lm came
over her. She went up to Lady Lanswell, and knelt at her feet. The
countess would have given much for the power of moving away, but there
was that in the beautiful, colorless face raised to hers which compelled
her to listen.

"I humble myself to you," pleaded the sweet voice. "I pray of you, who
are so great, so powerful, so mighty, to have pity upon your son and
upon me. One word from you will go so far; you can undo all that has
been done. If you will give your consent all will be well."

Lady Lanswell looked at her in silent wonder. Leone went on:

"I plead to you. I pray to you, because I love him so. In my heart I am
as proud as you, may be prouder; but I lay my pride under my feet, I
humble myself. I pray of you to take pity upon your son, and on myself.
I love him so well, he loves me too. Life would hold nothing for either
of us if we are parted. For the sake of all the love you have ever felt
for husband, father, brother, son--for God's sake, I pray you to take
pity on us, and do not separate us."

The passionate torrent of words stopped for one minute; tears streamed
down the beautiful upraised face; then she went on:

"I would do all that you wished me; I would try hard to improve myself;
I would work so hard and work so well that no one would even guess, ever
so faintly, that I belonged to a different class. I would be the most
devoted of daughters to you; I would live only to please you, I----"

The countess held up her hand with a warning gesture.

"Hush!" she said; "you are talking the most arrant nonsense."

But Leone this time would not be controlled. All the passion and love
within her seemed to find vent in the next few words. They might have
burned the lips which uttered them, but they fell unheeded on the ears
of the proudest woman in England.

"Hush," she said again. "Neither pleading nor prayers will avail with
me. I speak the simple truth when I say that I would rather see my son
dead than see you his wife."

CHAPTER XVIII.

A WRONGED WOMAN'S THREAT.

For some five minutes there was silence, and the two who were to be
mortal enemies looked at each other. Leone knew then that all prayers,
all pleadings were in vain; that they were worse than useless; but in
the heart of the foe there was no relenting, no pity, nothing but scorn
and hate. She had poured out the whole of her soul in that supplication
for pity, and now she knew that she had humbled herself in vain; the