re you her loveliness is of a most exquisite
character!"

"No doubt!" I said, dryly. "I take your word for it. I am no judge of a
fair face or form. And now, my good friend, do not think me churlish if
I request you leave me in solitude for the present. Between three and
four o'clock I shall be at your studio."

He rose at once to take his leave. I placed the oaken box of jewels in
the leathern case which had been made to contain it, strapped and
locked it, and handed it to him together with its key. He was profuse
in his compliments and thanks--almost obsequious, in truth--and I
discovered another defect in his character--a defect which, as his
friend in former days, I had guessed nothing of. I saw that very little
encouragement would make him a toady--a fawning servitor on the
wealthy--and in our old time of friendship I had believed him to be far
above all such meanness, but rather of a manly, independent nature that
scorned hypocrisy. Thus we are deluded even by our nearest and
dearest--and is it well or ill for us, I wonder, when we are at last
undeceived? Is not the destruction of illusion worse than illusion
itself? I thought so, as my quondam friend clasped my hand in farewell
that morning. What would I not have given to believe in him as I once
did! I held open the door of my room as he passed out, carrying the box
of jewels for my wife, and as I bade him a brief adieu, the well-worn
story of Tristram and Kind Mark came to my mind. He, Guido, like
Tristram, would in a short space clasp the gemmed necklace round the
throat of one as fair and false as the fabled Iseulte, and I--should I
figure as the wronged king? How does the English laureate put it in his
idyl on the subject?

"'Mark's way,' said Mark, and clove him through the brain."

Too sudden and sweet a death by far for such a traitor! The Cornish
king should have known how to torture his betrayer! I knew--and I
meditated deeply on every point of my design, as I sat alone for an
hour after Ferrari had left me. I had many things to do--I had resolved
on making myself a personage of importance in Naples, and I wrote
several letters and sent out visiting-cards to certain well-established
families of distinction as necessary preliminaries to the result I had
in view. That day, too, I engaged a valet--a silent and discreet Tuscan
named Vincenzo Flamma. He was an admirably trained servant--he never
asked questions--was too dignified to gossip, and rendered