no
anger against him. But I was eager to meet my promised wife, and he did
not fill my thoughts for more than a passing moment.

The count volunteered to accompany me to Lady Rollinson's house.

"You are bidden to dinner," he said, "but I dare say they will excuse an
afternoon visit as well. The circumstances are unusual."

His face was full of a quiet and happy humor, which even in the midst
of my own whirling emotions struck me as being remarkable. What a native
courage must have existed within this man that all the miseries he had
undergone had left so much of his manhood to him! What a tranquil and
heroic soul he must have borne to have survived that hideous time at
all. I know of myself that I should have beaten my brains out against
the wall of that loathsome jail many years ago had his lot fallen to me,
or I should have sunk to the stupor of an idiot.

We walked together arm in arm, as our manner was, and we talked of
scores of things as we went along, though there was always one thought
uppermost in the minds of both of us. The count seemed almost as happy
as I was, and the knowledge that he welcomed me so warmly was like honey
to my heart. For all this I was in an absurd flutter all the way; and
when we reached the house I had come to such a condition of mind that
whether I were in a delirium of joy or a delirium of misery I was in no
wise sure. The delirium was certain; but I found that afternoon how true
a thing it is that extremes meet. Great joy and great sorrow are not
very wide apart in the havoc they work on the nerves.

I have been trying to recall everything that happened that day; but I
find that I have no memory of anything at all between our talking very
brightly and affectionately in the street, and my finding myself alone
in Lady Rollinson's drawing-room. There was a bright fire burning there,
for the spring days were chilly. There was a clock ticking delicately on
the mantel-piece, and my mind fastened on to the sound as if there were
possibility of checking and steadying my whirling thoughts by thinking
of it--pretty much as a man would clutch a straw in a whirlpool. The
rustle of a dress sounded in the corridor outside, and a step paused at
the door. My heart beat furiously, and then as the door opened it seemed
as if it stopped for a second. Miss Rossano entered (it is the last time
I shall call her by that name), and for a moment we stood face to face
in silence, like a pair of foolish st