out these strange words, the princess's mellow voice sunk
almost to a whisper, and trembled with half-suppressed passion, and her
white hand stole timidly yet earnestly down Gerard's arm, till it rested
like a soft bird upon his wrist, and as ready to fly away at a word.

Destitute of vanity and experience, wrapped up in his Margaret and his
art, Gerard had not seen this revelation coming, though it had come by
regular and visible gradations.

He blushed all over. His innocent admiration of the regal beauty that
besieged him, did not for a moment displace the absent Margaret's image.
Yet it was regal beauty, and wooing with a grace and tenderness he had
never even figured in imagination. How to check her without wounding
her?

He blushed and trembled.

The siren saw, and encouraged him.

"Poor Gerardo," she murmured, "fear not; none shall ever harm thee under
my wing. Wilt not speak to me, Gerar-do mio?"

"Signora!" muttered Gerard deprecatingly.

At this moment his eye, lowered in his confusion, fell on the shapely
white arm and delicate hand that curled round his elbow like a tender
vine, and it flashed across him how he had just seen that lovely limb
employed on Floretta.

He trembled and blushed.

"Alas!" said the princess, "I scare him. Am I then so very terrible? Is
it my Roman robe? I'll doff it, and habit me as when thou first camest
to me. Mindest thou? 'Twas to write a letter to yon barren knight Ercole
d'Orsini. Shall I tell thee? 'twas the sight of thee, and thy pretty
ways, and thy wise words, made me hate him on the instant. I liked the
fool well enough before; or wist I liked him. Tell me now how many times
hast thou been here since then. Ah! thou knowest not; lovest me not, I
doubt, as I love thee. Eighteen times, Gerardo. And each time dearer
to me. The day thou comest not 'tis night, not day, to Claelia. Alas!
I speak for both. Cruel boy, am I not worth a word? Hast every day a
princess at thy feet? Nay, prithee, prithee, speak to me, Gerar-do."

"Signora," faltered Gerard, "what can I say, that were not better left
unsaid? Oh, evil day that ever I came here."

"Ah! say not so. 'Twas the brightest day ever shone on me or indeed on
thee. I'll make thee confess so much ere long, ungrateful one."

"Your highness," began Gerard, in a low, pleading voice.

"Call me Claelia, Gerar-do."

"Signora, I am too young and too little wise to know how I ought to
speak to you, so as not to seem blind