believe it ever existed. At
one time I thought Socrates must have been a man of sense: a delusion;
he would stand gazing into the air, and talking to his Genius from
sunrise to sunset. Is that like a man of sense? Poor Audley! how puzzled
he looks! Well, I'll try and talk sense to oblige you. And first" (here
Harley raised himself on his elbow),--"first, is it true, as I have
heard vaguely, that you are paying court to the sister of that infamous
Italian traitor?"

"Madame di Negra? No: I am not paying court to her," answered Audley,
with a cold smile. "But she is very handsome; she is very clever; she is
useful to me,--I need not say how or why; that belongs to my metier as a
politician. But I think, if you will take my advice, or get your friend
to take it, I could obtain from her brother, through my influence with
her, some liberal concessions to your exile. She is very anxious to know
where he is."

"You have not told her?"

"No; I promised you I would keep that secret."

"Be sure you do; it is only for some mischief, some snare, that she
could desire such information. Concessions! pooh! This is no question of
concessions, but of rights."

"I think you should leave your friend to judge of that."

"Well, I will write to him. Meanwhile, beware of this woman. I have
heard much of her abroad, and she has the character of her brother for
duplicity and--"

"Beauty," interrupted Audley, turning the conversation with practised
adroitness. "I am told that the count is one of the handsomest men in
Europe, much handsomer than his sister still, though nearly twice her
age. Tut, tut, Harley; fear not for me. I am proof against all feminine
attractions. This heart is dead."

"Nay, nay; it is not for you to speak thus,--leave that to me. But even
I will not say it. The heart never dies. And you; what have you lost?--a
wife; true: an excellent, noble-hearted woman. But was it love that you
felt for her? Enviable man, have you ever loved?"

"Perhaps not, Harley," said Audley, with a sombre aspect and in dejected
accents; "very few men ever have loved, at least as you mean by the
word. But there are other passions than love that kill the heart, and
reduce us to mechanism."

While Egerton spoke, Harley turned aside, and his breast heaved. There
was a short silence; Audley was the first to break it.

"Speaking of my lost wife, I am sorry that you do not approve what I
have done for her young kinsman, Randal Leslie."

H