was right. In less than that time a boat from the _Stormy Petrel_ had
picked us up, and we were standing in for land, firing rockets all the
way to announce the news to Lord and Lady St. Maurice. So ended this,
the most eventful day of my life.

And with its close has ended that sworn purpose which has brought me
here. I, Margharita di Marioni, as one day I had hoped to call myself,
am about to disgrace the traditions and honor of my race. I am going to
break my faith with a suffering old man. I am going to tell my uncle
that my hand can work no harm upon any of this family.

Before me here lies his answer to my letter--my confession to him. How
he trusts me, when even now he never doubts.

* * * * *

"MARGHARITA,--I have received your letter, and I have pondered over it.
You are young to have such a sorrow, yet I do not doubt but that you
will act as becomes your race. You can never think of marriage with this
man; you a Marioni, he a St. Maurice! Yet I grieve that you have let
such a feeling steal into your heart. Pluck it out, Margharita, I charge
you; pluck it out by the roots! Think not of the wrong done to me, or,
if you do, think of me not as a man and your uncle, but as Count
Leonardo di Marioni, the head of my family, the head of your family. We
have been the victims, but the day of our vengeance is at hand. There is
no life without its sorrows, child! In the days to come, happiness will
teach you to forget this one.

"Farewell, my child. I shall send you no more notes. Write or come to me
the moment the deed is done! Come to me, if you can; I would hear your
own lips tell me the news. Yet do as seems best to you. In sympathy and
love,

"L. di M.

"One word more, child. Do not for a moment imagine that I blame you for
what has happened. Old man though I am, I too know something of the
marvels and the vagaries of this same love. Will can have little to do
with its course. I, who have suffered so deeply, Margharita, can and do
sympathize and feel for you."

* * * * *

This is the letter. I shall seal it up with the others, and this little
record of my life, on the last page of which I am now writing. When I
leave here they will go with me.

Yes, it is the dawn of a new day. Shall I ever see another, I wonder? I
think not! For me, no longer will the sun rise and set, the breezes
blow, and the earth be fair and sweet. All these things might h