one after Don
Diego's funeral. I had been with Isora in the morning; I left her for a
few hours, and returned at the first dusk of evening with some books
and music, which I vainly hoped she might recur to for a momentary
abstraction from her grief. I dismissed my carriage, with the intention
of walking home, and addressing the woman-servant who admitted me,
inquired, as was my wont, after Isora. "She has been very ill," replied
the woman, "ever since the strange gentleman left her."

"The strange gentleman?"

Yes, he had forced his way upstairs, despite of the denial the servant
had been ordered to give to all strangers. He had entered Isora's room;
and the woman, in answer to my urgent inquiries, added that she had
heard his voice raised to a loud and harsh key in the apartment; he
had stayed there about a quarter of an hour, and had then hurried out,
seemingly in great disorder and agitation.

"What description of man was he?" I asked.

The woman answered that he was mantled from head to foot in his cloak,
which was richly laced, and his hat was looped with diamonds, but
slouched over that part of his face which the collar of his cloak did
not hide, so that she could not further describe him than as one of a
haughty and abrupt bearing, and evidently belonging to the higher ranks.

Convinced that Gerald had been the intruder, I hastened up the stairs to
Isora. She received me with a sickly and faint smile, and endeavoured to
conceal the traces of her tears.

"So!" said I, "this insolent persecutor of yours has discovered your
abode, and again insulted or intimidated you. He shall do so no more! I
will seek him to-morrow; and no affinity of blood shall prevent--"

"Morton, dear Morton!" cried Isora, in great alarm, and yet with a
certain determination stamped upon her features, "hear me! It is true
this man has been here; it is true that, fearful and terrible as he is,
he has agitated and alarmed me: but it was only for you, Morton,--by the
Holy Virgin, it was only for you! 'The moment,' said he, and his voice
ran shiveringly through my heart like a dagger, 'the moment Morton
Devereux discovers who is his rival, that moment his death-warrant is
irrevocably sealed!'"

"Arrogant boaster!" I cried, and my blood burned with the intense
rage which a much slighter cause would have kindled from the natural
fierceness of my temper. "Does he think my life is at his bidding, to
allow or to withhold? Unhand me, Isora, un