“You have abilities,” she said, in conclusion, “you have friends, you have youth; take advantage of those gifts of nature and fortune, and fulfil such a career as,” added Lady Florence, with a smile, “Dante did not consider incompatible with poetry.” “I cannot object to any career,” said Cesarini, with an effort, “that may serve to remove me from a country that has no longer any charms for me. I thank you for your kindness; I will obey you. May you be happy; and yet--no, ah! no--happy you must be! Even he, sooner or later, must see you with my eyes.” “I know,” replied Florence, falteringly, “that you have wisely and generously mastered a past illusion. Mr. Ferrers allowed me to see the letter you wrote to Er---to Mr. Maltravers; it was worthy of you: it touched me deeply; but I trust you will outlive your prejudices against--” “Stay,” interrupted Cesarini; “did Ferrers communicate to you the answer to that letter?” “No, indeed.” “I am glad of it.” “Why?” “Oh, no matter. Heaven bless you; farewell.” “No; I implore you, do not go yet; what was there in that letter that it could pain me to see? Lumley hinted darkly; but would not speak out: be more frank.” “I cannot: it would be treachery to Maltravers, cruelty to you; yet would it be cruel?” “No, it would not; it would be kindness and mercy; show me the letter--you have it with you.” “You could not bear it; you would hate me for the pain it would give you. Let me depart.” “Man, you wrong Maltravers. I see it now. You would darkly slander him whom you cannot openly defame. Go; I was wrong to listen to you--go!” “Lady Florence, beware how you taunt me into undeceiving you. Here is the letter, it is his handwriting; will you read it? I warn you not.” “I will believe nothing but the evidence of my own eyes; give it me.” “Stay then; on two conditions. First, that you promise me sacredly that you will not disclose to Maltravers, without my consent, that you have seen this letter. Think not I fear his anger. No! but in the mortal encounter that must ensue, if you thus betray me, your character would be lowered in the world’s eyes, and even I (my excuse unknown) might not appear to have acted with honour in obeying your desire, and warning you, while there is yet time, of bartering love for avarice. Promise me.” “I do, I do most solemnly.” “Secondly, assure me that you will not ask to keep the letter, but will immediately restore it to me.” “I promise it. Now then.” “Take the letter.”