earnestly.

"Go on," replied my lady, while the vague dread grew stronger, and she
braced her nerves as for some approaching shock. She forgot Lillian,
forgot everything but the strange aspect of the man before her, and the
words to which she listened like a statue. Still standing pale and
steady, Paul spoke rapidly, while his eyes were full of mingled
sternness, pity, and remorse.

"Twenty years ago, an English gentleman met a friend in a little Italian
town, where he had married a beautiful wife. The wife had a sister as
lovely as herself, and the young man, during that brief stay, loved and
married her--in a very private manner, lest his father should disinherit
him. A few months passed, and the Englishman was called home to take
possession of his title and estates, the father being dead. He went
alone, promising to send for the wife when all was ready. He told no one
of his marriage, meaning to surprise his English friends by producing
the lovely woman unexpectedly. He had been in England but a short time
when he received a letter from the old priest of the Italian town,
saying the cholera had swept through it, carrying off half its
inhabitants, his wife and friend among others. This blow prostrated the
young man, and when he recovered he hid his grief, shut himself up in
his country house, and tried to forget. Accident threw in his way
another lovely woman, and he married again. Before the first year was
out, the friend whom he supposed was dead appeared, and told him that
his wife still lived, and had borne him a child. In the terror and
confusion of the plague, the priest had mistaken one sister for the
other, as the elder did die."

"Yes, yes, I know; go on!" gasped my lady, with white lips, and eyes