“Why, you don’t mean to impose this auburn ringlet upon me for one of poor Howard’s jetty curls? What downright folly to think of it! And then, with how little taste the deception was practised,--upon your very temples, too! One comfort is, you are utterly spoiled by it.” Here she again relapsed into a fit of laughter, leaving me perfectly puzzled what to think of her, as she resumed:-- “Well, tell me now, am I to reckon this as a pledge of your own allegiance, or am I still to believe it to be Edward Howard’s? Speak, and truly.” “Of my own, most certainly,” said I, “if it will be accepted.” “Why, after such treachery, perhaps it ought not; but still, as you have already done yourself such injury, and look so very silly, withal--” “That you are even resolved to give me cause to look more so,” added I. “Exactly,” said she, “for here, now, I reinstate you among my true and faithful admirers. Kneel down, Sir Knight--in token of which you will wear this scarf--” A sudden start which the donna gave at these words brought me to my feet. She was pale as death and trembling. “What means this?” said I. “What has happened?” She pointed with her finger towards the garden; but though her lips moved, no voice came forth. I sprang through the open window; I rushed into the copse, the only one which might afford concealment for a figure, but no one was there. After a few minutes’ vain endeavor to discover any trace of an intruder, I returned to the chamber. The donna was there still, but how changed; her gayety and animation were gone, her pale cheek and trembling lip bespoke fear and suffering, and her cold hand lay heavily beside her. “I thought--perhaps it was merely fancy--but I thought I saw Trevyllian beside the window.” “Impossible!” said I. “I have searched every walk and alley. It was nothing but imagination,--believe me, no more. There, be assured; think no more of it.” While I endeavored thus to reassure her, I was very far from feeling perfectly at ease myself; the whole bearing and conduct of this man had inspired me with a growing dislike of him, and I felt already half-convinced that he had established himself as a spy upon my actions. “Then you really believe I was mistaken?” said the donna, as she placed her hand within mine. “Of course I do; but speak no more of it. You must not forget how few my moments are here. Already I have heard the tramp of horses without. Ah! there they are. In a moment more I shall be missed; so, once more, fairest Inez--Nay, I beg pardon if I have dared to call you thus; but think, if it be the first it may also be the last time I shall ever speak it.”