“I thought myself the son of a poor fisherman, with whom I spent my early years. But one day came a noble stranger; he gave me money, a splendid steed, bright arms, and, best of all, a paper. It was my mother--it was my mother who had written it. The victim of a mighty man, she feared for both our lives, and so would hide herself from me. She bade me never seek her name; and to this hour never have I sought to learn it.” “And this paper!” “See here!” and he took it from the bosom of his dress; “it never leaveth me.” “Perchance, Gennaro, she wept when she wrote it!” “And have not _I_ wept, too, my mother--O my mother! But methinks I see tears on thy face, lady.” “Ah! yes, I weep for thee--for her.” “For me! for her! Indeed, I think already that I love thee dearly.” “Oh! ever love thy mother, youth; cling to her with all thy soul. Never think ill of her when thou dost doubt most strongly; think ever how she loves thee, and pity her, and hope that she may one day press thee to her heart.” “Ah! lady, no need hast thou to teach me this! I see her near me always--gentle, loving, pure; she is my guardian angel. When I would do ill, she comes upon me in my dreams, and smiles a welcome to me.” “I hear footsteps, I must leave thee.” “Why shouldst thou tremble?” ’Twas Orsini and the friends coming to seek for Gennaro. The youth Maffio, seeing a lady near his friend, ran gaily forward to them; but within a few paces, and just as the lady was rising her mask to her face, he saw her--saw her, to start and turn pale, brave as he was; saw her, to call on Heaven, and ask himself her name. He ran back to his companions, uttered but two words, and each man was amazed. One laid his hand upon the spot where his dagger would have been, but that at fêtes all arms were rendered at the door. Another placed his hand upon his mouth and gazed in horror. “Gennaro,” whispered the unknown lady, “I must leave thee.” “Yet deign to tell who thou art?” “One whose life is loving thee.” “Thy name!” “I will reveal it,” cried Orsini, coming forward, and speaking savagely, unmercifully. As the woman heard these words, and recognized the voice, she flinched, and strove to run from the place. But they stopped her; each way she made a step, on each side stood a stern, unyielding man. They stood about her, yet not near her. “Gennaro, Gennaro; help!” “Signors!” cried the youth, “what wouldst thou? This lady I protect; he that insults her is my friend no longer.” “We would wish to tell the lady who we are, and tell thee who she is,” cried they earnestly, and yet with something of mockery in their tones, “then she may go; we shall have no wish to keep her with us.” “I, for one, am that Maffio Orsini, whose brother you murdered as he slept.” “And I, I am that man whose aged uncle you destroyed on his threshold.” “While I, fair lady, am the nephew of one who died quaffing your wine.” “I, Petruci, O lady, am cousin to him whose dominions you stole.”