nothing--only this: I will
promise, if I quit the Queen's service for good, not to wear the white
uniform--"

"Oh!" Emilia breathed inward deeply, scarce noticing the 'if' that
followed; nodding quick assent to the stipulation before she heard the
nature of it. It was, that she should continue in England.

"Your word," said Wilfrid; and she pledged it, and did not think she was
granting much in the prospect of what she gained.

"You will, then?" said he.

"Yes, I will."

"On your honour?"

These reiterated questions were simply pretexts for steps nearer to the
answering lips.

"And I may see you?" he went on.

"Yes."

"Wherever you are staying? And sometimes alone? Alone!--"

"Not if you do not know that I am to be respected," said Emilia, huddled
in the passionate fold of his arms. He released her instantly, and was
departing, wounded; but his heart counselled wiser proceedings.

"To know that you are in England, breathing the same air with me, near
me! is enough. Since we are to meet on those terms, let it be so. Let me
only see you till some lucky shot puts me out of your way."

This 'some lucky shot,' which is commonly pointed at themselves by the
sentimental lovers, with the object of hitting the very centre of the
hearts of obdurate damsels, glanced off Emilia's, which was beginning to
throb with a comprehension of all that was involved in the word she had
given.

"I have your promise?" he repeated: and she bent her head.

"Not," he resumed, taking jealousy to counsel, now that he had advanced a
step: "Not that I would detain you against your will! I can't expect to
make such a figure at the end of the piece as your Count Branciani--who,
by the way, served his friends oddly, however well he may have served his
country."

"His friends?" She frowned.

"Did he not betray the conspirators? He handed in names, now and then."

"Oh!" she cried, "you understand us no better than an Austrian. He handed
in names--yes he was obliged to lull suspicion. Two or three of the least
implicated volunteered to be betrayed by him; they went and confessed,
and put the Government on a wrong track. Count Branciani made a dish of
traitors--not true men--to satisfy the Austrian ogre. No one knew the
head of the plot till that night of the spy. Do you not see?--he weeded
the conspiracy!"

"Poor fellow!" Wilfrid answered, with a contracted mouth: "I pity him for
being cut off from his handsome wife."

"I pity her f