Upon entering the sphere of marble palaces, brilliantly lighted villas, and gay mansions, the robber chief covered his face with a black mask—a mode of disguise so common at that period, not only amongst ladies, but also with cavaliers and nobles, that it was not considered at all suspicious, save as a proof of amatory intrigue, with which the sbirri had no right of interference.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE COUNTESS OF ARESTINO.

We must now introduce our readers to a splendid apartment in the Arestino Palace.

This room was tastefully decorated and elegantly furnished. The tapestry was of pale blue; and the ottomans, ranged round the walls in Oriental style, were of rich crimson satin embroidered with gold. In the middle stood a table covered with ornaments and rich trinkets lately arrived from Paris—for France already began to exercise the influence of its superior civilization and refinement over the south of Europe.

The ceiling of that room was a master-piece of the united arts of sculpture and painting. First, the hand of the sculptor had carved it into numerous medallions, on which the pencil of the painter had then delineated the most remarkable scenes in early Florentine history. Round the sides, or cornices, were beautifully sculptured in marble the heads of the principal ancestors of the Count of Arestino.

It was within half an hour of midnight, and the beautiful Giulia Arestino was sitting restlessly upon an ottoman, now holding her breath to listen if a step were approaching the private door behind the tapestry—then glancing anxiously toward a clepsydra on the mantel.

"What can detain him thus? will he deceive me?" she murmured to herself. "Oh! how foolish—worse than foolish—mad—to confide in the promise of a professed bandit! The jewels are worth a thousand times the reward I have pledged myself to give him! wretched being that I am!"

And with her fair hand she drew back the dark masses of her hair that had fallen too much over her polished brow: and on this polished brow she pressed that fair hand, for her head ached with the intensity of mingled suspense and alarm.

Her position was indeed a dangerous one as the reader is already aware. In the infatuation of her strong, unconquerable, but not less guilty love for the handsome spendthrift Orsini, she had pledged her diamonds to Isaachar ben Solomon for an enormous sum of money, every ducat of which had passed without an hour's delay into the possession of the young marquis.

Those diamonds were the bridal gift of her fond and attached, but, alas! deceived husband, who, being many years older than herself, studied constantly how to afford pleasure to the wife of whom he was so proud. He was himself an extraordinary judge of the nature, purity and value of precious stones; and, being immensely rich, he had collected a perfect museum of curiosities in that particular department. In fact, it was his amateur study, or, as we should say in these times, his peculiar hobby; and hence the impossibility of imposing on him by the substitution of a hired or a false set of diamonds for those which he had presented to his wife.

It was, therefore, absolutely necessary to get these diamonds back from Isaachar, by fair means or foul. The fair means were to redeem them by the payment of the loan advanced upon them; but the sum was so large that the countess dared not make such a demand upon her husband's purse, because the extravagances of her lover had lately compelled her to apply so very, very frequently to the count for a replenishment of her funds. The foul means were therefore resorted to—an old woman, who had been the nurse of the countess in her infancy, and to whom in her distress she applied for advice, having procured for the patrician lady the services of Stephano Verrina, the bandit-captain.

It is not to be wondered at, then, if the Countess of Arestino were a prey to the most poignant anxiety, as each successive quarter of an hour passed without bringing either Stephano or any tidings from him. Even if she feigned illness, so as to escape the ceremony of the following day, relief would only be temporary, for the moment she should recover, or affect to recover, her husband would again require her to accompany him to the receptions of the prince.

Giulia's anguish had risen to that point at which such feelings become intolerable, and suggest the most desperate remedies—suicide,—when a low knock behind the pale-blue arras suddenly imparted hope to her soul.

Hastily raising the tapestry on that side whence the sound had emanated, she drew back the bolt of a little door communicating with a private staircase (usually found in all Italian mansions at that period), and the robber chief entered the room.

"Have you succeeded?" was Giulia's rapid question.

"Your ladyship's commission has been executed," replied Stephano, who, we should observe, had laid aside his black mask ere he appeared in the presence of the countess.

"Ah! now I seem to live—breathe again!" cried Giulia, a tremendous weight suddenly removed from her mind.

Stephano produced the jewel-case from beneath his cloak; and as the countess hastily took it—nay, almost snatched it from him, he endeavored to imprint a kiss upon her fair hand.

Deep was the crimson glow which suffused her countenance—her neck—even all that was revealed of her bosom, as she drew haughtily back, and with a sublime patrician air of offended pride.

"I thank you—thank you from the bottom of my soul, Signor Verrina," she said in another moment; for she felt how completely circumstances had placed her in the power of the bandit-chief, and how useless it was to offend him. "Here is your reward," and she presented him a heavy purse of gold.

"Nay, keep the jingling metal, lady," said Stephano; "I stand in no need of it—at least for the present. The reward I crave is of a different nature, and will even cost you less than you proffer me."

"What other recompense can I give you?" demanded Giulia, painfully alarmed.

"A few lines written by thy fair hand to my dictation," answered Stephano.

Giulia cast upon him a look of profound surprise.

"Here, lady, take my tablets, for I see that your own are not at hand," cried the chief. "Delay not—it grows late, and we may be interrupted."

"We may indeed," murmured Giulia, darting a rapid look at the water-clock. "It is within a few minutes of midnight."

She might have added—"And at midnight I expect a brief visit from Manuel d'Orsini, ere the return of my husband from a banquet at a friend's villa." But of course this was her secret; and anxious to rid herself of the company of Stephano, she took the tablets with trembling hands and prepared to write.

"I, Giulia, Countess of Arestino," began the brigand, dictating to her, "confess myself to owe Stephano Verrina a deep debt of gratitude for his kindness in recovering my diamonds from the possession of the Jew Isaachar, to whom they were pledged for a sum which I could not pay."

"But wherefore this document?" exclaimed the countess, looking up in a searching manner at the robber-chief; for she had seated herself at the table to write, and he was leaning over the back of her chair.

"'Tis my way at times," he answered, carelessly, "when I perform some service for a noble lord or a great lady, to solicit an acknowledgment of this kind in preference to gold." Then, sinking his voice to a low whisper, he added with an air of deep meaning, "Who knows but that this document may some day save my head?"

Giulia uttered a faint shriek, for she comprehended in a moment how cruelly she might sooner or later be compromised through that document, and how entirely she was placing herself in the bandit's power.

But Stephano's hand clutched the tablets whereon the countess had, almost mechanically, written to his subtle dictation; and he said, coolly: "Fear not, lady—I must be reduced to a desperate strait indeed when my safety shall depend on the use I can make of this fair handwriting."

Giulia felt partially relieved by this assurance: and it was with ill-concealed delight that she acknowledged the ceremonial bow with which the bandit-chief intimated his readiness to depart.

But at that moment three low and distinct knocks were heard at the little door behind the arras.

Giulia's countenance became suffused with blushes: then, instantly recovering her presence of mind, she said in a rapid, earnest tone, "He who is coming knows nothing concerning the jewels, and will be surprised to find a stranger with me. Perhaps he may even recognize you—perhaps he knows you by sight——"

"What would you have me do, lady?" demanded Stephano. "Speak, and I obey you."

"Conceal yourself—here—and I will soon release you."

She raised the tapestry on the side opposite to that by which Stephano had entered the room; and the robber-chief hid himself in the wide interval between the hangings in the wall.

All this had scarcely occupied a minute; and Giulia now hastened to open the private door, which instantly gave admittance to the young, handsome, and dissipated Marquis of Orsini.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE LOVE OF WOMAN—GIULIA AND HER LOVER.

Silence, and calmness, and moonlight were without the walls of the Arestino villa; for the goddess of night shone sweetly but coldly on the city of Florence, and asserted her empire even over the clouds that ere now had seemed laden with storm. Nor beamed she there alone—that fair Diana; for a countless host of handmaidens—the silver-faced stars—had spread themselves over the deep purple sky; and there—there—they all shone in subdued and modest glory—those myriads of beacons floating on the eternal waves of that far-off and silent sea!

Shine on, sweet regent of the night—and ye, too, silver-faced stars, whose countenances are reflected and multiplied endlessly, as they are rocked to and fro, on the deep blue bosom of the Arno; while on the banks of that widely-famed stream, Nature herself, as if wearied of her toils, appears to be sleeping.

Would that the soul of man could thus lie down in its night of sorrow or of racking passion, on the margin of the waters of hope, confident that the slumber of contentment and peace will seal his eyelids, heavy with long vigils in a world where conflicting interests need constant watching, and that the stillness of the unfathomable depths of those waters will impart its influence unto him!

For, oh! if calmness, silence, and moonlight prevail without the walls of the Arestino villa, yet within there be hearts agitated by passions and emotions, from which the gentle genius of slumber shrinks back aghast.

In the brilliantly lighted apartment, to which we have already introduced our readers, the Countess Giulia receives her lover, the dissipated but handsome Marquis of Orsini; the bandit-captain is concealed behind the richly-worked tapestry; and at the door—not the little private one—of that room, an old man is listening; an old man whose ashy pale countenance, clinched hands, quivering white lips, and wildly rolling eyes indicate how terrible are the feelings which agitate within his breast.

