X I E. R_ A R Y 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 825 
 Cljl2rn
 
 Uj.a . C^L-JUJi 
 
 / - > 
 
 9 0/7/ '''^'-'^'
 
 ^fl 

 
 THE 
 
 M O S A I C-W O R K E R'S 
 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. M. CAPES. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1868. 
 
 [A/i rights reserved.^
 
 8S3 
 
 CI7I^/TA, 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTEE PAGE 
 
 I. HELEN; MAEGAEET ; FEANCESCA . 1 
 
 II. THE BALL AT THE FEENCH EMBASSY . 24 
 
 III. ESCAPED . . ... 50 
 
 IT. MOENING VISITOES 68 
 
 V. d'uEBINO in HIS STUDIO . . .89 
 
 VI. THE GATHEEING IN THE COLISEUM . . 107 
 
 Til. THE AEEIVAL AND ITS EESULTS . . 123 
 
 Till. AEEESTED 143 
 
 IX. WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE POLICE COUET 168 
 X. ME. ETELTN's ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF . 193 
 
 XI. DONATO . 209 
 
 XIT. FATHEE AND DAUGHTEE .... 226 
 
 XIII. THE MAECHESE MAKES ENQUIEIES . . 247 
 
 XIV. LONELINESS 269 

 
 THE 
 
 MOSAIC-WORKER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 " Only three weeks yet in Rome, and two 
 invitations to balls already !" 
 
 " Yes !" said Helen Sandford, to her 
 friend and cousin Margaret Osborne ; '' every- 
 body says that we are to have a gayer season 
 than ever, this winter." 
 
 " But as to these Eoman balls them- 
 selves," asked Margaret, " I cannot under- 
 stand what sort of afiairs they can possibly 
 be." 
 
 " Why so ?" asked her cousin. 
 
 " Surely I have heard both you and my 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 HELEN'; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 aunt say again and . again that the Eoman 
 girls are hardly ever allowed to dance, or even 
 to appear at any large assemblies, until they 
 are actually married." 
 
 " So much the worse for the Roman girls, 
 and for both Roman and English gentle- 
 men," replied Helen. " But at the same 
 time, so much the better for us English 
 girls. You have not an idea what a sensa- 
 tion you yourself will produce next week, 
 when you come floating into a crowd of 
 young dukes and princes, with your bright 
 locks and the roses and lilies of your cheeks. 
 Do you know that the young Romans are 
 wild about complexions like yours ? As for 
 me, with my dark face and dark eyes and 
 dark hair, they think me no better than one 
 of their own inane and is^norant sisters.'' 
 
 "Really?" asked her cousin. "If this 
 is not one of your favourite exaggerations, 
 Helen, it only proves the stupidity of your 
 friends the dukes and the princes." 
 
 " The proof is before you, my dear," replied
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FKANCESCA. 3 
 
 Helen. "This is my third Eoman winter, and 
 I am still Helen Sandford, and for all that has 
 yet taken place, likely so still to remain." 
 
 " But I thought that these youthful 
 nobles were all anxious to marry English 
 girls." 
 
 " Not all of them, by any means, nor half 
 of them, unless these same English girls 
 have pretty fortunes as w^ell as pretty eyes." 
 
 " Yet you have both of these charms, 
 Helen." 
 
 "Trueenough," she said; "but nevertheless 
 I am Helen Sandford still. And I am told, 
 moreover, that I frightened the butterflies 
 away, by exposing their ignorance in all 
 sorts of subjects that are perfectly well 
 understood by young Englishmen of the 
 same station." 
 
 " And do you admit this explanation of 
 their insensibility ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " It is not only the opinion of my mother 
 herself," said Helen. " It is the opinion of 
 my old playfellow Henry Noel as well." 
 
 i— 2
 
 4 HELEN; MARGARET; FltANCESCA. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that my aunt dis- 
 cusses such delicate subjects as your mar- 
 riage prospects with Mr. Noel, or with any 
 other person whatsoever ?" 
 
 "Why not?" asked Helen. "Mr. Noel 
 is no longer young ; and besides, being in 
 orders, he is a perfectly unbiased adviser; 
 and is, I am convinced, most anxious for 
 my happiness." 
 
 " Well !" rejoined Margaret ; " It seems 
 rather an odd sort of proceeding, to my 
 English notions of propriety !" 
 
 " When you have lived abroad as much 
 as I have, Margaret," said Helen, " you will 
 have given up this and a good many other 
 insular prejudices into the bargain." 
 
 " You think so ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " I am sure of it," rejoined Helen. 
 
 " Possibly !" said Margaret, with some- 
 thing very much like a sigh ; " but the 
 prospect is scarcely a pleasant one." 
 
 And she walked to the window, and 
 looked out upon the scene below, wondering
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 5 
 
 whether the new life on which she was now 
 entering would prove as bright and happy 
 as she had been expecting it to be. The 
 house whence she now watched a sight 
 strangely novel to her, was situated in one 
 of those streets near the Piazza di Spagna, 
 where wealthy British parents love to set- 
 tle themselves for the Eoman winter, and 
 thence, as a base of operations, pursue the 
 campaign of mingled pleasure and piety on 
 which they have set their eager hearts. 
 
 What are the relative proportions of the 
 motives which tempt them to the Eternal 
 City it is not easy to decide. With Protes- 
 tant travellers, except those of the extreme 
 high- church school, pleasure alone is the 
 avowed object of the visit, their pious 
 aspirations being abundantly satisfied by a 
 full-dress attendance on Sundays at the 
 thoroughly non-ritual service which Eoman 
 jealousy allows to be performed without 
 the walls, and without the walls alone. 
 Catholics, on the other hand, persuade them-
 
 6 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 selves that it is piety, far more than 
 pleasure-seeking, which prompts them to 
 come on a sort of pilgrimage to the feet of 
 the Holy Father; an agreeable illusion 
 which Eoman ecclesiastics are careful to 
 foster, and which thus furnishes one practi- 
 cal matter in which the Eoman shopkeepers 
 are of the same mind as their spiritual 
 masters. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford and her daughters being 
 now entering upon their third season, were 
 thoroughly disillusionised as to the nature 
 of their motives. 
 
 They had returned to their old quarters 
 with precisely the same views that bring 
 the crowds of the rich and fashionable to 
 London every spring. 
 
 With Margaret the case was different. 
 The long-continued illnesses of her father 
 and mother, followed by their deaths, had 
 grafted an almost premature gravity on a 
 character naturally buoyant; and she had 
 come to Italy under the shelter of her aunt's
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 7 
 
 protection, prepared to find herself in 
 harmony with the grandeurs of the Rome 
 of the past, and the splendours of the Eome 
 of the present, rather than with the brilliant 
 gaieties which she saw were already begin- 
 ning to pall upon her cousin's energetic and 
 thoroughly honest mind. 
 
 For some minutes she sat and watched 
 the stream of people below, noting once 
 more how unlike it all seemed to the stream 
 that flowed up and down the streets of 
 London. To her unaccustomed eye the 
 novelty of Roman life had not yet worn 
 off, and though at their hours of greatest 
 bustle, the streets and squares were never 
 thronged with eager, grave and busy-look- 
 ing crowds, like those with which the 
 Londoner is familiar from his earliest years, 
 yet the vivacity of the Italian voices, and the 
 gesticulations with which all Italians accom- 
 pany their ordinary talk, gave a life to the 
 common aspect of every day affairs which 
 would be sought in vain in the damp atmo-
 
 8 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 sphere and under the gloomy skies of 
 the north. 
 
 Presently her attention was fixed upon a 
 sight altogether new and strange. Two 
 figures advanced slowly up the street, clad 
 from head to foot in white cloaks, with their 
 faces completely hidden hy white masks, 
 pierced with two holes to allow them to see 
 where they were going. Anything so gro- 
 tesque and ghastly-looking Margaret had 
 never beheld, except upon the stage in a 
 Christmas pantomime. That they were 
 some sort of beggars was soon evident. 
 Before the door of every house they paused 
 and silently held out the bags they carried, 
 one taking the houses on the right side of 
 the street, the other those on the left. At 
 almost every house something that seemed 
 a coin was dropped into the bags by one 
 of the inmates, in return for which the 
 recipient made a profound bow, but said 
 nothing, and walked on. 
 
 " Helen ! Helen !" cried Margaret, as the
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 9 
 
 strange pair came nearer, " here are the most 
 wonderful looking beggars you can conceive 
 of. They will be stopping here in a 
 moment. What are we to say to them ?" 
 
 ''Nothing at all. Eome swarms with 
 beggars of all sort," replied Helen, her 
 curiosity quite un piqued. 
 
 " But these are not common beggars 
 surely," rejoined Margaret, " common beg- 
 gars do not go about in white cloaks and 
 masks, unless they want to frighten people 
 into parting with their money." 
 
 " It's only the Sacconi/' replied Helen, 
 totally unimpressed by her cousin's surprise. 
 
 " And who are the Sacco?ii, then ?" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot it was your first winter 
 here," said Helen. " The Saccojii are a 
 society of lay and clerical swells who dis- 
 guise themselves, and go about collecting 
 alms for poor debtors. I daresay these two 
 men that you see coming are Princes or 
 Cardinals. It won't do to give them
 
 10 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 nothing ; but a few bajoccJd will be quite 
 enough. Just call Fernando, as you seem 
 to be doing nothing, and tell him to be 
 ready at the door with the money." 
 
 '* Does Aunt Sandford really like this sort 
 of thing, Helen ?" asked Margaret, slightly 
 bewildered at the notion of cardinals and 
 nobles masquerading in the cause of charity. 
 
 " I don't know whether she likes it or 
 not; but she would not like to be singular, 
 you know, in anything," rejoined Helen. 
 
 Margaret said no more, but found herself 
 already imitating the characteristic Eoman 
 shrug of the shoulders, and straightway left 
 the room in search of Fernando, the ci-devant 
 courier, and now the butler and general fac- 
 totum of the Sandford party. 
 
 Fernando, however, was not immediately 
 forthcoming ; so Margaret ran down stairs 
 herself, anxious to catch a near sight of the 
 mysterious pair of pious maskers. As she 
 reached the door, one of the cloaked figures 
 was holding out his bag to the owner of the
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 11 
 
 adjoining house, a worker in mosaic, who 
 supplied some of the chief dealers in that 
 pretty Eoman manufacture, and also sold 
 what he could on his own account at home. 
 She had already made the acquaintance of 
 this man, Filippo Griorgione by name, partly 
 through her admiration of his ingenuity as 
 an artist-mechanic, and partly through a 
 fancy she had taken for his handsome 
 daughter Francesca. 
 
 Neither the masked figure nor Giorgione 
 caught sight of her for a few moments, and 
 she had time to see that what the mosaic- 
 worker dropped into the bag of the Sacconi 
 was certainly a small piece of paper, whether 
 containing money or not she of course could 
 not tell. She was confident, moreover, that 
 the look of the brilliant eyes that shot through 
 the holes in the mask meant something 
 more than the mere routine gratitude for a 
 trifling gift ; and that the usual solemn 
 reverence with which the gift was acknow- 
 ledged was responded to by a scarcely per- 
 ceptible curl of the lips of the donor.
 
 12 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 It was all over in some twenty or thirty 
 seconds, but the conviction which flashed upon 
 Margaret's mind was immediately strength- 
 ened by the change of manner in the two 
 men, when they caught sight of her, and 
 the bag was duly presented for her expected 
 gift. The change was barely perceptible, 
 but she was so convinced that it was real, 
 that after bestowing the prescribed number 
 of bajocchi, and receiving the appropriate 
 reverence in return, she determined to stay 
 and gossip for a few minutes with her 
 friend the mosaic- worker. She was already 
 well aware that being an English girl she 
 could do such a thing with impunity, and 
 with no damage to her reputation, though 
 to a Eoman girl of her social position such 
 independence in action is still rigorously 
 forbidden. 
 
 " How is Francesca this morning ?" she 
 asked of the father, after acknowledging his 
 salutation, given with all that pleasant cor- 
 diality and polished manner, in which we
 
 HELEN ; MARGARET ; FRANCESCA. 13 
 
 English people of almost every class have 
 yet so much to learn from the Italians. 
 
 " The signora is most kind and conside- 
 rate," said Griorgione. " Francesca is here 
 to answer for herself, though she keeps 
 within doors, as the day is still rather chilly 
 for one who is not yet quite recovered from 
 illness." 
 
 " Chilly !" echoed Margaret, as she pre- 
 ceded Griorgione into his working room. 
 " I find it quite delightful in comparison 
 with our English Decembers." 
 
 " Ah, well !" said Griorgione, " it is happy 
 for us Eomans that all the good things 
 should not be monopolised by the signora's 
 excellent fellow-countrymen. We have the 
 sun, which is the light of the body. But 
 the English have liberty, which is the light 
 of the soul. It would be terrible if we had 
 neither the one nor the other." 
 
 '* But what a wonderful place this Rome 
 of yours really is," returned Margaret. 
 " Every day I come upon some fresh thing
 
 14 HELEN; MAUGAHET ; FRAKCESCA. 
 
 that astonishes me. Just now I am bewil- 
 dered by the apparition of these mysterious 
 gentlemen in the masks and cloaks. Is it 
 really true that they are nobles, and bishops, 
 and cardinals ? I noticed, too, that they 
 are walking about with bare feet. Such a 
 thing would be stopped in London by the 
 police for good and all." 
 
 " Who knows ?" replied the mosaic- 
 worker, with a shrug and a grimace, that 
 left Margaret more puzzled than ever. 
 *' But here is Francesca," he continued, 
 *' waiting to give an account of herself. 
 The signora will pardon me if I return to 
 my work." 
 
 And with a low bow, he took his depar- 
 ture, while Francesca came forward to greet 
 her visitor. 
 
 She was one of those girls often seen in 
 many parts of Italy, but rarely on the 
 northern side of the Alps. 
 
 Few things, it is true, are more striking 
 from the Alps to Sicily, than the variations
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 15 
 
 in the looks of the women. Taken as a 
 whole, and including the people of the 
 Abruzzi, and other similar districts famed 
 for female ugliness, the average beauty of 
 Italian girls is perhaps not higher than the 
 average of English women. But as it is 
 not uncommon to see Italian girls of an 
 unquestionable degree of plainness, which 
 is comparatively rare in England, develop- 
 ing itself into a positive hideousness as they 
 grow old, especially among the poor, so, by 
 way of compensation, it is not unusual to 
 meet with Italian girls — not only among 
 the nobles and the more cultivated classes", 
 but among the peasantry themselves — pos- 
 sessed of beauty of feature of the highest 
 order, and recalling the perfections of form 
 which we recognise in the finest works of 
 Grreek and Eoman sculpture. 
 
 Francesca Giorgione was one of these 
 superb examj)les of the living ideal. Her 
 father, who was a connoisseur in pictures as 
 well as a kind of artist himself, would now
 
 16 HELEN; MARGAKET ; FHANCESCA. 
 
 and tlien protest that she must inherit the 
 blood as well as the name of the famous 
 Giorgione, so thoroughly was she a repre- 
 sentative of the gorgeous style of beaut}^ 
 most loved by the great Venetian. 
 
 It was only a fancy of his own, it is true, 
 but he talked so often about the pleasant 
 fiction, that he was sometimes rallied on 
 having come almost to believe in it as a 
 fact ; at any rate, it might be a fact, he was 
 wont to assert, for as he knew nothing of 
 his own ancestors beyond his great-grand- 
 father, nobody could deny the possibility of 
 the descent, in the absence of all proof 
 against it. 
 
 To those who are familiar with the grand 
 and statuesque type of countenance of the 
 true Italian kind, there would be nothing 
 strange in Francesca's face and its expres- 
 sion. To the English, French, or Grerman 
 critic, who has neither crossed the Alps nor 
 made himself familiar with the pictures of 
 Griorgione, and the other masters of the
 
 HELEN; MAKGARET ; FRANCESCA. 17 
 
 superb Venetian school, it is difficult to de- 
 scribe such a countenance, and the lights 
 that beam from it. 
 
 At once grand and statuesque, it is at the 
 same time perfectly feminine and mobile. 
 The fulness of the lips is rich and sensuous, 
 but by no means necessarily voluptuous. 
 The nose and the chin are boldly cut and 
 solid, when compared with the profile of 
 English women of undoubted beauty, but 
 the tenderness of the eyes, and the rapid 
 movements of the mouth neutralise all sug- 
 gestions of heaviness and masculine hard- 
 ness. Except in rare cases, impulse speaks 
 in every movement of the lips, and every 
 glance of the large full eyes ; and even when 
 the clear, brown complexion has no tint of 
 carmine when in a condition of repose, the 
 flush that accompanies every excitement 
 adds all that charm of colour, without which 
 we English people are apt to think the no- 
 blest face deficient in life and loveliness. 
 
 Upon Margaret herself, Francesca's face 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 HELEN; MAEGARET ; FEANCESCA. 
 
 was beginning to exercise quite a strange 
 fascination. The more she talked to her — 
 and scarcely a day passed without her coming 
 in for a half-hour's gossip — the more deeply 
 she felt interested in her history, and the 
 more she wondered as to the destiny which 
 might be in store for a girl, in whom the capa- 
 city for loving was plainly accompanied with 
 an equal capacity for suffering. What latent 
 depths of passionate emotions lay hidden 
 within her heart, Margaret of course could 
 only surmise ; but that she was a person of 
 no common-place character was perfectly 
 clear. 
 
 Like most Italians, she was more at her 
 ease with persons whom she recognised as 
 her social superiors than is the case with 
 Ensrlish skirls of the same class. Neverthe- 
 less, Margaret had a suspicion that she se- 
 cretly fretted against the barriers set up by 
 rank and wealth to keep back the plebeian 
 and the poor from any real equality with 
 those more fortunate than themselves, to a
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 19 
 
 degree that seemed out of harmony with 
 the manifest strength of her general mind 
 and character. 
 
 This morning she seemed more than or- 
 dinarily grave and absent, and to find no 
 enjoyment in correcting the small errors in 
 her visitor's pronunciation of Italian, which, 
 by Margaret's own desire, she was in the 
 habit of noting. Like the Eomans of almost 
 every rank, Francesca spoke with the pure 
 flowing hocca Eomana, though grammati- 
 cally her Itahan had less of the real lingua 
 Tosca/ia than the accurate phrases of the 
 well-taught Margaret. 
 
 " Do you never do anything in the mosaic 
 way yourself, Francesca ?" asked Margaret, 
 after inquiring into the convalescent's health. 
 " It seems just the sort of work for a wo- 
 man's hands. I must have some lessons 
 from your father myself, I think." 
 
 " Sometimes," replied Francesca ; *' but 
 it's not an occupation I care about." 
 
 " Why so ? It must be pleasanter than 
 
 2—2
 
 20 HELEN ; MARGARET ; FRANCESCA. 
 
 the mere using the fingers in common needle- 
 work." 
 
 " That is just why it does not suit me at 
 all. It neither leaves me quite free to 
 think, nor gives me quite enough to think 
 about." 
 
 " But surely," asked Margaret, surprised 
 at the habit of self-analysis which the girl's 
 answer implied, " surely your thoughts are 
 not always so eager or so far away, that 
 they cannot fix themselves on the arranging 
 of these pretty little strips and threads of 
 glass ? It is glass ; is it not ?" 
 
 " Yes ; so they call it, and so I suppose it 
 is. But it is a fidgetting work, neverthe- 
 less. I can understand painting a picture, 
 but this is neither a mere labour nor an 
 absorbing pleasure. Is it a favourite with 
 young ladies in England, signorina ?" 
 
 " I am afraid that our fashionable English 
 amusements are far more worthless," replied 
 Margaret. 
 
 '* I don't understand England," observed
 
 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. tl 
 
 the girl ; " I wisli I did. Is it true that all 
 people are equal in England, and that the 
 nobles can marry the girls of the 7nezzo cetOy 
 or even the peasant girls, if they choose ?" 
 
 " If they choose, they certainly can," re- 
 joined Margaret, " but the feeling of the 
 country is so much against it, that it rarely 
 happens ; and when it does, it usually turns 
 out ill." 
 
 " If we had liberty here, do you think 
 rich people would marry the poor ?" asked 
 Francesca, speaking in a dreamy, half-absent 
 manner, as if anxious to make her question 
 seem a mere piece of trivial inquisitive- 
 ness. 
 
 " No, never !" rejoined Margaret. " No- 
 where in the world is equality practised to 
 such an extent as that." 
 
 " But they tell us that in England every- 
 body can read and write ; and so all people 
 are quite equal." 
 
 " Oh ! Francesca !" cried Margaret, " who 
 has been deluding you with such wonderful
 
 22 HELEN; MARGARET; FRANCESCA. 
 
 stories ? Besides, as to reading, you read a 
 good deal yourself, do you not ?" 
 
 " Just my prayer book, but not very mucb 
 more," said Francesca ; " and there's not 
 much in that, is there, signorina ?" she 
 added, producing a well-thumbed little 
 volume, and putting it into Margaret's hand. 
 Like the rest of her class, Francesca found 
 her devotional feelings stimulated more by 
 pictures than by printed prose, and accord- 
 ingly the book was crowded with the little 
 pious engravings of saints and angels, which 
 the fastidious critic finds so ludicrously ugly, 
 but in which the zealous Catholic finds so 
 much edification. As Margaret turned the 
 leaves over carelessly, her attention was 
 caught by the photograph of a head, pre- 
 senting a sur23rising contrast to its com- 
 panion prints. 
 
 " Who is this ?" she asked. " There is no 
 name to it, but I should hardly fancy it is 
 the face of a saint at all. If it is, I never 
 saw sanctity look so uncommonly stern in
 
 HELEN; MARGAEET ; FHANCESCA. 23 
 
 mj life before. But the features theraselves 
 are wonderfully fine," she continued, study- 
 ing them carefully. 
 
 " I have seen the same features looking 
 full of love and sweetness," rejoined Fran- 
 cesca, gazing fixedly before her, as if in a 
 half-dream. Nothing more, however, could 
 Margaret extract from her, without a close- 
 ness of questioning from which she shrank, 
 as an impertinence ; and after a few feeble 
 attempts at conversation on other matters, 
 she left the mosaic-worker's daughter to her 
 solitary thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 The night of the ball soon arrived, when Mar- 
 garet was to learn for the first time how like, 
 and yet in some respects how unlike, is a 
 Roman to a London ball. It was not, in- 
 deed, a genuine Roman ball, being given by 
 the French ambassador's wife, and it was 
 somewhat less exclusive than the gatherings 
 at the palaces of the oldest Roman nobles, 
 and still less exclusive than the balls given 
 by those more modern dukes and princes, 
 who are stigmatised by the older patrician 
 houses as the nobiltd del Papa. 
 
 And curious and significant it is to trace 
 the excessive slowness with which the ideas
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 2r) 
 
 of modern life permeate a social system, like 
 that of Eome, founded upon ideas now dying 
 out all over the world. Intensely demo- 
 cratic as is the influence of the Papacy, so 
 far as it allows the tiara to be worn by men 
 who have sprung from the humblest ranks 
 of the people ; nevertheless its tendency to 
 ally itself with kings and nobles, and to 
 force its adherents into its ranks, entirely 
 neutralises all its popular elements. Ac- 
 cordingly, scarcely in Spain, or in the more 
 oligarchical districts of Germany, is the con- 
 tempt of the old nobility for the new cre- 
 ations more distinctly understood, or more 
 openly avowed, than it is in Eome. The 
 Popes, say the haughty inheritors of ancient 
 names, can make their nephews and their 
 bankers into dukes and princes ; but can 
 they confer a lineage running up to the old 
 Roman patricians, or even to the turbulent 
 middle ages, when the Italian nobles were 
 the only living powers in the land ? 
 
 Nevertheless, if the ball at the French
 
 26 THE BALL AT THE ERENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 embassy betrayed the incursion of social 
 ideas from wbich oligarchical medisevalism 
 would have recoiled, it exhibited the solid 
 advantages of the new system so pleasantly, 
 that the very bluest of blood must have 
 blushed into crimson warmth at the con- 
 trast with its own shortcomings. Already 
 Margaret had made acquaintance with the 
 interior of one or two splendid - looking 
 palaces, and had learnt to anticipate a 
 scene in which the guests might be very 
 well-bred, while the rooms were very miser- 
 able, and the eating and drinking reduced to 
 a minimum. Here, however, in place of a 
 dingy, ill -kept and even dirty staircase, 
 whose breadth of size and marble construc- 
 tion suggested only the ambition of its 
 builder and the poverty of his successors, 
 Mrs. Sandford, with her daughter and her 
 niece, found themselves in the midst of a 
 scene which made them fancy themselves 
 back again in Paris. Lights, flowers, carpet- 
 ings, attendants, music, and abundance of
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 27 
 
 all such dainties for the soothing of the 
 palate as Eome could supply or France could 
 export, assured them that if the ancestry of 
 the hosts dated only from the Napoleonic 
 era, their purse and their tastes were of even 
 a more modern creation. 
 
 Hosts of salutations, all tolerably cordial, 
 greeted Mrs. Sand ford and Helen, while 
 Helen herself, half-pleased and half-envious, 
 witnessed the instantaneous fulfilment of her 
 prophecies as to the efiect of her cousin's 
 appearance upon a susceptible race, like the 
 young men of " birth and fashion " in mo- 
 dern Eome. Both girls were speedily pro- 
 vided with partners, not only pleasant men 
 to talk with, but one of them eminently 
 "eligible" in the eyes of an experienced 
 matron like Mrs. Sandford. " Be cautious ! 
 my dear," she whispered in her daughter's 
 ear, as Helen moved from her side ; while 
 Margaret, who overheard the advice, well 
 knew what it meant, and wondered how far 
 it would be obeyed. When the dance was
 
 28 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 over, the cousins and their partners formed 
 a little group around Mrs. Sandford, and 
 began to talk. 
 
 "Ah! Marchese!" said Helen, offering 
 her hand, with true English freedom, to 
 Margaret's late partner; "I am delighted 
 to see you already cultivating my cousm's 
 acquaintance. I trust you have pardoned 
 my brusqueries of last winter." 
 
 " That which would be hrusqiierie in one 
 of our Eomans/' replied the Marchese Delia 
 Porta, " is but pleasant vivacity in the fair 
 daughters of England." 
 
 "Then you have forgiven my laughing 
 at your Eoman notions of sport, I hope," 
 said Helen. " Do you know what is here 
 called sport, Margaret?" she added, turning 
 to her cousin. 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Osborne/' interrupted 
 the gentleman, " if I venture to contradict, 
 or rather to modify or explain the censure 
 implied in Miss Sandford's question. We 
 are now giving up the old fashions, and 
 borrowing your English ways."
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 29 
 
 *' Yes ! Marchese !" broke in Helen's late 
 partner ; adding, in a low voice, '' in sport 
 at least it is permitted to us to become 
 men." 
 
 " Perhaps, as the old fashion is going out, 
 you will tell me what it was that my cousin 
 used to laugh at," interposed Margaret. 
 
 " Only this ?" exclaimed Helen, before 
 either Delia Porta, or his acquaintance, 
 could reply. " Only this, that a wretched 
 owl used to be tied to a stake in the day- 
 light; and as he fluttered about in his 
 misery, a host of small birds came down 
 and pecked at their helpless enemy, while 
 the gentlemen sportsmen stood by, and shot 
 the unlucky birds ; thus combining manly 
 sport with forethought for the next day's 
 dinner." 
 
 A barely perceptible frown and gleam 
 from the eyes betrayed the irritation that 
 the sarcastic speech awoke in the Marchese's 
 acquaintance, who was now formally intro- 
 duced to Margaret, as the Cavaliere d'Urbino,
 
 30 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 and who at once secured her hand for the 
 waltz that was about to begin. 
 
 " Your cousin is a little hard upon us," 
 said he, as they began to move in a slow, 
 measured, circling sweep, suggested by the 
 singularly floating and almost complaining 
 melody which the musicians struck up, and 
 which passed muster as a waltz. 
 
 " You must pardon her, Cavaliere," replied 
 Margaret. " You must put it down to our 
 uncouth insular ways, and not to any want 
 of real heart and feeling." 
 
 He said nothing for a minute or so ; then 
 in quite another tone, he asked her what 
 she thought of the melody to which they 
 were dancing. 
 
 " As a melody, it is lovely,'' she answered, 
 " but as a dance is it not rather strange ?" 
 
 " Look to the other end of the room," 
 replied D'TJrbino, almost in a whisper; "but 
 let no one see you are looking. Do you 
 notice that tall, handsome man, in a rather 
 remarkable dress, or rather uniform ? Give
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 31 
 
 a glance at his face, as we pass near him, 
 but for Heaven's sake without seeming to 
 notice him, and then I will explain all about 
 the music." 
 
 A few more turns in the dance brought 
 them near the person thus pointed out, and 
 as they passed him Margaret took in his 
 whole figure at a glance. Whether he was 
 a soldier or not, she could not decide from 
 his dress, and he had scarcely enough of that 
 military air and abandon which is either na- 
 tural or assumed in the officers of European 
 armies in general. His countenance was 
 perfectly impassive, as he stood listening to 
 the gossip of two or three acquaintances. 
 He appeared not even to notice Margaret 
 and her partner, as they floated past him ; 
 but with all their unmoved calm, the repose 
 of his features seemed to her to be the result 
 of habitual efibrt rather than of the quietness 
 of the mind within him. 
 
 *' You noticed him ?" inquired Margaret's 
 companion, as soon as they were well out of 
 earshot.
 
 32 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 " I should liave noticed him, whether 
 you had given the hint or not," she replied. 
 " But what has he to do with the music ?" 
 
 " This waltz, or whatever they call it, is 
 a forbidden thing in Eome, being really a 
 patriotic song, which our paternal masters 
 have decided to be unfit for the lips of their 
 affectionate children. We hear it to-night, 
 because as you know, a foreign embassy is a 
 privileged spot ; and there are more than 
 two of the musicians w^ho would chant it 
 up and down the Corso, if they dared." 
 
 " But what has your handsome friend to 
 do with it ?" she asked. 
 
 " My friend, indeed !" he echoed. " Ah ! 
 if you knew all. But you are only jesting, 
 I know. If you go out much this season, 
 you will soon learn that it is possible for a 
 man to have innumerable acquaintances, but 
 no friends." 
 
 "Do you speak of yourself?" feeling as 
 if she was getting unpleasantly involved in 
 the confidences of a perfect stranger, but
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 33 
 
 led on by an irresistible mixture of curiosity 
 and fascination. 
 
 " Myself? No, indeed," lie rejoined. '' It 
 is Einaldo who has no friends, but acquaint- 
 ances everywhere. But I forgot. I had 
 not told you his name. Signor Giovanni 
 Einaldo holds one of those posts about the 
 Court which some of our nobles, and many 
 others, are not ashamed to hold, and even to 
 seek for. He is one of the cameriere di 
 spada, who think it an honour to swell the 
 train of the Holy Father, as it is still the 
 fashion to call him." 
 
 " Is that all ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 His reply was at first only a shrug, ac- 
 companied with that expressive look, partly 
 cynical, partly acquiescent, which is in such 
 favour with not a few men of all classes all 
 over Italy, and, more than anywhere else, in 
 Eome itself. Then the dance came to an 
 end, and Margaret sat down a little apart 
 from the crowd, while D'Urbino, apologising 
 gracefully for the liberty, seated himself 
 
 VOL. I. 3 .
 
 34 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 sufficiently near her to keep up the conver- 
 sation in a somewhat subdued tone. 
 
 " But why," continued he, '' should I 
 make a mystery of what you will be sure 
 to hear whispered over and over again, and 
 perhaps before this very evening is over? 
 Einaldo has the reputation of being a spy, 
 acting in the interests of our clerical and 
 despotic Government ; and what that means 
 you can readily guess !" 
 
 "A spy," she echoed, with undisguised 
 astonishment. " But is he a gentleman ? 
 and how comes he here if this is the story 
 told of him ?" 
 
 ** The innocent. Miss Osborne," rejoined 
 D'Urbino, speaking, to her surprise, in very 
 tolerable English, "never suspect vice and 
 crime, unless forced upon their notice, and 
 to an Englishwoman it seems incredible that 
 one who is a gentleman should play the 
 traitor, and yet mix freely in the societ}'- of 
 honourable men and women." 
 
