ny exclamation, in her desire to maintain simple and unsensational
relations always with those surrounding her.

"He is my friend," she said. "I think of something better than that other
word. Oh, that I were a man, to call him my brother-in-arms! What's a
girl's love in return for his giving his money, his heart, and offering
his life every day for Italy?"

As soon as Georgiana could put faith in her intention to depart, she gave
her a friendly hand and embrace.

Two days later they were at Richford, with Lady Gosstre. The journals
were full of the Italian uprising. There had been a collision between the
Imperial and patriotic forces, near Brescia, from which the former had
retired in some confusion. Great things were expected of Piedmont, though
many, who had reason to know him, distrusted her king. All Lombardy
awaited the signal from Piedmont. Meanwhile blood was flowing.

In the excitement of her sudden rush from dead monotony to active life,
Emilia let some time pass before she wrote to Wilfrid. Her letter was in
her hand, when one was brought in to her from him. It ran thus:--

"I have just returned home, and what is this I hear? Are you utterly
faithless? Can I not rely on you to keep the word you have solemnly
pledged! Meet me at once. Name a place. I am surrounded by misery and
distraction. I will tell you all when we meet. I have trusted that you
were firm. Write instantly. I cannot ask you to come here. The house is
broken up. There is no putting to paper what has happened. My father lies
helpless. Everything rests on me. I thought that I could rely on you."

Emilia tore up her first letter, and replied:--

"Come here at once. Or, if you would wish to meet me elsewhere, it shall
be where you please: but immediately. If you have heard that I am going
to Italy, it is true. I break my promise. I shall hope to have your
forgiveness. My heart bleeds for my dear Cornelia, and I am eager to see
my sisters, and embrace them, and share their sorrow. If I must not come,
tell them I kiss them. Adieu!"

Wilfrid replied:--

"I will be by Richford Park gates to-morrow at a quarter to nine. You
speak of your heart. I suppose it is a habit. Be careful to put on a
cloak or thick shawl; we have touches of frost. If I cannot amuse you,
perhaps the nightingales will. Do you remember those of last year? I
wonder whether we shall hear the same?--we shall never hear the same."

This iteration, whether cunningly devised o