This old man was the Count of Arestino, one of the mightiest nobles of the republic. Naturally his heart was good, and his disposition kind and generous—but, then, he was an Italian—and he was jealous! Need we say more to account for the change which had now taken place in his usually calm, tranquil, yet dignified, demeanor? Or shall we inform our readers that at the banquet to which he had been invited at a friend's villa that evening, he had overheard two young nobles, in a conversation which the generous wine they had been too freely imbibing rendered indiscreetly loud, couple the names of Giulia Arestino, his own much-loved wife, and Manuel d'Orsini, in a manner which suddenly excited a fearful, a blasting suspicion in his mind? Stealing away unperceived from the scene of revelry, the count had returned unattended to the immediate vicinity of his mansion; and from the shade of a detached building he had observed the Marquis of Orsini traverse the gardens and enter a portico leading to the private staircase communicating with that wing of the palace which contained the suit of apartments occupied by Giulia.

This was enough to strengthen the suspicion already excited in the old nobleman's mind; but not quite sufficient to confirm it. The countess had several beautiful girls attached to her person; and the marquis might have stooped to an intrigue with one of them. The Lord of Arestino was therefore resolved to act with the caution of a prudent man: but he was also prepared to avenge, in case of the worst, with the spirit of an Italian.

He hurried round to the principal entrance of his palace, and gave some brief but energetic instructions to a faithful valet, who instantly departed to execute them. The count then ascended the marble staircase, traversed the corridors leading toward his lady's apartments, and placed himself against the door of that one wherein Giulia had already received her lover.

Thus, while silence, and calmness, and moonlight reign without—yet within the walls of the Arestino mansion a storm has gathered, to explode fearfully. And all through the unlawful, but not less ardent, love of Giulia for the spendthrift Marquis of Orsini!

Sober-minded men, philosophic reasoners, persons of business-habits, stern moralists—all these may ridicule the poet or the novelist who makes Love his everlasting theme; they may hug themselves, in the apathy of their own cold hearts, with the belief that all the attributes of the passion have been immensely exaggerated; but they are in error, deeply, profoundly, indisputably in error. For Love, in its various phases, among which are Jealousy, Suspicion, Infidelity, Rivalry, and Revenge, has agitated the world from time immemorial—has overthrown empires, has engendered exterminating wars, and has extended its despotic sway alike over the gorgeous city of a consummate civilization, and the miserable wigwam of a heathen barbarism! Who, then, can wonder—if the theme of Love be universal—that it should have evoked the rude and iron eloquence of the Scandinavian Scald as well as the soft and witching poesy of the bards of more genial climes, or that its praises or its sorrows should be sung on the banks of the Arno, the Seine, or the Thames, as well as amidst the pathless forests of America, or the burning sands of Africa, or in the far-off islands of the Southern Seas.

But, alas! it is thou, O woman! who art called on to make the most cruel sacrifices at the altar of this imperious deity—love! If thou lovest honorably, 'tis well; but if thou lovest unlawfully how wretched is thy fate! The lover, for whose sake thou hast forgotten thy duties as a wife, has sacrificed nothing to thee, whilst thou hast sacrificed everything to him. Let the amour be discovered, and who suffers? Thou! He loses not caste, station, name, nor honor;—thou art suddenly robbed of all these! The gilded saloons of fashion throw open their doors to the seducer; but bars of adamant defend that entrance against the seduced. For his sake thou risketh contumely, shame, reviling, scorn, and the lingering death of a breaking heart,—for thee he would not risk one millionth part of all that! Shouldst thou be starving, say to him, "Go forth and steal to give me bread; dare the dishonor of the deed, and make the sacrifice of thy good name for me. Or go and forge, or swindle, or lie foully, so that thou bringest me bread; for have I not dared dishonor, made the sacrifice of my good name, and done as much, ay, far more than all that, for thee?"

Shouldst thou, poor, seduced, weak one, address thy seducer thus, he will look upon thee as a fiend-like tempter—he will rush from thy sight—he will never see thee more; his love will be suddenly converted into hatred! Yes, man demands that woman should dishonor herself for his sake; but he will not allow a speck to appear upon what he calls his good name—no, not to save that poor, confiding, lost creature from the lowest depths and dregs of penury into which her frailty may have plunged her!

Such is the selfishness of man! Where is his chivalry?

But let us return to the Arestino Palace.

The moment Manuel d'Orsini entered the apartment by means of the private door, he embraced Giulia with a fondness which was more than half affected—at least on that occasion—and she herself returned the kiss less warmly than usual—but this was because she was constrained and embarrassed by the presence of the bandit-captain, who was concealed behind the tapestry.

"You appear cool—distant, Giulia," said Manuel, casting upon her an inquiring glance.

"And you either love me less, or you have something on your mind," returned the countess, in a low tone.

"In the first instance you are wrong—in the second you are right, my well-beloved," answered the marquis. "But tell me——"

"Speak lower, Manuel—we may be overheard. Some of my dependents are in the adjacent room, and——"

"And you wish me to depart as soon as possible, no doubt?" said the marquis, impatiently.

"Oh! Manuel—how can you reproach me thus?" asked Giulia, in a voice scarcely above a whisper; for that woman who dared be unfaithful to her husband revolted from the thought that a coarse-minded bandit should be in a position to overhear her conversation with her lover:—"how can you reproach me thus, Manuel?" she repeated;—"have I not given thee all the proofs of tenderest love which woman can bestow? Have I not risked everything for thee?"

"I do not reproach you, Giulia," he replied, pressing his hand to his brow, "but I am unhappy—miserable!"

And he flung himself upon the nearest ottoman.

"Oh! what has occurred to distract thee thus?" exclaimed the countess, forgetting the presence of Stephano Verrina in the all-absorbing interest of her lover's evident grief.

"Am I ever to find thee oppressed with care—thee, who art so young—and so gloriously handsome?" she added, her voice suddenly sinking to a whisper.

Manuel gazed for a few moments, without speaking, on the countenance of his mistress as she leant over him: then, in a deep, hollow tone—a tone the despair of which was too real and natural to be in the slightest degree affected, he said, "Giulia, I am a wretch,—unworthy of all this sweet love of thine!—I have broken the solemn vow which I pledged thee—I have violated my oath——"

"Oh, Manuel!" ejaculated the countess, still forgetting the presence of the bandit: "thou hast——"

"Gambled once more—and lost!" cried the marquis wildly. "And the sum that I am bound in honor to pay on Monday—by noon, is nearly equal in amount to that which thy generosity lent me the other day."

"Holy Virgin aid you, my unhappy Manuel!" said Giulia.

"For thou canst not?" exclaimed the young noble, with a profound sigh. "Oh! I am well aware that I have no claim upon thee——"

"Ah! wherefore that reproach?—for a reproach it is!" interrupted the countess. "No claim on me! Hast thou not my heart? and in giving thee that, Manuel, I laid at thy feet a poor offering, which, though so poor, yet absorbs all others of which I may dispose! Do not reproach me, Manuel—for I would lay down my life to save thy soul from pain, or thy name from dishonor!"

"Now art thou my own Giulia!" cried the marquis, pressing her hand to his lips. "An accursed fatality seems to hang over me! This habit of gaming entraps me as the wine cup fascinates the bibber who would fain avoid it, but cannot. Listen to me for one moment, Giulia. In the public casino—which, as thou well knowest, is a place of resort where fortunes are lost and won in an hour—ay, sometimes in a minute—I have met a man whose attire is good, and whose purse is well filled, but whose countenance I like as little as I should that of the captain of the sbirri, or his lieutenant, if I had committed a crime. This individual of whom I speak—for I know not his name—was the favored votary of Dame Fortune who won of me that sum which thy kindness, Giulia, alone enabled me to pay but a few days past. And now am I a second time this man's debtor. An hour ago he entered the casino; he stayed but for ten minutes—and in that time——"

"Oh! Manuel, is not this conduct of thine something bordering on madness?" interrupted the countess. "And if thou art thus wedded to that fatal habit, how canst thou find room in thy heart for a single gleam of affection for me?"

"Now dost thou reproach me in thy turn, Giulia!" exclaimed the young marquis. "But believe me, my angel," he continued, exerting all his powers to bend her to his purpose,—"believe me when I declare—oh! most solemnly declare, by all that I put faith in, and by all I hope for hereafter—that could I be relieved from this embarrassment—extricated from this difficulty——"

"Heavens! how can it be done?" interrupted the countess, casting her eyes wildly round; for the time was passing—she suddenly remembered that the bandit was still concealed in the room—and then, her husband might return earlier than was expected.

"Oh! if you despair of the means, Giulia," said the marquis, "I must fly from Florence—I must exile myself forever from the city of my birth, and which is still more endeared to me because," he added, sinking his voice to a tender tone,—"because, my well-beloved, it contains thee!"

"No, Manuel—you must not quit Florence and leave a dishonored name behind thee!" exclaimed this lovely woman, who was thus sublimely careful of the reputation of him for whom she had so long compromised her own. "What can be done? would that I had the means to raise this sum——"

"It is with shame that I suggest——" said Manuel.

