fice and generosity, no doubt, but not with a view,
surely, to any such extreme madness as this. No. The fact is, I had no
time to explain the circumstances of the case to the young lady, or I
could easily have shown her how you were no more involved than herself
in procuring the decree against her father. To-day I cannot; to-morrow I
cannot; the day after to-morrow, I solemnly assure you, I will see her,
and reason with her, and convince her that you have acted throughout as
her best friend only could have done. You are too sensitive, my
Calabressa: ah, is it not the old romance recalled that is making you
so? But this I promise you, that she shall beg your pardon for having
turned away from you."

"Then," said Calabressa, with a little touch of indignant pride, "then
your Excellency imagines that it is my vanity that has been wounded?"

"No; it is your heart. And she will be sorry for having pained a true
friend: is not that as it should be? Why, your proposal, if she agreed
to it, what would be the result? You would stab her with remorse. For
this momentary slight you would say, 'See, I have killed myself. Learn
now that Calabressa loved you.' But that would be very like revenge, my
Calabressa; and you ought not to think of taking revenge on the daughter
of Natalie Berezolyi."

"Your Excellency--"

Calabressa was about to protest: but he was stopped.

"Leave it to me, my friend. The day after to-morrow we shall have more
leisure. Meanwhile, no more thoughts of quixotism. _Addio!_"

CHAPTER LVIII.

A SACRIFICE.

It would be difficult to say whether Calabressa was altogether sincere
in claiming to become the substitute for Ferdinand Lind, or whether he
was not practising a little self-deception, and pacifying his wounded
pride and affection by this outburst of generosity, while secretly
conscious that his offer would not be accepted. However, what Calabressa
had declared himself ready to do, in a fit of wild sentimentalism,
another had already done, in terrible earnest. A useless life had
suddenly become ennobled by a tragic and self-sacrificing death.

Two days after Lord Evelyn left for Naples, Brand and Gathorne Edwards
were as usual in the chambers in Lisle Street, and, the business of the
morning being mostly over, they were chatting together. There was a
brighter look on George Brand's face than there had been there for many
a day.

"What an indefatigable fellow that Molyneux is!" Edwards was