"It is well!" said I, calmly, to myself, "it is well; I will forget her:" and I rode instantly home. "But," I resumed in my soliloquy, "I will yet strive to obtain confirmation to what perhaps needs it not. I will yet strive to see if Gerald can deny the depth of his injuries towards me; there will be at least some comfort in witnessing either his defiance or his confusion." Agreeably to this thought, I hastened to seek Gerald. I found him in his apartment; I shut the door, and seating myself, with a smile thus addressed him,-- "Dear Gerald, I have a favour to ask of you." "What is it?" "How long have you known a certain Mr. Barnard?" Gerald changed colour; his voice faltered as he repeated the name "Barnard!" "Yes," said I, with affected composure, "Barnard! a great friend of Don Diego D'Alvarez." "I perceive," said Gerald, collecting himself, "that you are in some measure acquainted with my secret: how far it is known to you I cannot guess; but I tell you, very fairly, that from me you will not increase the sum of your knowledge." When one is in a good sound rage, it is astonishing how calm one can be! I was certainly somewhat amazed by Gerald's hardihood and assurance, but I continued, with a smile, "And Donna Isora, how long, if not very intrusive on your confidence, have you known her?" "I tell you," answered Gerald, doggedly, "that I will answer no questions." "You remember the old story," returned I, "of the two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, whose very ashes refused to mingle; faith, Gerald, our love seems much of the same sort. I know not if our ashes will exhibit so laudible an antipathy: but I think our hearts and hands will do so while a spark of life animates them; yes, though our blood" (I added, in a voice quivering with furious emotion) "prevents our contest by the sword, it prevents not the hatred and the curses of the heart." Gerald turned pale. "I do not understand you," he faltered out,--"I know you abhor me; but why, why this excess of malice?" I cast on him a look of bitter scorn, and turned from the room. It is not pleasing to place before the reader these dark passages of fraternal hatred: but in the record of all passions there is a moral; and it is wise to see to how vast a sum the units of childish animosity swell, when they are once brought into a heap, by some violent event, and told over by the nice accuracy of Revenge. But I long to pass from these scenes, and my history is about to glide along others of more glittering and smiling aspect. Thank Heaven, I write a tale, not only of love, but of a life; and that which I cannot avoid I can at least condense. CHAPTER X. A VERY SHORT CHAPTER,--CONTAINING A VALET.