand that. There -was a big dinner at San Giacinto's one night, and Campodonico and I sat -opposite to each other. He believes in this nonsense and I do not. -Pietrasanta mentioned your name, and accidentally broke a glass at -almost the same moment. Then a discussion arose about the existence of -such a thing as the evil eye, and Campodonico and I talked about it -across the table, while everybody listened. We exchanged a few rather -incisive remarks, but nothing more. That was the end of the matter so -far as you were concerned, and it was owing to this discussion that -people said we fought on your account." - -"I see," said Laura. "It was all a mistake, then?" "Yes. But I suppose -Campodonico was irritated. In the drawing-room I lit a cigarette, and -stood some time looking at a copy of Zichy's picture of Tamara falling -into the Demon's arms. Tamara chances to be a very striking likeness of -the Princess Corleone, and if I had reflected that Campodonico might -have also noticed the fact, I would not have stood there looking at it -as I did. But I forgot. Before I knew it, he was at my elbow, evidently -very angry, for he perfectly understood why I liked the picture. He -asked me whether I did not think that a solemn promise such as we had -made might be broken under certain circumstances. I said I did not think -so. He lost his temper completely, and said I was a coward. I still -refused to quarrel with him, and he grew more and more insulting, until -at last he began a sentence which I would not let him end, to the effect -that, could Donna Bianca have been there to judge us both, she might -wish the promise broken--I suppose that would have been his -inference--if she could have seen that the man she had loved had fallen -so low as to love the lady to whom I referred a little while ago. He -named her. I answered that Donna Bianca never meant that our promise -should shield the liar who slandered a good and defenceless woman, -because his name chanced to be Campodonico. We told our seconds that we -had quarrelled about the talent of Zichy, the painter of the picture, -because no immediate and better excuse suggested itself. That is the -whole story." - -"It is a very strange one," said Laura, in a low voice, and looking up -at his pale face. "If people only knew the truth about what they see! -Tell me, Signor Ghisleri, is it a fact that you did not fire at him?" - -"Yes." - -"Why did you not?" - -"Because--if you really care to know--I still felt bound to my promise, -and I should never have forgiven myself if I had hurt him. Will you say -that you understand the rest of the story, and will you forgive me if I -let it be thought that the duel was about you?" - -"Indeed I forgive you," Laura answered without hesitation. "You acted -splendidly all through, and I would not--" - -"Please do not praise me," said Ghisleri, interrupting her with word and -gesture. "Whatever I did was only the consequence of former actions of -mine, most of which were bad in themselves. Besides, I have told you all -this by way of an apology, and I thank you very sincerely for accepting -it. Let the matter end there." - -"Very well. That need not prevent me from thinking what I please, need -it?" - -"I shall always be really grateful for any kind thought you give me." - -Laura was silent for a moment. She was surprised to find that her old -feeling of dislike for him had greatly diminished. She had not even -noticed it when he had entered the room, for she had been at once struck -by his appearance of ill-health, and her first instinct had been that of -sympathy for him. And now, whatever effect his personality produced on -her, she could hardly conceal her admiration of his conduct. He had told -the story very simply, and she felt that he had told it truthfully, and -that she was able to judge of the man from a new point of view. She -could not but appreciate the courage he had shown in bearing insult, and -at last, in not returning his adversary's fire, and he rose in her -estimation because he had done these things for the sake of a woman he -had really loved. - -"May I ask you one question?" she inquired after the pause. - -"Of course, and I will answer it if I can." - -"I dare say you remember something you told me about yourself a long -time ago--how you distrust yourself, and torment yourself about -everything you do. Will you tell me whether you have found any fault -with your own conduct in this affair, apart from everything which went -before the dinner party at which you met Don Gianforte? It would -interest me very much to know." - -Ghisleri thought over his answer for a few seconds before he gave it. - -"Except in so far as I involved your name in the affair," he said, "I do -not think I reproach myself with anything very definite." - -He had hardly finished speaking when the door opened, and Donald -announced Don Francesco and Donna Adele Savelli. A very slight shadow -passed over Laura's face, as she rose to meet her step-sister, but -Ghisleri remained cold and impassive. Adele started perceptibly, as -Laura had done, when she saw him, and Ghisleri was struck by the change -in her own appearance. Her expression was that of a woman who is in -almost constant pain, and who has grown restless under it, and fears its -return at any moment. Her eyes turned uneasily, glancing about the room -in all directions, and avoiding the faces of those present. She was -pale, too, and looked altogether ill. - -"I am so glad to see you, Ghisleri," she said, after she had kissed the -air somewhere in the neighbourhood of Laura's cheek. "I had no idea you -were out already, and as we are going away to-morrow, I was afraid I -might not meet you." - -"Are you going out of town so soon?" asked Ghisleri, in some surprise. - -"Yes, I am ill, and they say I must go to the country. Do you remember -when you met me in the street, and recommended sulphonal? I took it, and -it did me good for some time. But then, all at once, I found it did not -act so well, and I lost my sleep again. I want the doctors to give me -something, but they say all those things become a habit--chloral, you -know, and morphia, and a great many things. As if I cared! I would not -mind any habit if I could only sleep--and I see things all night--ugh! -it is horrible! Have you ever had insomnia? It is quite the most -dreadful thing in the world." - -She shuddered, and Ghisleri could see well enough that the suffering to -which she referred was not at all imaginary. - -"No," he answered. "I have never had anything of that kind. When I go to -bed at all I sleep five or six hours very soundly." - -"How I envy you that! Even five or six hours--I, who used to sleep nine, -and always ten after a ball. And now I very often do not close my eyes -all night. The sulphonal did me so much good. Can you not tell me of -something else?" - -"The best way to get over it would be to find out what causes it, and -cure that," observed Ghisleri. "Generally, too, a quiet and healthy -life, exercise, plain food, and a good conscience will do good." He -laughed a little as he spoke, and then he noticed that Adele was looking -at him rather strangely. He wondered idly whether her mind were -wandering in some other direction. - -"Of course," he continued, "you have no idea of what produces the -trouble. If you could find that out, it would be simpler." - -"Yes, indeed," assented Adele, with a forced smile. "If all that is -necessary were to have a good conscience and walk an hour or two every -day, I should soon get well." - -"I have no doubt you will in any case. Are you going to Gerano, or to -your own place?" - -"To Gerano. It is warmer. Castel Savello is too high for the spring. I -should freeze there. It would be a charity if you would drive out and -spend a day or two with us, when you are stronger. I wish you would come -out and see us, Laura," she said, turning to her step-sister, to whom -Francesco was talking in a low voice. "You used to like Gerano when we -were girls. Do you remember dear old Don Tebaldo, who used to shed tears -because you were a Protestant?" - -"Indeed I do. I hear he is alive still. It is two years since I was -there the last time. Francesco has been telling me all about your -illness. I am so sorry. I should think you would do better to consult -some good specialist. But, of course, the country can do you no harm." - -"I hope not," said Adele, with sudden despondency. "I have borne enough -already. I could not bear much more." - -"Nobody can understand what is the matter with her," observed Francesco, -and his tone showed that he did not care. - -"You have let her dance too much this winter," said Laura, addressing -him. "You ought to keep her from over-tiring herself." - -"It is not easy to prevent Adele from doing anything she wishes to do," -answered Savelli. "This winter she has insisted on going everywhere. I -have warned her a hundred times, but she would not listen to me, and of -course this is the result." - -"When did it begin?" asked Ghisleri, who seemed interested in Adele's -mysterious illness. "When did you first lose your sleep?" - -"You remember," she answered. "We were just talking of our meeting in -the street, and the sulphonal. It was about that time--a little before -that, of course, for I had been suffering several days when I met you." - -"Ah, yes--I remember when that was," said Ghisleri, in a tone of -reflection. - -He joined in the conversation during a few minutes longer, and then took -leave of the three. Formerly he would have gone to spend an hour or two -with Maddalena, but he had no inclination to do so now. He would gladly -have stayed with Laura if the Savelli couple had not come. He wished to -be alone, now, and to think over what he had done. It was the first time -that he had ever told the story of his love for Bianca Corleone to any -one, and calm as he had seemed while telling it, he had felt a very -strong emotion. He was glad to be at home again, alone with his own -thoughts, and with the picture that reminded him of the dead woman. He -knew that she would have forgiven him for speaking of her to-day as he -had spoken, and to such a woman as Laura Arden. For in his heart he -compared the two. There had been grand lines in Bianca Corleone's -character, as there were in that of her passionate brother, as Ghisleri -believed there must be in Laura Arden's also, and great generosities, -the readiness to go to any length for the sake of real passion, the -power to hate honestly, to love faithfully, and to forgive wholly--all -things which Pietro missed in himself. And Laura had to-day waked the -memory of that great love which had once filled his existence, and which -had not ended with the life that had gone out before its day, in all its -beauty and freshness. He was grateful to her for that, and he sat long -in his chair after his lonely meal, thinking of her and of the other, -and of poor Maddalena dell' Armi, whose very name, sounding in his -imagination, sent a throb of remorse through his heart. - -A pencil lay near him and he took a sheet of paper and began to write, -as he often did when he was alone, scribbling verses without rhyme, and -often with little meaning except in their connection with his thoughts. -He was no poet. - - "A sweet, dark woman, with sad, holy eyes, - Laid her cool hand upon my heart to-day, - And touched the dear dead thing that's buried there. - Her saintly magic cannot make it live, - Nor sting once more with passionate deep thrill - The bright torn flesh where my lost love breathed last. - - "She has no miracles for me--nor God - Forgiveness, nor earth healing--nor death fear. - I think I fear life more--and yet, to live - Were easy work, could I but learn to die; - As, if I learned to live, I should hate death. - But I cannot hate death--not even death-- - Since that is dead which made death hateful once; - Nor hate I anything; let all live on, - Just and unjust, bad, good, indifferent, - Sinner and saint, man, devil, angel, martyr-- - What are they all to me? Good night, sweet rest-- - I wish you most what I can find the least. - We meet again soon. Have you heard the talk - About the latest scandal of our town? - No? Nor have I. I care less than I did - About the men and women I have known. - Good night--and thanks for being kind to me." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Donna Adele Savelli was ill. There was no denying the fact, though her -husband had ignored it as long as possible, and was very much annoyed to -find that he could not continue to do so until the usual time for moving -to the country arrived. As has been said already, the world attributed -her ill-health to some unexpected awakening of the family skeleton, and -when the Savelli couple suddenly retired to Gerano, it was sure that -Francesco had lost money and that they had gone for economy. But there -was no lack of funds in Casa Savelli. That ancient and excellent house -had, as a family, a keen appreciation of values great and small, and -continued to put away more of its income in safe investments than any -one knew of. Nor was there any other trouble to account for Adele's -illness, so far as any member of the household could judge. Every one -else was well, including the children. Everybody was prosperous. It was -not conceivable that Adele should have taken Herbert Arden's death to -heart in a way to endanger her own health. She might, perhaps, feel some -remorse for having spoken of him as she had--for Savelli had discovered -that something, at least, of the gossip could be traced to her--but she -could not be supposed to care so much as to fall ill. What she suffered -from was evidently some one of those mysterious nervous diseases which, -in Francesco's opinion, modern medical science had invented expressly in -order that it might deal with them. Unfortunately, the particular man of -learning who could cure Adele was not forthcoming. The doctors who were -consulted said that something was preying on her mind, and when she -assured them that this was not the case, they shrugged their shoulders -and prescribed soothing medicines, country air, and exercise. She -particularly dreaded the night, and could not bear to be left alone for -a moment after dark. She said she saw things; when asked what things she -saw, she seemed to draw upon her imagination. Francesco began to fear -that she might go mad, though there was no insanity in the Braccio -family. The prospect was not pleasing, and he would have greatly -preferred that she should die and leave him at liberty to marry Laura -Arden. He never dreamed that the latter would refuse to wed the heir of -all the Savelli, if he were free to ask her hand, and in his cautious, -unenterprising fashion he loved her still, while remaining religiously -faithful to his wife--and not, on the whole, treating her unkindly. The -consequence of all this was that he made her try the simple cure -suggested by the doctors, and accompanied her to Gerano in the early -spring. - -The hereditary stronghold from which the head of the Braccio family took -his principal title was a vast and gloomy fortress in the lower range of -the Sabine mountains, situated in a beautiful country, and overlooking -the broad Campagna that lay between it and the distant sea. The great -dark walls were flanked by round towers, and were in some places ten and -twelve feet thick, so that the deep embrasures of the windows were in -themselves like little rooms opening off the great halls behind. The -furniture was almost all old, and was well in keeping with the vaulted -ceilings, the frescoed friezes, and the dark marble door-posts. Donna -Adele's sleeping-chamber was as large as most of the drawing-rooms in -the Palazzo Braccio, and her dressing-room was almost of the same size. -To reach the hall in which she and her husband dined, it was necessary -to traverse five other rooms and a vaulted passage fifty or sixty yards -long, in which the steps of any one who passed echoed and rang on the -stone pavement, and echoed again during some seconds afterwards in a -rather uncanny fashion. The sitting-room was next to the dining-hall, -and consequently also at a great distance from the bedrooms. There was -more of comfort in it than elsewhere, for the walls were hung with -tapestries, and there was a carpet on the floor, whereas in the other -apartments there were only rugs thrown down here and there, where they -were most needed; here, too, the doors had heavy curtains. But, on the -whole, a more ghostly and gloomy place than the castle of Gerano could -hardly be imagined, especially at dusk when the blackness deepened in -the remote corners and recesses of the huge chambers, and the sculptured -corbels of grey stone, high up at the spring of each arch, grew shadowy -and alive with hideous grimaces in the gathering dimness. - -Adele had never been subject to any fear of the supernatural, and the -old place was so familiar to her from childhood, that she had looked -forward with pleasure to seeing it again. She was attached to almost -everything connected with it, to the walls themselves, to her own rooms, -to the ugly corbels, to the lame old warder, Giacomo, and to his wife -who helped him to take care of the rooms. She was a woman quite capable -of that sort of feeling, and capable, indeed, of much more, had it -fallen in her path. She could not have hated as she did, if she had not -had some power to love also. Circumstances, however, had developed the -one far more than the other, for her first great passion had been -jealousy. - -She and Francesco reached the castle in the afternoon of the day -following their visit to Laura Arden. The weather was fine and the -westering sun streamed through the broad windows and lent everything a -passing air of life and almost of gaiety. During the first hours, Adele -felt that she must soon be better, and that she could find some rest at -last in the atmosphere which recalled her childish days and all her -peaceful girlhood. - -But when the sun was low and the golden light turned to purple and then -to fainter hues, and died away into twilight, she shivered as she sat in -the deep window-seat, and she called to her husband, telling him to -order the lamps. - -"You used to like the dusk," he observed, as he tugged at the -old-fashioned bell-rope. "I cannot imagine what makes you so afraid of -being in the dark." - -"Nor I," she said nervously. "It must be part of my illness. Please have -as much light as possible, and lamps in the passage and in our rooms as -well." - -"I suppose candles will do," answered Savelli. "I do not believe there -are more than half a dozen lamps out here. Your people always bring them -when they come." - -"Oh, candles, then--anything! Only let me have plenty of light. If there -were no night, I should get well." - -"Unfortunately, nature has not provided that form of cure for -invalids," said Savelli, with a laugh. "But we will do our best," he -added, always willing to humour his wife in anything reasonable. - -The servants' quarters were very far away, and several minutes elapsed -before a man appeared, and Francesco could give the necessary orders. -The gloom deepened, and Adele came from her place at the window, -evidently in some sort of distress. She sat down close to her -husband--almost cowering at his side. He could not see her face clearly, -but he understood that she was frightened. - -"I wish you would tell me what it is you see in the dark," he said, with -a sort of good-natured impatience. - -"Oh, please do not talk about it!" she cried. "Talk to me of something -else--talk, for Heaven's sake, talk, until they bring the lamps! I -sometimes think I shall go mad when there is no light." - -It is not a particularly easy affair to comply, at short notice, with -such a request for voluble conversation, especially when there is no -extraordinary sympathy between two people, nor any close community of -ideas. But it chanced that Savelli had been reading the papers he had -brought with him, and he began to tell Adele the news he had read, so -that he managed to keep up a fairly continuous series of sentences until -the first lamp was placed on the table. - -"Thank you, Carissimo," she said. "No shade!" she exclaimed quickly, as -the man was about to slip one over the light. - -"Do you feel better now?" inquired Francesco, with some amusement. - -"Yes--much better," she answered, drawing a long breath, and seating -herself by the table in the full glare of the unshaded lamp. "I only ask -one thing," she continued: "Do not leave me if you can help it, and go -with me when we go to our room. I am ashamed of it, but I am so nervous -that I am positively afraid to be alone." - -"Would it not be better to have a nurse out, to stay with you all the -time?" inquired Francesco, who had an eye to his own liberty and -comfort, and had no idea of spending several weeks in perpetual -attendance on his wife. "And there is your maid, too. She might help." - -"I have taken such a dislike to that woman that I hate the sight of -her." - -"I suppose that is a part of your illness," answered her husband -philosophically. - -On that first evening he scrupulously fulfilled her wishes, and followed -her closely when she went from room to room. He was in a certain degree -anxious, for her allusion to possible madness coincided with his own -preconceived opinion of her case, and he dreaded such a termination very -greatly. He saw that what she said was quite true, and that she was -unaffectedly frightened if he left her side for a moment. On the -following day he sent a messenger to the city to procure a nurse, for he -saw that he could not otherwise count on an hour's freedom. Being a -careful man, he wished that Adele might have been contented to be -followed about by her maid and a woman from the place, but she refused -altogether to agree to such an arrangement. In her nervous condition, -she could not bear the constant presence of a person for whom she felt -an unreasoning repulsion. Moreover, she had almost decided to send Lucia -away and to get some one more congenial in her place. - -Several days passed in this way, and if she was no better she was not -worse. She drove and walked in the spring sunshine, and felt refreshed -by the clear air of the country, but the nights were as unbearable as -ever,--endless, ghostly, full of imaginary horrors, although the lamps -burned brightly in her room till sunrise, and the patient nurse sat by -her bedside reading to herself, and sometimes reading aloud when Adele -desired it. Occasionally, and more often towards morning, snatches of -broken sleep interrupted the monotony of the long-drawn-out suffering. - -Adele had implored the doctor who had charge of her case to give her -opiates, or at least chloral; but he had felt great hope that the change -to a country life would produce an immediate good effect, and had -represented to her in terms almost exaggerated the danger of taking such -remedies. The habit once formed, he said, soon became a slavery, and in -nervous organisations like hers was very hard to break. People who took -chloral often ended by taking morphia, and Donna Adele had doubtless -heard enough about the consequences of employing this drug to dread it, -as all sensible persons did. Adele was very far from being persuaded, -but as she could not procure what she wanted without a doctor's order, -which she could not obtain, she was obliged to fall back on the -sulphonal which Ghisleri had recommended to her. She took it in large -quantities, but it had almost ceased to produce any effect, though she -attributed the little rest she got to its influence. The doctor was to -come out and see her at the end of a week, unless sent for especially. -Before the seven days were out, however, a crisis occurred, brought -about by a slight accident, which made his presence imperatively -necessary. - -One evening, immediately after dinner, Adele had seated herself in a low -chair by the table in the drawing-room, and had taken up a novel. For a -wonder, it had interested her when she had begun it in the afternoon, -and she returned to it with unwonted delight, looking forward to the -prospect of losing herself in the story during a few hours before going -to bed. Not far from her Savelli sat with that day's papers, gleaning -the news of the day in an idle fashion, and smoking a cigarette. He -rarely smoked anything else, but for some reason or other, he had, on -this particular night, discovered that only a cigar would satisfy him. -Many men are familiar with that craving, but the satisfaction of it -rarely leads to distinct and important results. Francesco rose from his -seat, laid down his paper, and went in search of what he wanted, well -knowing that he could get it much faster than by a servant, and -forgetting that he must leave his wife alone for a few minutes in order -to go to his dressing-room where he kept the box. As has been said, the -drawing-room was carpeted, and his step made very little noise. Adele, -intensely interested in what she was reading, paid less attention to his -movements than usual, and indeed supposed that he had only risen to get -something from another table. The heavily curtained door which opened -upon the great vaulted passage before mentioned was behind her as she -sat, and she did not realise that Francesco was gone until she heard his -echoing footsteps on the stone pavement outside. Then she started, and -almost dropped her book. She held her breath for a moment and then -called him. But he walked quickly, and was already out of hearing. Only -the booming echo reached her through the curtains, reverberated, and -died away. There was nothing to be done but to wait, for she had not the -courage to face the dim passage alone and run after him. She clutched -her book tightly and tried to read again, pronouncing almost aloud the -words she saw. A minute or two passed, and then she heard the echo -again. Francesco was returning. No, it was not his walk. She turned very -pale as she listened. It was the step of a very lame man, irregular and -painful. The novel fell to the ground, and she grasped the arms of her -chair. It was exactly like Arden's step; she had heard it before, in the -gallery at her father's palace, where the floor was of marble. Nearer -and nearer it came, in a sort of triple measure--two shorts and a long, -like an anapæst--and the sharp click of the stick between. She tried to -look behind her, but her blood froze in her veins, and she could not -move. Every instant increased her agony of fear. A moment more and -Herbert Arden would be upon her. Suddenly a second echo, that of -Francesco Savelli's firm, quick step reached her ears. Then she heard -voices, and as the curtain was lifted she recognised the tones of old -Giacomo, the lame warder, who had met her husband in the passage, and -was asking for the orders to be given to the carter who started for -Rome every other night and brought back such provisions as could not be -obtained in Gerano. - -Adele sank back in her chair, almost fainting, in her sudden relief from -her ghostly fears. Savelli talked some time with Giacomo. With a great -effort at self-command, Adele took up her novel again and held it before -her eyes, while her heart beat with terrible violence after having -almost stood still while the fright had lasted. Then Francesco came in, -with a lighted cigar between his teeth. - -"Do you wish to send anything to Rome--any message?" he asked. "Nothing -else, Giacomo," he said, as he saw that she shook her head. - -"Good rest, Excellency," she heard Giacomo say. Then the curtain -dropped, the door was closed from without, and she listened once more to -the lame man's retreating footsteps--terribly like Herbert Arden's walk, -though she was not frightened now. - -"I asked you not to leave me alone," she said, as Savelli resumed his -seat and took up the paper again. - -"It was only for a minute," he answered indifferently. "I wanted a -cigar. I hope you were not frightened this time." - -"No. But I might have been. Another time, please ring for what you -want." - -Savelli, who was already deep in the local news about Rome, made an -inarticulate reply intended for assent, and nothing more was said. Adele -took up her book again and did her best to read, but without -understanding a word as she followed the lines. - -That night, in despair, she swallowed a larger dose of sulphonal than -she had ever taken before. The consequence was that towards two o'clock -she fell asleep and seemed more quiet than usual, as the nurse watched -her. An hour passed without her waking, then another, and then the dawn -stole through the panes of the deep windows, and daylight came at last. -The room was quite light, and Adele was generally awake at that hour. -But this morning she slept on. The nurse was accustomed to take away -the lamps as soon as Adele needed them no longer, not extinguishing them -in the room on account of the disagreeable smell they made. It chanced -on this occasion--or fate had decreed it--that one of these gave signs -of going out. The nurse rose very softly and took it away, moving -noiselessly in her felt slippers, passing through the open door of the -dressing-room in order to reach the corridor in which the lamps were -left to be taken and cleaned at a later hour. She set the one she -carried upon a deal table which stood there, and tried to put it out, so -as to leave no part of the wick still smouldering, lest it should smoke. -She was a very careful and methodical woman, and took pains to be neat -in doing the smallest things. Just now, too, she was in no hurry, for it -was broad daylight, and Adele would not be nervous if she awoke and -found herself alone. - -And Adele was awake. She opened her eyes wearily, realised that there -was no one beside her, and sat up staring at the bright window. Being -nervous, restless, and never at any time languid, she got up, threw a -wrapper over her, and went to the door of the dressing-room, meaning to -look at the rising sun, which was visible from the window on the other -side, the dressing-room itself being at one of the angles of the castle, -with a door leading from the corner of it into the tower. - -Adele paused on the threshold, started, stared at something, turned, and -uttered a piercing scream of terror. A moment later she fell in a heap -upon the floor. She had distinctly seen Herbert Arden's figure standing -at one of the windows, his head and hands alone concealed by the inner -shutter which, by an accident, was not wide open, but was turned about -half-way towards the panes. He was dressed in dark blue serge, as she -had often seen him in life, with rather wide trousers almost concealing -the feet, and a round jacket. She had even seen how the cloth was -stretched at the place where his shoulder was most crooked, and how it -hung loosely about his thin figure below that point. He was standing -close to the window, with his back almost quite turned towards her, -apparently looking out, though the shutter hid his face. The whole -attitude was precisely as she had often noticed it when he was alive, -and chanced to be looking at something in the street--the misshapen, -protruding shoulder, the right leg bent in more than the other, not a -detail was missing as she came upon the vision suddenly in the cold -morning light. - -The nurse was at her side almost instantly, bending over her and raising -her as well as she could. A moment later the maid rushed in,--she slept -on the other side of the corridor where the nurse had left the -lamp,--and then Francesco Savelli himself, who temporarily occupied a -room next to Adele's and who appeared, robed in a wide dressing-gown of -dark brown velvet, and showing signs of considerable anxiety. He reached -the door before which his wife had fainted and lifted her in his arms. -As he regained his upright position, his eyes naturally fell upon the -figure standing at the window. His sight was not remarkably good, and -from the fact of the shutter being half closed the dressing-room was -darker than the sleeping-chamber. The impression he had was strong and -distinct. - -"Who is that man?" he asked, staring at what he saw, while he held -Adele's unconscious form in his arms. - -The nurse and the maid both started and looked round. The latter laughed -a little, involuntarily. - -"It is not a man, Excellency," she said. "It is Donna Adele's serge -driving cloak. I hung it there last night because there are not enough -hooks in the dressing-room for all her Excellency's things." - -She went to the window and took the mantle, which had been hung upon the -knob of the old-fashioned bolt by the two tapes sewn under the shoulders -for the purpose. The folds of the lower part had taken the precise shape -of a man's wide trousers, and the cape, falling half way only, hung -exactly like a jacket, the fulness caused by gathering the upper -portion together at one point, giving the appearance of a hump on a -man's back. - -"That was what frightened her," said Savelli, as he turned away with his -burden. "I do not wonder--the thing looked just as Lord Herbert did when -he used to stand at the window." - -Adele came to herself in a state of the utmost prostration. Her husband -explained to her carefully what had happened, and tried to persuade her -that she had been the victim of an optical illusion, but though she did -not deny this, he could see that the occurrence had produced a very deep -impression on her mind, and had perhaps had an even more serious effect -on her nerves. He despatched a messenger to Rome for the doctor, and -after doing all he could left her to the care of her nurse and maid and -went out for a walk in the hills, glad to be free for a while from the -irksome task imposed upon him when he remained at home. - -While making the most desperate attempts to control herself, Adele was -in a state of the wildest and most conflicting emotion. Her strength -returned, indeed, in a certain measure after a few hours, but her -distress seemed rather to increase than to diminish, when she was able -to walk about the room and submit to being dressed. Her maid irritated -her unaccountably, too, and at last, giving way to the impulse she had -felt so long, she told her that she must go at the end of the month. - -The maid, Lucia by name, had for some time expected that her days in -Casa Savelli were numbered, for Adele had shown her dislike very plainly -of late, so that the woman did not show much surprise, and accepted her -dismissal respectfully and quietly, promising herself to tell tales in -her next place concerning Adele's toilette which, though without the -slightest foundation, would be repeated and believed all over Rome. - -Later in the day Adele shut herself up in her room, at the time when the -sunshine was streaming in and making everything look bright and -cheerful. She stayed there a long time, and the thoughtful Lucia, -watching her through the keyhole, saw with surprise that her mistress -spent almost an hour upon her knees before the dark old crucifix which -hung above the prayer-stool opposite to the door of the dressing-room. -She noticed that Adele from time to time beat her breast, and then -buried her face in her hands for many minutes. The nurse was asleep far -away and Lucia was quite safe. At last Adele rose, and as though acting -under an irresistible impulse sat down at a table on which she kept her -own writing materials, and began to write rapidly. For a long time she -kept her seat, and her hand moved quickly over the paper. Then, when she -seemed to have finished, she took up the sheets as though she meant to -read them over, and did in fact read a few lines. She dropped the paper -suddenly, and Lucia saw the look of horror that was in her white face. -She seemed to hesitate, rose, turned, and made two steps towards the -crucifix, then returned, and hastily folded up the lengthy letter and -slipped it into a large envelope, on which she wrote an address before -she left the table a second time. When she opened the door of the -dressing-room to call Lucia, the maid was quietly seated by a window -with a piece of needle-work, and rose respectfully as her mistress -entered. - -"Send me Giacomo," said Adele, holding the letter in her hand, but as -Lucia went towards the door, she stopped her. "No," she said suddenly. -"Take this to him yourself; tell him to have it registered at once, and -to bring me back the receipt from the post-office. Tell him to be -careful, as it is very important. I am going to lie down. Come to me -some time before sunset." - -Lucia took the letter and went out into the corridor. Adele listened a -moment, then went back into her room, bolting the door behind her, as -well as turning the key in the lock. Since her fright in the morning, -she instinctively barricaded herself on that side. But at present the -sunshine was so bright and the place was so cheerful that her fears -seemed almost groundless. - -She lay down and closed her eyes. In spite of all the emotions of terror -she had suffered on the previous evening and to-day, and although the -writing of any letter so long as the one she had just finished must -necessarily be very tiring, she felt better than she had been for a long -time, and would perhaps have fallen asleep if the doctor had not arrived -from Rome soon afterwards. - -On learning all that had happened, he yielded at last to necessity, and -gave her chloral to take in small doses, showing her how to use it. It -was evident that unless she slept she must break down altogether before -long, and it was no longer safe to let nature have her own way. He had -brought the medicine with him, and gave it into Francesco's keeping, -cautioning him not to let her use it in larger quantities than he had -prescribed. After giving various pieces of good advice he returned to -the city. - -Lucia gave her mistress the receipt for the registered letter, and Adele -put it away in the small jewel-case she had brought with her to the -country. That night she took the chloral, and fell asleep peacefully -before half-past eleven o'clock, not to awake until nearly nine on the -following morning. She felt so much better for the one night's rest that -she went for a long walk with her husband, ate well for the first time -in many weeks, and went to bed again almost without having felt a -sensation of fear all day nor during the evening. Once more the chloral -had the desired effect, and on the second morning she began to imagine -that she was recovering. The world looked bright and cheerful, the -swallows wheeled and darted before her windows, and the thrushes and -blackbirds sang far down among the fruit-trees. Even Francesco was less -tiresome and unsympathetic than usual. She was in such a good humour -that she almost repented of having dismissed Lucia. - -Then the blow came. The post brought her a letter addressed in a small, -even handwriting, very plain and entirely without flourish or -ornament--such a hand as learned men and theologians often write. The -contents read as follows: - - "MOST EXCELLENT PRINCESS, I have to inform you that I have just - received, registered, and evidently addressed by your most excellent - hand, an envelope bearing the Gerano postmark, but containing only - four blank sheets of ordinary writing paper. As I cannot suppose - that your Excellency has designed to make me the object of a jest, - and as it is to be feared that the blank paper has been substituted - for a writing of importance, by some malicious person, I have - immediately informed your Excellency of what has occurred. Awaiting - any instruction or enlightenment with regard to this subject which - it may please you, most Excellent Princess, to communicate, I write - myself - - "Your Excellency's most humble, obedient servant, - - "BONAVENTURA, R.R. P.P.O. Min." - -Now Padre Bonaventura of the Minor Order of St. Francis was Adele's -confessor in Rome. After the long struggle which Lucia had watched -through the door, Adele's conscience had got the upper hand, aided by -the belief that in following its dictates she would be doing the best -she could towards recovering her peace of mind. Not being willing to go -to the parish priest of Gerano, who had known her and all her family -from her childhood, and who was by no means a man able to give very wise -advice in difficult cases, and being, moreover, afraid of rousing her -husband's suspicions if she insisted upon going to Rome merely to -confess, she had written out a most careful confession of those sins of -which she accused herself, and, as is allowable in extreme cases, had -sent it by post to Padre Bonaventura. - -The news that such a document had never reached its destination would -have been enough to disturb most people. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -Laura Arden's plans for the summer were not by any means settled, but -she was anxious to leave Rome soon, both because travelling in the heat -would be bad for little Herbert, and because she wished to quit the -rather expensive apartment in which she had continued to live after her -husband's death. A far smaller and less pretentious dwelling would be -amply sufficient for her next winter, and in the meantime she intended -to go to some quiet town either in Switzerland or by the seaside, and to -keep as much alone as possible. Her mother might be willing to spend a -month or two with her, and Laura would be very glad of her company, but -there was no one else whose society she desired. She could, of course, -go to England and stay at her brother-in-law's house in solemn and -solitary state, but she feared the long journey for her child, and she -cared little for the sort of existence she must lead in the magnificent -country-seat, in the absence of the Lulworths themselves. It would be -pleasant to lead a very simple and quiet life somewhere out of the -world, and as far as possible from the scene of all her sufferings. If -Adele and Francesco had not appeared while Ghisleri was making his first -visit, she would probably have asked his advice. He had been almost -everywhere, and being himself fond of solitude, would in all likelihood -have told her of some beautiful and secluded spot where she could live -in the way she desired. But in the presence of her step-sister she had -not cared to speak on the subject. - -After they had left her she thought a long time of Ghisleri and his -story, and, for the first time in her life, she wished she might see him -again before long. He had shown her a side of himself which she had -neither seen nor guessed at before, and she began to understand, dimly -at first and then more clearly, the strong liking her husband had always -shown for him. He was capable of deep and earnest beliefs and of high -and generous impulses, in spite of his contempt for himself and of the -irregular life he led. His present existence, so far as she knew -anything of it, she condemned as unworthy. She was not, however, a woman -so easily shocked at the spectacle of evil in the lives of others as -might have been expected. There was a great deal of sound good sense in -the composition of her character, and she had seen enough of the world -to have learnt that perfection is a word used to define what is a little -better than the average. What she had disliked in Ghisleri from her -first acquaintance with him was not connected with his reputation, of -which, at that time, she had known very little. Besides, though people -called him fast and wild and more or less heartless, he was liked, on -the whole, as much as any unmarried man in society. He was known to be -honourable, courageous, and very discreet, and the latter quality almost -invariably brings its reward in the end. That he should have been -entangled in more than one love affair was only what was to be expected -of such a man, at two or three and thirty years of age, and no one -really considered him any the worse on that account, while the great -majority of women thought him vastly more interesting for that very -reason. Laura was not, perhaps, so entirely different from the rest of -her sex as Ghisleri was fond of believing. Her education had not been -that of young Roman girls, it is true, and the singular circumstances of -her short married life had not developed her character in the same -direction as theirs generally was by matrimony. But in real womanliness -she was as much a woman as any of them, liable to the same influences -and to the same class of enthusiasms. Because she had loved and married -Herbert Arden, it did not follow that she could not and did not admire -all that was brave and generous and strong, independently of moral -weakness and faults. - -Arden himself, indeed, though he had excited her pity by his physical -defects, had commanded her respect by the manly courage he showed under -all his sufferings. She had been able to forget his deformity in the -superior gifts of intelligence and heart which had unquestionably been -his, and, after all, she had loved him most because she had felt that -but for an accident he would have been pre-eminently a manly man. -Cripple as he was, she had always known that she could rely on him, and -her instinct had always told her that he could protect her. - -But she had never trusted Ghisleri. He had the misfortune to show his -worst side to most people, and he had shown it to her. She had seen more -than once that he was ready to undertake and carry out almost anything -for his friend's sake, and she had been honestly grateful to him for all -he had done. But she had not been able, until now, to shake off that -feeling of distrust and timid dislike she had always felt in his -presence. She had, indeed, succeeded tolerably well in hiding it from -him, but it had always made her cold in conversation and somewhat formal -in manner, and he, being outwardly a rather formal and cold man had, so -to say, put himself in harmony with her key. For the first time in their -acquaintance, and under pressure of what he considered necessity, he had -suddenly unbent, and had told her the principal story of his life with a -frankness and simplicity that had charmed her. From that hour she judged -him differently. After that first visit, he went often to see her, and -on each occasion he felt drawn more closely to her than before. - -"You are very much changed," he said to her one day. "Do you mind my -saying it?" - -"Not in the least," Laura answered, with a smile. "But in what way am I -different?" - -"In one great thing, I think. You used to be very imposingly calm with -me. You never seemed quite willing to speak freely about anything. Now, -it is almost always you who make me talk by making me feel that you will -talk yourself. That is not very clearly put, is it? I do not know -whether you ever disliked me--if you did, you never showed it. But I -really begin to think that you almost like me. Is there any truth in -that?" - -"Yes--a great deal." She smiled again. "More truth than you guess--for I -do not mind saying it since it is all over. I did not like you, and I -used to try and hide it. But I like you now, and I am quite willing that -you should know it." - -"That is good of you--good as everything you do is. But I would really -like to know why you have changed your mind. May I?" - -"Because I have found out that you are not what I took you for." - -"Most discoveries of that kind are disappointments," observed Ghisleri, -with a dry laugh. - -"That is just the sort of remark I used to dislike you for," said Laura. -"The world is not all bad, and you know it. Yet out of ten observations -you make, nine, at least, would lead one to believe that you think it -is." - -"Excepting yourself, we are all as bad as we can be. What is the use of -denying it?" - -"We are not all bad, and I do not choose to be made an exception of. I -am just like other people, or I should be if I were placed as they are. -I not only am sure that you are not a bad man, but I am quite convinced -that in some ways you are a very good one." - -"What an odd mistake!" - -"Why do you persistently try to make yourself out worse than you are, -and to show your worst side to the world?" - -"I suppose that is the side most apparent to myself," answered Ghisleri. -"I cannot help seeing it." - -"Because you are not Launcelot, you take yourself for Cæsar Borgia--" - -"That would be flattering myself too much. Borgia was by far the more -intelligent of the two. Say Thersites." - -"I know nothing about Thersites." - -"Then say Judas. There seems to be very little difference of opinion as -to that personage's moral obliquity," Ghisleri laughed. - -"Very well," said Laura, gravely. "I suppose you have no doubt, then, -that Judas would have acted as you did in your affair with Don -Gianforte. He would, of course, have submitted to insult rather than -break a promise, and would have allowed--" - -"Will you please stop, Lady Herbert?" Ghisleri fixed his blue eyes on -her. - -"No, I will not," answered Laura, with decision. "What I like about you -is precisely what you try the most to hide, and I mean to see it and to -make you see it, if possible. You would be much happier if you could. I -suppose that if the majority of people could hear us talking now, they -would think our conversation utterly absurd. They would say that you -were posing, in order to make yourself interesting, and that I was -enough attracted by you to be deceived by the comedy. Is not that the -way the world would look at it?" - -"Probably," assented Ghisleri. "Perhaps I am really posing. I do not -pretend to know." - -"I am willing to believe that you are not, if you will let me, and I -would much rather. In the first place, you are, at all events, not any -worse than most men one knows. That is evident enough from your actions. -Secondly,--you see I am arguing the case like a lawyer,--if you had not -a high ideal of what you wish to be, you would not have such a poor -opinion of what you are. Is that clear?" - -"If there were no right, there could not possibly be any wrong. But -black would be black, even if you could only compare it with blue, -green, and yellow, instead of with white." - -"I am not talking of chromolithographs," said Laura. "What I say is -simple enough. If you did not wish to be good, and know what good means, -and if you had not a certain amount of goodness in you, you would not -think yourself so bad. And you are unhappy, as you have told me before -now, because you think all your motives are insincere, or vain, or -defective in some way. I suppose you wish to be happy, and if you do, -you must learn to find some satisfaction in having done your best. I -have said precisely what I mean, and you must not pretend to -misunderstand me." - -"Think yourself good, and you will be happy," observed Ghisleri. "That -is the modern form of the proverb." - -"Of course it is, and the better reason you really have for thinking -yourself good, the more real and lasting your happiness will be." - -Ghisleri laughed to himself, and at himself, as he went away, for being -so much impressed as he was by what Laura said. But he could not deny -that the impression had been made and remained for some time after he -had left her. There was a healthy common-sense about her mind which was -beginning to act upon the tortuous and often morbid complications of his -own. She seemed to know the straight paths and the short cuts to simple -goodness, and never to have guessed at the labyrinthine ways by which he -seemed to himself to be always trying to escape from the bugbear sent to -pursue him by the demon of self-mistrust. He laughed at himself, for he -realised how utterly impossible it would always be for him to think as -she did, or to look upon the world as she saw it. There had been a time -when he had thought more plainly, when a woman had exerted a strong -influence over him, and when a few good things and a few bad ones had -made up the sum of his life. But she was dead, and he had changed. Worse -than that, he had fallen. As he sat in his room and glanced from time to -time at the only likeness he had of Bianca Corleone, he thought of -Beatrice's reproach to Dante in the thirty-first canto of the -"Purgatory": - - "And yet, because thou'rt shamed of me in all - Thy sin, and that in later days to come - Thou mayst be brave, hearing the Siren's voice - Sow deep the seed of tears and hear me speak. - So shalt thou know how thou should'st have been moved - By my dead body in ways opposite. - Nor art nor nature had the power to tempt thee - With such delight as that fair body could - In which I lived--which now is scattered earth-- - And if the highest joy was lost to thee - By my young death, what mortal living thing - Should have had strength to drag thee down with it?" - -As he repeated the last words he started for they reminded him with -painful force of Gianforte Campodonico's insulting speech, and he -detested himself for even allowing the thought to cross his mind--for -allowing himself to repeat Beatrice's words up to that point. It was he -who had dragged down Maddalena dell' Armi to his level, not she who had -made him sink to hers. And yet Campodonico had said almost the same -thing as Beatrice, and certainly without knowing it. In his heart he -knew that Bianca might have reproached him so, but then, deeper still, -he knew that the reproach, from her lips, would have fallen on himself -alone, and would never have been meant for Maddalena. - -Ghisleri fell to thinking over his own life and the lives of others, in -one of those black moods which sometimes seized him and in which he -believed in no one's motives, from his own upward. In the course of his -lonely and bitter meditations, he came across an idea which at first -seemed wild and improbable enough, but which, little by little, took -shape as he concentrated his attention upon it, and at last chased every -other memory away. He was not naturally an over-suspicious man, but when -his suspicions were