priest will
offer himself in your stead."

But the girl rose, and, forcing her way to where the Prince stood, threw
herself upon his arm.

"Oh, stop it, Highness, stop it!" she cried, amid a passion of sobs;
"he is dying, do you not see!"

The Prince removed his masque; those around him, following the signal,
also unmasqued, and the play was stopped.

PART SECOND.

I.

THERE was no change in the bright sunlight or in the festive colours of
the gay crowd. The grass was as green, the sky as blue, the rushing
leaping water sparkled as before, nevertheless a sudden change and
deadness fell upon the garden and its throng of guests. The hush that
had preceded Mark's appearance was of a far different kind. That had
been a silence of awe, of expectation, of excitement, and of life; this
was the scared silence of dismay. Those who were most distant from the
Prince, and who could do so with decency, began to scatter like
frightened children, and were lost in the arcaded hedges and walks. The
Prince remained standing, his masque in his hand, the Signorina still
weeping on his arm; she was too excited to admit of comfort, he stroked
her hand kindly, as he would that of a child. The Herald, who was
evidently exceedingly disgusted at the turn things had taken, and the
quite unnecessary stop that had been put to the play, had retired a few
paces, and was in conference with Carricchio, who was apparently trying
to console him. The Princess, scared and startled, was drawing the Count
after her to leave the scene, when a tall and beautiful woman emerged
from a trellised walk and, through the respectful crowd that fell back
to give her passage, advanced towards the Prince.

"You may resume your play, Ferdinand," she said, and her voice was very
sad but without a touch of scorn; "you may resume your play. It is not
you who have killed this child; it is I."

Then, stooping over the lifeless body, she raised it in her arms, and,
in the midst of a yet more perfect stillness, as in the presence of a
being of a holier and a loftier world, the Princess Isoline disappeared
with her burden into the forest depths.

She followed the path under the narrow avenue, where she had once walked
with Mark, till she reached her quiet and melancholy house; and,
entering at once into the hall, she deposited her burden upon the long
table, where the household was wont to dine. She laid it with the feet
at one end of the board, and, str