y accent of which trembled with emotion. "You
remember one sad and memorable night, Upton, in that old castle in
Ireland,--the night when I came to the resolution of this vengeance! I
sent for the boy to my room; we were alone there together, face to face.
It was such a scene as could brook no witness, nor dare I now recall its
details as they occurred. He came in frankly and boldly, as he felt
he had a right to do. How he left that room,--cowed, abashed, and
degraded,--I have yet before me. Our meeting did not exceed many minutes
in duration; neither of us could have endured it longer. Brief as it
was, we ratified a compact between us: it was this,--neither was ever to
question or inquire after the other, as no tie should unite, no interest
should bind us. Had you seen him then, Upton," cried Glencore, wildly,
"the proud disdain with which he listened to my attempts at excuse,
the haughty distance with which he seemed to reject every thought
of complaint, the stern coldness with which he heard me plan out his
future,--you would have said that some curse had fallen upon my heart,
or it could never have been dead to traits which proclaimed him to be
my own. In that moment it was my lot to be like him who held out his own
right hand to be first burned, ere he gave his body to the flames.

"We parted without an embrace; not even a farewell was spoken between
us. While I gloried in his pride, had he but yielded ever so little,
had one syllable of weakness, one tear escaped him, I had given up my
project, reversed all my planned vengeance, and taken him to my heart as
my own. But no! He was resolved on proving by his nature that he was of
that stern race from which, by a falsehood, I was about to exclude him.
It was as though my own blood hurled a proud defiance to me.

"As he walked slowly to the door, his glove fell from his hand. I
stealthily caught it up. I wanted to keep it as a memorial of that
bitter hour; but he turned hastily around and plucked it from my hand.
The action was even a rude one; and with a mocking smile, as though he
read my meaning and despised it, he departed.

"You now have heard the last secret of my heart in this sad history.
Let us speak of it no more." And with this, Glencore arose and left the
deck.

CHAPTER XLVI. THE FLOOD IN THE MAGRA

When it rains in Italy it does so with a passionate ardor that bespeaks
an unusual pleasure. It is no "soft dissolving in tears," but a perfect
outbur