once roused he was apt to go far in pursuit of the -truth, if the matter interested him. He rose and got a book from the -shelves which lined one side of the wall, and began to turn over the -pages rapidly, until he stopped at the place he was looking for. He read -three or four pages very carefully twice over and returned the volume to -its place. Then he sat down to think, and did not move for another -quarter of an hour. At the end of that time he called his servant, a -quiet, hard-working fellow from the Abbruzzi, who rejoiced in the name -of Bonifazio. - -"Do you happen to know," he asked, "if there was much scarlet fever in -the city last winter? I have always wondered how poor Lord Herbert -caught it." - -Bonifazio had known Lord Herbert for years, just as Donald had known -Ghisleri, for the two friends had often made short journeys together, -taking their servants with them. The Italian thought a long time before -he gave an answer. - -"No, Signore. I do not remember hearing that there were many cases. But -then, I am not in the way of knowing. It may have been." - -"You are a very discreet man, Bonifazio," said Ghisleri. "Lord Herbert -fell ill on the day after he had dined in Casa Savelli. Do you think you -could find out for me whether any one of the servants had the scarlet -fever at that time?" - -"Perhaps, signore. I will try. I know Giuseppe, the butler, who is a -very good person, but who is not fond of talking. When there is such an -illness they either send the servants to the hospital, in the Roman -houses, or else they put them in an attic and try not to let any one -know. For the rest, I will do what I can. You say well, Signore, for it -is possible that the blessed soul of the Milord caught the fever at the -dinner in Casa Savelli." - -"That is what I think," said Ghisleri. And he thought a good deal more -also, which he did not communicate to his man. - -Bonifazio, as his master said, was discreet. He was also very patient -and very uncommunicative, as the men of the Abbruzzi often are. They -make the best servants when they can be got, for, in addition to the -good qualities most of them possess in a greater or less degree, they -are almost always physically very strong men, though rarely above middle -height, and often extremely pale. Ghisleri knew that so soon as -Bonifazio had anything to tell, he would tell it without further -question or reminder. - -Several days passed, during which Ghisleri, who gained strength rapidly, -began to resume his former mode of life, went to the club, saw his -friends, and made a few visits. He went more than once to Maddalena's -house and stayed some time with her when he found her alone. Little by -little he fancied that her look was changing and growing more -indifferent. He was glad of it. He wished that he might be to her -exactly what she was to him. That, indeed, could never be, but he wished -it were possible. He knew that when she ceased to love him altogether, -she could never feel friendly devotion, gratitude, or respect for him, -and he felt all three for her in a far greater degree than she could -imagine. On the whole, during that time their relations were peaceable, -and altogether undisturbed by the frequent differences that had so often -nearly estranged them from one another in earlier days. There was, of -course, an air of constraint about their meetings, more evident in -Maddalena's manner than in Ghisleri's, and the latter hardly hoped that -this could ever quite wear off and leave at last a sincere and true -friendship behind it. That was, indeed, the best that could be hoped for -either of them, and he had no right to expect the best, nor anything -approaching to it. - -One evening as he was dressing for dinner, Bonifazio gave him the news -he desired. It had not been easy to extract any communication on the -subject from old Giuseppe, the Savelli's butler, but such as he had at -last given was clear, concise, and to the point. There had been a case -of scarlet fever in the house. Donna Adele's maid had taken it, and was -just convalescent at the time when the Ardens dined with Adele and her -husband. The woman's name was Lucia, and on falling ill she had been at -once removed to a distant room in the upper part of the palace. The case -had been rather a severe one, Giuseppe believed, and it was only within -the last few weeks that Lucia seemed to have regained her strength. She -was at present at Gerano with her mistress, but had written to the wife -of the Savelli's porter saying that she had been dismissed, and was to -leave at the end of the month, and asking for assistance in finding a -new place. Ghisleri was satisfied for the present. It was quite clear -that Arden must have caught the fever that killed him so suddenly in -Casa Savelli. Whether Donna Adele had in any way communicated the -contagion was another matter, and not easily decided. Her inexplicable -nervousness, beginning about the time that Arden died, might be -accounted for on the ground that she was aware of having been the -unintentional cause of his illness, and felt that by a little precaution -she might have averted the catastrophe. The idea was constantly present -in Ghisleri's mind, but it lacked detail and clearness, and constituted -at most a rather strong suspicion. Of course it was quite possible, and, -considering Adele's character, more than likely, that she had never been -near the maid during her illness. If she had never had the scarlet fever -herself, it was quite certain. But that was a point easily settled, and -was a very important one. - -On the following day, Ghisleri called at the Palazzo Braccio. The -Princess received him, as she always did, without any signs of -satisfaction, but without marked coldness. To her he was always "that -wild Ghisleri," and she thoroughly disapproved of him, wishing that he -would not visit her daughter so often. He was quite aware of the feeling -she entertained towards him, and was always especially careful in his -conversation with her. In spite of her long residence in Rome, as a -Roman, and among Romans, she had remained altogether English in nature. -Laura, English on both sides by her birth, had far less of prejudice -than her mother, and was altogether more of a cosmopolitan in every way. -On the present occasion, Ghisleri led the conversation so as to speak of -her. He began by asking the Princess where she herself meant to spend -the summer, and whether she intended to be with her daughter. - -"I hope to be with her a great part of the time," she answered. "I do -not like to think of her as travelling about the world alone. Indeed, I -do not at all approve of her living without a companion, as she insists -upon doing. She is far too young, and people are far too ready to talk -about her." - -"She has such wonderful dignity," answered Ghisleri, "that she could do -with impunity what most women could not do at all. Besides, her mourning -protects her for the present, and her child. She is looking wonderfully -well--do you not think so?" - -"Yes. When one thinks of all she has suffered, it is amazing. But she -was always strong." - -"I should suppose so. Any one else would have caught the scarlet fever." - -"As for that," said the Princess, unsuspiciously, "people rarely have it -twice." - -"She has had it, then." - -"Oh, yes. Both the girls had it at the same time, when they were little -things. Let me see--Laura must have been six years old then. They had it -rather badly, and I remember being terribly anxious about them." - -"I see," answered Ghisleri, carelessly. "That accounts for it. But to go -back to what we were speaking of, I wonder that Lady Herbert does not -spend the summer with you at Gerano, if you go there as usual." - -"I do not think she will consent to that," said the Princess, rather -coldly. "She says she prefers the north for the baby. It is quite true -that it is often very hot at Gerano." - -"Donna Adele was good enough to ask me to go out and spend a day or two -while she is there. It must be very pleasant just now, in the spring -weather." - -"Why do you not go?" asked the Princess, with more warmth, for she -preferred that Ghisleri should be where he could not see Laura every -day, as she believed he now did. "You would be doing them both a -kindness. Poor Adele was obliged to go to the country against her -will--she is in such a terribly nervous state. I really do not know what -to make of it." - -"What news have you of her?" inquired Ghisleri, in a tone of polite -solicitude. "Is she at all better?" - -"She was better after the first few days. Then it appears that she had a -fright--I do not quite understand how it was from what Francesco wrote -to my husband--but it seems to have been one of those odd -accidents--optical illusions, I suppose--which sometimes terrify -people." - -"How very unfortunate! What did she fancy she saw?" - -"It was absurd, of course!" answered the Princess, who had no special -reason for being reticent on the subject. "It seems that there was a -blue cloak of hers hanging somewhere in her dressing-room,--at a window, -I believe,--and she went in suddenly very early in the morning before it -was quite broad daylight, and took the cloak for a man. In fact she -thought it was poor dear Arden. You know he always used to wear blue -serge clothes. Francesco saw it himself afterwards and says that it was -extraordinarily like. But I cannot understand how any one in their -senses could be deceived in that way. Adele is dreadfully overwrought -and imaginative. She has danced too much this winter, I suppose." - -When Ghisleri went away he was almost quite persuaded that Adele was -conscious of having communicated the fever to Arden. Of course, it might -all be mere coincidence, but to him the evidence seemed strong. He wrote -a note to Adele, asking whether he might avail himself of her -invitation, and spend a day at Gerano. Her answer came by return of -post, begging him to come at once, and to stay as long as possible. The -handwriting was so illegible that he had some difficulty in reading it. -To judge from that, at least, Adele was no better. - -Before leaving Rome, he thought it best to inform Laura of his intended -visit. He had never spoken of her step-sister in a way to make her -suppose that he disliked her, but Laura knew very well what part he had -played at the time when Adele was spreading slanderous reports, for her -mother had repeated the story precisely as the Prince had told it to -her. Ghisleri, of course, was not aware of this, for Arden had not -mentioned the matter to him, unless his reference to the enemies he and -Laura had in Rome, during the last conversation he had with his friend, -could be taken as implying that Ghisleri knew as much as he himself. But -in any case, he was sure that Laura would be surprised at his going to -Gerano, even for a day, and it was better to warn her beforehand, and -if possible give her some reasonable explanation of his conduct. He -chose to refer his visit at once to motives of curiosity, together with -a natural desire to breathe the purer air of the country, now that he -was able to make the short journey without fatigue or danger. - -"I have never been to Gerano," he added. "It is said to be a wonderful -place--one of the finest mediæval castles in this part of the world. I -really wish to see it--they say the air is good--and since Donna Adele -is so kind as to ask me, I shall go." - -"You would see it better if you went when my mother and step-father are -there. He would show you everything and give you all sorts of historical -details which Adele has forgotten and which Francesco never knew." - -"No doubt, but there is one objection," answered Ghisleri. "They have -never asked me. I am not a favourite with the Princess. I am sure you -know that." - -"She thinks you are very wild," said Laura, with a smile. "She -disapproves of you on moral grounds--not at all in the way I used -to--and still do, sometimes," she added, incautiously. - -"Still?" - -"Oh, it is very foolish! Do not talk about it. When are you going out?" - -Laura had undeniably felt a sudden return of her old distrust in him, -when she had heard of the visit. It was natural enough that she should, -considering what she knew. She suspected some new and tortuous -development of his character, and would have instinctively drawn back -from the intimacy she felt was growing up between him and herself, had -she not by experience found out that she might be quite wrong about him -after all. She tried, at the present juncture, to shake off the -sensation which was now far more distasteful to her than it had formerly -been, in proportion as she had fancied that she understood him better. -But she could not altogether succeed. It was too strange, in her -opinion, that he should willingly be Adele's guest, and put himself -under even a slight obligation to her. It showed, she thought, how -individual views could differ in regard to friendship. She was even -rather surprised to find that she was asking herself whether, if -Gianforte and Christina Campodonico possessed a habitable castle and -invited her to stop with them, she would accept, considering that -Gianforte had almost killed her husband's best friend. She -unhesitatingly decided that she would not, and resented Ghisleri's -willingness to receive hospitality from one who, as he well knew, had -foully slandered both Arden and herself. Her doubts were certainly -justifiable to a certain extent. But there was no immediate probability -that they would be cleared away for the present. Ghisleri understood her -perfectly, and wondered whether he were not risking too much in -endangering a friendship so precious to him for the sake of following -out a suspicion which might, in the end, prove to have been altogether -without foundation. On the other hand, his natural obstinacy of purpose -when once called into play was such as not to leave the smallest -hesitation in his mind between doing what he had determined to do, or -not doing it, when he had once made up his mind, irrespective of -consequences. Having lost sight of the virtue of constancy, he clung to -a vicious obstinacy as a substitute. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -When Adele had read Padre Bonaventura's letter twice over and had -realised its meaning, she behaved like a person stunned by an actual -blow. She sank into the nearest chair, utterly overcome. She had barely -the presence of mind to tear up the sheet of paper into minute shreds, -which she gathered all in one hand, until she could find strength to -scatter them out of the window. The position was a terrible one indeed, -and for a long time she was unable to think connectedly about it, or of -anything else. But for the two nights of sound sleep she had got by -taking the chloral, she must inevitably have broken down. As it was, her -strong constitution had asserted itself so soon as she had been able to -rest, and she was better able to meet this new and real trouble than she -had been to face the imaginary horror of Herbert Arden's presence in her -dressing-room. But even so, half an hour elapsed before she was able to -rise from her seat. She tossed the scraps of paper out of the window and -watched them as the wind chased them in all directions, upwards and -downwards, upon the castle wall. Then, all at once, she began to think, -and her brain seemed to act with an accuracy and directness it had never -had before. - -Either the letter had been opened in the house or at the post-office. It -could not have been opened in Rome, or at least, the probabilities were -enormously against such an hypothesis. It was scarcely more like that -the man at the Gerano post-office should have ventured to tamper with a -sealed envelope coming from the castle, and for which he had given a -receipt before taking charge of it. He could not have the smallest -interest in reading Donna Adele's correspondence, and he had everything -to lose if he were caught. He would certainly not have supposed that she -or her husband, having but lately left the city, were sending back a sum -of money in notes large enough to make it worth his while to incur such -a risk. In other words, the theft had been committed in the house, and -no one but Lucia could have been the thief. Lucia had been summarily -dismissed; Lucia was the only servant in the establishment who had -serious cause for discontent; Lucia had guessed from the address that -the letter contained something at least of the nature of a confession, -and had resolved to hold her mistress in her power. Moreover, it was -possible--barely possible--that Lucia knew something else. In any case, -she had read every word Adele had written with her own hand, and Adele -knew very well why the woman had not returned the sheets to the envelope -after mastering their contents. She was utterly, hopelessly, and -entirely in Lucia's power. The maid would go from her to a new -situation, and wherever she might be would always be able to control -Donna Adele's life by merely threatening to betray what she knew to the -person or persons concerned. - -Adele felt that her courage was almost failing her in this extremity, at -a time when she needed more than she had ever possessed. And yet it was -necessary to act promptly, for the maid might even now be engaging -herself with some one else. Come what might, she must never leave Casa -Savelli, if it cost Adele all the money she could beg of her husband or -borrow of her father to keep the woman with her. First of all, however, -she must regain some sort of composure, lest Lucia should suspect that -the post had brought her news of the loss of the document. She looked at -herself in the glass and scrutinised every feature attentively. She was -very pale, but otherwise was looking better than two days earlier. Any -kind of stimulant, as she knew, sent the blood to her face in a few -minutes, and she saw that what she needed was a little colour. A -teaspoonful of Benedictine cordial, of which she had a small flask in -her dressing-case, was enough to produce the desired effect. The doctor -had formerly recommended her to take it before going to sleep, but she -did not like such things, and the flask was almost full. She saw in the -mirror that the result was perfectly satisfactory, and when she at last -met her husband he remarked that her appearance was very much improved. - -"I feel so much better!" she exclaimed, knowing that she was speaking -the first words of a comedy which would in all probability have to be -played during the rest of her life. "I always said that if they would -only give me something to make me sleep I should get well at once." - -She walked again on that day, and by an almost superhuman effort kept -up appearances until bedtime, even succeeding in eating a moderately -abundant dinner. That night she told Lucia that, on the whole, she would -prefer to keep her, that she had always been more than satisfied with -her services, and that if she had suddenly felt an aversion to her, it -was the result of the extreme nervousness she had suffered of late. Now -that she could sleep, she realised how unkind she had been. Lucia humbly -thanked her, and said that she hoped to live and die in the service of -the most excellent Casa Savelli. Thereupon Adele thanked her too, said -very sweetly that she was a good girl and would some day be rewarded by -finding a good husband, and ended by giving her five francs. She -reflected that to give her more might look like the beginning of a -course of bribery, and that to give nothing might be construed as -proceeding from the fear of seeming to bribe. - -The second day could not be harder than the first, she said to herself, -as she swallowed her chloral and laid her head upon the pillow, to be -read to sleep by the nurse. She slept, indeed, that night, but not so -well as before, and she awoke twice, each time with a start, and with -the impression that Lucia was reciting the contents of the lost letter -to Laura Arden and a whole roomful of the latter's friends. - -Under the circumstances, she behaved with a courage and determination -admirable in themselves. Few women could have borne the constant strain -upon the faculties at all, still fewer after such illness as she had -suffered. But she was really very strong, though everything which -affected her feelings and thoughts reacted upon her physical nature as -such things never can in less nervously organised constitutions. She -bore the excruciating anxiety about the lost confession better than the -shadowy fear of the supernatural which still haunted her in the hours of -the night. On the third day she begged her husband to increase the dose -of chloral by a very small quantity, saying that if only she could sleep -well for a whole week she would then be so much better as to be able to -give it up altogether. Savelli hesitated, and at last consented. Since -she had seemed so much more quiet he dreaded a return of her former -state, for he was a man who loved his ease and hated everything which -disturbed it. - -The doctor had particularly cautioned him to keep the chloral put away -in a safe place, warning Francesco that the majority of persons who took -it soon began to feel a craving for it in larger quantities, which must -be checked to avoid the risk of considerable damage to the health in the -event of its becoming a habit. It was, after all, only a palliative, he -said, and could never be expected to work a cure on the nerves except as -an indirect means to a good result. Francesco kept the bottle in his -dressing-bag, which remained in his own room and was fitted with a -patent lock. He yielded to Adele's request on the first occasion, and -she went with him as he took the glass back to strengthen the dose. "Why -do you keep it locked up?" she said. "Do you suppose I would go and take -it without consulting you?" - -"The doctor told me to be careful of it," he answered. "The servants -might try a dose of it out of curiosity." He took what he considered -necessary and locked the bag again, returning the key to his pocket. - -Two or three days passed in this way. Adele began to feel that she -longed for the night and the soothing influence of the chloral, as she -had formerly longed for daylight to end the misery of the dark hours. -The days were now made almost intolerable for her by the certainty that -her maid knew her secret, and by the necessity for treating the woman -with consideration. Yet she could do nothing, and she knew that she -never could do anything to lessen her own anxiety, as long as she lived. -She was much alone, too, during the day. She walked or drove with her -husband during two or three hours in the afternoon, but the rest of the -time hung idly on her hands. It is true that his society was not very -congenial, and under ordinary conditions she would rather have been -left alone than have been obliged to talk with him. At present, however, -she thought less when she was with him, and that was a gain not to be -despised. She had quite forgotten that she had asked Ghisleri to come -out and spend a day or two, when his note came, reminding her of the -invitation, and asking if he still might accept it. Francesco liked him, -as most men did, and was glad that any one should appear to vary the -monotony of the dull country life with a little city talk. He bade her -write to Pietro to come and stay as long as he pleased, if she herself -cared to have him. She concealed her satisfaction well enough to make -Francesco suppose that she wished the guest to come for his sake rather -than her own. - -Ghisleri started early, taking his servant with him, and reached Gerano -in time for the midday breakfast. Francesco Savelli received him with -considerable enthusiasm, and Adele's habitually rather forced smile -became more natural. Both felt in different ways that the presence of a -third person was a relief, and would have been delighted to receive a -far less agreeable man than their present guest. They overwhelmed him -with questions about Rome and their friends. - -"Of course you have seen everybody and heard everything, now that you -are so much better," said Adele, as they sat down to breakfast in the -vaulted dining-room. "You must tell us everything you know. We are -buried alive out here, and only know a little of what happens through -the papers. How are they all? Have you seen Laura again, and how is the -baby? My step-mother writes that she is going to spend the summer with -them in some place or places unknown. I never thought of her as a -grandmother when my own children were born--of course she is not my -mother, but it used to seem just the same. What is Bompierre doing? And -Maria Boccapaduli? I am dying to hear all about it." - -Ghisleri laughed at the multitude of questions which followed each other -almost without a breathing-space between them. - -"Donna Maria would have sent you her love if she had known that I was -coming to Gerano," he answered. "As for Bompierre, he is an inscrutable -mixture of devotion and fickleness. He attaches himself to the new -without detaching himself from the old. He worships both the earthly and -the Olympian Venus. He is a good fellow, little Bompierre, and I like -him, but it is impossible for any man to adore women at the rate of six -at a time. I begin to think that he must be a very deep character." - -"That is the last thing I should say of him," observed Savelli, who was -deficient in the sense of humour. - -"How literal you are, Francesco," laughed his wife. "And yourself, -Ghisleri--tell us about yourself. Are you quite well again? You still -look dreadfully thin, but you look better than when I saw you last. What -does your doctor say?" - -"He says that if I do not happen to catch cold, or have a choking fit, -or a cough, or any of fifty things he names, and if I do not chance to -get shot in the same place again, in the course of a year or two I may -be as good a man as ever. It appears that I have a good constitution. I -always supposed so, because I never had anything the matter with me, so -far as I knew." - -"No one will ever forgive Gianforte!" exclaimed Adele. "If you had died, -he would have had to go away for ever. Everybody says he was utterly in -the wrong." - -"The matter is settled," said Ghisleri, "and I do not think either of us -need have anything to say about the other's conduct in the affair. I -suppose you have heard that the ministry has fallen," he continued, -turning to Savelli. "Yesterday afternoon--the old story, of -course--finance." - -"For Heaven's sake do not begin to talk politics at this hour," -protested Adele. "To-night, when I am asleep, you can smoke all the -cigars in the house, and reconstitute a dozen ministries if you like. I -want to hear all about my friends. You have not told me half enough -yet." - -"Where shall I begin? Ah, by the bye, there is an engagement, I hear. I -have not left cards because it is not official. Pietrasanta and Donna -Guendalina Frangipani--rather an odd match, is it not?" - -"Pietrasanta!" exclaimed Adele. "Who would have thought that! And -Guendalina, of all people! But they will starve, my dear Ghisleri; they -will positively not have twenty thousand francs a year between them." - -"No," said Savelli, "you are quite right, my -dear--twelve--seventeen--eighteen thousand five hundred, almost -exactly." - -Savelli was intimately acquainted with the affairs of his friends, and -both parties were related to him in the present case. He prided himself -upon his extreme exactness about all questions of money. - -So they talked and gossiped throughout the meal. Ghisleri knew just what -sort of news most amused his hostess, and as usual he succeeded in -telling her the truth about things and people without saying anything -spiteful of any one. He had resolved, too, that he would make himself -especially agreeable to the couple in their voluntary exile. He had come -with a set purpose, and he meant to execute it if possible. As he was -evidently not yet strong, Savelli proposed that they should drive -instead of walking. Ghisleri acceded readily, though he would have -preferred to stay at home after having travelled nearly thirty miles in -a jolting carriage during the morning. The sensation of physical fatigue -which he constantly experienced since he had been wounded was new to him -and not at all pleasant. - -Nothing of any importance occurred during the afternoon. The -conversation continued in much the same way as it had begun at -breakfast, interspersed with remarks about agriculture and the -probabilities of crops. Savelli understood the financial side of farming -better than Ghisleri, but the latter had a much more practical -acquaintance with the capabilities of different sorts of land. - -After they had returned to the castle, Francesco left Ghisleri with his -wife in the drawing-room, and went off to his own quarters to talk with -the steward of the estate. Tea was brought, but Pietro noticed that -Adele did not take any. - -"I suppose you are afraid that it would keep you awake at night," he -remarked. "How is your insomnia? Do you sleep at all?" - -"I am getting quite well again," Adele answered. "You know I always told -you that I needed something really strong to make me sleep. The doctor -has given me chloral, and I never wake up before eight or nine o'clock. -It is a wonderful medicine." - -"Insomnia is one of the most unaccountable things," said Ghisleri, in a -meditative tone. "I knew a man in Constantinople who told me that at one -time he never slept at all. For three months he literally could not lose -consciousness for a moment. I believe he suffered horribly. But then, he -had something on his mind at the time which accounted for it to a -certain extent." - -"I suppose he had lost money or something of that kind," conjectured -Adele, stirring two lumps of sugar in a glass of water. - -"No, it was much worse than that. He had accidentally killed his most -intimate friend on a shooting expedition in the Belgrad forest." - -Ghisleri heard the spoon rattle sharply against the glass, as Adele's -hand shook, and he saw that she bent down her head quickly, pretending -to watch the lumps of sugar as they slowly dissolved. - -"How terrible!" she exclaimed, in a low voice. - -"Yes," answered Ghisleri, in the same indifferent tone. "But if you will -believe it, he had the courage to refuse chloral, or any sort of -sleeping-draught, though he often sat up reading all night. He had been -told, you see, that the habit of such things was much more dangerous -than insomnia itself, and he was ultimately cured by taking a great deal -of exercise. He had an extraordinary force of will. I believe he has -never felt any bad effect from what he endured. You know one can get -used to anything. Look at the people who starve in public for forty days -and do not die." - -"We shall see Pietrasanta and his wife doing that for the next forty -years," said Adele, with a tolerably natural laugh. "They ought to go -into training as soon as possible if they mean to be happy. They say -nothing spoils the temper like hunger. Were you ever near being starved -to death on any of your travels, Ghisleri?" - -"No; I never got further than being obliged to live on nothing but beans -and bad water for nine days. That was quite far enough, though. I got -thin, and I have never eaten beans since." - -"I do not wonder. Fancy eating beans for nearly a fortnight. I should -have died. And where was it? Were you imprisoned for a spy in South -America? One never knows what may or may not have happened to you--you -are such an unaccountable man!" - -"That never happened to me. It was at sea. I took it into my head to go -to Sardinia in a small vessel that was sailing from Amalfi with a cargo -of beans to bring back Sardinian wine. We were becalmed, and got short -of provisions, so that we fell back on the beans. They kept us alive, -but I would rather not try it again." - -"What endless adventures you have had! How tame this society life of -ours must seem to you after what you have been accustomed to! How can -you endure it?" - -"It is never very hard to put up with what one likes," answered -Ghisleri, "nor even to endure what one dislikes for the sake of somebody -to whom one is attached." - -"If any one else said that, it would sound like a platitude. But with -you, it is quite different. One feels that you mean all you say." - -Adele was evidently determined to be complimentary, and even more than -complimentary, to-day. She was never cold or at all unfriendly with -Ghisleri, whom she liked and admired, and whom she always hoped to see -ultimately established as a permanent member of her own immediate -circle, but he did not remember that she had ever talked exactly as she -was talking now, and he attributed her manner to her nervousness. He -laughed carelessly at her last remark. - -"I am not used to such good treatment," he said, "though I never can -understand why people take the trouble to doubt one's word. It is so -much easier to believe everything--so much less trouble." - -"I should not have thought that you were a very credulous person," -answered Adele. "You have had too much experience for that." - -"Experience does not always mean disillusionment. One may find out that -there are honest people as well as dishonest in the world." - -If Laura Arden had been present she would have been more than ever -inclined to distrust Ghisleri just then. She would have wondered what -possessed him to make him say things so very different from those he -generally said to her. As a matter of fact, he wished Adele to trust -him, for especial reasons, and he knew her well enough to judge how his -speeches would affect her. She had betrayed herself to him a few minutes -earlier and he desired to efface the impression in her mind before -leading her into another trap. - -"Do you think the world is such a very good place?" she asked. "Have you -found it so?" - -"It is often very unjustly abused by those who live in it--as they are -themselves by their friends. Belief on the one side must mean disbelief -on the other." - -This time Adele gave no sign of being touched by the thrust. She was too -much accustomed to whatever sensations she experienced when accidental -or intentional reference was made to her astonishing talent for gossip. - -"As for that," she said quite naturally, "every one talks about every -one else, and some things are true just as some are not. If we did not -talk of people how should we make conversation? It would be quite -impossible, I am sure!" - -"Oh, of course. But if there is to be that sort of conversation, it can -always take the form of a discussion, and one can put oneself on the -right side from the beginning just as easily as not. It saves so much -trouble afterwards. The person who is always on the wrong side is -generally the one about whom the others are talking. If we could hear a -tenth of what is said about ourselves I fancy we should be very -uncomfortable." - -"Yes, indeed. Even our servants--think how they must abuse us!" - -"No doubt. But they have a practical advantage over us in that way. When -they really know anything particularly scandalous about us they can -convert it into ready money." - -Ghisleri had not the least intention of conveying any hidden meaning by -his words, for he was of course completely ignorant of the occurrence -which had disturbed Adele's whole life more than any other hitherto. But -he noticed that she again bent over her glass and looked into it, though -the sugar was by this time quite dissolved. Her hand shook a little as -she moved the spoon about in the sweetened water. Then she drank a -little, and drew a long breath. - -"That is always a most disagreeable position," she said boldly. "We were -talking about it the other day. I wish you had been there. Gouache was -telling a foreigner--Prince Durakoff, I think it was--the old story of -how Prince Montevarchi was murdered by his own librarian because he -would not pay the man a sum of money in the way of blackmail. You know -it, of course. The two families, the Montevarchi and the Saracinesca, -kept it very quiet and no one ever knew all the details. Some people say -that San Giacinto killed the librarian, and some say that the librarian -killed himself. That is no matter. What would you have done? That is the -question. Would you have paid the money in the hope of silencing the -man? Or would you have refused as the old Prince did? Gouache said that -it was always a mistake to yield, and that Montevarchi did quite -right." - -Ghisleri considered the matter a few moments before he gave an answer. -He was almost sure by this time that she actually found herself in some -such position as she described, and that she really needed advice. It -was characteristic of the man who had been trying to make her betray -herself and had succeeded beyond his expectation, that he was unwilling -to give her such counsel as might lead to her own destruction. In his -complicated code, that would have savoured of treachery. He suddenly -withdrew into himself as it were, and tried to look at the matter -objectively, as an outsider. - -"It is a most difficult question to answer," he said at last. "I have -often heard it discussed. If you care for my own personal opinion, I -will give it to you. It seems to me that in such cases one should be -guided by circumstances as they arise, but that one can follow very -safely a sort of general rule. If the blackmailer, as I call the person -in possession of the secret, has any positive proof, such as a written -document, or any other object of the kind, without which he or she could -not prove the accusation, and if the accusation is really of a serious -nature, then I think it would be wiser to buy the thing, whatever it is, -at any price, and destroy it at once. But if, as in most of such -affairs, the secret is merely one of words which the blackmailers may -speak or not at will, and at any time, I believe it is a mistake to -bribe him or her, because the demand for hush-money can be renewed -indefinitely so long as the person concerned lives, or has any money -left with which to pay." - -Adele had listened with the greatest attention throughout, and the -direct good sense of his answer disarmed any suspicion she might have -entertained in regard to the remark which had led to her asking his -advice. She reasoned naturally enough that if he knew anything of her -position, and had come to Gerano to gather information, he would have -suggested some course of action which would throw the advantage into his -own hands. But she did not know the man. Moreover, in her extreme fear -of discovery, she had for a moment been willing to admit that he might -know far more than was in any way possible, if he knew anything at all; -whereas in truth he was but making the most vague guesses at the actual -facts. It was startling to realise how nearly she had taken him for an -enemy, after inviting him as a friend, and in perfectly good faith, but -as she thought over the conversation she saw how naturally the remarks -which had frightened her had presented themselves. There was her own -insomnia--he had an instance of a man who had suffered in the same way. -A remark about unjust abuse of other people--that was quite natural, and -meant nothing. Blackmail extorted by servants--she had herself led -directly to it, by speculating upon what servants said of their masters. -It was all very natural. She made up her mind that she had been wrong in -mistrusting his sincerity. Besides, she liked him, and her judgment -instinctively inclined to favour him. - -"I think you are quite right," she said, after a few moments' thought. -"I never heard it put so directly before, and your view seems to be the -only sensible one. If the secret can be kept by buying an object and -destroying it, then buy it. If not, deny it boldly, and refuse to pay. -Yes, that is the wisest solution I have ever heard offered." - -Ghisleri saw that he had produced a good effect and was well-satisfied. -He turned back to a former point in order to change the subject of the -conversation. - -"That old story of the Montevarchi has interested me," he said. "I wish -I knew it all. Without being at all of an historical genius, I am fond -of all sorts of family histories. Lady Herbert was saying yesterday that -there are many strange legends and stories connected with this old -place, and that your father knows them all. You must know a great deal -about Gerano yourself, I should think." - -"Oh, of course I do," answered Adele, with alacrity. "I will show you -all over the castle to-morrow morning. It is an enormous building, and -bigger than you would ever suppose from the outside. I will show you -where they used to cut off heads--it is delightful! The head fell -through a hole in the floor into a heap of sawdust, they say. And then -there is another place, where they threw criminals out of the window, -with four seats in it, two for the executioners, one for the confessor, -and one in the middle for the condemned man. They did those things so -coolly and systematically in those good old days. You shall see it all; -there are the dungeons, and the trap-doors through which people were -made to tumble into them; there is every sort of appliance--belonging to -family life in the middle ages." - -"I shall be very glad to see it all if you will be my guide," said -Ghisleri. - -They continued to talk upon indifferent subjects. At dinner Pietro took -much pains to be agreeable, and succeeded admirably, for he was well -able to converse pleasantly when he chose. Though extremely tired, he -sat up till nearly midnight talking politics with Savelli, as Adele had -foreseen, and when he was at last shown to his distant room by -Bonifazio, who had spent most of his day in studying the topography of -the castle, he was very nearly exhausted. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Pietro Ghisleri slept soundly that night. Of late, indeed, he had become -less restless than he had formerly been, and he attributed the change to -the weakness which was the consequence of his wound. There were probably -other causes at work at that time of which he was hardly conscious -himself, but which ultimately produced a change in him, and in his way -of looking at the world. - -He stood at his open window early in the morning, and gazed out at the -fresh, bright country. The delicate hand of spring had already touched -the world with colour, and the breath of the coming warmth had waked the -life in all those things which die yearly, and are yearly raised again. -Ghisleri felt the morning sun upon his thin, pale face, and he realised -that he also had been very near to death during the dark months, and he -remembered how he had wished that he might be not near only to dying, -but dead altogether, never to take up again the play that had grown so -wearisome and empty in his eyes. - -But now a change had come. For the first time in years, he knew that if -the choice were suddenly offered him at the present moment he would -choose to live out all the days allotted to him, and would wish that -they might be many rather than few. There was, indeed, a dark spot on -the page last turned, of which he could never efface the memory, nor, in -his own estimation, outlive the shame. In his day-dreams Maddalena dell' -Armi's coldly perfect face was often before him with an expression upon -it which he feared to see, knowing too well why it was there--and out of -a deeper depth of memory dead Bianca Corleone's eyes looked at him with -reproach and sometimes with scorn. There was much pain in store for him -yet, of the kind at which the world never guessed, nor ever could. But -he would not try to escape from it. He would not again so act or think -as to call himself coward in his own heart's tribunal. - -He looked out at the distant hills, and down at the broad battlements -and massive outworks of the ancient fortress, and fell to thinking -rather idly about the people who had lived, and fought, and quarrelled, -and slain each other, within and around those enormous walls, and then -he thought all at once of Adele Savelli, and of his suspicions regarding -her. He was in a particularly charitable frame of mind on that morning, -and he suddenly felt that what he had almost believed on the previous -night was utterly beyond the bounds of probability. It seemed to him -that he had no manner of right to accuse any one of the crime he had -imputed to her, on the most shadowy grounds, and absolutely without -proof, unless the coincidence of her uneasy behaviour, with certain -vague remarks of his own, could be taken as evidence. He sat down to -think it all over, drinking his coffee by the open window, and enjoying -the sunshine and the sweet morning air. The whole world looked so good -and innocent and fresh as he gazed out upon it, that the possibilities -of evil seemed to shrink away into nothing. - -But as he systematically reviewed the events of the past months, his -suspicion returned almost with the force of conviction. The coincidences -were too numerous to be attributed to chance alone. Adele's distress of -mind was too evident to be denied. Altogether there was no escaping from -the conclusion that willingly or unwillingly she had been consciously -instrumental in bringing about Arden's illness and death. Her questions -about the wisest course to pursue in cases of blackmail, pointed to the -probability if not the certainty that some third person was acquainted -with what had happened, and this person was in all likelihood the maid -Lucia. So far his reasoning took him quickly and plausibly enough, but -no further. How the scarlet fever had been communicated from Lucia to -Herbert Arden was more than Ghisleri could guess, but if Adele was -really in the serving woman's power, it must have been done in such a -way as to make what had happened quite clear to the latter. After -thinking over all the possibilities, and vainly attempting to solve the -hard problem, Ghisleri found himself as much at sea as ever, and was -driven to acknowledge that he must trust to chance for obtaining any -further evidence in the matter. - -Meanwhile Adele had determined to follow his advice. Her anxiety was -becoming unbearable, and she felt that she could not endure such -suspense much longer. To accuse Lucia directly of having opened the -letter and committed the theft would be rash and dangerous. There was a -bare possibility that some one else might have done the deed. She must -in any case be cautious. - -"Lucia," she said that morning, while the woman was doing her hair, "do -you remember that some days ago I gave you a letter to be registered, -and that you brought back the receipt for it from the post-office?" - -"Yes, Excellency, I remember very well." Lucia had been expecting for a -long time that her mistress would question her and she was quite -prepared. She had good nerves, and the certainty that the great lady was -altogether in her power made her cool and collected. - -"A very extraordinary thing happened to that letter," said Adele, -looking up at her own face in the glass, to give herself courage. "It -was rather important. I had written to Padre Bonaventura, asking -spiritual guidance, and I particularly desired an answer. But he wrote -to me by return of post, saying that when he opened the envelope he -found only four sheets of blank paper without a word written on them. -You see somebody must have thought there was money in the letter." - -"They are such thieves at the post-office!" exclaimed Lucia. "But this -is a terrible affair, Excellency! What is to be done? The post-master -must be sent to the galleys immediately!" - -In Lucia's conception of the law such a summary course seemed quite -practicable. - -"I am afraid that would be very unjust, and could do no good at all," -said Adele. "I am quite sure that the post-master would not have dared -to open a letter already registered, and for which he had given a -receipt. As for any one in the house having done it, I cannot believe it -either. I gave it into your hands myself and you brought me back the -stamped bit of paper--it is there in my jewel case. I only wish you to -find out for me, very quietly and without exciting suspicion, who took -that letter to the post. If I could get it back I would give the person -who brought it to me a handsome reward. You understand, Lucia, how -disagreeable it is to feel that a letter concerning one's most sacred -feelings is lost, and has perhaps been read by more than one person." - -"I cannot imagine anything more dreadful! But be easy, Excellency. I -will do all I can, and none of the servants shall suspect that I am -questioning them." - -"I shall be very much obliged to you, Lucia," said Adele. "Very much -obliged," she repeated, with some emphasis. - -"It is only my duty to serve your Excellency, who has always been so -good to me," answered Lucia, humbly. - -Adele knew that there was nothing more to be said for the present, and -she congratulated herself on having been diplomatic in her way of -offering the bribe. Lucia would now in all likelihood take some time to -decide, but for the present she would certainly not part with the -precious document. Adele felt sure that it had neither been destroyed -nor sent out of the castle. Lucia probably kept it concealed in a safe -corner of her own room, under lock and key, and to attempt to get -possession of it by force would be out of the question. As in most -Italian houses, the servants all locked their own rooms and carried the -keys about with them. Lucia, of course, did like the rest. - -But Lucia, on her side, distrusted her mistress. Knowing what she now -knew of Adele, she believed her capable of almost anything, including -the picking of a lock and the skilful abstraction of the letter from its -secret hiding-place. As soon as she was at liberty she went and got the -paper and concealed it in her bosom, intending to keep it there until -she could select some safe spot in a remote part of the castle, where -she might put it away in greater safety. To carry it about with her -until Adele took her back to Rome would be rash, she thought. Adele -might suspect where it was at any moment, and force her to give it up. -Or it might be lost, which would be even worse. - -Adele herself felt singularly relieved. She had very little doubt but -that Lucia would come to terms. She might, indeed, ask a very large sum, -and it might be very inconvenient to be obliged to find it at short -notice. But the sole heiress to an enormous estate would certainly be -able to get money in some way or other. In the meantime Lucia would not -offer it to any one else, since of all people her mistress would be -willing to make the greatest sacrifice to obtain possession of it. On -the whole, therefore, Adele's anxiety diminished on that day, and she -seemed better when she met her husband and Ghisleri in the great -court-yard where they were sunning themselves and continuing their talk -about politics. - -"I promised that I would show you the castle," she said to Pietro. -"Would it amuse you to go with me now? Francesco does not care to come, -of course, and he always has his business with the steward to attend to -before breakfast." - -Pietro expressed his readiness to follow her from the deepest dungeon to -the topmost turret of the castle. - -"Have you slept well?" he asked, as they moved away together. "You are -looking much better this morning." - -"Yes. I feel better," she answered. "Do you know I think your coming has -had something to do with it. You have cheered us with your talk and your -news. We were fast falling into the vegetable stage, Francesco and I." - -Ghisleri smiled, partly out of politeness and partly at his own -thoughts. - -"I am glad to have been of any use," he said. "I will do my best to be -amusing as long as you will have me." - -"You need not take it as such an enormous compliment," Adele laughed. -"Of course, you are very agreeable,--at least, you can be when you -choose,--but the great thing is to have somebody, anybody one knows and -likes a little, in this dreary place. Shall we begin at the top or the -bottom? The prisons or the towers? Which shall it be?" - -"If there is a choice, let us begin in the lower regions," answered -Ghisleri. "Do you like me a little, Donna Adele?" he asked, as she led -the way along the curved and smoothly paved descent which led downwards -to the subterranean part of the fortress. - -She laughed lightly, and glanced at him. She had always wished to make a -conquest of Pietro Ghisleri, but she had found few opportunities of -being alone with him, for he had never been among the assiduous at her -shrine. She knew also how much he admired Laura Arden, and she suspected -him of being incipiently in love. It would be delightful to detach him -from that allegiance. - -"Yes," she said, "I like you a little. Did you expect me to like you -very much? You have never done anything to deserve it." - -"I wish I could," answered Ghisleri, with complete insincerity. "But I -am afraid I should never get so far as that." - -"Why not?" - -"When a woman loves her husband--" He did not finish the sentence, for -it seemed unnecessary. - -"I do not want you to make love to me," Adele answered, "though I -believe you know how to do it to perfection. It is often a very long way -from liking very much to loving a very little. This is the place where -old Gianluca kept his brother Paolo in prison for eighteen years. Then -Gianluca died suddenly one fine morning, and Paolo was let out by the -soldiers and immediately threw Gianluca's wife out of the window of the -east tower, and cut off the heads of his two sons on the same afternoon. -I will show you where that was done when we go up stairs. Paolo was an -extremely energetic person." - -"Decidedly so, I should say," assented Ghisleri. "You are all descended -from him, I suppose." - -"Yes, he took care