But no sleep fell on the lids of Harley L'Estrange. He started up when
his host had left him, and paced the apartment, with noiseless but rapid
strides. All whim and levity had vanished from his face, which, by the
light of the dawn, seemed death-like pale. On that pale face there was
all the struggle and all the anguish of passion.

"These arms have clasped her," he murmured; "these lips have inhaled her
breath! I am under the same roof, and she is saved,--saved evermore from
danger and from penury, and forever divided from me. Courage, courage!
Oh, honour, duty; and thou, dark memory of the past,--thou that didst
pledge love at least to a grave,--support, defend me! Can I be so weak!"

The sun was in the wintry skies when Harley stole from the house. No one
was stirring except Giacomo, who stood by the threshold of the door,
which he had just unbarred, feeding the house-dog. "Good-day," said the
servant, smiling. "The dog has not been of much use, but I don't think
the padrone will henceforth grudge him a breakfast. I shall take him to
Italy, and marry him there, in the hope of improving the breed of our
native Lombard dogs."

"Ah," said Harley, "you will soon leave our cold shores. May sunshine
settle on you all!" He paused, and looked up at the closed windows
wistfully.

"The signorina sleeps there," said Giacomo, in a husky voice, "just over
the room in which you slept."

"I knew it," muttered Harley. "An instinct told me of it. Open the
gate; I must go home. My excuses to your lord, and to all."