She cast upon him an imploring, a piteous glance. The moon was beaming through an interstice in the foliage and shone full upon his features, making their paleness ghastly, but showing no _violent_ emotion--nothing but a hushed, cold, haughty sorrow. She trembled perceptibly as she replied to his concluding question. "Yes, as truly as I have my faith in God; Alfieri, they told me you were dead. Circumstances too complicated to explain placed my father in a position with the government that involved his life. Prince Carlos saved him, and, for the priceless service, asked but the poor repayment of my hand. I told him my heart could not accompany the gift. He still urged his suit. Could I refuse?" "Ay, madam, the tale sounds well," was the bitter reply; "but your grief seemed of a strangely merry sort; but now your laugh was as light as any in the room, your jest as gay!" "Zanotti!" said the lady, and there was something of indignation in her tone, "I am not what the world in its cold carelessness deems me, and _you_ judge me as the greatest stranger of them all would do! The face may be wreathed in smiles, the lips may be musical with laughing jests, and yet, in its unrevealed depths, the heart may writhe in anguish, the soul sink with despair! But this recrimination is vain, all vain!" She clasped her forehead as if in pain, and hot tears forced themselves through the tightly pressed fingers. Her lover maintained a cold and scornful silence. All the pride of his race had combined with a deep sense of injury in a trusting and betrayed nature to make him stern and apparently heartless in his resentment. Suddenly Leonora started to her feet, the woman's pride within her revolted at what seemed the _silent sarcasm_ of his look. Her eyes, with the tears checked suddenly within them, emitted a wild, singular, startling light; there was something of the Medusa in her aspect. She gazed at him with a strange mingling of supplication and haughtiness in her look; her glance penetrated his soul and softened it; he heard the panting throb of her heart, and knew there could be no acting in that. Her breath came warm upon his cheek; he trembled at the recollections that were crowding upon him. And then, too, she spoke-- "You use me _too_ cruelly," she said; "I do not deserve this silent scorn! I have wronged myself by giving way to emotions for which you but mock and despise me!" He started--were not her words true? Had he not been unjust in his grief?