that we should be, by killing all the other branches -of the family. Those hollows in the stone are supposed to have been made -by his footsteps. Think what a walk! It lasted eighteen years. But it is -an airy place and not damp. Those windows were there then, they say. Do -you see that deep channel in the wall? It leads straight up through the -castle to the floor of the little passage between the old guard-room -and one of the towers. There used to be a trap-door--it was still there -when I was a little girl, but my father has had a slab of stone put down -instead. They used to entice their dearest and most familiar enemies up -there, and just as the man set foot on the board a soldier in the tower -pulled a bolt in the wall and the trap-door fell. It is two hundred -feet, they say. It was so cleverly managed! They say that the last -person who came to grief there was a Monsignor Boccapaduli in the year -sixteen hundred and something, but no one ever knew what had become of -him until the next generation." - -Familiar from her childhood with every corner of the vast building, she -led Ghisleri through one portion after another, telling such of the -tales of horror as she remembered. Little by little they worked their -way to the upper regions. In the guard-room, a vast hall which would -have made a good-sized church, she showed him the great slab of stone -the Prince had substituted for the wooden trap-door of former days, and -which had merely been placed over the yawning chasm without plaster or -cement, its own weight being enough to keep it in position. They passed -over it and ascended the stairs in the tower, emerging at last into the -bright sunshine upon one of the highest battlements. They sat down side -by side on a stone bench. - -"It is pleasanter here," said Adele. "There is a sort of attraction -about those dreadful old places down below, because one never quite -realises all the things that happened there, and it is rather like an -old-fashioned novel, all full of murder and sudden death. But the -sunshine is much nicer, is it not? Shall we stay up here till it is time -for breakfast?" - -"By all means. It is a delightful place for a good talk." Ghisleri was -tired, and glad to sit down. - -"Then you must talk to me," continued his companion. "Between the stairs -and playing guide, I have no voice left. What will you talk about? Tell -me all about your own castle. They say it is very interesting. I wish I -could see it!" - -"After Gerano it would seem very tame to you. It is mostly in ruins, and -what there is left of it is very much the worse for wear. I would not -advise you to take the trouble to stop, even if you should ever pass -near it." - -"That is a way you have of depreciating everything connected with -yourself," said Adele. "Why do you do it?" - -"Do I?" asked Ghisleri, carelessly. "I suppose I have the idea that it -is better to let people be agreeably surprised, if there is to be any -surprise at all. When you have heard that a man is insufferable, if he -turns out barely tolerable you think him nice." - -"Then it is mere pose on your part, with the deliberate intention of -producing an effect?" - -"Probably--mere pose." Ghisleri laughed; he looked at the woman at his -side and wondered whether he could ever find out the truth about Arden's -death, and the connexion with it which, as he believed, she must have -had. - -She, on her part, did not even guess that he suspected her. The thought -had crossed her mind on the previous afternoon, but she had very soon -dismissed it. She found relief and change from the monotonous suffering -of the past days in talking to him, and she tried to enjoy what she -could without allowing her mind to wander back to its chief -preoccupation. Ghisleri was very careful not to rouse her suspicion by -any accidental reference to what filled his thoughts as much as it did -her own, and they spent more than half an hour in aimless and more or -less amusing conversation. - -Gerano did not offer any very great variety of amusement. After -breakfast, there was the usual interval for smoking and coffee, and -after that the usual drive of two or three hours in the hills. Then, tea -and small talk, the dressing hour, the arrival of the post with the -morning papers from Rome, dinner, more smoking, and more conversation, -and bed-time was reached. It was not gay, and when he retired for the -night Ghisleri was beginning to wonder how long he could endure the -ordeal with equanimity. He was not generally a man very easily bored, -and the reasons which had brought him to Gerano were strong enough in -themselves to make him ready to sacrifice a good deal, but he realised -that he was not making any advance in the direction of discovering the -secret. He had learned more in the first few hours of his stay than he -had learned since, and so far as he could see, he was not likely to find -out anything more. He had noticed, too, the improvement in Adele's -appearance on that day. It was possible that she had already acted upon -the general advice he had given her, and that she had insured the -silence of the person she dreaded, if any such person existed. But it -was equally possible that no one knew what she had done, and that she -had not meant anything by the question. - -The third day passed like the second, and the fourth began without -promising any change. Adele appeared as usual at eleven o'clock and -spent an hour with Ghisleri. They were becoming more intimate by this -time than they had ever been before during their long acquaintance, and -Adele flattered herself that she had made an impression. Ghisleri would -not forget the hospitality she had offered him, and next year would be -more often seen in the circle of her admirers. She even imagined that he -might fall into a sort of mild and harmless flirtation, if she knew how -to manage him. - -A little before the hour for breakfast she went to her room. Lucia was -there, as usual, waiting in case she should be needed. As she retouched -Adele's hair, and gave a final twist with the curling tongs to the -ringlets at the back of her mistress's neck, she began to speak in a low -voice and in a somewhat hurried manner. - -"I have found out who took the letter, Excellency," she said. "It is in -a safe place and no one else has seen it. The person will give it to me -at once if the reward is large enough." - -Adele's eyes sparkled, and a little colour rose in her cheeks. Lucia -watched the reflection of her face in the mirror. - -"How much does she ask?" she inquired, without hesitation, and with a -certain business-like sharpness in her tone. - -There was a moment's pause, as Lucia withdrew the tongs from the little -curl. - -"She asks five thousand francs," she said, in some trepidation, for she -had hardly ever in her life even spoken of so large a sum. - -"That is a great deal," answered Adele, pretending to be surprised, -while doing her best to conceal her satisfaction. "I have not so much -money out here; indeed, Don Francesco has not either. She must wait -until we go to Rome." - -"A year, if your Excellency pleases," said the maid, blowing scent upon -a transparent handkerchief from an atomizer. - -"In the meanwhile I should like to have the letter. I suppose she would -accept my promise--written, if she requires it?" - -"Of course she would, and she would give me the papers at once--or -instead of a promise, I have no doubt she would be perfectly satisfied -with a bit of jewelry as a pledge." - -"That would be simpler," said Adele, coldly. She could not but be -astonished at the woman's cool effrontery, though it was impossible to -refuse anything she asked. "I will give you a diamond for her to keep as -a pledge," she added, "but I want the letter this afternoon." - -"Yes, Excellency." - -During the midday meal Adele was by turns absent and then very gay. She -seemed restless and uneasy during the coffee and cigarette stage of the -afternoon. Ghisleri watched her with curiosity. Fully half an hour -earlier than usual she went to her room to get ready for the regulation -drive. - -Lucia was waiting for her, pale as death and evidently in a state of the -greatest agitation. Without a word Adele unlocked her jewel case, took -out a little morocco covered box, opened it, and glanced at a pair of -diamond ear-rings it contained, shut it again and held it out to Lucia. -To her surprise the woman drew back, clearly in great terror, and trying -to get behind the long toilet table as though in fear of bodily harm. - -"What is the matter?" asked Adele, in surprise. "Where is the letter? -Why do you not give it to me?" - -"A great misfortune has happened," gasped Lucia, hardly able to speak. -"I cannot get it from the person." - -"What!" Adele's voice rang through the room. "Do you want more money -now? What is this comedy?" - -"The letter is not there--I--she does not know where it is. It is -lost--Excellency--" - -"Lost? Where did you hide it?" - -Lucia was almost too frightened by this time to tell connectedly what -had happened, but Adele understood before long that the maid had looked -about for a safe place in which to hide the precious document, and had -at last decided to slip it under the great slab of stone which has been -already mentioned as covering the opening of the oubliette between the -guard-room and the tower. Lucia had found that on one side, owing to the -irregularity of the old pavement, there was room to lay the folded -papers, and that she could just slip her hand in so as to withdraw them -again. She was, of course, quite ignorant that the stone covered a well -of which the shaft penetrated to the lowest foundation of the castle, -and that one touch of her hand, or a gust of wind, was enough to send -the light sheets over the edge close to which she had unwittingly placed -them. Adele still pretended to be angry, but she drew a long breath of -relief. She knew the exact spot at which to look for what she wanted. -She locked up her diamonds again, scolding Lucia for her carelessness -all the time, and doing her best to be very severe. Lucia bore all that -was said to her very meekly, for she had expected far worse. In her -opinion some one had accidentally discovered the letter, and taken it, -and would make capital out of it as she had meant to do. Her -disappointment was as great, as the sum of five thousand francs had -seemed to her enormous, but her fear soon vanished when she saw that -Adele had no intention of doing her any bodily injury, nor, apparently, -of dismissing her again. That the papers were really gone from the place -of concealment she knew beyond a doubt. She had lit a taper in her -effort to find them, and had thrust it under the slab, bending low and -looking into the crevice. Nothing white of any sort had been visible. - -Adele dressed herself for going out and left the room. But instead of -joining her husband and Ghisleri at once, she turned out of the main -passage by the cross corridor which led to the court-yard, went out and -walked quickly down the inclined road by which she had led Ghisleri to -Paolo Braccio's dungeon. There, where the shaft of the oubliette came -down, she was quite sure of finding the little package of sheets which -meant so much to her and which had almost meant a fortune to Lucia. She -crossed the worn pavement rapidly. There was plenty of light from the -grated windows high up under the vault, and she could have seen the -paper almost as soon as she entered the place. She stopped short as she -reached the foot of the channel in the wall. There was nothing there. -She stared up into the blackness above in the hope of seeing a white -thing caught and sticking to the stones, but she could not distinguish -the faintest reflection of anything. Yet she was convinced that the -thing must have fallen all the way. The shaft, as she well knew, was -quite perpendicular and the masonry compact and well finished. The -object of those who had built it had been precisely to prevent the -possibility of the victim catching on a projection of any sort while -falling. - -Adele turned pale and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. If Lucia -had acted differently she might have been suspected of having told a -falsehood, and of keeping the letter back in order to extort a larger -sum for it at some future time. But Lucia had evidently been frightened. -Moreover, the woman was undoubtedly ignorant of the existence of the -well under the stone, or, she would never have been so foolish as to -choose such a place for hiding anything so valuable, and it was clear -that she had no idea of the manner in which the package had disappeared. -That it must have reached the bottom, Adele was quite sure. In that case -some one had been in the dungeon before her and had picked it up, but -who the some one might be she had no means of conjecturing. - -She hardly knew how she reached the court-yard again. It cost her a -superhuman effort to walk. In the passage she met her husband. - -"What is the matter?" he asked, as soon as he saw her face. - -"I feel very ill--I wanted to breathe the air." She seemed to be gasping -for breath. - -Francesco drew her arm through his and walked with her to her room. She -was clearly not in a state in which she could think of going out. - -Savelli went back and explained to Ghisleri, who, if anything, was glad -to escape from the monotonous drive. He got a book and shut himself up -in his room to read. That evening Savelli told him that Adele was worse, -and was in a state of indescribable nervous agitation. It was clearly -his duty to go away, if Adele were about to be seriously ill, and he -told Bonifazio to pack his things that night. If matters did not -improve, he would leave on the following morning. - -Though Francesco was not much affected by his wife's sufferings, the -dinner was anything but brilliant, for he anticipated a renewal of all -the annoyance of the first few days. Moreover, if Adele was liable to -sudden relapses of this kind at any moment, and without the smallest -reason or warning, his life would, before long, be made a burden to him. -As the husband of a permanent invalid he could hope for very little -liberty or amusement. A wife may go into the world without her husband, -because he is supposed to be occupied with more important affairs, but a -husband who frequents parties when his wife is constantly suffering, is -considered heartless in the extreme. That, at least, is society's view -of the mutual obligation, and if it is not the just one, it is at least -founded upon the theory of woman's convenience, as most of society's -views are. - -Francesco was easily prevailed upon to give Adele an increased dose of -chloral, in the hope that she might sleep, and consequently give him -less trouble on the next day. But in this conclusion he was mistaken. -She awoke in great pain, suffering, she said, from a violent headache, -and so nervous that her hand trembled violently and she was hardly able -to lift a cup to her lips when the nurse brought her tea. Savelli did -not attempt to keep Ghisleri when the latter announced his intention of -returning to town, though he pressed him to come out again, as soon as -Adele should be better. The man who drove Pietro back was instructed to -bring the doctor out to Gerano, with fresh horses, and especially not to -forget five hundred cigarettes which Francesco wanted for himself. - -Ghisleri left many messages for Adele, and departed with Bonifazio, very -little wiser than when he had arrived, but considerably more curious. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -It was a relief to be with Laura Arden again for an hour on the day -after his return, as Ghisleri felt when he was installed beside her in -the chair which had come to be regarded as his. She received him just as -usual, and he saw at once that if she had at all resented his visit to -Adele, she was not by any means inclined to let him know it. There was a -freshness and purity in the atmosphere that surrounded her which -especially appealed to him after his visit to Gerano. Whatever she said -she meant, and if she meant anything she took no trouble to hide it. He -compared her face with her step-sister's, and the jaded, prematurely -world-worn look of the one threw the calm beauty of the other into -strong relief. He felt no pity for Adele. What she was, she had made -herself, and if she suffered, it was as the direct and inevitable -consequence of the life she had led and of the things she had done. So, -at least, it seemed to him, and if he could have known the whole truth -at that time, he would have seen how right he was. The ruthless logic of -cause and effect had got Adele into its will and was slowly grinding her -whole existence to dust. - -"It is strange," he said to Laura, "that you and your step-sister should -be so unlike in every way. It is true that you are not related, but you -were brought up in the same house, by the same people, and yet I do not -believe you have a single idea in common." - -"No," answered Laura, "we have not. We do not like the same persons, nor -the same things, nor the same thoughts. We were made to be enemies--and -I suppose we are." - -It was the first time she had ever said so much to him, and even now -there was no rancour in her tone. - -"If all enemies were like you, at least, this would be a very peaceful -world." - -"You do not know me," answered Laura, with a smile. "I have a bad -temper. I could tell you something about it. I once felt as though I -would like to strangle a certain person, and as though I could do it. Do -not imagine that I am all saint and no sinner." - -"I like to imagine all sorts of nice things about you," said Ghisleri. -"But I could never make them nice enough." - -"That is just it. It would need an enormous imagination." - -"But I am not sure that I should like to think of you as being on very -good terms with Donna Adele, and I am almost glad to hear you admit that -you are enemies. There is a satisfaction in knowing that you are human, -as well as in believing you to be good." - -"How is Adele?" Laura asked. - -"The last I heard was that she was much worse. She behaves in the most -unaccountable way. She has the look of a woman in some very great mental -distress--pursued and haunted by something very painful from which she -cannot escape." - -"I had the same feeling about her the last time I saw her. I know that -look very well. I have seen it in your face, sometimes, as well as in -hers." - -"In mine?" Ghisleri looked keenly at her, as though to ascertain whether -she meant more than she said, for the first time in his acquaintance -with her. "When did I ever show you that I was in trouble?" he asked. - -"That was some time ago. You have changed since your illness. You used -to look harassed sometimes, like a man who has a wound in the heart. -Perhaps it is only something which depends on the way your eyes are -made. The first time I ever noticed it was--yes, I remember very -well--it was more than a year ago, that night when you spoke your poem -in the Shrove Tuesday masquerade. It was not when you were talking to -me. You looked perfectly diabolical then. It was later. I saw you -standing alone in a doorway after a dance." - -"What a memory you have! I was probably in a bad humour. I generally am, -even now." - -"Why do you say even now?" asked Laura, watching his face. - -"Oh, I hardly know," he answered. "All sorts of things have happened to -me since then, to simplify my existence. At that time it was very -particularly complicated." - -"And how have you simplified it?" She put the question innocently -enough, and quite thoughtlessly, not even guessing at the truth. - -"It has been simplified for me. It came near being simplified into being -no existence at all. A few inches made the difference." - -"Yes," said Laura, thoughtfully, "the greatest of all differences to -you." - -"And none at all to any one else," added Ghisleri, with a dry laugh. - -She turned her great dark eyes upon him. The lids drooped a little as -she scrutinised his face somewhat coldly, but with an odd interest. - -"I suppose that might be quite true," she said at last. "Perhaps it is. -But I do not like you any the better for saying it in that way." - -Ghisleri was silent, but he met her gaze quietly and without flinching, -until she looked away. She sighed a little as she took up a bit of -embroidery she was doing for some garment of little Herbert's. - -"Why do you sigh?" he asked, not expecting that she would answer the -question. - -"For some one," she said simply, and she began to make a few stitches. - -He knew that she was thinking of Maddalena dell' Armi, and his heart -smote him. - -"I was wrong to say it," he answered, in a more gentle tone. "There was -perhaps one exception to the rule." - -Ghisleri grew even more careful of his speech after that. But he did not -see Laura often before she went away northward for the summer. The -spring was going fast, and the time was coming when Rome would be its -quiet old-fashioned self again for those few who loved it well enough to -face the heat of July and August. Almost every one was thinking of going -away. The Prince and Princess of Gerano were going out to the castle -earlier than usual, for the news of Adele grew steadily worse. Francesco -now had the doctor out regularly three times a week, and was forced to -lead an existence he detested. His wife was by this time quite unable to -get rest without taking very large quantities of chloral, and at times -her sufferings were such that it seemed almost advisable to give her -morphia. Every one, however, who brought intelligence from Gerano agreed -in saying that she did her best to keep up, and seemed to dread the idea -of an illness which might keep her permanently in her room. Whenever -she felt able she insisted on driving out and on going through the -regular round of monotonous country occupations. Her father and -step-mother therefore determined to go out and help Francesco to take -care of her, and make her existence as bearable as possible. Amongst all -her friends she was spoken of with the utmost compassion, and no one -ever suggested that her illness could proceed from any such cause as -Ghisleri believed to be at the root of it. - -A few days before Laura Arden was to go away Donald came to Pietro's -room in the morning, with a very grave face. Lady Herbert, he said, -thought that Ghisleri would understand why she did not write, but sent -Donald in person with a verbal message. She was going away, and was -about to give up the apartment in which she had spent the winter, -without any intention of taking it again in the following year. There -were certain things that had belonged to Lord Herbert--Lady Herbert had -no home and did not like to send them to Lord Lulworth--would Ghisleri -take charge of them in her absence? Pietro, of course, assented, and two -hours later Donald arrived with a large carriage load of boxes. Ghisleri -looked on with a very unpleasant sensation in his throat as his old -friend's effects were brought up stairs and deposited in a room where he -kept such things of his own. When they were all piled together in a -corner, he took an old green curtain and covered them with it, spreading -it carefully over them with his own hands. Then he locked the door and -went away. Some men and women when they die seem to leave something of -life behind them, which the mere sight of anything that has belonged to -them has power to recall most vividly to the perceptions of those who -have known them and loved them. Ghisleri understood Laura Arden's -feeling about her husband's belongings. He knew, or thought he knew, -that from the moment her child had been given to her, she had desired -that no material object should revive the sorrow she had felt so deeply. -The memory she cherished was wholly spiritual, and upon its remaining -so her peace of mind largely depended. The one Herbert was to live in -the other--and there must not be two. Not every one, perhaps, would have -understood her so readily. - -The day came for bidding her good-bye. It was with a somewhat heavy -heart that he went up the stairs of her house for the last time. Much of -the little happiness he had known during the past months was associated -with the place and with her, and not a little of the sorrow as well. The -drawing-room was bare, and had lost the comfortable, inhabited look -which even a furnished lodging takes from all the little objects a woman -brings to it, and which she alone knows how to dispose and arrange as -though they were in constant use, thereby at once producing the -impression that the habitation she has chosen has been lived in long. - -Once more Ghisleri sat in the familiar chair near the open window, and -once more Laura took her place in the corner of the great sofa. - -"I have come to say good-bye," he began. "You are still decided to go -to-morrow, I suppose." - -"Yes. I have not changed my plans. Please do not come to the station to -see me off, nor send flowers, nor do any of the things which are -generally done. I would rather not see any one I know after leaving this -house." - -"May I write to you?" asked Ghisleri. - -"Of course. Why not?" - -"I do not know, I am sure. I thought it better to ask you. Some women -hate correspondence except with their nearest and dearest. I will give -you the news of Rome during the wild gaiety of July and August." - -"Are you not going away at all?" asked Laura, in some surprise. "You -ought to; it will do you good." - -"I hardly know. I like to be alone in summer. It gives one time to -think. One has a chance of leading a sensible life when nobody is here -to see. The days pass pleasantly--plenty of reading, a diet of -watermelon and sherbet, and a little repentance--it is magnificent -treatment for the liver." - -Laura looked at him and then laughed very softly. - -"You seem amused," said Ghisleri, gravely. "What I say is quite -true--the result of long experience." - -"I was not laughing at what you said, but at the idea that you should -still think it worth while to make such speeches to me." - -"If I can make you laugh at all it is worth while." - -"At all events, it is good of you to say so. Which of the three subjects -do you mean to take for your letters to me--your reading, your food, or -your repentance?" - -"The food would be the simplest and safest topic. You can read for -yourself what you please. Repentance, when it is not a habit, is rarely -well done. But one can say the most charming things about strawberries, -peaches, and figs, without ever offending any one's taste." - -"I think you grow worse as you grow older," said Laura, still smiling. -"But if you would take your programme seriously, it would not be a bad -thing, I fancy. Seriously, however, you ought to get away from Rome." - -"I should be tempted to go and stay a week near you, if I went away at -all," said Ghisleri. - -Laura did not answer at once. She glanced at him with a vague suspicion -in her eyes which disappeared almost instantly, and then took two or -three stitches in her embroidery before she spoke. - -"I would rather you should not do that," she said at last. "I may as -well tell you what I think about it. To me, and to you, it seems -thoroughly absurd that you should not see me whenever we choose to meet. -There are many reasons why I should look upon you as a friend, and why -you should come more often than any other man I know. But the world -thinks differently. My mother has spoken to me about it more than once, -and in one way she is right. You know what a place this is, and how -every one talks about everybody. Unfortunately, I believe that you are -one of the men about whose private affairs society is most busy. I -cannot help it now. I have no right to say anything about your life, -past or present, but you have told me enough about yourself to make me -understand why there is always gossip about you, and why there always -will be. Then, too, you will never make people believe that you did not -fight that duel about me, for you cannot tell any one what you told me. -The consequence is, that you and I look at it all from one point of -view, and the world sees it from quite another. I think it is better to -say all this once, and to be done with it. As we shall not meet for -several months, people will forget to talk. Am I right to speak to you?" - -"Perfectly right," answered Ghisleri. An expression of pain had settled -on his lean face while she had been talking, and did not disappear at -once. Laura saw it and was silent for a moment. - -"I am sorry if I have hurt you," she said presently. "Perhaps I was -wrong." - -"No, you were quite right," Ghisleri replied. "You would have been very -wrong indeed not to tell me. If you did not, who would? But I had no -suspicion of all this. I believed that for once they might let me alone, -considering what you are--and what I am. The contrast might protect you -in the eyes of some persons. Lady Herbert Arden--and Pietro Ghisleri." - -He pronounced his own name with the utmost bitterness. - -"Please do not speak of yourself in that way," said Laura, with -something like entreaty in her voice. - -"It is true enough," he answered. "An intelligent being might understand -that I could be useful to you, but not that you--" He stopped short, and -his tone changed. "I am talking nonsense," he said briefly, by way of -explaining the truth. - -"I think you are, in a way," said Laura, quietly. "It is your old habit -of exaggeration. You make me an impossible creature between an archangel -and the good mamma in children's story books, and you refer to yourself -as to a satanic monster whom no honest woman could call her friend. You -are quite right. It is sheer nonsense. If you stay in Rome to repent, -as you suggest in fun, do it in earnest. I am not talking of your sins, -which are not half so bad as you pretend, but of this silly view you -insist upon taking of your own life. If you must think perpetually of -yourself, judge yourself by some reasonable standard. You live in the -world and you have no right to expect to find that you are a saint. If -that is what you wish, take vows, turn monk, and starve yourself up to -heaven if you can. And if you chance to think of me, do not set me on a -pedestal, and build a church over me, and pray at me. I do not like that -sort of thing--it is all unnatural and absurd. I am a woman and nothing -else, better than some by force of circumstances, and not so good as -some others, perhaps for the same reason. All the rest that you imagine -is sentimental trash, and not worth the time it takes you to think it. -You will not be wasting your summer if you can get rid of it all by the -time we meet in the autumn." - -For once in his life, Ghisleri was taken by surprise. He had not had any -idea that Laura could express herself so strongly on any point, still -less that she could talk so plainly about himself. He was far too manly, -however, not to be pleased, and his expression changed as he listened to -her. She smiled as she finished, and began to make stitches again. - -"No one ever gave me so much good advice in so short a time," he said, -with a laugh. "You have a wonderful power of condensing your meaning. Do -you often talk in that way?" - -"Not often. I think I never did before. Do you not think there is some -sense in what I say?" - -"Indeed, I begin to believe that there is a great deal," Ghisleri -answered. "At all events, I shall not forget it. Perhaps you will find -me partially reformed when you come back. You must promise to tell me." - -"It will take me some time to find out. But if I succeed I will tell -you." - -His mood had changed for the better, and he talked of Laura's plans -during nearly half an hour. At last he rose to go. - -"Good-bye," he said, rather abruptly. - -She looked up quietly as she took his hand, and pressed it without -affectation. - -"Good-bye. I wish you a very pleasant summer--and--since we are -parting--I thank you with all my heart for the many kind and friendly -things you have done for me." - -"I have done nothing. Good-bye, again." - -He turned and she stood looking at his retreating figure until he had -disappeared through the door. - -"I believe there is more good in that man than any one knows," she said -to herself. Then she also left the room and went to see whether little -Herbert were awake, and to busy herself with the last arrangements for -his comfort during the journey. - -Ghisleri knew that another parting was before him in the near future. As -usual, Maddalena dell' Armi was going to spend a considerable part of -the summer with her father in Tuscany. He went to see her tolerably -often, and their relations had of late been to all appearances friendly -and undisturbed. But he doubted whether the final interview before they -separated for several months could pass off without some painful -incident. He knew Maddalena's character well, and if he did not know his -own, it was not for want of study. He almost wished that he might, on -that day, choose to call at a time when some other person was present, -for then, of course, there could be no show of emotion on either side, -nor any words which could lead to such weakness. He went twice to the -house during the week which intervened between Laura Arden's departure -and the day fixed for Maddalena's, saying each time that he would come -again, a promise to which the Contessa seemed indifferent enough. She -would always be glad to see as much of him as possible, she said. The -last day came. She was to leave for Florence on the following morning. -Ghisleri rang, was admitted, and found her alone. - -"I knew you would come," she said, "though it is so late." - -"Of course. Did I not say so? I suppose you are still decided to go -to-morrow." - -He was conscious that he was saying the very same indifferent words -which he had said a few days earlier to Laura, and Maddalena answered -him almost as Laura had done. - -"Yes. Of course you must not come to the station. That is understood, is -it not?" - -"Since you wish it, I will certainly not come. So we are saying good-bye -until next season," he continued, breaking the ice as it were, since he -felt it must be broken. "I will try and not be emotional, and I ask you -to believe--this once--that I am in earnest. I have something to say to -you. May I? Will you listen to me? You and I cannot part with two words -and a nod of the head, like common acquaintances." - -"I will hear all you care to say," answered Maddalena, simply. "And I -will try to believe you." - -He looked at the pale face and the small, perfect features before he -spoke, to see if they were as hard as they often were. But for the -moment the expression was softened. The evening glow played softly upon -the bright hair, and threw a deep, warm light into the violet eyes, as -she turned towards him. - -"What is it?" she asked, as he seemed to hesitate. "Has anything -happened? Are you going to be married?" - -The question shocked him in a way he could not explain. - -"No. I am not thinking of marrying. We have been a great deal to each -other, for a long time. But for my fault--and it is, of course, my -fault--we might be as much in one another's lives as ever. We used to -meet in the summer, but that will not happen this year. When you come -back, we may both be changed more than we think it possible to change at -present." - -"In what way?" - -"I do not know. Perhaps, when we meet again, we shall feel that we are -really and truly devoted friends. Perhaps you may hate me altogether--" - -"And you me." - -"No, that is not possible. I am not very sure of myself as a rule. But -that, at least, I know." - -"I hope you are right. If you are not my friend, who should be? So you -think I hate you. You are very wrong. I am still very fond of you. I -told you so the other day. You should believe me. Remember, when it all -ended, it was you who had changed--not I. I am not reproaching you. I -might say that you should have known yourself better than to think that -you could be faithful; but you might tell me--and it would be quite as -just--that I, a woman, knew what I was doing and had been taught to look -upon my deeds as you never could. But it was you who changed. If you had -loved me, I should have loved you still. Little things showed me long -ago that your love was waning. It was never what it was in those first -days. And now I have changed, too. I love what was once, but if I could -have your love now as it was at its strongest and best, I would not ask -for it. Why should I? I could never trust it again, and anything is -better than that doubt. And I want no consolation." - -"Indeed, I should have very little to offer you, worth your accepting," -said Pietro, in a low voice. - -"If I needed any, the best you could give me would be what I ask,--not -as consolation at all, but as something I still believe worth having -from you,--and that is your honest friendship." - -Ghisleri was moved in spite of himself. His face grew paler and the -shadows showed beneath his eyes where Maddalena had so often seen them. - -"You are too kind--too good," he said, in an unsteady tone. - -The last time he had said almost the same words had been when he made -his first visit to her after his long illness. Then she had been -touched, far more than he. She looked at him for a few moments and saw -that he felt very strongly. - -"Do not distress yourself," she said gently. "Pray do not--it hurts me, -too. I mean what I say. I do not believe you can be faithful in love -now--to any one. You gave all you had to give long ago. But I have -watched you since we became what we are now, and I will do you justice. -I do not know any man who can be a more true and devoted friend. You -see, I meant what I said." - -"If it is true--if I can be a friend to any one, I will be one to you. -But that is not what I would have, if I could choose." - -"What would you have, then?" - -"What is impossible. That is what one would always like. Let us not talk -of it. It does no good to wish for what is beyond wishing. I thank you -for what you have said--dear. I shall not forget it. Few women could be -so good as you are to me. You would have the right to be very different -if you chose." - -"No, I should not. There are reasons--well, as you say, let us not talk -about it. We have made up our minds to meet and part as we -should--kindly always, lovingly as friends love, truthfully now, since -there is nothing left for us to distrust." - -She had never spoken to him in this way in all the meetings that had -followed his recovery. He wondered if there had been any real change in -her nature, or whether this were not at last the assertion of her -natural self. She spoke so seriously and quietly that he could not doubt -her. - -"I have seen that you can act in that way," she continued presently. -"You have done more for the sake of the mere memory of your friend than -many men would do for love itself." - -"Not so much as I would do for the memory of love," said Ghisleri, -turning his face away. - -"Was it so sweet as that?" she asked. - -"Yes." - -"And yet you have loved better and longer in other days." - -"As I was a better man," he said, finding no other answer, for he knew -it was true. - -Maddalena sighed. Perhaps she had hoped that this last time he would say -what he had never said--that he had loved her better than Bianca -Corleone. - -"You must have been different then." She spoke a little coldly, in spite -of herself. A moment later she smiled. "How foolish it is of me to think -of making comparisons, now that it is all over," she said. "So you are -not coming to Tuscany this summer, and I shall not see you till next -autumn. Why do you not come?" - -"I want to be alone a long time," answered Ghisleri. "It is much better. -I am bad company, and besides, I am not strong enough to wander about -the world yet. I need a long rest." - -"It seems so strange to think of you as not being strong." - -"Yes--I who used to be so proud of my strength. I believe that was my -greatest vanity when I was very young." - -"How full of contradictions you are!" Maddalena exclaimed, as she had -often done before. - -Ghisleri said nothing, for he knew it better than she could. It was -growing late, for the sun had gone down and the twilight deepened in the -room. He rose to go, and took her hand as she stood up beside him. - -"Good-bye," he said, almost in a whisper. "May God forgive me, and bless -you--always." - -"Good-bye--dear." - -He went out. It had been a strange meeting, and the parting was stranger -still. Very often, throughout the long summer months which followed, -Ghisleri thought of it, recalling every word and gesture of the woman -who had loved him so deeply, and for whom he had nothing left but the -poor friendship she was so ready to accept. But that at least he could -give her, kindly, lovingly, and truthfully, as she herself had said, -and he was grateful to her for asking it of him, though no kindness of -hers could heal the wound he had given himself in injuring her. He -thought less harshly of the world for half a year or so after that day, -and began to believe that it might not be so abominable a place as he -had sometimes been inclined to think it. - -He wrote to Maddalena from time to time, short letters, which said -little, but which she was glad to receive and which she often answered -in the same strain, with a small chronicle of small doings made to bear -the weight of a sweeping comment now and then. Little enough of interest -there was in any of those epistles, but there was a general tone in them -which assured each that the other had not forgotten that last meeting. - -Ghisleri did not write to Laura, though he could hardly have told why, -especially as he had spoken of doing so. Possibly he felt that she would -not understand him through a letter as she did when they were face to -face, and he feared to make a bad impression. - -Of Adele Savelli he had news often, through people who were in intimate -correspondence with her and with her step-mother, who spent the greater -part of the summer at Gerano. From all accounts she had begun to improve -with the warm weather, and though she still looked ill and greatly -changed from her former self, she was said to be very much better. It -was commonly reported that morphia had saved her, and it was whispered -that she was a slave to it in consequence. Ghisleri cared very little. -He had almost given up the idea that she had been concerned in bringing -on Arden's illness, and even if he sometimes still thought she had been, -he saw the impossibility of going any further than he had gone already -in the attempt to discover the truth. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Before attempting to chronicle the events which were the ultimate -consequences of those already described, it will be necessary to explain -how it was that very little worth recording occurred during nearly three -years after the day on which Pietro Ghisleri said good-bye to the -Contessa dell' Armi, when she was going to make her customary visit to -her father. - -In the natural course of things, every one returned in the following -autumn, in more or less lively expectation of the season to come. Laura -Arden expected nothing of it, in the way of amusement, nor did she look -forward to anything of the sort in her life as possible for many seasons -to come. - -Maddalena dell' Armi, on the other hand, expected much, and was, on the -whole, disappointed. Ghisleri had grown indifferent to such a degree as -to be almost unrecognizable to his friends. He went out very little, and -was said to be busy with some speculation in which he was ruining -himself, but of which, as a matter of fact, he had never even heard. -Adele Savelli went everywhere, thin, nervous, and careworn, and -apparently driven to death by the necessity for excitement. There were -people who said she was going mad, and others who said she lived on -morphia and that it must ultimately kill her. The division of opinions -concerning the nature of her malady still existed, and the wildest -stories were sent adrift at a venture down the dangerous rapids of -conversation. Donna Adele had quarrelled about Laura with her father, -who had disinherited her as far as he was able, and she led a life of -daily torment in Casa Savelli in consequence. That was one of the tales. -Then it was stated that Francesco's passion for Laura Arden had suddenly -developed to heroic proportions, and that his wife was eating her heart -out. Thirdly, there was a party which asserted confidently that Adele -herself was in love with Pietro Ghisleri, who did not even take the -trouble to go and see her more than once or twice a month. The only -point upon which opinion was unanimous was Laura Arden's personal and -undivided responsibility for all the evil that happened to Adele -Savelli. In the first year, so long as Laura never went into the world, -the reputation society had given her harmed her very little, and but for -the extremely thoughtful kindness of one or two communicative friends, -she might have remained in ignorance of it altogether. As it was, she -was indifferent, except when she was amused by the still current -accusation of possessing the evil eye. - -That Laura was an undoubted and dangerous jettatrice was now commonly -accepted as a matter of fact. Since Ghisleri and Campodonico had fought, -the men had been circumspect in their remarks, but there were few who -did not make the sign when they saw her go by. If anything had been -needed to prove the fact, there was the issue of the duel. The man who -had taken Laura's side had nearly lost his life, though he had fought -several times previously without ever receiving any serious hurt. That -was proof positive. Adele's illness, too, dated almost from the day of -her reconciliation with Laura, and seemed likely to end fatally. Then, -almost at the same time, the Contessa had broken with Ghisleri in the -most heartless way, as the world said. For the world knew something -about that, too, and could have told the whole story most exactly as it -had never happened, and detailed several conversations accurately which -had never taken place. Poor Ghisleri! The world pitied him sincerely, -and hated Laura Arden for being the evil-eyed cause of all his -misfortunes. How could he still go to see her, knowing, as he must, how -dangerous it was? Had she not almost killed him and Adele, as well as -quite killing her husband? People who touched Laura Arden's hand would -do well to shut themselves up and lie safe at home for four and twenty -hours, until the power of the jettatura was past. Those black eyes of -hers meant no good to any one, in spite of her inspired, nun-like looks. - -All these things were said, repeated, affirmed, denied, discussed, and -said again in the perpetual vicious circle of gossip, while the persons -most concerned lived their own lives almost altogether undisturbed by -the reports affecting them. No one refused to bow to Laura Arden in the -street, although she was supposed to have the power of bringing murder, -pestilence, and sudden death on those who went too near her. Nobody -ventured to condole with Adele Savelli upon her husband's flighty -conduct, still less upon the supposed loss to her of half the Gerano -estate. Nor did any one express to Ghisleri anything like sympathy for -having been so abominably treated by the Contessa. Such frankness would -have been reprehensible and tactless in the extreme. - -Adele Savelli's existence was in reality far more wretched than any one -could have supposed at that time, and it was destined to be made yet -more miserable before a second year had elapsed. - -In the spring of the year following that described in the last chapter, -the Contessa Delmar surprised Ghisleri with a very startling piece of -news. They were talking together in the grand stand at one of the May -races. - -"You know I always tell you everything I hear that seems to be of any -importance," she said. "We generally know what to believe. I heard a -story last night which is so very odd that there may be some truth in -it. As it may be nothing but a bit of mischief, I will not name the -person who told me. It is said that more than a year ago, when Adele -Savelli thought she was dying out at Gerano, she did not wish to confess -to the parish priest, whom she had known all her life, and so she wrote -out a general confession and sent it to a priest here in Rome. Is that -possible, do you think?" - -"Such things have been done," answered Ghisleri. "I do not know what the -rule is about them, but the case is possible." - -"I was not sure. Now they say that this confession of Adele's never -reached its destination, and that a copy of it, if not the original, is -in circulation in society, passing quietly from hand to hand. That is a -strange story, is it not?" - -"A very strange story." Pietro's face was grave, for he remembered many -circumstances which this tale might explain. "And what is the confession -said to contain?" he asked, after a pause. - -"Some extraordinary revelations about Adele's social career; it is even -hinted that there is something which might bring very serious -consequences upon her if it were known, though what it is no one can -find out. That is what I heard, and I thought it worth while to tell -you. I think, so far as I am concerned, that I shall deny it. It looks -improbable enough, on the face of it. One need not say that its very -improbability makes one think it cannot be all an invention." - -"No. I think you are wise--and charitable as well. If there is any truth -in it, Donna Adele will have another illness when it reaches her ears. I -suppose people have not failed to say that it was Lady Herbert who had -the confession stolen through a servant." - -"Strange to say, no one has said that yet, but they will," added -Maddalena, with conviction. "Here comes Savelli--take care! Will you put -fifty francs for me on the next race? Here is the note." - -There was no exaggeration in the Contessa's account. The story was -actually in circulation, if the lost confession was not. Unlike the -majority of such tales, however, this one was not openly repeated or -commented upon where more than two people were present. It disappeared -and reappeared in unexpected places like the river Alpheus of old, but -its shape was not materially changed. It was told in whispers and under -terrible oaths of secrecy, and occasionally--very rarely, indeed--the -mere word "Confession," spoken in casual conversation, made people smile -and look at each other. There was not even a scandalous little -paragraph in any of the daily papers, referring to it. For there are -moments when society can keep its secrets, strangely communicative as it -is at other times. The houses of Savelli and Gerano were too important -and, in a way, too powerful still, to be carelessly attacked. Indeed, -society very much preferred that neither the one nor the other should be -attacked at all, and behaved so carefully in this one instance, that it -was very long before any one discovered that a few weeks before the -rumour had been set afloat Francesco Savelli had himself summarily -dismissed Adele's maid for the really serious offence of helping her -mistress to procure more morphia than the doctor's orders allowed. It -was longer still before any one knew that the maid's name was Lucia, and -that she had immediately found a situation with Donna Maria Boccapaduli. -What was never known to the public at all was that when Savelli sent her -out of the house, Lucia had threatened to make certain revelations -injurious to the family if he persisted, but that Francesco had not paid -the slightest attention to the menace, nor even spoken of it to his -wife. He was selfish, cold, and was very far from admirable as a man, -but he had been brought up in good traditions, and had the instincts of -a gentleman when his own comfort was not endangered by them. - -All Ghisleri's suspicions revived at the news Maddalena gave him. Again -he took down the medical work he had consulted on the evening when the -idea that Adele was in some way guilty of Arden's death had first -flashed across his mind, more than a year previously. Again he read the -chapter on scarlet fever carefully from beginning to end, and sat down -to think over the possibilities in such a case, and once more, after -several days of serious consideration, he grew sceptical, and abandoned -the attempt to fathom the mystery, if mystery there were. He knew that -even without that, Adele might have written many things to her confessor -in confidence which, if repeated openly in the world, would do her -terrible harm. He was quite sure that all the infamous slanders on -Laura and her husband could ultimately be traced to Adele alone, and it -was possible that the stolen document contained a full account of them, -though how any sane person could be rash enough to trust such a -statement to the post was beyond Ghisleri's comprehension. He did not -know that Adele had hardly been responsible for her actions on that day -and on many succeeding ones. He had seen, while at Gerano, that she was -far from well, but she had been apparently in full possession of her -senses. That she should have entrusted to paper the confession that she -had wilfully and successfully attempted to make Herbert Arden catch the -scarlet fever in her own house, he could not believe, though he thought -it possible that the crime might have actually been committed. - -He saw strong reasons for thinking that the confession had either been -destroyed, or had never really been shown, but that some third person -had known something of its contents and had perhaps betrayed the -knowledge in a fit of anger. The Contessa dell' Armi could never tell -him anything further than she had communicated at the races, and she, as -he knew, was intimate with many who would be acquainted with