 "But is it certain that the charge is 
 true?" she asked.
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 85 
 
 "It is impossible to prove anything at all 
 in Eome," he replied. "No! there is no 
 actual proof of it ; but the suspicion is uni- 
 versal among us Liberals, and even the 
 most honest of the Papalini themselves dis- 
 trust him." 
 
 " And he is asked everywhere in society ?" 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 *' Of course ; why not ? If nobody was 
 visited by anybody about whom there is 
 some suspicion, society would come to an 
 end, and be simply annihilated." 
 
 "A most miserable state of things, in- 
 deed !" exclaimed Margaret. " And as you 
 must have noticed in England, such a con- 
 dition of society would be to us utterly in- 
 tolerable." 
 
 " I have never been in England," observed 
 D'Urbino, surprised. 
 
 " Never?" asked Margaret. "You speak 
 English remarkably well, then ; and I can- 
 not persuade myself that I have never mot 
 you before." 
 
 3-2
 
 36 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 "Impossible," he answered. "I have 
 never been in England, and we cannot have 
 met in Eome, for I only came back this 
 afternoon, and I have been, for the last 
 month, in Venice." 
 
 Then rising from his seat, he continued 
 in Italian, and in a voice no longer sup- 
 pressed, " Then I shall have the pleasure of 
 bringing you the photographs of San Marco 
 and the Bridge of Sighs in the course of 
 to-morrow morning, if Mrs. Sandford will 
 permit me." 
 
 Utterly bewildered at his change of voice 
 and manner, and at the mention of the pho- 
 tographs, of which not a word had hitherto 
 been said, Margaret was unable to reply ; 
 when turning her head slightly round, the 
 approaching figure of Einaldo furnished a 
 key to the puzzle ; and she listened with 
 apparent composure and interest to D'Ur- 
 bino, as he proceeded to dilate on the beau- 
 ties of photographs taken under the Italian 
 sunlight. As he still spoke, Einaldo was at
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 87 
 
 liis side, and tlie two men saluted one 
 another with cold but not ungraceful cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 " I have the permission of Mrs. Sand- 
 ford," Rinaldo began, " to beg Signor D'Ur- 
 bino to introduce me to Miss Osborne, who, 
 if I mistake not, is one of our newest visi- 
 tors." 
 
 Showing no signs of surprise, D'Urbino 
 at once accomplished the introduction, and 
 Einaldo continued: — 
 
 " I can assure Miss Osborne that the 
 Cavaliere D'Urbino is no mean judge in all 
 matters of art. I think I heard Venetian 
 photographs mentioned as I came up just 
 now." 
 
 " Signor D'Urbino was pointing out the 
 influence of the brilliant Italian sun in 
 giving them a sharpness and delicacy im- 
 possible in our colder latitudes," rejoined 
 Margaret. 
 
 " And there is no place in the world 
 like Venice, for supplying subjects for the
 
 38 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 sua to make his pictures," remarked Ei- 
 naldo. 
 
 " I hope some day to see Venice under 
 the sun itself;" said Margaret. 
 
 '' It looks better in the photograph than 
 in the reality," observed D'Urbino. 
 
 " How so ?" asked Margaret, noticing a 
 subdued irritation in his manner. 
 
 " The photograph brings out all the won- 
 derful beauties of the architectural details ;" 
 he replied. " The sunlight only shows their 
 present decay." 
 
 '* ' He that hath bent him o'er the dead,' " 
 
 began Einaldo, speaking in English — 
 
 " ' Ere the first day of death has fled, 
 Before decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers — ' " 
 
 and he would have continued the quotation, 
 but for D'Urbino 's exclamation of surprise ; 
 **I had no idea that you spoke English," 
 he broke in ; " and still less that you read 
 Byron."
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 39 
 
 "Why not?" replied the polished came- 
 riere. 
 
 " Yes ; why not ? as you say," retorted 
 D'Urbino ; " but I should hardly expect you 
 to apply the whole quotation to the Venice 
 of to-day, 
 
 "' 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more.' 
 
 There is also this fault in the application ; 
 that death, when it seems lovely, is the work 
 of a merciful providence, which destroys life 
 out of the fulness of its love ; while the 
 decay of Venice is the consequence of a 
 violent death, caused by the iron-hearted 
 cruelty of man." 
 
 " We will not argue the question criti- 
 cally," replied the other. " There are two 
 sides to the question, as I think you will 
 admit." 
 
 " But there is only one side to the ques- 
 tion as to whether my cousin is to obey my 
 injunction to her to leave your interesting 
 conversation, gentlemen;" interrupted Miss
 
 40 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 Sandford, laying her hand on Margaret's 
 arm. Mrs. Sandford, ever watchful and pru- 
 dent, had noticed the increasing warmth of 
 the conversation between the cavaliere and 
 Rinaldo, and thought it well at once to recal 
 her niece to her side. The two girls imme- 
 diately walked away, and D'Urbino was 
 about to follow them, when he was stopped 
 by a half- whisper from Einaldo. 
 
 " One moment's conversation with you," 
 he said, returning to his native Italian. 
 "But you must not seem to be talking 
 secrets to me. Pretend to be looking at 
 the jewels in my sword-hilt," he continued, 
 taking hold of the sword, and offering it to 
 D'Urbino's examination. 
 
 Too well practised in self-control to show 
 any signs of surprise, D'Urbino instantly 
 acted on the hint, and seemed to be absorbed 
 in admiration of the gems and their setting. 
 
 " You were speaking English to Miss 
 Osborne, before I came up," continued Ei- 
 naldo in the same low tone, while he seemed
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 41 
 
 to be as busy in pointing out the beauties 
 of his sword as D'Urbino was in inspecting 
 them. The latter could scarcely repress a 
 start of astonishment, but he replied at 
 once : — ' 
 
 " How could you possibly know that ? 
 Surely you could not hear what we 
 said ?" 
 
 "No; I heard nothing," rejoined the 
 other. 
 
 " You amaze me," said D'Urbino. 
 
 " I know it by the absence of your ordi- 
 nary gesticulations, and the look of effort 
 that was on your features. When you speak 
 Italian, your gestures and looks are like those 
 of other Italians. When you speak Eng- 
 lish, you unconsciously adopt the cold man- 
 ner and look of the frigid Englishman." 
 
 " But how did you know until a few mo- 
 ments ago that I spoke English at all ? Do 
 you mean to say that you have been in the 
 habit of comparing my Italian manner with 
 my English manner ? Are we really within
 
 42 THE BALL AT THE ERENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 the meshes of an accursed net such as 
 this ?" 
 
 *'* Others have studied your gifts of lan- 
 guage, and I have benefited by their 
 studies/' rejoined Einaldo. " But that you 
 possessed English books, even if you did 
 not speak English, it needed only this little 
 volume to show. Control yourself, however, 
 my friend, as you value your life, or at least 
 your liberty." 
 
 As he spoke, he took from his pocket a 
 small book, and handed it to D'Urbino, 
 adding in a loud toue, so that everyone near 
 them might hear — 
 
 " Suppose we take a turn in the fresh air ; 
 the heat is getting intolerable." Then in a 
 whisper he added, " Now talk aloud about 
 anything in the world you can think of." 
 
 The hint was understood, and to the gay 
 crowd through whom they passed, it seemed 
 that they were engaged in an animated anti- 
 quarian discussion, as to the date of certain 
 buildings in Venice. Reaching the quad-
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 43 
 
 raDgle — which is so characteristic a feature 
 in the larger palaces of Eome, and which in 
 this particular instance included a kind of 
 arcade, or cloister, turning round three of 
 its sides, — the two men at once sought the 
 shelter and the shadow of the arched walk. 
 A glance had shown Einaldo the almost 
 deadly paleness of his companion's face, 
 though his step was firna, and his compressed 
 lips and frowning brow revealed the inten- 
 sity of the effort with which he restrained 
 the passionate thoughts that were ready to 
 burst out into words. 
 
 *' You will ask how I possessed myself of 
 this little book," said Einaldo, speaking to 
 D'Urbino's thoughts. "You will think me 
 a thief as well as a '* 
 
 " Finish your sentence, in the name of 
 all that is devilish," rejoined D'Urbino, as 
 the other hesitated to utter the word which 
 hung upon his lips. 
 
 " It is needless," replied the other, with 
 perfect calmness. " Just now, the only
 
 44 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 question is as to my honesty. I found this 
 book not a score of yards from where we 
 are standing, not an hour ago. Pardon me, 
 my friend, if I suggest that you are only a 
 half-accomphshed conspirator; if you drop 
 the contents of your pockets in places where 
 the first person who comes after you may 
 
 be, not a friend, but " and he paused 
 
 again. 
 
 ''You have of course opened the book, 
 and looked it through," said D'Urbino, in a 
 voice in which horror and anger seemed to 
 be striving for the mastery. 
 
 " Including the various initials at the end, 
 written in pencil," said his companion, com- 
 pleting his reply before the expected ques- 
 tion was asked. 
 
 " And what course do you intend to take ?" 
 asked D'Urbino, with a bitterness almost 
 savage in its intensity. 
 
 " None whatever," replfed the other, 
 " upon my honour." 
 
 " Honour !" echoed D'Urbino, " Is there
 
 THE EALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 45 
 
 honour among " and he in his turn cut 
 
 short his sentence unfinished. 
 
 " As much as there is among conspira- 
 tors," said Einaldo. " Surely by this time 
 you have learnt that it is possible, and even 
 easy, to combine an enlightened love for 
 revolutions with a still more enlightened 
 love for one's own personal advancement.*' 
 
 " If all that is said is true," retorted 
 D'Urbino, "you are now speaking from your 
 own personal experience." 
 
 " I am," he rejoined, emphatically. " But 
 yet it is possible to retain one's honour, even 
 in such circumstances as those of which we 
 are speaking." 
 
 "Possible— yes!" said D'Urbino; "but 
 probable — no 1" 
 
 " Yet there is a line which I think can be 
 easily drawn between the honourable and the 
 dishonourable, even in such circumstances as 
 those we are hinting at." 
 
 " Is there ?" asked D'Urbino ; " I should 
 be glad to know of its existence."
 
 46 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 *' You have heard every villainy attri- 
 buted to me ?" replied Einaldo, as if asking 
 a question. 
 
 " A good many, certainly," said his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Have I ever betrayed any man, acting 
 on knowledge which I had obtained before 
 — before I had the honour of a post in the 
 household of the Holy Father ?" he confi- 
 dently retorted. 
 
 " I cannot say," said D'Urbino. 
 
 *' Can you point to any single instance of 
 such betrayal ?" 
 
 " Honestly, then, I cannot," said the 
 other. 
 
 " I thank you for the admission, such as 
 it is," replied his companion. 
 
 "It is worth more than you imagine," 
 said the other. 
 
 " If I were as black as you think me," 
 answered Einaldo, '* I should not have re- 
 turned you that book of English verses, at 
 any rate with the pencillings at the end."
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 47 
 
 " You may have taken a copy of them, 
 already, nevertheless," insinuated D'Urbino. 
 
 *' I am a good-natured man, my young 
 friend," replied the other, on the point of 
 losing his self-control, " or your insinuations 
 might have cost you dear. Do you not see 
 that I have returned you the original, and 
 that any mere copy would be worthless, so 
 far as you are compromised ? As to the 
 initials themselves, they, and their full ex- 
 planations have been communicated to the 
 Grovernment months ago." 
 
 " Oh ! horrible, accursed, and hellish sys- 
 tem !" exclaimed D'Urbino, in the bitterness 
 of his soul. 
 
 " Most horrible and accursed !" exclaimed 
 a voice, proceeding from a door which sud- 
 denly opened in the cloister wall as they 
 passed, and was instantly shut again. 
 
 There was no mistaking the reality of the 
 amazement which seized upon the two men 
 alike. 
 
 " Gran Bio /" cried Einaldo, " whose voice
 
 48 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 
 
 was that ? Is it possible that we have been 
 overheard ?" 
 
 " Hardly," rejoined D'Urbino ; " yet wh}^ 
 not? The door may have been opened just 
 wide enough for any one inside to hear what 
 we talked about without our noticing it in 
 this dim light." 
 
 " You can scarcely suspect me of being in 
 the plot ?" asked Einaldo. 
 
 " Circumstances are against you, never- 
 theless," retorted D'Urbino. 
 
 " They are, as I must admit ; but I swear 
 to you that I am as much amazed and be- 
 wildered as you are yourself," was Einaldo 's 
 reply. 
 
 " Our only course at present is to return 
 to the dancing rooms together," D'Urbino 
 rejoined. And in a few moments they were 
 again mixing with the brilliant throng up- 
 stairs. 
 
 Before the evening was over, D'Urbino 
 once more found Einaldo by his side. 
 
 " I have found out the truth," he said
 
 THE BALL AT THE FRENCH EMBASSY. 49 
 
 " as to the listener in the cloister. We were 
 followed, when we went out, by one of the 
 wild young attaches of the Embassy, on the 
 look out for mischief; and of course they 
 know all the rooms and back staircase of 
 the house. It was all in jest that he way- 
 laid us, and no harm will come of it. Only, 
 for Heaven's sake, let it make you cautious 
 how you talk politics out of doors in future." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ESCAPED. 
 
 The following morning brought Henry Noel 
 at a tolerably early hour to Mrs. Sandford's 
 drawing-room, anxious, notwithstanding all 
 his professional asceticism, to hear something 
 of the preceding night's gaieties. To his 
 surprise, he found that another visitor was 
 already in full conversation with the three 
 ladies. Delia Porta was already cultivating 
 their acquaintance with all practicable speed, 
 and the party were deep in the discussion of 
 the difference between English and Italian 
 marriage customs. 
 
 "I am rejoiced to see you, Mr. Noel," 
 said Margaret a-i^^ soon as the ordinary salu-
 
 ESCAPED. 51 
 
 tations had been exchanged. " I am sure I 
 shall find you on my side. Now, tell us at 
 once, whether you do not in your heart 
 condemn these continental ways." 
 
 " Absolutely, do you mean ?" he asked, 
 " or comparatively ?" 
 
 " I don't understand you, I think/' she 
 replied. 
 
 " If you mean, do I think the foreign rule 
 absolutely good in all respects ? I must say 
 no. But I think it on the whole at least as 
 good as the prevailing English rule.'' 
 
 Amused at her cousin's blank look of dis- 
 appointment, Helen came in to the rescue. 
 " My dear Margaret," she cried, " how can 
 you expect anything in the smallest degree 
 enthusiastic from a man who is sworn to re- 
 main a bachelor all his days ?" 
 
 " Not sworn," interposed Noel. 
 
 " What then ?" asked Helen. 
 
 " Bound by a rule of the church," said he. 
 
 *' Well," she rejoined, " it comes to the 
 same thing in practice. It is a subject on 
 
 4-2
 
 52 ESCAPED. 
 
 which you personally can have no knowledge 
 whatsoever. You are brought up to the 
 idea from your childhood, and it is as easy 
 to you to put aside the notion of marrying, 
 as if you were created without human feel- 
 ings at all." 
 
 A fiery flush shot across the young priest's 
 countenance, as Helen spoke, and his lips 
 quivered with something very like anguish. 
 Margaret saw it all in a moment, and came 
 to his relief by turning the talk to a less 
 hazardous aspect of the question. 
 
 " But, Marchese," she said, addressing 
 Delia Porta, " I should very much like to 
 see how joxxr Italian fashion of making a 
 couple of generations live together, as one 
 household, is made to work." 
 
 ''Is it so difficult for you to understand ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " With us,'' said Margaret, *' it is quite a 
 proverb that married sons should never live 
 with their fathers and mothers. Mr. Noel 
 will tell you that a mother-in-law, living in
 
 ESCAPED. 53 
 
 her married son's Louse, is the very type 
 and pattern of everything that ruins the 
 happiness of married life." 
 
 " But is not the unhappiness you speak 
 of the natural result of your national passion 
 for marrying for love ?" 
 
 '' I don't understand your reasoning," re- 
 plied Margaret. 
 
 " What I mean is this," he went on ; 
 " that you English men and women marry 
 with the expectation that you will be all in 
 all to one another, and so wrapped up in 
 conjugal bliss, that the presence of every- 
 body else, even of your fathers and mothers, 
 would be an intrusion and a restraint. Is 
 it not so, Mrs. Sandford?" he continued, 
 turniug to Helen's mother. 
 
 *' Not always, I think," replied the lady, 
 who was honest enough in speaking the 
 truth, though not much troubled with a 
 painfully keen eye for logical inconsistencies. 
 
 *' But generally so ?" asked the pertina- 
 cious Marchese.
 
 54 ESCAPED. 
 
 "Generally so, I allow," said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford, "and, as I was just now saying, I am 
 not so violent against your Italian ways as 
 my niece is. She is still in the enthusiastic 
 age." 
 
 " While I, who am just two years 
 younger," broke in Helen, " am utterly and 
 irremediably blasee, I suppose." 
 
 " It is my belief, Miss Sandford," said 
 Noel, now recovering his equanimity, " that 
 both men and women grow more tender as 
 they grow older." 
 
 " Then you, at any rate, don't believe that 
 I am hopelessly hardened just yet," asked 
 Helen, wdth a mischievous look. 
 
 " How could I think so ?" he replied, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " But now to return to the subject of our 
 Italian menage'' said Delia Porta to Mar- 
 garet, w^ell aware that the conversation was 
 assuming a tone held to be highly objection- 
 able in the intercourse between the Italiao 
 clergy and laity ; " j^ou have seen little or
 
 ESCAPED. bo 
 
 nothing of our Italian domestic life, but 
 you know a good deal of Frencli life, wliich 
 is based on tlie same principles as ours. 
 You surely cannot adopt the vulgar i'dea 
 that family ties are weaker in France than 
 they are in England." 
 
 " I certainly think that the affection of 
 husbands and wives is stronger among 
 English people," Margaret replied. 
 
 " But taking life as a whole," he went on, 
 " and considering that a married couple 
 cannot cast off all thought for their fellow- 
 creatures, would you say that the happiness 
 of parents, of children, and of brothers and 
 sisters, is less general on the English or on 
 the French system?" 
 
 *' Then you are in favour of men and 
 women marrying just as their parents order 
 them," broke in Helen, as impatient as she 
 was illogical. 
 
 " Pardon me," rejoined Delia Porta. '' I 
 think both the English and the French sys- 
 tems bad ; but at the same time I see that
 
 56 ESCAPED. 
 
 tliere is good as well as evil in each of 
 them. Another morning, if you will permit 
 me, I should like to discuss the question 
 more fully. To-morrow I am engaged, and 
 for the rest of to-day also. May I call on 
 you the day after?" and receiving the per- 
 mission he desired, Delia Porta took his 
 leave. 
 
 " I suppose you guess at his engagement 
 to-morrow ?" observed Noel, when the door 
 was closed. " To-morrow those two poor 
 wretched men are to be executed." 
 
 The three ladies shuddered, and Margaret 
 asked in wonder how Delia Porta could be 
 concerned in the bloody tragedy. 
 
 " Don't you know," said Noel, " that he 
 is one of the Confortatoriy whose duty it is 
 to assist at these executions ?" 
 
 "Another Eoman mystery, I suppose," 
 exclaimed Margaret. " Pray enlighten me, 
 Mr. Noel," she continued. " There is really 
 such an air of romance about all your pro- 
 ceedings here, that I don't wonder that we
 
 ESCAPED. 0/ 
 
 young Englishwomen find Borne the most 
 delightful spot in the whole world, — at 
 least, for one or two winters." 
 
 " The Confortatori'' replied Koel, " are 
 an institution of mediseval origin, and so 
 ought to be specially interesting to us 
 English people, with our love for anything 
 that savours of a feudal orio:in." 
 
 " Such as Gog and Magog, I suppose," 
 interposed Helen, "and the Lord Mayor's 
 show, and the Eoyal Beef-eaters at Windsor. 
 But pray don't look shocked at my levity, 
 Margaret. These Confortatori have not the 
 remotest resemblance to our notion of a 
 London alderman, I assure you. Only con- 
 ceive the Lord Mayor and Common Council- 
 men going about London disguised in big 
 black cloaks, carrying lighted torches in their 
 hands, and singing Psalms and Litanies !" 
 
 " What do you mean, Helen ? And 
 what makes you laugh, Mr. Noel, with all 
 your attempts at looking severe ?" asked 
 Margaret.
 
 5S ESCAPED. 
 
 *' The Coiifortatori'' rejoined lie, " are a 
 religious society, who assist criminals con- 
 demned to death, both while in prison and 
 up to the last moment at the scaffold. The 
 members are noble, or, as we might call 
 them, of gentle birth ; but it is only known 
 to their friends that they belong to* it, and 
 their features are completely hidden when 
 they appear in public." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Margaret, in a bitter tone ; 
 " like nearly everything else here, where life 
 is controlled either by the pious, the aristo- 
 cratic, or the secret. These Confortatori 
 seem to combine in themselves all these 
 three elements of power. I don't wonder 
 that my cousin laughs at them. And you 
 yourself — surely you cannot like to see the 
 principle of secrecy introduced into the 
 practice of religion itself." 
 
 The vehemence and energy with which 
 Margaret spoke restored the young priest 
 to perfect seriousness in a moment. But 
 he was in no humour for a discussion, and 
 soon took his leave.
 
 ESCAPED. 59 
 
 With an unacknowledged and trembling 
 hope that some happy chance might enable 
 them to catch a glimpse of the terrible 
 cortege in which these mysterious Qon- 
 fortatori were to play a conspicuous part, 
 the two cousins sallied forth for their usual 
 walk betimes on the following morning, 
 under the guardianship of Francesca Gior- 
 gione. With all their pretended dread of 
 encountering the dreadful procession, Fran- 
 cesca was well aware that if by any accident 
 they should be enabled to see it from a 
 place of safety, they would in their hearts 
 sincerely thank her for the mistake. After 
 a little wandering from street to street, they 
 found themselves compelled to take refuge 
 from the rapidly increasing crowds in the 
 house of a dealer in mosaic well known to 
 Francesca's father. A few moments were 
 enough to effect an arrangement for their 
 taking possession of a large window com- 
 mandiug the whole length of a street along 
 which the procession was to pass. Already
 
 60 ESCAPED. 
 
 the gathering excitement of the crowd gave 
 token of its near approach. 
 
 " Look ! look r cried Francesca, her face 
 quivering with emotion ; " there they come 
 — as far as ever your eyes can see !" 
 
 With a sickening feehng, totally unlike 
 the passionate interest of Francesca, Mar- 
 garet and her cousin stretched out their 
 heads to the utmost. A picket of Papal 
 dragoons was turning a corner, and slowly 
 following the soldiery came a long proces- 
 sion of black vested figures, each of them 
 carrying a blazing and smoking torch, 
 while the sound of their gloomj^ funereal 
 chantings gradually rose upon the air, in 
 the occasional intervals between the harsh 
 exclamations of the crowd, as it swayed to 
 and fro, and made way for the dragoons. 
 Immediately behind the Confortatori came 
 an open carriage, or rather a large cart, 
 bearing the two condemned criminals, and 
 surrounded by a body of carbineers. Two 
 priests were at the sides of the unhappy
 
 ESCAPED. 61 
 
 men, while a third held before them an 
 image of the Virgin, and seemed by his 
 gestures to be urging them to listen to his 
 spiritual exhortations. 
 
 " There are two of them," said Helen to 
 Francesca, as soon as she could recover her- 
 self after the first shock at the horrible 
 sight. 
 
 " Yes — two, indeed !" replied Francesca, 
 
 a gleam of indignation glancing from her 
 
 eyes. " But only one who deserves to die." 
 
 " Why, what are their crimes ?" asked 
 
 Margaret, amazed. 
 
 '' One of them is a parricide, and he ought 
 to die. Look at him, signora ! That is 
 he, sitting, and in an agony of tears. He 
 has not yet confessed, and the Padre is 
 exhorting him." 
 
 As the procession drew near, the incidents 
 of the awful scene almost explained them- 
 selves. The agitation of the crowd became 
 wilder every moment. The women, of whom 
 there were many, called aloud to the priests
 
 62 ESCAPED. 
 
 to tell them whether the men had confessed. 
 Cries of '' Sono convertiti ?'' — "Are they 
 converted?" again and again struck the 
 ears of the two cousins and their com- 
 panion. The priests still shook their heads 
 in reply. Just as the cart came within ear- 
 shot, the cries of the women and of some 
 few of the men in the crowd, became abso- 
 lutely frantic. They raged against the ob- 
 stinate criminals, reproaching them, and 
 almost cursing them. " Birhoni ! will you 
 die like Turks and heathens ? You are 
 going to be judged. Go ! go !" they went 
 on exclaiming in all the fury of the Italian 
 temperament when roused to fever heat ; 
 " go ! go ! to be damned for ever !" Shortly 
 afterwards, as the cart passed immediately 
 beneath the window, the imprecations seemed 
 to overcome the resistance of one of the two 
 miserable men. He threw himself on his 
 knees before the priest who was at his side, 
 seized the crucifix with his hands, and pas- 
 sionately kissed it again and again. Cries
 
 ESCAPED. 63 
 
 of delight broke out from the crowd at the 
 welcome sight, followed by renewed calls to 
 his companion in misery to follow his ex- 
 ample. All in vain, however. With a face 
 from which all trace of colour had passed, the 
 man remained unmoved alike by the earnest 
 calls of the priests and the furious yelHngs 
 of the mob. As the procession moved on- 
 wards, Francesca's passionate excitement 
 gave place to a more quiet but even more 
 intense emotion. 
 
 "He is innocent!" she whispered to 
 Helen and Margaret. 
 
 " Gracious heavens !'' cried Margaret ; 
 "is it possible ? Perhaps a reprieve will 
 come at the last moment." 
 
 "Never!" answered Francesca. "Do- 
 nato's crime is one that they never forgive." 
 
 "But you said he was innocent of any 
 crime?" asked Helen. 
 
 "His crime was committed against the 
 priests, and that is a thing never forgiven. 
 I will tell you more to-morrow." Then she
 
 64 ESCAPED. 
 
 suddenly broke out : ''Santa Vergine ! there 
 is a rescue ! Look forward, Signora, see ! — 
 see ! — the soldiers are going to fire ! There 
 is a man cut down ! there is another, and 
 another !" But the shoutings and yellings 
 of the crowd soon made Francesca's voice, 
 all trembling with excitement, no longer 
 intelligible ; and Margaret and Helen could 
 only guess at what was really taking place. 
 It was clear that a deadly struggle was be- 
 ginning between the soldiers and the crowd, 
 which at the spot now reached by the pro- 
 cession, seemed almost entirely to consist of 
 men. Forcing back the dense mass in front 
 of them, the dragoons soon,^however, cleared 
 the way for the Confortatori and the con- 
 demned men to move onwards, and after 
 proceeding a short distance farther on, the 
 whole procession turned out of the street, 
 through a large open gateway, and disap- 
 peared. The struggle between the troops 
 and the crowd was here renewed with fresh 
 fierceness, and Margaret, not yet familiar
 
 ESCAPED. 65 
 
 with the cries and gesticulations of an 
 Italian mob, stood breathless with terror, 
 expecting that nothing less than blood- 
 shedding on a terrible scale must fol- 
 low. 
 
 Meanwhile, the shouts and execrations of 
 the populace were apparently dying away, 
 when they suddenly burst forth with re- 
 newed vigour. The huge doors which had 
 been forcibly closed when the procession 
 passed through the gateway, were again 
 thrown open, and the soldiers, the Conforta- 
 tori, and the cart of the condemned, came 
 forth in their original order, followed by 
 some twenty or thirty men who had pushed 
 themselves through, in company with the 
 troops. As the cart itself emerged into the 
 open street, a shout that seemed as if it must 
 have been heard all over Eome, rent the air. 
 Of the two condemned men one only re- 
 mained. Everything else was unchanged, 
 but the parricide alone was there. The in- 
 tense interest of the mob seemed also to 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 C6 ESCAPED. 
 
 have subsided, and as soon as the streets 
 were tolerably clear, the three women has- 
 tened homewards. 
 
 At the door of Mrs. Sandford's house the 
 cousins encountered Henry JSToel, looking 
 the very picture of bewilderment, which 
 quickly changed to an expression of very 
 decided annoyance, when he learnt how they 
 had been occupying themselves. To all 
 their questionings about the escape of the 
 condemned man, he would only reply that 
 the rescue was utterly inexplicable. He 
 had himself spoken to the officers in com- 
 mand of the dragoons and the carbineers, 
 who liad asserted that the criminal had 
 vanished before their eyes. "All Rome," 
 he added, "will be in an uproar. The police 
 will be at work before an hour is passed. 
 But I know the place where the escape was 
 effected, as well as any spot in the world, 
 and I assure you that it is physically im- 
 possible that the man could have got away 
 unperceived. To-morrow I will come and 
 tell vou a]].'*
 
 ESCAPED. 67 
 
 And with this promise the two cousins 
 
 were forced, very unwillingly, to content 
 themselves.
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 " Well ! wliat is the news ?" was Helen's 
 eager question to Noel, as soon as the morn- 
 ing salutations were over when he came to 
 fulfil his promise. 
 
 " Absolutely none," he replied, " except 
 that the whole thing is utterly inexplicable, 
 and we are all as much in the dark as ever. 
 In no possible way can we account for Do- 
 nato's disappearance." 
 
 " Do you mean that there is positively no 
 outlet from the quadrangle, or whatever it is, 
 from which he made his escape?" asked 
 Margaret.
 
 MORNING VISITORS. ()9 
 
 " None whatever," he said. " The place 
 itself is a very large square, surrounded by a 
 disused cloister, once belonging to a convent 
 long since suppressed. Nobody could by 
 any possibility scale the walls, and the gates 
 by which the procession entered were shut 
 the whole time it was inside the in clo- 
 sure." 
 
 "But what business had the procession 
 there at all ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " There is an old image of the Madonna, 
 still remaining in a recess inside the cloister, 
 towards which the people have a great de- 
 votion; and it is not uncommon for con- 
 demned criminals to be taken there on the 
 way to execution, as on this occasion." 
 
 " One of your Eoman superstitions, 1 
 suppose," observed Margaret. " Of course, 
 Mr. Noel, you don't believe in the special 
 efficacy of prayers made in one place rather 
 than another ?" 
 
 " It is a dangerous thing to disturb popu- 
 lar beliefs," he replied.
 
 70 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 " Doubtless/' said Margaret. " But is it 
 not often equally dangerous to encourage 
 them?" 
 
 "Come, come," interposed Helen ; "reserve 
 your controversies till we have heard the 
 story to an end. Is there no door, or other 
 concealed opening by which the man may 
 have got away ?" 
 
 " None, whatsoever," said Noel ; " every 
 nook and cranny has been searched again 
 and again, and not a trace of such a thing 
 has been found." 
 
 " Nor any trap-door opening into a cellar, 
 or underground passage ?" 
 
 " Nothing of the kind." 
 
 " And no dark recesses, or half blocked-up 
 niches, in which the man may have effectu- 
 ally dodged the soldiers and the other 
 officials?" 
 
 " No ; such a thing would have been im- 
 practicable. There are one or two places 
 where a man might have hidden himself for 
 a minute or so, but not longer. Then, too,
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 71 
 
 nobody seems to have seen Donato jump 
 down from the cart where he was 
 placed." 
 
 " Is that absolutely the fact ?" inquired 
 Margaret. 
 
 •' Absolutely. I have myself questioned 
 the priests who were by his side, as closely 
 as I could ; and they most positively declare 
 that the man was gone without their per- 
 ceiving it. The confusion w^as tremendous, 
 it is true ; but there were none but soldiers 
 and Confortafori near them. In fact some of 
 the Covfortatori clambered up the cart, and 
 held the two criminals fast to prevent their 
 escape." 
 
 " How many of the mob had rushed in 
 before the gates were shut ? — perhaps they 
 had a hand in the matter," pursued Marga- 
 ret. 
 
 *' Some twent}^ or thirty, jDerhaps," lie 
 rejoined ; '' but that was nothing to the 
 purpose. The great fact remains, that w^hen 
 the procession was reformed, in order to leave
 
 72 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 the quadrangle, Donato could not be found. 
 It was simply impossible that he could be 
 hidden anywhere ; and everyone of the crowd 
 that had forced itself in, was closely scruti- 
 nised before he was allowed to pass out." 
 
