Night came on; they heard a clock from some distant church strike the hours. The dim fire had long since burnt out, and the air became intensely cold. No one broke upon their solitude--not a voice was heard in the house. They felt neither cold nor hunger--they felt but the solitude and the silence, and the dread of something that was to come. At length, about midnight, a bell rang at the street door; then there was the quick sound of steps--of sullen bolts withdrawn--of low, murmured voices. Light streamed through the chinks of the door to the apartment--the door itself opened. Two Italians bearing tapers entered, and the Count di Peschiera followed. Beatrice sprang up, and rushed toward her brother. He placed his hand gently on her lips, and motioned to the Italians to withdraw. They placed the lights on the table, and vanished without a word. Peschiera then, putting aside his sister, approached Violante. "Fair kinswoman," said he, with an air of easy but resolute assurance, "there are things which no man can excuse and no woman can pardon, unless that love, which is beyond all laws, suggests excuse for the one, and obtains pardon for the other. In a word, I have sworn to win you, and I have had no opportunities to woo. Fear not; the worst that can befall you is to be my bride. Stand aside, my sister, stand aside." "Giulio, no! Giulio Franzini, I stand between you and her: you shall strike me to the earth before you can touch even the hem of her robe." "What, my sister!--you turn against me?" "And unless you instantly retire and leave her free, I will unmask you to the Emperor." "Too late, _mon enfant_! You will sail with us. The effects you may need for the voyage are already on board. You will be witness to our marriage, and by a holy son of the Church. Then tell the Emperor what you will." With a light and sudden exertion of his strength, the Count put away Beatrice, and fell on his knee before Violante, who, drawn to her full height, death-like pale, but untrembling, regarded him with unutterable disdain. "You scorn me now," said he, throwing into his features an expression of humility and admiration, "and I can not wonder at it. But, believe me, that until the scorn yield to a kinder sentiment, I will take no advantage of the power I have gained over your fate." "Power!" said Violante, haughtily. "You have ensnared me into this house--you have gained the power of a day; but the power over my fate--no!" "You mean that your friends have discovered your disappearance, and are on your track. Fair one, I provide against your friends, and I defy all the laws and police of England. The vessel that will bear you from these shores waits in the river hard by. Beatrice, I warn you--be still--unhand me. In that vessel will be a priest who shall join our hands, but not before you will recognize the truth, that she who flies with Giulio Peschiera must become his wife, or quit him as the disgrace of her house, and the scorn of her sex."