That evening, Harley had dined at his father's. He spoke much to Helen,
scarcely at all to Violante. But it so happened that when later, and a
little while before he took his leave, Helen, at his request, was playing
a favourite air of his, Lady Lausmere, who had been seated between him
and Violante, left the room, and Violante turned quickly towards Harley.

"Do you know the Marchesa di Negra?" she asked, in a hurried voice.

"A little. Why do you ask?"

"That is my secret," answered Violante, trying to smile with her old
frank, childlike archness. "But, tell me, do you think better of her
than of her brother?"

"Certainly. I believe her heart to be good, and that she is not without
generous qualities."

"Can you not induce my father to see her? Would you not counsel him to
do so?"

"Any wish of yours is a law to me," answered Harley, gallantly. "You
wish your father to see her? I will try and persuade him to do so. Now,
in return, confide to me your secret. What is your object?"

"Leave to return to my Italy. I care not for honours, for rank; and even
my father has ceased to regret their loss. But the land, the native
land---Oh, to see it once more! Oh, to die there!"

"Die! You children have so lately left heaven, that ye talk as if ye