lorence? Your compliments, you
will be with her at two. There, now the rehearsal's over, the scenes
arranged, and I'll dress, and open the play for you with a prologue."

CHAPTER VIII.

"Aestuat ingens
Imo in corde pudor, mixtoque insania luctu,
Et furiis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus."*--VIRGIL.

* Deep in her inmost heart is stirred the immense shame, and madness
with commingled grief, and love agitated by rage, and conscious virtue.

THE next day, punctual to his appointment, Cesarini repaired to his
critical interview with Lady Florence. Her countenance, which, like
that of most persons whose temper is not under their command, ever too
faithfully expressed what was within, was unusually flushed. Lumley
had dropped words and hints which had driven sleep from her pillow and
repose from her mind.

She rose from her seat with nervous agitation as Cesarini entered and
made his grave salutation. After a short and embarrassed pause, she
recovered, however, her self-possession, and with all a woman's delicate
and dexterous tact, urged upon the Italian the expediency of accepting
the offer of honourable independence now extended to him.

"You have abilities," she said, in conclusion, "you have friends, you
have youth; take advantage of those gifts of nature and fortune, and
fulfil such a career as," added Lady Florence, with a smile, "Dante did
not consider incompatible with poetry."

"I cannot object to any career," said Cesarini, with an effort, "that
may serve to remove me from a country that has no longer any charms for
me. I thank you for your kindness; I will obey you. May you be happy;
and yet--no, ah! no--happy you must be! Even he, sooner or later, must
see you with my eyes."

"I know," replied Florence, falteringly, "that you have wisely and
generously mastered a past illusion. Mr. Ferrers allowed me to see the
letter you wrote to Er---to Mr. Maltravers; it was worthy of you:
it touched me deeply; but I trust you will outlive your prejudices
against--"

"Stay," interrupted Cesarini; "did Ferrers communicate to you the answer
to that letter?"

"No, indeed."

"I am glad of it."

"Why?"

"Oh, no matter. Heaven bless you; farewell."

"No; I implore you, do not go yet; what was there in that letter that it
could pain me to see? Lumley hinted darkly; but would not speak out: be
more frank."

"I cannot: it would be treachery to Maltravers, cruelty to you; yet
would it be cruel?"