 " And you have no clue of any kind to . 
 the mystery ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " And what do the police and the magis- 
 trates, and the rest of the world say to it 
 all?" 
 
 " You will laugh, Miss Osborne, I know 
 very well, when I tell you. There are two 
 opinions running like wildfire through 
 Eome, by way of solving the mystery. Some 
 will have it that Donato was carried off by 
 the devil, and others that he was m.iracu- 
 lously saved by Santa Maria del fiori, as the 
 image in the cloister is commonly called." 
 
 At this announcement Mrs. Sandford 
 looked shocked, her daughter laughed out- 
 right, and Margaret's lips quivered with 
 amusement.
 
 MOKNING VISITORS. 73 
 
 " It is no laughing matter, I assure you," 
 continued Noel ; " you can have no idea of 
 the mischief that is done when these notions 
 get hold of our Eoraans, both men and wo- 
 men. We may possibly be on the eve of a 
 frantic outbreak. The old story of the wink- 
 ing virgin is already revived." 
 
 " And yet you enlightened gentlemen have 
 not the courage to put a stop to the pre- 
 posterous follies which you yourselves totally 
 disbelieve." 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Osborne," Noel re- 
 plied ; " if I say that you seem to be the 
 most unbelieving woman alive. But let me 
 entreat you to be careful in what you say 
 while you are here. The air is filled with 
 reports about the countenance we English 
 people give to the revolutionary party al- 
 ready." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say we English," 
 said Margaret. " But how about the mi- 
 raculous winking ? Is it the image in the 
 cloister that winked ? and who first saw the 
 winking ?"
 
 74 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 " That is the worst thing in the whole 
 matter," rejoined Noel. " This very morn- 
 ing I met that dangerous and clever young 
 fellow, the sculptor D'Urbino, and I taxed 
 him with what I had heard of his going 
 about among the Trasteverini and elsewhere, 
 and spreading the story about the winking ; 
 declaring, too, that he himself distinctly saw 
 the miracle with his own eyes." 
 
 " Well, and what did he say ? Do you 
 know that we made the acquaintance of this 
 terrible gentleman at the ball the other 
 night ?" 
 
 Noel's countenance fell, as he replied, " I 
 am aware that you did." 
 
 " And who in heaven's name, told you 
 this ?" cried Margaret, angrily. " Are you 
 one of an association for spying out the ways 
 and words of your acquaintances ? Surely, 
 Mr. Noel, you will admit, as a gentleman, 
 that for you, being a priest, to busy your- 
 self with ball-room tittle tattle about us, 
 verges very nearly upon the impertinent."
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 75 
 
 " The information was given me with- 
 oufc my asking for it," retorted Noel, with 
 a violent effort at self-restraint. 
 
 "May we ask who was your informant?" 
 inquired Helen. 
 
 " I am sorry not to be able to tell you," 
 said Noel. 
 
 " In other words, you will not," retorted 
 Helen, now thoroughly piqued. 
 
 " Or rather," struck in Margaret, " you 
 dare not." 
 
 " Margaret! Helen!" exclaimed Mrs. Sand- 
 ford, breaking her wonted silence ; " surely 
 you are forgetting what is due to Mr. 
 Noel." 
 
 " Pray say nothing about it, Mrs. Sand- 
 ford," he replied. " T must confess to have 
 deserved a rebuke, though perhaps a less 
 severe one. But we are all here in a difficult 
 position, and I must entreat for a charitable 
 interpretation of what I said." 
 
 He spoke with such unaffected sincerity 
 and modesty, that Helen and Margaret were
 
 76 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 at once appeased, and Margaret continued 
 the conversation in a friendly tone. 
 
 " But about this same supposed miracle," 
 she said ; " is it stated that it took place 
 while the escape of the criminal was being 
 eflfected?" 
 
 " So I understood D'Urbino to say," re- 
 plied Noel. 
 
 " Of course he does not pretend to believe 
 in the story he is spreading." 
 
 " Not for an instant. That is the worst 
 of the matter, as I said just now. He and 
 other well known Liberals are propagating 
 the story, to work upon the superstition of 
 the mob, and make them believe that the 
 scoundrel Donato is under the special protec- 
 tion of heaven." 
 
 " Yes, I see it all plainly enough," replied 
 Margaret ; " and you also see, I trust, that 
 superstitious feelings may be worked upon 
 on both sides of the question." 
 
 " And who is this villain Donato," inter- 
 posed Helen, " whom you and all the au-
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 77 
 
 thorities seem to detest so heartily ? What 
 is his crime ?" 
 
 " He was quarrelling with a disreputable 
 priest in a house at Tivoli, and in the heat 
 of passion struck him in the face. The 
 priest fell backwards with his head upon the 
 stone floor, was picked up almost insensible, 
 fell into a fever, and soon died." 
 
 "And for this accident in a trumpery 
 brawl," exclaimed Margaret, " the man was 
 to have been executed. / should call the 
 execution a judicial murder." 
 
 " It is a painful story," he replied, sadly 
 enough. " You are aware that as the priest- 
 hood are forbidden to use violence them- 
 selves, they are protected by the severest 
 penalties against those who attack them." 
 
 " But where is the proof that this Donato 
 did anything more than occurs in nine out 
 of ten of your Eoman quarrels ?" 
 
 "The judge who tried him decided that 
 there was an intent to kill." 
 
 " But what said the jury ?"
 
 78 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 " There are no juries in Eome," replied 
 Noel, sadly as well as gravely. 
 
 " Then I must say that if the Madonna 
 did wink in order to set Donato free, she 
 showed a vast deal more good sense than 
 miraculous images in general are in the 
 habit of showing. You may put me down," 
 she went on, undeterred by Noel's eddent 
 annoyance, " on the list of those who hold 
 to the truth of the winking story. If the 
 image did not wink, it ought to have winked ; 
 and for once we will believe that a hideously 
 ugly image did its duty. By the way," she 
 continued, " I suppose it is a hideous image." 
 
 " I have seen uglier," replied Noel, in his 
 secret heart thinking Margaret as flippant 
 in manner as he felt her to be unanswerable 
 in the way of argument. It was a relief to 
 him, at the moment, to hear Delia Porta an- 
 nounced, and immediately afterwards to see 
 the Marchese himself enter the room. The 
 subject would now, he thought, be dropped ; 
 but at any rate, he was sure of Delia Porta's
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 79 
 
 support in making the best case possible in 
 favour of anything that was Italian. He 
 soon found that the discussion must be con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " I was on the point of putting a ver}'- im- 
 portant question," Margaret began, " to our 
 friend here, but he is so terribly cautious, 
 that I suspect T should have got no satis- 
 factory reply. How is it that all these popu- 
 lar and miraculous images are invariably 
 abominations in the way of ugliness ? Here 
 is my cousin Helen, who has confessed to me 
 that they generally remind her of the black 
 dolls that hang up in front of the rag-and- 
 bottle shops in our English towns." 
 
 Noel only winced, but Delia Porta smiled 
 and replied, 
 
 " I don't quite see to what your question 
 points. Miss Osborne." 
 
 " What I mean is this," she continued, 
 " that I cannot reconcile this universal pre- 
 ference for hideousness in the objects of their 
 veneration with the undoubted fondness for
 
 80 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 art, in some shape or other, with which the 
 Itahan people are credited." 
 
 " It is a curious and puzzUng question," 
 said Delia Porta, " setting aside the religious 
 aspect of the subject. I hardly know how 
 to answer you, but I suspect that the expla- 
 nation is to be found in that intensity and 
 vehemence of passion which I suppose is 
 characteristic of all Italians, saving the 
 cooler Piedmontese. The ignorant multi- 
 tude is, of course, not very critical in its 
 notions of the beautiful ; and I fancy that 
 the heat of their pious feelings suffuses every 
 object of their regard with a sort of haze of 
 light and colour, which transforms even 
 Miss Sandford's black doll into an attractive 
 statuette." 
 
 " I understand what you mean," rejoined 
 Margaret, " though I don't see its force." 
 
 "Well now," continued Delia Porta, 
 " surely you don't suppose that an affection- 
 ate mother sees ugliness in her children to 
 the same extent that other people see it."
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 81 
 
 " True enough," said Margaret, " but you 
 cannot compare a mother's feelings towards 
 her children with the fondness of these 
 people for what, after all, is simply a 
 wooden doll." 
 
 " I think you underrate the intensity of 
 the devout feelings of our people," replied 
 Delia Porta. " It is not a question as to the 
 reality and depth of their religious princi- 
 ples, but rather as to their emotional sensi- 
 tiveness. You English people are cool, 
 even where the judgment is fully convinced. 
 But in our Italian peasantry and labouring 
 town people a passionate vehemence of feel- 
 ing is a natural result of the convictions of 
 the judgment." 
 
 " You mean," suggested Margaret, " that 
 being brought up to regard these images as 
 possibly miraculous, they are predisposed to 
 overlook their substantial ugliness." 
 
 " You could not have put it better," said 
 the Marchese, with the courtly grace which 
 seemed natural to him. "Observe, how- 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 ever/' lie continued, " that I am not for an 
 instant defending the tone of teaching you 
 speak of. What I am anxious is that you 
 should judge us from the Italian point of 
 view, and not from the English." 
 
 " That is exactly what I always say to 
 her about marriage customs," broke in 
 Helen, who cared not a straw for the image 
 ditficulty. 
 
 "About these same marriage customs, 
 then," said Margaret ; " how can you possi- 
 bly account for the adoption of your Italian 
 system by this very impulsiveness and 
 passionateness which so much affect your 
 religious proceedings ?" 
 
 " Eeally I do not see the difficulty," 
 replied Delia Porta, with a most evident 
 increase of interest in the discussion. " It 
 is this very impulsiveness and passionate- 
 ness which drives us to our national habits 
 in the matter. I am convinced that if 
 we arranged our marriages on your English 
 notion that * Love shall still be lord of
 
 MORNINa VISITORS. 83 
 
 all ' — you see I read English poets neverthe- 
 theless — the whole fabric of society would 
 be broken up." 
 
 " Yet I have surely heard you condemn 
 your system as miserable," exclaimed Helen. 
 
 " Not altogether, I am confident," said 
 Delia Porta, " but only its frequent abuses. 
 And with all its abuses, the opposite system 
 would be ten times as disastrous. It is 
 difficult to explain to you what a frenzy is 
 the passion of love with most of our hot- 
 blooded race." 
 
 " But why is it necessarily a passion at 
 all ?" asked Margaret. " It is very seldom 
 anything of the kind among English people, 
 except in novels.'* 
 
 " That is exactly where the differences 
 of national temperament show themselves," 
 rejoined Delia Porta, while Helen and 
 Noel felt the discussion growing almost 
 painful in interest. 
 
 "It is just because the feeling, or what- 
 ever you may call it, of love is almost 
 
 G— 2
 
 84 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 certain to become a flaming, burning passion 
 in the Italian heart, that our marriage 
 arrangements are so necessary. They talk 
 of the ' furia Francese ' in matters of fight- 
 ing, but they might quite as well talk 
 of the 'furia Italiana ' in matters of love 
 making." 
 
 " Tell me, then, further," asked Margaret, 
 " do you find, as a matter of fact, that this 
 'furia Italiana ' always comes after marriage 
 and that a young couple who begin life on 
 the system of a limited liability partnership 
 like a firm of bankers or merchants, 
 gradually become the most devoted of 
 lovers after the true Phyllis and Corydon 
 type ?" 
 
 "You mis-state the theory, as well as the 
 practice and its results," he replied. " It is 
 because marriage is not a partnership on a 
 limited liability basis, that we enter upon it 
 with a very tolerable expectation that it will 
 prove successful. When the whole of a 
 man*s existence depends upon the manner
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 85 
 
 in wliicli tie fulfils the duties of his partner- 
 ship, he is naturally disposed to make the 
 best of his opportunities." 
 
 "But suppose your happy couple find out 
 that they are personally odious to one 
 another before the honeymoon is fairly 
 over?" 
 
 "There again," Delia Porta replied, 
 " your very phrase indicates a want of 
 appreciation of our system. We look for 
 no honeymoon of enraptured bliss, to be 
 followed by a rapid disenchantment/' 
 
 " But why assume a disenchantment at 
 all ?" 
 
 " I do not assume it." It is the very 
 term ' honeymoon ' that implies it. And 
 what I was going to say is this ; that a 
 couple who do not begin their married life 
 with the recognition of the fact that they 
 are certain to find themselves at issue in 
 sundry matters, at once set about making 
 the best of everything." 
 
 "Their bliss is rare," interposed Noel,
 
 86 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 "but their disappointments are rarer still;'* 
 and he at once felt supremely uncomfortable 
 at having ventured into the very non- 
 clerical subject. 
 
 " Bravo !" exclaimed Delia Porta, with a 
 laugh. "I cannot add experto credo, Noel; 
 but the most philosophical of epigramma- 
 tists could not have put it better." 
 
 Noel, however, being of opinion that he 
 had already said too much, took the first 
 opportunity of bringing his visit to an end, 
 and was speedily followed by the Marchese. 
 
 " Well ?" cried Helen, when the two gen- 
 tlemen were fairly gone, with a significant 
 look at her^ cousin. 
 
 " Well ?" echoed Margaret, with another 
 smile equally significant, but showing more 
 surprise. 
 
 *' Are we not on the eve of a most inter- 
 esting announcement ; or rather, I suppose, 
 I ought to say, a most interesting negocia- 
 tion ?" Helen asked. 
 
 "I have not the faintest conception of 
 your meaning," rejoined Margaret.
 
 MORNING VISITORS. 87 
 
 " Is it really that you don't understand 
 me, or is your ignorance only affectation," 
 asked her cousin. 
 
 " I assure you I am utterly in the dark," 
 rej oined Margaret . 
 
 *' Surely you see that the courtly Marchese 
 has something in view," said Helen. " At 
 any rate, you will never have to be ashamed 
 of a husband's ill-breeding. His manner is 
 absolutely perfect." 
 
 *' And you really believe that I am the 
 lode-star that attracts him ?" asked Marga- 
 ret. " Are you serious in what you say ?" 
 
 " Never more serious in my whole life. 
 Why should he try so hard to convince you 
 of the charms of Italian matrimony, except 
 with an object before him ?" 
 
 " With an object before him, I grant you. 
 But I am not the object he is aiming at, 
 rest assured, my dear. I don't pretend to 
 understand the ways of Italian lovers, but 
 of this I am convinced, that no thought of 
 love-making to me has ever entered the 
 Marchese's head for a single moment."
 
 88 MORNING VISITORS. 
 
 Helen was still unconvinced; and a plea- 
 sant suspicion was rising in her thoughts, 
 which she took no pains to crush. For the 
 rest of the morning she sat at the open 
 window, with her eyes upon the moving life 
 helow, but her thoughts in a cloud-land, not 
 the less captivating in its beauty, because 
 its outlines were vague and ever changing, 
 and its dim vistas melted away into a dis- 
 tance, where no forms were defined and all 
 was grey and sober in tone.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 The studio of Cavaliere D'Urbino, in the Yia 
 Felice, was much like other sculptors' stu- 
 dios, except in its somewhat unusual neat- 
 ness, cleanliness, and absence of affectation. 
 Studios, whether of sculptors or painters, 
 are of various kinds, and the curious in such 
 matters are apt to discover in their contents 
 and condition distinct evidences of the per- 
 sonal characters of their owners. 
 
 Some look as if they were arranged with 
 a sole eye to business, and as if the painter 
 or sculptor who wrought in them was infi- 
 nitely superior to the surroundings amidst
 
 90 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 which he wielded the brush or modelled the 
 claj. In others the occupier seems to find 
 it essential to the freedom of his thouo^ht 
 and the activity of his hands that nothing 
 should strike his eyes that could suggest the 
 mean, or sordid, or prosaic realities of com- 
 mon life. Others are finical and dandyish 
 in their furniture and in the disposition of 
 the ornaments which their owners find to be 
 soothing to their feelings and pleasing to 
 their self-love. Others again are flagrantly 
 theatrical, and display a crowd of artistic 
 objects, including a careful selection from 
 the works of the artist who thus vicariously 
 exhibits himself, and so to say, attitudinises 
 for the benefit of his friends and visitors. 
 Then, further, there is the studio which tells 
 only too well that he who lives in it is a 
 manufacturer of works on canvas, or in 
 marble, in which the costume and acces- 
 sories are everything that is correct, and the 
 only thing that is wanting is the movement 
 and expression of human life itself. This
 
 d'urbino in kis studio. 91 
 
 latter class of picture and sculpture factories 
 is less common in Rome than it is in London, 
 the Eternal City not possessing those vast 
 annual exhibitions of paintings which in 
 England serve to show the vast wealth of 
 purchasers, and the spirited competition 
 which exists among artists eager for their 
 applause, or rather for the contents of their 
 purses. 
 
 Among the simpler sort of studios D'Ur- 
 bino's was conspicuous for its methodical 
 and business-like arrangements. But for 
 the presence of some plaster casts, two or 
 three busts and figures in marble, none of 
 them completely finished, and the usual ap- 
 paratus for modelling in clay, it might have 
 passed for a half-furnished dining room or 
 saloon. Three days after the affair of the 
 execution and the escape of Donato, its 
 owner was standing before a nearly finished 
 female head in clay, and examining it under 
 every variety of light. It was slightly 
 colossal in size, and though evidently a por-
 
 92 d'urbino in his stulio. 
 
 trait, exhibited that wild, dreamy, and at the 
 same time suffering look which is rarely 
 seen even in the most expressive of living 
 faces. D'Urbino was still scrutinising the 
 result of his labours, when an elderlyJook- 
 ing woman opened the door of the room, 
 and walked unceremoniously towards him. 
 
 " Here is that girl coming again, Signore,'* 
 she exclaimed, " it's really scandalous. I 
 wonder she can have the face to do it, and 
 you to encourage her, and Signora Bianca 
 now married and gone into the country to 
 live, and me too busy to look after your 
 doings ; and you know it's against all the 
 commands of the Holy Father, and I won- 
 der how her own father can allow her 
 goings on, and it's — " and here she fairly 
 stopped in her vehement harangue, for want 
 of breath. 
 
 " Gro on, my dear Bettinella, pray," said 
 D'Urbino, in a mocking but good-natured 
 way ; " you must have at least a hundred 
 more reasons to prove that poor Francesca
 
 b'urbino in his studio. 93 
 
 is very wicked, for coming here, and I am 
 very wicked for asking her to come." 
 
 " I am not Bettinella," retorted the old 
 woman, now no longer panting ; " my name 
 is Elisabetta, and you only call me wrong 
 in order to flatter me into holding my 
 tongue." 
 
 " Well, then, Bettone, or Bettinaccia — 
 will that suit you, if you don't like such a 
 pretty name as Bettinella? As for Elisa- 
 betta, it's out of the question. I don't be- 
 lieve you were ever christened such a name." 
 
 "Nonsense, Signore," said the still exas- 
 perated Elisabetta, or Betta, as she was ad- 
 dressed by everybody except her young 
 master, one of whose favourite amusements 
 was to tease her, by applying to her an 
 endless succession of those diminutives and 
 other perversions of proper names, to which 
 the Italian language so readily lends itself. 
 
 " There she is, at the door 1" she cried ; 
 *' am I to let her in, or am I not?" 
 
 " Betta ! Betta !" said the sculptor, " allow
 
 94 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 me to tell you that you talk like an idiot, 
 and not like the sensible woman you really 
 are. You know perfectly well that Fran- 
 cesca comes here for no purpose but to sit 
 as my model/' 
 
 " I know nothing of the kind," she re- 
 torted. " There ! there she is knocking 
 again ! — am I to let her in, or am I 
 not ?" 
 
 " If you don't let her in, I know what 
 will happen." 
 
 " What will happen ? Will she go away 
 affronted, and never come here any 
 more r 
 
 " By no means. Guess again," said he, 
 in a still more aggravating manner. 
 
 " Signor D'Urbino, I will leave your ser- 
 vice this very day, if you go on tormenting 
 and insulting me in this cruel way." 
 
 " By all means, Betta," he replied, " only 
 in the mean time, do me the favour to open 
 the door to Francesca, or else " 
 
 "Yes? or else?"
 
 d'urbino in his studio. 95 
 
 " Or else I shall be obliged to go and let 
 her in myself." 
 
 Upon this she flung herself out of the 
 room, admitted the unconscious object of 
 her objurgations, showed her into the studio, 
 then disappeared, discomfited. If she had 
 remained, she would have seen the young 
 sculptor advance to meet Francesca, and 
 greet her with a business-like cordiality that 
 showed that his account of the purpose of 
 her visits was nothing more nor less than 
 the simple truth. Francesca was soon 
 placed in the proper position and under 
 the proper light for the progress of the 
 modelling. 
 
 As she sat down, evidently with no dis- 
 position for conversation, D'Urbino thought 
 that he had never before seen the very ex- 
 pression that he wished to communicate to 
 the lifeless clay so vividly present in the 
 living countenance before him. The wild- 
 ness and the dreaminess that he sought to 
 express, were often to be seen overspreading
 
 96 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 Francesca's handsome features. The ban- 
 tering, teasing talk in which he was wont 
 to indulge during her frequent sittings, 
 seemed naturally to arouse in her mind 
 some strange sort of irritation, more serious 
 than he could account for from his know- 
 ledge of the girl and of her circumstances ; 
 and at times her eyes gleamed with that 
 brilliancy which it is so difficult to embody, 
 either in marble or on canvas, without melo- 
 dramatic exaggeration. Then, apparently 
 from no external cause, the latent passion 
 would usually give place to a softer mood, 
 the full dark eyes would fasten themselves 
 without effort upon some unseen sight that 
 held her in its charm ; and again and again 
 D'TJrbino felt that if he could only fix in the 
 obedient clay the look of the girl's face, 
 during the few moments when the gleaming 
 brightness melted into the tender gaze of the 
 spell-bound dreamer, the grand aim of his 
 ambition would be more than half accom- 
 plished.
 
 d'urbino in his studio. 97 
 
 But it was just at sucli moments, that 
 with all his profound love for the sculptor's 
 art, he felt its chief deficiency. As to the 
 popular theory about the chilling efiects of 
 the want of colour in a marble statue, other- 
 wise transcending the noblest works of the 
 painter's skill, he knew too well that it is 
 little more than the excuse of the mere aca- 
 demic practitioner. It was only when he 
 spent hours and days in the vain attempt to 
 give a real vitality to the eyes of his busts, 
 that he felt his hand paralysed, and he was 
 tempted to dash his modelling tools or his 
 mallet and chisel on the floor. 
 
 So far as the movements of the brow, the 
 eyelids and the pose of the head could supply 
 suggestions for achieving the success he 
 longed for, Francesca was a model among 
 ten thousand. The features of Eoman 
 women are often cast in that almost superb 
 and slightly sensuous mould, which the 
 sculptor most loves when he attempts the 
 heroic or the ideal. But their brains are 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 9S d'ukbino in his studio. 
 
 not of tlie same lofty stamp as their counte- 
 nances. Their emotions are as soft, as pas- 
 sionate, and as intense, as the eyes and lips 
 which express them are beautiful. But 
 whether from natural character, or from 
 the shallowness of their own education and 
 that of their daily companions, both men 
 and women, it is rarely that they show any 
 indications of an intelligence either keen or 
 profound. 
 
 That Francesca was really one of these 
 rare exceptions to the ordinary rule, D'Ur- 
 bino had long been convinced. In fact, it 
 was from having accidentally detected signs 
 of this depth in her nature, that he had 
 made acquaintance with her father and with 
 herself, with a view to engaging her as his 
 model. And it was through a little adroit 
 eulogy of these gifts that he had persuaded 
 the mosaic worker to allow her to attend at 
 his studio, but even then only with the express 
 stipulation that his sister, the Signora Bianca, 
 should always be present at the sittings.
 
 d'uebino in his studio. 99 
 
 At first the stipulation was rigidly com- 
 plied with, but the illness of a friend had 
 first called Bianca away from Rome, and 
 after that came her own marriage ; and but 
 for certain unknown political ties between 
 the sculptor and the humbler artist, Fran- 
 cesca would certainly have been forbidden 
 to pay any more of those visits which so 
 scandalised the suspicious Elisabetta. What 
 was the exact nature of those ties Fran- 
 cesca herself knew not, though she drew her 
 own conclusions as to the mysterious cha- 
 racter of an intimacy, which, though not of 
 a very long date, had created in her father's 
 mind the most undoubting confidence in the 
 Cavaliere's truth and honour. 
 
 To-day it seemed to D'Urbino that Fran- 
 cesca was about to prove herself a model, 
 possessing every quality that he could de- 
 sire. She had not sat ten minutes before 
 him, while he was carefully giving what he 
 expected would be the last finishing touches 
 to the contour of the lips, when he was 
 
 7—2
 
 100 d'uubino in his studio. 
 
 made unpleasantly conscious that his work 
 must have been hitherto very feeble and 
 blundering, so marked were the corrections 
 it seemed to need. 
 
 Then, looking up stedfastly at the girl's 
 face, taken as a whole, he suddenly saw that 
 in its expression there was an element which 
 he had never before discerned. In the 
 mouth, which he fancied he had so clumsily 
 failed to copy, he now detected that very 
 intensity of sadness and suffering which he 
 had long laboured to communicate to his 
 work. A thrill shot through his susceptible 
 nature, partly of mere artistic hope and gra- 
 tification, partly of increased interest in a cha- 
 racter which had hitherto suggested nothing 
 more absorbing than materials for critical 
 study. 
 
 With slow and careful touches he at once 
 set about correcting his previous work, and 
 for some time not a word escaped his lips or 
 those of Francesca herself. At length, with 
 a heavy sigh, her unwonted mood passed
 
 d'urbino in nis studio. 101 
 
 away, and she seemed to wake to the reali- 
 ties of the living world around her. With 
 the change in Francesca's mood, D'Urbino's 
 mood changed also, and he could not resist 
 that tendency to teasing and bantering 
 which he seldom had under control. 
 
 " We are both of us very grave to-day, 
 Francesca," he began. " Was it the sight 
 of the fight between the soldiers and the 
 crowd that so depressed your spirits that 
 you have not had a word to say this morn- 
 mg? 
 
 " How do you know that I saw the fight 
 at all ?" she replied. 
 
 " I was told so by some friends of mine, 
 and yours also," said D'Urbino. 
 
 " I did not know that we had any friends 
 common to us both," she rejoined, with an 
 evident touch of bitterness in the thoug^ht. 
 
 " A week or two ago we had not, it is 
 true," he said ; " but now the circle of my 
 friends, or at least of my acquaintances, is 
 enlarged. It has been whispered to me that
 
 102 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 you saw the sight in company with two very 
 captivating young English ladies." 
 
 A flush of surprise overspread Francesca's 
 whole face for a moment, as she replied : 
 " I did not know they were your friends, 
 Signore." 
 
 " Then I am sure your conversation with 
 them did not turn upon myself, which is not 
 flattering to my vanity, Francesca." 
 
 '' Why should it have turned upon Ca- 
 valiere D'Urbino, more than upon any 
 other gentleman in Eome ?" asked Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 " Solely because I had the honour of 
 dancing with both those charming English 
 women at the French Embassy, a few nights 
 ago/* said he. 
 
 " I suppose the subject would have been 
 thought not fit for talking over, with a poor 
 mosaic-worker's daughter," rejoined Fran- 
 cesca, with a sharpness of tone that provoked 
 him to tease her still more. 
 
 " My dear Francesca," he said, " you are
 
 d'urbino in his studio. 103 
 
 hardly recovered from your late illness, and 
 do not view the affairs of human life with 
 your usual placid indifference. Nothing, I 
 assure you, can be more amiable than the 
 two ladies in question." 
 
 "Of course you have cultivated their 
 acquaintance carefully,'*' suggested Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 " I will take you into my confideace," he 
 rejoined, in the half serious, half joking way 
 which he loved, and which Francesca ab- 
 horred. " I made an excuse about showinof 
 them some Venetian pictures, and have found 
 them even more charming in their own home 
 than in the splendours of the ball." 
 
 " I do not doubt it," replied Francesca, 
 curtly. 
 
 " Were it not that my heart is already 
 given away to my marble handiworks," he 
 rejoined, " I assure you that I should fly 
 from the society of these English, unless I 
 wished my peace of mind to be destroyed for 
 ever."
 
 104 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 " I never heard of a man falling in love 
 with a statue/' she replied. 
 
 " That only shows that you were not pro- 
 perly instructed in ancient mythology in the 
 days of your youth, Francesca," he rejoined, 
 perfectly well aware that if there was any 
 one thing especially distressing to the poor 
 girl, it was any allusion to her defective 
 education. In her vexation she started from 
 her position, and her long hair, which had 
 been knotted up so as to satisfy the sculp- 
 tor's exacting taste, fell loose upon her shoul- 
 ders. Almost in tears with pain and annoy- 
 ance, she quickly re-arranged it, and en- 
 treated D'Urbino to tease her no more, with 
 a simple humility of manner which puzzled 
 him. But the folds and masses of the hair 
 were not what they had been before, and 
 after offering her many unsuccessful sugges- 
 tmns, D'Urbino laid aside his working tools, 
 and tried with one or two gentle touches 
 of his own, to re-arrange the beautiful but 
 refractory coils according to his wishes.
 
 d'urbino in his studio. 105 
 
 Nothing could be more respectful or deli- 
 cate than his handling of the superb locks, 
 but he was surprised to find that Francesca 
 trembled violently, and when one of his 
 hands slipped and for a moment rested upon 
 her forehead, her self-control gave way and 
 she burst into an agony of tears. The hour 
 for Elisabetta to come in with his usual mid- 
 day meal was close at hand, and D'Urbino 
 felt half wild, as he thought of the awkward- 
 ness of the situation if she should find Fran- 
 cesca in her present condition. Happily he 
 was a man of rapid thought, and with a 
 word to Francesca, saying that he would go 
 and desire his servant to bring a draught of 
 water to refresh her, he hastily left the room. 
 The Cavaliere's knowledge of women was 
 not very profound, but he made a shrewd 
 guess that if anything would tend to stop 
 Francesca's tears, it would be the fear of 
 being discovered by the disagreeable Elisa- 
 betta in so unpleasant a condition. The 
 draught of w^ater was of course a fiction, as
 
 106 d'urbino in his studio. 
 
 his real intention was to keep Elisabetta 
 out of the studio altogether. The plan was 
 successful, and when he returned after a 
 short absence, Francesca had regained her 
 composure, and the sitting ended happily.
 
 CHAPTEE YL 
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 " Betta ! Betta ! Bettina ? Bettinaccia ! 
 Bettinaccianella ! Bettinella mia ! Elisa- 
 betta ! Mille diavole ! is the woman gone 
 deaf, or run away, that she keeps me here 
 shouting myself hoarse ?" 
 
 So shouted and grumbled the Cavaliere 
 as soon as Francesca was fairly out of the 
 house. 
 
 " Oh ! here you are at last/' he added, as 
 the old woman made her appearance, bearing 
 a tray on which was set out the hungry 
 sculptor's midday refreshment. 
 
 " Are you aware, Betta mia," he remarked, 
 as she placed it upon a table near him, " that
 
 108 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 it is at the least half an hour after the time 
 you are bound under the severest penalties 
 to have my modest meal prepared for me ? 
 Why, what is this ?" he continued, missing 
 the cutlets that were to form the substantial 
 portion of the repast. " Salad ! bread ! dried 
 figs ! Do you take me for a Trappist, Betta ? 
 and what is this in the basin ? Soup ? yes ; 
 well ; this is not what I ordered. Do you 
 wish to starve me, or poison me before my 
 time ?" 
 
 " Patience, Eccellenza !" replied the old 
 woman, in a propitiatory tone, and using 
 the humble term of respect which she al- 
 ways adopted when she wished to mollify 
 her master. 
 
 " I had the misfortune to spoil the cutlets, 
 but the soup is excellent, and will abundantly 
 satisfy your appetite." 
 
