rovoke it; you provoke it."

"My instinct, then, divines my medicine."

"Exactly, my dear; your personal instinct. That instigates you all. And
none are so easily conciliated as these Austrians. Conciliate them, and
you have them." Count Serabiglione diverged into a repetition of his
theory of the policy and mission of superior intelligences, as regarded
his system for dealing with the Austrians.

Nurse Assunta's jealousy was worked upon to separate the children from
Vittoria. They ran down with her no more to meet the vast bowls of grapes
in the morning and feather their hats with vine leaves. Deprived of her
darlings, the loneliness of her days made her look to Wilfrid for
commiseration. Father Bernardus was too continually exhortative, and
fenced too much to "hit the eyeball of her conscience," as he phrased it,
to afford her repose. Wilfrid could tell himself that he had already done
much for her; for if what he had done were known, his career, social and
military, was ended. This idea being accompanied by a sense of security
delighted him; he was accustomed to inquire of Angelo's condition, and
praise the British doctor who was attending him gratuitously. "I wish I
could get him out of the way," he said, and frowned as in a mental
struggle. Vittoria heard him repeat his "I wish!" It heightened greatly
her conception of the sacrifice he would be making on her behalf and
charity's. She spoke with a reverential tenderness, such as it was hard
to suppose a woman capable of addressing to other than the man who moved
her soul. The words she uttered were pure thanks; it was the tone which
sent them winged and shaking seed. She had spoken partly to prompt his
activity, but her self-respect had been sustained by his avoidance of the
dreaded old themes, and that grateful feeling made her voice musically
rich.

"I dare not go to him, but the doctor tells me the fever has left him,
Wilfrid; his wounds are healing; but he is bandaged from head to foot.
The sword pierced his side twice, and his arms and hands are cut
horribly. He cannot yet walk. If he is discovered he is lost. Count
Lenkenstein has declared that he will stay at the castle till he has him
his prisoner. The soldiers are all round us. They know that Angelo is in
the ring. They have traced him all over from the Valtellina to this
Ultenthal, and only cannot guess where he is in the lion's jaw. I rise in
the morning, thinking, 'Is this to be the black day?' He is