son of my old lord and master!' and he knelt and
kissed Gerald's hands over and over again. 'He knows me not--at least as
I once was--the friend, the boon companion of a king's son,' continued
he passionately.

'Were you, then, one of his old Scottish followers--one of those
faithful men who clung so devotedly to his cause?'

'No, no; but I was one that he loved better than them all.'

'And you, Marietta, dearest, how is it that I see you here?' cried
Gerald, again turning to her.

'I came many a weary mile after you, _mio caro_,' said she. 'I knew of
these men's designs long, long ago, and I determined to save you from
them. I believed I could have secured Massoni as your friend; but I was
wrong--the Jesuit was stronger in him than the man. I remained at St.
Ursula months after I might have left it, just to see the Pere--to watch
his game--and, if possible, attach him to me; but I failed--utterly
failed. He was true to his cause, and would not accept my love. More
fortunate, however, was I with the Cardinal--even, perhaps, that I
wished or cared for--His Eminence was my slave. There was not a secret
of the Vatican I did not learn. I read the correspondence with the
Spanish minister, Arazara; I suggested the replies; I heard the whole
plan for your expedition--how you were to be secretly married to the
Countess Ridolfi, and the marriage only avowed when your success was
assured.'

She paused, and the Fra broke in--'Tell all--everything--the mine has
exploded now, and none are the worse for it Go on with your confession.'

'It is of the other alternative he speaks,' said she, dropping her voice
to a faint whisper. 'Had you failed----'

'And then--what then, Marietta?'

'You were in that case to have been betrayed into the hands of the
English, or poisoned! The scheme to accomplish the first was already
planned. I have here the letters which are to accredit me to see and
converse with Sir Horace Mann, at Florence; and which I mean to deliver
too. I am resolved to trace out to the very last who are the accomplices
in this guilt. The world is well edified by tales of mob violence and
bloodshed. Even genius seeks its inspiration in inveighing against
popular excesses. It is time to show that crimes lurk under purple
as well as rags, and that the deadliest vengeances are often devised
beneath gilded ceilings. We knew of one once, Gherardi, who could have
told men these truths--one who carried from this world with him