him furiously, he imagined the
attack was meant for himself, and accordingly stood on the defensive.
The Baron tried to pass, but the bull lowered his horns, and looked
menacing, so he wisely retreated to his Hall.

Arrived at "The Swan," I demanded pen, ink, and paper, and wrote to my
friend in town to come to me for the purpose of performing the office of
second, after which I endeavoured to kill time in this lonely village
till dinner. Feeling hungry, I made a sumptuous repast and turned into
bed with feelings full of revenge towards the Baron.

"No more Phantom Fleas to-night," I said to myself as I tucked myself
up in my comfortable little bed at "The Swan," and soon fell into a
sound sleep.

And now, said the lawyer, when he had got thus far in his narrative, I
must root up an old and very painful subject that occurred in my early
life, and which I would fain have allowed to rest for ever.

In my earlier days, when as yet I had no fixed profession, during my
travels in Italy, I became enamoured of a beautiful Italian girl. Poor
Mariangela! how she loved me! That girl possessed the soul of an angel.
I see her before me now, with her sweet, dreamy, saintlike eyes, and her
quiet graceful step. We were never married, for I was not in a position
then to support a wife. She vowed that she would never love anyone else
but me. We parted, and--and--she died; died through love of me.

(Here the lawyer became visibly affected and hastily brushed away a
tear-drop with his hand. Mastering himself at length, he resumed.)

On her death-bed she sent for me. I arrived just in time to catch her
parting breath. When I stooped down to kiss her she hung a small relic
of some saint that had been blessed by the Pope, suspended with a piece
of ribbon, round my neck, and begged me to wear it for her sake, and
said that it would preserve me from all harm. Poor girl! she died in my
arms; I followed her to the grave and was for a long time inconsolable.

But time, that changes everything, changed me. A tender recollection of
her past love only remained; the wild tumultuous passion I had felt for
her while living, and the overwhelming grief I experienced at her death,
had subsided. For two years I wore the relic she gave me round my neck.
Not because I believed in its virtue, not being a Roman Catholic myself,
but for her sake alone--in remembrance of _her_. Afterwards, however, I
wore it less often, and at length discontinued wearing