the course of the day; and in order
to get rid of you, the count will tell you to see this servant, and
ascertain yourself that his sister is safe. Pretend to believe what
the man says, but make him come to your lodgings on pretence of writing
there a letter for the marchesa. Once at your lodgings, and he will
be safe; for I shall see that the officers of justice secure him. The
moment he is there, send an express for me to my hotel."

"But," said Frank, a little bewildered, "if I go to my lodgings, how can
I watch the count?"

"It will nor then be necessary. Only get him to accompany you to your
lodgings, and part with him at the door."

"Stop, stop! you cannot suspect Madame di Negra of connivance in a
scheme so infamous. Pardon me, Lord L'Estrange; I cannot act in this
matter,--cannot even hear you except as your foe, if you insinuate a
word against the honour of the woman I love."

"Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di Negra I would save, as
well as my friend's young child. Think but of her, while you act as
I entreat, and all will go well. I confide in you. Now, return to the
count."

Frank walked back to join Peschiera, and his brow was thoughtful, and
his lips closed firmly. Harley had that gift which belongs to the genius
of Action. He inspired others with the light of his own spirit and the
force of his own will. Harley next hastened to Lord Spendquick, remained
with that young gentleman some minutes, then repaired to his hotel,
where Leonard, the prince, and Giacomo still awaited him.

"Come with me, both of you. You, too, Giacomo. I must now see the
police. We may then divide upon separate missions."

"Oh, my dear Lord," cried Leonard, "you must have had good news. You
seem cheerful and sanguine."

"Seem! Nay, I am so! If I once paused to despond--even to doubt--I
should go mad. A foe to baffle, and an angel to save! Whose spirits
would not rise high, whose wits would not move quick to the warm pulse
of his heart?"

CHAPTER VIII.

Twilight was dark in the room to which Beatrice had conducted Violante.
A great change had come over Beatrice. Humble and weeping, she knelt
beside Violante, hiding her face, and imploring pardon. And Violante,
striving to resist the terror for which she now saw such cause as no
woman-heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly assured
forgiveness.

Beatrice had learned, after quick and fierce questions, which at last
compelled the answers t