What a little hum there was when she appeared! and when Guido strode rapidly in toward her and pressed her passionately, how the applause rang! It was an intense scene, and Guido seemed intensely in earnest. "How well he plays," thought Barnaba. Then, as Guido looked at Henrighetta and Henrighetta really blushed a little and dropped her eyelids, Barnaba's soul rose. It was a strong soul; it was a man's soul; and it was in a white heat of rage now. If he, the page, had but a sword to kill him, the lover! Just then he heard a little whisper which the others did not hear. It was too low. Guido had said, not "Leonora, mia cara," as the play said, but "Henrighetta, mia cara." There was a sudden movement on the stage. It was the page who had turned quickly, frantically. He had nearly reached the door when he turned again and came back, white but firm, with a strange smile on his lip, and resumed his place. Guido swore. The pretty tableau was spoiled. I am afraid even my lady sighed softly, but Barnaba did not know that. She had told him to stand by her side, and her command must be obeyed. The scene over, however, Barnaba rushed from the house, out into the fresh air. He turned and gazed back through the window. There they stood together, side by side, smiling, happy, Guido and Henrighetta, and here was poor Barnaba, still in the trappings of livery, with his heart all torn in his hands. Out in the darkness he dropped his head toward the earth. Giuseppe saw the face, and came toward him. "What is it, brother?" asked he softly. "What have you lost?" Barnaba looked up at him. His brave, firm lips trembled once. "My life," he said; "I have lost my life." There was a silence. "He that loseth his life shall find it," said Giuseppe. "These are the words of the Lord." And the two brothers crossed themselves and walked homeward together in silence.