"What? Speak—speak! The means?"

"Thy jewels, dearest—thy diamonds——"

"Merciful heavens! if you did but know all!" cried Giulia, almost frantically. "These diamonds were pledged to the Jew Isaachar ben Solomon, to raise the sum with which thy last debt was paid, Manuel; and—but forgive me if I did not tell thee all this before—not half an hour has elapsed since——"

She stopped short; for she knew that the bandit overheard every syllable she uttered.

Nor had she time, even if she possessed the power, to continue her most painful explanation; for scarcely had she thus paused abruptly, when the door burst open, and the Count of Arestino stood in the presence of the guilty pair.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE INJURED HUSBAND—THE GUILTY WIFE—AND THE INSOLENT LOVER.

In fury of heart and agony of mind, rushed the old lord into that apartment. Oh! how had he even been able to restrain himself so long, while listening at the door? It was that the conversation between his wife and the marquis had, as the reader is aware, been carried on in so low a tone—especially on the side of the countess, that he had not been able to gather sufficient to place beyond all doubt the guilt of that fair creature; and even in the midst of his Italian ire, he had clung to the hope that she might have been imprudent—but not culpable, as yet!

Oh! in this case, how gladly would that old lord have forgiven the past, on condition of complete reformation for the future! He would have removed his young wife afar from the scene of temptation—to a distant estate which he possessed; and there by gentle remonstrances and redoubled attention, he would have sought to bind her to him by the links of gratitude and respect, if not by those of love.

But this dream—so honorable to that old man's heart—was not to be realized; for scarcely was it conceived, when the discourse of the youthful pair turned upon the diamonds—those diamonds which he had given her on the bridal day!

Giulia spoke clearly and plainly enough then—in spite of the presence of the bandit in that chamber; for she was about to explain to her lover how willingly she would comply with his suggestion to raise upon the jewels the sum he again required—a readiness on her part which might be corroborated by the fact that she had already once had recourse to this expedient, and for him—but she dared not adopt the same course again, as her husband might detect the absence of the valuables ere she could obtain funds to redeem them.

When she acknowledged to her lover that "these diamonds were pledged to the Jew Isaachar ben Solomon, to raise the sum with which his last debt was paid," it flashed to the old nobleman's mind that his wife had exhibited some little confusion when he had spoken to her a day or two previously concerning her jewels: and now it was clear that they had been used as the means to supply the extravagances of an unprincipled spendthrift. How could he any longer cling to the hope that Giulia was imprudent only, and not guilty? Must she not be guilty, to have made so large a sacrifice and run so great a risk for the sake of the Marquis of Orsini?

It was under the influence of these excited feelings that the Count of Arestino burst into the room.

Fortunately—so far as outward appearance went—there was nothing more to confirm the old nobleman's suspicions; the youthful pair were not locked in each other's arms; their hands were not even joined. Manuel was seated on the sofa, and Giulia was standing at a short distance from him.

But conscious guilt elicited a faint scream from her lips; and the boiling blood, after rushing to her countenance, seemed to ebb away as rapidly again—leaving her beauteous face as pale as marble; while she clung to the mantel-piece for support.

"I am glad that your lordship is returned," said the marquis, rising from his seat and advancing toward the count in a manner so insolently cool and apparently self-possessed, that Giulia was not only astonished but felt her courage suddenly revive: "I was determined—however uncourteous the intrusion and unseemly the hour—to await your lordship's coming; and as her ladyship assured me that you would not tarry late——"

"My lord marquis," interrupted the old nobleman, who was himself so taken by surprise at this unembarrassed mode of address, that he began to fancy his ears must have deceived him and his suspicions beguiled him; "on what business could you possibly have needed my services at this late hour?"

"I will explain myself," returned Orsini, who was a perfect adept in the art of dissimulation, and who, never losing his presence of mind, embraced at a glance the whole danger of Giulia's position and his own, and the probability that their conversation might have been overheard; "I was explaining to her ladyship the temporary embarrassment under which I lay, and from which I hoped that your friendship might probably release me——"

"And her ladyship spoke of her diamonds—did she not?" demanded the count, addressing himself to the marquis, but fixing a keen and penetrating glance on Giulia.

"Her ladyship was remonstrating with me on my extravagancies," hastily replied the marquis, "and was repeating to me—I must say in a manner too impressive to be agreeable—the words which my own sister had used to me a few days ago, when explaining, as her motive for refusing me the succor which I needed, that she actually had been compelled to pledge her diamonds——"

"Ah! they were your sister's diamonds that were pledged to Isaachar the Jew?" said the count, half ironically and half in doubt; for he was fairly bewildered by the matchless impudence of the young marquis.

"Yes, my lord—my dear sister, who, alas! is ruining herself to supply me with the means of maintaining my rank. And as my sister and her ladyship, the countess, are on the most friendly terms, as you are well aware, it is not surprising if she should have communicated the secret of the diamonds to her ladyship, and also beg her ladyship to remonstrate with me——"

"Well, my lord," interrupted the count impatiently, "your own private affairs have no particular interest for me—at this moment; and as for any business on which you may wish to speak to me, I shall be pleased if you postpone it till to-morrow."

"Your lordship's wishes are commands with me," said Manuel, with a polite salutation. And having made a low bow to Giulia, he quitted the room—not by the private door, be it well understood, but by that which had ere now admitted the Count of Arestino.

The moment the door had closed behind the Marquis of Orsini, the count approached his wife, and said in a cold, severe manner: "Your ladyship receives visitors at a late hour."

He glanced as he spoke toward the dial of the clepsydra, and Giulia followed his look in the same direction; it was half an hour after midnight.

"The marquis explained to your lordship, or partially so, the motive of his importunate visit," said Giulia, endeavoring to appear calm and collected.

"The marquis is an unworthy—reckless—unprincipled young man," exclaimed the count, fixing a stern, searching gaze upon Giulia's countenance, as if with the iron of his words he would probe the depths of her soul. "He is a confirmed gamester—overwhelmed with debts—and has tarnished, by his profligacy, the proud name that he bears. Even the friendship which existed for many, many years between his deceased father and myself, shall no longer induce me to receive at this house a young man whose reputation is all but tainted, even in a city of dissipation and debauchery, such as, alas! the once glorious Florence has become! For his immorality is not confined to gaming and wanton extravagance," continued the count, his glance becoming more keen, as his words fell like drops of molten lead upon the heart of Giulia; "but his numerous intrigues amongst women—his perfidy to those confiding and deceived fair ones——"

"Surely, my lord," said the countess, vainly endeavoring to subdue the writhings of torture which this language excited,—"surely the Marquis d'Orsini is wronged by the breath of scandal?"

"No, Giulia, he is an unprincipled spendthrift," returned the count, who never once took his eyes off his wife's countenance while he was speaking:—"an unprincipled spendthrift," he added emphatically,—"a man lost to all sense of honor—a ruined gamester—a heartless seducer—a shame, a blot, a stigma upon the aristocracy of Florence;—and now that you are acquainted with his real character, you will recognize the prudence of the step which I shall take to-morrow—that is, to inform him that henceforth the Count and Countess of Arestino must decline to receive him again at their villa. What think you, Giulia?"

"Your lordship is the master to command, and it is my duty to obey," answered the countess; but her voice was hoarse and thick, the acutest anguish was rending her soul, and its intensity almost choked her utterance.

"She is guilty!" thought the count within himself; and to subdue an abrupt explosion of his rage, until he had put the last and most certain test to his lady's faith, he walked twice up and down the room; then, feeling that he had recovered his powers of self-control, he said, "To-morrow, Giulia, is the reception day of his highness the duke, and I hope thou hast made suitable preparations to accompany me in the manner becoming the wife of the Count of Arestino."

"Can your lordship suppose for an instant that I should appear in the ducal presence otherwise than is meet and fitting for her who has the honor to bear your name?" said Giulia, partially recovering her presence of mind, as the conversation appeared to have taken a turn no longer painful to her feelings—for, oh! cannot the reader conceive the anguish, the mortal anguish, she had ere now endured when her husband was heaping ashes on the reputation of her lover!

"I do not suppose that your ladyship will neglect the preparations due to your rank and to that name which you esteem it an honor to bear, and which no living being should dishonor with impunity!"

Giulia quailed—writhed beneath the searching glance which now literally glared upon her.

"Nevertheless," continued the count, "I was fearful you might have forgotten that to-morrow is the reception day. And while I think of it, permit me to examine your diamonds for a few minutes—to convince myself that the settings are in good order, as you know," he added, with a strange, unearthly kind of laugh, "that I am skilled in the jewelers' craft."

The old man paused; but he thought within himself, "Now what subterfuge can she invent if my suspicions be really true, and if my ears did not ere now deceive me?"

How profound then was his astonishment, when Giulia, with the calm and tranquil demeanor which innocence usually wears, but with the least, least curl of the upper lip, as if in haughty triumph, leisurely and deliberately drew the jewel-case from beneath the cushion of the ottoman whereon she was seated, and, handing it to him, said, "Your lordship perceives that I had not forgotten the reception which his highness holds to-morrow, since I ere now brought my diamonds hither to select those which it is my intention to wear."

