, and seated herself with her back to the window. The
greyish tinge of half light that foretells the coming night, was fast
falling, as a slight noise startled her. She turned, and beheld two
venerable monks, whose brown hoods and frocks denoted Franciscans,
standing beside her.

'You are given into our charge, noble lady,' said one with a tone of
deepest respect. 'Our orders are to give you a safe-conduct.'

'Whither to, venerable brother?' said she calmly.

'To the convent of St. Ursula, beyond the Tiber.'

'It is the prison of the Inquisition?' said she, questioning.

'There is no Inquisition; there are no prisons,' muttered the other
monk. 'They who once met chastisement are won back now with love and
gentleness.'

'You will be well cared for, and with kindness, noble lady,' said the
other.

'It is alike to me; I am ready,' said she, rising, and preparing to
follow them.

CHAPTER XVI. INTRIGUE

The life of a man has been aptly compared to the course of a stream: now
clear, now troubled, now careering merrily onward in joyous freedom, now
forcing its turbid course amid shoals and rocks; but in no circumstance
does the comparison more truthfully apply than in those still intervals
when, the impulse of force spent, the waveless pool succeeds to
the rapid river. There are few men, even among the most active and
energetic, who have not known such periods in life. With some these are
seasons of concentration--times profitably passed in devising plans for
the future. Others chafe under the wearisome littleness of the hour, and
long for the days of activity and toil; and some there are to whom these
intervals have all the charm of a happy dream, and who love to indulge
themselves in a bliss such as in the busy world can never be their
fortune to enjoy.

Among these last, a true disciple of the school who take refuge in the
ideal and the imaginative as the sole remedy against the ills of actual
life, was Gerald Fitzgerald. When he arose from his sick-bed, it was
with a sort of dreamy, indistinct consciousness that he was of high rank
and station; one whose claims, however in abeyance now, must be admitted
hereafter; that for the great part he was yet to fill, time alone was
wanting. As to the past, it was a dream-land wherein he ventured with
fear. It was in vain he asked himself, how much of it was true or false?
Had this event really occurred? Had that man ever lived? The broken
incidents of a fevered he