now moved the leaves of the orange-trees near where
they were standing. The evening was perfectly still and calm: Purcell,
however, did not notice this, but went on--

'And she is right. If there were a means of success, that means would
be money. But it is growing late, and this, I take it, is the chief
entrance. Let us present ourselves, if so be that we are to be honoured
with an audience.'

Though the baronet had not failed to remark the sarcastic tone of
this speech, he made no reply but slowly ascended the steps toward the
terrace.

Already the night was closing in, and as the strangers reached the
door they did not perceive that a figure had issued from the orangery
beneath, and mounted the steps after them. This was the Chevalier, who
usually passed the last few moments of each day wandering among the
orange-trees. He had thus, without intending it, heard more than was
meant for his ears.

The travellers had but to appear to receive the most courteous reception
from a household already prepared to do them honour. They were conducted
to apartments specially made ready for them; and being told that the
Countess hoped to have their company at nine o'clock, when she supped,
were left to repose after their journey.

CHAPTER XX. A WAYWORN ADVENTURER

It was by this chance alone that Gerald knew of the sacrifices Guglia
had made and was making for his cause. In all their intercourse, marked
by so many traits of mutual confidence, nothing of this had transpired.
By the like accident, too, did he learn how some men, at least, spoke
and thought of his fortunes; and what a world of speculation did these
two facts suggest! They were as types of the two opposing forces that
ever swayed him in life. Here, was the noble devotion that gave all;
there, the cold distrust that believed nothing. Delightful as it had
been for him to dwell on the steadfast attachment of Guglia Ridolfi, and
think over the generous trustfulness of that noble nature, he could
not turn his thoughts from what had fallen from Purcell; the ill-omened
words rankled in his heart, and left no room for other reflections.

All that he had read of late, all the letters that were laid before
him, were filled with the reiterated tales of Highland devotion and
attachment. The most touching little episodes of his father's life
were those in which this generous sentiment figured, and Gerald had by
reading and re-reading them got to believe that this loy