of dignity would have been
ludicrous; but Brand took no heed of the manner of his companion;
his heart was beating wildly. And even when his reason forced him to
see how little he could expect from this intervention--when he
remembered what a decree of the Council was, and how irrevocable the
doom he had himself accepted--still the thought uppermost in his
mind was not of his own safety or danger, but rather of her love and
devotion, her resolve to rescue him, her quick and generous impulse
that knew nothing of fear. He pictured her to himself in Naples,
calling upon this nameless and secret power, that every man around
him dreaded, to reverse its decision! And then the audacity of her
bidding him hope! He could not hope; he knew more than she did. But
his heart was full of love and of gratitude as he thought of her.

"My dear friend," said Calabressa, lowering his voice, "my errand is one
of great secrecy. I have a commission which I cannot altogether explain
to you. But in the mean time you will be so good as to give me--_in
extense_, with every particular--the little history of how you were
appointed to--to undertake a certain duty."

"Unfortunately, I cannot," Brand said, calmly; "these are things one is
not permitted to talk about."

"But I must insist on it, my dear friend."

"Then I must insist on refusing you."

"You are trustworthy. No matter: here is something which I think will
remove your suspicions, my good friend--or shall we not rather say your
scruples?"

He took from his pocket-book a card, and placed it somewhat
ostentatiously on the table. Brand examined it, and then stared at
Calabressa in surprise.

"You come with the authority of the Council?"

"By the goodness of Heaven," Calabressa exclaimed with a laugh, "you
have arrived at the truth this time!"

CHAPTER LI.

THE CONJURER.

There was no mistaking the fact that Calabressa had come armed with
ample authority from the Council, and yet it was with a strange
reluctance that Brand forced himself to answer the questions that
Calabressa proceeded to put to him. He had already accepted his doom.
The bitterness of it was over. He would rather have let the past be
forgotten altogether, and himself go forward blindly to the appointed
end. Why those needless explanations and admissions?

Moreover, Calabressa's questions, which had been thought over during
long railway journeys, were exceedingly crafty. They touched here and
there o