XXVI. STORMS

XXVII. A LIFE IN THE BALANCE

XXVIII. ONE DAY'S RESPITE

XXIX. THERE IS DEATH BEFORE US

XXX. THE DAWN OF A NEW LIFE

XXXI. AN OLD MAN'S HATE

XXXII. THE KEEPING OF THE OATH

TO WIN THE LOVE HE SOUGHT

CHAPTER I

THE MEETING

The soft mantle of a southern twilight had fallen upon land and sea, and
the heart of the Palermitans was glad. Out they trooped into the scented
darkness, strolling along the promenade in little groups, listening to
the band, drinking in the cool night breeze from the sea, singling out
friends, laughing, talking, flirting, and passing on. A long line of
carriages was drawn up along the Marina, and many of the old Sicilian
aristocracy were mingling with the crowd.

Palermo is like a night blossom which opens only with the first breath
of evening. By day, it is parched and sleepy and stupid; by night, it is
alive and joyous--the place itself becomes an _al fresco_ paradise. It
is night which draws the sweetness from the flowers. The air is heavy
with the faint perfume of hyacinths and wild violets, and a breeze
stirring among the orange groves wafts a delicious aromatic odor across
the bay. Long rays of light from the little semi-circle of white-fronted
villas flash across the slumbering waters of the harbor. Out of door
restaurants are crowded; all is light and life and bustle; every one is
glad to have seen the last of the broiling sun; every one is happy and
light-hearted. The inborn gaiety of the south asserts itself. Women in
graceful toilettes pass backward and forward along the broad parade,
making the air sweeter still with the perfume of their floating
draperies, and the light revelry of their musical laughter.

'Tis a motley throng, and there is no respecting of persons.
Townspeople, a sprinkling of the old nobility, and a few curious
visitors follow in each other's footsteps. By day, those who can, sleep;
by night, they awake and don their daintiest clothing, and Palermo is
gay.

The terrace of the Hotel de l'Europe extends to the very verge of the
promenade, and, night by night, is crowded with men of all conditions
and nations, who sit before little marble tables facing the sea, smoking
and drinking coffee and liqueurs. At one of these, so close to the
promenade that the dresses of the passers-by almost touched them, two
men were seated.

One was of an order and race easily to be distinguished in any quarter
of