all the -current gossip. Strange to say, the story neither developed nor changed; -and contrary to his expectations and to Maddalena's own, no one ever -suggested that Lady Herbert Arden had been instrumental in causing the -confession to be stolen. The men did not talk about the story at all, -or, at least, no one ever hinted at it when Ghisleri was present. - -Laura saw him often during that winter, though not so regularly as in -the first months which had succeeded her husband's death. It was evident -to Pietro that the Princess was seriously disturbed by his frequent -visits to her daughter, and he willingly restricted them rather than -give offence to the elderly lady. As was to be expected, he gradually -became more intimate with Laura as time went on. There were strong bonds -of friendship between them, and the elements of a deep sympathy. On -more than one occasion each had spoken to the other the whole thoughts -of the moment, as people like themselves rarely speak to more than one -or two persons who come into their lives. Ghisleri felt that Laura was -taking the place of everything in his existence for which he had -formerly cared, and the thought of love for any woman had never been so -far from him as during that year and the following summer. He began to -take a pleasure in small things that concerned her, which he had rarely -found in the great emotions of his former life. Occasionally, when he -was in a bad temper, he sneered at himself and said that he was growing -old, and was only fit to be the guardian of distressed widows and -fatherless children. But in spite of such moments, he was sometimes -conscious of something not unlike happiness, and he was, on the whole, -far more cheerful and less discontented with himself than he had -formerly been. - -"It is the calm before the storm," he said to Laura one day, with a -laugh. "Something appalling is going to happen to me before long." - -"I do not believe it," she answered, confidently. "You have lived such -an existence of excitement for so many years, that you cannot understand -what peace means now that you have tried it. Of course if you go in -search of emotions again, you will find them. They grow on every bush, -and are as cheap as blackberries." - -Laura laughed a little, too, as she made the reply. She thought much of -Ghisleri now, and she could hardly realise what her life would be -without him. Little Herbert first, then her mother, then Pietro--so the -three stood in their respective order when she thought of her rather -lonely position in the world. For she was very lonely, even when Arden -had been dead eighteen months or more. Her old acquaintances rarely came -to see her, and when they did there was a constraint in their manner -which told of fear, or dislike, or both. The idle tale of the evil eye -which she had so heartily despised once upon a time had done its work. -In the following year, when, in the natural course of events, she would -have gone out occasionally in a very quiet way, she found herself almost -cut off from society. - -Even then she did not care so much as might have been expected. But her -mother was in despair. She and the Prince constantly had Laura to dine -with them, and always asked at the same time two or three friends with -whom she had formerly been more or less intimate. But when it became -known that "to dine quite informally" meant that the person invited was -to meet Laura Arden, it became very hard to find evenings when any one -chanced to be free to accept an invitation to the Palazzo Braccio. -Incredible as it may seem, Laura was almost ostracised. No one who has -not seen the social ruin which such a reputation as hers brings with it, -could believe how complete it can be. Ghisleri ground his teeth in -impotent anger against the stupid and cruel superstition which possessed -his fellow-citizens, and which in a year or two would inevitably drive -Laura to leave Rome, as it had driven others before then. He could do -nothing, for the thing was never mentioned before him, and moreover he -would be far more careful now than he had ever been not to be drawn into -a quarrel on Laura's account. - -For he was well aware that his position towards her was anomalous and -might very easily be misunderstood in a society where almost all were -prejudiced against her. He supposed that the world expected him to marry -her when a little more time had passed, and he knew that nothing was -further from his thoughts. It was at this time, just two years after -Herbert Arden's death, that he began to torment himself, perhaps with -better reason than in former days. Knowing as he did what might be said, -and what in all likelihood was said about his friendship for Laura, the -advisability of discontinuing his visits almost altogether presented -itself for consideration, and would not be summarily annihilated by any -specious argument. It had formerly seemed to him treacherous even to -think of loving Arden's wife, though the thought had rarely crossed his -mind even as the wildest hypothesis until some time after his friend had -been dead and buried. It now seemed as impossible as ever to love her, -but he was obliged by the commonest of common sense considerations to -admit that such an affection would not imply the smallest breach of -faith to Arden's memory. She was a widow, and any man who knew her had a -right to love her and to ask her hand if he so pleased. That right, -then, was his also, if ever he should need to avail himself of it. But -it was precisely because he did not love Laura Arden that the doubt as -to his own conduct arose. As he had no intention of asking her to marry -him, could he and should he put her in such a position as to favour -speculation in regard to her? Unquestionably he should not. But in that -case, what was he to do? The old, ignoble, worldly instinct told him to -create a diversion by causing gossip in other directions, where scandal -would be easily manufactured, and then to procure himself the liberty of -doing what he pleased behind the world's back, so to say. But to his -credit it must be admitted that he did not entertain the idea for a -moment. It disgusted him and he sought for a solution elsewhere, trying, -in his imagination, every conceivable expedient by which he fancied that -he might enjoy Laura's society without compromising her in any way. In -such cases, however, it is hard to find a stratagem which shall at once -satisfy the exigencies of the situation, and an honest man's conscience -and sense of honour. He had long given up the custom of going to see -Laura every other day, and when she was at her mother's house he was -rarely invited, on account of the Princess's prejudice against him, and -which no good conduct on his part seemed capable of destroying. To give -up seeing Laura altogether was a sacrifice so great that he did not feel -strong enough to make it; nor, perhaps, would Laura herself have -understood it. Yet, unless he kept away from her for a long time, he -knew that the all-wise world would continue to say that he saw her -every day. The more he thought about it, the harder he found it to come -to any decision. Considering the terms on which he now saw her, and that -in former times they had more than once spoken of the same matter, he at -last reluctantly resolved to lay the question before her, and to let her -decide what he should do. He hated to ask advice of any one, and he -detested even the appearance of shifting responsibility upon another. -But he could see no other way. - -Laura found it as hard to come to a determination as he had. During the -last six months he had become almost a necessary part of her life, and -she would have turned to him as naturally as he now turned to her for -counsel in any difficult situation. Her own character was too simple and -straightforward to demand the elaborate explanations of the nature of -friendship, which he required of himself; but when he put the difficulty -before her she saw it plainly enough. - -"For myself, I am perfectly indifferent," she said at last. "I do not -see why I should sacrifice anything because there are people bad enough -to imagine evil where there is none. You and I need no justification of -our friendship, and as I cannot see that I, at least, am much in debt to -the world, it is not clear to me why I should care what it says. But I -have to consider my mother." - -"And yourself, in spite of what you say," answered Ghisleri. "You -yourself are first--your mother next." - -"Of course you, as a man, look at it in that light. But if it were not -for my mother, do not imagine that I should take any notice of what -people choose to say. They have said such vile things of me already that -they can hardly invent anything worse. If it were perfectly indifferent -to you, I do not say but that I might prefer to be careful." - -"If what were indifferent?" asked Ghisleri, who did not understand the -rather enigmatic speech. - -"If you were quite an indifferent person to me--which you are not." - -Her eyes met his frankly, and she smiled as she spoke. There was not a -trace of timidity or shyness in the speech. She had no reason whatever -for concealing the fact that she liked him. But he, on his part, -experienced an odd sensation, the meaning of which was by no means clear -to him. He could not have told whether it partook more of satisfaction -or of disappointment, but it was a distinct emotion of a kind which he -had never expected to feel in her presence. - -"I am glad you like me," he said. "I should be very unhappy if you did -not. I value your friendship more than anything in the world." - -"You have earned it if ever a man did," she answered. - -"It is enough that I have it. I do not know how I have deserved anything -half so precious." - -"I know more of what you have done for me than you suppose," said Laura. -"Never mind that. The facts are simple enough. We are good friends; we -depend, for a certain amount of happiness, upon seeing one another -often; because the world does not understand, it expects us to sacrifice -our inclinations. For my part, I refuse. There is only one person to be -consulted--my mother, who is dearer to me than any friend can be. I will -speak to her and make her see the truth. In the mean time do nothing, -and forget all this absurd complication. It is only the unreal shadow of -an artificial morality which has no foundation nor true existence -whatever. You know that better than I." - -Ghisleri laughed. - -"When you choose to express yourself strongly, you do not lack force," -he said. "In the old days I used to fancy that if you spoke out plainly, -your sentiments would take the form of a prayer, or a hymn, or something -of that sort." - -"I am much more human than you think me," Laura answered. "I told you so -once, and you would not believe me." - -Laura therefore took the matter into her own hands, and spoke to her -mother about it. But the Princess was not easily persuaded, and when the -summer came the two were still at variance. A woman like Laura's mother -is hard to move when she has allowed a prejudice to take firm root in -her mind, and becomes altogether obstinate when that prejudice is -tolerably well founded. It was an unquestionable fact that Ghisleri had -always been considered a dangerous and rather fast man, whose -acquaintance did not improve a woman's reputation, and the Princess of -Gerano had no means of understanding his real character. It was a -constant wonder to her that Laura should like him. The excellent lady -never at all realised that the blood of poor Jack Carlyon was in his -daughter's veins, and that, sooner or later, it might make itself felt -and produce rather unexpected results. Carlyon's chief characteristic -had been his recklessness of consequences. If the Princess had -remembered that, she would have understood better why Laura had married -Herbert Arden in spite of his deformities, and why she made an intimate -friend of Pietro Ghisleri in spite of his reputation. But Laura had -never shown any subversive tendencies in childhood or early youth, and -her fearless truthfulness, her rather melancholy and meditative nature -when a young girl, and her really charitable heart had combined with her -pale beauty and saintly eyes to make her mother suppose her infinitely -more submissive, obedient, and nun-like than she actually was. After -long and patient discussion Laura turned rather suddenly. - -"I am not a child, mother," she said. "I know Signor Ghisleri very much -better than you, and better than most people can. I know enough of his -past life to understand that, although he has done many foolish things -and some cruel ones, he is not what I call a bad man, and he has changed -very much for the better during the last two years. I will not give up -his friendship for the sake of pleasing a set of people who do not even -pretend to like me." - -"Laura, Laura, take care! You are falling in love with that man, and he -is not fit to be your husband." - -"In love?" Laura's deep eyes flashed angrily, for the first time in her -mother's recollection of her. "You do not know what you are saying, -mother." - -The Princess sighed, and turned her face away. She attributed the -extraordinary change in her daughter to Ghisleri's bad influence, and -her prejudice against him increased accordingly. She could not see that -the girl had developed in the course of years into a fully grown woman -whose character had not turned out to be what she had expected. - -And Laura was very angry at the suggestion that she could possibly love -Ghisleri--quite unjustifiably so, her mother considered. But here, -again, the elder woman did the younger an injustice. Love was very far -from Laura's thoughts just then, though her friendship for Pietro was -assuming an importance it had not had before. - -She did not speak again for some minutes, and when she did, she spoke -quietly and without any show of anger. Her tone was not hard, nor was -anything she said either cutting or defiant, but the Princess felt that -there was to be no appeal from the verdict. - -"Dearest mother," she said, "I never did anything and I never will do -anything with the intention of displeasing or hurting you. But I have my -own life to lead, and my own responsibilities to bear, in my own way. -There are some things in which I must judge for myself, and one of them -is in the matter of choosing my friends." - -"If you had chosen any one but that wild Ghisleri!" sighed the Princess. - -"A man who knew him better than either you or I can, loved him dearly, -and when he was dying bade him take care of me. The promise then made -has been faithfully kept. I will not shut my door to my husband's old -friend, who has become mine, merely because the world is what it is--a -liar, an evil speaker, and a slanderer." - -Laura was a little pale, and the lids drooped over her eyes as though to -hide something she would not show. It was the first time she had ever -spoken of Herbert Arden since her child had been born. - -If the world had been aware that the matter of her intimacy with -Ghisleri had been under discussion, it would have been much delighted by -her decision. It would really have been too unkind of Laura to deprive -it of a subject of conversation full of never-flagging interest. For not -a day passed without a reference to Pietro's devotion to her, and the -reference was rarely made without a dash of spite and a little -flavouring of social venom. Laura was not to be forgiven for having made -Ghisleri prefer her company to that of a score of other women, all, in -their own estimation, as good-looking as she, and infinitely more -agreeable. - -Ghisleri himself accepted the situation, since Laura wished him to do -so, though he was constantly uneasy about his own position. It seemed to -him that if there were the slightest danger of giving colour to any -serious slander on her name it must be his duty to disobey her and -altogether discontinue his visits. And he knew also that he would -naturally be the last person to hear what was common gossip. The season, -however, passed on quietly enough until Lent began, bringing the period -of mortification and fasting during which society uses its legs less and -its tongues more. This, it may be here again said for the sake of -clearness, was the Lenten season of the second year after Arden's death, -and after the final break between Ghisleri and Maddalena dell' Armi. - -At that time several events occurred which it is necessary to chronicle -in greater detail, for the better understanding of this history, and for -the more complete refutation of the story which passed commonly current -for some time afterwards, and which very nearly brought about the most -irreparable consequences. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -During nearly a year a large number of persons had been acquainted with -the story of Adele's written confession, but, as has been shown, the -matter was considered so serious as to deserve secrecy--the highest -social honour which can be conferred on truth. It had never reached the -ears of any member of the Savelli or of the Gerano families, and but for -Maddalena dell' Armi, Ghisleri himself would never have heard it. - -Although Adele was suffering the dire results of her evil deeds in the -shape of almost incurable morphinism, the principal cause of her first -fears and consequent illness no longer troubled her as it had once done. -She now believed that the confession had, after all, caught upon some -projection or in some crevice of the masonry in the shaft of the -oubliette at Gerano, and that it would never be heard of again. It was -incredible, she thought, that if any person had found it and read it, he -or she should not attempt to extort a large sum of money for it. But no -one appeared to demand anything. That was sufficient proof that no one -possessed the document, and it must therefore have remained safely where -it had fallen. Her one and only fear was lest something should happen to -that part of the castle which might make repairs necessary, and possibly -lead to the discovery of the letter. But that was improbable in the -extreme. The massive walls had stood as they were during nearly four -centuries, and did not show any signs of weakness. As for Lucia, if she -ever betrayed the secret, or hinted to her present mistress that there -was a secret to betray, and if any story got afloat by her agency, Adele -could deny it, and her position was strong enough in the world to force -most people to accept her denial. She almost laughed at the idea. The -principal statement contained in the confession would seem almost -grotesque in its improbability. She knew very well that if she ever -heard such an action imputed to her worst enemy she would not believe -it; she would not even take the trouble to repeat it, because nothing -was more foolish than to get the reputation of telling incredible tales. -She was quite sure of this, for when she mentally tried the position she -found that she could not have given credence to such a legend even if -any one had accused Laura Arden of having done the deed. And as she -hated Laura with a whole-hearted hatred that did not hesitate at -trifles, she considered the argument to be conclusive. - -Her hatred grew as the fatal effects of the morphia began to unsettle -her brain and disturb the strong power of self-control which had borne -her through so many dangers. The necessity for keeping up an outward -show of good relations with her step-sister on pain of the severest -financial punishment if she angered her father, irritated her extremely. -She was well aware that, in spite of the reconciliation and of her own -behaviour, the world still chose to believe most of the things she had -formerly said of Laura, and that the latter's position was anything but -enviable. Nevertheless, Laura seemed to survive very well, and in -Adele's opinion had obtained far more than her share of good things. -That she had really suffered terribly, in her own way, by the death of -her husband, none knew better than Adele, and that, at least, was a -satisfaction. But in other ways she was singularly fortunate. Her little -boy was as sturdy and strong and sound as any mother could have wished; -for deformity which is the result of accident is not inherited. -Moreover, there seemed to be little doubt but that the uncle from whom -Arden had expected a large fortune would now leave his money to little -Herbert. Laura was, of course, decidedly poor at present, judging from -Adele's point of view, but in the life she led she needed very little -money, and what she had sufficed for her wants. She was evidently quite -contented. Then, as though the rest were not enough, she had what Adele -called a monopoly of Pietro Ghisleri, who acted as though he intended -to marry her, and whom she received as though she meant to accept him. -As Laura Arden, society could treat her as it pleased, but as Ghisleri's -wife, society would not only open its arms to her, but would in all -likelihood espouse her cause in any future difference or difficulty. -Ghisleri would know how to assure her position, and would have no -difficulty in making her respected, for he was a most particularly -unpleasant person to quarrel with and it was not every one who had -Campodonico's luck. Of course, there might yet be time to prevent the -marriage, and Adele rashly resolved that if that were possible she would -accomplish it. - -Of late she had begun to include Ghisleri in her hatred of Laura, having -finally given up the attempt to attract him into her immediate circle. -He was always the same with her, and never, in the course of years, had -seemed willing to advance beyond the limits of ordinary and friendly -acquaintance, though she had often tried to draw him further. The -ordinary methods failed with him. He could not be tempted into making -confidences, which step is one of the first and perhaps the most -important in the ordinary, business-like flirtation. He was apparently -indifferent to praise as he was to blame, except from one or two -persons. He never had an enemy, to ruin whom he needed a woman's help--a -short method of reaching intimacy which is not to be despised in dealing -with refined bad people. Least of all, was he a man who could be led to -compromise himself in a woman's eyes in such a way as to consider it his -duty to make love to her. Adele had tried all these approved ways of -beginning a serious flirtation with Pietro, but had failed each time, -and it enraged her to see that Laura could keep him without any -stratagem at all, by sheer force of attraction. For she had no belief at -all in their platonic friendship. One or the other, or both, must be in -love, for the very simple and well-known reason that a permanent close -friendship between man and woman within certain limits of age was an -utter impossibility. Laura was perhaps too foolish to realise the fact, -but Ghisleri was certainly not the man to forget it. She disliked him -because she had not been able to attract him herself, and she hated him -for being attracted by Laura. - -She now made up her mind that unless she could ruin him in Laura's -estimation, the marriage could not be prevented, and she began to -revolve the chances for accomplishing her purpose. Her intelligence was -not what it had been, for it was subject now to fits of abnormal -activity and to a subsequent reaction, in which she was not always -perfectly well aware of what was going on around her. In the one state -she was rash, over-excited, nervous; in the other she was dull and -apathetic, and lost herself in hazy dreams of a rather disconnected -character. The consequence was that she found it very hard to hit upon -any consecutive plan which presented even the faintest hope of success. -Several times she was on the point of doing something very foolish, when -she had almost lost control of herself, and she was only saved by the -long habit of worldly tact which would probably survive all her other -faculties if they were wrecked by the habit which was killing her. But -she grew distrustful of herself and of her powers, and a new suffering -was added to the many she already had to bear, as she gradually became -conscious of the terrible change in herself. She tried to find out all -she could about Pietro Ghisleri. At that time all Rome was going mad -about making money by speculation, and all sorts of dishonest -transactions necessarily went on under cover of greater ones honest in -themselves. Adele did her best to ascertain whether Ghisleri were -connected with any of them, or with any affair whatever of a nature -which could be criticised. But she failed altogether. He looked on at -the general rush for money with perfect indifference, and was quite -content with the little he already possessed. It struck Adele that a -card scandal would do him as much harm as anything, and she made -inquiries as to his fondness for play, but was informed that he rarely -played at all, and generally lost a little if he did. - -He was hard to catch. So far as she could learn, he had changed his mode -of life very considerably during the past two years. It was quite -certain that he had definitely broken with Maddalena dell' Armi, though -no one was really sure of the exact date at which the rupture had taken -place. They were both clever people who kept their secrets to themselves -on the simple plan that, if a thing is not to be known, it should not be -told. Laura was the only other woman whom he visited regularly, and his -doings were far too well known to make it possible to float a scandal -about him in connexion with some one else, which should reach Laura's -ears. Besides, Laura would not care. She was quite capable of not taking -the slightest notice, just as in former times she had not cared whether -he saw Maddalena every day or not. All she wanted, thought Adele, was -that Ghisleri should be at her feet--and there he was. - -At last she hit upon the rather wild plan of asking Ghisleri himself -what she had better do. There was something diabolical in the idea of -taking his own advice in order to ruin him, which appealed to her in the -present state of her brain and nerves. They often met in society, and -she caught sight of him that very night at a Lenten party in Casa -Montevarchi--one of the last ever given in that house, by the by, for -the family was ruined soon afterwards. She followed him in the crowd and -touched his shoulder with her fan. - -"Will you give me your arm?" she asked. "Thanks. I want to sit down -somewhere. There is a sofa over there." - -"You still come to these talking matches, I see," said Ghisleri, as they -sat down. "It must be for the sake of saying something interesting, for -it can certainly not be in the hope of hearing anything of the kind." - -"You can still make sharp speeches," laughed Adele. "I thought my -step-sister had converted you, and that you were turning into a sort of -Saint Propriety." - -"Oh, you thought so," said Pietro, coolly. "Well, you see you were -mistaken. There is as little of propriety about me as usual, or of -saintship either." - -He looked at the worn and dilapidated features of the woman beside him, -at her hollow cheeks and lustreless eyes, and he almost pitied her. He -wondered how she had the courage to keep up the comedy and to face the -world as she did, night after night, old before her youth was half over, -ugly when she had been pretty but two years earlier, weary always, and -haunted by the shadow of the poison to which she was a slave. - -"You need not be angry," she answered. "I did not mean anything -disagreeable. I wish you would say more sharp things, it is refreshing -to hear a man talk after listening to a pack of little boys." - -"Why do you listen to them?" - -"They amuse me for five minutes, and when I have tolerated them as long -as that I cannot get rid of them. Then I begin to long for a little -serious talk with a man like you--a man one can ask a question of with -the hope of getting a reasonable answer." - -"You are very good to put it in that way," said Ghisleri. "Have you any -particular question to ask me now? I will be as intensely reasonable as -I can in my reply, on condition that it is a thing of which I know -nothing whatever." - -"What an extraordinary restriction!" exclaimed Adele. - -"Not at all. If I should know anything about the matter in hand it would -be sure to be so little that it would confuse me and hamper the free -working of my imagination, which might otherwise produce interesting and -even startling effects. You may have heard that a little knowledge is -dangerous. That is the meaning of the proverb." - -"I knew I should get something original from you. You always say -something which no one else would." - -"And you always discover in me some new and beautiful quality which had -escaped my notice," answered Ghisleri. "Is it with a view to getting -some particular sort of answer to the question you meditate, that you -flatter me so nicely before asking it?" - -"Of course," laughed Adele. "What did you expect? But I do not think you -would answer the question at all. You would give me a dissertation on -something else and then go away and leave me to be torn to pieces by the -little boys again." - -"What an awful death!" laughed Ghisleri. "I will not leave you. I will -protect you against whole legions of little boys." - -"You look as if you could. You are quite as strong as ever now, are you -not? You never feel any pain from your wound?" - -"Never," answered Pietro, indifferently. "Was that the grave question to -which you wanted a serious and well-considered reply?" - -"Do not be absurd!" cried Adele, with a laugh. "One has to make civil -inquiries of that kind sometimes. It is a social duty. Even if I hated -you I should ask if you were well." - -"Of course. The old-fashioned poisoners in the middle ages did that. It -was of no use to waste expensive poison on a man who was ill and might -die without it. They practised economy." - -"What a horrible idea!" exclaimed Adele, shuddering. - -"Horrible ideas were the fashion then," pursued Ghisleri. "I have -thought a great deal about those times since you showed me those -interesting places at Gerano, nearly two years ago. The modern publisher -of primers would have made his fortune under the Borgia domination. -Fancy the titles: 'Every man his own executioner, a practical guide for -headsmen, torturers and poisoners, by a member of the profession -(diploma) with notes, diagrams, and a special table of measurements and -instructions for using the patent German rack, etc.' Does not that sound -wildly interesting? They would have had it on the drawing-room table in -every castle. It would have been a splendid book for hawkers. Gerano -made me think of it." - -Adele laughed in rather a forced way, and her eyes moved uneasily, -glancing quickly in one direction and another. - -"You would have been a dreadful person in those times, I am quite sure," -she said. "You would have been a monster of cruelty." - -"Of course I should. So should we all. But we manage those little things -so easily now, and so much more tastefully." - -"Exactly," said Adele, who saw her chance and an opportunity of turning -the conversation at the same time. "I would like your views upon modern -social warfare. If you wished to ruin your enemy, how would you go about -it?" - -"A man or a woman?" asked Ghisleri, calmly. - -"Oh, both. A man first. It is always harder to injure a man than a -woman, is it not?" - -"So they say. Do you wish to kill the man or to ruin him altogether, or -only to injure him in the eyes of the world?" - -"Take the three in the other order," suggested Adele. "A mere injury -first--and the rest afterwards." - -"Very well. I have something very neat in the killing line--to use the -shopkeeper style. I will keep it to the end. Let me see. You wish to do -a man a great injury--enough, say, to make a woman who loves him turn -upon him. Is that it?" - -"Yes, that would do very well," said Adele, as though she were -discussing the fashion of a new frock. - -"If you happen to be a good hand at forgery," answered Ghisleri, with -perfect equanimity, "write a number of letters purporting to be from him -to another woman. Put anything you like into them, take them to the -woman who loves him, and ask a large sum for them. She will probably pay -it and leave him. You will accomplish your object and earn money at the -same time. If you cannot forge his handwriting, forge that of an -imaginary woman--that is easy enough--and follow the same course as -before. It is almost sure to succeed." - -"What a surpassingly diabolical scheme!" exclaimed Adele, with a laugh. - -"Yes, I flatter myself it is not bad. Of course you can make the matter -public if only you are sure of the forgery being good, or of an -imaginary woman being forthcoming at the right moment. But, on the -whole, the finest way of ruining a man before the world is to steal his -money. No reputation can stand poverty and slander at the same time." - -"But it is not always easy to steal a man's money," objected Adele. - -"Oh, yes, unless a man is very rich. Bring a suit against his title, and -if he fights it, the lawyers will eat up all he has. Then you can play -the magnanimous part and say that you give up the suit out of pity for -him. That is very pretty, too. But the prettiest of all is the new way -of killing people, because nobody can possibly find you out." - -"What do you make them die of?" asked Adele nervously. - -"Cholera--typhus--fever, almost anything you please. It is a convenient -way because the epidemic of the day is generally the most ready to hand. -What did you say? I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke. Yes, it is -delightful, and in most cases I believe it is almost sure to succeed. I -dined with Gouache last night, and Professor Wüsterschinder, the great -German authority on cutting up live rabbits, you know, was there. A -charming man--speaks French like a human being, and understands Italian -well. I liked him very much. The conversation turned upon murder. You -know Gouache has a taste for horrors, being the gentlest and kindest of -men. The professor told a long story of a doctor who murdered the -father, mother, and aunt of a girl whom none of the three would let him -marry. He did it in the course of medical treatment, with three -different vegetable poisons--masterly, the professor said. There was an -inquiry and they dug everybody up again, and all that sort of thing, but -no one could positively prove anything and the doctor married the girl -after all." - -"You seem full of horrors this evening," said Adele, moving one shoulder -in a restless, jerking way which was becoming a habit. - -"I always am," answered Ghisleri, turning his cold blue eyes on her. "I -know the most horrible things and am always just on the point of saying -them." - -"Please do not!" exclaimed Adele, shrinking away from him into the -corner of the sofa, almost in physical fear of him now. - -"I was telling you about the cholera trick, or I was going to tell you. -The other story was only the prelude. After giving it to us with a -number of details I have forgotten, Professor Wüsterschinder launched -out about the wonders of science, as those men always do, and positively -made me uncomfortable with the numbers of unfortunate rabbits and -puppies he cut to shreds in his conversation. Then he came to the point -and began to explain how easy it is to murder people by natural means -like typhus. It is done by taking the--good Heavens, Donna Adele, what -is the matter!" - -Adele had uttered a short, low cry, and her face had turned very white. -Her lips were contorted in an expression of anguish such as Pietro had -never seen, and her fingers were twisting together as though they would -break. - -"Can I do anything?" he asked, anxiously. He feared she was going to be -seized by some kind of convulsion, but the woman's strong will helped -her even then. - -"Hold my fan before my arm," she managed to say, and she felt for -something in her pocket with her right hand. - -In a moment she produced a tiny syringe with a point like a needle, and -a little bottle. With incredible quickness and skill she filled the -syringe, pricked the skin on her left arm, and ran the point into it, -and then pressed the tiny piston slowly till it would go no further. In -little more than one minute she had put everything into her pocket -again, and taking her fan from Ghisleri's hand, leaned back in the -corner of the sofa, with a sigh of relief. - -"I am afraid I made you nervous," he said, in a tone of apology. - -"Not at all," she answered. "I had forgotten to take my morphia before -coming--that was all. I suffer terribly with pains in my head when I do -not take it." - -"And is the pain gone already?" asked Ghisleri, in some surprise, and -wondering how she would answer. - -"Oh, no! But it will be gone very soon. I am quieter when I know I have -taken the morphia. Of course," she said, with a forced laugh, "you must -not suppose that I take it often, not even every day. I believe it is -very bad in large quantities." - -"Of course." Ghisleri could hardly help smiling at the poor attempt to -disclaim any slavery to the fatal drug, contradicting, as it did, what -she had said but a moment before. - -For the third time since Arden's death the conviction came upon him that -Adele had been the responsible cause of it, and this time it was -destined to be permanent. The theory of coincidence was exhausted, and -he abandoned it. The stories he had told her about Professor -Wüsterschinder, the great German authority, were quite true, and -Ghisleri's eyes had been opened on the previous evening to the -possibilities of evil disclosed by modern science. He was not yet sure -of what Adele had done, but he was convinced that the general nature of -the process she had employed to communicate the fever to Arden was -similar to those which the professor had described, and that she must, -in all probability, have got the necessary information from a scientific -book or article on the subject, which she had either procured -expressly, or which had perhaps fallen under her eyes by chance. - -She, on her part, had been desperately frightened, as she had good cause -to be, for it was almost inconceivable to her that he could have -accidentally gone so near the mark as he was going when her cry had -stopped him. She felt that if he had pronounced the next half a dozen -words, she must have gone mad there and then in the drawing-room where -she sat, and she had instinctively prevented him proceeding any further. -Then in the convulsion of terror she felt, she had resorted to her sole -comforter, the morphia, and it had not played her false. In a short time -its influence was at work and indeed the mere act of taking it was in -itself soothing in the extreme. She felt herself growing calm again and -more able to face the new difficulties and terrors that had arisen in -her path. And they were many. She had no doubt now that Ghisleri had -either read the lost confession or had spoken with some one who had. It -was appalling to think that in that very room there might be a score of -persons who knew what that letter contained as well as he. The morphia -helped her wonderfully. But it was clear that Ghisleri had her in his -power. An idea flashed across her mind. It was so simple that she -wondered how she had not thought of it before. The letter had really -fallen to the bottom of the shaft. Ghisleri, interested perhaps in the -story of Paolo Braccio, had strolled down to the dungeon again by -himself and had seen the paper lying there. In that case he alone knew -of its existence or of its contents, besides herself and Lucia. The -thought was so agreeable, compared with the alternative of supposing -that all society knew the details of her evil deeds, that she clung to -it. Then she looked at the man who, as she supposed, had power to -dispose of her existence at his pleasure, and she wondered whether he -had a price. All men had, she had heard. But as it seemed to her now, -this particular man would not be like the generality, or else the price -he would set on her letter would be of the kind which she could not -possibly pay, because she would never be able to obtain for him what he -might want. The feeling she had known in the first months of her torment -returned upon her now, and very strongly--the awful feeling of -degradation compared even with the worst of the people she knew. In her -eyes, Ghisleri, with all his misdeeds, seemed a being of superior purity -and goodness. He had never done what she had done, nor anything -approaching to it in the most distant way. He had faced men in fair -fight, and hurt them, and been almost mortally hurt himself, but he had -never stabbed an enemy in the back nor dealt a blow in the dark. He had -loved more than one woman, and had been loved in return, but no one had -ever hinted that a woman's confidence had passed his lips, nor that he -had ever spoken lightly of any woman's good name. If he had done evil, -he had done it fairly, defiantly, above board, and in the light of day. -Adele envied him with all her heart as he sat there beside her, -confident in his own honourable reputation--as honour is reckoned in the -world--and free to go and to come and to do what seemed good in his own -eyes without a second thought of the consequences or the least fear of -betraying himself. There was not at that moment one person in the room -with whom she would not have been only too glad to exchange places, -station, fortune, name, reputation--everything. And she fancied Ghisleri -knew it, as indeed he almost did, and she feared to meet his eyes. - -The silence had lasted so long that it was fast becoming awkward. It was -rarely indeed that Ghisleri forgot the social duty of destroying silence -ruthlessly the moment it appears, with any weapon which comes to hand, -from a feather to a bombshell. But on the present occasion his thoughts -were so many and so complex as to fill his mind completely for a few -minutes, so that all outward considerations sank into insignificance. -The effort was made at last by Adele, the one of the two who had by far -the most at stake in playing her part. - -"Are you aware," she began, with an attempt at playfulness which was -almost weird, "that you have not spoken a single word during the last -quarter of an hour? Have you quite forgotten my existence? My dear -friend, you are growing almost rude in your old age!" - -"Good manners were never anything but an affectation with me," answered -Ghisleri. "But you are quite right. There are little conventions of that -sort which must be respected if society is to keep together and hold up -its head--though why it should not lay down that same head and let -itself go to pieces is beyond my comprehension. Present company is -always excepted, you know--so you and I would survive as glorious and -immortal relics of a by-gone civilisation." - -He hardly knew what he was saying, but he let the words run on with the -easy habit of talking and saying nothing which sometimes saves critical -situations for those who possess it and which can be acquired by almost -any one who is not shy. The first step in studying that useful -accomplishment is to talk when everybody else is talking, and not to pay -the slightest attention to the sounds which pass one's lips. Any noise -will do, bad or good--as the bearer of the good news to Aix put -it--only, if possible, from the first let the noise take the shape of -words. As every one else is talking, no one will hear you. Some of -Mother Goose's rhymes are excellent for such practice, but those who -prefer to recite the Eton grammar will obtain a result quite as -satisfactory in the end. No one listens, and it makes no difference. You -will then get a reputation for joining cheerfully in the talk of the -day. But if you sit looking at your plate because you have nothing to -say, the givers of dinner parties will curse you in their hearts, and -will rarely ask you to eat their food, which treatment, though it will -ultimately prolong your life, will not contribute to your social -success. Gradually, if you practise the system assiduously, you will be -able to walk alone, so to say. By attraction, your unconscious phrases -will become exactly like those of your neighbours. You will then only -need to open your mouth, stretch the vocal chords, and supply the -necessary breath, and admirably constructed inanities will roll out, -even when everybody is listening, and while you are gaining time to -select in your mind a sufficiently cutting epithet with which to adorn -your friend Smith Tompkins's name when it is mentioned, or while you are -nicely calculating the exact amount of money you can ask the said Smith -Tompkins to lend you the next time you have lost at baccarat. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -The state of certainty in regard to Adele's doings, at which Ghisleri -had now arrived, seemed to make any action in the matter useless if not -practically impossible. He ascertained without difficulty the law -concerning such attempts to do bodily injury as he was quite sure she -had made. The crime was homicide when the attempt led to fatal results. -There was no doubt of that. On the other hand, even if it should seem -advisable to bring Adele to justice, and to involve both the Savelli and -Gerano families in an affair which would socially ruin them for at least -one whole generation, in case Adele were convicted, yet the positive -proofs would be very hard to produce, and the ultimate good to be gained -would be infinitesimally small compared with the injury done to innocent -persons. The best course was to maintain the most absolute secrecy and -to discourage as far as possible any allusions others might make to the -mystery of the lost letter. Ghisleri, too, understood human nature far -too well to suppose that Adele had in the first instance desired or -expected to kill Herbert Arden. She had most probably only meant to -cause Laura the greatest possible anxiety and trouble by bringing a -dangerous illness upon her husband. Scarlet fever, as is well known, is -not often fatal to adults in Italy, and such cases as Arden's in which -death ensues within eight and forty hours, are so rare as to be -phenomenal in any part of the world. But Ghisleri had found them -described in the book he chanced to possess, under the head of -"rudimentary cases ending fatally"--and it was there stated that they -were the consequence of "a very violent infection." Adele, in practising -some one of the methods of fever-poisoning which the great professor had -described so vividly at Gouache's, had of course not known exactly what -result she was about to produce. She had assuredly not foreseen that -Arden would die, and had very probably not even believed that he would -really take the fever at all. As for the wish to do harm, Pietro -explained that naturally enough. He knew that the dinner of -reconciliation must have been brought about by the Prince of Gerano, and -he guessed that in the interview between the father and the daughter -Adele had been deeply humiliated by being forced to yield and by the -necessity of openly retracting what she had said of Arden and Laura. In -a woman whose impulses were naturally bad, and whose mind had never been -very well balanced, it was not very hard to explain how the idea had -presented itself, if chance had at that moment thrown the necessary -information into her way. The whole story was now sufficiently connected -from first to last, and Ghisleri, as he thought over it, saw how all the -details he remembered confirmed the theory. He recollected the doctor's -remarks about the case, and how surprised he had been by its -extraordinary violence. He recalled vividly all that he had heard of -Adele's behaviour immediately after the dinner party, and his own -impression of her appearance when he had met her in the street and had -recommended her a soporific, was extremely distinct, as well as her -behaviour whenever, in the course of the past two years, he had said -anything intentionally, or not, which she could construe as referring to -her crime. The chain was complete from the beginning to the end and her -present dangerous state was the direct consequence of the very first -slander she had cast on Laura Arden. - -What Ghisleri felt when he was fully persuaded that Adele Savelli had -brought about the death of his best friend, is not easily described. In -natures like his, the desire for vengeance is very strong--strongest -when most justified. The instinct which demands life for life is always -present somewhere in the natural human heart and, on the whole, the -great body of human opinion has in most ages approved it and given it -shape in law--or sanction, where laws have been or still are -rudimentary. Ghisleri was not therefore either unusually cruel or -bloodthirsty in wishing that Adele might expiate her crime to the full. -But in this case, even if capital punishment had not been abolished in -Italy, the law would not have applied it, and personal revenge without -the law's assistance being out of the question in the nineteenth -century, Pietro could hardly have invented a worse fate than actually -awaited his friend's murderess. There was a grand logic, as it seemed to -him, in the implacable retribution which was pursuing and must before -long overtake Adele Savelli. He could enjoy the whole satisfaction of -the most complete vengeance without so much as raising a finger to -hasten it. That was the first result of his cogitations, and he was very -well pleased with it. He bought books containing accounts of morphinism -and calmly tried to calculate how long Adele had to live, what precise -phenomena her end would exhibit, and to decide whether she would lose -her mind altogether before the physical consumption of the tissues -destroyed her body. - -But before long he became disgusted with himself, for he was not cruel -by nature, though capable of doing very cruel things under the influence -of passion. It was probably not from any inherent nobility of character, -but rather out of the commonest pity combined with a rather uncommon -though material refinement of taste, that he at last turned from his -study and contemplation of Adele's sufferings and resolutely put her and -them out of his mind. - -"Heaven can do with her what it pleases. I will think no more about it," -he said to himself one day, and the saying was profoundly characteristic -of the man. - -He had never been an unbeliever since the last years of his boyhood, -when, like many boys in our times, he had already fancied himself a man, -and had thought it manly to believe in nothing. But such a state of mind -was not really natural to him, nor even possible for any length of time. -Of his intimate convictions he never spoke, for they concerned no one, -and no one had a right to judge him. But that he really had certain -convictions no one who knew him well could doubt, and on certain -occasions they undeniably guided his actions. - -Laura Arden had not heard even the faintest hint about the lost letter, -and it became one of Ghisleri's principal occupations to keep the story -from her. She was, of course, not in the way of hearing it unless some -unusually indiscreet person should take pains to acquaint her with it; -but such people are unfortunately not uncommon, and Pietro knew that at -any moment Laura might hear something which would make her look at her -husband's death in a new light. The shock would be terrible, he knew, -and he did not like to think of it. He little suspected that when the -story reached her ears it would be so distorted as to convey a very -different meaning to her, nor did he guess the part he himself was to -play in what followed. - -A month and more passed away without any incident of importance. He saw -Laura constantly and met Adele occasionally in society. The latter -always greeted him with a great affectation of cordiality, but evidently -avoided conversing with him alone. Her expression when she looked at him -was invariably smiling, but the eyes which had grown so strange under -the daily influence of the poison had something in them on the rare -occasions when they met his that might have warned him had he suspected -danger. But he anticipated nothing of that sort for himself. He supposed -rather that she felt herself to be in his power and feared him, so that -she would carefully avoid doing anything which might provoke him. But in -this he was very much mistaken. He neither knew that she believed her -lost letter to be in a safe place, where no one could find it and where -it must ultimately turn to dust, nor realised how far her mind was -already unbalanced. Still less did he understand all the causes for -which she so sincerely hated him. Even had he felt that she was an -active adversary, he would have undervalued her power to do him harm. - -Adele meditated her last stroke a long time. Though Ghisleri had -frightened her terribly during the conversation she had herself asked -for on that memorable evening in Casa Montevarchi, he had also suggested -the very idea of which she had long been in search. She turned it over, -twisted it, so to say, into every possible shape, and at last reached a -definite plan. There was already something of madness in the scheme she -ultimately adopted, and which she carried out with an ingenuity and -secrecy almost beyond belief. - -Laura Arden was surprised one morning by receiving a letter addressed to -her in an unknown handwriting, which she at once judged to be that of a -woman, though it was small, cramped, and irregular. - -"Madam," the letter began, "I apply to your well-known charitable heart -in the greatest conceivable distress. My husband, who was for a long -time in the service of one of the noblest Roman families as