ate
unhappy connection I never gave him the slightest cause for complaint."

"Dry your eyes, dear Betty, he is sure to forgive you. I have friends at
Leghorn, and no one shall find out that we have made acquaintance. I will
put you in good hands, and I shall not leave the town till I hear you are
back with Sir B---- M----. If he prove inexorable I promise never to
abandon you, and to take you back to England if you like."

"But how can you spare the time?"

"I will tell you the truth, my dear Betty. I have nothing particular to
do at Rome, or anywhere else. London and Rome are alike to me."

"How can I shew my gratitude to you?"

I summoned the vetturino, and told him we must return to Viterbo. He
objected, but I convinced him with a couple of piastres, and by agreeing
to use the post horses and to spare his own animals.

We got to Viterbo by seven o'clock, and asked anxiously if no one had
found a pocket-book which I pretended I had lost. I was told no such
thing had been found, so I ordered supper with calmness, although
bewailing my loss. I told Betty that I acted in this sort to obviate any
difficulties which the vetturino might make about taking us back to
Sienna, as he might feel it his duty to place her in the hands of her
supposed husband. I had up the small trunk, and after we had forced the
lock Betty took out her cloak and the few effects she had in it, and we
then inspected the adventurer's properties, most likely all he possessed
in the world. A few tattered shirts, two or three pairs of mended silk
stockings, a pair of breeches, a hare's foot, a pot of grease, and a
score of little books-plays or comic operas, and lastly a packet of
letters; such were the contents of the trunk.

We proceeded to read the letters, and the first thing we noted was the
address: "To M. L'Etoile, Actor, at Marseilles, Bordeaux, Bayonne,
Montpellier, etc."

I pitied Betty. She saw herself the dupe of a vile actor, and her
indignation and shame were great.

"We will read it all to-morrow," said I; "to-day we have something else
to do."

The poor girl seemed to breathe again.

We got over our supper hastily, and then Betty begged me to leave her
alone for a few moments for her to change her linen and go to bed.

"If you like," said I, "I will have a bed made up for me in the next
room."

"No, dear friend, ought I not to love your society? What would have
become of me without you?"

I went out for a few minutes, an