“I? I do not know,” he stammered. “Of course, it all seems very strange to you. But you must not think about it.” In his perturbation, the instinct to protect this weak woman, who by some law not understood by science had suffered in dreams on his account, mastered all selfish emotion. “I assure you,” he said, with a valiant attempt at a smile, “that the best thing you can do is to forget all about these dreams. I will give you a book about dreams, a book dry and hard to read perhaps, but which will make you feel happier on the subject.” “But”—she began—“why—why—should I like _you_ so much—why should the man of my dream be _you_?” How could the wife of Prince Andriocchi and the constant companion of his friend the count, contrive, being no actress, to look into his face with infantine innocence as Mercedes looked now? That look made him think better of those two men. “That—belongs to a branch of a subject I have not studied,” he said, hoping she did not notice the guilty flush which suddenly rose to his face. “I will think over all you have said to me to-night, and will tell you my opinion next time I see you,” he added, rising. “Oh!” She looked disappointed. “When—when will that be?” She spoke anxiously. “You see how well being with you makes me! Let it be soon!” she urged. What was he to say? To follow the promptings of his passionate feeling for her would have been madness. No, no; duty, duty alone—— That pause of a few seconds when he summoned all his force to subdue himself, a pause which seemed to him hideously long, was broken by a neighbouring, a friendly church clock, which struck ten. “Do you hear?” he exclaimed, seeming to be horrified although nothing could have horrified him just then. He sprang up. “I had no idea it was this hour,” he said, truthfully enough. “Have you your carriage? Who was that with you?” “My maid,” she said. “Emma—a German. Lady Boisville sent her to me. Such a kind person!” “But your carriage?” he asked, anxiously. It was farthest from his thoughts to compromise her. “It is there,” she added, with a certain assertion of dignity, rising. “Perhaps you will tell—that I am coming?” Hugh hastened to the door and called “Ralph.” A voice from the dining-room answered “Yes,” and Ralph came hurrying to the door. “Where is the princess’ maid?” asked his father, as coldly as he could. “She has been sitting in the dining-room with me, father.” “That was right. Call up the carriage yourself, will you? Don’t bother Jones.” “Yes.” Hugh returned to the room. She was standing thoughtfully at the table. What should he say to her? As he stood undecided, Ralph came hurrying back; he ceremoniously offered her his arm, and presently he was standing alone on the pavement, the stars shining mockingly down upon him as he gazed after her departing carriage. CHAPTER XIV. A QUESTIONABLE DOCTRINE.