Nizza. "Doctor Hodges says he can
restore you to your master's favour. You will therefore return home, and
we shall meet no more."

"In these precarious times, those who part, though even for a few days,
can feel no certainty of meeting again," rejoined Leonard. "But I hope
we shall be more fortunate."

"You mistake me," replied Nizza. "Henceforth I shall sedulously avoid
you. Till I saw you, I was happy, and indifferent to all else, my
affections being centred in my father and in my dog. Now I am restless
and miserable. My former pursuits are abandoned, and I think only of
you. Despise me if you will after this frank avowal. But believe that I
would not have made it if I had not resolved to see you no more."

"Despise you!" echoed Leonard. "On no! I shall ever feel the deepest
gratitude towards you; but perhaps it is better we should meet no more."

"And yet you throw yourself in the way of Amabel," cried Nizza. "You
have not resolution to fly from the danger which you counsel me to
shun."

"It is too true," replied Leonard; "but she is beset by temptations from
which I hope to preserve her."

"That excuse will not avail me," returned Nizza, bitterly. "You cannot
live without her. But I have said enough--more than enough," she added,
correcting herself. "I must now bid you farewell--for ever. May you be
happy with Amabel, and may she love you as I love you!"

As she said this she would have rushed out of the room, if she had not
been stopped by Doctor Hodges.

"Whither so fast?" he inquired.

"Oh! let me go--let me go, I implore of you!" she cried, bursting into
an agony of tears.

"Not till you have composed yourself," rejoined the doctor. "What is the
matter? But I need not ask. I wonder Leonard can be insensible to charms
like yours, coupled with such devotion. Everything seems to be at cross
purposes, and it requires some one more skilled in the affairs of the
heart than an old bachelor like myself to set them right. Sit down. I
have a few questions of importance to ask you before you depart."

And partly by entreaty, partly by compulsion, he made her take a chair;
and as soon as she was sufficiently composed to answer him, questioned
her as to what she knew relating to Judith Malmayns and Chowles.

"Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon, has died of the plague in one of the
vaults of Saint Faith's," he observed; "and I more than suspect, from
the appearance of the body, has not met with fair play."

"Yo