thought was laid. I'm a changed
man, Hawbury."

"I should think so, by Jove!"

"A changed man," continued Dacres. "Oh, Heavens, what power there is
in a face! What terrific influence it has over a man! Here am I; a few
days ago I was a free man; now I am a slave. But, by Heaven! I'll
follow her to the world's end. She shall not shake me off. She thinks
to be happy without me. She shall not. I will silently follow as an
avenging fate. I can not have her, and no one else shall. The same
cursed fate that severs her from me shall keep her away from others.
If I am lonely and an exile, she shall not be as happy as she expects.
I shall not be the only one to suffer."

"See here, by Jove!" cried Hawbury. "Really. You're going too far, my
dear boy, you know. You are, really. Come now. This is just like a
Surrey theatre, you know. You're really raving. Why, my poor old boy,
you _must_ give her up. You can't do any thing. You daren't call on
her. You're tied hand and foot. You may worship her here, and rave
about your child-angel till you're black in the face, but you never
can see her; and as to all this about stopping her from marrying any
other person, that's all rot and bosh. What do you suppose any other
man would care for your nonsensical ravings? Lonely and an exile! Why,
man, she'll be married and done for in three months."

"You don't understand me," said Dacres, dryly.

"I'm glad that I don't; but it's no wonder, old man, for really you
were quite incoherent."

"And so they're going to Rome," said Dacres. "Well, they'll find that
I'm not to be shaken off so easily."

"Come now, old man, you _must_ give up that."

"And I suppose," continued Dacres, with a sneer, "our handsome,
dark-eyed little Italian cavalier is going with us. Ha, ha, ha! He's
at the house all the time, no doubt."

"Well, yes; he was there once."

"Ah! of course--quite devoted."

"Oh yes; but don't be afraid. It was not to the child-angel. She
appears to avoid him. That's really quite evident. It's an apparent
aversion on her part."

Dacres drew a long breath.

"Oh," said he; "and so I suppose it's not _her_ that _he_ goes after.
I did not suppose that it was. Oh no. There's another one--more
piquant, you know--ha, ha!--a devoted lover--saved her life--quite
devoted--and she sits and accepts his attentions. Yet she's seen me,
and knows that I'm watching her. Don't she know _me_? Does she want
any further proof of what I am ready to do?