od, rising and pacing the
room,--"that may do well enough in the common occurrences of life, but
it won't do on the Turf, Abbe. The fellows are too artful for you there.
There are too many dodges and tricks and windings. No, no, believe
me; nothing has a chance in racing matters, without perfect and safe
'information;' you know what that means."

"It is precisely the same thing in the world at large," said D'Esmonde.
"The very cleverest men rush into embarrassments and involve themselves
in difficulties for which there is no issue, simply for want of what you
call 'information.' Even yourself, my Lord," said he, dropping his voice
to a low and distinct whisper,--"even yourself may discover that you owe
safety to a Popish priest."

"How do you mean? What do you allude to?" cried Norwood, eagerly.

"Sit down here, my Lord. Give me a patient hearing for a few minutes. We
have fortunately a moment of unbroken confidence now; let us profit by
it."

Norwood seated himself beside the priest, without speaking, and, folding
his arms, prepared to hear him calmly.

"My Lord Norwood," said the Abbe, "I will not torture you by any
prolixity, nor will I waste your time by any appeal to your forgiveness.
If my own conduct in the affair I am about to relate should not meet
your approval, it is enough that I have satisfied my own conscience."

"Go on--go on," said Norwood, in a tone of almost sarcasm; "I see that
you have injured me, let me hear how and where."

"You shall hear both, my Lord, and briefly too. I have only to invoke
your memory, and the story is told. You remember being at Salamanca,
in the year 18----? you remember, too, a certain ballerina of the Grand
Opera? You had seen her first at Seville--"

"Yes----; yes," broke in Norwood, reddening deeply; "I know what you
mean--the girl was my mistress."

"Stay, my Lord. Do not dishonor yourself; she was your wife,--legally
and formally married to you,--the registry of the act is in existence,
and the priest who performed the ceremony now stands before you."

"By Heaven!" said Norwood, springing to his feet,

"You are a bold fellow to dare this game with _me!_ and to try it in
such a place as this!"

"Ay, my Lord, the river rolls dark and silently beside us," said
D'Esmonde, calmly; "and the Arno has covered up many a more dreadful
deed; but I have no fears,--not one. I am unarmed, in strength I am
certainly not your equal, and yet, I repeat it, my heart assures m