 " Bah !" cried the Cavaliere, after tasting 
 the subject of the eulogy, " what in the 
 name of all that is detestable have you com- 
 pounded here, you faithless woman ?''
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 109 
 
 " The soup is surely admirable, Eccel- 
 lenza," she persisted, "though it is not 
 flavoured with the flesh meat which the 
 Church forbids on Fridays ; and this is 
 Friday, Signore." 
 
 " Confound the Church !" D'Urbino was 
 on the point of exclaiming aloud, but he 
 kept the anathema to himself, only warning 
 the contumacious Betta to beware how she 
 trifled with him any more in the matter of 
 his eating, as he betook himself to his unin- 
 viting meal, while the self-constituted guar- 
 dian of his morals made haste to relieve him 
 of her presence. But what would have been 
 his wrath if he had followed her to her own 
 domain, and there beheld the missing cut- 
 lets reposing uncooked in a corner of the 
 kitchen ? 
 
 " Ah !" she was saying to herself, with a 
 grin of satisfaction, as her eyes rested on the 
 dish where the forbidden meat was lying ; 
 *' I will keep him from one wickedness, at 
 any rate. He shall have no flesh meat on
 
 110 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 Fridays, if I tell ten thousand lies to prevent 
 it. The cutlets will do very well to-morrow 
 instead; and he may thank me for the one 
 good deed he has done to-day.'' 
 
 Such were Betta's morals, and if they 
 were somewhat loose in the matter of truth- 
 telh'ng, and her views on vicarious virtue 
 were scarcely to be justified by any casuistry 
 that is to be found written by reverend 
 hands, are they much worse or more hazy 
 than those which prevail in the most 
 Protestant kitchens of England ? Betta's 
 standard of right and wrong was framed 
 upon the purely ecclesiastical model ; and 
 she was surely no worse than the orthodox 
 lady's-maid who would not for the world 
 make free with her mistress's purse, but has 
 no scruple in making free with her dresses 
 by wearing them whenever no malicious in- 
 former can report upon her rogueries. And 
 was the chuckle with which Betta congra- 
 tulated herself whenever she could cheat 
 her master into an unwilling conformity
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM 111 
 
 with sacerdotal rules, much less rational 
 than the satisfaction of those teachers of 
 our own who persuade their followers that 
 they have become models of piety by the 
 substitution of the dissipations of the plat- 
 form for the dissipations of the playhouse ? 
 If Betta had lived in London she would 
 doubtless have been a devoted attendant on 
 every possible occasion when the orators of 
 the platform discourse on the spiritual desti- 
 tution of far-off heathens, or the hopeless 
 condition of Irish Papists. As, however, 
 her lot was cast in Eome, she found her 
 spiritual emotions sufficiently excited by 
 taking a part in the proceedings of all the 
 pious confraternities which were within her 
 reach. The begging Sacconi, with all the 
 mysterious rumours that were afloat as to 
 their high rank in the social and ecclesi- 
 astical world, had a special attraction for 
 her vulgar mind. She herself could bestow 
 on them only very small contributions, but 
 what she did give she gave with an exqui-
 
 112 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 site zest as she reflected that the disguised 
 mendicants were perhaps the owners of the 
 most magnificent palaces in Eoine, or even 
 princes of the Church themselves. 
 
 Such being her ordinary feelings, it was 
 with a peculiar sense of refreshment and 
 self-complacency that she perceived a pair 
 of these religious maskers approaching, as 
 she stood lounging at the house door just 
 after her exploit for the forcible conversion 
 of the recalcitrant D'Urbino. According to 
 their wont, they walked on difierent sides 
 of the street, and Betta's hand was speedily 
 thrust into her enormous pocket in search 
 of the bajoccho which she intended to be 
 her offering. Accordingly, it was dropped 
 into the mendicant's bag the moment that 
 he came up to her ; but to her surprise, in- 
 stead of immediately returning to her the 
 customary reverence, he held out to her a 
 letter, and requested her in a subdued voice 
 to take it to her master without delay, 
 adding some sort of vague threat of spiritual
 
 THE GATHERINa IN THE COLISEUM. 113 
 
 miscTiiefs that would afflict her, if she ven- 
 tured on disobedience or betrayed the source 
 whence the letter came. Such an unpre- 
 cedented proceeding on the part of a Saccone, 
 who she had heard was always under a vow 
 of silence during his quest, was quite suffi- 
 ciently startling, apart from the awful words 
 with which her compliance was enforced. 
 There was nothing for it, however, but to 
 obey, and that instantly. 
 
 *'Who gave you this note?" exclaimed 
 D'Urbino, the moment he had glanced at 
 its contents. 
 
 " It was given to me by a stranger," said 
 Betta, noting well the look of amazement 
 with which D'Urbino read the communica- 
 tion. 
 
 " Did he tell you it was for me ? There 
 is no address upon it," continued D'Urbino. 
 
 " He desired me to bring it instantly to 
 you," she replied, but to every further ques- 
 tion of the bewildered sculptor she opposed 
 a resolute silence, and D'Urbino at last 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 made up his mind to say no more, and at 
 once dismissed lier. 
 
 The letter was as follows : — 
 
 " Carry nothing about with you that may 
 excite suspicion or compromise any one, and 
 leave nothina: in your rooms that you do 
 not wish all the world to see." This was 
 all. There was no signature, and the hand- 
 writing gave not the slightest clue to its 
 authorship. Was it a hoax, or the warning 
 of a friend ? And if the latter, how could 
 a friend be in the secret of the danger which 
 the warning evidently implied to be ap- 
 proaching? It is one of the many evils of 
 a despotic government, and especially of a 
 clerical government, which is of necessity 
 despotic because it is irresponsible, that 
 while suspicion permeates the whole fabric 
 of society, it is almost impossible to trace 
 any rumour to its real source, and few 
 people can thoroughly trust even their 
 dearest friends or their daily associates. 
 
 However, it could do D'Urbino no harm
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 115 
 
 to act upon the hints he had received ; and 
 the more so as he was on the point of start- 
 ing for the Coliseum, where a popular 
 preaching friar was to discourse on the 
 guilt of believing that the escaped convict 
 Donato had been liberated by any heavenly 
 aid. It was expected that the announce- 
 ment would bring an enormous gathering 
 of the poor to hear their favourite orator, 
 even though he might take a view of his 
 subject to which many of them were vehe- 
 mently opposed. At the same time, though 
 it was easy enough for D'Urbino to carry 
 about with him no compromising papers, it 
 was not a little difficult to extemporise a 
 place of concealment at home for sundry 
 suspicious letters, papers, and books, where 
 no acuteness or violence of police agents 
 could find them. 
 
 After much fruitless pondering, D'Urbino 
 hit upon a plan that seemed to promise 
 well. Taking down the few hollow plaster 
 busts that were ranged upon a shelf against 
 
 8—2
 
 116 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 the wall, lie deposited within their cavities 
 the letters and documents which he wished 
 to conceal, and then proceeded to fill up the 
 openings with plaster of Paris, so that the 
 casts would appear to be solid throughout, 
 the weight of the real contents giving 
 colour to the idea. What with the selec- 
 tion of the compromising papers, the stow- 
 ing them away in their fragile receptacles, 
 and the preparing of the plaster for closing 
 thexn safely in, so much time was occupied, 
 that when D'Urbino reached the Coliseum 
 he found the preacher already at his post, 
 and a vast audience listening to his fiery 
 eloquence. 
 
 The crowd was so dense that it was with 
 no little difficulty that D'Urbino forced his 
 way to a spot where he could hear the 
 speaker's voice, and even then it was nearly 
 impossible to catch every word that he 
 uttered, through the mutterings and excla- 
 mations which occasionally broke from the 
 audience, as they were either delighted or
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 117 
 
 irritated with what they heard. Imme- 
 diately around the platform on which the 
 preacher stood were gathered a body of 
 police agents, sufficiently strong to protect 
 him from violence, in case the agitation 
 should culminate in an actual riot. 
 
 Conscious of the protection, and being 
 really a man of iron nerve himself, the Ca- 
 puchin grew bolder and bolder as he saw 
 that his oratory was telling upon his excita- 
 ble hearers. As a matter of argument, the 
 sermon was worthless, but its rhetoric was 
 in the highest degree ingenious. He as- 
 sumed, without even pretending to prove it, 
 that the cause of the priesthood was the 
 cause of Grod, and that whosoever injured a 
 priest, even of humblest class, was in reality 
 striking a blow at Jesus Christ himself. 
 Then suddenly, with wonderful dramatic 
 power, he described the various incidents in 
 the Gospel narrative of the Passion, filling 
 up the Biblical outline ; and even changing 
 his voice and gestures as he repeated the
 
 118 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 words of the several characters of the his- 
 tory. 
 
 At last, having stirred up the feelings of 
 his audience to fever heat, making many of 
 the women and some few of the men sob 
 and shed tears, as he dwelt on the insults 
 and the violence offered to the Sacred Per- 
 son, whose sufferings he was recounting, he 
 slowly uttered the name of the escaped cri- 
 minal, and introduced him as having been 
 in spirit among the foremost blasphemers 
 and murderers in Jerusalem. Then, turn- 
 ing to the tall crucifix which was fixed by 
 his side, upon the platform, he addressed to 
 it one of those daring invocations which are 
 in favour with Italian j)reachers of a certain 
 class, but of whose effect it is impossible to 
 give any real idea by description. 
 
 It was in substance a pathetic lamenta- 
 tion that the wickedness of man could be 
 so malignant as to offer violence to that 
 which is divine. 
 
 During this portion of the sermon the
 
 THE GATHERINa IN THE COLISEUM. 119 
 
 profoundest silence reigned around the 
 preacher, and so far his oratory was a grand 
 practical success. But like many another 
 speaker, he knew not when to stop. The 
 moment his invocation was ended, he turned 
 found to the audience and asked them with 
 bitter scorn whether it was possible that a 
 miracle could be worked on behalf of a 
 wretched criminal who could be guilty of 
 such awful wickedness. Heaping relentless 
 ridicule upon the report of the interference 
 of the Madonna to save the man who was 
 the enemy of her Divine Son, he implied in 
 the plainest terms, that if Donato had been 
 rescued by any power not human, it must 
 have been by devils, who only saved their 
 future victim from present death in order 
 that he might add fresh crimes to those 
 which he had already committed, and so be 
 doomed to suffer more horribly for ever. 
 
 Powerful, however, as was the Capuchin's 
 rhetoric, D'Urbino soon perceived that it 
 was beginning to madden not a few of the
 
 120 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 men wlio heard him. Here and there the 
 vast crowd hegan to sway to and fro, and an 
 angry cry now and then broke forth in con- 
 tradiction of the preacher's charges. At 
 last, when the Capuchin threw aside all re- 
 serve and proceeded to identify Donato with 
 the Liberal party of Eoman reformers, the 
 blunder which he was committing was so evi- 
 dent, that many of the more prudent among 
 the clericals present began to look annoyed, 
 and ominously to shake their heads. D'Ur- 
 bino himself, having special reasons of his 
 own for keeping out of any political difficul- 
 ties at the present moment, lost no time in 
 pushing his way to the outskirts of the 
 crowd, intending to linger awhile to watch 
 what might be the result of the gathering 
 agitation. 
 
 To his surprise and by no means to his 
 gratification, he encountered Margaret and 
 Helen, with Francesca in their train, under 
 the protection of the servant Fernando, 
 standing together near one of the entrances
 
 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 121 
 
 to the vast amphitheatre, and vainly at- 
 tempting to hear the speaker's words. 
 
 Knowing that it was no moment for cere- 
 mony, he at once spoke to Margaret and 
 Helen, and advised their departure, on the 
 ground of the riot that was every instant 
 threatening more and more evidently to 
 break forth. They were still in doubt, 
 when an explosion at the farther end of the 
 amphitheatre startled the whole assemblage 
 into momentary silence. 
 
 The sound was slight, and was meant to 
 frighten rather than injure, but it might be 
 followed by another far more serious. 
 
 " For heaven's sake," cried D'Urbino, the 
 moment he heard the ominous sound, " make 
 haste home ;" and taking command of the 
 party without hesitation, he bade Fernando 
 precede the cousins, and clear a free passage 
 for them. He himself would follow in- 
 stantly, he added, and would take charge of 
 Francesca. Relying both upon his will and 
 his power to fulfil the promise, Margaret
 
 122 THE GATHERING IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 and Helen at once walked on, following in 
 the steps of Fernando, who showed no small 
 dexterity as a pioneer under difficulties. 
 They had not proceeded, however, more than 
 forty or fifty yards, when, pausing to see 
 whether D'TJrbino and Francesca were be- 
 hind them, they found that neither the one 
 nor the other was to be seen. At the same 
 time a fresh explosion, followed by the loud 
 roar of an angry multitude, convinced them 
 that the dreaded fray was actually begin- 
 ning. At length, after lingering a few 
 minutes, in the hope of seeing Francesca 
 safe under the guardianship of D'Urbino, 
 while the tumult was deepening and spread- 
 ing, they felt that there was nothing for it 
 but to hasten homewards without further 
 delay. 
 
 D'Urbino and his charge had undoubtedly 
 disappeared.
 
 CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 The short winter's day was rapidly waning, 
 as the two cousins found themselves within 
 sight of home. To their surprise they saw 
 a carriage drawn up before the door, from 
 which a gentleman sprang vigorously to the 
 ground, and began looking about him, appa- 
 rently to make sure that he had arrived at 
 his intended destination. 
 
 " If it were not for that energetic jump," 
 said Margaret to her cousin, " I should be 
 certain that this is none other than Mr. 
 Charles Evelyn. What can have brought 
 him to Eome just at this very time ?" 
 
 " Who can account for the movements of
 
 124 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 a professional idler like Mr. Evelyn ?" re- 
 joined Helen. " Probably he found his own 
 companionship too much for him, and he has 
 come for the purpose of bestowing his 
 tediousness upon us, out of pure charity to 
 himself." 
 
 The subject of the brief discussion had in 
 the meantime disappeared within the door- 
 way, and the cousins hastily followed him. 
 
 " It is, indeed, the unexpected gentleman 
 himself!" exclaimed Helen, as they entered 
 the drawing-room, and found Evelyn just 
 seating himself, and beginning a history of 
 his past movements for the benefit of her 
 aunt. His only reply was to jump from his 
 chair and shake hands heartily with Helen 
 and Margaret, and then to fling himself 
 upon a sofa, as if exhausted with fatigue. 
 The salutations over, Helen began to re- 
 count the adventures of the afternoon with 
 no little eagerness. 
 
 "What!" cried Evelyn, very unceremo- 
 niously interrupting her ; " you have posi-
 
 THE AllRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 125 
 
 tively walked from one end of Eome to the 
 other, for the sole purpose of hearing a man 
 preach in the Coliseum ! The very thought 
 of it is a weariness to the flesh. But you 
 were always frightfully active, Miss Sand- 
 ford ; and Miss Osborne was always nearly 
 as bad. Life is really too short for such ex- 
 ploits." 
 
 "Yet do you know that when we first 
 caught sight of joUj leaping from your car- 
 riage," said Helen, " we almost decided that 
 so energetic a gentleman could not possibly 
 be the dolce far niente Mr. Evelyn with 
 whom we have the happiness to be ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 " Certainly it was a needless waste of 
 energy, I must admit," replied he ; " but 
 then, you know that no man is ever per- 
 fectly consistent. If Homer is permitted 
 sometimes to sleep, why should not Charles 
 Evelyn be allowed sometimes to be in a 
 hurry ?" 
 
 Helen laughed, and Margaret assured him
 
 126 THE ARRIVAL A^'D ITS RESULTS, 
 
 that for herself she was beginning to find 
 Rome the most exciting place in the whole 
 world. 
 
 *' What an illusion !" ejaculated Evelyn. 
 " Do you know that the Eomans themselves, 
 who are fond of all sorts of little verbal 
 quips and witticisms, make an anagram out 
 of the word Roma, turning it into Mora, 
 which is the Latin for ' delay.' " 
 
 " I think we know enough Latin to be 
 aware of that fact," rejoined Helen, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "What !" exclaimed Evelyn, " do you un- 
 derstand Latin? what astooishing puzzles 
 women really are ! And you have actually 
 learnt Latin of your own accord, when you 
 were not forced to it by the laws of some 
 terrible school ? What an extraordinary 
 waste of brain-power !" 
 
 " How is it then that you have managed 
 to survive the sufferings of your school- 
 days, and to enjoy the florid health which 
 you still seem to possess ?" asked Helen.
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 127 
 
 *' Solely by attending" to two golden rules 
 — never to do anything that you are not 
 compelled to do, and never to do anything 
 to-day which can be put off till tomorrow. 
 Why do you laugh, Miss Osborne ?" he con- 
 tinued ; " Don't you believe me ?" 
 
 " Not altogether," said Margaret. 
 
 " You think I don't act up to my prin- 
 ciples ; is that what you mean?" he asked. 
 
 "Not exactly," she replied. 
 
 " But pray tell me what you do mean," 
 he answered. 
 
 Margaret shook her head, but said no- 
 thing 
 
 "Then you refuse to explain yourself?" 
 he went on. 
 
 " I don't think you exactly understand 
 yourself," she said, his manner evidently 
 growing a little serious. 
 
 " You think so ?" asked Evelyn. 
 
 " On the whole, yes ! if you insist on an 
 answer," said Margaret. 
 
 " Well, I promise you that T will act more
 
 128 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 faithfully up to my principles as long as I 
 stay in Rome. There is no place on earth 
 like it, for an idle man like myself, with a 
 tolerable income, and holding enlightened 
 views of his duty towards himself/' 
 
 " I should never be a convert to those 
 views, at least in this wonderful city," ob- 
 served Margaret. 
 
 " Is she as infatuated as ever, Miss Sand- 
 ford, on things in general and on enjoyment 
 in particular ?'* said Evelyn, turning to 
 Helen. 
 
 " I fear there is not much amendment," 
 replied Helen, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 *' While there is life, however, there is 
 hope," rejoined Evelyn, with a mock so- 
 lemnity. " But the worst of it is that with 
 your energetic and enthusiastic people, you 
 cut short your life before you have really 
 learnt how to make the best of it. And to 
 think of the dreadful maxims instilled into 
 us from our earliest childhood ! Early to 
 bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy.
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 129 
 
 wealthy and wise. What a pernicious senti- 
 ment ! Who can wonder at the miseries of 
 life, when the ingenuous mind is thus cor- 
 rupted from the beginning ? To my mind, 
 it is the great charm of Rome, that nobody 
 is in time for anything " 
 
 " Nevertheless/' interposed Mrs. Sand- 
 ford, " I must remind you that unless 
 you go at once and secure yourself lodg- 
 ings, you will not be back in time for our 
 dinner." 
 
 " You remind me of the last act of incon- 
 sistency of which I have been guilty, Mrs. 
 Sandford," he rejoined. " Will you believe 
 it, that, contrary to all my principles, I took 
 rooms at a new hotel hard by, before I pre- 
 sented myself to you ? My chief excuse is 
 that it was the first hotel that I happened to 
 see, and that being a new one, 1 was totally 
 unacquainted with its character. Was not 
 that an act of virtue almost heroic, Miss 
 Osborne ?" he added. 
 
 " Undoubtedly !" said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 " You should write a book, Mr. Evelyn, ex- 
 pounding your views on morality." 
 
 He was on the point of beginning to ex- 
 pound some fresh paradox, when he was 
 cut short by the entrance of Fernando, to 
 ask the young ladies whether they could 
 tell Francesca's father why she had not re- 
 turned home in their company. The mosaic- 
 worker was below, said Fernando, and evi- 
 dently anxious about his daughter. Would 
 the Signora be good enough to come down 
 and speak to him ? A little alarmed, Mar- 
 garet ran down stairs and told Giorgione 
 all she knew, but he was only partially re- 
 assured by what she had to tell him, and 
 expressed his intention of starting immedi- 
 ately to search for Francesca himself. Ex- 
 tracting from him a promise to let her know 
 the moment he returned, Margaret went 
 upstairs, by no means without anxiety as to 
 what might have occurred. Her anxiety 
 spread a cloud over the rest of the party, 
 and the dinner that soon followed did little 
 to dispel the gloom.
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 131 
 
 And the gloom would have been deeper 
 still, if they had known what had been the 
 final results of the preaching Capuchin's im- 
 prudent zeal. Eemembering how short was 
 the distance they had proceeded when they 
 lost all sight of D'Urbino and Francesca, nei- 
 ther Margaret nor Helen could shake off the 
 dread that they had been involved in some 
 violent struggle between the partisans of 
 the government and the liberal portion of 
 the crowd. Kothing short of absolute 
 compulsion, they felt confident, would have 
 kept Francesca away from her father's 
 house at a moment when his anxiety for 
 her safety must be so intense. And as no 
 tidings of her arrival reached them, and no 
 inquiries after their own safety were made 
 on the part of D'Urbino, their alarm grew 
 more and more intolerable as the evening 
 passed away. 
 
 Nor had they left the scene of the tumult 
 a moment too soon. The second explosion 
 which they had heard had been in itself as 
 
 9—2
 
 132 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 harmless as the first, being intended only to 
 create alarm. But alarm in a Eoman mob 
 is apt to be intensified into terror, and at 
 the same time to stir up the few fiercer 
 spirits it may contain to savage fury. 
 Whether, indeed, the explosions had been 
 the work of the police or of the malcon- 
 tents, it was never publicly ascertained. 
 
 The result unquestionably expected had 
 instantly followed. The panic-stricken 
 people, forgetting, or not knowing, that the 
 vast area of the Coliseum was not really 
 filled, and therefore still afforded protection 
 from the storm that raged in the centre 
 immediately around the fiery preacher and 
 his military protectors, crowded madly 
 through the narrow entrances, trampling on 
 those who fell in the rush, till from sheer 
 exhaustion they paused in their struggles. 
 Some scores of men and women were more 
 or less seriously injured, and some few were 
 taken up dead when the amphitheatre and its 
 entrances were finally cleared. How many
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 133 
 
 were wounded and how many killed was of 
 course kept a secret by the authorities, for 
 the truth-telling of English newspaper re- 
 porters is a thing as odious in the eyes of 
 the Eoman government as the freedom of 
 English thought. 
 
 All around the platform on which the 
 preacher had stood, a hand to hand fight 
 raged between the liberals and their enemies 
 for several minutes. Of the police and the 
 soldiers a few were cut down, or stabbed, or 
 otherwise wounded. But the victory was 
 with the " guardians of order," as they were 
 styled in the government journals, which 
 told the story after their own version. Two 
 of the malcontents were left dead, and at 
 least a score were seized and consigned to 
 the prison cells, from whence they were to 
 be brouo'ht to receive the sentences pre- 
 ordained by "justice" on behalf of the dull 
 and ignorant despotism against which they 
 were presumed to have been deliberately 
 conspiring.
 
 134 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 In the meantime the reports which flew 
 from moutli to mouth were as exaggerated 
 as such rumours inevitably become, where 
 suspicion and ill-will are the chronic dis- 
 orders of the time. Eome was in flames, 
 said one story ; his Holiness had fled, said 
 another ; two hundred political malcontents 
 had been arrested, said a third. By-and- 
 bye, reports reached the extreme parts of 
 the city, and the Sandford party were be- 
 ginning to feel almost as much agitated as 
 the Eomans themselves, when they were 
 startled by the sight of the terror-stricken 
 Giorgione rushing unannounced into the 
 room where they sat, to ask if they had yet 
 heard tidings of his child. 
 
 He had been to the scene of the tumult 
 and had found it totally deserted. He had 
 next been to the prison where the captured 
 rioters were lodged, and being (secretly) on 
 friendly terms with more than one of the 
 police officials, had ascertained that nothing 
 whatever had been heard of D'Urbino or of
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 135 
 
 Francesca herself. In fact, unless they had 
 returned into the midst of the crowd the 
 moment they had parted with Helen and 
 Margaret, it was impossible that they could 
 have been involved in the rush of the mul- 
 titude, or in the fight around the platform. 
 Various women who had seen the dead and 
 wounded carried away, one and all agreed 
 that no persons corresponding to the de- 
 scriptions of D'Urbino and Francesca were 
 among either the injured or the killed. 
 
 As the miserable father told his story, 
 the calm attention of one of the listeners 
 rapidly changed to serious alarm. Happen- 
 ing to turn for a moment towards Evelyn, 
 Margaret was astonished to note the look 
 of mingled dread and anger which his coun- 
 tenance assumed, and the keen closing of 
 the lips and stern knitting of the brow with 
 which he proceeded to disentangle the de- 
 tails of Griorgione's somewhat incoherent 
 account. Then, as soon as he had satisfied 
 himself, he quietly asked Margaret to give
 
 186 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 him five minutes conversation in another 
 room. Not a little surprised, she imme- 
 diately granted the request. 
 
 '' Can you tell me anything," he began, 
 as soon as they were alone, " about the re- 
 lations between this man's daughter and the 
 gentleman in whose charge you were com- 
 pelled to leave her ?" 
 
 " I know very little about it," replied 
 Margaret, " except that for some time she 
 has been sitting to him as a model for an 
 ideal bust upon which he is engaged. He 
 is a sculptor, as you have heard us mention 
 this evening." 
 
 " What knowledge have you of his per- 
 sonal character?" continued Evelyn. 
 
 " Not very much indeed," said Margaret. 
 " We met him first at the French Embassy, 
 and from what I saw of him I certainly be- 
 came interested in him, and he has been 
 here occasionally since." 
 
 " I don't mean that exactly," said Evelyn. 
 " Do you believe him to be an honourable
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 137 
 
 man, and a fit person to have the charge of 
 a girl at such a juncture ?" 
 
 "So far as I can judge, certainly," replied 
 Margaret. 
 
 "Is the girl good-looking?" he asked. 
 
 " Singularly so — at least in my judgment," 
 said Margaret. 
 
 " It is not likely that she is at this mo- 
 ment with him in his studio ?" Evelyn con- 
 tinued. " Where does he live ?" 
 
 " In the Yia Felice, not five minutes' walk 
 from here," she replied. 
 
 " Tell me the number of the house," said 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " Tor that you must ask the girl's father 
 himself," replied Margaret, and they returned 
 to the rest of the party. Looking more 
 grave than ever, Evelyn at once took the 
 hand of the mosaic-worker with a respect- 
 ful tenderness, and led him out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Of course you have been to Siguor 
 D'Urbino's house to inquire if your daughter
 
 138 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 is there ?" he said, as they went down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Nothing had been heard of the Cavaliere 
 or of my unhappy child," rephed Giorgione. 
 
 "You have confidence in D'Urbino's hon- 
 our?" again asked Evelyn. 
 
 "The most undoubted confidence," said 
 Giorgione. 
 
 " It is more than I have," said Evelyn to 
 himself, with rising feelings of disgust and 
 anger against one, of whom he knew nothing, 
 but whom he began to suspect of the basest 
 treachery. At the mere suspicion of such 
 treachery all the latent manliness of Evelyn's 
 nature was stirred to its depths ; and ascer- 
 taining from Giorgione where D'Urbino 
 lived, he instantly started on his search, to 
 the utter amazement of Margaret and 
 Helen. 
 
 In a few minutes Evelyn was in full con- 
 versation with D'Urbino's housekeeper, 
 whom he frightened out of all composure 
 by the vehemence of the questioning with
 
 THE ARRIYAL AND ITS RESULTS. 139 
 
 which he followed up her statement that 
 neither her master nor Francesca had been 
 seen since the early part of the afternoon. 
 
 "Does the girl often come here?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Offcener than I say she ought to come/' 
 replied Betta. " And it is often too that I 
 tell him she shall never come inside his 
 doors again, as long as I am here. There ! 
 Eccellenza," she went on, throwing open the 
 door of D'Urbino's studio. " Look there ! 
 there she is, in all her impudence 1" and the 
 jealous old woman pointed to the bust of the 
 missing girl, as it had been left uncovered 
 after the morning's sitting. 
 
 The beauty and refinement of the face 
 struck the quick perception of the accom- 
 plished Evelyn, and he was still in silent 
 contemplation of its charm, when a loud 
 knocking startled him from his thoughts, 
 and three men strode into the studio, and 
 were at once recognised by Betta, as emis- 
 saries of the police.
 
 140 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 " You are not the Cavaliere D'Urbino, 1 
 believe," said their leader to Evelyn, without 
 an attempt at ceremony." 
 
 " I am not," rejoined Evelyn ; '' but I am 
 here for the very purpose of finding him. 
 For Heaven's sake say where he is ? and 
 where is Francesca Giorgione ?" 
 
 " I know nothing of either of them," re- 
 plied the man. " We are here on a duty, 
 which must be instantly attended to. There 
 is the order authorising our search for sus- 
 pected papers ; and if you have any sense, 
 you will tell this foolish old w^oman, who 
 stands staring there, to leave off wringing 
 her hands, and help us to do our duty. 
 Come, my friend," he continued, speaking to 
 Betta, "you will do your master most good 
 by saving us the disagreeable work of break- 
 ing open locks and doors, and if you do hap- 
 pen to know where he keeps his letters, you 
 could save a world of time, by taking us to 
 the place without a word more." 
 
 Trembling with fear, and yet with a hope
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 141 
 
 that by betraying her master's secrets slie 
 would be working for his soul's health, Betta 
 without more ado pointed out the cabinet 
 in which, as she was well aware, from her 
 habits of stealthy watching, D'XJrbino cer- 
 tainly did deposit sundry letters and docu- 
 ments. It was, in fact, the only piece of 
 furniture in any one of his rooms which he 
 kept always locked, and to which she had 
 not free access. The police agent immedi- 
 ately turned the handle of the door, and to 
 Betta's astonishment found it unlocked, and 
 its shelves completely empty 
 
 ''Santa Vergine T she cried out: " I saw 
 him lock it safely this very morning." 
 
 " Come, come, my clever friend," rejoined 
 the man, '' the trick is too plain. Be good 
 enough to show us the inside of every box, 
 closet and shelf belonging to the Cavaliere, 
 or else — " and he whispered something in 
 the ear of the unlucky Betta, which speedily 
 quickened her movements. The search was 
 complete, but unavailing. No one suspected
 
 142 THE AEEIVAL AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 the real hidiog place of the incriminating 
 papers, and the baffled agents departed in 
 no amiable mood at their discomfiture. As 
 they left the house, Evelyn remembered the 
 proverbial weakness of Italian officials, and 
 soon overtaking them, lightly tapped the 
 shoulder of the chief man of the three. A 
 very brief and muttered conversation ensued, 
 ending in the transfer of a small gold coin 
 from the pocket of Evelyn to the hand 
 of the police agent, accompanied with a 
 nod of intelligence to his two companions. 
 
 " At any rate no harm will be done," said 
 Evelyn to himself, " even if the story is alto- 
 gether falsehood, and they know no more of 
 D'Urbino than T do." 
 
 Thus meditating, he followed silently in 
 the steps of the three agents, his thoughts 
 recurring again and again to the portrait he 
 had been contemplating.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ARRESTED. 
 
 Yet never were suspicions more ground- 
 less than those entertained by Evelyn in 
 respect to D'Urbino's conduct towards 
 Francesca. When she left the Coliseum 
 by his side, following the rest of the party 
 as rapidly as the crowd would allow them, 
 D'Urbino had noticed that she looked 
 deadly pale, and she returned no answer 
 to the reassuring words with which he 
 attempted to convince her that no danger 
 was really to be apprehended. He attributed 
 both the pallor and the silence to the same 
 cause which had produced her late agitation 
 in his own studio, and said nothing more.
 
 144 AEEESTED. 
 
 They had not, however, proceeded more 
 than some fifty or sixty yards, when he 
 began to suspect that their progress was 
 being intentionally hindered by certain 
 persons in the throng, but whose counte- 
 nances were unknown to him. First one 
 rough-looking personage w^ould attempt to 
 cross the road immediately in their front, 
 and though the attempt failed, it answered 
 the purpose of delaying their advance. 
 Then another man, also a stranger, addressed 
 D'Urbino, with some trivial inquiries as to 
 what had been passing in the Coliseum, to 
 create the unusual disturbance in the streets. 
 
