What devilish cantrip had so overthrown his reason? But, from whatever cause, the moral of his seizure was plain to me. Henceforth, on my shoulders alone must rest the main burden of the Nemesis. Hours passed before the man was sufficiently himself again to justify my use of him for witness. And, in the meanwhile, how was my love accounting for my tardiness? CHAPTER XXIII. GEOLETTI TELLS HIS STORY She came to me, dear love, the moment I had entered the house. Her sweet eyes, wet and wild, were full of sorrow and unmeant reproach. They gave one startled glance at the Italian, where he stood behind me, deferential in the shadows, and then came back in mute appealing to my face. “Sit down here, Geoletti,” I said, “until I send for you.” He obeyed, and I drew the girl into a room hard by, and shut the door, and held out impassioned arms. “I could not help it, Ira; indeed, I could not. Things beyond my controlling have detained me.” In a moment she had run to me--had abandoned herself to me, and was sobbing in my arms as if her heart would break. “Richard, I have wanted you so! Such a dreadful thing!” “Ira, my darling, what is this?” “I don’t know what it is. You must go to him--you must go to him at once. He has been asking for you.” “He? Who?” “Lord Skene. O! she has gone away--left us! He has been questioning me--Uncle Charlie has--and I could tell him nothing. How could I? but you, Richard?” “Hush, my dearest darling. Try and compose yourself. Who has gone away? Tell me in one word, now.” “Aunt Georgie has.” “She has gone away? run away, do you mean?” “She left a letter. He will show it you. There must not be any scandal, Richard. Some plausible explanation must be given. She went away before lunch--on foot, and by herself. When I went to look for her, she was gone, and only the letter was left, and I took it to uncle, and he read it, and almost broke down before the servants. But you know what he is. In another moment no one would have thought anything was the matter--not until I had him alone. O, Richard! what is it? Everything seems dark and miserable. And you know, and you won’t tell me.” “I will tell you if you ask me to; but you will not ask me, dear--not yet. I see another stroke of scoundrelism in this, perhaps. Why didn’t I send him to his death! I believe I should have, if I’d known--the smiling cursed devil!” “Richard! Who?--you are terrifying me out of my senses.” “My love, you must not. Look, little girl--little dear, dear girl. I am holding you--I am Richard, your lover--your lover who puts his strong arms about you, and tells you it shall all come right. Will you not trust me?” “Yes, I will--I will, Richard. Only your violence makes me sick for you.” “It makes me sick for myself, to think I cannot control it before my bird with her beating heart. Be quiet, little soft frightened heart! Now kiss me, Ira, as I hold you so; and then I will go to him without a moment’s more delay.”