h and appeal to
his generosity, for the best man living is not inclined to be generous
when he has just been jilted, least of all to the man to whom he owes
his discomfiture. In the course of time Guido might grow more
indifferent. That was the most that could be hoped. Nevertheless, from
the instant in which Lamberti had realised the truth, coming back to his
senses out of a whirlwind of delight, he had known that he meant to have
the woman he loved for himself, since she loved him already, and that he
would count nothing that chanced to stand in his way, neither his
friend, nor his career, nor his own family, nor neck nor life, either,
if any such improbable risk should present itself. He was very glad that
he had waited till he was quite sure that she was free, for he knew very
well that if the moment had come too soon he should have felt the same
reckless desire to win her, though he would have exiled himself to a
desert island in the Pacific Ocean rather than yield to it.

And more than that. He, who had a rough and strong belief in God, in an
ever living soul within him, and in everlasting happiness and suffering
hereafter, he, who called suicide the most dastardly and execrable crime
against self that it lies in the power of a believing man to commit,
would have shot himself without hesitation rather than steal the love of
his only friend's wedded wife, content to give his body to instant
destruction, and his soul to eternal hell--if that were the only way not
to be a traitor. God might forgive him or not; salvation or damnation
would matter little compared with escaping such a monstrous evil.

He did not think these things. They were instinctive with him and sure
as fate, like all the impulses of violent temperaments; just as certain
as that if a man should give him the lie he would have struck him in the
face before he had realised that he had even raised his hand. Guido
d'Este, as brave in a different way, but hating any violent action,
would never strike a man at all if he could possibly help it, though he
would probably not miss him at the first shot the next morning.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed since Lamberti had left the
Countess and Guido together when he let himself in again with his
latch-key. He went at once to the bedroom, walking slowly and
scrutinising the floor as he went along. He had heard of tragedies
brought about by a hairpin, a glove, or a pocket handkerchief, dropped
or forgotten