, yes! I understand!" faltered Giacomo, nervously, "My master never
thought me foolish--I could always understand him--"

"Do you know, my friend," I observed, in a purposely cold and cutting
tone, "that I have heard somewhat too much about your master? The
subject is tiresome to me! Were your master alive, he would say you
were in your dotage! Take my message to the countess at once."

The old man's face paled and his lips quivered--he made an attempt to
draw up his shrunken figure with a sort of dignity as he answered
"Eccellenza, my master would never speak to me so--never, never!" Then
his countenance fell, and he muttered, softly--"Though it is just--I am
a fool--I am mistaken--quite mistaken--there is no resemblance!" After
a little pause he added, humbly, "I will take your message,
eccellenza." And stooping more than ever, he shambled out of the room.
My heart smote me as he disappeared; I had spoken very harshly to the
poor old fellow--but I instinctively felt that it was necessary to do
so. His close and ceaseless examination of me--his timidity when he
approached me--the strange tremors he experienced when I addressed him,
were so many warnings to me to be on my guard with this devoted
domestic. Were he, by some unforeseen chance, to recognize me, my plans
would all be spoiled. I took my hat and left the house. As I crossed
the upper terrace, I saw a small round object lying in the grass--it
was Stella's ball that she used to throw for Wyvis to catch and bring
to her. I picked up the poor plaything tenderly and put it in my
pocket--and glancing up once more at the darkened nursery windows, I
waved a kiss of farewell to my little one lying there in her last
sleep. Then fiercely controlling all the weaker and softer emotions
that threatened to overwhelm me, I hurried away. On my road to the
hotel I stopped at the telegraph-office and dispatched the news of
Stella's death to Guido Ferrari in Rome. He would be surprised, I
thought, but certainly not grieved--the poor child had always been in
his way. Would he come back to Naples to console the now childless
widow? Not he!--he would know well that she stood in very small need of
consolation--and that she took Stella's death as she had taken mine--as
a blessing, and not a bereavement. On reaching my own rooms, I gave
orders to Vincenzo that I was not at home to any one who might
call--and I passed the rest of the day in absolute solitude. I had much
to think of. Th