nt towards him, saying with grave kindness:

"Rise, poor lad. I am not angry with you."

When Ulrich again stood before him, he kissed his forehead and
continued:

"I have not been mistaken in you. Do you, Don Fabrizio, recommend
Navarrete to the Marquesa's protection, and tell him what we desire.
It would scarcely redound to his happiness, if the deed, for which my
imprudence and his thoughtlessness are to blame, should be revenged on
me. It comforts us to atone for a wrong. Whether you save me, Ulrich,
or I perish--no matter; you are and always will be, my dear, faithful
friend."

Ulrich threw himself sobbing on the artist's breast, and when he learned
what was required of him, fairly glowed with delight and eagerness for
action; he thought no greater joy could befall him than to die for the
Master.

As the bell of the palace-chapel was ringing for evening service,
Sophonisba was obliged to leave her friend; for it was her duty to
attend the nocturnus with the queen.

Don Fabrizio turned away, while she bade Moor farewell.

"If you desire my happiness, make him happy," the artist whispered; but
she could find no words to reply, and only nodded silently.

He drew her gently towards him, kissed her brow, and said: "There is a
hard and yet a consoling word Love is divine; but still more divine is
sacrifice. To-day I am both your friend and father. Remember me to your
sisters. God bless you, child!"

"And you, you!" sobbed the girl.

Never had any human being prayed so fervently for another's welfare in
the magnificent chapel of the Alcazar, as did Sophonisba Anguisciola on
this evening. Don Fabrizio's betrothed bride also pleaded for peace and
calmness in her own heart, for power to forget and to do her duty.

CHAPTER XIX.

Half an hour before midnight Moor entered the calash, and Ulrich
Navarrete mounted the white Andalusian.

The artist, deeply agitated, had already taken leave of his protege in
the studio, had given him a purse of gold for his travelling-expenses
and any other wants, and told him that he would always find with him in
Flanders a home, a father, love, and instruction in his art.

The painter alighted before Don Fabrizio's palace; a short time after
Ulrich noisily drew the leather curtain before the partition of the
calash, and then called to the coachman, who had often driven Moor when
he was unexpectedly summoned to one of the king's pleasure-palaces at
night: "Go ahead!"

The