nt of all was Harley. He sat listening to Leonard's warm yet
unpretending eloquence,--that eloquence which flows so naturally from
genius, when thoroughly at its ease, and not chilled back on itself
by hard, unsympathizing hearers; listened, yet more charmed, to the
sentiments less profound, yet no less earnest,--sentiments so feminine,
yet so noble, with which Violante's fresh virgin heart responded to the
poet's kindling soul. Those sentiments of hers were so unlike all
he heard in the common world, so akin to himself in his gone youth!
Occasionally--at some high thought of her own, or some lofty line
from Italian song, that she cited with lighted eyes, and in melodious
accents--occasionally he reared his knightly head, and his lip quivered,
as if he had heard the sound of a trumpet. The inertness of long years
was shaken. The Heroic, that lay deep beneath all the humours of his
temperament, was reached, appealed to; and stirred within him, rousing
up all the bright associations connected with it, and long dormant. When
he arose to take leave, surprised at the lateness of the hour, Harley
said, in a tone that bespoke the sincerity of the compliment, "I thank
you for the happiest hours I have known for years." His eye dwelt on
Violante as he spoke.

But timidity returned to her with his words, at his look; and it was no
longer the inspired muse, but the bashful girl that stood before him.

"And when shall I see you again?" asked Riccabocca, disconsolately,
following his guest to the door.

"When? Why, of course, to-morrow. Adieu! my friend. No wonder you have
borne your exile so patiently,--with such a child!"

He took Leonard's arm, and walked with him to the inn where he had left
his horse. Leonard spoke of Violante with enthusiasm. Harley was silent.

CHAPTER III.

The next day a somewhat old-fashioned, but exceedingly patrician,
equipage stopped at Riccabocca's garden-gate. Giacomo, who, from a
bedroom window, had caught sight of its winding towards the house, was
seized with undefinable terror when he beheld it pause before their
walls, and heard the shrill summons at the portal. He rushed into his
master's presence, and implored him not to stir,--not to allow any
one to give ingress to the enemies the machine might disgorge. "I have
heard," said he, "how a town in Italy--I think it was Bologna--was once
taken and given to the sword, by incautiously admitting a wooden horse
full of the troops of Barbar