"Signori," said she, "I might sooner have put a stop to this atrocious duel, the very idea of which terrifies me; had it not have been so near its completion, you would, perhaps, have denied the intention to fight after all, within a few days. Thanks to the assistance of Gaetano, my childhood's friend, who yesterday evening became acquainted with your intention, I have by God's aid been able to prevent it. I wished my presence to be grave and solemn, that you might never renew the attempt; in order that, as it were, in the presence of God and of death, you might know my fixed determination. I would not be burdened with an existence which had cost the life of a fellow-being: you, Signor Monte-Leone, by the revered manes of your father; and you, Marquis de Maulear, by all you love, I conjure to swear that you will respect the life of him I shall accept as my husband." "Impose no such oath on me," said Monte-Leone. "Let me die first," said Maulear. "Not you only, but I will die also. If I do not hear you swear, I will throw myself into the sea." She placed her foot on the gunwale of the boat. "We swear," said the rivals, rushing towards her. "Thanks, Signori, I will trust your oath. Count Monte-Leone," said she, "the Marquis de Maulear saved my life; you will also learn, hereafter, how generously he resolved to save my honor when it was compromised. My heart is de Maulear's, and I give him my hand." The Marquis fell at Aminta's feet. "To you," she continued, "Count Monte-Leone, I can offer only my respect and esteem." "Signorina," said Monte-Leone, with a voice full of dignity and despair, "I accept even the boon you offer me; and henceforth he whom you love is sacred to me." By a violent effort over himself he extended his hand to Maulear. The waves had borne the bark towards the shore, and all who had participated in this scene returned safely to the villa. Signora Rovero, who did not know what had passed, on the next day received a letter from Monte-Leone, who, during the night, had left the villa. VI.--MARRIAGE. Nothing can describe the intensity of Count Monte-Leone's grief when he was again in the carriage, which, on the evening before, had borne him to happiness, and now took him back to Naples, sad and despairing. The Count had overcome his own nature, and this was a great victory to one who usually yielded to every prompting of passion. On this occasion he had restrained himself and overcome his rage at his rival's triumph. He overcame his agony at the wreck of his hopes. When he left Sorrento, and awoke, so to say, from the stupefaction into which he had plunged, the excitable brain and fiery heart again re-opened.