ength
she stopped opposite to Nicot, laid her hand on his arm, drew him
towards an escritoire, which she unlocked, and, opening a well, pointed
to the gold that lay within, and said, "Thou art poor,--thou lovest
money; take what thou wilt, but undeceive me. Who is this woman whom thy
friend visits,--and does he love her?"

Nicot's eyes sparkled, and his hands opened and clenched, and clenched
and opened, as he gazed upon the coins. But reluctantly resisting the
impulse, he said, with an affected bitterness, "Thinkest thou to bribe
me?--if so, it cannot be with gold. But what if he does love a rival;
what if he betrays thee; what if, wearied by thy jealousies, he designs
in his flight to leave thee behind,--would such knowledge make thee
happier?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the Italian, fiercely; "yes, for it would be happiness
to hate and to be avenged! Oh, thou knowest not how sweet is hatred to
those who have really loved!"

"But wilt thou swear, if I reveal to thee the secret, that thou wilt not
betray me,--that thou wilt not fall, as women do, into weak tears and
fond reproaches, when thy betrayer returns?"

"Tears, reproaches! Revenge hides itself in smiles!"

"Thou art a brave creature!" said Nicot, almost admiringly. "One
condition more: thy lover designs to fly with his new love, to leave
thee to thy fate; if I prove this to thee, and if I give thee revenge
against thy rival, wilt thou fly with me? I love thee!--I will wed
thee!"

Fillide's eyes flashed fire; she looked at him with unutterable disdain,
and was silent.

Nicot felt he had gone too far; and with that knowledge of the evil part
of our nature which his own heart and association with crime had taught
him, he resolved to trust the rest to the passions of the Italian, when
raised to the height to which he was prepared to lead them.

"Pardon me," he said; "my love made me too presumptuous; and yet it is
only that love,--my sympathy for thee, beautiful and betrayed, that can
induce me to wrong, with my revelations, one whom I have regarded as a
brother. I can depend upon thine oath to conceal all from Glyndon?"

"On my oath and my wrongs and my mountain blood!"

"Enough! get thy hat and mantle, and follow me."

As Fillide left the room, Nicot's eyes again rested on the gold; it was
much,--much more than he had dared to hope for; and as he peered into
the well and opened the drawers, he perceived a packet of letters in the
well-known hand of Camille D