t night, and early this morning I visited the address
which I obtained at Florence with so much difficulty. The house was shut
up. From inquiries made with caution among the neighbors I learned that
Andrea Paschuli had left a few months before for Rome. Thither I go in
search of him.

"The delay is irksome, but it is necessary. Although my desire for the
day of my vengeance to come is as strong as ever, I would not have the
shadow of a suspicion rest upon you. Truly, yours will be no crime, but
the world and the courts of justice would have it otherwise. You will,
in verity, be but the instrument. Upon my head be the guilt, as mine
will be the exceeding joy, when the thing for which I crave is
accomplished. Bless you, my child, that you have elected to aid me in
carrying out this most just requital! Bless you, my child, that you have
chosen to bring peace into the heart of one who has known great
suffering!

"Your last letter was short; yet I do not wonder at it. What is there
you can find to say to me, while our great purpose remains thus in
abeyance? My health continues good, I am thankful to say, yet, were it
otherwise, I know that my strength would linger with me till my oath is
accomplished. Till that day shall come death itself has no power over
me. Even though its shadow lay across my path I could still defy it.
Think not that I am blaspheming, Margharita, or that I believe in no
God. I believe in a God of justice, and he will award me my right. Oh,
that the time may be short, for I am growing weary. Life is very
burdensome, save only for its end.

"Sometimes, my beloved Margharita, you have sought to lighten the deep
gloom through which I struggle, by picturing the happy days we may yet
spend together in some far-distant country, where the shadows of this
great selfish world barely reach, and its mighty roar and tumult sound
but as a faint, low murmur. I have listened, but I have answered not;
for in my heart I know that it will never be. Those days will never
come. I have shrunk from throwing a chill upon your warm, generous
heart; but of late I have wondered whether I do well in thus silently
deceiving you. For, Margharita, there is no such time of peaceful
happiness in store for me. I am dying! Nay, do not start! Do not pity
me! Do not fear! I know it so well; and I feel no pang, no sorrow. The
limit of my days is fixed--not in actual days or weeks, but by events. I
shall live to see my desire accomplished