a clerk in -the steward's office, lost his position in the ruin which has lately -overtaken that most excellent house. He walks the streets from sunrise -to sunset in search of employment, and returns at night to contemplate -the spectacle of misery afforded him by his starving family. Misery is -upon us, and there is no bread, nor even the commonest food, such as day -labourers eat, with which to quiet the piteous cries of our children." - -There followed much more to the same effect. The style was quite that of -a woman of the class to which the writer claimed to belong, and the -appeal for help, though couched in rather flowery language, had a ring -of truth in it which touched Laura's heart. It had, indeed, been copied, -with a few alterations, from a genuine letter which Adele Savelli had -chanced to receive. The concluding sentences stated that the applicant, -"who had never known poverty before was ashamed, for her husband's sake, -to give the name which had so long been respectable. If Lady Herbert -Arden was moved to pity and would give anything--the very smallest -charity--would she put it into an envelope and send it to 'Maria B.' -addressed to the general post-office?" - -Laura hesitated a moment, and then slipped a five franc note with her -card into an envelope and addressed it as requested in the letter. On -the next day but one she received a second, full of gratitude, and -expressing the most humble and sincere thanks for the money, but not -asking for anything more. This also was copied from a genuine -communication, and the style was unmistakably the same. Adele had -answered the first by sending a larger sum than Laura had given, in -order that the reply might be relatively effusive. - -A week passed, and Laura heard no more from Maria B., and had almost -forgotten the incident when a third letter came, imploring further -assistance. Laura was far from rich, and gave all she could in the way -of charity to such poor people as she considered to have an especial -claim upon her consideration. On this occasion, therefore, she made no -reply. This was exactly what Adele expected, and suited her plan -admirably. After a sufficient time had elapsed to make it quite plain -that Laura did not intend to answer the second appeal, another -communication came through the post. - -The tone this time, was, if possible, more humble and piteous than -before. After enumerating and discanting upon the horrible sufferings -the family underwent, and declaring that unless some charitable -Christian would give assistance in some shape, even were it but a loaf -of bread, the whole household must inevitably perish, and after adding -that father, mother, and all four children--the latter of tender -age--expected to be turned into the street by a hard-hearted landlord, -Maria B. made a distinct proposition. Contemptible as it must appear in -the eyes of a great and rich English lady to take advantage of having -discovered a secret in order to beg a charity, necessity knows no law. -The ex-clerk was in possession of certain letters written by a near -connexion of Lady Herbert's to a person with whom the latter was -intimately acquainted, and whom, it was commonly reported, she was about -to marry. These letters, five in number, referred to a transaction of a -very peculiar nature, which it would be advisable not to make public, -for the sake of the persons concerned. It was very far from Maria B.'s -thoughts to degrade herself by setting a price upon the documents. If -Lady Herbert cared to possess them they should be hers, and any small -reward she might be willing to give would be humbly and thankfully -accepted. In order that she might judge of the nature of the letters in -question, Maria B. enclosed a copy of the one last written before the -transaction alluded to had been concluded. Lady Herbert would be able to -understand the names from the initials used by the copyist. - -Laura, even then, did not suspect in the least what she was about to -find. She unfolded the separate sheet which had dropped from the letter -when she had opened it, and began to read with an expression of -curiosity and some amusement. - - "MY DEAR G.:--Of course I understand your position perfectly and I - have known you long enough to be sure that you will take every - advantage of it, short of doing me an open injury, which would - hardly be for your own good. I know perfectly well, also, where you - found the paper at Gerano, for I went to the spot myself to look for - it, and it was gone. You had been there before me--by chance, no - doubt, since you could not possibly guess that there was anything - there worth finding. It is quite clear that if you really circulate - that letter among our mutual friends, you will subject me to the - ridicule of all Rome and to an amount of humiliation which I am not - prepared to endure. You see I am quite willing to come to terms. But - I think your demand is really out of all proportion to the - circumstances. A hundred thousand francs for a miserable scrap of - paper! Absurd, my friend. You are not the accomplished scoundrel I - took you for if you suppose that I will pay that. Fifty thousand is - the most I can possibly offer you. If you are satisfied with that, - wear a gardenia in your coat to-night at the Frangipani dance. As - for my behaviour in public, you need not warn me. I can keep my - countenance almost as well as you. A.S." - -The letter dropped from Laura's hands before she had read to the end. An -instant later she took it up again and tore it to the smallest shreds. -She had heard of cases of blackmail, but never of anything so infamous -as this. She did not hesitate long, but wrote within the hour a few -lines to Maria B. in which she warned the latter not to dare to proceed -with her abominable fraud, and rather rashly threatened her with the law -if she attempted anything further of the same kind. As for speaking to -Ghisleri about it, the idea never crossed her thoughts. - -Again three days passed. Then, one morning, the post brought a large and -rather bulky letter, registered and addressed in a round, ornate, -clerk's hand. Adele had got the address written at the post-office on -pretence that her own handwriting was not legible enough. Laura supposed -that the missive contained a business communication from her banker, and -opened it without the least suspicion. It contained three greyish-blue -envelopes of the paper now very commonly used for daily correspondence. -All three were opened in a peculiar way, and precisely as Laura had more -than once seen Ghisleri open a letter in her presence. He had a habit of -tearing off a very thin strip along one edge, with so much neatness as -almost to give the paper the appearance of having been cut with a sharp -instrument. All three were addressed to him, moreover, in Adele -Savelli's handwriting, without any attempt at disguise. Laura held them -in her hand, turned them over, and saw the tiny prince's coronet over a -single initial which Adele had used for years. There was no mistaking -the authenticity of everything about the envelopes. Laura's heart stood -still. There was no word of explanation from her former correspondent, -but Laura recollected that the latter had said that the letters were -five in number, whereas these were only three. It was clear that the -remaining two had been kept back as a tacit threat in case the request -for money were not complied with. Laura's first impulse was to treat -them as she had treated the copy Maria B. had at first sent her, and to -tear them into minute shreds, without so much as glancing at the -contents. But a moment's reflection made her change her mind. She -slipped them all back into the large envelope and locked them up in the -drawer of her writing-table, putting the key into her pocket. Then she -wrote a note to Ghisleri, asking him to come and see her as soon as -possible, and despatched Donald with it immediately. - -She sat down to wait, strangely affected by what had happened. It is -hardly to be wondered at, if the whole thing seemed inexplicable. Even -at first she could not suspect Pietro Ghisleri. She would hardly have -believed him capable of such an action as he was accused of had she seen -him write the letters to which these of Adele were supposed to be -answers. And yet those answers were there in the drawer, within reach of -her hand. She had not the slightest doubt but that the original of which -she had already seen a copy was amongst them. She could take it out and -read it if she pleased. It was damning evidence--but she would not have -believed in Ghisleri's guilt for twice as much proof as that. The one -thing she was forced to admit was that Adele had really written the -letters, though when, or for what purpose, or in what connexion, she -could not guess. The whole thing might turn out to be some Carnival jest -carried on by correspondence, and of which she had never heard. That was -the only explanation she could find, as she waited for Pietro Ghisleri. -He came within the hour. - -"Has anything happened?" he asked, as he took her hand. "I thought there -was something anxious about your note." - -"Something very strange has happened," she answered, looking into his -bright blue eyes, and acknowledging for the hundredth time that she -would believe him in spite of any testimony to the contrary. "Sit down," -she said. "I have something to give you which seems to belong to you. I -will tell you the story afterwards." - -She opened the drawer again and handed him the envelope. He looked at it -in surprise. - -"Am I to read what is inside?" he asked. - -"See for yourself." - -He took out the letters and looked at them as he had first looked at the -outer address. Then, realising that they were addressed to himself, his -expression changed. He recollected Adele's handwriting though she had -rarely written to him anything more than an invitation, and he knew the -paper on which she wrote. But where or when he had received these -particular ones, or how they had got into Laura's hands, was a mystery. - -"What are they?" he asked. "Are they old invitations? Why have they been -sent to you?" - -"I believe them to be forgeries," said Laura, "or else that they refer -to some standing jest you and she once may have kept up for a time. I -have not read them, but I have read a copy of one of them which was sent -me, and I know what they are about. I will tell you the whole story -afterwards. See for yourself, as I said before." - -Ghisleri drew out the first sheet. - -"If they are forgeries, they are very cleverly done," he said, with a -laugh. "The person has even imitated my way of opening a letter." - -His face grew very grave, as Laura watched it while he was reading, and -his brow knit together angrily. He read the second and the third, and -she could see his anger rising visibly in his eyes as he silently looked -at her each time he had finished one of them. When he had reached the -end of the last he did not speak for some moments. - -"Did you say that you knew what these letters were about?" he asked at -length, in a steady, cold voice. - -"I think so. I read a copy of one of them almost without knowing what I -was doing. Adele pretends that you are trying to get money from her for -a letter of hers you found at Gerano." - -"Yes, that is what they are about. It is her doing, but it is my fault." - -"Your fault!" exclaimed Laura. "But surely there never even was such a -letter as she refers to. Do you understand at all?" - -"Yes, I understand much too well. She has done this for a distinct -purpose. Tell me in the first place one thing. Do you still trust me in -the face of such evidence as this?" - -"I trust you as much as ever," answered Laura. - -"Thank you," he said simply, and he looked into her deep eyes a moment -before he continued. "There are two stories to tell, yours and mine. -Tell yours first. Tell me how you came by the copy you speak of. Who -sent it to you, and when?" - -As briefly as she could, Laura gave him all the details she could -remember from the day she had received the first request for help from -Maria B. It was painful to her to repeat what she could of the substance -of the copy sent her, but she went through with it to the end. - -"That letter is not among these," said Ghisleri, thoughtfully. "It is -one of the two which have been kept back for future use. Now let me tell -you what I can remember. Do not be surprised that I should never have -told you the story before. Since you can trust me in such a matter as -this, you will believe me when I say that there was a good reason for -not telling you." - -He gave a concise account of the conversation which had taken place -between himself and Adele at the Montevarchi's party, omitting only what -referred to his own suspicions concerning the manner of Arden's death. -If possible, he meant always to conceal that side of the question from -Laura. But it was necessary to tell her something about the document -constantly mentioned in the letters. - -"There is a story in circulation," he said, "to the effect that when -Donna Adele was ill at Gerano nearly two years ago, she was unwilling to -confess to the parish priest, and wrote a confession to be sent to her -confessor in Rome. A servant stole it, says the story, and it is -supposed to be in existence, passing from hand to hand in society. It is -quite possible that she believes that I bought it of the thief. But I -doubt even that. She has most probably regained possession of it before -attempting this stroke. And this is almost what I suggested to her in a -general way, and laughing, as one way of ruining a man. I remember my -own words--an injury that would make a woman who loves a man turn upon -him. Substitute friendship for love, and the case is almost identical." - -"Yes," Laura answered thoughtfully. "Substitute friendship for love." -She hardly knew why she repeated the words, and a moment later a faint -colour rose in her cheeks. - -"She has done this thing, therefore, with the deliberate intention of -ruining me in your eyes," said Ghisleri. - -"And she has utterly failed to do so, or even to change my opinion of -you a little. But it is very well done. There are people who would have -been deceived. The idea of forging--it is not forging--of writing -imaginary letters to you herself is masterly." - -"I do not think she is quite sane. The morphia she takes is beginning to -affect her brain. She does not always know what she is doing." - -"You take far too merciful and charitable a view," answered Laura, with -some scorn. - -"No, on the contrary, if she were quite what she used to be, she would -be more dangerous--she would not make mistakes. Two or three years ago -she would not have gratuitously thrown herself into danger as she has -now. She would not have made such a failure as this." - -"And what a failure it is! Do you know? It was very puzzling at first. -To know positively that you never could have received those letters, and -yet to see that they are still in existence, addressed to you, and -opened in your peculiar way. I felt as though I were in a dream." - -"I wonder you did not feel inclined to believe me guilty. The evidence -was almost as strong as it could be. In your position I should have -hesitated." - -"Would you have believed such a thing of me, if it had been just as it -is, only if the letters had gone to you instead of to me?" asked Laura. - -"Certainly not!" exclaimed Ghisleri, with strong emphasis. "That would -be quite another matter." - -"I do not see that it would. You would have been exactly in my position, -as you hinted a moment ago." - -"I was not thinking of you. The day I do not believe in you I shall not -believe in God. You are the last thing I have left to believe in--and -the best, my dear friend." - -He was very much in earnest, as Laura knew from the tone of his voice. -But she would not look at him just then, because she felt that he was -looking at her, and she preferred that their eyes should not meet. - -"Will you do anything about this?" she asked, after a pause, and not -referring to what he had last said. "Will you destroy those vile -things?" - -"Since they are addressed to me, I suppose I have a right to do so," -answered Ghisleri, and he began slowly to tear up the sheets of the -first letter. - -"There can be no doubt about their being genuine?" asked Laura, with -sudden emotion. - -"Not at all, I should say. But you are the best judge of that. You -should know her handwriting better than I. If you like," he added, with -a short laugh, "I will go and show them to her and ask her if she wrote -them. Shall I?" - -"Oh, no! Do not do that!" exclaimed Laura, who knew that he was quite -capable of following such a course as he suggested. - -There was apparently nothing to be done. Laura believed that any attempt -to make use of the two remaining letters would be as abortive as the -first, and there could certainly be no use in keeping those which had -been sent. On the contrary, it was possible that if they were preserved, -chance might throw them into hands in which they might become far more -dangerous than they were. - -"Shall I write to Maria B., whoever she is?" asked Laura. - -"You might send her another five francs," answered Ghisleri, grimly. "It -would show her how much you value the documents she has for sale." - -"I will," said Laura, with a laugh. "How furious she will be! Of course -it is Adele who gets these things." - -"Of course. Five francs is quite enough." - -And Laura, little knowing or guessing how it would be used against her, -sent a five-franc note with her card in an envelope and addressed it. On -the card she had written in pencil, "For Maria B., with best thanks." - -"There is one other thing I would like to do," she said. "But I do not -know whether you would approve. It would give me such satisfaction--you -know I am only a woman, after all." - -"What is that?" asked Ghisleri, "and why should you need my approval?" - -"Only this. To-morrow, and perhaps the next day, when she is quite sure -I must have received those letters, I would like to drive with you in an -open carriage where we should be sure to meet Adele. I would give -anything to see her face." - -Ghisleri laughed. The womanly side of Laura's nature was becoming more -apparent of late, and its manifestations pleased and surprised him. He -thought Laura would hardly have seemed human if she had not wished to -let Adele see how completely the attempt had failed which she had so -ingeniously planned and carried out. - -"If anything would make the town talk, that would," he answered. "The -only way to manage it would be to get the Princess to go with you and -then take me as--" He stopped short, rather awkwardly. - -"I should rather go without her," said Laura, turning her face away to -hide her amusement at the slip of the tongue of which he had been -guilty. - -In Rome, for Ghisleri to be seen driving with the Princess of Gerano and -her daughter would have been almost equivalent to announcing his -engagement to Laura. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Adele had not anticipated such complete failure in the first instance. -The five-franc note with Laura Arden's card told her plainly enough what -her step-sister thought of the matter, but she had no means of finding -out whether Ghisleri had been informed of what she had done or not, and -her efforts to extract information from him when she met him were not -successful. His tone and his manner towards her were precisely the same -as formerly, and he was as ready as ever to enter into desultory -conversation with her; but if she ventured to lead the talk in such a -direction as to find out what she wanted to know, he instantly met her -with a counter-allusion to her doings which frightened her and silenced -her effectually. So the months passed in a sort of petty skirmishing -which led to no positive result, and she secretly planned some further -step which should complete those she had already taken, reverse Laura's -judgment, and completely ruin Pietro Ghisleri with her and before the -world. The uneasy workings of her unsettled brain grew more and more -tortuous every day, until at last she felt unable to reason the question -out without the help of some experienced person. She felt quite sure -that there must be some way out of all her difficulties, by a short cut -to victory, and that a clever man, a good lawyer, for instance, if he -could be deceived into believing the story she had concocted, would know -how to make use of it against her enemies. The difficulty was two-fold. -In the first place she must put together such a body of evidence as no -experienced advocate could refuse as ground for an action at law, and, -secondly, she must find the said advocate and explain the whole matter -to him from her own point of view. The action would be brought in -self-defence against Pietro Ghisleri, who would be accused of having -systematically attempted to levy blackmail. That was the crude form in -which the idea suggested itself to Adele when she set to work. - -Her conviction now was that Pietro was only partially aware of the -substance of the lost confession, and that the letter containing it was -still at Gerano. This being the case, she could freely speak of it to -her lawyer and describe the contents in any way she pleased, so as to -turn the existence of the document to her own advantage. In the letters -she had sent Laura and in the other two which she kept by her for future -use, she had been careful never to say anything conclusive. Maria B. had -indeed spoken of the transaction as being ended, but that could be -interpreted as the unfounded supposition of a person not fully -acquainted with the facts, and desirous of making money out of them as -far as possible. The hardest thing would probably be to produce the -woman who was supposed to have written to Laura, in case she should be -needed. Money well bestowed, however, would do much towards stimulating -the memory of some indigent and unscrupulous person, and the part to be -played would, after all, be a small and insignificant one. On the other -hand, the weak point in the case would be that Adele, while able to -produce an unlimited number of her own letters to Ghisleri, would not -have a single line of his writing to show. She could, indeed, fall back -upon her own natural sense of caution, and declare that she had -destroyed all he had written, in the mistaken belief that it would be -safer to do so, and her lawyer could taunt his opponent with his folly -in not doing likewise; but that would, after all, be rather a poor -expedient. Or it might be pretended that Pietro had invariably written -to her in a feigned handwriting signing himself, perhaps, with a single -initial, as a precaution in case his letters should fall into the wrong -hands. In that case she could produce whatever she chose. The best -possible plan would be to extract one or two short notes from him upon -which an ambiguous construction might be put by the lawyers. All this, -Adele reflected, would need considerable time, and several months must -elapse before she could expect to be ready. Her mind, too, worked -spasmodically, and she was subject to long fits of apathy and extreme -depression in the intervals between her short hours of abnormal -activity. She knew that this was the result of the morphia she took in -such quantities, and she resolved to make a great effort to cure herself -of the fatal habit, if it were not already too late. - -As has been said more than once, Adele Savelli had possessed a very -determined will, and it had not yet been altogether destroyed. Having -once made up her mind to free herself if she could, she made the attempt -bravely and systematically. The result was that, in the course of -several months, she had reduced the amount of her daily doses very -considerably. The suffering was great, but the object to be gained was -great also, and she steeled herself to endure all that a woman could. -She was encouraged, also, by the fact that her mind began to act more -regularly and seemed more reliable. Physically, she was growing very -weak and was becoming almost emaciated. Francesco Savelli watched her -narrowly, and it was his opinion that she could not last long. The -Prince of Gerano was very anxious about her all through the spring which -followed the events last described, and his wife, though she was far -less fond of Adele than in former times, could not but feel a sorrowful -regret as she saw the young life that had begun so brightly wearing -itself away before her eyes. But the Princess had consolations in -another direction. Laura Arden seemed to grow daily more lovely in her -mature beauty, and Herbert was growing out of his babyhood into a sturdy -little boy of phenomenal strength and of imperturbably good temper. -Laura was headstrong where Ghisleri was concerned, but in all other -respects she was herself still. - -The first consequence of Adele's attempt to break the strong friendship -which united Laura and Pietro, was to draw them still more closely -together, and to make Laura, at least, more defiant of the world's -opinion than ever. As for Ghisleri, he almost forgot to ask himself -questions. The time to separate for the summer was drawing near, and he -knew, when he thought of it, what a different parting this one would be -from the one which had preceded it a year earlier. But he tried to think -of the present and not of the weary months of solitude he looked forward -to between June and November or December. He remembered, in spite of -himself, how he had more than once enjoyed the lonely life, even -refusing invitations to pleasant places rather than lose a single week -of an existence so full of charm. But another interest had been growing, -slowly, deep-sown, spreading its roots in silence, and fastening itself -about his heart while he had not even suspected that it was there at -all. Little by little, without visible manifestation, the strong thing -had drawn more strength from his own life, mysteriously absorbing into -itself the springs of thought and the sources of emotion, unifying them -and assimilating them all into something which was a part, and was soon -to be the chief part, of his being. And now, above the harrowed surface -of that inner ground on which such fierce battles had been fought -throughout his years of storm, a soft shoot raised its delicate head, -not timidly, but quietly and unobtrusively, to meet the warm sunshine of -the happier days to come. He saw it, and knew it, and held his peace, -dreading it and yet loving it, for it was love itself; but not knowing -truly what the little blade would come to, whether it was to bloom all -at once into a bright and poisonous flower of evil, bringing to him the -death of all possible love for ever; or whether it would grow up slowly, -calm and fair, from leaf to shrub, from shrub to sapling, from sapling -at last to tree, straight, tall, and strong, able to face tempest and -storm without bending its lofty head, rich to bear for him in the end -the stately blossom and the heavenly fruit of passionate true love. - -For before the day of parting came Pietro Ghisleri knew that he loved -Laura Arden. Ever since that moment when she had quietly given him -Adele's letter and had told him that she would believe no evil of him, -he had begun to suspect that she was no longer what she had been to him -once and what she had remained so long, a friend, kind, almost -affectionate, for whom he would give all he had, but only a friend after -all. It was different now. The thought of bidding Laura good-bye, even -for a few months, sent a thrill of pain through his heart which he had -not expected to feel--the small, sharp pain which tells a man the truth -about a woman and himself as nothing else can. The prospect of the -lonely summer was dreary. - -Ghisleri was surprised, and almost startled. During nearly two years and -a half he had honestly believed that he could never love again, and if a -sincere wish, formulated in the shape he unconsciously chose, could be -called a prayer, he earnestly prayed that so long as he lived he might -not feel what he had felt very strongly twice, at least, since he had -been a boy. But such a man could hardly expect that such a wish, or -prayer, could be granted or heard, so long as he was spending many hours -of each succeeding week in the company of Laura Arden. In the full -strength of manhood, passionate, sensitive beneath a cold exterior, -always attracted by women, and almost always repelled by men, Pietro -Ghisleri could hardly expect that in one moment the capacity for loving -should be wholly rooted out and destroyed by something like an act of -will, and as the consequence of his being disappointed and disgusted by -his own fickleness. The new passion might turn out to be greater or less -than the two which had hitherto disturbed his existence, but it could -hardly be greater than the first. It would necessarily be different from -either, in that it would be hopeless from the beginning, as he thought. -For where he was very sincere, he was rarely very confident in himself, -if the stake was woman's love, a fact more common with men who are at -once sensitive and strong than is generally known. - -But his first impulse was not to go away and escape from the temptation, -as it would have been some time earlier. There was no reason for doing -that, as he had reflected before, when he had considered the -advisability of breaking off all intercourse with Laura for the sake of -silencing the world's idle chatter. He was perfectly free to love her, -and to tell her so, if he chose. No one could blame him for wishing to -marry her; at most he might be thought foolish for desiring anything so -very improbable as that she should accept him. But he was quite -indifferent to what any one might think of him excepting Laura herself. -One resolution only he made and did his best to keep, and it was a good -one. He made up his mind that he would not make love to her, as he -understood the meaning of the term. Possibly, as he told himself with a -little scorn, this was no resolution at all, but only a way of -expressing his conviction that he was quite unable to do what he so -magnanimously refused to attempt. For his instinct told him that his -love for Laura had already taken a shape which differed wholly from all -former passions, one unfamiliar to him, one which would need a new -expression if it continued to be sincere. But that he doubted. He was -quite ready to admit that when Laura came back in the autumn, this early -beginning of love would have disappeared again, and that the old strong -friendship would be found in its place, solid, firmly based, and -unchanged, a permanent happiness and a constant satisfaction. He was no -longer a boy, to imagine that the first breath of love was the -forerunner of an all-destroying storm in which he must perish, or of a -clear, fair wind before which the ship of his life was to run her -straight course to the haven of death's peace. He had seen too much -fickleness in himself and in others to believe in any such thing; but if -he had anticipated either it would have been the tempest. On the whole, -he did the wisest thing he could. He changed nothing in his manner -towards Laura and he waited as calmly as he was able, to see what the -end would be. Once only before Laura went away the conversation turned -upon love, and oddly enough it was Laura who brought up the subject. - -She had been talking about little Herbert, as she often did, planning -out his future according to her own wishes and making it happy in her -own way, even to sketching the wife he was to win some five and twenty -years hence. - -"I should like her to be very fair," she said. "Herbert will be dark, as -I am, and they say that contrasts attract each other most permanently. -But of course, though she must be beautiful, she must have ever so many -other good points besides. In the first place, she must be capable of -loving him with all her heart and soul. I suppose that is really the -hardest thing of all to find." - -"The 'one-great-passion' sort of person, you mean, I fancy," observed -Ghisleri, with a smile. "A rare bird--I agree with you." - -"I doubt whether the individual exists," said Laura. "Except by -accident, or when the course of true love runs so very smoothly that it -would need superhuman ingenuity to fall off it." - -"You are a constant revelation to me!" Ghisleri laughed, and looked at -her. - -"What is there surprising about what I said? You are not a believer in -the universal stability of the human heart, are you?" - -"Hardly that! But women very often are--at first. And then, when they -see that change is possible, they are apt to say that there is no such -thing as true love at all, whereas we know that there is." - -"In other words, you think that I take the sensible view. After all, -what is the use of expecting humanity to be superhuman?" - -"I always like the way in which you put things," said Ghisleri, -thoughtfully. "That is exactly it. Homo sum. I am neither angel, nor -ape, but man, and at present, I believe, no near relation of the seraph -or the monkey." - -"And as a man, changeable. So am I, as a woman, I have no doubt. Every -one must be, and I do not think it is fair to respect people who do not -change at all because they never have the chance." - -"One cannot help it. Human nature instinctively places the man who has -only loved once above the man who has shown that he can love often. It -is connected with the idea of faith and loyalty." - -"Often--that is too much. There comes the question of the limit. How -often can a man love sincerely?" - -"Three times--not more," answered Ghisleri, with conviction. - -"Why not two, or four? How can you lay down the law in that way?" - -"It is very simple. I think that no love is worth the name which does -not influence a man strongly for at least ten years. Any really great -passion will do that. But human life is short. Let a man fall in love at -twenty, and three periods of ten years each will bring him to fifty. A -man who falls in love after he is fifty is a rarity, and generally an -object of ridicule. That seems to me a logical demonstration, and I do -not see why it should not apply to a woman as well as to a man." - -"Yes, I think there is truth in that," said Laura. "At all events, it -looks true. Besides, there is something quite reasonable in the idea -that a man naturally has three stages, when he is twenty years old, -thirty, and forty. I should imagine that the middle stage, while he is -still developing, might be the shortest." - -It was impossible for Ghisleri to imagine that Laura was referring to -his own life, but the remark was certainly very applicable to himself, -so far. Would the third stage be permanent, if he really reached it? He -was inclined to think that nothing about him had much stability, for -within the last two years he had come to accept the fact as something -which was part of his nature and from which there was no escape, despise -the weakness and hate it as he would. It was a singular coincidence that -since he had tormented himself less he had become really less -changeable. - -A month later he parted from Laura, to all outward appearances as -quietly and calmly as in the previous year. If there were any -difference, it was in her manner rather than in his. She said almost -sadly that she was sorry the time had come, and that she looked forward -to the meeting in the autumn as to one of the pleasantest things in the -future. The words she spoke were almost commonplace, though even if -taken literally they conveyed more than she had ever said before. But it -was quite clear that she meant more than she said. - -When she was gone Ghisleri felt more lonely than he had for years, and -every interest seemed to have died out of his existence. He tried to -laugh at himself for turning into a boy again, but even that diversion -failed him. He could not even find the bitter words it had once amused -him, in a grim way, to put together. Then he left Rome, weary of the -sights and sounds of the streets, of the solitude of his rooms, of the -effort to show some intelligence when he was obliged to talk with an -acquaintance. He went to his own place in Tuscany and passed his time in -trying to improve the condition of things. He knew something of -practical architecture, and he rebuilt a staircase, and restored the -vaulting in a part of the little castle to which he had never done -anything before, and which had gone to ruin during the last hundred -years or more, since it had last been inhabited. For he, his father, and -his grandfather had been only sons, and his mother having died when he -was a mere boy, his father had taken a dislike to Torre de' Ghisleri and -had lived the remainder of his short life in Florence. Hence the general -dilapidation of the old place which was not, however, without beauty. -The occupation did him good, and the sight of the old familiar faces of -his tenants and few retainers was pleasant, after facing the museum of -society masks during seven months and more. But he felt that even here -he could not stay any great length of time without a change, and as the -summer advanced his restlessness became extreme. - -He came down to Rome for a week in August. The first person he met in -the street was Francesco Savelli, who stopped to speak with him. -Ghisleri never voluntarily stopped any one. - -"How is Donna Adele?" he asked, after they had exchanged the first -greetings. - -"Very nervous," answered Savelli, shaking his head with the air of -concern he thought it proper to affect whenever he spoke of his wife's -illness. "The nerves are something which no one can understand. I can -tell you a story, for instance, about something which happened the other -day--to be accurate, in June, when we were at Gerano. Do you remember -the oubliette between the guard-room and the tower? Yes--my wife said -she showed it to you. We were all staying together--all the children, -her father, and the Princess and two or three friends. One morning she -said she was quite sure that if we took up that slab of stone and -lowered a man into the shaft, we should find a skeleton hanging -there--Heaven knows what she imagined! The Prince said he had looked -into the shaft scores of times when the trap-door still existed and -there was a bar across the passage to prevent any one from going near; -that he himself had ordered the stone to be put where it was and knew -all about the place. The only skeleton ever found in the castle had been -discovered walled up in the thickness of the north tower, with a little -window just opposite the face, so that the individual must have died -looking at the hills. Nobody knew anything about it. But my wife -insisted, and grew angry, and at last furious. It was of no use, of -course. You know the old gentleman--he can be perfectly rigid. He -answered that no one should touch the stone, that if she yielded to such -ideas once, she would soon wish to pull Gerano to pieces to count the -mice, and that if she could persuade my father to knock holes in the -walls at Castel Savello, that was the affair of the Savelli, but that so -long as he lived she should not make any experiments in excavation under -his roof. If you will believe me, she had a fit of anger which brought -on an attack of the nerves, and she never went out of her room for three -days in consequence. Do you wonder that I am anxious?" - -"Certainly not. It would be amazing if you were indifferent. The story -gives one the idea that she is subject to delusions. I am very sorry she -is no better. Pray remember me to her." - -Thereupon Ghisleri passed on, inwardly wondering how long it would be -before Adele became quite mad. Two days later he received a note from -her. She had heard from her husband that he was in Rome, she said, and -wrote to ask a great favour of him. He was doubtless aware of her -father's passion for manuscripts, which was well known in Rome. It was -reported that a certain dealer had bought Prince Montevarchi's library -after the crash, and she very much wished to buy a very interesting -manuscript of which she had often heard her father speak, and which -contained an account of the famous, or infamous, Isabella Montevarchi's -life, written with her own hand--a sort of confession, in fact. As she -did not know the exact title of the document, if it had any, she would -call it a confession, though, of course, in a strictly lay sense. Now, -she inquired, would Ghisleri, for old friendship's sake, try to obtain -it for her at a reasonable price? She knew, of course, that such an -original would be expensive, but she was prepared to discuss the terms -if not wholly beyond her means. She sent her note by the carrier, as -that was generally quicker than writing by the post, she said. Would -Ghisleri kindly answer by the same means? The man would call again on -the next day but one. That would perhaps give time to make preliminary -inquiries. With which observation, and with best thanks in anticipation -of the service he was about to render, Adele called herself most -sincerely his. - -Ghisleri was not an extremely suspicious man, but he would have given -evidence of almost infantine simplicity if he had not seen that there -was something wrong about Adele's note. It was certainly very well -planned, and if Laura had never shown him the letters Adele had sent -her, it might very possibly have succeeded. On ascertaining the price -set by the dealer on the manuscript, he would probably have written a -few words, stating in a business-like way the sum for which the -so-called confession could be bought. In all likelihood, too, he would -have only dated his note by the day of the week, omitting altogether the -month and the year. He saw at a glance how easily a communication of -that kind might have taken such a shape as to be very serviceable -against him, and how hard it might have been to show that he was writing -about a genuine transaction concerning a manuscript actually for sale. -He determined to be very careful. - -His first step was to find out the name of the dealer who had bought the -Montevarchi library. He next ascertained that what Adele wanted was -still unsold, and that he must therefore necessarily enter into -correspondence with her. After that he sought out a young lawyer whom he -had employed once or twice within the last few years when he had needed -legal advice in regard to some trifling point, and laid the whole matter -before him. This young man, Ubaldini by name, had rapidly acquired a -reputation as a criminal lawyer, and had successfully defended some -remarkable cases, but, as he justly observed, acquitted prisoners of the -classes in which crimes are common, pay very little, and condemned -criminals pay nothing at all. He was therefore under the necessity of -taking other kinds of business as a means of support. The last murderer -who had escaped the law by Ubaldini's eloquence had sent him a bag of -beans and a cream cheese, which was all the family could afford in the -way of a fee, but upon which a barrister who had a taste for variety -could not subsist any length of time. - -Ghisleri explained at considerable length the whole story, as far as it -has been told in these pages, and expressed the belief that Donna Adele -Savelli was intent upon ruining him for what, after all, seemed very -insufficient reasons. - -"When a woman lives on morphia and the fear of discovery, instead of -food and drink, I would not give much for the soundness of any of her -reasons," said Ubaldini, with a laugh. "What shall we do with the -Princess? Shall we convict her of homicide, or bring an action for -defamation, which we are sure to win? I like this case. We shall amuse -ourselves." - -"I do not wish to bring any accusation nor any action against Donna -Adele Savelli," answered Ghisleri. "All I wish to do is to protect -myself. Of course I should be curious to know what became of that -written confession of hers, if it ever existed. But at present I wish -you to have certified copies made of all my letters to her, and to keep -the originals of those she writes me. If she makes such another attack -on me as the last one, I will ask you, perhaps, to take the matter up. -In the mean time, I only desire to keep on the safe side." - -"In a case like this," said the lawyer, "it is far safer to attack than -to wait for the enemy. Be careful in what you write, at all events. It -would be wiser to show me the letters before you send them. One never -can tell at what point the error of omission or commission will be made, -upon which everything will depend. As a bit of general advice, I should -warn you always to date every sheet on which you write anything, always -to mention the name of the dealer when you speak of him, and invariably -to give in full the correct title by which the manuscript is known. If -you do that, and take good care that the dealer knows you perfectly each -time you see him, and remembers your visits, it will not be easy to -manage. But Donna Adele Savelli is evidently a clever person, whether -her reasons for hating you are good or bad. That little trick of sending -her own letters to the other lady was masterly--absolutely diabolical. -The reason she failed was that she struck too high. She over-reached -herself. She accused you of too much. That shows that although her -methods are clever her judgment is insufficient. The same is true of -this last attempt. By the bye, have you ever mentioned me to her, so far -as you can recollect?" - -"No, I believe not." - -"Then avoid doing so, if you please. It is always better to keep the -opposite party in ignorance of one's lawyer's name until the last -minute." - -"Very well." - -As soon as Ghisleri was gone Ubaldini wrote a draft of a letter to -Adele, as follows: - - "EXCELLENCY:--At the decease of a client of humble station a number - of papers have come under my notice and are now in my hands. One of - them, of some length, has evidently gone astray, for it is written - by your Excellency and apparently addressed to a member of the - clergy, besides containing, as one glance told me, matter of a - private nature. It is my wish to restore it immediately, and I - therefore write to inquire whether I may entrust it to the - post-office, or whether I shall hand it sealed to your Excellency's - legal representative. I need not add the assurance that so far as I - am concerned the matter is a strict secret, nor that I desire to - restore the document as a duty of honour, and could not consider for - a moment the question of any remuneration. - - "Deign, Excellency, to receive graciously the expression of - profoundest respect with which I write myself, - - "Your Excellency's most humble, obedient servant, - - "RINALDO UBALDINI, _Advocate_." