Some said that the unhappy victim had found an avenger; but the proud and noble family of the chevalier, preserved a faithful silence concerning that transaction. Glenarvon’s youth prevented any suspicion from falling upon him; and the death of Giardini was ascribed to another, and a more dangerous hand. Strange rumours were also circulated in Ireland, after this event; it was every where affirmed that Glenarvon had been secretly murdered; and Lady Margaret, then at Naples, had even written to apprize her brother of the report. CHAPTER IV. About the time of the disappearance of Glenarvon, Captain Buchanan died; and Lady Margaret expected that Lord Dartford would immediately fulfil his engagement, and reward her long and devoted attachment to himself by the offer of his hand. Count Gondimar was with her at the time. In all companies, in all societies, the marriage was considered certain. One alone seemed eager to hear this report contradicted—one who, dazzled by the charms and beauty of Lady Margaret, had devoted himself, from the first hour in which he had beheld her, entirely to her service. The name of the young enthusiast was Viviani. A deep melancholy preyed upon his spirits; a dark mystery enveloped his fate. Gondimar had, with some coldness, introduced him to Lady Margaret. He was the friend of the lost Glenarvon, he said, and on that account alone he had strong claims upon his affection. Lady Margaret received the stranger with more than common civility: his ill state of health, his youth, his beauty, were powerful attractions. He confided his sorrows to her bosom; and soon he dared to inform her that he loved. Lady Margaret was now more than usually attentive to Lord Dartford: the day even for her intended nuptials was fixed. “Oh give not that hand to one who values not the prize,” said the young Count Viviani, throwing himself before her; “let not Dartford call himself your lord; his love and mine must never be compared.” “Go, foolish boy,” said Lady Margaret, smiling on her new victim: “I can be your friend as readily when I am Lord Dartford’s wife as now.” Her young admirer shuddered, and rose from the earth: “You must be mine alone:—none other shall approach you.” “The disparity of our ages.” “What of that?” “Enough, enough. I will give my hand to Dartford; my heart, you know, will still be at your disposal.” A deep blush covered the pale cheeks of Viviani, he uttered one convulsive sigh, and left her to ruminate on his hopeless fate; for every thing, he was informed, was prepared for the approaching nuptials.