 D'Urbino's angry remonstrances at being 
 thus hindered in his efforts to keep up with 
 the two cousins, were unnoticed, apparently, 
 by his questioner, and yet he felt convinced 
 that this man had some hidden motive in 
 addressing him. Francesca, too, began to 
 grow more alarmed ; and was so convinced 
 that they were being dogged, that in her 
 fright she broke through every law of
 
 ARRESTED. 145 
 
 Roman etiquette, and clung to D'Urbino's 
 arm for support. Annoyed as he was at the 
 girl's extreme fear, incomprehensible, as he 
 thought it, in a character of so much power 
 and self-control, he had not the heart to bid 
 her loosen her hold. 
 
 At the first cross street which thej 
 reached, he turned rapidly out of the main 
 thoroughfare, intending to strike across to 
 the gardens of the Quirinal, and so reach the 
 Via dellequattro fontane by comparatively 
 unfrequented streets. Margaret and Helen 
 were by this time so completely out of sight 
 that all attempt to overtake them was hope- 
 less, and he had only to consider how to 
 conduct Francesca unmolested to her father's 
 house, and then betake himself to his studio, 
 and learn what had been the fate of his 
 compromising papers. 
 
 Fast as they walked, however, others 
 walked faster still. Within a couple of 
 minutes they found themselves overtaken 
 by half-a-dozen men, wearing the govern- 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 ARRESTED. 
 
 meet uniform, wlio at once bade D'TJrbino 
 consider himself their prisoner. It was 
 bootless to think of flight, even if he could 
 have deserted Francesca at such a moment ; 
 and resistance would have been an act of 
 madness. He therefore turned to the terri- 
 fied Francesca, and uttering the ominous 
 word "arrested," inquired of the leader of 
 his captors where he was to be taken, and 
 what was the charo^e agfainst him. 
 
 "The Signore will be good enough to 
 attend us in peace," replied the oflScial, " and 
 he will soon obtain answers to both his 
 questions ; and in the meantime I would 
 advise both haste and silence." 
 
 After vainly urging Francesca to leave 
 him and hasten home with all speed, 
 D'Urbino obeyed the injunction, and was 
 conducted to what seemed a private house 
 in a quiet street near the Quirinal Palace. 
 There the party stopped, Francesca still 
 lingering in their rear. The door of the 
 house \va.s iustiintly opened, tlicir approach
 
 AKHESTED. 147 
 
 having evidently been watched for from 
 within, and again entreating Francesca to 
 seek her home without delay, D'Urbino was 
 desired to enter the house, his captors 
 following him, and the door was closed 
 behind them. 
 
 Without a word, he was led into a room 
 at the back of the building, its one window 
 opening upon a small court-yard, surrounded 
 with walls, so that even if he could have 
 forced his way through the iron bars which 
 forbade all egress through the window itself, 
 escape would still have been impossible. 
 The room was plainly meant for business, 
 and not for enjoyment, a table and a few 
 chairs constituting its whole furniture. Here 
 D'Urbino was left alone, his conductors re- 
 fusing to reply to his questions, even with a 
 single word, and locking the room door be- 
 hind them as they left him to his very un- 
 pleasant meditations. 
 
 He was still racking his brain to find some 
 explanaHon of this sudden F:eizure, and 
 
 10 -:2
 
 148 ARKESTED. 
 
 wondering who could have been playing the 
 traitor against him, when he heard the key 
 of the door quietly and slowly turned in the 
 lock, as if the person turning it wished to 
 enter without noise. Wondering what could 
 be the object of the attempted silence, D'Ur- 
 bino held his breath, and, though unarmed, 
 stood upon his guard against the suspected 
 violence. The door quietly opened, and a 
 tall and well-dressed personage entered so 
 rapidly that D'Urbino could not catch his 
 features as he turned to close the door as 
 noiselessly as possible. Then the new comer 
 moved hastily towards D'Urbino, who at 
 once recognised the well known and dreaded 
 Cameriere di Spada^ Giovanni Kinaldo him- 
 self. 
 
 " Did you receive a note this morning ?" 
 asked Einaldo, speaking in English. 
 
 The amazement with which D'Urbino 
 received the question did not prevent him 
 from immediately replying, also in English : 
 
 " I did receive it."
 
 ARRESTED. 149 
 
 "Have you acted on it?" continued 
 Rinaldo. 
 
 " I have," he replied. 
 
 " Both as to your person and your rooms?" 
 asked Einaldo. 
 
 " As to both of them," answered D'Urbino. 
 
 " Then fear nothing, and answer nothing." 
 
 And so saying, he opened the door as 
 quietly as before, went out, and cautiously 
 locked it. Almost instantly afterwards, 
 D'Urbino heard the door of the house 
 opened, apparently with ostentatious noise, 
 and then shut with an equal absence of all 
 attempt at concealment. More bewildered 
 than ever, D'Urbino continued pacing up 
 and down the room, and wondering how 
 long he was to be kept in his intolerable 
 state of suspense. He thought over the 
 whole history of his connexion with the 
 liberal and revolutionary party in Rome, 
 and tried to recollect any overt act into 
 which he might have been betrayed, and 
 any indiscreet words that he might have 
 uttered, which would have furnished some
 
 150 AKRESTED. 
 
 decent pretext for his arrest and future 
 punishment ; but he could recall nothing of 
 the kind. 
 
 His intimacy with the men who controlled 
 the action of the anti-clerical party was of 
 recent date, and he had never been admitted 
 into their innermost secrets. He was ac- 
 quainted personally with but few of their 
 number, his communications with them being 
 for the most part carried on through the 
 mosaic- worker, Giorgione ; and tliough he 
 knew it not, it was partly through the in- 
 sight into his character which Giorgione 
 thus obtained, that the latter had been in- 
 duced to permit Francesca's frequent visits 
 to the young sculptor's studio for professional 
 purposes. 
 
 D'Urbino's revolutionary views were, more- 
 over, very far removed from those of the 
 more violent of the party, with whom he 
 nevertheless felt it his duty to act, and 
 whom he was prepared to obey. Of this 
 difference between himself and the secret
 
 ARRESTED. 151 
 
 committees, or clubs, wliich controlled the 
 situation, he was, indeed, painfully aware ; 
 and as he strode up and down the dismal 
 room, in which he was now confined, he 
 could not resist a suspicion that possibly his 
 arrest was due to some treachery on their 
 part, and that he was being offered up as a 
 victim, in order to draw the attention of the 
 Government from others far more dangerous 
 than himself, and restrained by none of his 
 scruples or his fastidious sense of honour. 
 
 But what was the possible explanation of 
 the proceedings of the Cameriere Einaldo ? 
 Was he the basest of all the base tools of a 
 tyrannical and unscrupulous government ? 
 or was he honestly anxious to save D'Urbino 
 from the consequences of his own heedless- 
 ness ? And on the last supposition, what 
 could be the motive of his interference? 
 Who was this Einaldo, to whom so much 
 evil was imputed, and of whom so little was 
 known ? What was his personal history, 
 before he originally appeared in Kome, in
 
 152 ARRESTED. 
 
 the character of a reformer and an ti- clerical 
 partisan ? D'Urbino himself was of a 
 younger generation, and could not recollect 
 the days when Einaldo first joined the 
 revolutionary movement. It was all a mys- 
 tery ; and having absolutely no materials 
 from which to construct a consistent hypo- 
 thesis as to the motives which guided Ei- 
 naldo's incomprehensible proceedings, D'Ur- 
 bino finally decided that he would take his 
 sincerity for granted, and act upon his 
 advice, inexplicable as his proceedings were 
 in themselves. 
 
 D'Urbino had only just made up his mind 
 as to the course he would pursue, when the 
 door again opened, and a gentlemanly look- 
 ing person entered, followed by two men, evi- 
 dently of the ordinary level of inferior police 
 officials. His manner towards D'Urbino 
 took the young sculptor by surprise. With 
 a polite bow he begged D'Urbino to be 
 seated, while he himself sat down at the 
 table. D'Urbino, who was prepared for a
 
 ARRESTED. 153 
 
 display of the traditional violence and in- 
 sults which the minions of blood-thirsty- 
 tyrants are in the habit of offering to the 
 victims of their oppression, hardly knew 
 how to conduct himself. Instead of de- 
 livering himself of the indignant invectives 
 which he had been contemplating, he took 
 a seat, as requested, feeling something like 
 a foolish school boy in the presence of his 
 master. 
 
 " I have the pleasure of speaking to the 
 Cavaliere D'Urbino," said the questioner, in 
 a tone of enquiry, 
 
 D'Urbino signified his assent. 
 
 " Living, and working as a sculptor, in 
 the Via Felice ?" continued the other. 
 
 " The same," responded D'Urbino. 
 
 " Unmarried ?" asked the official. 
 
 " Yes," replied D'Urbino. 
 
 " Until lately, the Cavaliere's sister, the 
 Signora Bianca, has lived with him," con- 
 tinued the other. 
 
 " Until lately/' replied D'Urbino.
 
 154 ARKESTED. 
 
 *' At present the Signora does not live 
 with yuu ?" 
 
 "At present she does not live with me," 
 he replied. 
 
 " I have an unpleasant daty to perform," 
 continued the very polite personage, whose 
 inclination of the head, as D'Urbino re- 
 plied to his queries, was a perfect model of 
 courtesy. " I must request Signor D'Urbino 
 to permit himself to be searched. He must 
 be aware that this personal searching is a 
 necessity in all political investigations.'' 
 
 *'I submit, of course^ — resistance would 
 be useless," rejoined D'Urbino, and the two 
 attendants proceeded at once to rifle every 
 pocket in his garments. The proceeding 
 was unpleasant enough, though carried out 
 without rudeness, and it was only the secret 
 sense of triumph with which D'Urbino 
 watched the disappointed faces of the 
 searchers, that prevented his writhing un- 
 der what he felt to be a gross personal 
 indignity.
 
 ARRESTtD. 155 
 
 " Signor D'Urbino is a man of honour," 
 said the person in authority, when nothing 
 was produced of a suspicious nature ; " will 
 he pledge me his word that he has no 
 papers secreted about him which have es- 
 caped the examination to which he has 
 been submitted ? We have known cases in 
 which nothing less than the cutting open 
 of a gentleman's dress has revealed the 
 papers for which search has been made." 
 
 " On my honour I have nothing of the 
 kind," rejoined D'Urbino, without a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, and with a look of being 
 secretly amused at the fruitless nature of 
 the investigation. 
 
 " What, then, is the cause of your amuse- 
 ment, Cavaliere?" asked the other, a little 
 puzzled what to do. 
 
 '' Simply because I never carry about 
 with me any compromising papers," replied 
 D'Urbino. 
 
 " Not even — " began his questioner, and 
 then suddenly paused. Then after a little
 
 156 ARRESTED. 
 
 thouglit, he directed the searchers to leave 
 the room and wait outside till they were 
 summoned. Then, in a lower tone, he took 
 up his broken sentence. " Not even when 
 expecting to meet your friends, Cavaliere, at 
 a foreign ambassador's ball ?" he said, with 
 a significant smile. 
 
 The recollection of the little volume of 
 English verses, with its pencilled list of 
 initials, and of the conversation with Ri- 
 naldo, with its sudden and only partially 
 accounted for close, flashed across D'Urbino's 
 thoughts, and for the first time in the in- 
 terview his heart beat fast and painfully. 
 Looking steadily into the face of his ques- 
 tioner, his eyelids almost drooped before the 
 penetrating gaze which was fastened upon 
 him. But the heart-beating and the feeling 
 of shrinking rapidly gave way before his 
 resolute will, as he replied — 
 
 " I have to correct my statement in re- 
 gard to one occasion. It is useless, I sup- 
 pose," he continued, ** to ask who and what
 
 ARRESTED. 157 
 
 you are, or how you come to be acquainted 
 with my private life ; or I could ask whe- 
 ther you were yourself at the ball you speak 
 of" 
 
 " In one sense I was there ; in another I 
 was not there," he answered. 
 
 " You imply that you have acquired 
 some information as to my conduct on that 
 occasion." 
 
 " I do," said his questioner. 
 
 *' Was the information communicated to 
 you by some person present there ?" 
 
 " It was communicated to me by two 
 persons present there. More than this I 
 am unable to inform you." 
 
 " Men, or women ?" D'Urbino asked. 
 
 *' So far I do not mind answering you," 
 said the other. " They were women." 
 
 He then called to the attendants outside 
 to come in. 
 
 " Are they yet returned ?" he asked. 
 
 " Not yet, Signore," replied one of the 
 men.
 
 158 ARRESTED. 
 
 ** Let me know the moment they appear." 
 Again alone with D'Urbino, he continued 
 the conversation in the same quiet manner 
 as before, but it struck P'Urbino that his 
 examination was really ended, and that his 
 companion was talking against time, and 
 that he himself was in some way connected 
 with the return of the expected party. At 
 length he ventured on a direct question. 
 
 " May I ask," he said, " if I am to be 
 released on the return of the persons you 
 were just now speaking of?" 
 
 " I fear I can make no promise, but it is 
 just possible." 
 
 " I think I am aware of the business on 
 which they are being employed," suggested 
 D'Urbino. 
 
 "Indeed?" said his companion. "May 
 I ask what is your guess ?" 
 
 " They are gone to my house to make 
 the same search among my possessions 
 which you have just completed about my 
 person."
 
 ABRESTED. 159 
 
 " You think so?'* asked the other. ^' What 
 are your reasons for the supposition ?'* 
 
 " I was aware that it was highly probable 
 that such a search would be made." 
 
 A slight shade of surprise crossed the 
 face of his questioner, who at once added — 
 
 " Possibly you were warned beforehand." 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 " May I ask if you are perfectly easy as 
 to the discoveries that would be made on 
 the hypothesis that your surmise is cor- 
 rect?" 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 " When was the warning given to you ?" 
 asked the other, hoping to take D'Urbino 
 by surprise by the sudden question. 
 
 '' What warning ?" asked D'Urbino, with 
 a complete affectation of astonishment. " I 
 never told you that I received any warning. 
 I merely admitted the possibility of such a 
 thing." 
 
 " You are a clever fellow, Cavaliere,'* re- 
 plied his comp-.inioD, " iind would do honour
 
 160 ARRESTED. 
 
 to our profession. And you know that our 
 numbers are not over-stocked at present. I 
 presume that the calling of a sculptor is not 
 extraordinarily profitable." 
 
 *' Nevertheless it is an honourable call- 
 ing," rejoined D'Urbino, with a marked 
 emphasis on the word honourable. 
 
 *' Is it a dishonourable thing to aet in 
 the service of the law, order, and religion ?" 
 continued the other. And so saying, he 
 rose and left the room, turning the key as he 
 shut the door behind him. Whether it was 
 half an hour or an hour, or even more, 
 before he returned, D'Urbino could not tell. 
 It was so unwonted a sensation to be shut 
 up in a dimly-lighted cell-like room, with 
 the conviction that his home was being 
 searched for evidence of his complicity in 
 what might be counted a treasonable con- 
 spiracy, that it was not easy to calculate the 
 lapse of time with any trustworthy accu- 
 racy. At last, however, his suspense came 
 to an end. His late inquisitor returned
 
 ARRESTED. 161 
 
 and informed him politely that no disco- 
 veries had been made ; adding, at the same 
 time, that an English gentleman was anxi- 
 ous to see him on important business. 
 
 " But surely," cried D'Urbino with uncon- 
 cealed irritation, " I am now to be set free." 
 
 " It is impossible, Cavaliere," said the 
 other ; "I have my report to draw up, and 
 without further instructions I must detain 
 you here." 
 
 " In this miserable cell, do you mean ?" 
 exclaimed D'Urbino. "Can you wonder 
 that the government you serve is abhorred 
 by every Eoman who has a spark of man- 
 hood in him ?" 
 
 " There are two opinions on the subject," 
 replied the other, unmoved. " But Cava- 
 liere D'Urbino need be under no apprehen- 
 sions of ungentlemanly usage. He will find 
 tolerably pleasant accommodation upstairs, 
 in which more than one prince has slept 
 under similar circumstances. The Cava- 
 liere will be informed when his supper is 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 ARRESTED. 
 
 served. I have the honour to wish you 
 good night." 
 
 And with a polite obeisance he left the 
 room. 
 
 D'Urbino's visitor was immediately intro- 
 duced. The two men at once saw that they 
 were strangers to each other. After a some- 
 what stiff mutual salutation, the visitor 
 began : — 
 
 " My name is Evelyn. I am speaking, I 
 believe, to Cavaliere D'Urbino." 
 
 "Such is my name," replied D'Urbino, 
 by no means conciliated by the undisguised 
 hauteur with which he was addressed. "What 
 is your business with me ?" 
 
 " To inquire after a young woman, of the 
 name of Francesca Giorgione." 
 
 " May I ask by whose desire you have 
 undertaken the inquiry ?" said D'Urbino. 
 " You are personally unknown to me, Mr. 
 Evelyn." 
 
 " But I am not personally unknown to a 
 family with whom you have some slight
 
 ARRESTED. 163 
 
 acquaintance — Mrs. Sandford, her daughter, 
 and her niece." 
 
 " Your information does not assist me to 
 a conclusion. I have no means of testing 
 the truth of your statement." 
 
 " Then you decline to give me any intel- 
 ligence of the young woman in question," 
 said Evelyn, with rising irritation at thus 
 unexpectedly finding his word doubted. 
 
 " I refuse nothing at all, Mr. Evelyn," 
 rejoined D'Urbino, as haughtily as the 
 other. " If you are really a friend of Mrs. 
 and Miss Sandford and Miss Osborne, you 
 must be aware that certain credentials are 
 necessary in making such a demand upon 
 one who never saw you in his life before." 
 
 Taken completely aback by so unlooked- 
 for a reception, Evelyn stared for a few mo- 
 ments at D'Urbino, and then seating himself 
 on a chair, replied, "You are right, Signore; 
 the fault is my own. What can I do or say 
 to convince you that I am not, — well, how 
 shall I put it ? — an impostor ?" 
 
 11—2
 
 164 ARRESTED. ' 
 
 " That rests with yourself," replied D*TJr- 
 bino, with forbidding coldness. 
 
 " Shall I tell you why I came here, and 
 how I learnt where you were to be found ?" 
 
 " As you may think best yourself," said 
 D'Urbino, indifferently. 
 
 Utterly provoked, Evelyn again gave way 
 to his anger, and went on committing blun- 
 der after blunder. 
 
 " Do you know what you are charged 
 with, Signor D'Urbino ?" he cried fiercely. 
 
 " I believe I am here on a charge of dis- 
 loyalty to the present Eoman government," 
 replied D'Urbino. 
 
 " Is that all you believe ?" asked Evelyn, 
 with an eloquent sneer. 
 
 " I can suspect no other accusation," re- 
 joined D'Urbino, still so calm, that Evelyn 
 was already hating him as the very incar- 
 nation of hypocrisy. 
 
 " Do you not know that you are suspected 
 of having carried off this deluded girl from 
 the custody of her miserable father ?"
 
 AERESTED. 165 
 
 " Who is it that suspects me ?'"' asked 
 D'Urbino, with a cynical smile. 
 
 " I do," rejoined Evelyn, a little discon- 
 certed at the question. 
 
 "Indeed!" replied D'Urbino. "Who 
 else suspects me ?" he continued. " Does 
 the girl's father suspect me ?" 
 
 Evelyn recalled Giorgione's words, and 
 replied — 
 
 " No, he does not." 
 
 "Does Mrs. Sandford?" 
 
 " No, I believe not." 
 
 '* Does Miss Sandford ?" 
 
 " No, not that I know of." 
 
 " Does Miss Osborne r" 
 
 " I have not heard that she does." 
 
 " This, then, is the exact state of the case, 
 as it really stands," rejoined D'Urbino ; " an 
 English stranger, whose name I never heard 
 before, visits me in a police cell, and tells 
 me to my face that he thinks me guilty of 
 an atrocious crime, of which the father and 
 the English friends of the girl in question
 
 166 ARUESTED. 
 
 do not for a moment suspect me. Suppose, 
 Mr. Evelyn, that the tables are turned, and 
 that I ask you what is your motive in com- 
 ing to me with this monstrous and grossly 
 insolent accusation/* 
 
 What with the force of this reply, and 
 the quiet energy with which D'Urbino spoke, 
 all the while fixing his eyes with unswerving 
 gaze upon Evelyn's countenance, Evelyn was 
 abashed and confounded. He said nothing, 
 and looked so utterly discomfited, that 
 D'Urbino, feeling and enjoying his triumph, 
 went on in another strain. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Evelyn," he said, almost 
 smiling, " you have made a mistake. I see 
 you are an honest man, I will tell you all I 
 know of poor Francesca. She is a noble- 
 hearted girl, and I most sincerely hope that 
 no harm has happened to her." 
 
 " The Signore's supper is served," said a 
 servant, entering unceremoniously, but with- 
 out any rudeness of manner. " If the Sig- 
 nore will be good enough to proceed at once
 
 ARRESTED. 167 
 
 to the rooms he is to occupy for the night, 
 he will find everything ready.'*' 
 
 " Does this mean that I am to go about 
 my business ?" asked Evelyn, abruptly. 
 
 " I am desired to inform Signor Evelyn 
 that if he has not finished his conversation, 
 he may remain with Cavaliere D'Urbino until 
 his supper is ended," replied the man. 
 
 " Shall I be intruding ?" asked Evelyn of 
 D'Urbino, every trace of his hauteur having 
 vanished. 
 
 D'Urbino at once acceded, and they 
 mounted to the rooms that were to be his 
 prison foi the night.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 " And this is the fare provided by a paternal 
 despotism, for its subjects clapped in prison 
 merely on suspicion," exclaimed D'Urbino, 
 as he sat down to the meal provided for 
 him. "It might be worse apparently. Let 
 us drink to our better acquaintance, Mr. 
 Evelyn," he added, pouring out a glass of 
 wine and offering it to his visitor. " The 
 wine is no doubt poor enough, but it will 
 serve as a pledge in the absence of anything 
 better." 
 
 Evelyn took the glass, and the two men 
 exchanged expressions of good will.
 
 THE POLICE COTJRT. 169 
 
 " Will you help me to test the qualities 
 of Eoman prison cookery ?" continued D'Ur- 
 bino ; " or, will you sit and ask me any ques- 
 tions you wish to have answered ?" 
 
 Evelyn declined the oflfer, still almost sus- 
 pecting that D'Urbino was attempting to put 
 him off with vague talk, in order to conceal 
 his knowledge of Francesca's fate. How- 
 ever, D'Urbino's candid manner soon dis- 
 abused him, and he listened with mingled 
 pain and pleasure to D'Urbino's account of 
 his arrest and of his parting with Francesca 
 at the door of the house, in which he was a 
 prisoner. 
 
 " I assure you," D'Urbino continued, 
 " that I was utterly amazed when I heard 
 from you that she had not long ago arrived 
 at her father's house. She insisted, against 
 my remonstrances, on following us here, and 
 then again I urged her instant return home. 
 I cannot imagine any reason whatever for 
 her delay." 
 
 " Is she in the habit of going about
 
 170 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 Eome very much by herself ?" asked Eve- 
 lyn. 
 
 " I should suppose so," replied D'TJrbino. 
 " It is the way with other young women of 
 her class in life." 
 
 "Have you any clue as to her special 
 reasons for following you as far as this ?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I never thought 
 much about it at all. Now you ask me, I 
 suppose it must have been in the expectation 
 that I should come out again immediately ; 
 or if I was detained, with a good-natured 
 intention of telling my friends how I had 
 been disposed of. She is a singularly warm- 
 hearted girl, and with] far more forethought 
 than Roman women in general." 
 
 Notwithstanding the perfect frankness 
 with which D'TJrbino spoke, Evelyn still 
 harboured his suspicion that some tie existed 
 between the young sculptor and his capti- 
 vating model, which was unknown to any 
 but themselves. As the conversation did 
 not proceed without sundry breaks, owing
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 171 
 
 to D'Urbino's devotion to his supper, Eve- 
 lyn resolved to venture upon a little cautious 
 examination, framing his questions with the 
 deliberation which the process of D'Urbino's 
 eating and drinking allowed. 
 
 " The girl is certainly singularly hand- 
 some," he observed. 
 
 D'Urbino looked up at him with a look of 
 surprise, that convinced Evelyn that some 
 sort of secret was in existence. 
 
 " How on earth do you know that ?" 
 asked D'Urbino. " Have you ever seen 
 her? I thought you implied just now that 
 you had not been in Eome for some years, 
 and only returned this afternoon." 
 
 " If I say that I was in your studio this 
 evening, you can understand that I am not 
 ignorant of Francesca's beauty." 
 
 " Mr. Evelyn," rejoined D'Urbino, not a 
 little nettled, " may I ask by what right you 
 intruded into my house in my absence ? 
 Surely you must be aware that it was a 
 most unwarrantable proceeding."
 
 172 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 " I was directed there by the girl's father, 
 who authorised me to call and inquire if you 
 had yet returned," said Evelyn. 
 
 " I do not see how that accounts for your 
 intrusion into my private rooms," rejoined 
 D'Urbino, as angry as ever. 
 
 " Tour housekeeper took me into your 
 studio," said Evelyn, "and pointed out to 
 me a nearly finished bust, with the informa- 
 tion that it was the girl whom I was in 
 quest of" 
 
 " I am willing to overlook a good deal 
 that is strange in your conduct, Mr. Eve- 
 lyn," rejoined D'Urbino, " but am I to un- 
 derstand that you questioned my servant 
 as to the movements of Francesca Gior- 
 gione ?" 
 
 " I confess that I did so," replied Evelyn, 
 feeling by no means particularly easy under 
 D'Urbino's angry eyes. 
 
 " As you had no scruple in discussing my 
 private affairs with a woman in my service," 
 said D'Urbino, "you can have no scruple in
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 173 
 
 informing me what were her replies to your 
 catechising." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Evelyn ; " her 
 one idea seemed to be that Francesca's visits 
 to your studio were more improper, and in 
 fact scandalous." 
 
 " I am aware that she thinks so," observed 
 D'Urbino, curtly. "Did she supply you 
 with any further information, or treat you 
 with the reserve due towards one who was 
 practically a spy upon my aflfairs ? I say 
 practically, Mr. Evelyn," he continued, 
 noticing the flush of anger with which 
 Evelyn heard the angry and insulting word. 
 
 "I understand you," rejoined Evelyn, 
 ** and accept the explanation. What more 
 she might have said, I cannot tell. I was 
 still examining the bust, and let me add, 
 with no small admiration, when a party of 
 the police appeared, on an errand which you 
 clearly had anticipated." 
 
 " And did you remain during the search 
 they instituted ?" asked D'Urbino, eagerly.
 
 174 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 " I did ; and when it was over, it was by 
 the judicious administration of an English 
 sovereign that I learnt your present con- 
 finement." 
 
 " I have been told already that nothing 
 was found to inculpate me in any way," 
 replied D'Urbino ; " but lying in this un- 
 happy city is so nearly universal, that the 
 report may be totally false, and meant to 
 throw me off my guard. But I am puzzled 
 to understand how you came to think that I 
 was expecting the search. How can 3^ou 
 assume that I had anything to hide ?" 
 
 " Your servant pointed out the cabinet 
 where she said you usually kept letters and 
 papers. She told the police that it was cer- 
 tainly locked in the morning, and when 
 they were preparing to force the lock, it 
 opened in their hands, and there was nothing 
 to be seen.'' 
 
 " Two more questions, and I will ask no 
 more," returned D'Urbino. "You speak 
 as if my servant was disposed to betray me
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 175 
 
 to the police agents : you will do me a ser- 
 vice if you will give me your impression 
 without reserve." 
 
 " My impression was that you should be 
 cautious in your dealings with that woman." 
 
 " If that woman is playing me false," 
 said D'Urbino, " she is an atrocious and un- 
 grateful hypocrite. But of that we need 
 say no more. You were present, I gather 
 from what you said, during the whole of the 
 examination of my rooms ?" 
 
 " Throughout the whole," said Eveljm. 
 
 "Was any injury done to my busts, or 
 casts, or to the model of Francesca?" 
 
 " None whatever," replied Evelyn. " Your 
 furniture was examined with the most ruth- 
 less curiosity, every closet was searched, and 
 the very floors were keenly looked at ; but 
 no mischief was done to the works you must 
 most value as an enthusiastic artist. And 
 now, Signor D'Urbino, you must allow me 
 to ask you in return one or two questions 
 of my own, which I had not the remotest
 
 176 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 idea of putting to you when I left my 
 friends the Sandfords, but which are forced 
 upon me by what you now have said. If 
 you think that I am taking an unwarranta- 
 ble liberty in asking these questions, you 
 have only to say so, and I am silent for the 
 future. But if you are the man of honour 
 and of good feeling which I take you to be, 
 you will at least forgive me for what I am 
 about to ask you." 
 
 " I will gladly answer anything that is 
 fitting that a stranger should ask me," 
 answered D'Urbino, with unpromising 
 coldness. 
 
 " Therein lies my difficulty," replied 
 Evelyn ; " you know nothing of me except 
 what I tell you myself." 
 
 D*Urbino bowed, but said nothing. 
 
 " I am an old friend of Mrs. Sandford 
 and of her daughter and her niece," con- 
 tinued Evelyn. 
 
 " So I understand from yourself," replied 
 D'Urbino, with unmistakeable meaning.
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 177 
 
 " Well ! at any rate, I can but repeat that 
 I take a deep interest in all that concerns 
 them ; and I should add that as they are 
 much interested in the girl Francesca — " 
 
 " Indeed ?" interrupted D'Urbino, " I was 
 not aware of the fact/' 
 
 Evelyn, again puzzled by D'Urbino's 
 changes of manner, looked at him with 
 renewed suspicion. 
 
 *' There is nothing to suspect, Mr. 
 Evelyn," said D'Urbino, returning the gaze. 
 " I merely expressed my surprise at the ex- 
 istence of feelings which I had never heard 
 mentioned." 
 
 " Are you then so much in the confidence 
 of Miss Osborne and her friends," asked 
 Evelyn, "that you should know their 
 thoughts about every chance Eoman acquaint- 
 ance of a rank in life unequal to their own?" 
 
 " I understand your sneer," rejoined 
 D'Urbino, " I have only a slight acquaint- 
 ance with the ladies, who, as you inform 
 me, are your intimate friends. Eut as the 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 THE POLICE COTJIIT. 
 
 girl Francesca has been sitting to me for an 
 ideal bust at intervals for some months, and 
 as she talks to me with perfect freedom 
 about all her friends and acquaintances, I 
 am surprised that I have seldom heard her 
 mention the names of the Sandfords or 
 of Miss Osborne, especially as she lives 
 close by, on the supposition that they take 
 so much interest in her welfare." 
 
 " There may have been a motive," sug- 
 gested Evelyn. 
 
 "I know of none whatever," said D'Urbino. 
 " You will oblige me by proceeding with 
 your questions." 
 
 " Briefly then," proceeded Evelyn, *' may 
 I assure my friends that you are not impli- 
 cated in any of the treasonable cod spiracles 
 against the existing government of Eome ; 
 and that Erancesca is not an instrument in 
 your hands for dangerous purposes ?" 
 
 " A truly modest request !" exclaimed 
 D'Urbino, "and from a gentleman, who, 
 though he speaks Italian remarkably well, is
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 179 
 
 evidently an Englishman, but has not even 
 produced a card to identify himself, so far 
 as such a ceremon}'- is of any value/' 
 
 " Then you decline to answer me," re- 
 joined Evelyn, in manifest irritation. 
 
 " Pardon me," returned D'Urbino, with 
 provoking composure. " You are as hasty as 
 if you were a hot-blooded Italian. I never 
 declined to answer you. I was about to say 
 that inimitably cool as are your queries, I 
 can answer them to your satisfaction. You 
 are at liberty to inform my acquaintances, 
 Mrs. and Miss Sandford and Miss Osborne, 
 who you say are also your intimate friends, 
 that I am not implicated in any treasonable 
 conspiracy whatever, though I would sup- 
 port any rational scheme for a radical 
 change of system. And as to employing 
 an admirable girl like Francesca Giorgione 
 as a tool for political ends, the charge is 
 one, which if ever you come to know me 
 better, you will be profoundly ashamed for 
 having insinuated. 
 
