“Sit down and compose yourself, lady,” rejoined the intruder; “this is my last visit to you; but we have a reckoning to make together of some weight. As to crying out, or bringing in help, you need not trouble yourself; your orders to your servants to keep aloof, have been too well obeyed. There is no one within call.” It was true. Fulvius found the way prepared unwittingly for him by Corvinus; for upon presenting himself at the door the porter, who had seen him twice dine at the house, told him of the strict orders given, and assured him that he could not be admitted unless he came from the emperor, for such were his instructions. That, Fulvius said, was exactly his case; and the porter, wondering that so many imperial messengers should come in one day, let him pass. He begged that the door might be left unfastened, in case the porter should not be at his post when he retired; for he was in a hurry, and should not like to disturb the house in such a state of grief. He added that he required no guide, for he knew the way to Fabiola’s apartment. Fulvius seated himself opposite to the lady, and continued: “You ought not to be offended, madam, with my unexpectedly coming upon you, and overhearing your amiable soliloquies about myself; it is a lesson I learned from yourself in the Tullian prison. But I must begin my scores from an earlier date. When, for the first time, I was invited by your worthy father to his table, I met one whose looks and words at once gained my affections,--I need not now mention her name,--and whose heart, with instinctive sympathy, returned them.” “Insolent man!” Fabiola exclaimed, “to allude to such a topic here; it is false that any such affection ever existed on either side.” “As to the Lady Agnes,” resumed Fulvius, “I have the best authority, that of your lamented parent, who more than once encouraged me to persevere in my suit, by assuring me that his cousin had confided to him her reciprocating love.” Fabiola was mortified; for she now remembered that this was too true, from the hints which Fabius had given her, of his stupid misunderstanding. “I know well, that my dear father was under a delusion upon this subject; but I, from whom that dear child concealed nothing----” “Except her religion,” interrupted Fulvius, with bitter irony. “Peace!” Fabiola went on; “that word sounds like a blasphemy on your lips--I knew that you were but an object of loathing and abhorrence to her.” “Yes, after you had made me such. From that hour of our first meeting you became my bitter and unrelenting foe, in conspiracy with that treacherous officer, who has received his reward, and whom you had destined for the place I courted. Repress your indignation, lady, for I _will_ be heard out,--you undermined my character, you poisoned her feelings, and you turned my love into necessary enmity.”