to your daughter
worthy of her?"

"You are well born! all gentlemen are equals," said Riccabocca, with a
sort of easy nobleness. "You have youth, information, talent,--sources
of certain wealth in this happy country,--powerful connections; and, in
fine, if you are satisfied with marrying for love, I shall be contented;
if not, speak openly. As to the restoration to my possessions, I can
scarcely think that probable while my enemy lives. And even in that
case, since I saw you last, something has occurred," added Riccabocca,
with a strange smile, which seemed to Randal singularly sinister and
malignant, "that may remove all difficulties. Meanwhile, do not think me
so extravagantly magnanimous; do not underrate the satisfaction I must
feel at knowing Violante safe from the designs of Peschiera,--safe, and
forever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an Italian proverb,--it
contains a truth full of wisdom and terror,

"'Hai cinquanta Amici?--non basta. Hai un Nemico?--e troppo.'" ["Have
you fifty friends?--it is not enough. Have you one enemy?--it is too
much."]

"Something has occurred!" echoed Randal, not heeding the conclusion of
this speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb, which the sage delivered
in his most emphatic and tragic tone. "Something has occurred! My dear
friend, be plainer. What has occurred?" Riccabocca remained silent.
"Something that induces you to bestow your daughter on me?" Riccabocca
nodded, and emitted a low chuckle.

"The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. "Something that makes her
not worth bestowing. He betrays himself. Cunning people always do."

"Pardon me," said the Italian, at last, "if I don't answer your
question; you will know later; but at present this is a family secret.
And now I must turn to another and more alarming cause for my frankness
to you." Here Riccabocca's face changed, and assumed an expression of
mingled rage and fear. "You must know," he added, sinking his voice,
"that Giacomo has seen a strange person loitering about the house, and
looking up at the windows; and he has no doubt--nor have I--that this is
some spy or emissary of Peschiera's."

"Impossible; how could he discover you?"

"I know not; but no one else has any interest in doing so. The man kept
at a distance, and Giacomo could not see his face."

"It may be but a mere idler. Is this all?"

"No; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked at a shop 'if
we were not Italians'?"

"And