"No; she has gone out in one of the Count's carriages. In all probability the driver of that carriage, or some servant in attendance on it, will come to the Count in the course of the day; and, in order to get rid of you, the Count will tell you to see this servant, and ascertain yourself that his sister is safe. Pretend to believe what the man says, but make him come to your lodgings on pretense of writing there a letter for the Marchesa. Once at your lodgings, and he will be safe; for I shall see that the officers of justice secure him. The moment he is there, send an express for me to my hotel." "But," said Frank, a little bewildered, "if I go to my lodging, how can I watch the Count?" "It will not then be necessary. Only get him to accompany you to your lodgings, and part with him at the door." "Stop, stop--you can not suspect Madame di Negra of connivance in a scheme so infamous. Pardon me, Lord L'Estrange; I can not act in this matter--can not even hear you, except as your foe, if you insinuate a word against the honor of the woman I love." "Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di Negra I would save, as well as my friend's young child. Think but of her, while you act as I intreat, and all will go well. I confide in you. Now, return to the Count." Frank walked back to join Peschiera, and his brow was thoughtful, and his lips closed firmly. Harley had that gift which belongs to the genius of Action. He inspired others with the light of his own spirit and the force of his own will. Harley then hastened to Lord Spendquick, remained with that young gentleman some minutes, then repaired to his hotel, where Leonard, the Prince, and Giacomo still awaited him. "Come with me, both of you. You, too, Giacomo. I must now see the police. We may then divide upon separate missions." "Oh, my dear lord," cried Leonard, "you must have had good news. You seem cheerful and sanguine." "_Seem!_ Nay, I _am_ so! If I once paused to despond--even to doubt--I should go mad. A foe to baffle, and an angel to save! Whose spirits would not rise high--whose wits would not move quick to the warm pulse of his heart?" CHAPTER VIII. Twilight was dark in the room to which Beatrice had conducted Violante. A great change had come over Beatrice. Humble and weeping, she knelt beside Violante, hiding her face, and imploring pardon. And Violante, striving to resist the terror for which she now saw such cause as no woman-heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly assured forgiveness.