The count could have pressed her hand as he took the case in his own—he could have fallen at her feet and demanded pardon for the suspicions which he had entertained, for it now seemed certain beyond all possibility of doubt, that the explanation volunteered by the marquis was a true one—yes, he could have humbled himself in her presence—but his Italian pride intervened, and he proceeded to examine the diamonds with no other view than to gain time to reflect how he should account for the abrupt manner in which he had entered the room ere now, and for the chilling behavior he had maintained toward his wife.

On her side Giulia, relieved of a fearful weight of apprehension, was only anxious for this scene to have a speedy termination, that she might release the robber-captain from his imprisonment behind the tapestry.

Three or four minutes of profound silence now ensued.

But suddenly the count started, and uttered an ejaculation of mingled rage and surprise.

Giulia's blood ran cold to her very heart's core, she scarcely knew why.

The suspense was not, however, long—though most painful; for, dashing the jewel-case with its contents upon the table, the old nobleman approached her with quivering lips and a countenance ghastly white, exclaiming, "Vile woman! thinkest thou to impose upon me thus? The diamonds I gave thee are gone—the stones set in their place are counterfeit!"

Giulia gazed up toward her husband's countenance for a few moments in a manner expressive of blank despair; then falling on her knees before him, clasping her hands together, she screamed frantically, "Pardon! pardon!"

"Ah! then it is all indeed too true!" murmured the unhappy nobleman, staggering as if with a blow: but, recovering his balance, he stamped his foot resolutely upon the floor, and drawing himself up to his full height, while he half averted his eyes from his kneeling wife, he exclaimed: "Lost—guilty—abandoned woman, how canst thou implore pardon at my hands? For pardon is mercy, and what mercy hast thou shown to me? Giulia, I am descended from an old and mighty race, and tradition affords no room to believe that any one who has borne the name of Arestino has dishonored it—until now! Oh! fool—dotard—idiot that I was to think that a young girl could love an aged man like me! For old age is a weed, which, when twined round the plant of love, becomes like the deadly nightshade, and robs the rose-bush of its health! Alas! alas! I thought that in my declining years, I should have one to cheer me, one who might respect me, if she could not love me—one who would manifest some gratitude for the proud position I have given her—and the boundless wealth that it would have been my joy to leave her. And now that hope is gone—withered—crushed—blighted, woman, by thy perfidy! Oh! wherefore did you accompany the old man to the altar, if only to deceive him? Wherefore did you consent to become his bride, if but to plunge him into the depth of misery? You weep! Ah! weep on; and all those tears, be they even so scalding as to make seams on that too fair face, cannot wipe away the stain which is now affixed to the haughty name of Arestino! Weep on, Giulia; but thy tears cannot move me now!"

And the old lord's tone changed suddenly from the deep, touching pathos of tremulousness to a stern, fixed, cold severity, which stifled the germs of hope that had taken birth in the heart of his guilty wife.

"Mercy! mercy!" she shrieked, endeavoring to grasp his hand.

"No!" thundered the Count of Arestino; and he rang violently a silver bell which stood upon the table.

"Holy Virgin, what will become of me? For what fate am I destined?" implored Giulia, frantically.

The old nobleman approached her, gazed on her sternly for nearly a minute, then bending down said, in a hollow, sepulchral tone:

"Thou art doomed to eternal seclusion in the convent of the Carmelites!"

He then turned hastily round and advanced to the door, to which steps were already distinctly heard drawing near in the corridor.

For an instant Giulia seemed paralyzed by the dreadful announcement that had been made to her; but suddenly a ray of hope flashed on her mind, and darting toward that part of the tapestry behind which the robber was concealed, she said, in a low and rapid tone:

"Thou hast heard the fate that awaits me. I charge thee to seek Manuel d'Orsini, and let him know all."

"Fear not, lady; you shall be saved!" answered Stephano, in a scarcely audible but yet profoundly emphatic whisper.

She had only just time to turn away when the count's faithful valet, accompanied by three nuns, wearing their black veils over their faces, entered the room.

Half an hour afterward the Carmelite Convent received another inmate.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE MARQUIS OF ORSINI.

Upon quitting the Arestino palace, the Marquis of Orsini suddenly lost that bold, insolent, self-sufficient air with which he had endeavored to deceive the venerable count, whose wife he had dishonored.

For dishonor now menaced him!

Where could he raise the sum necessary to liquidate the debt which he had contracted with the stranger at the Casino, or gaming-house? And as the person to whom he found himself thus indebted was a stranger—a total stranger to him, he had no apology to offer for a delay in the payment of the money due.

"Perdition!" he exclaimed aloud, as he issued rapidly from the grounds attached to the Arestino mansion; "is there no alternative save flight? Giulia cannot assist me—her jewels are gone, they are pledged to the Jew Isaachar—she was telling me so when the count broke in upon us. What course can I adopt? what plan pursue? Shall the name of Orsini be dishonored—that proud name which for three centuries has been maintained spotless? No, no—this must not be!"

And in a state of most painful excitement—so painful, indeed, that it amounted almost to a physical agony—the marquis hastened rapidly through the mazes of the sleeping city, reckless whither he was going, but experiencing no inclination to repair to his own abode.

The fact of the diamonds of his mistress having been pledged to Isaachar ben Solomon was uppermost in his mind: for the reader must remember that he was unaware of the circumstance of their restoration to Giulia—as it was at the moment when she was about to give him this explanation that the old Lord of Arestino had interrupted their discourse.

The diamonds, then, constituted the pivot on which his thoughts now revolved. They seemed to shine like stars amidst the deep haze which hung upon his mind. Could he not possess himself of them? The name of Orsini would be dishonored if the gambling debt were not paid; and one bold—one desperate step might supply him with the means to save himself from the impending ruin—the imminent disgrace.

But as the thoughts encouraged by those simple words—"the diamonds"—assumed a more palpable shape in his imagination, he shrank back dismayed from the deed which they suggested: for gamester, debauchee, spendthrift as he was, he had never yet perpetrated an act that could be termed a crime. The seduction of the Countess of Arestino was not a crime in his estimation—oh! no, because man may seduce, and yet may not be dishonored in the eyes of the world. It is his victim, or the partner of his guilty pleasure, only, who is dishonored. Such is the law written in society's conventional code. Vile, detestable, unjust law!

To weigh and balance the reasons for or against the perpetration of a crime, to pause only for an instant to reflect whether the deed shall or shall not be done—this is to yield at once to the temptation. The desperate man who hovers hesitatingly between right and wrong, invariably adopts the latter course.

And Manuel of Orsini was not an exception to the general rule.

Silence, and calmness, and moonlight were still spread over the City of Flowers, while the marquis pursued the path leading to the suburb of Alla Droce. And the silver-faced stars shone on—shone on, brightly and sweetly, as the young nobleman knocked at the well-protected door of Isaachar ben Solomon.

For a long time his summons remained unanswered; and he repeated it several times ere it received the slightest attention.

At last a casement was opened slowly on the upper story; and the Jew demanded who sought admittance at that hour.

"'Tis I, the Marquis of Orsini!" exclaimed the nobleman.

"A thousand pardons, my lord; I come directly," answered the Jew, not daring to offend a scion of the omnipotent aristocracy of Florence, yet filled with some misgivings, the more painful because they were so vague and undefined.

In a few moments Manuel was admitted into the abode of Isaachar ben Solomon, who carefully barred and bolted the door again, ere he even thought of alleviating his acute suspense by inquiring the nobleman's business.

"Deign to enter this humble apartment, my lord," said the Jew, at length, as he conducted the marquis into the same room where he had a few hours previously received the bandit-captain.

"Isaachar," exclaimed Manuel, flinging himself upon a seat, "you behold a desperate man before you!"

"Alas! my lord, what can a poor, aged, and obscure individual like myself do to assist so great and powerful a noble as your lordship?" said the Jew in a trembling tone.

"What can you do?" repeated the marquis: "much—everything, old man! But listen patiently, for a few moments only. A noble lady's fame, honor, reputation are at stake; and I am the guilty, unhappy cause of the danger that threatens her. To minister to my necessities she has pledged her jewels——"

"Yes, yes, my lord—I understand," said Isaachar, trembling from head to foot, "'tis a plan by no means unusual nowadays in Florence."

"Her husband suspects the fact, and has commanded her to produce her diamonds to-morrow——"

"Her diamonds!" articulated the Jew in a stifling tone.

"Yes, her diamonds," exclaimed Manuel emphatically; "and they are in your possession. Now do you understand me?"

"I—I—my lord——"

"Let us not waste time in idle words, Isaachar," cried the marquis. "Will you permit this scandal to be discovered, and involve the Countess of Arestino—myself—ay, and yourself, old man, in danger, and perhaps ruin? Perhaps, did I say? Nay, that ruin is certain to fall upon her—certain also to overwhelm you—for the Count of Arestino is a councilor of state, and," added Manuel, with slow, measured emphasis, "the dungeons of the inquisition open at his commands to receive the heretic or the Jew!"

