corner out of the draught, and
then turned to the ladies.

"Miladi," said Girasole, in a gentle voice, "I am ver pained to haf to
tella you dat it is necessaire for you to separat dis night--till
to-morra."

"To separate?" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby.

"Only till to-morra, miladi. Den you sall be togeder foravva. But it
is now necessaire. Dere haf ben an attemp to a rescue. I mus guard
again dis--an' it mus be done by a separazion. If you are togeder you
might run. Dis man was almos up here. It was only chance dat I saw him
in time."

"Oh, Sir," cried Mrs. Willoughby, "you can not--you will not separate
us. You can not have the heart to. I promise most solemnly that we
will not escape if you only leave us together."

Girasole shook his head.

"I can not," said he, firmly; "de mees is too precious. I dare not. If
you are prisonaire se will not try to fly, an' so I secure her de
more; but if you are togeder you will find some help. You will bribe
de men. I can not trust dem."

"Oh, do not separate us. Tie us. Bind us. Fasten us with chains.
Fasten me with chains, but leave me with her."

"Chains? nonsance; dat is impossibile. Chains? no, miladi. You sall be
treat beautiful. No chain, no; notin but affection--till to-morra, an'
den de mees sall be my wife. De priest haf come, an' it sall be
allaright to-morra, an' you sall be wit her again. An' now you haf to
come away; for if you do not be pleasant, I sall not be able to 'low
you to stay to-morra wit de mees when se become my Contessa."

Mrs. Willoughby flung her arms about her sister, and clasped her in a
convulsive embrace.

"Well, Kitty darling," said Minnie, "don't cry, or you'll make me cry
too. It's just what we might have expected, you know. He's been as
unkind as he could be about the chair, and of course he'll do all he
can to tease me. Don't cry, dear. You must go, I suppose, since that
horrid man talks and scolds so about it; only be sure to be back
early; but how I am _ever_ to pass the night here all alone and
standing up, I'm sure _I_ don't know."

"Alone? Oh no," said Girasole. "Charming mees, you sall not be alone;
I haf guard for dat. I haf sent for a maid."

"But I don't want any of your horrid old maids. I want my own maid, or
none at all."

"Se sall be your own maid. I haf sent for her."

"What, my own maid?--Dowlas?"

"I am ver sorry, but it is not dat one. It is anoder--an Italian."

"Well, I think that is _very_ unkind, when you