nation is necessary. Condescend, then, to hear
me." Violante shook her head impatiently, and stretched forth her hand
for the letter. Randal observed her countenance with his keen, cold,
searching eye; but he still withheld the letter, and continued, after a
pause,

"I know that you were born to princely fortunes; and the excuse for my
addressing you now is, that your birthright is lost to you, at least
unless you can consent to a union with the man who has despoiled you
of your heritage,--a union which your father would deem dishonour to
yourself and him. Signorina, I might have presumed to love you, but I
should not have named that love, had your father not encouraged me by
his assent to my suit."

Violante turned to the speaker, her face eloquent with haughty surprise.
Randal met the gaze unmoved. He continued, without warmth, and in the
tone of one who reasons calmly, rather than of one who feels acutely,

"The man of whom I spoke is in pursuit of you. I have cause to believe
that this person has already intruded himself upon you. Ah, your
countenance owns it; you have seen Peschiera? This house is, then,
less safe than your father deemed it. No house is safe for you but a
husband's. I offer to you my name,--it is a gentleman's; my fortune,
which is small; the participation in my hopes of the future, which are
large. I place now your father's letter in your hand, and await your
answer." Randal bowed slightly, gave the letter to Violante, and retired
a few paces.

It was not his object to conciliate Violante's affection, but rather to
excite her repugnance, or at least her terror,--we must wait to
discover why; so he stood apart, seemingly in a kind of self-confident
indifference, while the girl read the following letter:

"My child, receive with favour Mr. Leslie. He has my consent to
address you as a suitor. Circumstances of which it is needless now
to inform you render it essential to my very peace and happiness
that your marriage should be immediate. In a word, I have given my
promise to Mr. Leslie, and I confidently leave it to the daughter of
my House to redeem the pledge of her anxious and tender father."

The letter dropped from Violante's hand. Randal approached, and restored
it to her. Their eyes met. Violante recoiled.

"I cannot marry you," said she, passionately.

"Indeed?" answered Randal, dryly. "Is it because you cannot love me?"

"Yes."

"I did not expect that you would