Isaachar ben Solomon vainly endeavored to reply; fear choked his utterance; and he sank trembling and faint upon a low ottoman, where he sat, the picture of dumb despair.

"Ruin, then, awaits the countess, ruin, and the inquisition yawn to ingulf you; and dishonor in having involved that noble lady in such a labyrinth of perils attends upon me," continued Orsini, perceiving that his dark threats had produced the effect which he desired.

"My lord—my lord," gasped the unfortunate Israelite, who could not close his eyes against the truth, the terrible truth of the prospect submitted to his contemplation.

"It is for you to decide against the ruin of one, two, three persons, yourself being he who will, if possible, suffer most," resumed the marquis, impressively—"it is, I say, for you to decide between exposure and the inquisition on one hand, and the surrender of those paltry diamonds on the other!"

"The diamonds, the diamonds, they are gone!" exclaimed the Jew, his voice becoming almost frantic with the wild hope that suddenly struck him of being able to shift the danger from his own head to that of another. "The captain of banditti, Stephano Verrina, was here a few hours ago, here, in this very room, and he sat where your lordship now sits!"

"Well, well?" cried the marquis, impatiently; for his heart began to grow sick with the fear of disappointment in respect to his plan of obtaining the diamonds of his mistress.

"And Stephano Verrina took them from me—basely, vilely, wrenched them as it were from my grasp!" continued the Jew.

"'Tis false! a miserable subterfuge on your part!" ejaculated the marquis, starting from his seat and striding in a menacing manner toward Isaachar ben Solomon.

"'Tis true!—I will give your lordship the proof!" cried the Jew: and Manuel fell back a few paces. "Stephano came and told me all. He said that the countess had pledged her jewels for the sake of her lover—of you, my lord—you, the Marquis of Orsini. 'Twas to pay a gambling debt which your lordship had contracted; and that debt was paid within an hour or two from the moment when the sum was advanced on the diamonds. Moreover," continued Isaachar, still speaking in a rapid, excited tone—"moreover, Stephano was hired by the countess to regain them from me!"

"Liar!" thundered the marquis, again rushing toward the defenseless old man.

"Patience, my lord—patience for an instant—and you will see that I am no utterer of base falsehoods. The robber-captain examined the diamonds carefully—yes, most carefully—and, while occupied in the scrutiny, he let drop expressions which convinced me that he was hired by the countess. 'The inventory is complete,' he said, 'just as it was described to me by her ladyship. You are a worthy man, Isaachar,' he added; 'you will have restored tranquillity to the mind of this beautiful countess; and she will be enabled to appear at court to-morrow with her husband.' Now does your lordship believe me?"

The marquis was staggered; for several minutes he made no answer. Was it possible that the Countess of Arestino could have employed the dreaded chieftain of the Florentine banditti to wrest her diamonds from the possession of Isaachar? or had the Jew invented the tale for an obvious purpose? The latter alternative scarcely seemed feasible. How could Isaachar have learned that the sum raised was for the payment of a gambling debt? Giulia would not have told him so. Again, how had he learned that this debt had been paid within an hour or two after the money was procured? and how had he ascertained that the countess had actually required her diamonds to accompany her husband the count?

"Perdition!" ejaculated Orsini, bewildered by conflicting ideas, suspicions, and alarms: and he paced the room with agitated steps.

Nearly a quarter of a hour elapsed—the silence being occasionally broken by some question which the marquis put to the Jew, and to which the latter had his reply ready. And each question thus put, and every answer thus given, only served to corroborate Isaachar's tale, and banish hope still further from the breast of the ruined nobleman.

At length the latter stopped short—hesitated for a few moments, as if wrestling with some idea or scheme that had taken possession of his mind;—then turning abruptly toward the Jew, he said in a deep, hollow tone—"Isaachar, I need gold!"

"Gold—gold, my lord!" ejaculated the Jew, all his fears returning; "surely—surely, my lord, her ladyship will supply you with——"

"Fool—dolt!" cried the marquis, terribly excited; "do you not see that she herself is menaced with ruin—that the villain Stephano must have kept the diamonds for himself? that is, granting your tale to be true——"

At this moment there was an authoritative knock at the house-door.

"This is Stephano Verrina himself!" exclaimed the Jew. "I know his manner of knocking with the rude handle of his sword. What can he want? What will become of me?"

"Stephano Verrina, say you?" cried the marquis, hastily. "Then admit him by all means; and the possession of the diamonds of the countess shall be disputed between him and me at the sword's point."

Manuel d'Orsini was naturally brave, and the desperate position in which he was placed, rendered his tone and bearing so resolute—so determined, that Isaachar feared lest blood should be shed in his dwelling.

"My lord—my lord," he said in an imploring tone, "depart, or conceal yourself——"

"Silence, signor!" ejaculated the marquis; "and hasten to admit the captain of banditti. I have heard much of Stephano Verrina, and would fain behold this formidable chieftain."

The Jew proceeded, with trembling limbs and ghastly countenance, to obey the orders of the marquis; and in a few moments he returned to the room, accompanied by Stephano Verrina.



CHAPTER XXVI.

A COMBAT—THE DESPISED AND PERSECUTED ISRAELITE.

Isaachar had taken away the lamp with him to give admission to the bandit, and the marquis had remained for a few instants in the dark.

When the Jew reappeared, bearing the light, Orsini's first and natural impulse was to cast a rapid, searching glance at the brigand captain. At the same moment this individual burst into a loud, coarse, joyous laugh; and the marquis, to his profound surprise, recognized in Stephano Verrina the person with whom he had twice played so unsuccessfully at the gambling house.

"Good, my lord!" exclaimed Verrina, flinging himself upon the ottoman which the Jew had ere now occupied; "there is not in all Florence a man whom I would rather have encountered than yourself."

"You are somewhat pressing for the trifle—the miserable trifle in which I am indebted to you, signor," said the marquis haughtily; "seeing that scarce two hours have elapsed since I lost the amount at the casino."

"Pshaw! who alluded to the affair, save yourself?" cried Stephano. "It was for another motive——"

"Yes; and I also wished to see Signor Stephano Verrina for another motive," exclaimed Manuel emphatically.

"Ah! then you know me, my lord?" said the bandit. "And yet methought I was a stranger to you, although you were none to me at the casino."

"You were a stranger until now," continued Orsini; "but Isaachar knew by the knock which you dealt so lustily on his door, who was his visitor."

"And your lordship was desirous to see me?"

"Very much so. I believe you expressed a similar wish?"

"Precisely, my lord," returned Stephano. "But as you hold the higher rank in the world, precedence in the way of explanation belongs to your lordship."

"It is rather an explanation which I seek, than one which I have to give," rejoined Manuel, in a cold but resolute manner. "In a word, my business with thee is touching the diamonds of the Duchess of Arestino."

"And my business with your lordship is touching the countess herself," observed Verrina, also in a cool and deliberate manner.

"Ah!" cried the marquis, with a sudden start.

"Yes, my lord. But this is no place for explanations on that head," added Stephano, glancing toward the Jew.

"I understand you, signor; we must confer alone," said the marquis. "We will go out together presently; but in the meantime, one word concerning the diamonds which the Countess of Arestino——"

"Employed me to procure for her," exclaimed Stephano, finishing the nobleman's sentence for him. "I presume that old Isaachar here has informed you of the particulars of my previous visit to him this night—or rather last night, for it is now the Sabbath morning."

"I am well informed of those particulars, Sir Captain," returned Manuel; "but I would fain know what has become of the jewels which you obtained from Isaachar."

"I might with reason question your lordship's right to catechise me——"

"Ah! villain—would you dare?" exclaimed the marquis, his countenance becoming flushed with rage: for he imagined that the robber chief was trifling with him. "Far as you are beneath me—wide as is the gulf that separates the Marquis of Orsini from the proscribed bravo—yet will I condescend to wreak upon thee, base-born as thou art, that vengeance which the law has not yet been able to inflict."

And Manuel unsheathed his weapon with such rapidity that the polished blade of Milan steel flashed like lightning in the glare of the lamp.

"Since this is your object, I will bear with your humor," muttered Stephano, starting from his seat and drawing his heavy sword.

"My lord—good Signor Verrina—in mercy—not here—I implore——" ejaculated the Jew, speaking in a piteous tone, and wringing his hands in alarm at this hostile demonstration.

"Stand back!" thundered the bandit chief; and the Jew retreated to the most remote corner of the room, where he fell upon his knees and began to offer up prayers that no blood would be spilt—for he was a humane and kind-hearted man.

The marquis and the captain of banditti crossed their weapons; and the combat began. The former was lighter, younger, and therefore, more active than his opponent; but the latter was far more experienced in the use of his sword; and, moreover, the space was too narrow to enable the marquis to gain any advantage from his superior agility. The fight lasted about ten minutes, when the bandit parried a desperate thrust that was made at him by his opponent, and at the next moment wounded the marquis in the sword arm. The weapon fell from Manuel's hand, and he stood at the mercy of his conqueror.