 12—2
 
 180 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 " And now, to show you I bear no ill-will 
 towards you on account of your offensive 
 questions, I will ask you to do me a kind- 
 ness. I expect to be a free man again 
 to-morrow morning, so far as it is possible to 
 be a free man, or even a man at all, in this 
 long-suffering city ; and in that case I shall 
 instantly satisfy myself about the safety 
 of France sea Griorgione. But if I am still 
 kept a prisoner, you will gratify me by 
 bringing me any information you can obtain. 
 In the meantime, there is my hand." 
 
 With mingled feelings of pleasure, annoy- 
 ance, and bewilderment, Evelyn shook the 
 hand that was offered, and straightway went 
 his way, with a disagreeable consciousness 
 that this young Roman sculptor had made 
 him feel ' smaller ' than he had ever felt in 
 his whole previous life, from his school-days 
 until now. 
 
 In the mean time a meeting had taken 
 place outside the secret police court in 
 which D'Urbino was detained, which was
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 181 
 
 destined to exercise an influence on his life, 
 far more lasting than any that could be the 
 direct result of his arrest and temporary 
 imprisonment. When the Cameriere left 
 him, and passed, as he had correctly sur- 
 mised, into the open air, noisily shutting 
 the house door behind him, few persons still 
 remained in the neighbouring streets. After 
 a brief glance around him, Rinaldo walked 
 away. His eye, however, was attracted by 
 the appearance of a young woman, who 
 met him within a few steps of the house he 
 had left. An expression of singular distress 
 and weariness could not blind him to the 
 fact that she was strikingly handsome, nor 
 did the listless languor of her movements 
 conceal the grace and natural elasticity of 
 her figure. 
 
 As she came near, she seemed half inclined 
 to pause and speak to him, but after an 
 almost momentary though intelligent look 
 into his face, she appeared to change her 
 mind, and they passed each other without
 
 182 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 further notice. He was absent from two to 
 three hours, and when he returned, the moon 
 was up, and flooding the churches, palaces 
 and fountains of the city with that soft ra- 
 diance which is unknown in northern lati- 
 tudes, and under which that wonderful union 
 of the past and the present, of the dead and 
 the living, which is the one great character- 
 istic of the Eternal city, presents itself in 
 all its most captivating beauty. Its efiect 
 upon Einaldo, at all times a man open to 
 such impressions, was profoundly sad. 
 Beauty, he knew only too well, at all times 
 saddened him ; and especially that beauty 
 which lingers about the relics of past ages, 
 and which at once is eloquent on the unity 
 of the thoughts and passions of the dead 
 and of the living, and on the utter vanity 
 of all merely temporary hopes and fears. 
 
 As he drew towards his destination, he 
 lingered for a few minutes near a small 
 fountain on which the moonbeams were 
 falling, and making its millions of drops
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 183 
 
 sparkle with a dazzling light. A few frag- 
 ments of antique sculpture, too much in- 
 jured to be worth a place in a gallery or a 
 museum, had been grouped around the bub- 
 bling water with some little artistic inge- 
 nuity ; and contrasting in their decay with 
 the active life of the sparkling stream and 
 the never dying light that shone upon 
 them, they formed a picture full of thought 
 and memories for every one who had within 
 him the gift of its interpretation. 
 
 Passing on at length with a look such as 
 his countenance never wore except in perfect 
 solitude, bespeaking fatigue, hesitation, and 
 something akin to despair, Einaldo's step 
 was arrested by the sight of the girl who 
 had attracted him a few hours ago. She 
 was sitting, or rather half lying on the 
 ground behind one of the broken statues 
 which surrounded the fountain, and thus 
 had been concealed from him until he moved 
 further on. Her head and shoulders lay 
 back upon the marble fragment, her hands
 
 184 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 hanging down in a posture that indicated 
 extreme exhaustion and helplessness. On 
 first observing her Einaldo imagined that 
 she had fainted, but a closer inspection 
 assured him that the ghastly paleness of 
 her features, as they lay there turned up- 
 wards to the sky, was rather the eJSect of 
 the moonlight than of insensibility. 
 
 Stooping down to ascertain her real con- 
 dition, he saw at once, from her manner of 
 breathing, that she had not fainted, but was 
 asleep. As he stood watching her, and 
 turning over in his mind whether he should 
 not wake her and see her to a place of safety, 
 an expression of pain distorted her features, 
 and she sighed heavily. Expecting her 
 then to wake of her own accord, he drew 
 himself up hastily and stepped aside, fearing 
 to frighten her if she awoke and saw him 
 bending over her. She was soon awake, 
 and with the bewildered look of a person 
 who has fallen asleep in a strange place, she 
 attempted to stand upright. Her strength
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 185 
 
 failed her, and she sat down, or rather fell 
 upon the ground once more. 
 
 Seeing her exhaustion, Einaldo at once 
 came forward, and asked her whether she 
 was not ill and wanted help. 
 
 " Not ill," she replied, her voice all the 
 while belying her ; " only tired, but I shall 
 be better in a moment." 
 
 And again she tried to stand and walk 
 away, but the effort was too great, and but 
 for Einaldo's help she would again have 
 fallen. He was at his wits' end, attention 
 to fainting women never having been among 
 the duties of his oflS.ce in the Vatican or 
 elsewhere. No passers-by were near, to 
 give him either advice or assistance. Then 
 a thought struck him. Helping her to seat 
 herself, and to rest against one of the hap- 
 pily placed marble fragments, he hastened 
 to the house where D'TJrbino was detained, 
 and astonished the woman, Griudetta by 
 name, who acted as housekeeper to its in- 
 mates, by calling for some wine. Being
 
 186 THE POLICE COXJET. 
 
 supplied with what he wanted, not without 
 some questionings as to the cause of the 
 demand, he returned to the exhausted girl, 
 and without more ado insisted upon her 
 drinking what he had brought. 
 
 "Is the house where you just went a 
 prison, Signore ?" asked the girl, some little 
 revived. 
 
 Much surprised, as the outer appearance 
 of the building bore no signs of its actual 
 nature, he asked what could possibly sug- 
 gest the notion to her fancy. 
 
 "I saw a gentleman taken there this 
 afternoon by the police, and he has not yet 
 come out again," she replied. 
 
 " How come you to know that he has not 
 long ago left the place altogether ?" asked 
 Einaldo, still more surprised. " Have you 
 been watching from that time till now ?'* 
 
 The bright moonlight revealed to him 
 the confusion with which this question was 
 received. After some hesitation, however, 
 she answered him, with an evident wish to 
 avoid the subject.
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 187 
 
 " I was very tired, and sat down here and 
 fell asleep," she said. 
 
 " But what makes you anxious to learn 
 what has become of the gentleman you 
 fancy to be lodged in the supposed prison ?" 
 Einaldo continued. 
 
 " He was taking me to my father's house," 
 said the girl. 
 
 " Your father's name is ?" he asked. 
 
 " Giorgione," she replied, " and I am his 
 daughter Francesca." 
 
 "Surely you are not the servant of the 
 gentleman you spoke of," he rejoined. 
 
 " I sit to him as a model sometimes ; that 
 is all," said Francesca, by no means liking 
 the tone in which she was being examined. 
 
 " And is it the habit of young ladies to 
 constitute themselves the guardians of the 
 artists to whom they sit ?" asked Einaldo. 
 She looked so miserable as he said this, that 
 he spared her further questioning. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, " I will ask you no 
 more ; and if you can walk as far as this
 
 188 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 terrible prison, you shall learn what has 
 become of your friend." 
 
 Afraid to say how thankful she felt, Fran- 
 cesca stood up and hastened to follow her 
 new acquaintance. A few steps convinced 
 her that her strength was gone, and it was 
 only through being half led and half sup- 
 ported by Einaldo, that she was able to 
 reach the house they sought. There arrived, 
 he consigned her to the care of Giudetta, 
 promising a speedy return. When he had 
 re-entered the room where he had left her, 
 he found her submitting to Giudetta's good- 
 natured commands, and recruiting her ex- 
 hausted strength with a hastily provided 
 meal. "When it was ended, at a look from 
 Einaldo, the housekeeper left them to them- 
 selves. Francesca dared not ask the ques- 
 tion that she was burning to utter, but the 
 eager pleadings of her looks told her story 
 to the keen and long practised eyes that 
 were fixed upon hers. It was not in Einal- 
 do's nature to inflict unnecessary pain, even
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 189 
 
 upon one who was unconsciously arousing 
 within him a combination of emotions in 
 which vexation and regret were the chief 
 elements. 
 
 " Cavaliere D'Urbino/* he said, " will in 
 all probability be released to-morrow morn- 
 mg. 
 
 "Then he is not found guilty of any- 
 thing ?" cried Francesca. 
 
 "Not that I am aware of," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Is he in this house at this moment ?" 
 asked Francesca. 
 
 "So I understand," rejoined Einaldo. 
 " But why is it that you are so anxious 
 about ail these matters ?" he continued, with 
 a suspicious gaze that set the poor girl's 
 heart throbbing as if it would burst. 
 
 " I think — I think," she answered, with 
 hesitation, " that my father would be glad 
 to hear about him." 
 
 " Is your father acquainted with him ?" 
 asked Einaldo.
 
 190 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 "Yes; and lie respects him and likes 
 him," said Francesca. 
 
 " And you," said he, with the instantane- 
 ous quickness of an English barrister, when 
 he strives to draw an admission from an un- 
 willing witness by the terrifying speed of 
 his questions ; " you yourself — what do 
 you think about this Cavaliere D'Urbino? 
 Do you, too, respect him, and also like 
 him ?" 
 
 The ironical tone in which he uttered the 
 word " like," convinced Francesca that her 
 questioner suspected the existence of some- 
 thing warmer than a mere liking, and a flood 
 of tears of shame and distress came to her 
 relief. Rinaldo sat by in silence while her 
 grief partially expended itself; and when 
 she had recovered her composure, sum- 
 moned Giudetta to his presence, and to 
 her charge committed the still trembling 
 girl. 
 
 " A small carriage will be here almost in- 
 stantly," he added, looking at his watch. " I
 
 THE POLICE COTJIIT. 191 
 
 ordered it to take me outside the walls 
 to-night, but I can wait while it carries you 
 to the house of the mosaic-worker Grior- 
 gione." 
 
 As he spoke, the sound of wheels an- 
 nounced the expected arrival, and Einaldo 
 himself conducted Giudetta and her charge 
 to the somewhat dilapidated conveyance. 
 As Giudetta was stepping in, following 
 Francesca, she lingered a moment to listen 
 to Einaldo's scarcely audible injunction, de- 
 siring her to ascertain all she could concern- 
 ing Francesca herself, and the terms on 
 which she stood towards the young sculp- 
 tor upstairs. 
 
 And thus it was, that when the mosaic- 
 worker was entering his home once more, 
 nearly maddened at the continued absence of 
 his daughter, he was comforted by the sight 
 of Francesca herself, worn and wretched- 
 looking, indeed, but in safety. Neverthe- 
 less, his sense of relief was by no means less 
 keen than his astonishment, when he re-
 
 192 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 cognised in the driver of the vehicle a 
 man whom he had long known to be in 
 the service of the secret police of the 
 city.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 
 
 It was close upon midniglit wlien Evelyn, 
 restored by his midniglit walk to his wonted 
 good nature, reappeared in Mrs. Sandford's 
 drawing-room. To the excited looks and 
 questions which greeted his entrance he re- 
 turned only a languid sigh, and threw him- 
 self upon the nearest sofa, apparently totally 
 exhausted. The cousins marvelled at his 
 coolness, while Mrs. Sandford, with maternal 
 care, asked him whether he was not unwell. 
 " My dear Mrs. Sandford," he replied, in 
 the tone of a grievously injured and innocent 
 person, " which do you think is most morti- 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 MB. EVELYN'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 
 
 fying to one's vanity ; to find one's principles 
 establislied at tlie expense of one's comfort, 
 or to have to give up one's principles with a 
 view of ensuring a comfortable existence ?" 
 
 Mrs. Sandford's only reply to this most 
 unexpected question was simply a stare, 
 betokening a suspicion that the speaker's 
 head was a trifle turned through fatigue and 
 annoyance; Margaret and Helen were equally 
 stricken silent with astonishment. 
 
 " What is your solution of the problem, 
 Miss Osborne?" continued the imperturb- 
 able Evelyn. " It is just now of peculiar 
 interest to myself." 
 
 Margaret said nothing, but almost made 
 up her mind that Evelyn's levity was at least 
 equal to his selfishness, while Helen's im- 
 patience could no longer be restrained. 
 
 " Mr. Evelyn !" she cried, " only one 
 word, if you please. Is Francesca safe ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Sandford," resumed 
 Evelyn ; " your question shall be answered 
 without more delay than is necessary. I
 
 MR. EVELYN'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 195 
 
 will explain myself as fast as possible. 
 Never was a man more cruelly made the 
 sport of a perverse destiny tlian I have been 
 this evening ; and my only consolation is, 
 that the great principle of my life has been 
 established to my renewed satisfaction, 
 though at the cost of most serious suflfering. 
 In other words, my heart has suffered, but 
 my head is victorious." 
 
 " Is Francesca safe or not, Mr. Evelyn ?" 
 struck in Helen, now really irritated. Evelyn 
 vouchsafed no reply, but continued : — 
 
 "You know my golden rules, never to 
 trouble oneself about anything whatsoever, 
 and to put off till to-morrow everything 
 which one is not forced to do to-day. With 
 unpardonable inconsistency I have violated 
 both of these maxims, and what is the re- 
 sult? If I had remained quiet in this 
 pleasant room, instead of playing the idiot 
 and walking for hours through these dismal 
 half-lighted Eoman streets, you would have 
 heard tidings of the excellent mosaic-worker's 
 
 13—2
 
 196 MR. Evelyn's account op himself. 
 
 daughter — by the way, Miss Osborne, she is 
 wonderfQlly handsome — " 
 
 " Then you have seen her," again inter- 
 rupted Helen. 
 
 " Miss Sandford, allow me to remind you 
 of the old Eoman proverb, chi va piano, va 
 sano ; which means, applied to the present 
 subject, that if you had not broken in upon 
 my story, you would have learnt by this 
 time that your protegee, Francesca, has been 
 safe at home for at least an hour." 
 
 " Thank Grod !" Margaret ejaculated, but 
 in the lowest of audible tones. 
 
 " If you had suspected all that I suspected, 
 Miss Osborne," continued Evelyn, with sud- 
 den seriousness, " your gratitude for her 
 return would be even more fervent than it 
 is. I heartily join in your thankfulness." 
 Then in his old half-cynical manner, he con- 
 tinued : — 
 
 "Here have I been rushing frantically, 
 as mad as Don Quixote himself, after a 
 silly girl, and when I return broken-hearted
 
 MR. EVELYN S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 197 
 
 and hungry, I find her quietly crying at her 
 father's side." 
 
 " But surely your labour was not thrown 
 away ?" asked Margaret, still a little 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Every bit of it, I assure you," he re- 
 plied ; " I have had no more to do with her 
 return than you have. Such are the lament- 
 able consequences of being faithless to one's 
 principles ; and this is not all. Socrates, as 
 you may have heard, had his good demon, 
 who considerately warned him of impending 
 evils ; but I am confident that I have a very 
 bad attendant demon, ' cacodaimon,' Miss 
 Sandford, though of course you don't under- 
 stand Greek. I know you understand Latin ; 
 but that a young lady should voluntarily 
 learn Grreek, passes my utmost conceptions 
 of female depravity." 
 
 "You said that you were hungry, Mr. 
 Evelyn/' interposed Mrs. Sandford, " there 
 is supper ready, only waiting for your re- 
 turn."
 
 198 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks for your conside- 
 rateness, my dear madam," he replied. " A 
 little supper will restore to me that most 
 enviable of gifts, a good opinion of myself. 
 Always cultivate such views," he continued, 
 offering his arm to his hostesSjVhose doubts 
 as to his sanity were by no means dissipated. 
 
 " But now as to my attendant demon, or 
 diavolOy or diavolino, or whatever he is, can 
 anything be more cruel to a man of my 
 principles than to be tempted to start upon 
 a wild goose chase after a girl I had never 
 seen, and then to find myself involved in the 
 confidences of a young fellow who may be 
 clever enough as a sculptor, but who is in- 
 sane enough to be a revolutionist. Honestly, 
 now. Miss Osborne, is not this a cruel 
 destiny ?" 
 
 " Cruel or not," said Margaret, laughing, 
 " it has clearly destroyed neither your appe- 
 tite nor your fluency." 
 
 " Then you don't agree as to the diavolo 
 or the diavolino ?" he asked. " You don't
 
 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 199 
 
 see in me the picture of a good man in ad- 
 versity, struggling with irresistible and in- 
 fernal agencies. Speaking of agencies, by 
 the way, that reminds me of a certain agency 
 that I have become acquainted with this 
 night, which has shown me more clearly than 
 ever the extraordinary mistake that people 
 make when they get up revolutions. What 
 do you think of my assisting at the execu- 
 tion of a search warrant, Mrs. Sandford?" 
 
 " A search warrant 1" cried the three 
 ladies, speaking as one voice ; while Evelyn, 
 having mischievously roused their curiosity 
 to the utmost, proceeded calmly to finish his 
 supper. 
 
 " Miss Sandford," he began, as soon as 
 he found himself sufficiently refreshed ; " you 
 were always an advocate for the acquisi- 
 tion of useful knowledge of all kinds, I 
 know." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Helen, " I have been 
 more generally accused of indifference to any 
 knowledge that is simply useful."
 
 200 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 
 
 "Ah !'* said Evelyn, " that depends upon 
 what you mean by * useful.' " 
 
 " Could you not relieve us by first of all 
 explaining what you meant by assisting at 
 the execution of a search warrant ?" inter- 
 posed Margaret. " We can then discuss the 
 subject of useful knowledge at our leisure." 
 
 '' That is precisely what I was coming to," 
 rejoined Evelyn. " I was on the point of 
 showing how easily useful knowledge can be 
 acquired without any of those fearful pro- 
 cesses to which we were subjected in our 
 school-days ; only it is necessary first of all 
 to settle what is really useful." 
 
 " I suppose tutors of boys and young men 
 are the best judges in the matter," said 
 Helen ; " is it not so ?" 
 
 " They certainly decide as if they were ;" 
 he replied. " I only wanted an admission 
 that an acquaintance with the wardrobe of 
 Eoman gentlemen is really valuable informa- 
 tion. Certainly I was compelled, when at 
 school, much against my will, to learn the
 
 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 201 
 
 names of the various garments which were 
 in use two thousand years ago in this city ; 
 and, saving your presence, Mrs. Sandford, it 
 used to strike me that the clothing of former 
 days was of a somewhat scanty description. 
 I am now in a position to express my con- 
 viction that in the matter of dress, civilisa- 
 tion has made considerable advances in the 
 Eternal City." 
 
 "You still speak in riddles," said Margaret. 
 
 " Then I will make myself clear without 
 further prologue," replied Evelyn. " I have 
 this day witnessed the turning out of the 
 wardrobe of the ingenious but grievously 
 dissatisfied personage, of whom 1 have 
 already spoken to you, and I am satisfied 
 that if the multiplicity and variety of his 
 drapery, to speak of our modern clothing by 
 a most unappropriate name, could have been 
 seen by a Scipio, or a Cato, or an Aurelius, 
 the result would have been the enactment 
 of sumptuary laws, more rigid than any that 
 the world has ever yet suffered under."
 
 202 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 
 
 " Pray go on, Mr. Evelyn," said Helen, 
 as he paused for a few moments. 
 
 " I was present, as I said," Evelyn then 
 continued, " at the searching of the rooms 
 of your acquaintance, D'Urbino, and I am 
 ready to affirm that, though nothing was 
 found to compromise his political character, 
 the catalogue of his clothes is such as would 
 satisfy the desires of the most anxious of 
 modern mothers." 
 
 "Was Signor D'Urbino himself present 
 during the pleasing operation ?" asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Far from it !" Evelyn continued, " he 
 was lodged in prison some time before the 
 search was made." 
 
 " In prison !" cried the three ladies with 
 one voice. 
 
 " In prison, I grieve to say," he replied, 
 ''where also I have had the pleasure of 
 spending a portion of the evening myself" 
 
 "The pleasure!" cried the three ladies, 
 again in chorus.
 
 MR. Evelyn's account oe himsele. 203 
 
 " Certainly," continued Evelyn, "if it is 
 a pleasure to drink some very middling wine 
 at the expense of the Government, and to 
 receive a somewhat sharp lecture from a 
 gentleman whom I had intended to lecture 
 soundly myself. Ah ! Miss Sandford," he 
 went on, " I see you are incredulous as to 
 the truth of my words. I really have been 
 lectured. Whether I deserved it I leave for 
 you to guess." 
 
 " Was it Signor D'Urbino who adminis- 
 tered the wholesome reproofs ?" asked Mar- 
 garet, with a laugh. 
 
 " It was that very indiscreet sculptor 
 himself," replied Evelyn. " Will you be- 
 lieve it, he pretended to treat me as an im- 
 postor, and to disbelieve my assertion that 
 you and your aunt are my friends ?" 
 
 " And pray on what terms did you after- 
 wards part ?" inquired Margaret. 
 
 " On excellent terms," he replied. " But 
 there was one thing that the Cavaliere said, 
 which a little puzzled me, but which I think
 
 204 MR. EVELYN'S ACCOUNT OP HIMSELF. 
 
 you oiigM to know. I observed, in the in- 
 nocence of my heart, that you were much 
 interested in the welfare of this unlucky 
 girl, Francesca, and that it was on that ac- 
 count that I was in search of her ; upon 
 which, with evident surprise, he assured me 
 that he had rarely heard the girl mention 
 your names, frequently as he sees her, and 
 freely as she talks to him about her ac- 
 quaintances. You may smile. Miss Osborne, 
 and think that I have found a mare's nest. 
 But I am confident there is something that 
 you have not got to the bottom of.'' 
 
 " I don't quite catch your meaning," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 ** I mean that there is some reason why 
 the girl never speaks about you to this pug- 
 nacious young sculptor. I suppose you have 
 seen the bust he is making of her ; or is it 
 a secret rigidly kept ?" 
 
 "Not the least in the world," replied 
 Margaret ; " he told me about it on the very 
 evening that I made his acquaintance, and
 
 MR. EVELYN*S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 205 
 
 we are to go in a party to see it, as soon as 
 it is finished. I really hope that he is not 
 seriously involved in any difficulty with the 
 Government." 
 
 " He says that he is not," replied Evelyn ; 
 " and he fully expects to be released to-mor- 
 
 if 
 
 row. 
 
 " You are aware that the bust is not to be 
 a simple portrait/' observed Helen. " It is 
 to be an ideal head of Italy, in her present 
 sufiering and sadness." 
 
 "Oh! that is it, is it?" asked Evelyn. 
 " Nevertheless, if I may judge by the look 
 of the living France sea, as I saw her just 
 now, in tears, it is an actual portrait, and 
 nothing else. By the bye. Miss Osborne, I 
 hope you don't give in to the absurd cant 
 about beauty in tears. For myself, I think 
 a woman never looks so ugly as when she is 
 crying." 
 
 Margaret laughed, and said she had never 
 formed an opinion about it. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you what is my theory as
 
 206 MR. EVELYN'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 
 
 to the origin of the ridiculous notion. A 
 woman who is, or who thinks herself, hand- 
 some, never looks in her glass when she is 
 in tears. When she contemplates the pleas- 
 ing image she is always in a happy mood." 
 
 "Gro on, I beg you," said Margaret. 
 " Your remarks are so instructive, that we 
 shall gladly hear more of them." 
 
 " Then you know," he resumed, " that as 
 a handsome woman alwa3"s thinks herself 
 the most handsome woman in the world, she 
 never regards the ugliness of the pretty 
 women whom she may see in tears, as con- 
 clusive on the question. You see the line 
 of reasoning ?" 
 
 " It will be clearer if you will favour us 
 with the rest of the process," said Margaret. 
 " So admirable a reasoner and so close an 
 observer should not be deprived of the plea- 
 sure of expounding his own views." 
 
 " Why surely it's plain enough," answered 
 Evelyn. "A handsome woman never sees 
 tears on that particular countenance which
 
 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 207 
 
 she herself considers the very type and per- 
 fection of feminine loveliness. So she as- 
 sumes that she herself would furnish an ex- 
 ception to the deleterious effect of weeping 
 upon women in general ; and she thus is led 
 on to accept the rubbish of small poets and 
 song- writers." 
 
 "How do you know what handsome 
 women think of themselves, Mr. Evelyn ?" 
 interposed Helen. 
 
 " Is it not an accepted fact ?'' rejoined 
 Evelyn, with an assumption of humility and 
 seriousness. 
 
 " Yes !" said Margaret, " like that other 
 accepted fact about the beautifying effect of 
 tears." 
 
 " A good hit, Miss Osborne," rejoined 
 Evelyn ; " a very good hit. I like to argue 
 with a woman who can give as well as take 
 in a fair fight. With that little dart of 
 yours lodged within me, I will now take 
 myself off." And with that he took his 
 leave.
 
 208 MR. Evelyn's account of himself. 
 
 " Whicli of us does he like best ?" asked 
 Helen, of her mother, as soon as Evelyn had 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 " I should say, that if he cares for either 
 of you, my dear," replied Mrs. Sandford, " it 
 must be for you. He seems very fond of 
 disputing, I think ; and certainly it was not 
 the way in which gentlemen paid their ad- 
 dresses to young ladies in my young days. 
 I don't think he has any intentions at all, 
 about either you or Margaret." 
 
 " We shall see," observed Helen ; while 
 Margaret said nothing. And they parted 
 for the night.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DONATO. 
 
 Left to Ms thouglits, in the solitude of his 
 prison chamber, it was long before D'Urbino 
 could close his eyes in sleep, or shake off the 
 painful reverie into which he fell. Wonder- 
 ing for a time what would be the effect of his 
 present misadventure upon his future caree;-, 
 his memory went back to the whole course 
 of his past history, and the sense of loneli- 
 ness, which was the result of the review, 
 was almost intolerable. 
 
 Deprived, while still a very young child, 
 first of one parent and then of the other, 
 unable to recall the recollection of any 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 DONATO. 
 
 guidance or tenderness, except sucli as was 
 lavished on him by a sister a few years older 
 than himself, he seemed to have drifted aim* 
 lessly into his present life, and still to be 
 without any fixed object for the devotion of 
 his energies. Companions had come and 
 gone, sometimes apparently on the verge of 
 growing into warm-hearted friends. His 
 hereditary income was small, but it had 
 been sufficient to procure him a very fair 
 education, and his habits never having be- 
 come luxurious, he was not absolutely de- 
 pendent upon his gains as a sculptor for his 
 daily bread. 
 
 Even his alliance with the liberal party 
 ip politics was rather the effect of an irre- 
 pressible desire for some lofty aim to which 
 he might devote himself, than a deliberate 
 adoption of liberalism as a philosophy or a 
 policy. Towards the dominant clericalism 
 he felt an intense aversion, but it was because 
 it cramped his energies, thwarted his indi- 
 viduality, and condemned him to an un-
 
 DONATO. 211 
 
 manly routine of pleasure and money- 
 making. Towards the superstitions of the 
 multitude he was simply indifferent. There 
 are abundant superstitions in matters of art, 
 he thought to himself, which he must tole- 
 rate in others, though for himself he must 
 reject them as traditions of the past, resting 
 on no basis of truth or fact. If Canova be- 
 lieved in allegorical statues and Eaffaelle 
 painted Jewish men and women in impos- 
 sible clothings, such as no human beings 
 ever wore, why should we be hard upon 
 people who believe in miraculous images, or 
 upon priests who imagine themselves the 
 channels of supernatural blessings ? We 
 are all of us fools, he would say ; and our 
 one great misfortune is that we are so 
 seldom in earnest, even in our folly. 
 
 Thus he lived a solitary life in the midst 
 of a throng. With the somewhat vagabond 
 ways of a considerable section of the Eoman 
 artist world, both native and foreign in birth, 
 he had not the faintest sympathy. When 
 
 14—2
 
 212 DONATO. 
 
 he found himself in the company of men of 
 this stamp, he quietly endured them as long 
 as it was necessary, and then went his way. 
 If nothing in the world satisfied the needs 
 of his heart and understanding, least of all 
 did those wild, eccentric, conceited, noisy, 
 smoking, and often dirty-looking men and 
 youths, whose one practical notion seemed 
 to be the adoption of the principle that the 
 way to understand and carry out the laws of 
 true art, is to adopt an utter unbelief and 
 licence in everything else. 
 
 His brother artists of his own standing, 
 as indeed it was but natural, for the most 
 part thought him proud, cold, reserved and 
 selfish, and too fine a gentleman for their 
 society. Some few liked him, but intimacy 
 with him seemed by no means an easy thing 
 to cultivate. To the few distinguished 
 painters and sculptors whose names the 
 visitor associates with living art at Eome, 
 he was but little known. They were old, 
 and he was young, and when once he was
 
 DONATO. 213 
 
 supposed to be a partisan of discontented 
 revolutionists, they were apt to be sby of 
 anything beyond the slightest personal ac- 
 quaintance. The notion that the interests 
 of ancient and modern art and learning 
 would be sacrificed by the triumph of libe- 
 ralism in politics is so steadily fostered by 
 the clerical party, and is so readily acqui- 
 esced in by the great majority of what are 
 called the patrons of art, that a prosperous 
 painter or sculptor may be pardoned, if he 
 closes his eves to the abuses around him, 
 and trusts that the deluge may not come till 
 his own days in Eome are ended. 
 
 And thus it was, that with all D'TJrbino's 
 sincere zeal to give to the ambitious work 
 on which he was now working the character 
 of a lofty ideal, it never rose beyond the 
 elevation of a simple portrait. Whether 
 any ideals whatsoever can in reality be more 
 noble things than true and simple portraits 
 of living men and women, is a question he 
 did not think of determining, even as a mere
 
 214 DONATO. 
 
 matter of criticism. As a matter of fact, 
 he grew more sensible with every fresh 
 touch that it was not a figure of long-suffer- 
 ing and lovely Italy that he was designing, 
 but a living Eoman woman, and that her 
 name was Francesca, and he was provoked 
 with himself more and more, as the convic- 
 tion of his failure forced itself upon him. 
 
 Nor did he in the least comprehend how 
 it was that his hand was at hopeless vari- 
 ance with his intention. He was too little 
 self-inspecting, with all his tendency to re- 
 verie and dreaming, to find out that the 
 failure of his aims was due to the simple 
 fact that his beloved Italy was an abstraction, 
 while the superb-looking Francesca was a 
 living woman. When he sought to express 
 the thoughts and emotions of an "Italy," 
 however deeply beloved, he could only draw 
 upon the resources of his own inner nature ; 
 when he modelled the features of Fran- 
 cesca, he had the very truth and life before 
 him. As he now sat in his solitude, all
 
 DONATO. 215 
 
 these recollections of the past floated before 
 him as a succession of visions, all grey and 
 sombre in their tones, and the night was far 
 advanced when he threw himself upon the 
 bed provided for him, and fell into a troubled 
 sleep. 
 
 In the meantime the carriage that had 
 conveyed Francesca to her father's house 
 returned, and after questioning Giudetta as 
 to the information which she had extracted 
 from the girl during the drive, Einaldo en- 
 tered it and directed the driver to hasten 
 with all speed to a certain inn some few 
 miles from Rome on the road to Velletri. 
 He was of course provided with the neces- 
 sary order for passing through the gates at 
 an hour unusual for travellers, and an hour's 
 journey brought him to the Albergo del 
 Sole, a lonely house, frequented only by the 
 poorer inhabitants of its neighbourhood, 
 but reputed to serve occasionally as a place 
 of rendezvous for the more advanced mem- 
 bers of the revolutionary party. The visit
 
 216 DONATO. 
 
 was evidently expected, as the landlord had 
 not retired for the night, late as was the 
 hour, judged by the way of Italian inn- 
 keepers. He received the salutations of 
 Einaldo with respect, and without any at- 
 tempt at conversation, led him immediately 
 upstairs, and throwing open the door of a 
 room at the end of a long passage, asked 
 him to wait for a few moments, when the 
 person whom he came to see would present 
 himself 
 
 The few moments proved to be many 
 minutes, and Einaldo was beginning to ex- 
 pect some sort of treachery, when a man 
 entered, whose features, manners, and dress 
 betrayed the character of one of those dis- 
 reputable hangers-on upon society who are 
 to be found in almost every country in the 
 world, and whose vocation is to prey upon 
 the hopes, the fears, and the necessities of 
 men more laborious or more sincere than 
 themselves. After a cold salutation, he sat 
 down opposite Einaldo, and asked him to
 
 DONATO. 217 
 
 what lie was to attribute tlie honour of the 
 visit. 
 
