The tears actually came into her eyes, and for a moment softened their fierceness. This woman, hard and undisciplined, with savage instincts derived from a savage mother, yet felt the strong maternal instinct implanted in the breast of every woman, and quailed with terror as she thought of the power her former husband had to lower her in the eyes of her daughter. Ferrari, of course, could not understand this, having been always accustomed to think of Mrs. Belswin as an untamed tigress, but now she had a touch of feminine softness about her which puzzled him. "Ah! the strangeness of women," he said philosophically. "Ebbene, now il marito is away, what will you do?" "I'm going to see Mr. Dombrain, and obtain the situation of companion to my own daughter." "Not so fast, Signora! She will know you." "No; she will not know me," replied Mrs. Belswin softly; "she does not remember me. When I left her she was a little child. She thinks I am dead. I go to her as a stranger. It is hard; it is terribly hard. I will see her. I will speak to her. I will perhaps kiss her; but I dare not say, 'child, I am your mother!' Ah, it is cruel--but it is my punishment." "It is a good plan for you, cara mia! But about me, you forget your faithful Stephano!" "No, I do not," she said coaxingly, for she was afraid he would spoil all, knowing what he did; "but you must wait. I want to see my daughter--to live with her for a time. When my husband returns he will know me, so I must leave before he sees me. Then I will come back to thee, carissima." "Basta!" replied Ferrari, with great reluctance. "I do not wish to keep you from the child. I am not jealous of il marito." "You've no cause to be--I hate him." "Look, then, the love I bear you, carissima mia. Though all your life I know. Though you have had husband and lover, yet I wish to make you mine." "It is strange," said Mrs. Belswin, indifferently. "I am not a young woman; my good looks are going; my past life is not that of a saint; and yet you would marry me." "Because I love thee, carissima," said Ferrari, taking her hand. "I have loved many before, but none like thee, bella demonia. Ah, Dio, thou hast the fierceness of the tiger within thee. The hot blood of Italy burns in thy veins, my Lucrezia Borgia. I am weary of tame women who weep and sigh ever. I am no cold Englishman, thou knowest. The lion seeks but the lioness, and so I come to thee for thy love, stella adorata." He caressed her softly as he spoke these words in his musical voice, and the woman softened under his caress with feline grace. All the treachery and sleepiness of the panther was observable in this woman; but under the smoothness of her manner lay the fierceness of her savage nature, which was now being controlled by the master hand of the Italian. "You will let me go to my daughter, then," she said in a soft, languid voice, her fierce eyes dulling under the mesmeric influence of his gaze.