"_Adieu, Monsieur le Comte--adieu!_ I am rejoiced to see that you are so well provided with furs. You will need them for your voyage; it is a very cold one at this time of the year. The vessel which you have honored me by entering is bound to Norway. The Italians who accompany you were sent by yourself into exile, and, in return, they now kindly promise to enliven you with their society, whenever you feel somewhat tired of your own. Conduct the Count to his cabin. Gently there, gently. _Adieu, Monsieur le Comte, adieu! et bon voyage._" Harley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of his struggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin. "A trick for the trickster," said L'Estrange to the Austrian Prince. "The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian." "More than that--he is ruined." "And ridiculous," quoth Harley. "I should like to see his look when they land him in Norway." Harley then passed toward the centre of the vessel, by which, hitherto partially concealed by the sailors, who were now busily occupied, stood Beatrice; Frank Hazeldean, who had first received her on entering the vessel, standing by her side; and Leonard, a little apart from the two, in quiet observation of all that had passed around him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed Frank; her dark eyes were lifted to the dim starry skies, and her lips were moving as if in prayer; yet her young lover was speaking to her in great emotion, low and rapidly. "No, no--do not think for a moment that we suspect you, Beatrice. I will answer for your honor with my life. Oh, why will you turn from me--why will you not speak?" "A moment later," said Beatrice softly. "Give me one moment yet." She passed slowly and faltering toward Leonard--placed her hand that trembled, on his arm--and led him aside to the verge of the vessel. Frank, startled by her movement, made a step as if to follow, and then stopped short, and looked on, but with a clouded and doubtful countenance. Harley's smile had gone, and his eye was also watchful. It was but a few words that Beatrice spoke--it was but by a sentence or so that Leonard answered; and then Beatrice extended her hand, which the young poet bent over, and kissed in silence. She lingered an instant; and even by the star-light, Harley noted the blush that overspread her face. The blush faded as Beatrice returned to Frank. Lord L'Estrange would have retired--she signed to him to stay.