“I do. Courage, my friend; do not reproach yourself; it has nothing to do with us. She was taken ill of a cold, not of a letter, man!” “No, no; I judge her heart by my own. Oh, that I could recall the past! Look at me; I am the wreck of what I was; day and night the recollection of my falsehood haunts me with remorse.” “Pshaw!--we will go to Italy together, and in your beautiful land love will replace love.” “I am half resolved, Ferrers.” “Ha!--to do what?” “To write--to reveal all to her.” The hardy complexion of Ferrers grew livid; his brow became dark with a terrible expression. “Do so, and fall the next day by my hand; my aim in slighter quarrel never erred.” “Do you dare to threaten me?” “Do you dare to betray me? Betray one who, if he sinned, sinned on your account--in your cause; who would have secured to you the loveliest bride, and the most princely dower in England; and whose only offence against you is that he cannot command life and health?” “Forgive me,” said the Italian, with great emotion,--“forgive me, and do not misunderstand; I would not have betrayed _you_--there is honour among villains. I would have confessed only my own crime; I would never have revealed yours--why should I?--it is unnecessary.” “Are you in earnest--are you sincere?” “By my soul!” “Then, indeed, you are worthy of my friendship. You will assume the whole forgery--an ugly word, but it avoids circumlocution--to be your own?” “I will.” Ferrers paused a moment, and then stopped suddenly short. “You will swear this!” “By all that is holy.” “Then mark me, Cesarini; if to-morrow Lady Florence be worse, I will throw no obstacle in the way of your confession, should you resolve to make it; I will even use that influence which you leave me, to palliate your offence, to win your pardon. And yet to resign your hopes--to surrender one so loved to the arms of one so hated--it is magnanimous--it is noble--it is above my standard! Do as you will.” Cesarini was about to reply, when a servant on horseback abruptly turned the corner, almost at full speed. He pulled in--his eye fell upon Lumley--he dismounted. “Oh, Mr. Ferrers,” said the man breathlessly, “I have been to your house; they told me I might find you at Lord Saxingham’s--I was just going there--” “Well, well, what is the matter?” “My poor master, sir--my lord, I mean--” “What of him?” “Had a fit, sir--the doctors are with him--my mistress--for my lord can’t speak--sent me express for you.” “Lend me your horse--there, just lengthen the stirrups.” While the groom was engaged at the saddle, Ferrers turned to Cesarini. “Do nothing rashly,” said he; “I would say, if I might, nothing at all, without consulting me; but mind, I rely, at all events, on your promise--your oath.” “You may,” said Cesarini, gloomily. “Farewell, then,” said Lumley, as he mounted; and in a few moments he was out of sight. CHAPTER II. “O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, * * * * *