 " To more than one cause, Donato," re- 
 plied Einaldo. 
 
 " If it is the old story, Signor Cameriere," 
 rejoined the man, "you know my terms, 
 and I cannot alter them." 
 
 " But they are now so far heavier than 
 they were before, that it is impossible for 
 me to agree to them," said Einaldo. 
 
 " That is not my fault," replied Donato. 
 " You are as well aware as I am that now 
 that I am in danger of my life on this new 
 charge, I am forced to insist upon the con- 
 ditions I stated to you the last time we 
 met." 
 
 " That was three days before the day on 
 which you were to have been hanged," said 
 Einaldo. 
 
 " Your memory is correct," replied Do- 
 nato. " And to tell you the truth, it was 
 my firm belief that in that interview you 
 were trying to make everything secure for
 
 218 DONATO. 
 
 your own ends, supposing that I had really 
 been hanged. Nevertheless, I was confi- 
 dent that if I still kept my own counsel, 
 you would have contrived some means of 
 saving me, even if I had no other friends to 
 rely on but yourself." 
 
 " You know, of course, that I had no- 
 thing in the world to do with your escape," 
 rejoiDcd Einaldo. 
 
 " Of that I am perfectly well aware," 
 Donato replied ; " and I am also equally 
 well aware that you, or those who employ 
 you, would pay me well to tell you how it 
 was that I came to cheat the gallows when 
 you all thought my last hour was come." 
 
 *'Why, then, do you refuse the offer? 
 Do you know what I should be authorized 
 to promise you for the secret?" asked 
 Einaldo. 
 
 " Certainly not as much as the sum which 
 I expect you to produce in payment for 
 that little morsel of paper which you are 
 longing to possess. Besides, if I revealed
 
 DONATO. 219 
 
 the secret, where would be my hope of 
 escape if I ever again found myself in the 
 hands of your bloodthirsty priests and their 
 executioners ?'* 
 
 " Tell me this one thing at least," ex- 
 claimed Einaldo ; " is the secret known to 
 one man only, or to many ?" 
 
 " I shall tell you nothing/' returned Do- 
 nato. " Don't you know enough of the 
 ways of certain persons to be aware that if 
 I betrayed my friend, or friends, as it may 
 be, I should have a knife in my heart before 
 a week was over ? " 
 
 " But you might leave the country alto- 
 gether," suggested Einaldo. 
 
 " Yes, most crafty signore," rejoined the 
 other, " I might do so, and thus lose the 
 handsome payment which I am expecting 
 from the excellent Cameriere Einaldo." 
 
 " I have sworn to you," rejoined Einaldo, 
 with increasing anger and eagerness, " that 
 it is hopeless to expect so enormous a sum 
 from me. I am not a rich man, and have
 
 220 DONATO. 
 
 little but my official salary to live upon. 
 With my very utmost savings I could barely 
 bave saved enough to make you the yearly 
 payments which at one time you seemed 
 inclined to accept." 
 
 " I am a perfectly reasonable man," re- 
 turned Donato, with unmoved countenance. 
 " It is simply a matter of buying and selling 
 between us. Since I had the bad luck to 
 knock over that scoundrelly priest, and he 
 went off and died, you are aware that I 
 have no choice except concealment within 
 the Eoman territory or flight across the 
 frontier. As long as I remain hidden, you 
 still have me within reach when you are 
 prepared to agree to my terms. If I fly, all 
 your chances are gone for ever." 
 
 " Supposing I betrayed you, and you 
 were taken again," said Einaldo. 
 
 " In that case you would take me, but 
 you would not take the precious paper that 
 I have to sell you," returned Donato. 
 
 " Of course it is of no use to appeal to
 
 DONATO. 221 
 
 any conscience or generosity in you, wlien 
 you know my poverty," said Einaldo. 
 
 "Conscience! generosity!" echoed Donato, 
 mocking the very voice of Einaldo, " are you 
 turned fool, or preacher, or play-actor, that 
 you talk to me of such impostures ? I tell 
 you plainly, Signor Einaldo, that I believe 
 not one word of your stories about your 
 poverty. A man in your place and of your 
 experience in the ways of office knows of a 
 thousand ways of making money, besides 
 the wretched salaries paid by a beggarly 
 government. How many bribes have you 
 already taken, Signor Cameriere ?" 
 
 " Did you ever hear of my taking one 
 bribe ?" asked Einaldo, indignantly. 
 
 "Well! no! but what of that?" asked 
 Donato. " You would not be such an idiot 
 as to unfold your private sources of income 
 to a man like me." 
 
 " Have I the credit of being grasping or 
 covetous," retorted Einaldo. 
 
 " So far as I know, you have not," re-
 
 222 DONATO. 
 
 joined Donate. "You are held, to be one 
 of the best of a herd of thieves and tyrants. 
 And so it is that I half believe in the senti- 
 mental foolery that makes you so eager for 
 my precious paper." 
 
 "Every man for himself," returned Ei- 
 naldo. " You don't understand me or my 
 desires. And as to the life you yourself 
 love to lead, to me it would be wretchedness 
 and misery." 
 
 " Just so," said Donato, " every man for 
 himself, and according to his nature. I 
 am not a devilish villain, but I must live ; 
 and, like every sensible tradesman, I sell my 
 goods at the best price I can obtain. I 
 happen to have something that you wish to 
 buy, and I name my price. Where is the 
 hardship or the wickedness, I ask you?" 
 
 " It was devilish hatred and revenge that 
 first of all tempted you to what you have 
 done," cried Rinaldo ; " and you drive me 
 frantic when you talk about the past, as if 
 you were now no longer the villain that you 
 were in earlier days."
 
 DONATO. 223 
 
 "Calm yourself, Si^nore," retorted Donato, 
 with an insulting affectation of superiority. 
 "Bygones are bygones. When I first be- 
 came acquainted with your sister, I was an 
 honest man. When she rejected me with 
 scorn and insolence, she maddened me, and 
 I had my revenge. But I am an Italian 
 and not a Corsican ; and I think men who 
 nurse their passion when they have had 
 their revenge, are fools, and their own worst 
 enemies. I now entertain none but amiable 
 feelings towards you yourself." 
 
 " She never scorned or insulted a living 
 thing,'' rejoined Einaldo, with a violent 
 effort at controlling the fierce wrath that 
 boiled within him. 
 
 " It comes to the same thing," said 
 Donato ; " I thought she did, and I acted 
 accordingly. If the end has been that I 
 happen to be in the possession of a certain 
 something that is saleable, am I to throw 
 away my good luck, just because I happen 
 to have mistaken a lady's words and looks
 
 224 DONATO. 
 
 when I was a hot-blooded young man ? 
 You were not always the dignified and self- 
 possessed personage whose presence is so ap- 
 propriate in a crowd of fawning courtiers 
 and false-hearted priests." 
 
 " It is useless to talk any longer," replied 
 Binaldo, with a sigh of weariness. " How 
 long do you intend to remain here ?" 
 
 " That depends upon yourself," said Do- 
 nato. " The moment I receive what I ask 
 from you, I arrange to cross the frontier." 
 
 " But what security have you that your 
 hiding-place will be kept secret?" asked 
 Binaldo. 
 
 " You yourself are that security," said the 
 other ; "I trust to it without a doubt." 
 
 " Have you anything more to say ?" said 
 Einaldo. 
 
 " Nothing," said Donato. " You are 
 wasting your valuable skill, and robbing 
 your employers of the time that you are paid 
 to devote to their service. You had better 
 go back the way you came."
 
 DONATO. 225 
 
 " I will take your advice," replied Ei- 
 naldo, and with the look of hopelessness 
 which he had worn all through the conver- 
 sation, he left the room, summoned the 
 driver of his carriage, and returned to Kome. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Waking with the early dawn from his 
 troubled sleep, D'Urbino's first thought took 
 the form of a speculation as to the delay 
 that would occur in his release, which 
 quickly merged in a hope that his visitor of 
 the previous evening would not forget to 
 send him tidings of the missing Francesca. 
 He tried the handle of the door of the room, 
 but it was locked, and there was no avail- 
 able means of making himself heard in the 
 house. The window looked out upon a 
 courtyard, and was guarded by strong bars 
 of iron. Nothing but blank walls were
 
 FATHER AND DAUaHTER. 227 
 
 visible, and there was notliing for it but to 
 wait with such patience as he could com- 
 mand. 
 
 After an hour's waiting, during which the 
 sense of suspense became almost intolerable, 
 he heard the bolts outside the door with- 
 drawn, and the key of the lock sharply 
 turned. It was, however, only Giudetta 
 who entered, with a cup of coffee and a slice 
 of bread. These she laid upon a table, and 
 to his urgent enquiries as to his release, only 
 replied that she knew nothing at all on the 
 subject, and then left him to his solitude. 
 
 With all his annoyance and suspense, the 
 coffee and bread were not unwelcome, and 
 he had barely disj^osed of them, when one 
 of the men whom he had seen below, entered 
 with a letter in his hand, which he presented 
 to D'Urbino, saying, at the same time, that 
 his " Eccellenza " was free to depart. Tear- 
 ing open the letter, D'Urbino hastily glanced 
 at its contents. " Mr. Evelyn presents his 
 compliments to Cavaliere D'Urbino, and is 
 
 15-2
 
 228 PATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 happy to inform him that the daughter of 
 the mosaic- worker, Griorgione, arrived safely 
 at her father's house last night. Mr. Evelyn 
 trusts that Signor D'Urbino will give him 
 an opportunity to cultivate an acquaintance 
 somewhat inauspiciously begun. He be- 
 lieves that Mrs. Sandford is anxious to thank 
 Signor D'Urbino for his attentions to her 
 daughter and niece at the time of the dis- 
 turbance yesterday afternoon." 
 
 So ran the note. 
 
 " A weli-bred man enough, I dare say," 
 D'Urbino thought, as he put it into his 
 pocket, and followed the man downstairs. 
 He was not, however, at liberty to leave the 
 house at once, and his conductor showed 
 him into the room where he had been ex- 
 amined by the police agent, and then left 
 him. After a short interval, he was sur- 
 prised by the entrance of Einaldo. 
 
 " You are free," said the Cameriere, " and 
 I may add that the Government has reason 
 to be satisfied that you are not implicated
 
 FATHER AND DArGHTER. 229 
 
 in the recent outbreak." And with that he 
 conducted D'Urbino, still as much puzzled 
 as ever, into the open air, and left him. 
 
 Looking nervously to the right and left, 
 to ascertain whether any passers-by were 
 near enough to notice the fact that for some 
 reason or other he had been within the walls 
 of the prison, D'Urbino bent his steps to his 
 own house. No one seemed to be observing 
 him, and he was soon at home. His house- 
 keeper was at the door, apparently expecting 
 him, and she welcomed him with extravagant 
 expressions of her pleasure at his return, and 
 of her past fears for his safety. He made 
 her a rough reply, and hastened into his 
 studio. Having quickly convinced himself 
 that all was safe, he summoned the much 
 troubled Betta to his presence. 
 
 " I understand, Betta," he said, " that of 
 your own accord you pointed out to the 
 police agents, who came here yesterday, the 
 cabinet where I kept my letters and papers." 
 
 " Never, never, Eccellenza !" cried the
 
 230 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 astonished woman ; " they forced me to go 
 with them, while they ransacked the whole 
 place from one end to the other." 
 
 " Your falsehoods are useless," replied 
 D'Urbino ; " I only tell you this, in order 
 that you may know that my eyes are now 
 opened to your double dealings. Now leave 
 me !" he added, in a tone that assured the 
 discomfited Betta that he was in no mood to 
 be trifled with, and for the first time since 
 she had been in his service, she obeyed with- 
 out a word of reply. 
 
 His next anxiety was to learn what had 
 been the cause of Francesca's delay in pro- 
 ceeding to her home. He found her in con- 
 versation with her father, if that may be 
 called conversation in which the speaking is 
 almost all on one side. Evidently something 
 was wrong between them, and her response 
 to his salutations and his expressions of gra- 
 tification at seeing her safe and well, was at 
 once formal and passionate. 
 
 " Is it true, Cavaliere ?" asked Giorgione,
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 231 
 
 as soon as all salutations and inquiries were 
 over, " tliat you left my daughter yesterday 
 afternoon, before it was dark?" 
 
 The angry and suspicious manner in 
 which he put the question, confirmed 
 D'Urbino's belief that there was some- 
 thing unpleasant between the father and 
 daughter. 
 
 " As true as that she is now here," replied 
 D'Urbino. " And I have not the remotest 
 idea why she was not with you till a late 
 hour last night." 
 
 " You are a man of honour, Cavaliere," 
 rejoined the father, with painful gravity and 
 sadness, " and I believe you. But Francesca 
 will tell me nothing." 
 
 " How did you learn that I was not at 
 home till late last night ?" Francesca herself 
 struck in. 
 
 "I learnt it from a friend of Miss Os- 
 borne," he replied, looking up at her agitated 
 countenance with surprise. 
 
 " From a friend of Miss Osborne ?" echoed
 
 232 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Francesca, bitterly. " Have you seen Miss 
 Osborne to-day ?" she added, in a manner 
 that served only to perplex him more and 
 more. 
 
 " I am on my way to her and Mrs. Sand- 
 ford," repHed D'TJrbino ; " but I looked in 
 for a moment to see how you were after the 
 agitation of yesterday. The ladies will, 
 perhaps, be out, if I stay longer, but I should 
 be glad to arrange with you for the next 
 sitting, as soon as I have paid them my re- 
 spects. So, for the present, farewell." 
 
 And with that he hastened to present 
 himself to the Sandford party. He had 
 scarcely received Mrs. Sandford's thanks for 
 the services he had rendered to Helen and 
 Margaret, and was still protesting that they 
 were very slight after all, when Evelyn 
 entered, and straightway seizing D'Urbino*s 
 hand, exclaimed — 
 
 " Mrs. Sandford ! before a word is said, do 
 me the honour to introduce me formally to 
 a gentleman who is so insensible to my
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 233 
 
 merits as to have taken me for an impostor, 
 and is so eccentric as to unite a love for 
 revolutions with a passion for the noblest of 
 the arts." 
 
 Mrs. Sandford laughed, and the de- 
 sired introduction was immediately ef- 
 fected. 
 
 " And how is the beautiful Francesca this 
 morning, Cavaliere ?" Evelyn continued. "Of 
 course you have already inquired for her. So 
 splendid a countenance is not to be treated 
 lightly. Of course, by-the-bye, you had my 
 note,*' he added. 
 
 "With very many thanks for it," said 
 D'Urbino, prepared to enjoy the oddities of 
 his new acquaintance. 
 
 " What are you looking at so attentively, 
 Cavaliere?" rejoined Evelyn. "Are you 
 doubting whether I am the identical person 
 to whom you behaved so extremely abruptly 
 last night ? Oh ! Miss Osborne, you cannot 
 imagine what a disagreeable thing it is to 
 be made to think iU of oneself. However, I
 
 234 FATHER AND DATJGHTBR. 
 
 am thankful to say the unnatural state of 
 yesterday is over, and I am again in that 
 truly Christian frame of mind in which I 
 think well of everybody, but above all, of 
 myself." 
 
 " Is that your way of applying the maxim 
 that charity should begin at home ?" inter- 
 posed Margaret. 
 
 " A very happy idea, Miss Osborne," he 
 rejoined. " I thank you for it, and will 
 make use of it as my own on the first op- 
 portunity. But why do you continue the 
 examinations of my features, Signor D'Ur- 
 bino ?" he asked. 
 
 "You would make a very fair bust, I 
 think," replied D'Urbino, in a purely critical 
 and quiet tone. 
 
 " You think so ?" asked Evelyn, evidently 
 a little gratified. 
 
 " I do," replied D'Urbino. " What do 
 you think. Miss Osborne ?" he continued, 
 observing the attention with which Margaret 
 was listening. But Margaret only looked
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 235 
 
 disconcerted, and made an attempt to turn 
 the conversation.] 
 
 " But now as to sculpture in general, 
 Cavaliere," said Evelyn. " It must be a 
 frightfully fatiguing way of spending one's 
 days." 
 
 " One must do something, nevertheless, 
 for one's living," suggested D'Urbino. 
 
 " There's something in that, no doubt," 
 said Evelyn. " Nevertheless, to my mind, 
 the one grand proof of the barbarous notions 
 of the old Eomans was their passion for 
 statues. Conceive the horrible state of 
 society when, as somebody or other says, 
 there were as many marble statues in Rome 
 as there were inhabitants. No wonder it 
 all came to ruin. The empire must have 
 died of premature decay, the result of ex- 
 cessive bodily fatigue. What is your opinion 
 about it, Mrs. Sandford ?" he continued, 
 turning to her with the utmost gravity, as 
 if her reply would be conclusive on the 
 matter.
 
 236 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I don't know/' replied that lady, from 
 sheer inability to comprehend the jesting 
 love of paradox and nonsense in which Eve- 
 lyn delighted. 
 
 And thus they chatted on, half in earnest 
 and half in banter, till it suddenly occurred 
 to D'Urbino that he was prolonging his 
 visit to an unpardonable degree, and he 
 started up, with many apologies, to take his 
 leave. An alteration was then agreed upon 
 in the day on which they were all to visit 
 his studio, and he hastened away, fearing 
 that he might find Francesca no longer 
 within doors. 
 
 Far less pleasant had been the renewed 
 conversation between the mosaic worker 
 and his daughter. 
 
 " I cannot conceive, Francesca, what mo- 
 tive you can have for your secrecy," said 
 the distressed Giorgione, as soon as D'Urbino 
 had ended his flying visit. " And why were 
 you so agitated when the Cavaliere came 
 in ? My dearest child," he continued,
 
 PATflER AND DAUGHTER. 237 
 
 taking her hand tenderly, " if there is no- 
 thing wrong, why will you refuse to tell 
 me how you spent the time since you left 
 D'Urbino ? And if there is really anything 
 wrong, surely your father is the person in 
 whom you should trust in your trouble?" 
 
 His tender look and tones served only to 
 draw forth a fresh flood of tears, while she 
 returned the pressure of his hand. 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! I cannot !" she 
 cried at last, throwing her arms round 
 his neck, and hiding her face upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Utterly bewildered, he could only repeat 
 the same things over and over again. 
 
 " Consider how strange it all looks, Fran- 
 cesca," he said. " You can give no account 
 of yourself or your proceedings for six or 
 seven hours, and at last you are brought 
 home under the care of an agent of the 
 secret police. What can it possibly mean ? 
 You admit that you were not ignorant that 
 D'Urbino was in prison the whole time, and
 
 238 FATHEU AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 that you had reason to believe that he 
 would be released in the morning. How in 
 the world did you learn all this ?" 
 
 " There is nothing wrong," she could only 
 murmur in reply. 
 
 " Is there anything you are ashamed to 
 tell me ?" asked her father. 
 
 " There is nothing wrong," she repeated, 
 a little more positively. 
 
 *' Are you, then, ashamed of something 
 that happened to you, or that you have 
 done?" 
 
 Again she buried her face upon his 
 shoulder, and clung to him with a passion- 
 ate embrace, but she said nothing. Then 
 gently disengaging himself, he held her 
 before him, and spoke in a sadder voice. 
 
 " Francesca, what is it ?" 
 
 But she only hung down her head, try- 
 ing all the while to throw herself into his 
 arms. 
 
 *' Francesca," he went on, " we two are 
 alone in the world. Your mother has long
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTEH. 239 
 
 been taken from us, and all but you are 
 gone from me." 
 
 She shivered as he spoke, every word cut- 
 ting her to the heart. At last, violently 
 controlling her sobs, she looked in her 
 father's face, and murmured — 
 
 " I will tell you, but not now. I am 
 ashamed, but there is nothins: wroner." 
 
 " Look me in the face, my darling child," 
 he replied, the tears now standing in his 
 own eyes. 
 
 She looked him full in the face, but 
 timidly, and yet with a feeble smile, that 
 spoke of undoubting and infinite affec- 
 tion. 
 
 "How old was I when she died?" she 
 asked him, almost in a whisper. 
 
 " Your mother ?" he asked, in the same 
 suppressed voice. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured. 
 
 " You were two years old," said her 
 father. " But why do you ask me what 
 you have never asked before ?"
 
 240 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I could have told her," replied Fran- 
 cesca ; " at least, I think so." 
 
 Then with a wild and passionate move- 
 ment she seized her father's hand, and kissed 
 it again and again. 
 
 " I will tell you, too, as soon as I can," 
 she said, lifting her pleading eyes to meet 
 her father's gaze. "But you will let me 
 choose my own time ?" giving to her words 
 the tone of a question. 
 
 " I am satisfied, my child," he replied. 
 Then kissing her on the forehead, he rose 
 and led her to a seat, and left her, while he 
 himself proceeded to his daily work in 
 silence. After a time she recovered so 
 much of her composure as to begin to note 
 that the morning was rapidly passing away, 
 and that D'Urbino had not yet returned, as 
 he had promised. So she phrased it in her 
 unspoken thoughts. Then she inwardly 
 corrected herself. " It was no promise at 
 all ; he only said that he should come in to 
 arrange for a sitting. He has forgotten all
 
 PATHER AND DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 about it, of course. Yes, of course lie has 
 forgotten it. Why should he remember 
 it ? It is only a matter of business ; and 
 of course those rich and noble Englisli 
 ladies like to make him talk to them, and of 
 course he likes to talk to them. Why 
 should he not ?" 
 
 She was still vainly striving to school 
 her rebellious thoughts to obedience, at one 
 moment resolving that she would never 
 more enter D'Urbino's house, and then bit- 
 terly complaining of his delay in returning. 
 Then again she would scorn herself for her 
 insane folly in regarding him as anything 
 but a proud aristocrat, whose warmest feel- 
 ings towards herself could be nothing more 
 than kind-hearted pity. At last, just as 
 she was making up her mind to ask her 
 father to allow her to leave home for a 
 time, and visit some friend far away from 
 Eome, D'Urbino himself appeared, and every 
 resolution vanished. 
 
 " You are very much knocked up, Fran- 
 VOL. I. IC
 
 242 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 cesca," he began ; " I was afraid the fatigue 
 of yesterday would be too much for you. 
 How soon do you think you can give me 
 another sitting ?" 
 
 " I shall not be able to give you any more 
 sittings at all," she replied. 
 
 " None at all ?" asked D'Urbino, quite as 
 much puzzled by the tone as by the sub- 
 stance of her reply. 
 
 " Yes," she rejoined, " none at all. I 
 think it is better not." 
 
 "But, Francesca, consider;" he said. 
 ''You will utterly ruin the whole work, 
 which I have set my heart upon finishing 
 without delay." 
 
 " You should set your heart upon nothing, 
 Signore," rejoined Francesca. *' You will 
 then suffer none of the pains that we poorer 
 people suffer." 
 
 " What in the name of common sense are 
 you talking about ?" asked D'Urbino, still 
 more puzzled. " Women are changeable 
 creatures enough, as everybody says ; but I
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 always thought that you were above these 
 trumpery caprices." 
 
 A spasm shot through the poor girl's heart, 
 as he expressed that admiration for her 
 character which she valued far above all 
 recognition of her personal appearance. 
 
 " I am a woman," she replied, " and like 
 all women I can suffer. It is better that I 
 should never sit to you again." 
 
 " What mischief-making meddler has 
 been putting all this nonsense into your 
 head, Francesca ?" he asked, getting angry at 
 her incomprehensible obstinacy, " This is 
 all that idiot Betta's doing, I am sure. She 
 has been frightening you with her follies 
 about the impropriety of your coming to my 
 house. Surely if your father is satisfied, 
 you need pay no attention to the tittle tattle 
 of scandal-loving old women." 
 
 " It is better that it should be as I have 
 said," returned Francesca. 
 
 " Answer me this one thing, I beg you," 
 he replied. " Is it Betta who has been 
 
 16—2
 
 244 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 annoying you, or filling your head witli this 
 preposterous prudery ?" 
 
 "It is not," she answered. 
 
 " Then who is it ?" he replied. ** Has 
 your father changed his mind ?" 
 
 " Not that I know of," returned Francesca, 
 struggling violently with herself, in her 
 efforts to betray nothing of her real feelings. 
 
 " Then what possible objection can you 
 have to come again ?" he asked. " Surely 
 you don't wish to do me an ill turn, now 
 that you have done me such real service." 
 
 " Grod forbid !" she exclaimed, with a 
 sudden intensity of tone, while she laid her 
 hand upon her heart, as if she could stay 
 its wild throbbing by force. 
 
 He looked at her for a few moments, 
 anxious to read her reasons in her counte- 
 nance ; but all he could see was that she 
 was undoubtedly suffering keenly from some 
 cause or other, and he was the more bewil- 
 dered because she steadily, contrary to her 
 usual habit, kept her eyes fixed upon the 
 ground.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 " You are certainly ill, Francesca," he at 
 last said, in a more sympathising tone. 
 
 "I am not ill at all, Signore," she re- 
 plied. "Pray leave me. You will find 
 some one else to answer your purpose quite 
 as well as I have done/' 
 
 " That is impossible, Francesca," he re- 
 plied. "But I shall certainly tell your 
 father that I am sure you are unwell, and 
 ought not to be allowed to neglect yourself. 
 Where is he ? I will go and find him at 
 once." And he rose up to put his intention 
 in execution. 
 
 "Not for the world, Signore," cried 
 Francesca, starting forward and seizing 
 his arm. 
 
 "Are you mad, Francesca?" he exclaimed, 
 as he saw her look of annoyance and terror. 
 
 " Yes ! I am mad !" she cried, bitterly. 
 
 " What would you have me do, then ?" 
 asked D'Urbino. 
 
 " Leave me, that is all T ask," she replied ; 
 " I shall be better when you are gone."
 
 246 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 " As you will then," answered D'Urbino. 
 " I used to think you the most interest- 
 ing girl I had ever seen, and now I think 
 you the most incomprehensible." 
 
 " Is it because women are incomprehensi- 
 ble to men, that men despise them so con- 
 temptuously ?" asked Francesca. 
 
 " What in the name of heaven are you 
 driving at, Francesca ?" exclaimed he. 
 
 " Nothing !" she replied. 
 
 " Nothing ?" echoed D'Urbino. 
 
 " Nothing !" she repeated. 
 
 " Then there is nothing more to be said," 
 he replied. And without another word he 
 left her.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 Just about the time when D'Urbino was 
 leaving Francesca to her solitary sorrows, 
 the bright warm sun was tempting a few 
 strollers to linger on the slopes of the 
 Pincio till a rather later hour than those 
 during which Romans think it pleasant to 
 court the wintry air. In one of the least 
 frequented parts of that popular lounge, 
 Delia Porta and Henry Noel were walking 
 at that slow pace, interrupted with occa- 
 sional standings still, which showed that 
 their talk was peculiarly interesting, and
 
 248 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 was of the nature of an argument, more or 
 less animated. 
 
 " Witli all that I have seen of your fel- 
 low-countrymen, Noel," said Delia Porta, 
 who had been ingeniously beating about for 
 some way of introducing the subject with- 
 out awakening the suspicions of his com- 
 panion ; " they are really very difficult to 
 understand." 
 
 " You think so ?" replied Noel, in the 
 tone of one who was asking a question. 
 " What fresh reasons have you for thinking 
 so just now?" 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth," said Delia 
 Porta, ''your friends the Sandfords puzzle 
 me a good deal. To my Eoman notions, it 
 seems an astonishing thing that those two 
 girls should have gone to hear that ranting 
 preacher in the Coliseum, yesterday, without 
 any chaperon, and with nobody but their 
 old servant and a girl of the bourgeoise to 
 protect them. Surely you don't justify such 
 a thing yourself."
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 249 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Noel, " if you 
 mean that it was rash and unsafe to go into 
 a crowd ; but nothing more." 
 
 " You don't think that girls brought up 
 to act so independently would make unsatis- 
 factory wives, if they had to spend their 
 lives among us Italians?" suggested Delia 
 Porta. 
 
 " It may be doubted," replied Noel ; " but 
 why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Just as a matter of curiosity," said Delia 
 Porta. " Sometimes I have a sort of fancy 
 that some day I might meet with an English 
 girl who might attract me ; and one likes to 
 be provided against all contingencies before- 
 hand. Besides, you have known Mrs. Sand- 
 ford and the young ladies all your life, I 
 think you said, one day." 
 
 " Not Miss Osborne," repHed Noel. 
 
 " Miss Sandford seems an amiable girl," 
 said Delia Porta, " and I suppose it is only 
 her own fault that she has not long ago 
 made some fortunate man happy."
 
 250 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 " I don't know anything about it," re- 
 joined Noel, curtly, and the subject was 
 dropped for a few minutes. As soon as he 
 could adroitly re-introduce it, Delia Porta 
 began again : — 
 
 " Then you don't think these very inde- 
 pendent ways of the Sandfords are inconsis- 
 tent with perfect refinement and simplicity ?" 
 
 " You mean something more than you 
 say, Marchese," said Noel. " I have sus- 
 pected something for some days past." 
 
 " Miss Osborne seems a clever as well as 
 an amiable woman," suggested Delia Porta. 
 
 " So I should think," answered Noel ; 
 " but really you know very nearly as much 
 about her as I do.'* 
 
 "And Miss Sandford," continued Delia 
 Porta. " What do you think of her ?" 
 
 With all his effort at appearing indiffer- 
 ent, Delia Porta could not conceal the real 
 interest with which he put the question. 
 
 " Miss Sandford !" echoed Noel, by no 
 means pleased at Delia Porfca's persistency
 
 THE MARCH ESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 251 
 
 in continiiing the discussion. "I really 
 cannot inform you wliat sort of a wife slie 
 would make, if that is what you mean." 
 
 " Mrs. Sandford seems an amiable and sen- 
 sible person, I should say," continued Delia 
 Porta, not noticing his companion's reluc- 
 tance to answer his questions. 
 
 " Yes," replied Noel, " she is amiable and 
 tolerably sensible. By the bye, have you 
 heard anything more about the fresh exca- 
 vations at Pompeii." 
 
 "Nothing," replied Delia Porta, with 
 profound indifference. " How do you 
 English people arrange about mothers-in- 
 law, in such circumstances as Mrs. Sand- 
 ford's ?" 
 
 " I can't say exactly," said Noel. " I am 
 told they have discovered some more skele- 
 tons of men buried in the torrents of ashes." 
 
 "Have they?" rejoined Delia Porta. 
 "What do you think Mrs. Sandford would 
 expect to be her own position, if her daugh 
 ter married ?"
 
 252 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 " I don't know," returned Noel ; " you 
 have heard, of course, of the new ingenious 
 plan for preserving the exact form of the 
 living bodies, of which the skeletons are all 
 that now remains." 
 
 " No, I have not," said Delia Porta. " Do 
 you happen to know whether Miss Sandford 
 has any fortune of her own, beyond what 
 her mother can give her ?" 
 
 " She never told me," replied Noel. " It 
 is done by filling up the hollow with hot 
 plaster of Paris, and the effect is wonderful." 
 
 "Is it?" said Delia Porta. "Judging 
 even by your high English standard, Miss 
 Sandford seems to be a very well educated 
 girl." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Noel. " I am thinking of 
 running down to Naples for a week or two. 
 What do you say to joining me in the trip ?" 
 
 " Are you ?" said Delia Porta. " She cer- 
 tainly is a striking and distinguished-look- 
 ing person ; and I never cared much for fair 
 women."
 
 THE MARCQESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 253 
 
 " Indeed !" said Noel. " Which would 
 you rather do ; go by rail or by sea ?" 
 
