"I have just said so, but not so emphatically, perhaps; and, what is more, I feel all the force of the homage as I look at you."

"Well, laugh away," said he. "When a woman has pretty teeth or good legs, she does n't want much provocation to show them. But if we are to stay any time here, could n't we have a bit of fire?"

"You shall come down to the kitchen presently, and have both food and fire; for I'm sure there's something left, though we 've just dined."

"Dined?--where?"

"Well, eaten, if you like the word better; and perhaps it is the more fitting phrase. I took my plate amongst these poor people, and I assure you there was a carrot soup by no means bad. Sir William's _chef_ would have probably taken exception to the garlic, which was somewhat in excess, and there was a fishy flavor, also slightly objectionable. They called it 'baccala.'"

"Faith, you beat me entirely!" exclaimed O'Shea. "I can't make you out at all, at all."

"I assure you," resumed she, "it was quite refreshing to dine with people who ate heartily, and never said an ill word of their neighbors.

I regret very much that you were not of the party."

"Thanks for the politeness, but I don't exactly concur with the regret."

"I see that this wetting has spoiled your temper. It is most unfortunate for me that the weather should have broken just as I wanted you to be in the very best of humors, and with the most ardent desire to serve me."

If she began this speech in a light and volatile tone, before she had finished it her manner was grave and earnest.

"Here I am, ready and willing," said he, quickly. "Only say the word, and see if I 'm not as good as my promise."

She took two or three turns of the room without speaking; then wheeling round suddenly, she stood right in front of where he sat, her face pale, and her whole expression that of one deeply occupied with one purpose.

"I don't believe," said she, in a slow, collected voice, "that there exists a more painful position than that of a woman who, without what the world calls a natural, protector, must confront the schemes of a man with the inferior weapons of her sex, and who yet yearns for the privilege of setting a life against a life."

"You'd like to be able to fight a duel, then?" asked he, gravely.

"Yes. That my own hand might vindicate my own wrong, I 'd consent freely to lose it the hour after."

"That must needs have been no slight injury that suggests such a reparation."

She only nodded in reply.

"It is nothing that the Heathcotes--"

"The Heathcotes!" broke she in, with a scornful smile; "it is not from such come heavy wrongs. No, no; they are in no wise mixed up in what I allude to, and if they had been, I would need no help to deal with them.

The injury I speak of occurred long ago,--years before I knew you. I have told you,"--here she paused, as if for strength to go on,--"I have told you that I accept your aid, and on your own conditions. Very few words will suffice to show for what I need it. Before I go further, however, I would ask you once more, are you ready to meet any and every peril for my sake? Are you prepared to encounter what may risk even your life, if called upon? I ask this now, and with the firm assurance that if you pledge your word you will keep it."

"I give you my solemn oath that I'll stand by you, if it lead me to the drop before the jail."

She gave a slight shudder. Some old memories had, perhaps, crossed her at the moment; but she was soon self-possessed again.

"The case is briefly this. And mind," said she, hurriedly, "where I do not seem to give you full details, or enter into clear explanations, it is not from inadvertence that I do so, but that I will tell no more than I wish, nor will I be questioned. The case is this: I was married unhappily. I lived with a man who outraged and insulted me, and I met with one who assumed to pity me and take my part. I confided to him my miseries, the more freely that he had been the witness of the cruelties I endured. He took advantage of the confidence to make advances to me.

My heart--if I had a heart--would not have been difficult to win. It was a theft not worth guarding against. Somehow, I cannot say wherefore, this man was odious to me, more odious than the very tyrant who trampled on me; but I had sold myself for a vengeance,--yes, as completely as if the devil had drawn up the bond and I had signed it. My pact with myself was to be revenged on him, come what might afterwards. I have told you that I hated this man; but I had no choice. The whole wide world was there, and not another in it had ever offered to be my defender; nor, indeed, did he. No, the creature was a coward; he only promised that if he found me as a waif he would shelter me; he was too cautious to risk a finger in my cause, and would only claim what none disputed with him.

