matrimonial attractions; and my mother set hard to work--at a new frock
for the baby. Unsoftened by these undue female influences, Pisistratus
wrote on at the dictation of the relentless Fates. His pen was of iron,
and his heart was of granite. He was as insensible to the existence of
wife and baby as if he had never paid a house bill, nor rushed from a
nursery at the sound of an infant squall. O blessed privilege of
Authorship!

"O testudinis aureae
Dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas!
O mutis quoque piscibus
Donatura cyeni, si libeat, sonum!"

["O Muse, who dost temper the sweet sound of the golden shell of the
tortoise, and couldst also give, were it needed, to silent fishes
the song of the swan."]




CHAPTER II.

It is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this narrative, and
account to the reader for the disappearance of Violante.

It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden approach of
Lord L'Estrange, had little time for further words to the young Italian,
than those which expressed his intention to renew the conference, and
press for her decision. But the next day, when he re-entered the garden,
secretly and stealthily, as before, Violante did not appear. And after