 " By neither," replied Delia Porta ; "many 
 people think Miss Osborne the handsomest 
 of the two cousins ; but I cannot say that 
 I do. Of course, as being in orders, you 
 have no business to discuss the difference 
 between one woman and another ; but as 
 you have known the Sandfords from your 
 boyish days, j^ou might perhaps remember 
 what she looked like when she was younger. 
 Would you say, then, that when she was a 
 girl, she promised to grow up into the very 
 good-looking woman she now is ? But, my 
 dear fellow, what is the matter ? you really 
 look ill. I have noticed that you seemed 
 out of condition for some days past. Did 
 you not say something about a trip to 
 Naples ? If I were you, I would go by all 
 means. You want change of air, depend 
 upon it. Eome's a detestable place to stay 
 in for many months together." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I am not what I ought
 
 254 THE MAECHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 to be," replied Noel, in a strange tone, and 
 with something so like a sigh, that any ob- 
 server less pre-occupied than Delia Porta 
 would have suspected a double meaning in 
 his words. 
 
 " By- the -bye," exclaimed Delia Porta, 
 suddenly changing the subject, "they' tell 
 us that our old acquaintance, Evelyn, is in 
 Eome, and sporting his pretended Epicurean- 
 ism as vigorously as ever." 
 
 " So I hear," said Noel, only too glad to 
 be relieved from the Marchese's evident 
 matrimonial speculations. 
 
 And after some more talk on indifferent 
 matters, they went their ways, Noel to his 
 lonely lodgings, and the Marchese to call 
 upon Evelyn. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Epicurean," he cried, 
 entering Evelyn's room at his hotel, " wel- 
 come once more to the Eternal City," and he 
 griped Evelyn's extended hand with that 
 disagreeable vigour which he considered to 
 be de rigueur among Englishmen.
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 255 
 
 " Epicurean !" echoed Evelyn ; " saj 
 rather imbecile, or Quixote, or whatever 
 name you think most befitting the most in- 
 consistent and weak-minded of men. 
 
 " Yes, I did hear something of your yes- 
 terday's exploits from the Sandfords this 
 morning,'* said Delia Porta. " What plea- 
 sant people they seem, now one comes to 
 know them more intimately." 
 
 " Very pleasant indeed," returned Evelyn. 
 " But they tell me you knew them last win- 
 ter, and they were always people one could 
 get on with, when once the ice was broken." 
 
 "True," said Delia Porta, "but they 
 have now an addition to themselves, and in 
 some way or other, the presence of a third 
 person makes conversation easier, and enables 
 one to form a better estimate of people's 
 characters." 
 
 The faintest possible smile lighted up 
 Evelyn's features, never particularly grave, 
 but it was gone in a moment. 
 
 " You think so," he replied.
 
 256 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Delia Porta; "when 
 one is talking to a couple of women, one is 
 forced to talk oneself, either to one or other 
 of them, all the while one is with them. 
 But when there are three, they talk now and 
 then to one another, and so reveal some little 
 of their real characters." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Evelyn, wondering 
 whether there was anything in all this be- 
 yond mere critical speculation. 
 
 " Miss Osborne, at any rate," replied 
 Delia Porta, ** is a vast help when conversa- 
 tion flags. I hardly know a better talker, 
 considering her age." 
 
 " What on earth is the meaning of all 
 this?" thought Evelyn to himself. Then 
 he answered aloud, "She is a singularly 
 intelligent person, to my judgment at 
 least." 
 
 " An old friend, perhaps," suggested Delia 
 Porta, " yet I don't remember that I ever 
 heard you mention her in former days, when 
 you used to describe the rest of the family."
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 257 
 
 " Did not I ?" asked Evelyn, wishing to 
 appear totally uninterested. 
 
 *' At any rate," said Delia Porta, " know- 
 ing your odd English ways, I used to fancy 
 now and then that I detected incipient signs 
 of a certain tendresse towards another young 
 lady, whose praises you seemed never tired 
 of sounding. Do you know it was entirely 
 through your talking so much about them, 
 that I was so anxious to get on a footing of 
 intimacy with the Sandfords ?" 
 
 " And you did not succeed until quite 
 lately ?" inquired Evelyn. 
 
 " No," said Delia Porta, '' for some reason 
 or other, so it was. It is all the work of 
 that charming niece of the very amiable 
 old lady, with whom, to tell you the truth, 
 I find it just a little difficult to keep up any 
 sort of conversation." 
 
 " I suppose you see a good deal of them,"' 
 suggested Evelyn. 
 
 " Well, yes, on the whole I suppose I do," 
 replied Delia Porta; "but I never could 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE MABCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 make out whether Miss Osborne is Mrs. 
 Sandford's own niece, or her niece by 
 marriage." 
 
 "Her own niece," said Evelyn; "but 
 why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I can hardly say," said Delia Porta, 
 appearing to hesitate. " One always likes 
 to know the exact relationships of people 
 one associates with. Miss Osborne, too, 
 seems much fcoo clever a girl to have such a 
 very — well, what shall I say ? — such a com- 
 mon-place, but doubtless such an admirable 
 person as Mrs. Sandford, for a near relation." 
 
 " I don't see that," rejoined Evelyn, " if 
 wise children may be born to foolish parents, 
 why should not clever nieces sometimes have 
 very stupid women for their aunts ?" 
 
 " Do you think Mrs. Sandford so very 
 stupid a woman, then ?" asked Delia Porta. 
 
 " She seems a very interesting subject of 
 study to you, at any rate," remarked 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " It's an old foible of mine, you may re-
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 259 
 
 member. In our enforced idleness, we 
 Eomans, who are not compelled to work 
 for our own bread, find a relief in these kind 
 of thiugs." 
 
 " That is true enough, I dare say/' replied 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " Then, again, in the same way we like 
 to study the social habits of foreigners more 
 happily placed than ourselves,'' continued 
 Delia Porta. " For instance, I never could 
 quite make out the sort of terms on which 
 aunts stand towards their married nieces and 
 their husbands." 
 
 His suspicions now thoroughly roused, 
 Evelyn made no immediate reply. He 
 knew well that the Marchese was a man 
 of perfect honesty and straightforwardness 
 in intention, but at the same time by no 
 means free from that practical trust m finesse, 
 which is common to almost all Italians. 
 So to gain time he only said that he did 
 not fully understand his friend's mean- 
 ing. 
 
 17-2
 
 260 THE MAKCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 " Well then/' replied Delia Porta, *' sup- 
 pose I put a case, by way of illustration. 
 If Mrs. Sandford married again, on what 
 terms would Miss Osborne consider herself 
 towards her aunt ?" 
 
 "But you were speaking of nieces who 
 married, not of aunts who married second 
 husbands," said Evelyn. 
 
 " You are right," said Delia Porta, " sup- 
 posing — well, how shall I put it ?" And with 
 all his diplomatic skill he could not conceal 
 from himself the fact that he was blunder- 
 ing, and that Evelyn was aware of it. " Sup- 
 posing that Miss Osborne married, how about 
 Mrs. Sandford?" he asked. 
 
 " I can't conceive what you mean," replied 
 Evelyn. "How should Miss Osborne's 
 marriage affect an aunt who has her own 
 daughter to live with ?" 
 
 " It's only mere curiosity, you know," 
 replied Delia Porta ; " but still an idle man 
 like myself is curious about all sorts of 
 trifles. Suppose we put it another way. If
 
 THE MAHCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 261 
 
 Miss Sandford were married, would your 
 English ideas about mothers-in-law prevent 
 their all constituting one household? Or 
 would aunt and niece then betake themselves 
 to a separate home ? And to speculate fur- 
 ther still, how would any man who after- 
 wards married Miss Osborne be situated to- 
 wards her aunt ?" 
 
 " I suppose, being all English people, they 
 would fall naturally into English ways," 
 said Evelyn, still in the dark, but by no 
 means liking what he heard. 
 
 " Aye, that's true enough, of course," said 
 Delia Porta. " But suppose one of them 
 married an Italian ? What then ?" 
 
 " Do you mean Miss Sandford, or Miss 
 Osborne?" asked Evelyn, in so serious a 
 manner that the diplomatic Marchese felt 
 very far from comfortable. 
 
 *' Neither one nor the other, in particu- 
 lar," he replied. " Perhaps I should make 
 my meaning clearer, if I suppose that both 
 of them will marry Italians."
 
 262 THE MARCHESB MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 "The deuce you do!" exclaimed Evelyn, 
 fairly thrown off his balance. 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Delia Porta. " Such 
 things have happened before, and may hap- 
 pen again." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said Evelyn; "only I 
 had no idea that anything of the kind was 
 likely to happen." 
 
 " ISTo more have I," replied Delia Porta, 
 " strictly speaking ; that is, I believe nothing 
 has been actually settled, or perhaps, it 
 would be more correct to say, seriously 
 contemplated. However, at any rate, pray 
 do not pay attention to my random talk." 
 
 " Is it all random talk ?'* asked Evelyn. 
 " Come now, my dear fellow," he continued ; 
 " why can't you speak out ? I know as well 
 as if you had already confessed it, that you 
 have some meaning in what you are saying. 
 Let us understand one another. Tell me 
 what plan you have got in your head." 
 
 Taken aback by this sudden appeal, Delia 
 Porta was at first totally at a loss what to
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 263 
 
 reply. Nervously anxious not to commit 
 himself, and to the last degree dreading 
 anything that might by chance cause an- 
 noyance to the woman for whose hand he 
 had nearly made up his mind to negociate, 
 he felt it out of the question to discuss the 
 matter openly with any one. Evelyn him- 
 self, he now felt sure, would prove a by no 
 means indifferent confidant, and a premature 
 disclosure of his hopes might create obstacles 
 in his way which he had not hitherto antici- 
 pated. On the whole, he had made up his 
 mind that he had better say no more at 
 present. This, however, he quickly found 
 to be impossible. Evelyn's impatience would 
 tolerate no long meditations. 
 
 "Well, Marchese," he exclaimed, "how 
 long will you take to decide what to say?" 
 
 "On the whole," replied Delia Porta, 
 " perhaps I had better say no more to-day. 
 Another day I shall probably trespass on 
 your friendship to do me a little service. 
 In such aflfairs one can't be too cautious, for
 
 264 THE MAKCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 other persons* sakes as well as for one's 
 own.*' 
 
 " Unquestionably,*' rejoined Evelyn. And 
 the subject was exchanged for less personal 
 topics. Evelyn's suspicions were, neverthe- 
 less, so thoroughly roused, that on the first 
 opening, he recurred to it, though in a 
 roundabout way. 
 
 " The Sandford party seem to have made 
 a good many acquaintances," he observed. 
 " English people don't often get on so well 
 with foreigners as they do." 
 
 " They certainly do so," said Delia Porta, 
 " I don't exactly know why, but they are 
 undoubtedly generally popular." 
 
 " Which of the two cousins should you 
 say, was the most liked ?" asked Evelyn. 
 
 " That is not an easy question to answer ;*' 
 said Delia Porta. " You know that Miss 
 Osborne is comparatively a stranger in 
 Eome." 
 
 " Yes," said Evelyn. 
 
 " Yet she is a very striking girl," said
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 265 
 
 Delia Porta ; " don't you think so ? I sup- 
 pose she comes here perfectly heart-whole ; 
 is it not so ?" 
 
 " I really am in the dark as to her feelings, 
 my dear fellow," said Evelyn, satisfied that 
 all this questioning was but a preliminary 
 for Margaret's hand. He could, however, 
 think of no more ingenious way of getting 
 at Delia Porta's meaning than to turn 
 the discussion to the state of her cousin's 
 affections. 
 
 " Miss Sandford has been here for two 
 winters, I think," he said ; '' would you say 
 the same about her that you imply about 
 her cousin's inclinations ?" 
 
 " I can only return you your own reply," 
 said Delia Porta, suspecting that he was 
 now on the track for discovering what he 
 had begun to imagine as to the real cause 
 for Evelyn's visit to Eome. " I really am 
 in the dark as to her feelings.'' 
 
 "She is a delightful girl, at any rate," 
 said Evelyn. " On that point there can be
 
 266 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 no doubt, and after all, perhaps, she will 
 marry an Englishman." 
 
 " For the credit of the Eoman nobility, 
 let us hope that she will not long remain 
 unappreciated among us Italians," rejoined 
 Delia Porta. 
 
 " She would be appreciated everywhere, 1 
 should say,'' said Evelyn. " But now, re- 
 turning to my new acquaintance, D'Urbino," 
 he continued ; " he seems a plucky fellow, 
 and an accomplished man besides, I should 
 say." 
 
 " Yes, he is, as far as I know ]* replied 
 Delia Porta. " I should not be surprised if 
 he became quite an ami de la maison with 
 the Sandfords. Miss Osborne takes to him 
 wonderfully, I fancy." 
 
 " Miss Osborne !" echoed Evelyn. 
 
 "Yes, why not?" replied Delia Porta. 
 " She asked me all about him the first night 
 I met her at the French Embassy ball. 
 You know she is wild about the Eoman 
 art of past days, and I fancy she thinks
 
 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 267 
 
 D'Urbino more in earnest about art and 
 things in general than we for the most are." 
 
 '' Humph !" growled Evelyn. 
 
 " Then she has taken up that handsome 
 girl who lives next door, and who has been 
 sitting to D'Urbino for his ideal ' Italy.' 
 That gives them a common interest." 
 
 " I don't understand you," replied Evelyn. 
 *' Do you mean the girl or the statue ?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps both of them." 
 
 " What is the girl really like ?" asked 
 Evelyn. " I have seen her, as you may have 
 heard ; but is she anything more than an 
 uneducated girl. She is not, of course, what 
 we English people mean when we call a 
 girl a lady. I half suspected that D'Urbino 
 had a notion of marrying his splendid 
 model. If so, he might enjoy talking about 
 her to Miss Osborne." 
 
 "I know very little of the girl, but if 
 D'Urbino has any hankerings after a mes- 
 alliance, it is not in that quarter." 
 
 " A mesalliance /" thought Evelyn, " what
 
 268 THE MARCHESE MAKES ENQUIRIES. 
 
 on earth can he possibly mean. A mesal- 
 liance upwards or downwards." But he kept 
 his interpretation to himself, and only said, 
 ** Indeed? I suppose such things are not 
 common among you exclusive Roman 
 nobles." 
 
 "They are not common," replied Delia 
 Porta, "but such things do occur." And 
 with that the conversation ended.
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 LONELINESS. 
 
 Whatever were the doubts and perplexities 
 generated in the minds of Evelyn and Delia 
 Porta by their cautious questionings and 
 counter-questionings, no such doubt or per- 
 plexity distracted Henry Noel, as a result 
 of his talk with the Marchese. Never 
 before had he felt the loneliness of his soli- 
 tary lodging so utterly miserable, for never 
 before had he been so thoroughly convinced 
 of the one tremendous mistake of his life. 
 The anguish which pierced him through 
 and through, as Delia Porta went on un- 
 folding to him by implication his hope that
 
 270 LONELINESS. 
 
 he would one day become the husband of 
 Helen Sandford, revealed in all its terrible 
 reality the fact that the love of his early 
 youth was as living and fervent as it had 
 been when at four-and-twenty years of age 
 he had renounced all thought of her, in 
 order to take orders, and so cut himself off 
 from her for ever. 
 
 It was true that he was not certain that 
 Helen was the object of the cautious Mar- 
 chese's aspirations. His hints and queries 
 had been framed so mysteriously, that it was 
 quite possible that Noel had deceived him- 
 self. Still the acute pain with which he 
 contemplated the bare supposition that 
 Helen might be sought and won by another 
 man, was enough to lay bare to him the 
 reality of the affections from which he had 
 until now been habitually turning his eyes. 
 
 Bitterly he reproached himself for the 
 folly with which he had suffered himself 
 to be led away by fanatical excitement to 
 take a step which must darken his whole
 
 LONELINESS. 27 1 
 
 after life. He had often mourned over the 
 weakness which had made him the victim 
 of a temporary enthusiasm, and felt indig- 
 nant at the existence of a system which 
 could lead men to take leaps in the dark, 
 and imagine that they were thereby accom- 
 plishing the divine will. But now that 
 years had passed away, and the full extent 
 of the sacrifice he had made confronted him in 
 all its terribleness, he hated himself, instead 
 of mourning over his weakness, and his in- 
 dignation against the system which had 
 deluded him burst out into execrations. 
 
 For hours he continued going over the 
 whole history of his youth and manhood, 
 and picturing to himself every detail of the 
 circumstances under \yhich he had pledged 
 himself to the priesthood. Again and 
 again he recalled the first beginnings of 
 his passion for Helen, and the rise, progress 
 and victory of the excitement which had led 
 him to imagine that once in orders he 
 would have no difficulty in eradicating every 
 trace of his past love from his heart.
 
 272 LONELINESS. 
 
 It seemed as if it were but yesterday that 
 he had determined to adopt the fashionable 
 devotional device for deciding'upon the life 
 he would choose. Like thousands of others, 
 women as well as men, he had " gone into re- 
 treat," — to use the technical phrase — in order 
 to spend at least a week in endless prayer 
 and meditation, perfectly solitary, except 
 when listening to the exhortations of some 
 ecclesiastic versed in the application of the 
 appropriate stimulants to the excited soul. 
 Then at the end of the appointed period, 
 he had made his choice, and " renounced 
 the world," as he was taught to express it, 
 and devoted himself to the priesthood 
 under the belief that a special illumination 
 from heaven directed him in his decision. 
 
 " What madness it all was !" he now cried 
 to himself, as he strode restlessly up and 
 down his room, too agitated to feel weari- 
 ness. '' What a fatal blunder it is to ima- 
 gine that when the brain is wild with ex- 
 citement of days and days of incessant
 
 LONELINESS. 273 
 
 praying and thinking, a man is fit to make 
 his choice as to the course of his whole life ! 
 How could I be so senseless as to suppose 
 that my love would vanish at my command, 
 just because I thought it would be a grand 
 thing to sacrifice it for a noble end ? Ah ! 
 I see it all now, as hundreds of others must 
 see it also, when the time for repentance 
 comes. Why did I not see it then ? Why 
 did I not see the difierence there is between 
 submitting to the irresistible facts of life, as 
 the decrees of Providence, and the choosing 
 my own fate, and then fancying my choice 
 to be the choice of Grod ? Yes ! it was a 
 delirium and nothing else. I was drunk 
 with the spiritual excitement which was the 
 natural consequence of those days of soh- 
 tude, and was no more capable of looking 
 backwards or forwards calmly and like a 
 reasonable being than if I had been mad- 
 dened by wine." 
 
 And he flung himself upon a chair and 
 buried his face between his hands, his whole 
 
 VOL. I. IS
 
 274 LONELINESS. 
 
 frame shaking with the violence of his emo- 
 tion. Then he began again his restless 
 pacing to and fro. 
 
 " And all this while," he went on saying 
 in his thoughts, " I have been living in a 
 fool's paradise ; thinking that I felt towards 
 her only a brother's love, but secretly trust- 
 ing that no man would ever take her from 
 me, and I could sun myself in her friend- 
 ship for my whole life. Why have I been 
 fool enough to encourage her in her pleasant 
 ways, and not see that I was only helping 
 her to mix the poison which I must some 
 day drink ? Why did I not fly the moment 
 she came here again, after years of absence 
 from her ? Why did I indulge my wish to 
 see for myself whether she had really grown 
 into the brilliant woman they told me about ? 
 And why am I at this moment hoping that 
 it is all a mistake about this man's love for 
 her, and that she may still continue my 
 very dear friend and sister ? Yes ; friend 
 and sister, such as friend and sister never
 
 LONELINESS. 275 
 
 was before ! And all the while, there is no 
 love for her in him, and such as he is. It is 
 all cold-blooded bargaining. I could give 
 her up to a man worthy of her, if he loved 
 her as madly as I have loved, and as I know 
 that I love her now. But to give her up to 
 a frozen-hearted dandy who will chaffer for 
 her with her mother, as he would chaffer 
 with a picture-dealer for a fresh ornament 
 for his palace ! Oh, my Grod ! why hast 
 thou laid this punishment upon me to 
 bear?" 
 
 And he threw his arms upwards in his 
 agony, his hands clenched and every feature 
 in his countenance strained with a frightful 
 tension. Then he fell upon his knees, and 
 a flood of tears came to his relief. 
 
 He had scarcely attained a partial calm, 
 and was vainly trpng to occupy his thoughts 
 with the first book that came to hand, when 
 a visitor was announced, and to his surprise 
 and annoyance, the Cameriere Einaldo en- 
 tered the room. At any other time the 
 
 18—2
 
 276 LONELINESS. 
 
 visit would not have been unwelcome, as 
 Noel felt none of that antipathy towards 
 Einaldo which was entertained not only by 
 the Eoman Liberals, but even by some per- 
 sons in the papal household itself. Whether 
 or not there was any truth in the popular 
 suspicion which fixed on Einaldo the repu- 
 tation of a spy, Noel could not tell. Cer- 
 tainly he was conscious of no sentiment of 
 personal dislike towards the Cameriere. 
 There had never been very much intercourse 
 between them, and that which had taken 
 place had been for the most part of an official 
 kind, and connected with the duties which 
 until quite recently, Noel had discharged in 
 connection with the Eoman university. 
 But, so far as this intercourse had gone, it 
 was plainly not unpleasant to either of the 
 two men ; and, though to a scarcely appre- 
 ciable extent, was tinged with the friendship 
 which distinguishes the manner of a father 
 and a son who are on good terms with one 
 another.
 
 LONELINESS. 277 
 
 At the present moment, however, all that 
 Noel desired was solitude, and he received 
 Einaldo's greetings with an unwillingness 
 that he took no pains to conceal. As it 
 happened, Einaldo's business was of an offi- 
 cial nature, and required a certain amount of 
 detailed explanation and discussion which 
 could not be avoided. It was nearly con- 
 cluded when Noel felt Einaldo's eyes fixed 
 upon him with a sympathetic expression. 
 
 " You are ill," suddenly exclaimed Ei- 
 naldo. " I saw that something was wrong 
 when I came in, and the talk has been too 
 much for you ; pardon me if I ask you if 
 there is any possible service that I can 
 render you ?" 
 
 Noel shook his head, and tried to assume 
 the tone of one prepared for any amount of 
 business conversation. 
 
 " I am an old man," continued Einaldo, 
 " and you are a young man. Is there any- 
 thing in which the results of my experience 
 may be of use to you ?"
 
 278 LONELINESS. 
 
 The offer would have seemed an im- 
 pertinent intrusion into his private affairs, 
 and possibly a mere trap for the discovery 
 of political secrets, were it not for the 
 manner of the speaker, and the look of 
 kindly interest which Noel read upon his 
 features. 
 
 " If you are what they say," he thought, 
 " you are the most consummate actor in all 
 Eome ; and we have actors by the hundred 
 among us." And when he replied, declin- 
 ing the offered assistance, it was in so grate- 
 ful a tone that Einaldo repeated the offer 
 more urgently. 
 
 " I said I was an old man," he went on, 
 " but though I am old enough to be your 
 father, I am hardly what people call aged, 
 except in the long and painful knowledge 
 acquired in a lonely life." 
 
 "Do you think, then, that there is no 
 knowledge, except that which is painful, to 
 be acquired by those who are condemned to 
 loneliness for their whole lives ?" said Noel,
 
 LONELINESS. 279 
 
 finding himself impelled, against all his 
 efforts, to continue the conversation. 
 
 " That depends upon the original cause 
 of a man's loneliness," said Einaldo. 
 
 " Suppose it is the consequence of one's 
 own mistake," said Noel. 
 
 "Even then there would surely be vast 
 differences between one case and another,'* 
 repHed Einaldo. 
 
 " Supposing it had involved some heavy 
 sacrifice, to which a man found it impossible 
 to reconcile himself in his cooler moments 
 ever afterwards ?" suggested Noel. 
 
 "You mean, I gather from what you 
 say," rejoined Einaldo, " that after such a 
 sacrifice and such a mistake, the whole of 
 life must be so clouded with wretchedness, 
 that every pleasure must be embittered, and 
 every pain intensified." 
 
 " Something of the kind," rephed Noel. 
 
 " Such loneliness would indeed be mise- 
 rable," rejoined Einaldo ; " I can conceive 
 few conditions of life more hopelessly me-
 
 280 LONELINESS. 
 
 lanclioly. But there may be worse loneli- 
 ness than this." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" asked Noel. 
 
 "Very possible indeed/' said Einaldo; 
 " the blunder which you describe does not 
 necessarily involve an utter severing of all 
 human ties. There are men who live in a 
 crowd, and know that no human beings 
 would care if they dropped dead at their 
 feet, except from the unpleasantness of the 
 shock to their nerves." 
 
 " There are not many such men, I should 
 suppose," rejoined Noel. " Everybody must 
 have some friend, or some kinsfolk, in whose 
 heart he holds a place. Life, absolutely 
 without love of any kind, must be a living 
 death." 
 
 " It is," replied Einaldo. 
 
 " Surely, Signor Einaldo," rejoined Noel, 
 struck with the increasing sadness of his 
 visitor's manner, " surely you do not mean 
 that this is the result of your own personal 
 knowledge of life."
 
 LONELINESS. 281 
 
 " That living death is mine/' replied 
 Einaldo. 
 
 " I know what people say of you," re- 
 joined Noel ; *' but is it true that you have 
 no living being who cares for you ? Have 
 you absolutely no friend in the world ?" 
 
 " Not one," said Einaldo. 
 
 " And not one single relation who owns 
 the tie of blood, if none others ?" 
 
 " Not one that I know of," said Einaldo. 
 
 "What object, then, do you live for?" 
 asked Noel, secretly thanking Grod that his 
 own loneliness was not like this. 
 
 " I do not live," said Einaldo, " I exist ; 
 but I am so weary that it would be a 
 mockery to call my round of nights and 
 days by the name of life." 
 
 *' And you have nothing before you that 
 you wish to accomplish before you die," 
 suggested Noel. 
 
 " I had one once, but I begin to despair 
 of attaining it ; and it might as well have 
 no existence," answered Einaldo.
 
 282 LONELINESS. 
 
 " Then why do you condemn yourself to 
 the strange duties which report assigns to 
 you ?" asked Noel. 
 
 " Eeport is a liar everywhere, and in 
 Eome a more habitual liar than elsewhere. 
 I have no duties but those of my recognised 
 post." 
 
 " Aye," replied Noel, " but what are the 
 duties of that post ?" 
 
 " You ask me why I accepted the post," 
 said Einaldo ; "I will tell you : partly by 
 way of increasing my income, and partly in 
 the hope of attaining the one only aim of 
 my life." 
 
 " Yet you continue to hold the post now 
 that you have given up all hope of gaining 
 your object. How is this ?" said Noel. 
 
 " The condemned criminal will eat and 
 drink almost on his way to the gallows," 
 replied Einaldo ; " and thus even in despair 
 I still live on and hope in vain." 
 
 " And is this lonely life the result of your 
 own deliberate choice ?" asked Noel.
 
 LONELINESS. 283 
 
 " Not in tlie slightest degree," said Ei- 
 naldo ; " I drifted into it helplessly. Cir- 
 cumstances have been too strong for me, 
 and it is the result also of the radical defect 
 of my natural character." 
 
 " What is that ?" asked Noel, astonished 
 at finding himself the recipient of the confi- 
 dences of a man to whom he had always 
 attributed an iron reserve. 
 
 " I am a feeble man in action," said Ei- 
 naldo, " because I so habitually see the ar- 
 guments both for and against any definite 
 course, that I vacillate till the time for all 
 real choice is gone." 
 
 " I have heard of such a temperament," 
 said Noel, " but you are the last man to 
 whom I should attribute it." 
 
 " It is, and always was mine," rejoined 
 Einaldo. " I was once a Liberal, and yet I 
 was not heartily a Liberal. Now I am what 
 you English people call a Tory, but there 
 is no heart in my Toryism. Thank God 
 that you are spared this miserable disposi- 
 tion, at any rate."
 
 284 LONELINESS. 
 
 " I wish to God that I had been more in 
 love with indecision when I was younger 
 than I now am,'* exclaimed Noel, bitterly. 
 " You, at any rate, are spared the misery of 
 actively ruining your own life." 
 
 " It comes to the same thing, neverthe- 
 less," replied Einaldo. " Of course I guessed 
 from your first questions to me that you 
 were speaking of some terrible mistake of 
 your own, and now I know it. There can 
 be but one explanation of it all. You regret 
 that you entered the priesthood." 
 
 Noel made no reply, but hung down his 
 head in silence. 
 
 " And the sacrifice has been too great for 
 your future peace of mind," Einaldo con- 
 tinued, but Noel still said nothing. 
 
 " You may yet regain it," Einaldo went 
 on. " There are worse miseries than an en- 
 forced celibacy. A mistaken marriage is a 
 still more terrible doom." 
 
 " I am thinking of going away for the 
 winter," replied Noel, when at last he felt 
 it necessary to speak.
 
 LONELINESS. 285 
 
 " Indeed ?" exclaimed Rinaldo, as if such 
 a project was unaccountable. " It was only 
 a few days ago that you happened to men- 
 tion that you had old friends coming for 
 the winter." 
 
 " They are come, but it does not alter my 
 plans/' said Noel, hesitating how to express 
 himself. " They were here last winter, you 
 may perhaps remember." 
 
 " Surely your friends are not the English 
 mother and daughter who were at Tivoli 
 that morning when I first made your ac- 
 quaintance," said Einaldo. 
 
 " Yes, the same," replied Noel. 
 " Then, my dear Noel," said Einaldo, 
 leaning forward and gently laying his hand 
 on Noel's shoulder, " you are right not to 
 stay." 
 
 " How can you possibly know anything 
 about it?" rejoined Noel, almost angrily. 
 
 ** Your secret is as safe with me, Noel," 
 replied Einaldo, "as if you had never re- 
 vealed it."
 
 286 LONELINESS. 
 
 " What secret ?" exclaimed Noel, by no 
 means propitiated by tbe kindness of Ei- 
 naldo's tone. 
 
 "The secret of the sacrifice you made 
 when you decided to take orders/' said 
 Einaldo. " I suspected it when we met 
 that day at Tivoli. Come, now," he added, 
 " I will not speak a needless word to distress 
 you. It was impossible to see you in com- 
 pany with the young lady in question, and 
 not discover the false position in which you 
 had placed yourself." 
 
 "And you have never hinted your sus- 
 picions from that day to this ?" asked Noel, 
 a little mollified, but bibterly annoyed. 
 
 " Never," said Einaldo. " I have lived 
 a lonely life, as I have told you ; but it has 
 not yet hardened me to other men's troubles. 
 If I have any one virtue, it is the faculty of 
 holding my tongue, and now remember this, 
 that for the sake of the lady herself, you are 
 bound never to betray, either to her, or to 
 any living creature, the secret of your past
 
 LONELINESS. 287 
 
 mistake. You must not trust yourself in 
 her company until all remains of your old 
 passion are dead within you. Others beside 
 myself may guess something from your 
 treacherous eyes, and the uncontrollable 
 movements of your restless lips ; and you 
 know enough of an ill-natured world to 
 understand that it will not believe that the 
 passion has been, or still is, all on one side." 
 
 "It has never been on hers, I firmly 
 believe," murmured the unhappy l!^oel, un- 
 able longer to keep up his poor attempts at 
 deception. 
 
 " That I am sure of myself," said Ei- 
 naldo. " No girl would have talked to you 
 as did Miss Sandford on the day when you 
 betrayed yourself to me, who had ever enter- 
 tained towards you any feelings but those 
 of simple friendship, or who suspected what 
 you really felt towards herself." 
 
 "That is my only consolation," said Noel, 
 " it is little, but it is something." 
 
 " Is it not a consolation, too," rephed
 
 288 LONELINESS. 
 
 Kinaldo, " to have some one whose happi- 
 ness is dear to you, and on whose behalf 
 you have a clear duty to accomplish, how- 
 ever cruel are the pangs it costs you ? No 
 man's heart need be utterly broken who has 
 before him so noble, even if so painful a 
 task. As for me, I have no one to live for, 
 not even to suffer for ; and now there is my 
 hand. I shall see you, I hope, before you 
 
 go." 
 
 And the grasp with which Noel replied 
 to the friendly words showed that they had 
 not been spoken altogether in vain. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING, PBINTEB, GUILDFORD. 
 
 //