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -As Ghisleri had anticipated, Adele kept up a lively correspondence with -him for some time. All her letters were duly filed by Ubaldini, who took -certified copies of Pietro's replies, but did not mention what he -himself had done in the matter. Adele bargained sharply until Ghisleri -wrote to her as plainly as he well could that the manuscript was not to -be had for less than the sum he had repeatedly named, and that he could -do nothing more for her. Thereupon she answered that she would consider -the matter, and did not write again. Pietro, after waiting several days, -left Rome again, and returned to Torre de' Ghisleri, glad to be relieved -at last from the irksome and dangerous task of writing concise and -lawyer-like communications about a subject which did not interest him at -all. - -Meanwhile Adele had been through a series of emotions of which Pietro -knew nothing, and which very nearly drove her to increasing her daily -doses of morphia again. On receiving Ubaldini's very respectful and -straightforward letter, she had felt that she was saved at last, though -it definitely destroyed the illusion by which she had so long persuaded -herself that the confession was still in the oubliette at Gerano. -Without much hesitation she wrote to Ubaldini, and laid a bank-note for -five hundred francs in the folded sheet. She begged him to send a -special messenger with the sealed packet to Castel Savello, and -requested him, in spite of his protest, to accept the enclosed sum to -cover expenses. - -During forty-eight hours she enjoyed to the full the anticipation of at -last getting back the letter which had cost her such terrible anxiety at -various times during the past two years and a half. Then came Ubaldini's -answer, though when she opened it she had no idea that it was from him. -He had made his clerk both write and sign the fair copy of the first -letter, which had been written on paper not stamped with an address. He -now wrote with his own hand upon the paper he kept for business -correspondence upon which, of course, the address was printed. There was -consequently not the slightest resemblance between the two letters. But -Adele was not prepared for the contents. The first thing she noticed was -her bank-note, carefully pinned inside the sheet. Even the form of -addressing her was not the same, and the one now employed was the -correct one, the Savelli being one of the families in which the title of -Prince and Princess belongs indiscriminately to all the children, and -consequently to the wives of all the sons. The letter was as follows: - - "SIGNORA PRINCIPESSA:--I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt - of a communication from your Excellency, in which you request me to - send a certain sealed packet to Castel Savello by a special - messenger, and enclosing a bank note for five hundred francs (Banca - Romana S. 32/0945) which I return herewith. I take the occasion to - say that I know nothing whatever of the sealed packet referred to, - and I beg to suggest that your Excellency may have accidentally - addressed the letter to me instead of to some other person, perhaps - in using a directory. If, however, it was written in answer to one - supposed to have been indited to you by me, the letter must have - been composed and sent by some designing person in the hope of - intercepting the reply and gaining possession of the money, which I - am glad to be able to send back to its original owner. Believe me, - Signora Principessa, - - "Your Excellency's most obedient, - - "RINALDO UBALDINI." - -The shock was almost more than Adele could bear, and the room reeled -with her as she comprehended what had happened, so far as she was able -to understand it all. The truth did not strike her, however. What she -believed was what the lawyer suggested, that some person had played a -trick on her, and had made use of Ubaldini's name and address in the -hope of getting the money he or she naturally expected that she would -send as compensation for such an important service. The hardest to -endure was the disappointment of finding that she was not to have the -confession after all. The point proved was that, whether it were still -in the oubliette or had been found and carried off, there was in either -case at least one person at large who knew it existed, and who knew that -the contents would be greatly to her disadvantage if known. And if one -person knew it, she argued, all Rome might be acquainted with the story, -and probably was. But the comforting conviction that the letter was -still safe at Gerano did not return. There was a tone about the first -communication disclaimed by Ubaldini, which forced upon her the belief -that the writer knew everything, and could ruin her at a moment's -notice. - -What Ubaldini gained was the certainty that the story which Ghisleri -described as current gossip was a fact, and a very serious one. He had -played detective instead of lawyer, and he had been very successful. He -knew also, that, as he had acted altogether in the interests of his -client, Ghisleri, and had returned Adele's money, no objection could, -strictly speaking, be made to the stratagem, however it might be looked -upon by gentlemen and men of the world, like Ghisleri himself. But -Ubaldini was a lawyer, and it was not his business to consider what the -fine world would think of his doings. He filed Adele's letter with the -copies of his own. - -In the course of a few days, Adele, who was all the time carrying on her -correspondence with Pietro, gathered some hope from the latter's -answers. She had a suspicion that he might keep all the notes he -received from her, and after the first she was as careful never to -mention the manuscript except as "the confession," as he, on his part, -was always to write out its title in full. It struck her, however, that -a man playing such a part as she wished to have it thought that he was -playing, would naturally use some such means for making his letters seem -commonplace if they should fall into the wrong hands, and it would be -easy to persuade her friends that the autobiographic writings of -Isabella Montevarchi meant Adele Savelli's confession, by common -consent, though she herself had not taken the trouble to use such a long -title more than once. The thought elated her, and comforted her in a -measure for the disappointment she had suffered, and which had shaken -her nerves severely. - -She now spent much time in going over the correspondence, weighing each -word in the attempt to establish its exact value if regarded from the -point of view of a systematic attempt to extort money. With a relative -coolness which would not have disgraced a strong man, and which showed -how far she had recovered control of herself by diminishing the doses of -morphia, she set to work to put her case together on the supposition -that she meant to lay it before her husband, for instance, or any other -intelligent person, with a request for advice. And the case, as she put -it, was better than might have been expected, though it depended -ultimately, for its solidity, on the supposition that the confession -could never be found. - -In the first place, she intended to admit that she had been jealous of -Laura for years, and to own frankly that she had often said cruel and -spiteful things of her, and of Arden, just as everybody she knew said -spiteful things of somebody. She would even admit that she had first set -afloat the rumour that Lord Herbert was intemperate, and that Laura had -the evil eye. She could then point out that her conduct had suddenly -changed in deference to her father's wishes, that there had been an open -reconciliation, not very heartfelt on her part at first, but made -sincere by the remorse she felt after Arden's death. For she meant to go -even so far as to confess that Arden might have caught the scarlet fever -in her house, seeing that her maid was only just recovering from it at -the time. The woman's illness had been kept strictly secret, and she had -been, from the first, taken to a distant part of the palace, so that -Adele had not believed there could be any danger. Even her husband had -not known what the maid's illness was, and poor Lucia had pleaded so -hard not to be sent to the hospital that Adele had yielded. But to -prove, she would say, how little fear of contagion she had, her own -children had not been sent into the country. The Palazzo Savelli was big -enough to have had a whole infirmary in one part of it, completely -isolated from all the rest. Nevertheless, she had always felt that there -was a possibility of Arden's last illness having been taken at that -dinner-party, and her secret remorse had caused her the greatest -suffering. Between that and a nervous disorder from which she had little -hope of ever recovering, she had fallen very ill, and had gone to -Gerano. While there, her conscience had so pricked her in the matter of -her past unkindness to her step-sister and to Arden, that although she -had been to confession at Easter, she wrote a long letter to her -confessor in Rome, going again over the full details of the past winter. -From that point she could tell the truth, without even sparing Lucia, -until she came to the discovery that it was Ghisleri himself who had -picked up the letter, or confession, under the shaft of the oubliette. -And here she would lay great stress on Ghisleri's attachment to Laura, -and consequent dislike of herself. The well-known fact that Pietro had -fought a desperate duel merely because Campodonico said that Lady -Herbert Arden might have the evil eye, sufficiently showed to what -lengths he would go in her defence. Nothing more would really be needed. -But there was plenty more. All Rome knew that he had broken with -Maddalena dell' Armi for Laura's sake, and that he had exhibited the -most untiring devotion ever afterwards. Never, since the death of the -Princess Corleone, Adele would boldly assert, had he been faithful to -any one woman for such a length of time. That was a strong point. The -Princess of Gerano herself could testify to her own anxiety about Laura -since Ghisleri had been so much with her. Laura herself had behaved in -the most admirable manner ever since the reconciliation, but Ghisleri, -in constituting himself her champion, had become, so to say, more -royalist than the king, and more catholic than the pope. His dislike, if -not his positive hatred, for Adele was apparent at every step in the -story. He did not, it is true, speak of it to any one, but his reticence -was a well-known peculiarity of his character. It was when he was alone -in conversation with Adele that he showed what he felt. But his manner -was always courteous and rather formal. It was by sarcastic hints that -he conveyed his meaning. Nevertheless, Adele had maintained the outward -forms of friendly acquaintance, and once, some six months after Arden's -death, when matters had not been so bad as they now were, she had asked -him to stay a few days at Gerano. Lucia could testify that he was there -at the time when the confession disappeared, and Lucia, who had -attempted to extort money for it, and would have succeeded if the -document had been forthcoming, had naturally been as interested as any -one to find it. Not until some time later had Adele suspected that it -had been picked up by Ghisleri. The thing, of course, had not any very -great value, but what woman, Adele would ask, could bear to think that -the most private outpourings of her soul to her spiritual director were -in the hands of a man who hated her, and who could, if he pleased, -circulate them and make them the talk of the town? When Ghisleri, in the -following winter, had begun to torment her systematically by quoting -little phrases and expressions which she remembered to have written in -the letter, she had at last boldly taxed him with having it in his -possession, and he, with the unparalleled cynicism for which he was -famous, had laughed at her and owned the truth. Every one would allow -that this was very like him. She had threatened to complain to her -husband, and he had expressed the utmost indifference. He was a known -duelist and a dangerous adversary, and for her husband's sake she had -held her tongue, while Ghisleri continued to make her life miserable -with his witticisms. Then she had once asked him what he would consider -an equivalent for the letter. He had laughed again, and had said that he -would take a large sum of money in exchange for it, which, he added, he -would devote to building a small hospital in the village of Torre de' -Ghisleri, saying that it would be for the good of her soul to found a -charity of that kind. She would not undertake to say whether he would -have employed the money for that purpose or not, if she had given it to -him. Possibly he would. But she had not been able to dispose of any such -sum as he had then named. Under her marriage contract she controlled -only her pin-money, and her father allowed her nothing out of the great -fortune which would some day be hers. She and Ghisleri had corresponded -about the matter in town, by notes sent backwards and forwards. She, on -her part, had at that time thought she was doing wisely in burning his, -but he had been less careful. He had, in fact, been so grossly negligent -as to leave five of them at one time in the pocket of one of his coats. -It was through his tailor to whom the coat had been sent for some -alteration or repair that two of these notes had come back to Adele. A -woman, apparently a seamstress, had come to her with them one day, and -had offered them to her for sale, together with a card of Lady Herbert -Arden's enclosed in an envelope addressed to "Maria B." at the general -post-office. On the card were written the words: "For Maria B., with -best thanks." The woman confessed that she was in great distress, that -she had found the letters in a coat upon which she was working, had -easily ascertained who Ghisleri was, and what his relations towards Lady -Herbert were, and had appealed to the latter for help, offering the -letters in exchange for any charity, and actually sending three of them -when she had only received five francs. Lady Herbert had then sent her -fifty francs more with the card in question, but the poor woman thought -that very little. She bitterly repented not having brought them all at -once to Donna Adele. Of course they belonged to her, and Donna Adele -had a right to them all, without payment. But the woman was very poor. -Adele had unhesitatingly given her a hundred francs and had kept the two -notes and the card, which proved at least that even at that time she had -been corresponding with Ghisleri and protesting her inability to pay the -sum he demanded, and that Laura Arden was aware of the correspondence, -and had been willing for Ghisleri's sake to pay money to obtain it. For -a long time after this Adele had made no further attempt, but had -avoided finding herself alone in conversation with Pietro, as many -people had indeed noticed, because she could not bear to be perpetually -annoyed by his reference to his power over her. Yet, out of fear lest -some harm should befall her husband, she had still held her peace. Early -in the preceding summer, shortly before leaving for her annual visit to -Gerano, Ghisleri had managed to be alone with her, and had not lost the -opportunity of inflicting another wound, which had revived all her old -desire to obtain possession of the lost letter. He had, indeed, almost -admitted that unless she would reconsider the matter he would send it to -one of her friends to read. The Montevarchi library was then about to be -sold, and many persons were talking of the famous confession of Isabella -Montevarchi. By way of safety, Adele, in agreeing to think the whole -thing over once more, had told him that when writing she should speak of -her own letter as though it were this well-known manuscript. She had -already some experience of his carelessness in regard to notes. Against -his own statement, and against her own secret positive conviction, yet -to give him one chance, as it were, she had made one desperate effort to -have the oubliette opened and searched. Her father would remember how -angry she had been, and, indeed, she had lost her temper, being always -ill and nervous. He had positively refused. Then, in despair, she had -reopened negotiations with Ghisleri, whose demands, though not so high -as formerly, were still quite beyond her means. As a matter of fact, -the dealer had asked an exorbitant price for the manuscript, being well -aware of its historical importance, which was little less than that -attaching to the famous manuscript account of the Cenci trial. Adele was -in despair. She had no means of raising such a sum as Ghisleri required, -except by selling her jewels, which she could not possibly do without -exciting her husband's suspicions. She was powerless. Had any woman ever -been placed in such a situation? Ghisleri's last letter distinctly -stated that he could do nothing more for her if she refused to buy the -confession of Isabella Montevarchi at the price he had last named. Those -were his very words. They meant that unless she paid, he would make use -of the letter he had. He even added, that in that case the manuscript -would probably before long be disposed of elsewhere, as though to make -his meaning clearer. - -Her position was very strong, Adele thought, as she reached the end of -her statement as she first drew it up in her own mind. A clever lawyer -could doubtless make it even stronger, for he would know how to take -advantage of every point, and how to call attention to the strongest and -pass smoothly over the weaker links in the chain. The real danger, and -the only real danger, lay in the possibility that the confession itself -might be found and might be produced, with all which she said it -contained, and with the one central black statement of which she made no -mention in working up the case. But who could produce it? If any one had -it, that man was Ghisleri, who had more than once gone very near the -truth in the hints he had thrown out. Say that he had it--suppose the -hypothesis a fact. Its being in his possession would be the most ruining -evidence of all. He would not dare to show it, for though it might ruin -her, it would be far worse ruin to him, for it would of itself suffice -to prove the truth of every word of her story, and he would not only -incur the full penalty of the law for a most abominable attempt at -levying blackmail, but his very memory would be blasted for ever as -that of the most dastardly and cowardly villain ever sent to penal -servitude. As for herself, she felt that she had not long to live, and -if worse came to worst, a little over-dose of morphia would end it all. -She would have had her triumph, and she would have seen Laura's face by -that time. - -It did not occur to her to ask herself any question about the origin of -a hatred so implacable as to make the sacrifice of life itself seem easy -in the accomplishment of its end. She was not able to trace the history -of her jealousy backwards by a firm concentration of memory, as she was -able by the force of vivid imagination to construct the vengeance she -anticipated in the future. That the most dire revenge should be -contemplated, pursued, and ultimately executed for the sake of a wrong -wholly imaginary in the first instance is not altogether novel in the -history of humanity. There are minds which under certain conditions -cannot judge of the past as they can of events present and to come. -Adele's hatred of Laura Arden amounted almost to a fixed idea. It had -begun in very small things. Its origin lay, perhaps, in the simple fact -that Laura was beautiful whereas Adele had been barely pretty at her -best, and its first great development had been the consequence of -Francesco Savelli's undisguised preference for the step-sister of his -future wife. All the young girl's jealousy and vain nature had been -roused and wounded by the slight, and as years had gone by and Savelli -showed no signs of forgetting his early attachment to Laura, the wound -had grown more sore and more angry until it had poisoned Adele's -character and heart to the very core. The worst deed she ever did had -not perhaps been the worst in intention. She had not been at all sure -that Arden would take the fever, and she had assuredly not meant nor -ever expected that he should die. Chance had put the information into -her hands at a moment when, through Laura, as it seemed to her, she was -suffering the most cruel humiliation she had ever known. On that -memorable evening when her father had forced her to submit to his will, -and when she was looking forward with bitter loathing to what was very -like a public reconciliation, she had been left alone. In attempting to -control herself and to regain some outward calm, she had taken up a -review and had forced herself to read the first article upon which she -opened, and which happened to be a very dull one on the bacilli of -various diseases. But one passage had struck her forcibly--the plain -account of a case which had recently been observed, in which few medical -terms occurred, and which a child could have understood. The extreme -simplicity of the facts had startled her, and she had suddenly resolved -that Laura and Arden should have cause to remember the reconciliation -which would cost her vanity so dear. But she had no intention of doing -murder. In her heart she had hardly believed that any result would -follow, and remorse had taken hold of her almost at once, simultaneously -with the horrible fear of discovery which has more than once driven men -and women mad. But remorse is by no means repentance. With it comes -often what has been called the impossibility of pardoning the person one -has injured, and the insane desire to wreak vengeance upon that person -for the acute sufferings endured in one's own conscience. Given the -existence of this desire in a very violent degree, and admitting the -inevitable disturbance of the faculties ensuing upon the long and -vicious abuse of such a poison as morphia, Adele's ultimate state -becomes comprehensible. She was, indeed, as Ghisleri had said to Laura, -hardly sane, and her incipient madness having originally resulted from -jealousy, the latter naturally remained the ruling influence in her -unsettled brain, and attained proportions hardly credible to those who -have not followed the steps by which the human intelligence passes from -sanity to madness. - -And now that she had worked up her case against Ghisleri, as a lawyer -would express it, and had convinced herself that she could tell a long -and connected story in which almost every detail should give colour to -her principal assertion, she hesitated as to the course she should -pursue. It was not in her power to send for a lawyer and to bring an -action at law against Pietro, without her husband's consent, and she -knew how hard that would be to obtain. Francesco Savelli was by no means -a cowardly man, and would, if necessary, have exposed his life in a duel -with Ghisleri, not for his wife's sake, but for the sake of the family -honour. But he had the true Roman's abhorrence of publicity and scandal, -and would make great sacrifices to avoid anything of the kind. Her own -father might be willing to take the matter up, but it was extremely hard -to deceive him. She knew, however, that if he were once persuaded of the -justice of her cause, he would go to any length in her defence and would -prove an implacable enemy to the man who, as he would suppose, had -injured her. The great difficulty lay in persuading him at the outset. -But for the unfortunate fact that he had already once detected her in -falsehood, the matter would have been far easier. It was true that she -meant to admit all he had then forced her to own, and much more besides, -in order to show how high a value Ghisleri set upon the confession which -contained a concise account of her doings. But he would, in any case, be -prejudiced against her from the first. One thing was in her favour, she -thought. The Princess of Gerano did not like Ghisleri, and would in all -likelihood be ready to believe evil of him, and to influence her -husband, good and just woman though she was. There was one other person -to whom Adele could apply--Prince Savelli himself. She thought of him -last and wondered why she had not remembered him first. He was a man of -singular energy, courage, and coolness, whose chief fault was a tendency -to overestimate beyond all limits the importance of his family and the -glory of his ancient name. She knew that he was abnormally sensitive on -these points and that if she could rouse his ever ready pride, he would -hesitate at nothing in order to bring retribution upon any one rash -enough to insult or injure any member of his family. And he lived a life -of his own and cared little for the world. His passion, strangely -enough, was of a scientific kind. He was an astronomer, had built -himself an observatory on the top of the massive old palace, and spent -the greater part of his time there. Such existences, in the very heart -of society, are not unknown in Rome. Prince Savelli had remained what he -was by nature, a true student, and was perfectly happy in his own way, -caring very little for the world and hardly ever showing himself in it. -The Princess was a placid person, extremely devout, but also extremely -selfish. It was from her that Francesco inherited his disposition and -his yellow hair. - -It struck Adele that if she could win her father-in-law's sympathy and -rouse him to action in her behalf, it would be far easier to persuade -her own father that she was in the right. Gerano had a boundless respect -for the elder Savelli's opinion, though if he had known him better, he -would have discovered that his judgment was far too easily influenced -where his exaggerated family pride was concerned. - -A long time passed before Adele finally made up her mind to the great -attempt. Ghisleri had already returned to Rome and Laura Arden was -expected in two or three weeks, according to news received by her -mother. - -An incident, trivial in itself, at last decided her to act at once. She -and Francesco were dining with the Prince and Princess of Gerano as they -did regularly once a week. As a rule nobody was invited to these family -meetings, but on that particular evening Gianforte Campodonico and Donna -Christina had been asked. It was convenient to have them when Laura was -not there, and they were much liked in Casa Gerano where, as has been -said, Ghisleri was not a favourite. There was, moreover, a distant -relationship between the families of Braccio and Campodonico of which, -as they liked one another, both were fond of speaking. - -Adele looked very ill. By this time her complexion was of a pale -yellow, and she was thin to absolute emaciation. In spite of her -determined efforts to break the habit that was killing her, or perhaps -as a first consequence of them, she was liable to moments of nervousness -in which she could hardly control herself and in which she did not seem -to remember what had happened a few minutes earlier. Her sufferings at -such times were painful to see. She could hardly keep her hands from -moving about in a helpless fashion, and her face was often slightly -contorted. Very rarely, on fine days when she had been driving, a little -colour came into her ghastly cheeks. It was easy to see that only her -strong will supported her continually, and that women more weakly -organized would long ago have succumbed to the effects of the poison. - -When she felt that she was liable to a crisis of the nerves she was -careful to stay at home, but occasionally she was attacked unawares, -more or less violently, when she had believed herself well enough to go -out. When this happened she sat in silence while the suffering lasted, -and did her best to keep her unruly hands clasped together. By a strong -effort she sometimes succeeded in concealing from others what she felt, -but the exertion of her will made her irritable to the last degree, if -she was called upon to speak or forced to try and join in the -conversation. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -The dinner passed off quietly and pleasantly enough until towards the -end, when the conversation turned upon the coming season, and all began -to speculate as to whether it would be gay or dull, as people always do -when they meet after the long separation in the summer. - -"There will be all the usual pleasant things," observed Francesco -Savelli, who loved society as much as his wife did. "Let me see. There -will be the evenings in Casa Frangipani, and they will give their two -balls as usual at the end. The Marchesa di San Giacinto will do as she -did last year--a dance and a ball alternately after the fifteenth of -January. Of course Casa Montevarchi does not exist any more since the -crash, but that is the only one. Then there are your evenings," he -continued, turning to the mistress of the house, "and there are ours, of -course, and I suppose Gouache and Donna Faustina will give something at -the studio. Have you seen her this year, Adele?" - -He looked across the table at his wife, and saw that she was beginning -to suffer from an unexpected attack. He knew the symptoms well, and was -aware that there was nothing to be done but to leave her alone and take -no notice of her. She merely nodded in answer to his question, and he -went on speaking. - -"Gouache always does something original," he said. "Do you remember that -supper on Shrove Tuesday years ago? It was the most successful thing of -that season. By the bye, I saw Ghisleri yesterday. He has come back." - -It was rather tactless of him to drag Ghisleri's name into the -conversation in the presence of Campodonico. But the Princess of Gerano -was even more tactless than he. - -"That wild Ghisleri!" she immediately exclaimed, as she always did when -Pietro was mentioned. - -"Ghisleri is no worse than the rest of us, I am sure," said Campodonico, -anxious to show that he was not in the least annoyed. "He has as many -good qualities as most men, and perhaps a few more." - -"It is generous of you to say that," observed Donna Christina, looking -at her husband with loving admiration. - -"I do not see that there is much generosity about it, my dear," he -answered warmly. "It would be very spiteful of me not to give him his -due, that is all. He is brave and honourable, and that is something to -say of any man. Besides, look at his friends--look at the people who -like him, beginning with most of you here. That is a very good test of -what a man is." - -He looked straight at Adele Savelli as he spoke, for no special reason -except that he always looked straight at somebody when he was speaking. -He was hot-tempered, passionate, generous, and truthful, and there was a -great directness about everything he did and said. But at that moment -Adele was in great pain and was doing her best to hide it. She fancied -that Campodonico had noticed what was the matter. - -"Why do you look at me in that way?" she asked irritably, but with a -nervous attempt at a laugh. - -"I do not know," answered Gianforte. "I suppose I expected you to agree -with me. I know Ghisleri is a friend of yours." - -"How do you know that?" Adele's irritation increased rapidly. "Have you -any reason to suppose that I am particularly fond of him? Have I ever -done anything to show it?" - -"Why are you so much annoyed?" asked Savelli, who generally felt -uncomfortable when his wife was in such moods, and feared that she would -say something to make herself and him ridiculous. "You always liked -him." - -Adele's hand twitched and moved on the table against her will, and she -upset some salt. The little incident sufficed to make her lose her head -completely. - -"If people knew what Pietro Ghisleri really is, there is not a house in -Rome where he would be received," she said angrily. - -The dead silence which followed this categorical statement brought her -to her senses too late. Campodonico was the first to speak. - -"I should find it very hard to believe that Ghisleri ever committed a -dishonourable action," he said gravely. "That is a very serious -statement, Donna Adele." - -"Yes, indeed," put in the Prince, turning to his daughter. "You should -consider what you are saying, my dear, before going so far as that. I -think you ought to explain yourself. We may not all like Ghisleri, and -if we please we are at liberty to say so here, in the family; but it is -quite another matter to say that he is not a fit person to associate -with us. To say that, you must be quite sure that he has done something -disgraceful, of which we are all in ignorance." - -"I quite agree with you," said Francesco Savelli. "You only make -yourself ridiculous by saying such things," he added, looking coldly at -his wife, for he was anxious that none of the ridicule should reflect -upon himself, especially in Campodonico's presence. - -"I am sure, when I call Ghisleri wild," said the Princess, "I mean -nothing more than that he is fast. But I am very sorry to have brought -about such a discussion. Adele, my dear, what do you mean? Are you in -earnest?" - -"One does not say such things for nothing," answered Adele, angrily. - -"Then I wonder that you receive him," said the Prince, coldly. "I hope -you will explain to me by and by what you refer to." - -"I will, some day," said Adele, in a low voice. She felt that she had -cast the die, and she hardly saw how she could draw back. - -"In that case, we will say no more about the matter at present," said -the master of the house, in a tone of authority. "I had meant to ask you -for news of your brother," he said, turning to Campodonico. "I was very -sorry to hear that he had been ill. Is he better?" - -Gianforte answered, and every one made an effort to restore the outward -calm which had been so disturbed by Adele's speech. Soon after dinner -she went home, and instead of going to his club as usual Francesco got -into the carriage with her. - -"I insist upon knowing what you meant by your accusation against -Ghisleri," he said, as soon as they were driving away. - -"I will not tell you," Adele answered firmly. "You will find it out in -time--quite soon enough, I daresay." - -"I have the right to know. In the world in which we live one makes -oneself ridiculous by saying such things. Everybody will laugh at you, -and then you will expect me to take your part." - -"I shall not expect anything of the sort, for I am not so foolish. You -never had the slightest affection for me, and you have lost such little -decent regard for me as you once felt, because I am always ill and it -gives you trouble to be considerate. You would not raise a finger to -help me or protect me unless you were afraid of the world's opinion. I -have known that a long time, and now that I am in trouble I will not -come to you. Why should I? You are only waiting for me to die, in order -to ask Laura to marry you. It would annoy you extremely if I lived long -enough to give her time to marry Ghisleri." - -"I think remarks of that sort are in the worst possible taste," answered -Savelli, "besides being without the least foundation in truth. I will -beg you not to make any more of them. As for what you say about -Ghisleri, if you refuse to tell me what you know I shall ask advice of -my father, as that is the only proper course I could follow under the -circumstances." - -"For once we agree!" exclaimed Adele, with a scornful laugh. "That is -precisely what I mean to do myself, and I will go to him to-morrow -morning and tell him the whole story. But I will not tell it to you. He -may, if he pleases, and thinks it best." - -"In that case I have nothing more to say," answered Francesco. "You -could not select a more fit person than my father." - -"I am perfectly well aware of the fact." Adele, womanlike, was -determined to have the last word, no matter how insignificant. - -Both were silent during the remainder of the drive home. At the foot of -the grand staircase Francesco left his wife and got into the carriage to -be driven to his club. He reflected on the truth of Adele's observation, -when she had said that she might live until Laura and Ghisleri were -married, and he was by no means pleased as he realised how probable that -contingency was. Since she had become a slave to morphia he had, of -course, been at some pains to ascertain the limits of the disease, and -the possible duration of it, and he was aware that some persons lived -for many years in spite of a constant and increasing abuse of the -poison. - -Adele once more went over the whole story in her mind, preparing the -details of it and polishing all the parts into a harmonious whole. In -spite of what she had suffered that evening she would not increase her -dose, though she knew that she must very probably spend a sleepless -night. She profited by the hours to review the story she intended to -tell her father-in-law. At eleven o'clock on the following morning she -sent up to inquire whether he would see her, and he at once appeared in -person at the door of her boudoir,--a tall, bearded man of fifty years -or more, slightly stooping, not over-carefully dressed, wearing -spectacles, and chiefly remarkable for his very beautifully shaped -hands, with which he made energetic gestures at almost every minute, -when speaking. - -Adele began in some trepidation to explain how, on the previous evening, -she had lost her temper and had been betrayed into making a remark about -Ghisleri of which her husband had demanded an explanation. She felt, she -said, that the matter was so serious as to justify her in referring it -at once to the head of the family, who might then act as he thought best -with regard to keeping it a secret or informing his son of what had -happened. She did not fail to add that one of her motives in refusing to -tell what she knew to Francesco, was her anxiety for his safety, since -the affair concerned herself and he would undoubtedly take it up as a -personal matter and quarrel with the dangerous man who had so long been -her enemy. The Prince approved this course with a grave nod, and waited -for more. - -Then she told her story from beginning to end. She of course took -advantage of the fact that her father-in-law was but slightly acquainted -with Ghisleri to paint his character with the colours best suited to her -purpose, while asserting nothing about him which could be in direct -contradiction to the testimony of others. She spoke very lucidly and -connectedly, for she knew the lesson well and she was conscious that her -whole existence was at stake. One fault, one little error sufficient to -cast suspicion on her veracity, might be enough to ruin her in the end. -She concluded by a well-turned and pathetic allusion to her state of -health, which indeed was pitiable enough. She knew that she was dying, -but it would make death doubly painful to think that such an enemy as -Ghisleri was left behind to blacken her memory and perhaps hereafter to -poison the thought of her in her children's hearts. She also read -extracts from Ghisleri's letters and showed Laura's card, before -mentioned. - -As she proceeded she watched the Prince's face, and she saw that she had -produced the right impression from the first. The plausibility of the -tale, as she told it, was undeniable, and might have shaken the belief -in Ghisleri's integrity in the minds of men who knew him far better than -the elder Savelli. As she had anticipated, the latter took up the -question as one deeply affecting the honour of his name. He was very -angry in his calm way, and his blue eyes flashed through his great -gold-rimmed spectacles, while his slender, energetic white hand clenched -itself and opened frequently upon his knee. - -"You have done right in coming to me directly," he said, when she had -finished and was wiping away the tears which, in her nervous state, she -had found easy to bring to her eyes. "Francesco would not have known how -to act. He would probably have done the villain the honour of fighting -with him. But I will bring him to justice. The law provides very amply -for crimes of this sort. I confess I am strongly tempted to go and speak -to the man myself. Francesco could not resist the temptation, but he is -almost a boy. The cowardly scoundrel of a Tuscan!" - -He thrust back his long, greyish-brown hair from his forehead with one -hand, and shook the other in the air as though at a real adversary. When -he did that he was always roused to real anger, as Adele knew. She -feared lest he should do something more or less rash which would not -ultimately be of any advantage to her. - -"Would it not be wise to speak to my father?" she asked. "He knows a -great deal about the law, I believe." - -"Yes, perhaps so. Gerano is a very sensible man. As this affects you, -besides Francesco and all of us, it might be as well to consult him, or -at all events to put him in possession of all the facts. In the -meanwhile, you know I am a methodical man. I must have proper notes to -go upon from the first. If it does not pain you too much to go over the -main points once more, I will write down what I need." - -"And I will hand you these papers to keep," said Adele, giving him the -correspondence, which comprised the greater number of Ghisleri's -letters, the two of her own which she had not sent to Laura, the two she -had received from the lawyer Ubaldini, and Laura Arden's card in its -envelope to "Maria B." With regard to Ubaldini, she told exactly what -had happened, and what she had written, for that incident at least was -still a mystery to her, and she thought it unwise to conceal what might -subsequently come to light through other persons. - -"I have heard of this fellow," said the Prince, thoughtfully. "He is a -very clever criminal lawyer. I should not wonder if Ghisleri had already -consulted him. One may expect anything after what you have told me." - -Adele recapitulated the story with extraordinary exactness, stopping and -repeating those portions of it which her father-in-law desired to note. - -"I have never seen a more complete chain of evidence," exclaimed the -latter, when he had finished and was folding up the sheets neatly to -match the size of the letters Adele had given him. "There is no court of -justice in the world that would not convict a man of extortion on such -testimony, and if there is one, I hope it is not in Rome." - -"I hope not," said Adele, who would have smiled had she been alone. "But -you may find it harder to convince my father than a Roman jury. He is -prejudiced in Ghisleri's favour--like most people who do not know him as -I do." - -"He shall change his prejudices before long," answered Savelli, in a -tone of certainty. "I will send word to him to expect me after -breakfast, and I will explain the whole matter to him and show him the -letters. If he does not at once understand, it would be better that we -should both come to you together. You would make it clearer than I -could, perhaps. But it seems clear enough to me. What an infamous -affair--and how you must have suffered!" - -"It is killing me!" said Adele, in a low voice. - -Savelli left her with many expressions of kindly sympathy. He was not a -good judge of human nature, for he lived too much in his studies and in -the world of mathematics to understand or appreciate the motives of men -and women. But he was kind of heart and affectionate by disposition. So -far as he knew, Adele had been a good wife to his eldest son, and was -the mother of strong, well-grown children who bore the ancient name in -which he took such pride. Moreover, Adele had the honour of lending -still greater lustre to the race by means of the great Braccio -inheritance, which was all to come to the Savelli through her. She was, -therefore, a very important personage, as well as a dutiful -daughter-in-law and a good mother, in the eyes of the head of the house, -and it would no more have crossed his mind that the story she had just -told him was a fabrication, from first to last, than that the Greenwich -Almanack for the year could be a fraud and a malicious misstatement of -the movements of the heavenly bodies. Moreover, the evidence was, on -the whole, such as would have staggered the faith of most of Ghisleri's -acquaintances. The Prince lost no time in going to see Gerano, prepared -at all points and armed with the papers Adele had given him. - -The interview lasted fully two hours, and when it was over, Adele's -father was almost as thoroughly persuaded of Ghisleri's guilt as Savelli -himself. His face was very grave and thoughtful as he leaned back in his -easy-chair and looked into his old friend's clear blue eyes. - -"The man should be tried, convicted, and sent to the galleys," said -Gerano. "There can be no doubt of the justice of that, if all this can -be established in court. Remember I do not doubt my daughter's word, and -it would be monstrous to suppose that she has invented this story. -Whatever the truth about it may be, it must be thoroughly investigated. -But there may be a good deal of exaggeration about it, for I have known -Adele to over-state a case. There is a great difference between shutting -one's door on a man, or turning him out of his club, and bringing an -accusation against him which, if proved, will entail a term of penal -servitude. You see that, I am sure. Do you not think that we ought to go -and see Ghisleri together, tell him what we have learned, and ask him to -justify himself if he can?" - -"I think it would be wiser to consult the lawyers first," answered -Savelli. "If they are of opinion that he is a criminal, there is no -reason why we should give him warning that he may defend himself, as -though he were an honest man. If they believe that this is not a case -for the law, there will always be time for us to go and see him, since -no open steps will have been taken." - -Gerano was obliged to admit that there was truth in this, though his -instinct told him that Ghisleri should be heard before being accused. He -was one of those men whose faith being once shaken is not easily -re-established, and he could not forget that his daughter had once -deceived him, a fact with which Savelli was now also acquainted, since -Adele had told him the whole truth about that part of the story, but to -which he attached relatively little importance as compared with -Ghisleri's villanous conduct in attempting to extort money from a member -of the Savelli family. - -The two agreed upon the lawyer whom they would consult, and on the next -day the first meeting took place at the Palazzo Braccio. The man they -employed was elderly, steady, and experienced, and rather inclined to be -over-cautious. He refused to give any decisive opinion on the case until -he had studied it in all its bearings, thoroughly examined the letters, -and ascertained the authenticity of the card on which Lady Herbert had -written her thanks in pencil. This, of course, was the only one of the -documents in evidence of which he could doubt the genuineness, since it -was the only one which had not come direct from the hand of the writer. -Oddly enough, the lawyer attached very great weight to it, for he said -that it proved conclusively that Lady Herbert Arden had considered the -matter as serious and had really paid money--whether a small or a large -amount mattered little--in order to get possession of some of the -letters which proved Ghisleri's guilt. It would be very useful if the -woman "Maria B." could be traced and called as a witness, but even if -she could not be found, Lady Herbert could not refuse her evidence and -would not, upon her oath, deny having sent the money or having received -Adele's letters in return for it. Considering the terms of intimacy on -which she stood with Ghisleri, the point was a very strong one against -the latter's innocence. The two princes were of the same opinion. Gerano -was for asking Laura directly if she knew of the affair, but was -overruled by Savelli and the lawyer, who objected that she might give -Ghisleri warning. Gerano could not move in the matter without the -consent of the other two, and resigned himself, though he looked upon -the card as very doubtful evidence, and suggested that it might have -been found accidentally by the woman who had come to Donna Adele, and -used by her as an additional means of inducing the latter to give her -money. But neither Prince Savelli nor the lawyer was inclined to believe -in any accident which could weaken the chain of evidence they held. - -There was no further meeting for several days, during which time the -lawyer was at work in examining every point which he considered -vulnerable. Being himself a perfectly honest man and having received the -information he was to make use of from the father and father-in-law of -the lady concerned, it would have been very strange if he had -entertained any doubts as to her veracity. Adele had thought of this -herself and was satisfied that throughout all the preliminaries her -position would be as strong as she could wish it to be. The struggle -would begin when Ghisleri was warned of what was now being prepared -against him, and began to defend himself. Of one thing she was -persuaded. If he had the confession in his hands, he would not produce -it. Nothing could prove her case so conclusively as his avowal that the -letter was in his hands. If he could demonstrate that he had never seen -it and was wholly ignorant of its contents, her own case would fall -through. The action, however, if brought, would be a criminal one, and -he would not be allowed to give his own evidence. It would be hard, -indeed, to find any one who could swear to what would be necessary to -clear him. - -The lawyer came back to his clients at last, and informed them that it -was his opinion that there was sufficient evidence for obtaining a -warrant of arrest against Pietro Ghisleri, and that in all probability -the latter would be convicted, on his trial, of an infamous attempt to -extort money from the Princess Adele Savelli, as he called her in his -written notes. He warned them, however, that Ghisleri would almost -undoubtedly be admitted to bail, that he was a man who had numerous and -powerful friends in all parties, that he would doubtless be granted a -first and second appeal, and that the publicity and scandal of the whole -case would be enormous. On the whole, he advised his clients to settle -the matter privately. He would, if they desired it, accompany them to -Signor Ghisleri's lodgings, and state to him the legal point of view -with all the clearness he had at his command. It was not impossible, it -was even probable, that Ghisleri would quietly give up the document in -question, and sign a paper binding himself never to refer to its -existence again and acknowledging that he had made use of it to frighten -the Princess Adele Savelli. The said document could then be returned to -her and the affair might be considered as safely concluded. The lawyer -did not believe that Signor Ghisleri would expose himself to certain -arrest and probable conviction, when he had the means of escaping from -both in his hands. Socially the two gentlemen could afterwards do what -they pleased, and could of course force him to leave Rome with ignominy, -never to show himself there again. - -Prince Savelli, on the whole, concurred in this view. The Prince of -Gerano said that he had known Ghisleri long and well, and that the -latter would probably surprise them by throwing quite a new light on the -case, though he would not be able to clear himself altogether. He, -Gerano, was therefore of the same opinion as the others, and he quietly -reminded Savelli that he had been the first to propose visiting Ghisleri -and demanding a personal explanation. - -On the same evening Pietro received a note. Prince Savelli and the -Prince of Gerano presented their compliments to Signor Ghisleri, and -begged to ask whether it would be convenient to him to receive them and -their legal adviser on the following morning at half-past ten o'clock, -to confer upon a question of grave importance. Ghisleri answered that he -should be much honoured by the visit proposed, and he at once sent word -to Ubaldini to come to him at eight o'clock, two hours and a half before -he expected the others. He at once suspected mischief, though he had -hardly been prepared to see it arrive in such a very solemn and -dignified shape. He asked Ubaldini's opinion at once, when the latter -came as requested. - -"It is impossible to say what that good lady has done," said the young -lawyer after some moments of thoughtful consideration. "You may take it -for granted, however, that both Prince Savelli and the Prince of Gerano -believe that you are in possession of the lost letter, and that they -will make an attempt to force you to give it up. You would do well not -to speak of me, but you can say that you foresaw that Donna Adele -intended to make use of your letters when she wrote the first one, -asking you to purchase the manuscript for her, and that you have kept -copies of your answers, as well as the originals of her communications. -If we are quick about it, we can bring an action against her for -defamation before she can do anything definite." - -"I will never consent to that," answered Ghisleri, smiling at Ubaldini's -ideas of social honour. - -"Why not?" asked the lawyer, in some surprise. "You would very probably -win it and cast her for heavy damages." - -"I would certainly never do such a thing," replied Pietro. "I should not -think it honourable to bring any such action against a lady." - -Ubaldini shrugged his shoulders, being quite unable to comprehend his -client's point of view. - -"I cannot do anything to help you, until we know what these gentlemen -have to say," he observed. "If you wish it, I will be present at the -interview, but it is as well that they should not find out who your -lawyer is, until something definite is to be done." - -Ghisleri agreed, and Ubaldini went away, promising to hold himself at -his client's disposal at a moment's notice. Pietro sat down to think -over the situation. Danger of some sort was evidently imminent, but he -could only form a very vague idea of its nature, and Ubaldini had -certainly not helped him much, sharp-witted and keen as he was. -Ghisleri, who, of course, could not see the case as Adele had stated it -to her father-in-law, and as it was now to be stated to himself, could -not conceive it possible that he could be indicted for extortion on such -slender evidence as he supposed she had been able to fabricate. He -imagined that she desired his social ruin, and above all, to make him -for ever contemptible in the eyes of Laura Arden; and this he well knew, -or thought that he knew, she could never accomplish. - -Laura had not yet returned, and he was glad, on the whole, that she was -away. Matters were evidently coming to a crisis, and he believed that -whatever was to happen would have long been over by the time she was in -Rome again. If she had already arrived he would have found it hard not -to tell her of what occurred from day to day, and, indeed, he would have -felt almost obliged to do so for the sake of her opinion of him, seeing -how frankly and loyally she had acted in the case of the letters she had -received from the supposititious "Maria B." On the other hand, he longed -to see her for her own sake. The summer months had been desperately long -and lonely. He did not remember that he had ever found the time weigh so -heavily on his hands as this year, both at Torre de' Ghisleri and in -Rome. He forgot his present danger and the interview before him in -thinking of Laura Arden, when Bonifazio threw open the door and -announced Prince Savelli, the Prince of Gerano, and the Advocato -Geronimo Grondona. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -Ghisleri rose to meet his visitors, who greeted him gravely and sat down -opposite him so that they could all look at his face while speaking. -Prince Savelli naturally spoke first. - -"We have come to you," he said, "upon a very difficult and unpleasant -affair. In the first place, I must beg you to listen to what I have to -say as calmly as you can, remembering that we have not come here to -quarrel with you, but to act on behalf of a lady. This being the case, -we claim to be treated as ambassadors, to be heard and to be answered." - -"You speak as though you were about to make a very disagreeable -communication," answered Ghisleri. "The presence of Signor Grondona -either shows that you intend to make use of what I may say, or that your -business is of a legal nature. If the latter supposition is the true -one, it would be much better that we should leave the whole matter to -our respective lawyers rather than run the risk of useless discussion. -But if your lawyer is here to watch me and make notes, I would point out -that I have a right to resent such observation, and to request you to -find some other means of informing me of your meaning. As you tell me -that you are acting for a lady, however, and claim personal immunity, so -to say, for yourselves, I am willing to listen to you and to consider -what you say as proceeding from her and not from you. But in no case -have you any claim to be answered. That is the most I can do towards -helping you with your errand. Judge for yourselves whether you will -execute it or not." - -"I will certainly not go away without saying what I have come to say," -replied Savelli, fixing his bright, spectacled eyes upon Ghisleri's -face. "We are here to represent Donna Adele Savelli--let that be -understood, if you please. She wishes you to hand over to us a certain -letter, of the nature of a confession, which you found at Gerano about -two years and a half ago, and which you still hold." - -Ghisleri was less surprised than might have been expected. His face grew -slowly pale as he listened, steadily returning the speaker's gaze. - -"I promised you personal immunity from the consequences of what you were -about to say," he answered slowly. "It was a rash promise, I find, but -I will keep it. You may inform Donna Adele Savelli that although it is -commonly said in the world that she has actually lost such a letter as -you mention, I have never seen it, nor have I any knowledge of its -contents. Further, I demand, as a right, to be told upon what imaginary -evidence she ventures to bring such an outrageous accusation against -me." - -The Advocato Grondona smiled, but the two noblemen preserved an unmoved -manner. Of the two, Gerano was the more surprised by Ghisleri's answer. -He had believed that a letter really existed, and was in the latter's -hands, but that it would not prove to have the importance his daughter -attached to it. Prince Savelli produced a bundle of papers from his -pocket. - -"I am quite prepared," he said. "I will state my daughter-in-law's case -as accurately as I can, and as nearly as possible in her own words, a -great part of which I have here, in the form of notes." - -"It is understood that Donna Adele Savelli is speaking, gentlemen. On -that understanding you have my permission to proceed. I will not -interrupt you." - -Savelli began to speak, and, as he had promised, he stated the case as -he had heard it from Adele and, on the whole, very much as she had -summed it up in her own mind before going to him. Ghisleri sat with -folded arms and bent brows, listening to the wonderfully connected chain -of false testimony she brought against him, with all the courage and -calmness he could command. - -"Have you done?" he inquired in a voice shaking with anger, when Savelli -had finished. - -"Yes," answered the latter coolly. "I believe that is all." - -"Then I have to say that a more villanous calumny was never invented to -ruin any man. Good morning, gentlemen." He rose, and the three others -were obliged to rise also. - -"And so you positively refuse to give up the letter?" inquired Savelli; -there was an angry light in his eyes, too. - -"I have given you my answer already. Be good enough to convey it to -Donna Adele Savelli." - -"Are you aware, Signore," said the lawyer, stepping in front of his two -clients, "that upon such evidence as we possess you are liable to be -indicted for an attempt to extort money from the Princess Adele -Savelli?" - -"You are not privileged, like these gentlemen," said Ghisleri, white to -the lips. "If you venture to speak again, my servant will silence you. I -have already hinted that this interview is ended," he added to Savelli -and Gerano. - -The three went out in silence and left him alone. With characteristic -coolness he sat down to recover from the violent shock he had sustained, -and to reflect upon his future conduct, before sending for Ubaldini and -consulting with him. He had almost expected the demand to restore a -document he did not possess, but he was not prepared for the -well-constructed story by which Savelli, Gerano, and their lawyer had -been persuaded of his guilt. The lawyer's words had placed the whole -affair in a light which showed how thoroughly convinced the three men -were of the justice of their accusation, and Ghisleri understood well -enough that Savelli intended to take legal steps. What those steps might -be, Pietro had not the least idea. He rang for Bonifazio and sent him -out to buy the Penal Code. It was probably the wisest thing he could do -under the circumstances, as he did not even know whether, if he were -arrested, he should be admitted to bail or not. He saw well enough that -an order for his arrest might very possibly be issued. Grondona was far -too grave and learned a lawyer to have uttered such a threat in vain, -and was not the man to waste time or words when action was possible. If -he had spoken as he had, he had done so for his clients' advantage, in -the hope that Ghisleri might be frightened at the last minute into -giving up the letter. In that way all publicity and scandal could have -been avoided. - -But it was clear that the die was cast, and that war was declared. More -than ever, he was glad that Laura Arden was not in Rome. The thought -that if she were present she would necessarily have to follow the course -of events little by little, as he must himself, and the certainty that -she knew the truth and would feel the keenest sympathy for him, made him -rejoice at her absence. When she learned what had taken place, she would -know all the circumstances at once, including Ghisleri's proof of his -innocence, which, as he felt sure, would be triumphant. In the meantime, -she should be kept in ignorance of what was occurring. Having decided -this point, he began to think of choosing some person to whom, if he -were actually arrested, he might apply for assistance in the matter of -obtaining bail. There was no time to be lost, as he was well aware. -Since Savelli really believed him guilty of the abominable crime with -which he was charged, it was not likely that time would be given him to -leave the country, as his adversaries would naturally expect that he -would attempt to do. They had probably gone straight from his lodging to -the office of the chief of police,--the questore, as he is called in -Italy,--and if they succeeded, as in all likelihood they would, in -getting a warrant for his arrest, he might expect the warrant to be -executed at any moment during the day. It was extremely important that -he should be prepared for the worst. He thought of all the men he knew, -and after a little hesitation he decided that he would write to San -Giacinto. The latter had always been friendly to him, and Pietro -remembered how he had spoken at the club, years ago, when Pietrasanta -was gossiping about Arden's supposed intemperance. San Giacinto's very -great moral weight in the world, due in different degrees to his -character, his superior judgment, and his enormous wealth, made him the -most desirable of allies. While he was waiting for Bonifazio's return, -Ghisleri occupied himself in writing a note advising San Giacinto of the -circumstances, and inquiring whether he might ask him for help. - -The servant returned as he finished, and handed his master the little -yellow-covered volume with an expression of inquiry on his face. -Ghisleri looked at him and hesitated, debating whether it would be wise -to warn the man of what might take place at any moment. There was much -friendliness in the relations between the two. Bonifazio had been with -Pietro many years and perhaps understood the latter's character better -than any one. The servant was almost as unlike other people, in his own -way, as Ghisleri himself, and was in two respects a remarkable contrast -to him. He was imperturbably good-tempered in the first place, and, in -the second, he was extremely devout. But there were resemblances also, -and it was for these that Ghisleri liked him. He was honest to a fault. -He had more than once proved himself to be coolly courageous in some of -his master's dangerous expeditions. Finally, he was discretion itself, -and reticent in the highest degree. That such an otherwise perfect -creature should have defects was only to be expected. Bonifazio was as -obstinate as flint when he had made up his mind as to how any particular -thing was to be done. He was silently officious, in his anxiety to be -always ready to fulfil his master's wishes, and often annoyed him in -small ways by thrusting services upon him which he did not require. On -rare occasions he would insist upon giving very useless and uncalled-for -advice. - -Faithful and devoted in every way, he wholly disapproved, on religious -grounds, of Ghisleri's mode of life, even so far as he was acquainted -with it. He considered that Pietro lived and had lived for many years in -seven-fold deadly sin, and he daily offered up the most sincere prayers -for Pietro's repentance and reformation. Twice a year, also, he -privately presented the parish priest with a small charity out of his -savings, requesting him to say a mass for Ghisleri's benefit. Obstinate -in this as in everything else, he firmly believed that his master's soul -might ultimately be saved by sheer prayer-power, so to say. - -These last facts, of course, did not come within Ghisleri's knowledge, -for Bonifazio made no outward show of pious interest in Pietro's -spiritual welfare, well knowing that he could not keep his situation an -hour, if he were so unwise as to risk anything of the kind. But his -silent disapproval showed itself in his mournful expression when Pietro -had done anything which struck him as more than usually wicked and wild. -The question of informing him that the police might be expected at any -moment was not in itself a serious one. He would assuredly disbelieve -the whole story, and vigorously deny the accusation when acquainted with -both. Ghisleri determined to say nothing and immediately sent him out -again with the note for San Giacinto. He then took up the Penal Code, -and found the article referring to the misdeed of which he was accused. -It read as follows: - - ART 409. Whosoever, by in any way inspiring fear of severe injury to - the person, the honour, or the property of another, or by falsely - representing the order of an Authority, constrains that other to - send, deposit, or place at the disposal of the delinquent money, - objects, or documents having any legal import whatsoever, is - punished with imprisonment for a term of from two to ten years. - -The law was clear enough. With regard to bail, he discovered with some -difficulty that in such cases it could be obtained immediately, either -on depositing the sum of money considered requisite according to -circumstances, or by the surety of one or more well-known persons. - -San Giacinto answered the note by appearing in person. When he undertook -anything, he generally proceeded to the scene of action at once to -ascertain for himself the true state of the case. Ghisleri explained -matters as succinctly as possible. - -"You will hardly believe that such things can be done in our day," he -said as he concluded. - -"I have seen enough in my time, and amongst my own near connexions, to -know that almost anything conceivable may happen," answered the giant. -"Meanwhile I shall not leave you until the police come, or until we -know definitely that they are not coming. My carriage is below and has -orders to wait all day and all night." - -"You do not mean to say you really intend to stay with me?" asked -Ghisleri, who was not prepared for such a manifestation of friendship. - -"That is my intention," replied the other, calmly lighting a long black -cigar. "If it lasts long, I will sleep on your sofa. If, however, you -prefer that I should go to Savelli and make him tell me what he intends -to do, I am quite ready. I think I could make him tell me." - -"I think you could," said Ghisleri, with a smile, as he looked at his -friend. - -The huge, giant strength of the man was imposing in itself, apart from -the terribly determined look of the iron features and deep-set eyes. Few -men would have cared to find themselves opposed to San Giacinto even -when he was perfectly calm, hardly any, perhaps, if his anger was -roused. The last time he had been angry had been when he dragged the -forger, Arnoldo Meschini, from the library to the study in Palazzo -Montevarchi more than twenty years earlier. His hair was turning grey -now, but there were no outward signs of any diminution in his powers, -physical or mental. - -"In any case," he said, "some time must elapse. It will need the greater -part of the day to get a warrant of arrest." - -Ghisleri would have been glad to end his suspense by allowing his friend -to go directly to Savelli, as he had proposed to do. But considering -what he had already shown himself ready to do, Pietro did not wish to -involve him in the affair any further than necessary. - -"Is it of any use to send for my lawyer?" asked Ghisleri, well aware of -San Giacinto's superior experience in all legal matters. - -"There is not the least hurry," answered the latter. "If the affair is -brought to trial, there will be time enough and to spare. But if it -amuses you, let us have the man here and ask his opinion. It can do no -harm." - -Accordingly Ubaldini was sent for. He looked very grave when Ghisleri -had repeated all that Savelli had told him. - -"But the mere fact that I consulted you when I did," said Ghisleri, "and -had copies of my answers made, ought to prove at once that I knew even -then what Donna Adele wished to attempt." But Ubaldini only shrugged his -shoulders. - -"That will be against you," answered San Giacinto. "It will be said that -you were well aware of what you were doing, and that you were taking -precautions in case of exposure. Even if Lady Herbert were here to give -evidence, it would not help you much. After all, Donna Adele's story -about the seamstress is plausible, and Lady Herbert took your -explanation on faith." - -"Lady Herbert shall not be called as a witness, if I can help it," said -Ghisleri. "It is bad enough that her name should appear at all." - -"The difficulty," observed Ubaldini, "is that every point can be turned -against you from first to last. I am afraid that even my little -stratagem has done no good. I wished to find out whether the confession -really existed, and I thought it best that you should be in ignorance of -the steps I took and of the result I obtained, in case you should be -called upon to swear to anything in a possible action brought by you for -defamation. The less an innocent man knows of the facts of a case, when -he is on his oath, the better it generally turns out for him. The first -thing to be done is to find the dealer with whom you negotiated for the -purchase of the manuscript. His evidence will be the strongest we can -get. Of course, even to that they will answer that you would not be so -foolish as to write what looked like an account of a genuine transaction -without lending an air of truth to it, in case of necessity, by actually -making inquiries about it. If it is found that the prices named in your -letters agree with those asked by the dealer, they will say that you -cleverly chose a very valuable work, and determined to be guided by the -value of it, in appraising the letter you held. If the prices did not -agree, they would say that even if the transaction were genuine, you had -conducted it dishonestly; but then, as a matter of fact, the discovery -was a good proof that it was a mere sham. Of course, too, you will have -friends, like the Signor Marchese here present, who will swear to your -previous character; but you must not forget that in a case like this the -great body of educated public and social opinion is with the woman -rather than the man." - -"In other words," said Ghisleri, with a laugh, "I am to stand my trial -for extortion, and am very likely to be convicted. You are not very -encouraging, Signor Ubaldini, but I suppose you will find a word to say -in my defence before everything is over." - -"I will do my best," answered the young lawyer, thoughtfully. "I would -like to know where this confession is. One thing is quite certain: if it -had got into the hands of a dishonest person, Donna Adele would have -heard of it before now, and would have tried to buy it, as she did try -to get it from the maid Lucia, according to her own account, and from -me. In the meanwhile, I will go and examine the dealer. Will you kindly -give me his name and address." - -Ghisleri wrote both on a card and Ubaldini went away. Before Ghisleri -and San Giacinto had been alone together half an hour, he came back, -looking rather pale and excited. - -"It is most unfortunate," he exclaimed. "The devil is certainly in this -business. The man was buried yesterday. He died of apoplexy two days -ago." - -"Nothing surpasses the stupidity of that!" cried San Giacinto, angrily. -"Why could not the idiot have lived a fortnight longer?" - -Ghisleri said nothing, but he saw what importance both his friend and -the lawyer had attached to the dead man's testimony. There was little -hope that his clerk would be able to say anything in Ghisleri's favour. -He had of course only spoken with the dealer himself, generally in a -private room and without witnesses. He began to fear that his case was -even worse than he had at first supposed. - -"The best possible defence, in my opinion," said Ubaldini, "is to tell -your own story and compare it, inch by inch, with theirs. I believe -that, after all, yours will seem by far the more probable in the eyes of -any court of justice. Then we will question Donna Adele's sanity, and -bring a couple of celebrated authorities to prove that people who use -morphia often go mad and have fixed ideas. Donna Adele's delusion is -that you are the possessor of her confession. If we cannot prove that it -has been all this time in the hands of some one else, we may at least be -able to show that there is no particular reason why it should have been -in yours, that you are certainly not in need of fifty thousand francs, -and that, so far as any one knows, you are not the man to try and get it -in this way if you were. We will do the best we can. I got a man off -scot free the other day who had murdered his brother in the presence of -three witnesses. I proved that one was half-witted, that the second was -drunk, and that the third could not possibly have been present at all, -because he ought to have been somewhere else. That was a much harder -case than this. The jury shed tears of pity for my ill-used client." - -"I will do without the tears," said Ghisleri, with a smile, "provided -they will see the truth this time." - -San Giacinto kept his word, and refused to leave Ghisleri's lodging that -night, sending Bonifazio to his house for clothes and necessaries, and -ordering fresh horses and another coachman and footman to replace those -that had waited all day. He distinctly objected to cabs, he said, -because they were always too small for him; and if Ghisleri was to be -arrested, he intended to drive with him to the prison in order to give -bail for him immediately. And so he did. On the following day Rome was -surprised by a spectacle unique in the recollection of its inhabitants, -high or low. The largest of the large open carriages belonging to Casa -San Giacinto was seen rolling solemnly through the city, bearing Pietro -Ghisleri, the Marchese di San Giacinto himself, and two policemen, who -looked very uncomfortable as they sat, bolt upright, side by side, with -their backs to the horses. A few hours later, the same carriage appeared -again, Pietro and the giant being still in it, but without the officers -of the law. San Giacinto insisted upon driving his friend six times -round the Villa Borghese, six times round the Pincio, and four times the -length of the Corso, before taking him back at last to his lodgings. - -"It will produce a good effect," he said; "most people are fools or -cowards, or both, and imitation as a rule needs neither courage nor -wisdom. Come and dine with us to-morrow night, and I will have a party -ready for you who do not belong to the majority. I shall go to the club -now and give an account of the day's doings." - -"Why not wait and let people find out for themselves what has happened?" -asked Pietro. "Will it do any good to talk of it?" - -"Since people must talk or die," answered San Giacinto, "I am of opinion -that they had better tell the truth than invent lies." - -When he was gone Ghisleri wondered what had impelled him to take so much -trouble. It would have been quite enough if he had appeared at the right -moment to give security for him, and that alone would have been a very -valuable service. But San Giacinto had done much more, for his action -had shown the world from the first that he intended to take Ghisleri's -side. The latter, who was always surprised when any one showed anything -approaching to friendship for him, was exceedingly grateful, and -determined that he would not in future laugh at the idea of spontaneous -human kindness without motive, as he had often laughed in the past. - -Meanwhile San Giacinto went to his club. A score of men were lounging in -the rooms, and most of them had been talking of the new scandal, though -in a rather guarded way, for no one wished to quarrel either with -Ghisleri or his ally. On seeing the latter go to the smoking-room, -almost every one in the club followed him, out of curiosity, in the hope -that he would give some explanation of what had occurred. They were not -disappointed. San Giacinto stood with his back to the fireplace, looking -at each face that presented itself before him. - -"Gentlemen," he began: "I see that you expect me to say something. I -will. I do not wish to offend any one; but, with the exception of all of -ourselves here assembled, most people tell lies, consciously or -unconsciously, when they do not know the truth, and sometimes when they -do, which is worse. So I mean to tell you the truth about my driving -with Ghisleri and two policemen to-day, and the reason why I have been -driving with him all the afternoon. After that you may believe what you -like about the matter. The facts are these. Yesterday Ghisleri wrote me -a note telling me that he expected shortly to be arrested on a charge of -extortion and asking if I would be bail for him. That is what I have -done. The accusation comes from Casa Savelli, and declares that for two -years and a half Ghisleri has had possession of that letter belonging to -Donna Adele which she wrote to her confessor, which was lost on the way, -and of which we have all heard vague hints for some time. Casa Savelli -says that Ghisleri has been trying to make her pay money for it, and has -otherwise made her life unbearable to her by means of it. There are -letters of Ghisleri's referring to the manuscript of Isabella -Montevarchi's confession which was for sale this autumn, and Casa -Savelli says that this manuscript was spoken of in order to disguise the -real transaction contemplated. Ghisleri says it is a plot to ruin him, -and that he has been aware of it ever since last spring. Meanwhile he -has actually been arrested and I have given bail for him. That is the -story. I drove about with him this afternoon to show that I, for my -part, take his side, and believe him to be perfectly innocent. That is -what I had to say. I am obliged to you for having listened so -patiently." - -As he turned to go away, not caring for any further discussion at the -time, he was aware that a dark man of medium height, with very broad -shoulders and fierce, black eyes, was standing beside him, facing the -crowd. - -"I am entirely of San Giacinto's opinion," said Gianforte Campodonico, -in clear tones. "I believe Ghisleri utterly incapable of any such -baseness. Donna Adele Savelli is a relation of mine, but I will stand by -Ghisleri in this, come what may. I hope that no one will have the -audacity to propose any action of the club in the case, such as -requesting him to withdraw, until after the trial." - -"But when a man is indicted for crime, and has been arrested--" began -some one in the crowd. - -"I said," repeated Gianforte, interrupting the speaker in a hard and -menacing voice, "that I hoped no one would have the audacity to propose -that the club should take any action in the case. I hope I have made -myself clearly understood." - -Such was the character and reputation of Campodonico that the man who -had begun to speak did not attempt to proceed, not so much from -timidity, perhaps, as because he felt that in the end two men like -Gianforte and San Giacinto must carry public opinion with them. As they -stood side by side before the fireplace, they were as strong and -determined a pair of champions as any one could have wished to have. - -"You are quite right," said San Giacinto, in an approving tone. "Of -course I have neither the power nor the right to prevent discussion. -Every one will talk about this case and the trial, and as it is a public -affair every one has a right to do so, I suppose. I only wish it to be -known that I believe Ghisleri innocent, and I am glad to see that -Campodonico, who knows him very well, is of my opinion." - -After this there was nothing more to be said, and the crowd dispersed, -talking together in low tones. The two men who had undertaken Ghisleri's -defence remained together. San Giacinto looked down at his young -companion, and his stern face softened strangely. A certain kind of -manly courage and generosity was the only thing that ever really touched -him. - -"I am glad to see that there are still men in the world," he said. "Will -you have a game of billiards?" - -The first result of this was that there was relatively very little talk -about Ghisleri among the men when they were together. It is probable -that both San Giacinto and Campodonico would have spoken precisely as -they did, if all the assembled tribe of Savelli and Gerano had been -present to hear them; and when the two families heard what had been -said, they were very angry indeed. Unfortunately for them, nothing could -be done. As San Giacinto had rightly put it, the trial was to be a -public affair, and every one had a right to his own opinion. But there -were not wanting those who sided with the Savelli, for though Ghisleri -had few enemies, if any, besides Adele, yet there were many who were -jealous of him for his social successes, and who disliked his calm air -of superiority. The story became the constant topic of conversation in -most of the Roman families, and many who had for years received Ghisleri -immediately determined that they would be very cautious and cool until -he should prove his innocence to the world. - -He himself, during the days which followed, saw much of San Giacinto, -who told him what Campodonico had said at the club. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -When Laura Arden returned to Rome, she was met by her mother with a full -account of what had taken place. Under any ordinary circumstances the -Princess of Gerano would have been very merciful in her judgment and -would assuredly not have hastened to give her daughter every detail of -the last great scandal. But she had never liked Ghisleri, and she had -feared that Laura was falling in love with him, and he with Laura. -Moreover, neither her love for her own child nor Adele's shortcomings -had destroyed all her affection for the latter, and under her husband's -influence she had lately come to look upon Ghisleri as a monster of -iniquity and on Adele as little less than a martyr. She spared Laura -nothing as she told the story, and was unconsciously guilty of -considerable exaggeration in explaining the view the world in general -took of the case, though that was bad enough at best. Laura's dark eyes -flashed with indignation as she listened. - -"I do not believe a word of this story, mother," she said. "As for the -part I am supposed to have played in it, you had better know the truth -at once. When I got those letters, I sent for Signor Ghisleri, and gave -them to him. We knew at once that they came from Adele herself." - -She told her mother exactly what had occurred, and how she had believed -in him then, and should believe in him still. The Princess sighed and -shook her head. - -"There is very little left to believe in, my dear," she said, "trustful -though you are, to a fault. I hope you will at all events not receive -him until after the trial. Indeed, it will be quite impossible--I am -sure you would not think of it. If he has any sense of decency left, he -will not call." - -"I will not only receive him," answered Laura, without hesitation: -"whenever he chooses to come, but if he does not come of his own accord, -I will make him. What is the use of friendship, if it will not bear any -test?" - -"I suppose it is of no use to discuss the matter," said the Princess, -wearily. "You will do as you please. I do not recognise you any longer." - -As soon as her mother was gone, Laura wrote a note to Pietro, telling -him that she had heard all the story, that she believed in him as firmly -as ever, and begging him to come and see her on the following day at the -usual hour. The last words dropped from her pen naturally. It seemed but -yesterday that they had spoken of meeting "at the usual hour" on the -morrow of the day after that. Ghisleri's heart beat faster as he broke -the seal, and when he came to the words he was conscious that its -beating annoyed him. He knew, now, that he loved her well, as he had -loved but once before in his life. But he determined that he would not -go and see her. He blessed her for believing in his innocence, but there -were many strong reasons against his going to her house, or even seeing -her. Merely on general grounds he would have kept away, while under the -accusation which hung over him, as even the Princess of Gerano had -anticipated that he would, and feeling as he did that he loved her in -good earnest, it would have seemed absolutely dishonourable to renew -their former relations until he had cleared himself. He wrote her a -short note. - - "MY DEAR FRIEND:--I am deeply touched by your wishing to see me, and - I am more than ever grateful for your friendship and for the faith - you have in me. But I will not come to you at present. I am accused - of a crime worse than most crimes, in my opinion, and the world is - by no means altogether on my side. When I have cleared myself - publicly, I will come and thank you--if I can find words for the - thanks you deserve. - - "Most gratefully and faithfully, - - "PIETRO GHISLERI." - -He was not prepared for the answer which came within the hour in the -shape of a second note, short, vigorous, and decisive. It seemed hard -to realise that the sweet, dark woman with deep, holy eyes, as he had -once described her, could be the writer of such determined words. - - "MY DEAR SIGNOR GHISLERI:--I care for the world and its opinion much - less than you do for my sake, or than you suppose I do for myself. I - mean to see you, and to have it known that I see you, and I will. If - you are not here to-morrow at precisely one o'clock I will go to - your lodgings and wait for you if you are out. People may say what - they please. - - "Ever yours sincerely, - - "LAURA ARDEN." - -Ghisleri read the note over several times, to be quite sure that he had -not misunderstood it, and then burned it, as he had always burned -everything in the nature of writing until his last difficulties had -begun. He saw that Laura had forced the situation, and he knew her well -enough not to doubt that she would execute her threat to the letter, and -wait for him, watch in hand, on the morrow. He hated himself for being -glad, for he knew that the world she despised would give her little -credit for her generous act. Yet, in spite of his self-contempt, he was -happy. Five minutes before one o'clock on the next day he rang at her -door. She had returned as usual to the small apartment she had occupied -since leaving the Tempietto. - -He found her dressed for walking, all in black, and looking at the -clock. As he entered she turned and laughed happily. There was a faint -colour in her cheeks too. - -"I knew you would not let me ruin my reputation for the sake of your -obstinacy," she said, as she came forward to meet him. "In four minutes -I would have left the house." She grasped his hand warmly as she spoke. - -"No," he said, "I could not have done that. What ways you have of -forcing people to obey you! But you are very wrong; I still maintain -that." - -"Sit down," she said, "and let us talk of more interesting things. I -must hear the whole story from your own lips, though I am sure my mother -did her best to be quite truthful; but she does not understand you and -never will, as I begin to think." - -"Tell me first how you are, and about Herbert," said Ghisleri. "You will -hear quite enough of this miserable affair. It will keep a day or two." - -"It need not keep so long as that," answered Laura, "I can tell you the -news in a few words. I am perfectly well. Herbert is perfectly well too, -thank God, and has outgrown his clothes twice and his shoes four times -since we have been away. Since I last wrote great things have happened. -I have been in England again at last, and have stayed with the -Lulworths. You see I am in mourning. Uncle Herbert died a month ago. I -never saw the old gentleman but once, for he lived in the most -extraordinary way, in complete isolation. You know that--well, he is -dead, and he has left all the fortune to my Herbert, with a life -interest in one-quarter of it for me, besides an enormous allowance for -Herbert's education. That is all there is to tell." - -"It is good news indeed," said Ghisleri. "I am so glad. It will make an -immense difference to you, though of course you have known of it a long -time." - -"It will not make so much difference as you fancy. I shall go on living -much as I do, for I have had almost all I wanted in these years. But I -am glad for Herbert's sake, of course. And now begin, please, and do not -stop until you have told me everything." - -"Needs must, when you will anything," Ghisleri answered, with a faint -smile. - -So he told her the story, while she listened and watched him. She had -developed in strength and decision during the last year, more rapidly -than before, and he felt in speaking to her as though she had power to -help him and would use it. He was grateful, and more than grateful. -Within the last few weeks he had learned that the strongest and most -determined men may sometimes need a friend. He had long had one in her, -and he had found a new one in San Giacinto; but though the latter's -imposing personality had more influence in the world than that of any -man Ghisleri knew, there was that in Laura's sympathy which gave him a -new strength of his own, and fresh courage to face the many troubles he -expected to encounter before long. For man gets no such strength in life -to do great deeds or to bear torments sudden and sharp or mean, little -and harassing, as he gets from the woman he loves, even though he does -not yet know that she loves him again. - -"I hope I do not take my own side too much," he said, as he ended the -long tale, "though I suppose that when a man is perfectly innocent he -has a right to say hard things of people who accuse him. For my own -part, I believe that Donna Adele is mad. There is the ingenuity of -madness in everything she does in this affair. No sane person could -invent such a story almost out of nothing, and make half the world -believe it." - -"She may be mad," Laura answered, "but she is bad, too. It will all come -out at the trial, and she will get what she deserves." - -"I hope so. But do you know what I really expect? Unless it can be -proved that the confession has been all the time in the safe keeping of -some person who has not even read it, I shall be convicted and -imprisoned. I am quite prepared for that. I suppose that will come to me -by way of expiation for my sins." - -"Please do not talk like that," cried Laura. "It is absurd! There is no -court in the world that would convict you--a perfectly innocent man. -Besides I shall give my evidence about those letters. I shall insist -upon it. That alone would be enough to clear you." - -"I am afraid not. Even my lawyer thinks that your testimony would not -help me much. After all, you know what happened. I told you that I was -innocent, and you believed me. Or, if you please, you believed me -innocent before I said I was. There is only your belief or my word to -fall back upon, and neither would prove anything in court. Ubaldini says -so. I really expect to be convicted, and I will bear it as well as I -can. I will certainly not do anything to escape from it all." He had -hesitated as he reached the last words, but he saw that Laura -understood. - -"You should not even think of such things," she said gravely. "You are -far too brave a man to take your own life even if you were convicted, -and you shall not be. I tell you that you shall not be!" she repeated, -with sudden energy. - -"No one can tell. But I am inclined to think that if you were angry you -might terrify judge and jury into doing whatever you pleased." He -laughed a little. "You have grown so strong of late that I hardly -recognise you. What has made the change?" - -"Something--I cannot explain it to you. Besides--was I ever a weak -woman? Did I ever hesitate much?" - -"No, that is true. Perhaps I did not use the right word. You seem more -active, more alive, more determined to influence other people." - -"Do I? It may be true. I fancy I am less saint-like in your opinion than -I was. I am glad of it. You used to think me quite different from what I -was. But I know that I have changed during this summer. I feel it now." - -"So have I. The change began before you went away." Ghisleri glanced at -her, and then looked at the wall. - -A short silence followed. Both felt strangely conscious that their -former relation had not been renewed exactly where it had been -interrupted by their separation in the summer. But there was nothing -awkward about the present break in the conversation. - -"In what way have you changed?" asked Laura at last. She had evidently -been thinking of his words during the pause. - -"Indeed I should find it hard to tell you now," Ghisleri answered, with -a smile at the thought uppermost in his mind. "I would rather not try." - -"Is it for the worse, then?" Laura's eyes sought his. - -"No. It is for the better. Perhaps, some day, if all this turns out less -badly--" He stopped, angry with himself for having said even that much. - -"Shall you have more confidence in me when the trial is over?" asked -Laura, leaning back and looking down. "Have I shown that I believe in -you, or not, to-day?" Had she known what was so near his lips to say, -she might not have spoken. - -"You have done what few women would have done. You know that I know it. -If I will not say what I am thinking of, it is for that very reason." -His fingers clasped each other and unclasped again with a sharp, nervous -movement. - -"I am sorry you do not trust me altogether," said Laura. - -"Please do not say that. I do trust you altogether. But I respect you -too. Will you forgive me if I go away rather suddenly?" He rose as he -spoke and held out his hand. - -"You are not ill, are you?" Laura stood up, looking anxiously into his -face. Unconsciously she had taken his hand in both of her own. - -"No--I am not ill. Good-bye!" - -"Come to-morrow, please. I want to see you often. Promise to come -to-morrow." Her tone was imperative, and he knew that she had the power -to force him to compliance. - -He yielded out of necessity, and left her. When he was in the street he -stood still a few moments, leaning upon his stick as though he were -exhausted. His face was white. Oddly enough, what he felt recalled an -accident which had once happened to him. On a calm, hot day, several -years earlier, he had been slowly sailing along a southern shore. The -heat had been intense, and he had thrown himself into the water to get -a little coolness, holding by a rope, and allowing himself to be towed -along under the side of the boat. Then one of the men called to him -loudly to come aboard as quickly as he could. As he reached the deck, -the straight black fin of a big shark glided smoothly by. He could -remember the shadow it cast on the bright blue water, and the sensation -he experienced when he saw how near he had unconsciously been to a -hideous death. Like many brave but very sensitive men, he had turned -pale when the danger was quite past and had felt for one moment -something like physical exhaustion. The same feeling overtook him now as -he paused on the pavement before the house in which Laura Arden lived. -An instant later he was walking rapidly homeward. - -At the corner of a street he came suddenly upon Gianforte Campodonico. -Both men raised their hats almost at the same moment, for their -relations were necessarily maintained upon rather formal terms. Ghisleri -owed his old adversary a debt of gratitude for his conduct at the club, -but a rather exaggerated sense of delicacy hindered Pietro from stopping -and speaking with him in the street. Campodonico, however, would not let -him pass on and stood still as Ghisleri came up to him. - -"I wish to thank you with all my heart for the generous way in which you -have spoken of me," said Ghisleri, grasping the other's ready -outstretched hand. - -"You have nothing to thank me for," replied Gianforte. "Knowing you to -be a perfectly honourable and honest man, I should have been a coward if -I had held my tongue. You have a good friend in San Giacinto, and I -suppose I cannot be of much use to you. But if I can, send for me. I -shall never like you perhaps, but I will stand by you, because I respect -you as much as any man living." - -"I thank you sincerely," said Ghisleri, pressing his hand again. "You -are very generous." - -"No, but I try to be just." - -They parted, and Ghisleri pursued his way, meditating on the -contradictions of life, and wondering why at the most critical moment of -his existence the one man who had come forward unasked and of his own -free impulse to defend him publicly and to offer his help, should be his -oldest and most implacable enemy. He was profoundly conscious of the -man's generosity. The world, he said to himself, might not be such a bad -place after all. But he did not guess how soon he was to need the -assistance so freely proffered. - -He went home at once. Bonifazio closed the door behind him and followed -him respectfully into the sitting-room. - -"I beg pardon, signore," he began, standing still as he waited for -Ghisleri to turn and look at him. - -"Do you need money?" asked the latter carelessly. - -"No, signore. You have perhaps forgotten that you gave me money -yesterday. It is something which I have had upon my conscience a long -time, and now that you are falsely accused, signore, it is my duty to -speak, if you permit me." - -"Tell me what it is." Ghisleri sat down at his writing-table, and lit a -cigarette. - -"It is a very secret matter, signore. But if I keep it a secret any -longer, I shall be doing wrong, though I also did wrong in coming by the -information I have, though I did not know it. I have also been to a -lawyer who understands these matters, and takes an interest in the case, -and he has told me that unless some saint performs a miracle nothing can -save you at the trial. So that I must give my evidence. But if I do, the -Princess Adele will go to the galleys, and the house of Savelli will be -quite ruined. For the Princess murdered Lord Herbert Arden, and tried to -murder Donna Laura, as we call her. She invited them to dinner and gave -them napkins which she with her own hand had poisoned with infection of -the scarlet fever, her maid Lucia having had it at the time. And Lord -Herbert died within three days, but Donna Laura did not catch it. And I -have read how she did this, and many other wicked things, in a letter -written with her own hand. For it was I who found the confession they -speak of, when I went alone to look at the old prisons at Gerano, while -you and the signori were out driving. And now I do not know what to do, -but I had to speak in order to save you, and you must judge of the rest, -signore, and pardon me if I have done wrong." - -Ghisleri knew the truth at last, and his lean, weather-beaten face -expressed well enough the thirst for vengeance that burned him. He -waited a few moments and then spoke calmly enough. - -"Have you got the confession here?" he asked. "If it is found in my -house it will ruin me, though it may ruin Donna Adele too." - -"I understand, signore. Have no fear. I read it through, because I found -it open and the leaves scattered as it must have fallen, though how it -fell there I do not know. But it is still at Gerano. If you will allow -me, I will explain what I did. When I had read it, I put it into my -pocket, saying to myself that it was a difficult case for the -conscience. And I thought about it for more than an hour while I walked -about the castle. Then I went and got an envelope and I put the leaves -into it thinking that perhaps it would be wrong to burn it. So I wrote -on the outside: 'This was found in the prison of the castle of Gerano by -Bonifazio di Rienzo,' and I also wrote the date in full. Then at the -tobacconist's shop in the village I bought some wax, and took a seal I -have, which is this one, signore. It has 'B.R.' on it. And I sealed the -letter with much wax, so that the tobacconist laughed at me. But I did -not let him see what was written on the envelope. Then I took it to the -parish priest whose name is Don Tebaldo, and who seemed to me to be a -very respectable and good man. I told him in confidence that I had found -something which it was not possible for me to give to the rightful -owner, but which I thought it would be wrong to destroy, because the -rightful owner might some day make inquiry for it and wish to have it. -He asked many questions, but I would not answer them all, and he did not -know what the letter was about nor that it was a confession. So I begged -him to put it into another envelope and to seal it again with his own -seal, and I gave him what was left of the wax I had bought. Then he did -as I asked him, and wrote on the back: 'This was brought to me to be -kept, by one Bonifazio di Rienzo, until the owner claims it. But it is -to be burned when I die.' And there it is to this day, for I have made -inquiries and Don Tebaldo is alive and well, and God bless him! So I -come to tell you all this, in order that you may act as you see fit, -signore. For Don Tebaldo can swear that I gave him the letter on the day -I found it and I can swear that you never knew anything of it." - -Ghisleri looked at his faithful old servant, whose round brown eyes met -his so steadily and quietly. - -"I can never thank you enough, my dear Bonifazio," he said. "You have -saved me. I will not forget it." - -"As for that, signore, I will not accept any present, and I humbly beg -you not to offer me any, for it would be the price of blood, such as -Judas Iscariot received, seeing that the Princess Adele will go to the -galleys." - -"You need not be afraid of that, Bonifazio," answered Ghisleri. "Casa -Savelli will easily prove that she was mad, as I believe she is, and she -will end her life in a lunatic asylum. But you must not bring either Don -Tebaldo or the letter here. Go at once to the Marchese di San Giacinto -and tell him exactly what you have told me, and that I sent you. He will -know what to do. Take money with you and execute his orders exactly -without returning here, no matter what they are. I can do without you -for a week if necessary, and I wish to know nothing of the matter until -it is over." - -"Yes, signore," answered Bonifazio, and without more words he left the -room and went directly to San Giacinto's house. - -The latter received him in his study, and listened to his story with -calm attention. Then, without making any remark, he smoked nearly half a -cigar, while Bonifazio stood motionless, respectfully watching him. Then -he rang the bell, and gave the man who answered it instructions to order -out a sort of mail-cart he used for driving himself, and the strongest -horses in the stable. - -"You must come with me," he said to Bonifazio. "We can be back before -midnight." Then he began to write rapidly. - -He wrote a note to his cousin, the Prince of Sant' Ilario, another to -Gianforte Campodonico, and then a rather longer one to Savelli. In the -last mentioned, he informed the Prince that he would appear on the -morrow, with Campodonico and Sant' Ilario, and that he desired to be -received by Savelli himself in the presence of Francesco and Adele, as -he had a communication of the highest importance to make. In his usual -hard way he managed to convey the impression that it would be decidedly -the worse for the whole house of Savelli and for Adele in particular if -his request were not complied with to the letter. By the time he had -finished a servant announced that the carriage was waiting. San Giacinto -thrust a handful of black cigars and a box of matches into his outer -pocket. - -"Come," he said to Bonifazio, "I am ready. It is a long drive to -Gerano." - -It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when they started, and the -days were very short and the weather threatening. But the horses were -splendid animals, and there were few roads between Rome and the Abbruzzi -which San Giacinto did not know well. He was acting as he always did, -swiftly, surely, and in person, trusting to no one, and making himself -alone responsible for the result. Before one o'clock in the morning he -was back, bringing with him a mild and timid old priest, muffled in a -horse blanket against the bitter wind. But the sealed packet containing -Adele Savelli's confession was in his own pocket. - -On his table he found three notes, which satisfied him that everything -would take place as he had hastily planned it before his departure. -Campodonico expressed his readiness to serve Ghisleri in any way, Sant' -Ilario said that he was ready to support San Giacinto in anything he -undertook, though he had never been intimate with Ghisleri, who was much -younger than he. Savelli answered coldly that he would receive the three -men as requested, adding that he hoped the communication would prove to -be of such importance as to justify putting his daughter-in-law to the -inconvenience which any prolonged interview caused her in her present -state of ill-health. San Giacinto smiled rather grimly. He did not think -that his visit to Casa Savelli need be a very long one. Before he went -to bed, he debated whether he should send word to Gerano to be present -also, but he ultimately decided not to do so. It seemed useless to make -Adele's father witness his daughter's humiliation, though he meant not -to spare either Savelli or his son. Towards Adele he was absolutely -pitiless. It was his nature. If she had been dying, he would have found -means to make her listen to what he had to say. If she had been at the -very last gasp he would have forced his way to her bedside to say it. He -was by no means a man without faults. - -Meanwhile Ghisleri was pacing his room in solitude, reflecting on the -sudden change in all the prospects of the future, and wondering how -matters would be managed, but feeling himself perfectly safe in San -Giacinto's hands, and well understanding that he was not to be informed -of what had happened until all was over. That San Giacinto would face -all the assembled Savelli and force them then and there to withdraw all -charges against Ghisleri, the latter was sure, and, on the whole, he was -glad that he was not to witness their discomfiture. But it was not only -of his being in one moment cleared of every accusation that he thought. -The consequences to himself were enormous. He remembered the sickening -horror he had felt that afternoon when he realised how nearly he had -told Laura that he loved her. In four and twenty hours there would be -nothing to hinder him from speaking out what filled his heart. If he -chose to do so, he might even now write to her and tell her what he had -struggled so hard to hide when they had been face to face. But he was -not the man to write when there was a possibility of speaking, nor to -trust to the black and white of ink and paper to say for him what he -could say better for himself. - -Then the old doubt came back, and he spent a night of strange -self-questioning and much useless moral torment. Was this the last, the -very last of his loves? He remembered how a little less than three years -earlier he had bid good-bye to Maddalena dell' Armi, saying to himself -that he could never again feel his heart beat at a woman's voice, nor -his face turn pale with passion for a woman's kiss. And now he loved -again, perhaps with little hope of seeing his love returned, but with -the mad desire to stake his fate upon one cast, and win or lose all for -ever. He had never felt that irresistible longing before, not even when -he had first loved Bianca Corleone in his early days. Then, it was true, -he had been very young, and Bianca had not been like Laura. She had been -young herself as he was, and had loved him from the first, almost -without hiding it. There had been little need for words on either side, -for love told his own tale plainly. Yet it seemed to him now that if he -had then thought Bianca as cold as he had reason to believe that Laura -was, he might have resigned himself to his fate at the beginning--he -might not have found the strength he now had to risk such a defeat as -perhaps waited him, to run any danger, now that he was free, rather than -live in suspense another day. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Sant' Ilario and Gianforte Campodonico rang at San Giacinto's door half -an hour before the time the latter had appointed for his descent upon -Casa Savelli. He had not explained the situation in the hurried notes he -had written them on the previous day, and they did not know what was to -take place. - -"It is very simple," said San Giacinto, coolly. "The whole story was a -lie from beginning to end, as I always believed. The confession was -found at Gerano and deposited with the parish priest under seal on the -same day. I went to Gerano and brought the priest and the letter back. -Here it is, if you wish to see the outside of it, and the priest is -waiting in the next room. This is the document which Donna Adele will -have signed an hour hence." - -He produced a sheet of stamped paper from the drawer of his -writing-table and read aloud what was written upon it, as follows: - - "I, the undersigned, being in full possession of my faculties, and - free of my will, hereby publicly withdraw each and every one of the - accusations I have made, publicly or privately, either in my own - person or through my father, the Prince of Gerano, or my - father-in-law, Prince Savelli, my husband, Francesco, Prince - Savelli, or through any other persons purporting to represent me, - against Pietro Nobile Ghisleri; and I declare upon my oath before - God that there is not and never was any truth whatsoever in any one - of the said accusations upon which the said Pietro Nobile Ghisleri - was unjustly arrested and accused of extortion under Article 409 of - the Penal Code. And I further declare that the letters of his which - I hold do and did refer directly to the purchase of the manuscript - writings of Donna Isabella Montevarchi which were at that time for - sale, and to no other manuscript or writing whatsoever; and further, - I declare that no such person as 'Maria B.' was ever known to me, - but that I wrote the letters received from 'Maria B.' by Lady - Herbert Arden, and that I withdrew her answers myself from the - general post-office. And if I have done anything else to strengthen - the false accusation against the said Pietro Nobile Ghisleri such - as may hereafter come to light, this present retraction and denial - shall be held to cover it by anticipation. And hereunto I set my - hand and seal in the presence of Don Giovanni Saracinesca, Prince of - Sant' Ilario, of Don Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto, - and of Don Gianforte Campodonico di Norba, who in my presence and in - the presence of each other are witnesses of this act." - -San Giacinto ceased reading, and looked at his two companions. -Campodonico was grave, but Sant' Ilario smiled. - -"If you can make her sign that, you are stronger than I supposed, -Giovanni," said the latter. - -"So it seems to me," said Gianforte. - -"I do not think she will offer much resistance," answered San Giacinto, -quietly pocketing the confession and the document he had just read. "I -suppose what I am going to do is unscrupulous, but I do not think that -Donna Adele has shown any uncommon delicacy of feeling in this little -affair. Let us go and see whether she has any objection to signing her -name." - -Don Tebaldo, the priest, and Bonifazio followed the three gentlemen in a -cab to the Palazzo Savelli, and all five went up the grand staircase -together. Neither Don Tebaldo nor the servant had received any -instructions beyond being told that if they were called into the room -when the reading took place, they were to answer truthfully any -questions which might be put to them. - -Prince Savelli met them all in an outer drawing-room, the same indeed in -which poor Herbert Arden had talked with Francesco a few days before his -death. He was coldly courteous to San Giacinto, but greeted the others -somewhat more warmly. - -"May I ask what the nature of your communication is?" he inquired of the -former. - -"I prefer to explain it in the presence of Donna Adele, as it concerns -her directly," answered San Giacinto: "It is useless to tell a story -twice." - -The extremely high and mighty head of all the Savelli stared up at the -giant through his big spectacles. He was not at all used to being -treated with so little consideration. But the other was a match for him, -and stood carelessly waiting for the master of the house to lead the -way. - -"Considering whom you represent," said the Prince, "your manner is -somewhat imperative." - -San Giacinto's heavy brows bent in an ominous frown, and Savelli found -it impossible to meet the gaze of the hard, deep-set eyes for more than -a few seconds. - -"I represent an innocent man, whom you and yours are trying to ruin. As -for my manners, they were learned in an inn and not in Casa Savelli. I -shall be obliged if you will lead the way." - -Sant' Ilario suppressed a smile. He had seen his strong cousin in more -than one such encounter, but he had never seen any one resist him long. -Savelli did not reply, but turned and went before them and opened the -door. They passed through another drawing-room and through a third, and -then found themselves in Adele's boudoir. She was seated in a deep chair -near the fire, warming her transparent hands at the flame. Her face was -exactly of the colour of the yellow ashes of certain kinds of wood. It -seemed impossible that any human being could be so thin as she seemed, -and live. But there was yet some strength left, and her strong will, -aided by the silent but insane satisfaction she felt in Ghisleri's ruin, -kept her still in a sort of animation which was sometimes almost like -her old activity. She had, of course, been warned of the impending -interview, but she thought that San Giacinto had come to propose some -compromise to the advantage of Ghisleri, and her father-in-law and -husband were inclined to share her opinion; she meant to refuse -everything, and to say that she would abide the judgment of the courts. -She did not rise when the party entered, but held out her hand to each -in succession. Francesco Savelli stood beside her, and also shook hands -with each, but made no remark. - -"Sit down," said Prince Savelli, moving forward a chair. - -"Thank you," answered San Giacinto, "but it is useless. We shall stay -only long enough for Donna Adele to sign a paper I have brought with me. -We do not wish to disturb you further than necessary. With your -permission I will read the document." - -And thereupon, standing before her, he read it slowly and distinctly. -Prince Savelli gradually turned pale, for he knew the man, and guessed -that he possessed some terribly sure means of enforcing his will. But -Adele laughed scornfully and her husband followed her example. - -"Is there any reason why I should sign that very singular and untrue -declaration?" she asked, with contempt. - -San Giacinto looked at her steadily for a moment, and without reasoning -she began to feel afraid. - -"I have a strong argument in my pocket," he said. "For I have your -confession here, and the priest with whom it has been deposited since -the day it was found is waiting in the hall, if you wish to see him." - -Adele shook from head to foot, and her hands moved spasmodically. She -made a great effort, however, and succeeded in speaking. - -"The fact that it has been in a place where Ghisleri knew how to find it -is the last proof of his guilt we required," she said, mechanically -repeating the words she had heard her father-in-law use more than once. - -"Ghisleri never saw it and never knew where it was until yesterday," -answered San Giacinto. "If you will oblige me by signing this paper, I -will not trouble you any further." - -"I will not sign it, nor anything of such a nature," said Adele, -desperately. - -"You are perfectly free to do as you please," answered San Giacinto. -"And so am I. Since you positively refuse, there is nothing left for me -to do but to go away. But I forgot to tell you that the humble person -who found it was able to read, and read it, before taking it to the -priest, and that he has informed me most minutely of the contents. I see -you are annoyed at that, and I am not surprised, for in half an hour it -will be in the hands of the attorney-general. Good morning, Princess." - -In the dead silence that followed one might have heard a pin fall, or a -feather. San Giacinto waited a few moments and then turned to go. -Instantly Adele uttered a sharp cry and sprang to her feet. With a -quickness of which no one present would have believed her capable, she -was at his side, and holding him back by the arm. He turned again and -looked calmly down at her. - -"You do not mean to do what you threaten?" she cried, in abject terror. - -"I mean to take this sealed document to the attorney-general without -losing a moment," he answered. "You know very well what will happen if I -do that." - -Both Savelli and his son came forward while he was speaking. - -"I will not allow you to hint in my house that anything in that -confession could have any consequences to my daughter-in-law," said the -Prince, in a loud voice. "You have no right to make any such -assertions." - -"If Donna Adele wishes it, I will break the seal and read her own -account," answered San Giacinto. He put his hand into the breast pocket -of his coat and drew out the packet. - -Altogether losing control of herself, Adele tried to snatch it from his -hand, but he held it high in air, and his vast figure towered above the -rest of the group, still more colossal by the gesture of the upstretched -arm. - -"You see for yourselves what importance Donna Adele attaches to this -trifle," he said, in deep tones. "You would do well to persuade her to -sign that paper. That is the only exchange I will take for what I hold. -She knows that every word written there is true--as true as every word -she has written here," he added, glancing up at the sealed letter. "I -will wait one minute more by that clock, and then I will go." - -The two Savelli gazed at Adele in undisguised astonishment and horror. -It was clear enough from her face and terrified manner that San Giacinto -spoke the truth, and that the confession he held contained some awful -secret of which they were wholly ignorant. - -"What is the meaning of all this, Adele?" asked the Prince, sternly. -"What does that confession contain?" - -But she did not answer, as she sank into a chair before the table, and -almost mechanically dipped a pen into the ink. San Giacinto laid the -formal denial before her, holding the confession behind him, for he -believed her capable of snatching it from him and tossing it into the -fire at any moment. She signed painfully in large, sloping characters -that decreased rapidly in size at the end of each of her two names. The -pen fell from her hand as she finished, and San Giacinto quietly laid -the sealed letter before her. If she had been on the point of fainting, -the sight recalled her to herself. She seized it eagerly and broke the -seals, one after the other. Then she went to the fire, assured herself -that the sheets were all there, and were genuine, and thrust the whole -into the flames, watching until the last shred was consumed. - -Meanwhile San Giacinto silently handed the pen to Sant' Ilario, who -signed and passed it to Gianforte. He in his turn gave it to San -Giacinto, and the transaction was concluded. The two cousins, as though -by common instinct, glanced at the page on which was written twice -"Giovanni Saracinesca," and each thought of all the pain and anxiety the -coincidence had caused in days long gone by. The last time they had -signed a document together had been in the study of the Palazzo -Montevarchi more than twenty years earlier, when they were still young -men. - -"You see for yourselves," said San Giacinto, turning to the two Savelli -as he neatly folded the paper, "that Donna Adele desires no further -explanation, and wishes the contents of the letter she has burned to -remain a secret. So far as I am concerned I pledge my word never to -divulge it, nor to hint at it, and I have reason to believe that those -who are acquainted with it will do the same. So far as one man can -answer for another, I will be responsible for them. With regard to the -finding of the letter and to the manner of its being kept so long, I -leave Don Tebaldo, the parish priest of Gerano, to explain that. You can -question him at your leisure. Our mission is accomplished, and Pietro -Ghisleri's innocence is established for ever. That is all I wished. Good -morning." - -After burning the confession Adele had let herself fall into the deep -chair in which she had been sitting when the three friends entered the -room. Her head had fallen back, and her jaw dropped in a ghastly -fashion. She looked as though she were dead; but her hands twitched -convulsively, rising suddenly and falling again upon her knees. It was -impossible to say whether she was conscious or not. - -The two Savelli, father and son, stood on the other side of the -fireplace and looked at her, still speechless at her conduct, which they -could only half understand, but which could mean nothing but disgrace to -her and dishonour to them. The elder man seemed to suffer the more, and -he leaned heavily against the chimney-piece, supporting his head with -his hand. Neither the one nor the other paid any attention to the three -men as they silently left the room. - -San Giacinto begged Don Tebaldo to wait a short time, and then to send a -messenger inquiring whether the Prince wished to see him, and if not, to -return at once to the palace in which San Giacinto lived. Then he took -Bonifazio with him as well as Campodonico and Sant' Ilario, and went at -once to Ghisleri's lodging. They found him breakfasting alone in a -rather sketchy fashion, for Bonifazio had not been allowed by San -Giacinto to return to his master until everything was accomplished. He -showed some surprise when he opened the door himself, and found the -three together on the landing. - -"Is anything the matter?" he inquired, as he ushered them into the -sitting-room, where he had been taking his meal. - -"On the contrary," said San Giacinto, "we have come to tell you that -nothing is the matter. This paper may amuse you; but it is worth -keeping, as Campodonico and my cousin can testify, for their names -appear in it as witnesses." - -Ghisleri read the contents carefully, and they could see how his brow -cleared at every word. - -"You have been the best friend to me that any man ever had," he said, -grasping San Giacinto's huge hand. - -"You could have done it quite as well yourself, only I knew you would -not do it at all," answered the latter. "I have no scruples in dealing -with such people, nor do I see why any one should have any. But you -would have gone delicately and presented Donna Adele with the -confession, and then when she had burned it before your eyes, you would -have told her that you trusted to her sense of justice to right you in -the opinion of the world." - -Ghisleri laughed. He was so happy that he would have laughed at -anything. After giving him a short account of what had taken place, all -three left him, going, as they said, to breakfast at the club, and -inform the world of what had happened. And so they did. And before the -clock struck eight that night, Bonifazio had received a hundred visiting -cards, each with two words, "to congratulate," written upon it in -pencil, and four invitations to dinner addressed to Pietro Ghisleri. For -the world is unconsciously wise in its generation, and on the rare -occasions when it has found out that it has made a mistake, its haste to -do the civil thing is almost indecent. In eight and forty hours the -whole Savelli family and the Prince and Princess of Gerano had left -Rome, and Ghisleri found it hard to keep one evening a week free for -himself. - -But in the afternoon of that day on which San Giacinto had so suddenly -turned the tables upon Pietro's adversaries, Pietro went to see Laura -Arden. She, of course, was in ignorance of what had occurred, and was -amazed by the change she saw in his face when he entered. - -"Something good has happened, I am sure!" she exclaimed, as she came -half-way across the room to meet him with outstretched hands. - -"Yes," he said, "something very unexpected has happened. The confession -has been found, Donna Adele has admitted that the whole story was a -fabrication, and she has signed a formal denial of every accusation, -past, present, and to come. I am altogether cleared." - -"Thank God! Thank God!" Laura cried, wringing his two hands, and gazing -into his eyes. - -"You are glad," he said. "I suppose I knew you would be, but I could not -realise that it would make so much difference to you." - -"In one way it makes no difference," she said more quietly, as she sat -down and pointed to his accustomed place. "I knew the truth from the -beginning. But it is for you. I saw how unhappy you were yesterday. Now -tell me all about it." - -He told her all that had taken place since he had left her on the -previous day, as it has been told in these pages, and his heart beat -fast as he saw in her eyes the constant and great interest she felt. - -"And so I am quite free of it all at last," he said, when he had -finished. - -"And you will be happy now," answered Laura, softly. "You have been -through almost everything, it seems to me. Do you realise how much I -know of all your life? It is strange, is it not? You are not fond of -making confidences, and you never made but one to me, when you could not -help yourself. Yes; it is very strange that I should know so much about -you." - -"And still be willing to call me your friend?" added Ghisleri. "I do not -know how you can--and yet--" He stopped. "The reason is," he said -suddenly, "that you have long been a part of my life--that is why you -know me so well. I think that even long ago we were much more intimate -than we knew or dreamed of. There were many reasons for that." - -"Yes," Laura answered. "And then, after all, I have known you ever since -I first went out as a young girl. I did not like you at first, I -remember, though I could never tell why. But as for your saying that you -cannot see why I should still be your friend, I do not understand how -you mean it. It seems to me that you have done much to get my friendship -and to strengthen it, and nothing to lose it. Besides, you yourself know -that you are not what you were. You have changed. You were saying so -only yesterday, and you said the change was for the better." - -"Yes, I have changed," said Ghisleri. "It is of no use to deny it. I do -not mean in everything, though I do not lead the life I did. Perhaps it -all goes together after all." - -"That is not very clear," observed Laura, with a low laugh. - -Ghisleri was silent for a moment. - -"I do not think of you as I did," he said. "That is the greatest change -of all." - -Laura did not answer. She leaned back in her seat, and looked across the -room. - -"I never thought it would come," he said. "For years I honourably -believed I could be your friend. I know, now, that I cannot. I love you -far too deeply--with far too little right." - -Still Laura did not speak. But she turned her face from him, laying her -cheek against the silken cushion behind her. - -"Perhaps I am doing very wrong in telling you this," said Ghisleri, -trying to steady his voice. "But I made up my mind that it was better, -and more honest. I do not believe that you love me, that you ever can -love me in the most distant future of our lives. I am prepared for that. -I will not trouble you with my love. I will never speak of it again--for -I can never hope to win you. But at least you know the truth." - -Slowly Laura turned her face again and her eyes met his. There was a -deep, warm light in them. She seemed to hesitate. Then the words came -sharply, in a loud, clear voice, unlike her own, as though the great -secret had burst every barrier and had broken out against her will by -its own strength, sudden, startling, new to herself and to the man who -heard it. - -"I love you now!" - -Ghisleri turned as deadly pale as when Gianforte's bullet had so nearly -gone through his heart. The words rang out in the quiet room with an -intensity and distinctness of tone not to be described. He had not even -guessed that she might love him. For one moment they looked at one -another, both white with passion, both trembling a little, the black -eyes and the blue both gleaming darkly. Then Ghisleri took the two hands -that were stretched out to meet his own, and each felt that the other's -were very cold. As though by a common instinct they both rose, and stood -a moment face to face. Then his arms went round her. He did not know -until long afterwards that when he kissed her he lifted her from the -ground. - -It had all been sudden, strange, and unlike anything in his whole life, -unexpected beyond anything that had ever happened to him. Perhaps it was -so with her, too. They remembered little of what they said in those -first moments, but by and by, as they sat side by side on the sofa, -words came again. - -"I knew it when you went away last summer," said Ghisleri. "And then I -thought I should never tell you." - -"And I found it out when I left you," answered Laura. "I found that I -could not live without you and be happy. Did you guess nothing when I -made you come to me yesterday? Yesterday--only yesterday! It seems like -last year. Did you think it was mere friendship?" - -"Yes, I thought it was that and nothing more--but such friendship as I -had never dreamed of." - -"Nor any one else, perhaps," said Laura, with a happy smile. "For I -would have come, you know, in spite of every one. What would you have -done then, I wonder?" - -"Then? Do not speak of yesterday. What could I have done? Could I have -told you that I loved you with such an accusation hanging over me? No, -you know that. It was only yesterday that I asked you to let me leave -you rather suddenly--did you not guess the reason?" - -"I thought you were ill--no--well, it crossed my mind that you might be -a little, just a little, in love with me." She laughed. - -"I felt ill afterwards. I was horrified when I thought how nearly I had -spoken." - -"And why should you not have spoken, if it was in your heart?" asked -Laura, taking his hand again. "Why should you have thought, even for a -moment, that I could care what people said. You are you, and I am I, -whether the world is with us or against us. And I think, dear, that we -shall need the world very little now. Perhaps it will change its mind -and pretend it needs us." - -"There is no doubt of that. It always happens so. Why should we care?" -He paused a moment, then, as his eyes met hers, the great dominating -passion broke out again: "Ah--darling--heart's heart--beloved! There are -not words to tell you how I love you and bless you, and worship you with -all my soul. What can I say, what can I do, to make you understand?" - -"Love me, dear," she said, "and be faithful, as I will be." And their -lips met again. - -They loved well and truly. Strange, some may say, that a love of that -good kind should have begun in friendship on the one side, and -indifference if not dislike on the other. But neither had understood -the other at all in the beginning. The world-tired and world-weary man -had not guessed at the real woman who lived so humanly, and could love -so passionately, and whom nature had clothed with such saint-like, holy -beauty as to make her seem a creature above all earthly feeling and all -mortal weakness. Her eyes had seemed fixed on far-distant, heavenly -sights, gazing upon the world only to wonder at its vanity and to loathe -its uncleanness. Her best and her greatest thoughts had been, he -fancied, of things altogether divine and supernatural, of love -celestial, of beatific vision, of the waters of paradise, of goodness -and of God. And something of all this there was in her, but there was -room for more both in heart and soul, and more was there--the deep, -human sympathy, the simple strength to love one man wholly, the -singleness of thought and judgment to see the good in him and love it, -and to understand and forgive the bad--and far down in the strong, quiet -nature was hidden the passion but newly awakened whose irresistible -force would have broken every barrier and despised every convention, -respecting only its own purity in taking what it loved and desired, and -would have at any cost, save the defilement of the soul it moved. Small -wonder that when it awoke at last unresisted and meeting its like, it -burst into sight with a sudden violence that startled the woman herself, -and amazed the man who had not suspected its existence. - -But she, on her side, had learned to know him more slowly, not ever -analysing him, nor trying to guess at his motives, but merely seeing -little by little how great and wide was the discrepancy between the -hard, sceptical, cynic thoughts he expressed so readily, and the -constant, unchangingly brave effort of his heart to do in all cases what -was honourable, just, and brave according to his light. She saw him ever -striving, often failing, sometimes succeeding in the doing of good -actions, and she saw the strange love of truth and simplicity which -pervaded and primarily moved the most complicated character she had -ever known. He who at first had seemed to her the most worldly of all -worldly men, was in reality one whose whole life was lived in his own -heart for the one, or two, or three beings who had known how to touch -it. To all else he was absolutely and coldly indifferent. She had, -indeed, as she said, guessed at last that he loved her a little and more -than a little, and she had known for months before he spoke that he was -really a part of her life and of all her thoughts and actions. But she -had not asked herself what she would do or say when the great moment -came, any more than she had accused herself of being unfaithful to the -memory of the man whose dying words had bidden her to be happy, if she -would have him rest in peace. And now that she loved again, so -differently, so passionately, so much more humanly, she realised all the -great unselfishness of him who was gone and who had not been willing to -leave in her heart the least seed of future self-accusation or the least -ground for refusing anything good which life might have in store for -her. She saw that she could take what was offered her, freely, without -one regret, without one prick of conscience, or one passing thought that -Herbert Arden would have suffered an instant's pain could he have known -what was passing in the existence of the woman who had loved him so -well. - -Late on that afternoon, Ghisleri went to see Maddalena dell' Armi. There -was a drop of bitterness in his cup yet, and something hard for him to -do, but he would not let the woman who had sacrificed everything for him -in days gone by learn the news from a stranger. - -"I have come to tell you that I am going to marry Lady Herbert Arden," -he said gently, as he took her hand. - -She looked up quickly, and for a moment he felt a strange anxiety. - -"I knew that you would, long ago," she answered. "I am glad of it. No, -do not think that is a phrase. I do not love you any more. Are you glad -to know it? I wish I did. But I am far too fond of you not to wish you -to be happy if you can. You are my dearest and best friend. It is -strange, is it not? Think of me kindly sometimes, in your new life. -And--and do not speak my name before her, if you can help it. She knows -what we were to each other once, and it might hurt her." - -"How changed you are!" exclaimed Ghisleri. But he pressed the hand that -lay near him. - -"I am trying to be a good woman," she answered simply. - -"If there were more like you, the world would be a better place," he -said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -"Just fancy, my dear," exclaimed Donna Maria Boccapaduli to the Marchesa -di San Giacinto on the evening of the following day, "Pietro Ghisleri is -going to marry Laura Arden, after all! That horrid, spiteful, wicked -Adele will die of rage. And they say that the old uncle is dead and has -left Laura one of those enormous English fortunes one reads about, and -they are going to take the first floor of your brother's palace--your -husband says he will buy it some day--I hope he will--and Laura is going -to rebuild Ghisleri's queer little castle in Tuscany. What a delightful -series of surprises! And two days ago every one believed he was on the -point of being sent to prison for ever so many years. But I was always -sure he was innocent, though of course one did not like to have him -about while the thing was going on." - -"Giovanni said from the first that it was all an abominable lie," -answered the Marchesa. "And Giovanni is generally right. What a charming -house it will be! Of course they will give balls." - -"They say that in the confession there was a full account of the way in -which she started the story of the evil eye--what nonsense it was! You -have only to look into Laura Arden's eyes--do you think she is as -beautiful as Corona Saracinesca ever could have been?" - -"No, no," exclaimed the Marchesa, who had known the Princess of Sant' -Ilario more than twenty years earlier. "No one was ever so beautiful as -Corona. Laura is much shorter, too, and that makes a difference. Laura -reminds one of a saint, and Corona looked an empress--or what empresses -are supposed to be like. But Laura is a beautiful woman. There is no one -to compare with her now but Christina Campodonico, and she is too thin. -What a good looking couple Ghisleri and his wife will make. He has grown -younger during the last two years." - -"No wonder--when one thinks of the life he used to lead. Every time he -quarrelled with Maddalena he used to get at least five pounds thinner. I -wonder how she takes it." - -"She is far too clever a woman to show what she thinks. But I know she -has not cared for him for a long time. They have not quarrelled for two -years at least, so of course there cannot be any love left on either -side. They still sit in corners occasionally. I suppose they like each -other. It is very odd. But I shall never understand those things." - -The last remark was very true, for Flavia Saracinesca loved her giant -husband with all her heart and always had, and she knew also that Maria -Boccapaduli was the best of wives and mothers, if she was also the -greatest of gossips. - -What the two ladies said to each other represented very well the world's -opinion, hastily formed, on the spur of the moment, to meet the -exigencies of the altered situation, but immutable now. It shrugged its -shoulders as it referred to its past errors of judgment, and said that -it could not have been expected to know that Adele Savelli was raving -mad when she was allowed to go everywhere just like a sane being, -although her eyes had undeniably had a wild look for some time, and she -might have been taken for a galvanised corpse. For of course it was now -quite certain that she had been out of her mind from the very beginning, -seeing that she had concocted her dreadful plot without the slightest -reason. As for the old story that Laura Arden loved Francesco, that was -downright nonsense! It was another of Adele's scandalous falsehoods--or -insane delusions, if you chose to be so good-natured as to use that -expression. If anything, it was Francesco who loved Laura, and he ought -to be ashamed of himself, considering what a fortune his wife had -brought him. But human nature was very ungrateful, especially when it -bore the name of Savelli. They did not seem at all thankful for that -dear Ghisleri's forbearance. He could have brought an action against -them for any number of things--defamation, false imprisonment--almost -anything. But he had acted with his usual generosity, and told every one -that he had always believed Adele to be insane, and bore no one the -least ill-will, since he had been put to no inconvenience whatever, -thanks to San Giacinto's timely action. And, said the world, when a man -consistently behaved as Pietro Ghisleri had done, he was certain to get -his reward. What could any man desire more than to have that dear, -beautiful, good Laura Arden for his wife, especially since she was so -immensely rich? Doubt the justice of Heaven after that, if you could! As -for the world, it meant to tell them both how sorry it was that it had -misunderstood them. Of course it would be sinful not to hope that Adele -might some day get well, but she had her deserts, and if she ever came -back to society, people would not care to meet her. She might go mad -again at any moment and try to ruin some one else, and might succeed the -next time, too. - -That was the way in which most people talked during the season, and the -world acted up to its words as it generally does when there are balls -and dinners to be got by merely being consistent. It was much more -agreeable, too, to live on terms of pleasant intercourse with Laura and -her betrothed, and much easier, because it is always tiresome to keep up -a prejudice against really charming people. - -But Adele was not mad as people said, and as the two families gave out. -There had undoubtedly been a strain of insanity through all her conduct, -and that might, some day, develop into real madness. She was sane enough -still, however, to suffer, and no such merciful termination to her -sufferings as the loss of her reason would be seemed at all imminent. -The strong will and acute intelligence had survived, for the poisonous -drug she loved had attacked the body, which was the weaker portion of -her being. Adele was hopelessly paralysed. The last great effort had -been too much for the over-strung nerves. Her hands still moved -convulsively, but she could not direct them at all. Her jaw had dropped, -as it almost always does in advanced cases of morphinism, and her lower -limbs were useless. Day after day she sat or lay before the fire in her -room at Castel Savello, as she might remain for years, tended by paid -nurses, and helpless to do the slightest thing for herself--through the -short days and the long nights of winter, hardly cheered by the sunshine -when spring came at last, longing for the end. It was indeed a dreadful -existence. Nothing to do, nothing to think of but the terrible black -past, nothing to occupy her, save the monotonous tracing back of her -present state to her first misdeeds, step by step, inch by inch, in the -cold light of an inexorable logic. It was hard to believe what her -confessor told her, that she should be grateful for having time and -reason left to repent of what she had done, and to expiate, in a -measure, the evil of her life. As yet, that was the only comfort she got -from any one. She had disgraced the name of Savelli, she was told, and -no suffering could atone for that. She felt that she was hated and -despised, and that although everything which money could do was done to -prolong her wretched being, her death was anticipated as a relief from -her detested presence in the household upon which she had brought such -shame. It would be hard to conceive a more fearful punishment than she -was made to undergo, forcibly kept alive by the constant care and -forethought of the most experienced persons, and allowed only just so -much of the morphia as was positively necessary. She had no longer the -power to grasp the little instrument. If she had been able to do that, -she would have found rest for ever, as she told herself. And they -cruelly diminished the dose, though they would not tell her by how much. -She would live longer, they said, if the quantity could be greatly -reduced. She begged, implored, entreated them not to torture her. But -they could hardly understand what she said, for the paralysis had made -her speech indistinct, and even if they could have distinguished the -meaning of all her words they would have paid no attention to them. The -orders were strict and were rigidly obeyed in every particular. She was -to be made to live as long as possible, and life meant torment, -unceasing, passing words to describe. How long it might last she had no -idea. She could only hope against hope that it might end soon. The news -of Laura's engagement and approaching marriage had been kept from her -for some time, it being feared that it might agitate her, but she was -told at last, and the knowledge of her step-sister's happiness was an -added bitterness in what remained to her of life. Vividly she saw them -before her, Laura in her fresh beauty, Ghisleri in his strength, little -Herbert with his father's eyes--the eyes that haunted Adele Savelli by -night and gazed upon her by day out of the shadowy corners of her room. -The three were ever before her moving, as she fancied, through a garden -of exquisite flowers, in a clear, bright light. That was doubtless the -way in which her diseased brain represented their happiness, for she -had loved flowers in the old days, and had associated everything that -was pleasant with them in her thoughts. But she hated them now, as she -hated everything, even to her own children, whom she refused to see -because they reminded her of better times, and her step-mother, whom she -was obliged to receive because the good lady would take no denial. The -Princess was, indeed, one of her most regular and kindly visitors. A -very constant and good woman, she would not and could not turn upon -Adele as all the rest had done, even to her own father, who in the -bitterness of his heart, had said that he would never see his daughter -again, alive or dead. But Adele hated her none the less, and dreaded her -long homilies and exhortations to be penitent, and the little printed -prayers and books of devotion she generally brought with her. For the -Princess was deeply concerned for the welfare of Adele's soul, and being -very much in earnest in the matter of religion, she did what she could -to save it according to her own views. Possibly her sermons might -hereafter bear fruit, but for the present the wretched woman who was -forced to listen to them found them almost unbearable. And so her -unhappy days dragged on without prospect of relief or termination, no -longer in any real meaning of the word a life at all, but only a -consequence, the result of what she had made herself when she had been -really alive. - -The Princess of Gerano was the last person won over to a good opinion of -Ghisleri, but before the wedding day she had formally avowed to Laura -that she had been mistaken in him. She had been most of all impressed by -his dignity during the very great difficulties in which he had been -placed, and by his gentle forbearance when his innocence had been -established and when no one would have blamed him if he had cursed the -whole Savelli and Gerano tribe by every devil in Satan's calendar. -Instead, he had uniformly said that he had believed Donna Adele to be -mad, and that what had happened had therefore not come about by any -one's fault. She told Laura that there must be more good than any one -had dreamt of in a man who could act as Pietro did under the -circumstances, and perhaps she was right. At all events, she was -convinced and having once reached conviction she took him to her heart -and found that he was a man much more to her taste, and much more worthy -of Laura than she had supposed. For the rest, the match was an admirable -one. Ghisleri was certainly very far from rich, but he was by no means a -pauper, and what he possessed had been wisely administered. He was -neither a prince, nor the son of a princely house, but there was many a -prince of Europe, and more than one of the Holy Empire, too, whose -forefathers had been trudging behind the plough long after the Nobili -Ghisleri had built their tower and held their own in it for generations. -Then, too, whatever the Princess might think of his past and of his -reputation, he had rather a singular position in society, and was -respected as many were not, who possessed ten times as many virtues as -he. She admitted quite frankly that she had been wrong, and she made -ample amends for her former cold treatment of him by the liking she now -showed. - -"I shall never be able to think of you as a serious married man, my dear -friend," said Gouache one day when Ghisleri was lounging in the studio -with a cigarette, after they had breakfasted together. - -"I hope you will," was the laconic answer. - -"No, I never shall. I have always had a sort of artistic satisfaction in -your character--for there was much that was really artistic about you, -especially as regards your taste in sin, which was perfect and perhaps -is still. But marriage is not at all artistic, my dear Ghisleri, until -it becomes unhappy, and the husband goes about with a revolver in every -pocket, and the wife with a scent bottle full of morphia in hers, and -they treat each other with distant civility in private, and with -effusive affection when a third person is present, especially the third -person who has contributed the most to producing the artistic effect in -question. Then the matter becomes interesting." - -"Like your own marriage," suggested Ghisleri, with a laugh. Gouache and -Donna Faustina had not had an unkind thought for one another in nearly -twenty years of cloudless happiness. - -"Ah, my friend, you must not take my case as an instance. There is -something almost comic in being as happy as I am. We should never make a -subject for a play writer, my wife and I, nor for a novelist either. No -man would risk his reputation for truthfulness by describing our life as -it is. But then, is there anything artistic about me? Nothing, except -that I am an artist. If I had any money I should be called an amateur. -To be an artist it is essential to starve--at one time or another. The -public never believe that a man who has not been dangerously hungry can -paint a picture, or play the fiddle, or write a book. If I had money I -would still paint--subjects like Michael Angelo's Last Judgment with the -souls of Donna Tullia, Del Ferice, and Donna Adele Savelli frying -prominently on the left, and portraits of my wife and myself in the -foreground on the right with perfectly new crowns of glory and beatific -smiles from ear to ear. If you go on as you have been living since the -reformation set in, you will have to bore yourself on our side too, with -a little variation in your crown to show what a sinner you have been." - -"I am quite willing to be bored in your way," answered Ghisleri, -laughing again. - -The marriage took place late in February, to the immense delight of the -world, and with the unanimous applause of all society. The newspapers -gave minute accounts of all the gowns, and of all the people who wore -them, and surprised Ghisleri by informing him that his ancestors had -been Guelphs, whereas he had some reason to believe that they had been -Ghibellines, and by creating him a commander of the order of Saint -Maurice and Saint Lazarus, whereas he was an hereditary Knight of -Malta. - -The description of Laura was an extraordinary contribution to the -literature of beauty, and left nothing to be desired except a positive -or two to contrast with the endless string of superlatives. - -Ghisleri and Laura left Rome with a little caravan of servants. Neither -the faithful Donald nor the equally faithful Bonifazio could be left -behind, and there was Laura's maid, and little Herbert's nurse, both -indispensable. The boy was overjoyed by the arrangement which gave him -the advantage of Pietro's society "for every day," as he expressed it, -and especially at the prospect of living all the summer in a real -castle. He was three years old and talked fluently, when he talked at -all--a strong, brave-looking little fellow, with clear brown eyes and a -well-shaped head, set on a sturdy frame that promised well for his -coming manhood. Ghisleri delighted in him, though he was not generally -amused by very small children. But they always came to him of their own -accord, which some people say is a sign of a good disposition in a man, -for children and animals are rarely mistaken in their likes and -dislikes. - -San Giacinto and Gianforte Campodonico went to the station to see them -off after the wedding, and threw armfuls of roses and lilies of the -valley into the carriage before the door was finally shut by the guard -as the preliminary bell was sounded. - -"Without you two, we two should not be here," said Ghisleri, as he shook -hands with them both. - -"No," added Laura happily. "But we should have been together, if it had -been in prison. Good-bye, dear friends." - -The train moved away, and the two men were left on the platform, waving -their hats to the last. - -"That is a good thing well done," said San Giacinto, lighting a cigar. -"They will be happy together." - -"Yes," said Gianforte, thoughtfully. "I think they will. Women love that -man, and he knows how to love them." - -San Giacinto looked down at him and said nothing. He knew something of -Bianca Corleone's short, sad life, and of what had passed between her -brother and Ghisleri. He liked them both more than almost any of the -younger men he knew, and he honestly admired them for their behaviour -towards each other. He guessed what thoughts were passing through -Campodonico's mind as he looked after the train that was bearing away -Pietro Ghisleri, a married man at last. - -For Gianforte was saying to himself that though he could neither wholly -forget nor freely forgive the past, he could have loved him had fate -been different. If ten years ago Ghisleri could have married Bianca, and -if Bianca could have lived, the two would have been happy, for even -Gianforte admitted that both had loved truly and well until the end. But -that was a dream and reality had raised the impassable barrier between -men who might have been firm friends. Their hands might stretch across -it, and grasp one another from time to time, and their eyes might read -good faith and the will to be generous each in the other's soul, but -nearer than that they could never be, for the sake of the beautiful dead -woman who would not be forgotten by either. - -One more picture and one word more, and the curtain must fall at last. - -In the early summer Laura and her husband were at Torre de' Ghisleri in -the Tuscan hills. The small castle was very habitable as compared with -its former condition, and small as it was by comparison with such -fortresses as Gerano, was by no means the mere ruined tower which many -people supposed it to be. The square grey keep from which it took its -name was flanked by a mass of smaller buildings, irregular and of -different epochs, all more or less covered with ivy or with creepers now -in bloom. The wide castle yard, in the midst of which stood the ancient -well with its wonderfully wrought yoke of iron, its heavy chain, and its -two buckets, had been converted into a garden long ago for the bride of -some Ghisleri of those days, and the plants and trees had run almost -wild for a hundred years, irregularly, as some had survived and others -had perished in the winter storms. Here a cypress, there an oak, further -on again three laurels, of the Laura Regia kind, side by side in a row, -then two cypresses again, growing up straight and slim and dark out of a -plot of close-cut grass. And there were roses everywhere, and stiff -camelia trees and feathery azaleas and all manner of bright, growing -things without order or symmetry, beautiful in their wildness. But in -and out there were narrow paths, in which two might walk together, and -these were now swept and cared for as they had never been in Pietro's -bachelor days. Other things were changed too, but not much, and for the -better. A woman's hand had touched, had waked a sweet new life in the -old place. - -The afternoon sun, still above the low surrounding hills, cast the -shadow of the tower across the lawn and upon the flowers beyond. There -were chairs before the arched doorway, and a garden table. Laura sat -watching the swallows as they flew down from the keep to the garden and -upwards again in their short, circling flight. A book she had not even -thought of reading lay beside her. At her elbow sat Ghisleri in a white -jacket, with a straw hat tilted over his eyes which little Herbert was -trying to get at, as he rode on Pietro's knee. The man's face had -changed wonderfully during the last six months. All the hardness was -gone from it, and the contemptuous, discontented look that had once come -so readily was never seen now. - -"You never told me it was so beautiful," said Laura, still watching the -swallows and gazing at the flowers. "When we first came, and I looked -out of the window in the morning, I thought I had never seen any place -so lovely. You used to talk of it in such a careless way." - -"It is you who make it beautiful for me," answered Ghisleri. "A year ago -it seemed dull and ugly enough, when I used to sit here and think of -you." - -"I was not the first woman you had thought of, on this very spot, I -daresay," said Laura, with a happy laugh. - -"No, dear, you were not." He smiled as he admitted the fact. "But you -were the last, and unless you turn out to be as bad as you seem to be -good, you will have no successor." - -"What's successor mean?" lisped Herbert, desisting from his attempt to -get at the hat and listening. - -"Somebody who comes after another," answered Laura. "I will try to be -good, dear," she said to Ghisleri, laughing again. - -"So'll I," exclaimed Herbert promptly, doubtless supposing that it was -expected of him. - -"Yes," said Ghisleri, thoughtfully. "I have sat here many a time for -hours, dreaming about you, and wishing for you, and trying to see you -just as you are now, in a chair beside me. Yes, I have thought of other -women here, but it is very long since I wished to see one there--if I -ever did. I hardly ever came here when I was very young." - -There was a pause. His voice had a little sadness in it as he spoke the -last words--not the sadness of regret, but of reverence. He was thinking -of Bianca Corleone. Then Laura laid her hand upon his arm, and her eyes -met his, for he turned as he felt her touch. - -"Dear, you would have been happy with her," she said very gravely. "But -I will be all to you that woman can be to man, if I live to show you how -I love you." - -"No woman ever was what you are to me already," he answered. "No woman, -living or dead. You have done everything for me since I first knew you -well, and you did much more than you know before I knew what you really -were. There can be nothing in the world beyond what you have given, and -give me." - -"I wish I were quite, quite sure of that," said Laura, still looking -into his face. - -"You must be--you shall be!" he said, with sudden energy, and his -glance lightened with passion. "You must. Words are not much, I know, -nor oaths, nor anything of that sort. But I will tell you this--and by -the light and goodness of God, it is true. If I could doubt for one -moment that I love you beyond any love I have ever dreamed of, I would -tear out my heart with my hands!" - -"What's love?" asked little Herbert timidly, for he was afraid that it -must be something very dreadful as he watched Ghisleri's pale face and -blazing eyes. - -But the lips that might have answered could not; they were sealing the -truth they had spoken, upon others that had uttered a doubt for the last -time. - - -THE END. - - - - -LIST OF WORKS - -BY - -MR. F. MARION CRAWFORD. - - -IN THE PRESS. A NEW NOVEL. - -PIETRO GHISLERI. - -12mo, cloth, $1.00. In the uniform edition of Mr. Crawford's Novels. - - -THE NOVEL. WHAT IT IS. - - By F. MARION CRAWFORD, author of "Children of the King," - "Saracinesca," etc., etc. Uniform with the pocket edition of William - Winter's Works. With photogravure portrait. 18mo, cloth, 75 cents. - - *.* Also a large-paper limited edition. 12mo, $2.00. - -"Mr. Crawford in the course of this readable little essay touches upon -such topics as realism and romanticism, the use of dialect, the abuse of -scientific information, the defects of historical fiction. Mr. -Crawford's discussion of what does and what does not constitute the -novel will be read with eager interest by the large company of his -sincere admirers in this country."--_Beacon._ - - -CHILDREN OF THE KING. - -A Tale of Southern Italy. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. - -"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the dramatic -power of this story. The simplicity of nature, the uncorrupted truth of -a soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The suddenness of the -unforeseen tragedy at the last renders the incident of the story -powerful beyond description. One can only feel such sensations as the -last scene of the story incites. It may be added that if Mr. Crawford -has written some stories unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the -stories of Italian life. A reader of them cannot fail to gain a clearer, -fuller acquaintance with the Italians and the artistic spirit that -pervades the country."--M.L.B. in _Syracuse Journal_. - - -MACMILLAN & CO. take pleasure in announcing that they have added the -following volumes (with the author's latest revisions) to their uniform -edition of the Works of Mr. F. Marion Crawford, thereby enabling them to -issue a complete edition of all his novels: - -A ROMAN SINGER. New Edition, revised and corrected. - -TO LEEWARD. PAUL PATOFF. - -AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN. New Edition, revised and partly rewritten. - - -F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS - -NEW UNIFORM AND COMPLETE EDITION. - -12mo, cloth. Price $1.00 each. - -"Mr. F. Marion Crawford is," as Mr. Andrew Lang says, "the most -'versatile and various' of modern novelists. He has great adaptability -and subtleness of mind, and whether dealing with life in modern Rome or -at the court of Darius at Shushan, in the wilds of India or in the -fashionable quarter of New York, in the Black Forest or in a lonely -parish of rural England, he is equally facile and sure of his ground; a -master of narrative style, he throws a subtle charm over all he -touches." - - -_TO BE PUBLISHED IN JUNE_: - -PIETRO GHISLERI. - - - Children of the King. - - Don Orsino, - A sequel to "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario." - - The Three Fates. - - The Witch of Prague. - - Khaled. - - A Cigarette-maker's Romance. - - Sant' Ilario, - A sequel to "Saracinesca." - - Greifenstein. - - With the Immortals. - - To Leeward. - - A Roman Singer. - - An American Politician. - - Paul Patoff. - - Marzio's Crucifix. - - Saracinesca. - - A Tale of a Lonely Parish. - - Zoroaster. - - Dr. Claudius. - - Mr. Isaacs. - - - - -WORKS BY HENRY JAMES. - - -A NEW VOLUME OF STORIES. - -THE LESSON OF THE MASTER, -AND OTHER STORIES. - -12mo, cloth extra, $1.00. - - -THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. - -12mo, $1.25. - -We find no fault with Mr. Henry James's "Princess Casamassima." 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One is -thankful again that there is so brilliant an American author to give us -entertaining sketches of life.--_Boston Herald._ - - -THE ASPERN PAPERS, -AND OTHER STORIES. - -12mo, $1.00. - -The stories are told with that mastery of the art of story-telling which -their writer possesses in a conspicuous degree.--_Literary World._ - - -PARTIAL PORTRAITS. - -12mo, $1.75. - -Henry James has never appeared to better advantage as an author than in -this delightful volume of critical essays.--_Boston Saturday Evening -Gazette._ - - -THE BOSTONIANS. - -12mo, $1.25. - -Unquestionably "The Bostonians" is not only the most brilliant and -remarkable of Mr. James's novels, but it is one of the most important of -recent contributions to literature.--_Boston Courier._ - - -A LONDON LIFE, -AND OTHER STORIES. - -12mo, $1.00. - -His short stories, which are always bright and sparkling, are -delightful.... Will bear reading again and again.--_Mail and Express._ - - -FRENCH POETS AND NOVELISTS. - -12mo, $1.50. - - - - -WORKS BY MRS. HUMPHRY WARD. - - -Mrs. Humphry Ward's New Novel, - -THE HISTORY OF DAVID GRIEVE. - -12mo, cloth, extra, $1.00. - - -ROBERT ELSMERE. - -12mo, cloth, $1.00; Library Edition, 2 vols., $3.00. - -The book is a drama in which every page is palpitating with intense and -real life. It is a realistic novel in the highest sense of the -word.--_The Whitehall Review._ - -MR. GLADSTONE writes of this Novel in the "Nineteenth Century." - -The strength of the book seems to lie in an extraordinary wealth of -diction, never separated from thought; in a close and searching faculty -of social observation; in generous appreciation of what is morally good, -impartially exhibited in all directions; above all, in the sense of -omission with which the writer is evidently possessed, and in the -earnestness and persistency of purpose with which through every page and -line it is pursued. The book is eminently an offspring of the time, and -will probably make a deep, or at least a very sensible impression; not, -however, among mere novel-readers, but among those who share, in -whatever sense, the deeper thought of the period. - - -AMIEL'S JOURNAL. - -THE JOURNAL INTIME OF HENRI-FREDERIC AMIEL. - -_TRANSLATED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES. 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The text does not -clearly define where the opening quote mark should be, and so it has -been added before the phrase: "who had never known...." - -On the first page of the Ads section, an asterism is represented in this -plain-text version as *.* - -Other than the above, no effort has been made to standardize internal -inconsistencies in spelling, capitalization, punctuation, grammar, etc. -The author's usage is preserved as found in the original publication. - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pietro Ghisleri, by F. 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