blessing, she left the
room. A few minutes afterward Vincenzo entered. I addressed him
cheerfully.

"Absence is the best test of love, Vincenzo; prepare all for our
departure! We shall leave Avellino the day after to-morrow."

And so we did. Lilla looked slightly downcast, but Vincenzo seemed
satisfied, and I augured from their faces, and from the mysterious
smile of Signor Monti, that all was going well. I left the beautiful
mountain town with regret, knowing I should see it no more. I touched
Lilla's fair cheek lightly at parting, and took what I knew was my last
look into the sweet candid young face. Yet the consciousness that I had
done some little good gave my tired heart a sense of satisfaction and
repose--a feeling I had not experienced since I died and rose again
from the dead.

On the last day of January I returned to Naples, after an absence of
more than a month, and was welcomed back by all my numerous
acquaintance with enthusiasm. The Marquis D'Avencourt had informed me
rightly--the affair of the duel was a thing of the past--an almost
forgotten circumstance. The carnival was in full riot, the streets were
scenes of fantastic mirth and revelry; there was music and song,
dancing and masquerading, and feasting. But I withdrew from the tumult
of merriment, and absorbed myself in the necessary preparations for--my
marriage.

CHAPTER XXX.

Looking back on the incidents of those strange feverish weeks that
preceded my wedding-day, they seemed to me like the dreams of a dying
man. Shifting colors, confused images, moments of clear light, hours of
long darkness--all things gross, refined, material, and spiritual were
shaken up in my life like the fragments in a kaleidoscope, ever
changing into new forms and bewildering patterns. My brain was clear;
yet I often questioned myself whether I was not going mad--whether all
the careful methodical plans I formed were but the hazy fancies of a
hopelessly disordered mind? Yet no; each detail of my scheme was too
complete, too consistent, too business-like for that. A madman may have
a method of action to a certain extent, but there is always some slight
slip, some omission, some mistake which helps to discover his
condition. Now, _I_ forgot nothing--I had the composed exactitude of a
careful banker who balances his accounts with the most elaborate
regularity. I can laugh to think of it all now; but THEN--then I moved,
spoke, and acted like a human machine imp