ted."

"But I understood just now," Tony interposed, "that the gentleman yonder
was in that enviable position."

"So he was, till circumstances obliged him to waive the privilege in
your favour."

"He does me too much honour; but if a deep sense of my unworthiness
obliges me to decline--"

"You are still," interrupted the Count, "labouring under a
misapprehension. Your choice in the matter is no more to be consulted
than the lady's. Not to put too fine a point on it, it is necessary that
you should marry her within the hour."

Tony, at this, for all his spirit, felt the blood run thin in his veins.
He looked in silence at the threatening visages between himself and the
door, stole a side-glance at the high barred windows of the apartment,
and then turned to Polixena, who had fallen sobbing at her father's
feet.

"And if I refuse?" said he.

The Count made a significant gesture. "I am not so foolish as to
threaten a man of your mettle. But perhaps you are unaware what the
consequences would be to the lady."

Polixena, at this, struggling to her feet, addressed a few impassioned
words to the Count and her father; but the latter put her aside with an
obdurate gesture.

The Count turned to Tony. "The lady herself pleads for you--at what
cost you do not guess--but as you see it is vain. In an hour his
Illustriousness's chaplain will be here. Meanwhile his Illustriousness
consents to leave you in the custody of your betrothed."

He stepped back, and the other gentlemen, bowing with deep ceremony to
Tony, stalked out one by one from the room. Tony heard the key turn in
the lock, and found himself alone with Polixena.

III

The girl had sunk into a chair, her face hidden, a picture of shame
and agony. So moving was the sight that Tony once again forgot his own
extremity in the view of her distress. He went and kneeled beside her,
drawing her hands from her face.

"Oh, don't make me look at you!" she sobbed; but it was on his bosom
that she hid from his gaze. He held her there a breathing-space, as
he might have clasped a weeping child; then she drew back and put him
gently from her.

"What humiliation!" she lamented.

"Do you think I blame you for what has happened?"

"Alas, was it not my foolish letter that brought you to this plight? And
how nobly you defended me! How generous it was of you not to show the
letter! If my father knew I had written to the Ambassador to save me
from this dreadful ma