And I was abject enough to be content with that, to be grateful for it, to write letters full of more than gratitude, protesting--Oh, spare me! if even yet I have shame to make me unable to repeat what, in my madness, I may have said to him. I thought I could go on throughout it all, but I cannot. The end was, my husband died; yes! he was dead!

and this man--who I know, for I have the proofs, had shown my letters to my husband--claimed me in marriage; he insisted that I should be his wife, or meet all the shame and exposure of seeing my letters printed and circulated through the world, with the story of my life annexed. I refused, fled from England, concealed myself, changed my name, and did everything I could to escape discovery; but in vain. He found me out; he is now upon my track; he will be here--here, at Rome--within the week, and, with these letters in his hand, repeat his threat, he says, for the last time, and I believe him." The strength which had sustained her up to this now gave way, and she sank heavily to the ground, like one stricken by a fit. It was some time before she rallied; for O'Shea, fearful of any exposure, had not called others to his aid, but, opening the window, suffered the rude wind to blow over her face and temples.

"There, there," said she, smiling sadly, "it is but seldom I show so poor a spirit, but I am somewhat broken of late. Leave me to rest my head on this chair, and do not lift me from the ground yet. I 'll be better presently. Have I cut my forehead?"

"It is but a slight scratch. You struck the foot of the table in your fall."

"There," said she, making a mark with the blood on his wrist, "it is thus the Arabs register the fidelity of him who is to avenge them. You will not fail me, will you?"

"Never, by this hand!" cried he, holding it up firmly clenched over his head.

"It's the Arab's faith, that if he wash away the stain before the depth of vengeance is acquitted, he is dishonored; there's a rude chivalry in the notion that I like well." She said this in his ear as he raised her from the ground and placed her on a chair. "It is time you should know his name," said she, after a few minutes' pause. "He is called Ludlow Paten. I believe he is Captain Paten about town."

"I know him by repute. He's a sort of swell at the West-End play clubs.

He is amongst all the fast men."

"Oh, he's fashionable,--he's very fashionable."

"I have heard him talked of scores of times as one of the pleasantest fellows to be met with."

"I 'm certain of it. I feel assured that he must be a cheerful companion, and reasonably honest and loyal in his dealings with man. He is of a class that reserve all their treachery and all their baseness for where they can be safely practised; and, strange enough, men of honor know these things,--men of unquestionable honor associate freely with fellows of this stamp, as if the wrong done to a woman was a venial offence, if offence at all."

"The way of the world," said OShea, with a half sigh.

"Pleasant philosophy that so easily accounts for every baseness and even villany by showing that they are popular. But come, let us be practical.

What's to be done here?--what do you suggest?"

"Give me the right to deal with him, and leave the settlement to _me_."

"The right--that is--" She hesitated, flushed up for an instant, and then grew lividly pale again.

"Yes," said he, taking his place at her side, and leaning an arm on the back of her chair, "I thought I never saw your equal when you were gay and light-hearted, and full of spirits; but I like you better, far better now, and I 'd rather face the world with you than--"

"I don't want to deceive you," said she, hurriedly, and her lips quivered as she spoke; "but there are things which I cannot tell you,--things of which I could not speak to any one, least of all to him who says he is willing to share his fate with me. It is a hard condition to make, and yet I must make it."

"Put your hand in mine, then, and I 'll take you on any conditions you like."

"One word more before we close our bargain. It might so happen--it is far from unlikely--that the circumstances of which I dare not trust myself to utter a syllable may come to your ears when I am your wife, when it will be impossible for you to treat them as calumnies, and just as idle to say that you never heard of them before. How will you act if such a moment comes?"

"Answer me one plain question first. Is there any man living who has power over you--except as regards these letters, I mean?"

"None."

"There is, then, no charge of this, that, or t' other?"

"I will answer no more. I have told you fairly that if you take me for your wife you most be prepared to stand in the breach between me and the world, and meet whatever assails me as one prepared. Are you ready for this?"

"I'm not afraid of the danger--"

"So, then, your fears are only for the cause?"

It was with the very faintest touch of scorn these words were spoken; but he marked it, and reddened over face and forehead.

"When that cause will have become my own, you 'll see that I 'll hesitate little about defending it."