I was exiled I was
given seven days in which to make my adieux. I went to her, and declared
my love. She did not absolutely reject me, nor did she accept me. She
asked for time for consideration. I could give her none! I begged her to
leave the country with me. Alas! she would not! Perhaps I was too
passionate, too precipitate! It may have been so; I cannot say. I went
away alone and left her. I plunged into gay life at Paris; I dwelt among
the loneliest mountains of Switzerland; I endured the dullness of this
cold gray London, and the dissipation of Vienna. It was all in vain! One
by one they palled upon me. No manner of life, no change of scene, could
cure me of my love. I fell ill, and I knew that my heart was breaking.
You and I, Margharita, come of a race whose love and hatred are
eternal!"

She crept into his arms; and he went on, holding her there.

"Back I came at the peril of my life; content to die, if it were only at
her feet. I found her cold and changed; blaming me even for my rashness,
desiring even my absence. Not a word of pity to sweeten those weary days
of exile; not a word of hope to repay me for all that I had risked to
see her again. Soon I knew the reason--another love had stolen away her
heart. There was an Englishman--one of those cursed Englishmen--visiting
her daily at Palermo; and she told me calmly one day that she loved him,
and intended to become his wife. She forgot my long years of devoted
service; she forgot her own unspoken, yet understood, promise; she
forgot all that I had suffered for her; she forgot that her words must
sound to me as the death warrant of all joy and happiness in this world.
And she forgot, too, that I was a Marioni! Was I wrong, I wonder,
Margharita, that I quarreled with him! You are a child, and yet my
instinct tells me that you have a woman's judgment! Tell me, should I
have stepped aside, and let him win her, without a blow?"

"You would have been a coward if you had!" she cried. "You fought him!
Tell me that you fought him?"

"Margharita, you are a true daughter of your country!" the old man
cried. "You are a Marioni! Listen! I insulted him! He declined to fight!
I struck him across the face in a public restaurant, and forced him to
accept my challenge. The thing was arranged. We stood face to face on
the sand, sword in hand. The word had been given! His life was at my
mercy; but mind, Margharita, I had no thought of taking it without
giving him a fair chan