wholly politic motives, and in order to extend his estates and
increase his revenue, he had married early in life, and his
affection, never bestowed upon his wife, had centred in their only
child Cuthbert. When death removed the unloved mother, freedom was
joyfully welcomed, and the memory of his neglected bride rarely
visited the heart, which was not invulnerable to grace and beauty.

The consummation of an alliance between his son and Abbie Ames, the
banker's daughter, had cost him much manoeuvring and tedious
diplomacy, for like his father, Cuthbert was fastidious in his
tastes, and an ardent devotee to female beauty; but when finally
accomplished, General Laurance considered his paternal obligations
fully discharged, and henceforth roamed from city to city, sipping
such enjoyment as money, aristocratic status, urbane manners, and a
heritage of well-preserved good looks enabled him to taste at will.

Six months before, he had first seen Madame Orme as "Deborah," in
Mosenthal's popular drama, and, charmed by her face and figure, had
attempted to make her acquaintance. But his floral offerings had been
rejected, his jewels and notes returned, his presentation refused,
his visits interdicted; and as usually occurs in natures like his,
opposition to his wishes intensified them, cold indifference and
denial only deepened and strengthened his determination to crush all
barriers. His pride was wounded, his vanity sorely piqued, and to
compel her acknowledgment of his power, her submission to his sway,
became for the while his special aim, his paramount purpose. Hence
he loitered at Naples, seeking occasions, lying in wait for an
opportunity to open a campaign that promised him new triumphs.

Dr. Plymley was an English physician travelling with an invalid wife
and consumptive son, and having been consulted by Mrs. Orme on
several occasions in Milan, had at length been prevailed upon by
General Laurance to arrange an apparently casual introduction.

It was a cloudless spring day, and leaving Mr. and Mrs. Waul to read
a package of American papers, Mrs. Orme walked away toward the lonely
outlines of the Serapeon.

The delicious balmy atmosphere, the interest of the objects that
lined the drive from Naples, and the exercise of wandering from point
to point had brought a delicate glow to her cheeks, and a brighter
carmine to her lips; and beneath the white chip hat, with its wreath
of clustering pink convolvulus lying on her