bear; harder still
after a weary, wretched life such as mine. You will understand,
though--you will be able to decipher this faint, uncertain handwriting,
and you will forgive me if it tires you. Ay, you will do that,
Margharita, I know!

"Let me tell you how I found him. It was by the purest accident. I
turned aside into an old curio shop to buy some trifle for you which
took my fancy, and it was Paschuli himself who served me. Thus you see
how indirectly even your star always shines over mine and leads me
aright. If it had not been for you I should never have dreamed of
entering the place, but I thought of you and your taste for Roman
jewelry, and behold, I found myself in the presence of the man for whom
I was making vain search. My Margharita! my good angel! I have you to
thank even for the successful accomplishment of my part in that edict of
our Order which you and I are banded together to carry out.

"At first, Paschuli did not recognize me, and it was long before I could
make him believe that I was indeed that most unfortunate of men,
Leonardo di Marioni. But when he was convinced, he promised me what I
sought. That same evening he gave it to me.

"Margharita, there is no poison in the world like that which I send you
in this letter. The merest grain of it is sufficient, in wine or water,
or food of any sort. There is no art of medicine which could detect
it--no means by which the death, which will surely follow, can be
averted; so you run no risk, my child! Bide your time, and then--then!

"Margharita, I am coming to you. Nay, do not be alarmed, I run no risk.
I shall come disguised, and no one will know me, but I must see
something of the end with my own eyes, or half its sweetness would be
untasted. I would see her face and die! I would trace, day by day, the
workings of the poison; and in the last moments of her agony I would
reveal myself, and would point to my withered frame and the hand of
death upon my forehead, and cry out to her that the Order of the White
Hyacinth had kept its vow. I would have her eyes meet mine as the mists
of death closed in upon her. I would have her know that the oath of a
Marioni, in friendship or in hate, in protection or in vengeance, is one
with his honor. This may not be, Margharita! I cannot see all this! I
cannot even stand by her bedside for a moment and show her my face, that
she might know whose hand it is which has stricken her down. Yet, I must
be near! Fear not