father."

"Nay," replied Peschiera. "Pardon, if I contradict you. Do you know so
little of your father as to suppose that he will suffer his interest to
dictate to his pride? He would refuse, perhaps, even to receive my
visit, to hear my explanations; but certainly he would refuse to buy back
his inheritance by the sacrifice of his daughter to one whom he has
deemed his foe, and whom the mere disparity of years would incline the
world to say he had made the barter of his personal ambition. But if I
could go to him sanctioned by you; if I could say, 'Your daughter
overlooks what the father might deem an obstacle,--she has consented to
accept my hand of her own free choice, she unites her happiness, and
blends her prayers with mine,'--then, indeed, I could not fail of
success; and Italy would pardon my errors, and bless your name. Ah,
Signorina, do not think of me save as an instrument towards the
fulfilment of duties so high and sacred! think but of your ancestors,
your father, your native land, and reject not the proud occasion to prove
how you revere them all!"

Violante's heart was touched at the right chord. Her head rose, the
colour came back to her pale cheek, she turned the glorious beauty of her
countenance towards the wily tempter. She was about to answer and to
seal her fate, when at that instant Harley's voice was heard at a little
distance, and Nero came bounding towards her, and thrust himself, with
rough familiarity, between her and Peschiera. The count drew back, and
Violante, whose eyes were still fixed on his face, started at the change
that passed there. One quick gleam of rage sufficed in an instant to
light up the sinister secrets of his nature,--it was the face of the
baffled gladiator. He had time but for few words.