“Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.” “Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction lies my hope of escape?” He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said-- “'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present difficulty.” “You give me hope,” she said. “Yes--a little hope. But you must promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause it to spring.” “I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of forfeiting your friendship.” “Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.” “You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been. But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved, whatever may happen.” He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he repeated. “If not----” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.