"You are wounded, my lord—and the blood is flowing!" cried Stephano. "Hasten, friend Isaachar—and fetch water, bandages——"

"It is nothing—a mere scratch," exclaimed the marquis, tearing away with his left hand the right sleeve of his doublet, and displaying a tolerably severe gash, which ran down the forearm lengthwise, and from which the blood trickled on the floor. "Be kind enough to bind it with my scarf, Signor Verrina, and let us continue in a more peaceful manner the discourse which has been somewhat rudely interrupted."

Isaachar, however, supplied water in an ewer, and linen bandages; and the old man, forgetting the object of Manuel's predatory visit to his abode, hastened himself to wash and bind up the wounded arm.

"Thou art a good Jew—and hast something of the feeling of the Christian in thee," said the marquis, when the operation was completed.

"Didst thou ever suppose that different creeds made different hearts, my lord?" asked the old man, in a half melancholy, half reproachful tone.

"Isaachar, I shall not forget this kindness on your part," said the marquis, blushing with shame at himself, when he reflected on the purpose for which he had sought the Jew's dwelling. "Heaven knows it is not in my power to reward you with gold; but whenever I may henceforth hear your race traduced, reckon upon me as its champion."

The old man cast a look of gratitude upon the marquis; and, after some little hesitation, he said in a tremulous tone, "Your lordship hinted ere now—at least methought I understood as much—that you required gold. I take Father Abraham above to witness that I am not so rich as ye Christians deem me to be; but—since your lordship can say a kind word of the Jew—I—I will lend you such sum as you may need—without interest—without bond——"

Orsini, in whose breast all generous feeling had not been entirely crushed by the vices which had proved his ruin, extended his left hand—for his right now hung in a sling—to the kind-hearted Jew, exclaiming, "There is the signor to whom I am indebted, worthy Isaachar; it is for him to say whether he will press me immediately for the sum that I have fairly lost to him with the dice."

"Not I!" ejaculated Stephano, in his blunt, coarse manner. "And therefore your lordship need not lay yourself under any obligation to the Jew, who, after all, is a worthy signor in his way."

"Yes," exclaimed the marquis, "I shall ever lie under an obligation to him; nor shall I be ashamed to proclaim the fact in the presence of all Florence."

"And now, my lord," resumed Stephano, "I will give you that explanation relative to the diamonds which you might have had without bloodshed; but patience and aristocracy are as much at variance as a thief and the headsman. Read this paper, my lord; it is not the worst testimonial which I could produce in proof of good character."

And he handed to the marquis the document which he had compelled the Countess of Arestino to sign.

Manuel read it with astonishment.

"Then she has the diamonds in her possession!" he exclaimed; "and you must have seen her since I was there!"

"My lord," replied Stephano, as he received back the paper, "I was at the Arestino Palace ere now, at the same time, and in the same room, as yourself. But this is a mystery I will explain presently. As for the diamonds—Isaachar here can tell your lordship what he has done with the real stones, for those that I received from him which I handed to her ladyship were false."

Orsini glanced toward the Jew, who was now pale and trembling.

"It was to make inquiries on this point," continued Stephano, "that I came here on the present occasion. And to speak truly, it was also with the intention of making the old Israelite disgorge his plunder."

"Plunder!" repeated the Jew, in a tone almost of indignation, in spite of the terror with which the bandit-captain inspired him. "Did I not lend my good golden ducats upon those diamonds? and must I be blamed, if knowing—ah! knowing too well, the base artifices of which many of even the best-born Florentine nobles and great ladies are capable, must I be blamed, I say, if aware of all this, I adopted a device which the wickedness of others, and not our own, has rendered common amongst those of our race who traffic in loans upon jewels and precious stones."

"Isaachar speaks naught save the pure truth," remarked Orsini, blushing at the justice which dictated these reproaches against the aristocracy whereof he was a member. "Signor Verrina," he continued, "you are a brave man—and I believe you to be a generous one. Confirm this opinion on my part, by refraining from further molestation toward the Jew, and thou wilt doubly render me thy debtor."

"Be that as you will, my lord," grumbled the bandit-chief. "And now let us depart—for I have much to communicate to your lordship."

"I am ready to accompany you," returned the marquis, putting on his plumed hat, and settling his cloak with his left hand.

"One word, my lord," said Isaachar, in his habitual nervous and trembling tone. "Should the Countess of Arestino really need her diamonds—really need them, my lord—I—should not—object—that is, my lord," he added in a firmer voice, as if ashamed at the hesitation with which he was expressing his readiness to do a good action, "I will at once give them up to her, trusting to her ladyship's honor to pay me my moneys at her most befitting convenience."

"Her ladyship does not require them now!" exclaimed the bandit-chief, emphatically.

The marquis looked at Stephano inquiringly, for there was something ominously mysterious in his words; but the brigand stalked in a dogged manner toward the door, as if anxious to hurry the departure so long protracted, and Manuel, having renewed the expressions of his gratitude toward Isaachar ben Solomon, hastily followed Verrina from the house.



CHAPTER XXVII.

STEPHANO AND THE MARQUIS—THE STRONGHOLD OF THE BANDITTI.

The moment Stephano and the marquis were alone together in the open street the former related all the incidents which had occurred at the Arestino Palace after the departure of Manuel himself; and the young nobleman now learned, with feelings of remorse and sorrow, that the unfortunate countess had been hurried away to the convent of the Carmelites—that species of inquisition the gates of which so seldom opened more than once for each new female victim.

"But you promised to save her, signor!" he exclaimed, with enthusiastic warmth.

"I gave this pledge in the manner described to your lordship," returned Verrina, "and I shall not swerve from it."

"Think you that her liberation can be effected?" demanded Manuel. "Remember that the convent is protected by the highest personages in the state—that violence never will succeed in accomplishing the object—for should an armed man dare to pass that sacred threshold, every sbirro in Florence would fly to the spot——"

"It is, then, your lordship who is afraid of attempting the rescue of the countess!" interrupted Stephano, in a contemptuous tone.

"That observation is hardly fair, Signor Verrina," said the young nobleman; "considering that my right arm is disabled, and that the wound was received in combat with yourself."

"I crave your lordship's pardon," exclaimed the bandit-captain. "My remark was most uncourteous—particularly to one who has ere now given no equivocal proof of his valor. But I pretend not to courtly manners; and such as I am you will find me faithfully devoted to your service and that of the Lady Giulia. The attempt to rescue her will be somewhat hazardous; it is, however, tolerably sure of success. But it can only be undertaken on certain conditions; and these regard your lordship's self. Indeed, had I not so opportunely met you at the Jew's house, I should have sent one of my fellows to you to-morrow."

"In what way do the conditions that you speak of, regard myself?" inquired the marquis.

"To this extent," returned the robber-chief; "that you accompany me to my stronghold, wherever it may be; that you join us in any project or plan that may be undertaken with a view to liberate the Countess of Arestino; and that you remain with us until such project or plan be attempted; then, whether it succeed or fail, you shall be at liberty to take your departure."

"Agreed!" exclaimed Manuel; "and now permit me to ask you one question:—On what ground do you manifest this interest in behalf of the countess and myself? You are well aware that from me you have little to hope in the shape of reward; and that the countess will be in no better condition than myself to recompense you, even if you succeed in effecting her rescue."

"I am well aware of this, my lord," answered Stephano; "and I will give you an explanation of my motives as frankly as you solicit it. In the first place it suits my projects to make friends as much as possible with nobles and great ladies; as no one can say how or when such interest may be available to me or to those connected with me. Secondly, I am not sorry to have an excuse for paying a visit to the Carmelite Convent; and in case of failure, it will be as well to have a Florentine noble amongst us. Because the statutes of our glorious Republic are somewhat unequal in their application; thus, for instance, if a plebeian commit sacrilege, he is punished with death; but a patrician is merely reprimanded by the judge and mulcted in a sum which is devoted to religious purposes. In this latter case, too, the companions of the patrician are punished only as he himself is. Now, therefore, your lordship's presence amongst us will be a guarantee for our safety. Lastly, for I have another and less selfish motive, I admire the spirit with which your lordship spends money, drinks a flagon of good wine, and loses your thousands at dice; for saving your lordship's presence, there is much in all those facts which finds sympathy with my own inclinations. Thus, everything considered, Stephano Verrina and fifty as gallant fellows as ever bore the name of banditti, are completely at your lordship's service, and that of the dear lady who has the good taste to prefer a dashing roistering blade like yourself, to a gentleman no doubt very worthy of esteem, but certainly old enough to be her father."

The marquis made no reply to this tirade; but he reflected profoundly upon all that the robber-chieftain said as they walked leisurely along through the suburb of Alla Croce, and toward the city.

He reflected because he now saw all the dangers that were associated with the step he was taking, the chance of being arrested with the whole band of lawless freebooters, and the dishonor that would attach itself to his name, were such an event to occur. But on the other hand, Giulia was immured in consequence of her love for him; and his naturally chivalrous disposition triumphed over selfish considerations. Could her liberation be effected, he would fly with her into another state; and the revenues arising from her own little patrimony which had been settled on herself at her marriage would enable them to live comfortably, if not affluently. And who could tell but that her husband might die intestate? and then all his wealth would become hers by law.

