ut I thought you were content with England. Why
so eager to leave it? Violante, you are unkind to us,--to Helen, who
already loves you so well." As Harley spoke, Helen rose from the piano,
and approaching Violante, placed her hand caressingly on the Italian's
shoulder. Violante shivered, and shrunk away. The eyes both of Harley
and Helen followed her. Harley's eyes were very grave and thoughtful.

"Is she not changed--your friend?" said he, looking down.

"Yes, lately; much changed. I fear there is something on her mind,--I
know not what."

"Ah," muttered Harley, "it may be so; but at your age and hers, nothing
rests on the mind long. Observe, I say the mind,--the heart is more
tenacious."

Helen sighed softly, but deeply.

"And therefore," continued Harley, half to himself, "we can detect when
something is on the mind,--some care, some fear, some trouble. But when
the heart closes over its own more passionate sorrow, who can discover,
who conjecture? Yet you at least, my pure, candid Helen,--you might
subject mind and heart alike to the fabled window of glass."

"Oh, no!" cried Helen, involuntarily.

"Oh, yes! Do not let me think that you have one secret I may not know,
or one sorrow I may not share. For, in our relationship, that would be
deceit."

He pressed her hand with more than usual tenderness as he spoke, and
shortly afterwards left the house.

And all that night Helen felt like a guilty thing,--more wretched even
than Violante.

CHAPTER V.

Early the next morning, while Violante was still in her room, a letter
addressed to her came by the post. The direction was in a strange hand.
She opened it, and read, in Italian, what is thus translated:--

I would gladly see you, but I cannot call openly at the house in
which you live. Perhaps I may have it in my power to arrange family
dissensions,--to repair any wrongs your father may have sustained.
Perhaps I may be enabled to render yourself an essential service.
But for all this it is necessary that we should meet and confer
frankly. Meanwhile time presses, delay is forbidden. Will you meet
me, an hour after noon, in the lane, just outside the private gate
of your gardens? I shall be alone, and you cannot fear to meet one
of your own sex, and a kinswoman. Ah, I so desire to see you!
Come, I beseech you.

BEATRICE.

Violante read, and her decision was taken. She was naturally fearless,
and