ed colour;
his voice faltered as he repeated the name "Barnard!"

"Yes," said I, with affected composure, "Barnard! a great friend of Don
Diego D'Alvarez."

"I perceive," said Gerald, collecting himself, "that you are in some
measure acquainted with my secret: how far it is known to you I cannot
guess; but I tell you, very fairly, that from me you will not increase
the sum of your knowledge."

When one is in a good sound rage, it is astonishing how calm one can be!
I was certainly somewhat amazed by Gerald's hardihood and assurance, but
I continued, with a smile,

"And Donna Isora, how long, if not very intrusive on your confidence,
have you known her?"

"I tell you," answered Gerald, doggedly, "that I will answer no
questions."

"You remember the old story," returned I, "of the two brothers, Eteocles
and Polynices, whose very ashes refused to mingle; faith, Gerald, our
love seems much of the same sort. I know not if our ashes will exhibit
so laudible an antipathy: but I think our hearts and hands will do so
while a spark of life animates them; yes, though our blood" (I added,
in a voice quivering with furious emotion) "prevents our contest by the
sword, it prevents not the hatred and the curses of the heart."

Gerald turned pale. "I do not understand you," he faltered out,--"I know
you abhor me; but why, why this excess of malice?"

I cast on him a look of bitter scorn, and turned from the room.

It is not pleasing to place before the reader these dark passages of
fraternal hatred: but in the record of all passions there is a moral;
and it is wise to see to how vast a sum the units of childish animosity
swell, when they are once brought into a heap, by some violent event,
and told over by the nice accuracy of Revenge.

But I long to pass from these scenes, and my history is about to glide
along others of more glittering and smiling aspect. Thank Heaven, I
write a tale, not only of love, but of a life; and that which I cannot
avoid I can at least condense.

CHAPTER X.

A VERY SHORT CHAPTER,--CONTAINING A VALET.

MY uncle for several weeks had flattered himself that I had quite
forgotten or foregone the desire of leaving Devereux Court for London.
Good easy man! he was not a little distressed when I renewed the subject
with redoubled firmness, and demanded an early period for that event.
He managed, however, still to protract the evil day. At one time it was
impossible to part with me, because the ho