Thus did he reason with himself.

"Well, my lord—you do not reply?" exclaimed the robber-captain, impatient of the long silence which had followed his explanations. "Are you content to abide by the conditions I ere now proposed?"

"Perfectly content," answered the marquis.

He knew that it was useless to reason with the brigand against the spoliation of the convent, which he had more than hinted at; for it was not likely that the robbers would incur so great a risk as that involved in the sacrilegious invasion of the sacred establishment, unless it were with the hope of reaping an adequate reward.

The bandit-chief and the young nobleman had now reached the boundary of the city; but instead of entering the streets, they turned abruptly to the right, Stephano acting as guide, and plunged into a thick grove of evergreens.

"Here, my lord," said Stephano, stopping short, "you must consent to be blindfolded."

"And wherefore?" demanded Manuel, indignantly. "Think you that I shall betray the secrets of your dwelling, wherever and whatever it may be?"

"I entertain no such base suspicion," returned Verrina. "But we banditti are governed by a code of laws which none of us—not even I, the chief—dare violate. To the observance of this code we are bound by an oath of so deadly—so dreadful a nature, that bold and reckless as we are, we could not forget that. And I should alike break our laws and depart from my oath, were I to conduct an uninitiated stranger to our stronghold otherwise than blindfolded."

"I offer no further opposition, Signor Verrina," said the marquis. "Fix on the bandage."

Stephano tied his scarf over the nobleman's eyes, and then conducted him slowly through the mazes of the grove.

In this manner they proceeded for nearly a quarter of an hour, when they stopped, and Stephano, quitting Manuel's hand, said in a low tone, "Stand still just where you are for a moment, while I give the signal, and do not move a single step—for it is a dangerous neighborhood."

About half a minute elapsed, during which it struck Manuel that he heard a bell ring far—far under ground. The sound was very faint: but still he felt convinced that he did hear it, and that it appeared to come from the bowels of the earth.

But he had not much time for reflection; for Stephano once more took his hand, saying, "You are now about to descend a flight of steps."

They proceeded downward together for some distance, when the steps ceased, and they pursued their way on a flat surface of pavement; but the echoes of their footsteps convinced the marquis that he was treading a subterranean cavern or passage.

Presently a huge door, sounding as if it were made of iron, was closed behind them, and Stephano exchanged a few words in a whisper with some one who spoke to him at that point. Then they descended a few more steps, and at the bottom another door was banged heavily, when they had passed its threshold,—the echoes resounding like pistol-shots throughout the place.

For a few minutes more did they proceed on another level-paved floor: and then the gurgling rush of a rapid stream met the ears of the marquis.

"Be careful in following me," said Stephano; "for you are about to cross a narrow bridge, my lord—and one false step is destruction."

Slowly they passed over the bridge, which seemed to be a single plank of about thirty feet in length and excessively narrow, he had no doubt, both from the caution which he had received and the elasticity of that dangerous pathway.

On the opposite side, the level-paved surface was continued; and at the expiration of another minute, heavy folding-doors closed behind them.

"Take off the bandage, my lord," said Stephano, as he untied the knot which fastened the scarf at the back of the young nobleman's head.

The Marquis of Orsini gladly availed himself of this permission; and when the bandage fell from his eyes, he found himself in a spacious cavern, paved with marble, hung with rich tapestry, and lighted by four chandeliers of massive silver.

Six pillars of crystal supported the roof, and rendered the luster of the chandeliers almost insupportably brilliant by means of reflection.

In the midst of this subterranean apartment stood a large table, covered with flagons, empty wine flasks, and drinking-cups; but the revelers had retired to rest—and the marquis and Stephano were alone in that banqueting-hall.

"Follow me, my lord," said the bandit-captain; "and I will conduct you to a place where you will find as dainty a couch as even a nobleman so accustomed to luxury as your lordship need not despise."

Thus speaking Stephano opened an iron door at the end of the hall, and led the way along a narrow and low corridor, lighted by lamps placed in niches at short intervals. At the end of this corridor he knocked at another door, which was opened in a few moments by a man who had evidently been aroused from his slumber.

"I bring a guest, Lomellino," said Verrina. "See that his lordship be well cared for."

Stephano then retraced his way along the corridor, and Lomellino closed and bolted the iron door.

But no pen can describe the astonishment of the marquis when he found himself in a spacious room, heaped all around with immense riches. Massive plate, splendid chandeliers, gorgeous suits of armor and martial weapons incrusted with gold or set with precious stones, chalices and dishes of silver, bags of money piled in heaps, an immense quantity of jewelry spread upon shelves, and an infinite assortment of the richest wearing apparel—all these, suddenly bursting upon the young nobleman's view by the light of a lamp suspended to the roof, produced an effect at once brilliant and astounding.

When Lomellino addressed him with a request to follow whither he should lead, it seemed as if some rude voice were suddenly awaking him from a delicious dream—save that the cause of his pleasure and wonder was still present. Then, ashamed at having allowed himself to be so attracted by the spectacle of boundless wealth around him, he followed Lomellino to an alcove at the further end of the caverned room, and the entrance of which was covered by a purple velvet curtain, richly fringed with gold.

Within were two beds, having a screen between them. These couches were of the most comfortable description, and such as in those times were not usually seen elsewhere than in the dwellings of the wealthy. Near each bed stood a toilet-table and wash-stand, with ewers of massive silver and towels of fine linen; and to the walls hung two large mirrors—articles of exclusive luxury at that period. The floor was richly carpeted, and a perfumed lamp burned in front of the dial of a water-clock.

Lomellino respectfully informed the marquis that one division of the alcove was at his service; and Manuel was too much wearied by the adventures of the evening not to avail himself of the information.

The brigand seeing that he was wounded, but without asking any questions as to the cause, proffered his aid to divest the marquis of his upper clothing; and at length the young nobleman was comfortably stretched in one of the voluptuous beds.

Sleep had just closed his eyelids, and he had even already entered upon a vision of fairy enchantment,—doubtless conjured up to his imagination by the gorgeous spectacle of the treasure-room,—when he was startled by screams which appeared to issue from the very wall of the alcove, at the head of his bed.

He listened—and those screams became more and more piercing in their nature, although their tone was subdued, as if by the existence of a thick intervening partition.

"Holy Virgin! what sounds are those?" he exclaimed, more in pity than in fear—for they were unmistakably female shrieks which he heard.

"Perdition seize on those Carmelite nuns!" cried Lomellino; "they seem to have got another victim!"

"Another victim!" murmured the marquis falling back in his bed, a prey to the most torturing feelings; and then his lips framed the sweet and tender name of "GIULIA!"



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A FEARFUL ACCUSATION.

Fair and beauteous art thou, O City of Flowers! with thy domes and spires, and turrets overlooking the Arno's silver stream, and crowding together in that river's classic pale; surrounded, too, by oak-covered hills, and cypress groves, and gardens of olives and evergreens, and presenting to the view of the spectator who stands on the lofty summit of Monte Senario, so vast an assemblage of palaces as to justify the saying of Ariosto, that it seemed as if the very soil produced them!

Or seen from the olive-crowned hill of Fesole, consecrated by the genius of Milton, how glorious is thy rich combination of beauty, thou Athens of Etruria!

The sun dawned upon the eventful night, the incidents of which have occupied so many chapters. The golden flood poured upon the Florentine scene, so fair even in winter, bathing in yellow luster the mighty dome of the cathedral of St. Mary, the ducal palace on its left, and the cupola of the Medicean chapel on its right, and bringing out into strong relief against the deep foliage of the evergreens the marble fronts of palaces, villas, and convents, seated amidst the hills, or scattered through the vale—the whole affording a rich and varied view, as if eternal summer reigned in that delightful region and beneath the purple canopy of that warm Italian sky!

Alas! that the selfish interests, dark passions, conflicting feeling, clashing aims, and black, black crimes of men should mar the serenity and peace which ought to maintain an existence congenial to this scene!

Scarcely had the orient beams penetrated through the barred casements of the Jew Isaachar's house in the suburb of Alla Croce, when the old man was awakened from a repose to which he had only been able to withdraw a couple of hours previously, by a loud and impatient knocking at his gate.

Starting from his couch, he glanced from the window, and, to his dismay, beheld the lieutenant of police, accompanied by half a dozen of his terrible sbirri, and by an individual in the plain, sober garb of a citizen.

A cold tremor came over the unhappy Israelite, for he knew that this official visit could bode him no good: and the dread of having encountered the resentment of the Count of Arestino, immediately conjured up appalling scenes of dungeons, chains, judgment-halls and tortures, to his affrighted imagination.

The dark hints which Manuel d'Orsini had dropped relative to the possibility of the count's discovering the affair of the diamonds, and the certain vengeance that would ensue, flashed to the mind of Isaachar ben Solomon; and he stood, as it were, paralyzed at the window, gazing with the vacancy of despair upon the armed men, on whose steel morions and pikes the morning sunbeams now fell in radiant glory.

The knocking was repeated more loudly and with greater impatience than before; and Isaachar, suddenly restored to himself, and remembering that it was dangerous as well as useless to delay the admittance of those who would not hesitate to force a speedy entry, huddled on his garments, and descended to the door.

