“It is even so,” was the reply. “My father died since noon today, and now his form is resting in the hall, where the soft light is gleaming out. Come, we will go and see how calm he looks in his majestic repose;” and, without waiting for a reply, he drew her in through the heavily-wrought curtains to the large, dimly-illumined apartment, where rested a metal burial-case which contained all that was earthly of the gray-haired chief, known as Morrillo, the bandit’s pride, there in the gloomy fortress, and as Claudius Etheredge in the brilliant Roman home. But none who met him at the brave display of chivalry, or in the more courtly halls of etiquette, dreamed their haughty yet affable host was the famous Morrillo, whom they feared and dreaded. “He was my own dear friend,” Arabel said, in a low voice. “How will you bury him?” she added, quickly, thinking of her own parents. A mournful smile lighted Claud’s beautiful face for a moment as he replied, “Tonight the carriage will come from Etheredge Hall, and tomorrow he will be buried in state from our royal home. I shall be chief mourner, sole mourner as to that part, except a few fawning relatives, who know nothing of the dead, except that he is reputed to leave a princely fortune;” and a darkly bitter smile crossed the young Italian’s face. “I hate such detestable hypocrisy,” he said, “but my father always had it to bear, and I must take his place in everything. So help me, father!” and he bowed his head, and laid his hand on the cold, damp brow. Arabel was startled, alarmed, terrified, at his strange words. “How can _he_ go to Etheredge Hall?” she said, “Lord Etheredge is away, and does not expect to return for thirty days, at least.” “How know you?” exclaimed Claud, earnestly. “My Uncle Fay Ortono, who married Lady Emelie Etheredge, half sister to the noble lord,” was the reply. “Then they are not your relatives,” he said. “But tell me, Bel, if you can keep a secret.” She nodded, silently and wonderingly. “What is my name?” he asked. “Claud Morrillo,” said Arabel, proudly. Claud smiled sadly, and said, “Yes, to you I am; but I have two names. Now, mind what I say, Arabel,” he said, sternly grasping her arm; “my father and Lord Etheredge are one and the same person, and I am now to take his title, and be Lord Etheredge in his stead. But, by the acquaintance we have had with each other, Arabel Ortono, and by the remembrance of our many meetings here, I warn you to tell no one of what I have said tonight.” Then tearfully they parted, that warm, soft night; Arabel to weep until slumber closed her weary lids, and brought gay visions of future happiness; Claud to return to the fortress, arrange his father’s business, snatch a single hour of deep, unrefreshing repose, and, as the bell on the high tower rung out the mystic midnight hour of twelve, to see his father’s form placed in his own private carriage and whirl rapidly away, drawn by his own splendidly caparisoned horses.