The moment it was opened, the sbirri and the citizen entered; and the lieutenant, turning shortly round upon the Jew, said, "His Excellency the Count of Arestino demands, through my agency, the restoration of certain diamonds which his lordship has good reason to believe are in your possession. But think not that his lordship is desirous of plundering you of these jewels which you hold as security for certain moneys advanced, for here is the gold to repay thee."

Thus speaking, the lieutenant produced from beneath his cloak a heavy bag of gold; and Isaachar, now considerably relieved of his apprehensions, led the way into the apartment where he had received the Marquis of Orsini and Stephano de Verrina during the past night.

"Hast thou heard my message, Israelite?" demanded the lieutenant.

"Yes, yes; and his lordship is a worthy man—an estimable man. No oppressor of the poor defenseless Jew is he! Would that Florence abounded in such nobles as the Count of Arestino!"

"Cease thy prating, Jew, and let us dispatch this business," cried the officer. "You see," he added, glancing toward his men, "that with these at my disposal, the ransacking of your dwelling would be a light and easy matter."

"I will not render it necessary," returned the Jew. "Tarry ye here a few moments and the diamonds shall be delivered up."

Isaachar proceeded into another apartment, the lieutenant following him as far as the passage to see that he did not escape. When the old man returned, he had a small rosewood case in his hand: and from this box he produced the stones which had been extracted from the settings the very day the jewels were first mortgaged to him.

"Now, signor," said the lieutenant, turning to the citizen in the plain sober garb, "as you are the diamond merchant of whom his lordship the count originally purchased the precious stones which have been traced to the possession of Isaachar, it is for you to declare whether those be the true diamonds or not."

The citizen examined the stones, and having pronounced them to be the genuine ones, took his departure, his services being no longer required.

The lieutenant secured the rosewood case with its valuable contents about his person, and then proceeded to settle with interest the amount claimed by the Jew, as the sum which he had advanced on the jewels.

While this transaction was in progress, the notice of one of the sbirri was attracted by the marks of blood which appeared on the floor, and which, as the reader will recollect, had been caused by the wound that the Marquis of Orsini had received from the robber Stephano.

"It is decidedly blood," whispered the sbirro to one of his companions.

"Not a doubt of it," observed another. "We must mention it to the lieutenant when he has done counting out that gold."

"Do you know what I have heard about the Jews?" asked the first speaker, drawing his comrades still further aside.

"What?" was the general question.

"That they kill Christian children to mix the blood in the dough with which they make the bread used at their religious ceremonies," answered the sbirro.

"Depend upon it. Isaachar has murdered a Christian child for that purpose!" said one of his companions.

This atrocious idea gained immediate belief among the ignorant sbirri; and as the Jew now quitted the room for a few moments to secure the gold which he had just received, in his coffer in the adjacent apartment, the police officers had leisure to point out to their superior the traces of blood which they had noticed, and the suspicion which these marks had engendered.

The lieutenant was not further removed beyond the influence of popular prejudice and ridiculous superstition than even his men: and though by no means of a cruel disposition, yet he thought it no sin nor injustice to persecute the Hebrew race, even when innocent and unoffending. But, now that suspicion, or what he chose to consider suspicion, pointed at Isaachar ben Solomon as a dreadful criminal, the lieutenant did not hesitate many moments how to act.

Thus, when the Jew returned to the room with the fond hope of seeing his visitors take their speedy departure, he was met by the terrible words, uttered by the officer of the sbirri. "In the name of the most high inquisition, Isaachar, do I make you my prisoner!"

The unhappy Jew fell upon his knees, stunned, terrified by the appalling announcement; and although he assumed this attitude of supplication, he had not the power to utter a syllable of intercession or of prayer. Horror had for the moment stricken him dumb: and a thousand images of terror, conjured up by the fearful words, "the inquisition," suddenly sprung up to scare, bewilder and overwhelm him.

"Bind him, gag him!" ejaculated the lieutenant: and this order was immediately obeyed: for whenever a prisoner was about to be conveyed to the dungeons of the inquisition, he was invariably gagged, in order that no questions on his part might evoke answers at all calculated to afford him a clew to the cause of his arrest.

This precaution was originally adopted in reference to those only who were ignorant of the charges laid against them: but it had subsequently become common in all cases of arrest effected in the name or on the part of the holy brotherhood.

The Palazzo del Podesta, or ducal palace, was one of the most celebrated edifices in Florence. In strong contrast with the various beautiful specimens of composite Tuscan, combined with a well-assimilated portion of the Grecian character, which abounded in Florence, the ducal palace was remarkable for the stern and gloomy character of its architecture. Its massive and heavy tower, crowned with embattled and overhanging parapets, seemed to frown in sullen and haughty defiance at the lapse of Time. The first range of windows were twelve feet from the ground, and were grated with enormous bars of iron, producing a somber and ominous effect. Within were the apartments of the duke's numerous dependents; and the lower portion of the palace had been rendered thus strong to enable the edifice to withstand a siege in those troublous times, when the contentions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines desolated Florence. On the second floor there was in front a plain and simple architrave, and on that story the windows were high and arched; for those casements belonged to the ducal apartments. The upper stories were in the same style; but the general aspect was stern and mournful to a degree.

The palace was built, as indeed nearly all the Florentine mansions then were, and still are, in the form of a square; and around this court, which was of an antique and gloomy cast, were numerous monumental stones, whereon were inscribed the names of the nobles and citizens who had held high offices in the state previous to the establishment of the sway of the Medici.

It was beneath the Palazzo del Podesta that the dungeons of the criminal prison and also those of the inquisition were situated.

In a cell belonging to the former department, Fernand Wagner was already a captive; and Isaachar ben Solomon now became the inmate of a narrow, cold, and damp stone chamber, in that division of the subterrane which was within the jurisdiction of the holy office.



CHAPTER XXIX.

THE VISIT OF THE BANDITTI TO THE RIVEROLA PALACE.

It was Monday night, and within an hour of the time appointed by Stephano for the meditated invasion of the Riverola Palace.

Francisco had already retired to rest, for he was wearied with vain and ineffectual wandering about the city and its environs in search of some trace that might lead him to discover his lost Flora.

Indeed, the few days which had now elapsed since her mysterious disappearance had been passed by the young count in making every possible inquiry and adopting every means which imagination could suggest to obtain a clew to her fate. But all in vain. And never for a moment did he suspect that she might be an inmate of the Carmelite Convent, for, although he was aware of the terrible power wielded by that institution, yet feeling convinced that Flora herself was incapable of any indiscretion, it never struck him that the wicked machinations of another might place her in the custody of the dreaded Carmelite abbess.

We said that Francisco had retired to rest somewhat early on the above-mentioned night, and the domestics, yielding to the influence of a soporific which Antonio, the faithless valet, had infused into the wine which it was his province to deal out to them under the superintendence of the head butler, had also withdrawn to their respective chambers.

Nisida had dismissed her maids shortly before eleven, but she did not seek her couch. There was an expression of wild determination, of firm resolve, in her dark black eyes and her compressed lips which denoted the courage of her dauntless but impetuous mind. For of that mind the large piercing eyes seemed an exact transcript.

Terrible was she in the decision of her masculine—oh! even more than masculine—character, for beneath that glorious beauty with which she was arrayed beat a heart that scarcely knew compunction, or that, at all events, would hesitate at nothing calculated to advance her interests or her projects.

Though devoured with ardent passions, and of a temperament naturally voluptuous and sensual even to an extreme, she had hitherto remained chaste, as much for want of opportunity to assuage the cravings of her mad desires, as through a sentiment of pride—but since she had loved Wagner—the first and only man whom she had ever loved—her warm imagination had excited those desires to such a degree, that she felt capable of making any sacrifice, save one—to secure him to herself.

And that one sacrifice which she could not make was not her honor: no, of that she now thought but little in the whirlwind of her impetuous, ardent, heated imagination. But, madly as she loved Fernand Wagner—that is, loved him after the fashion of her own strange and sensual heart—she loved her brother still more; and this attachment was at least a pure, a holy sentiment, and a gloriously redeeming trait in the character of this wondrous woman, of a mind so darkly terrible.

And for her brother's sake it was that there was one sacrifice—a sacrifice of a tremendous, but painfully persevered-in project—which she would not make even to her love for Fernand Wagner! No, rather would she renounce him forever—rather would she perish, consumed by the raging fires of her own ungratified passions, than sacrifice one tittle of what she deemed to be her brother's welfare to any selfish feeling of her own!

Wherefore do we dwell on this subject now?

Because such was the resolution which Nisida vowed within her own heart, as she stood alone in her chamber, and fixed her eyes upon a document, bearing the ducal seal that lay upon the table.

That document contained the decision of his highness in respect to the memorial which she had privately forwarded to him in accordance with the advice given her a few days previously by Dr. Duras. The duke lost no time in vouchsafing a reply; and this reply was unfavorable to the hopes of Nisida. His highness refused to interfere with the provisions of the late count's will; and this decision was represented to be final.