"Stay!" cried Angelo, barring her passage. "You evade my question. You love another. Nay, do not deny it. I will not accept your denial. I know who my rival is. Let him beware. You may listen to his whispered words, smile at his kisses, receive his gifts; but never shall you go with him to the altar! Rather will I see you dead by my own hand first!" "Oh, why do you talk so wildly? Leave me and think no more of me. There are many women whose love is more worth winning than mine. Try to forget me." "Forget you?" and he laughed bitterly. "There are many artists, but only one Raphael; there are many women, but only one Daphne. O Daphne! dear, dear Daphne!"--his manner changed at once from the fierceness of scorn to the softness of love, as, dropping on one knee, he held her struggling hands in his and covered them with kisses, "do not refuse me! You----" "Mr. Vasari, it is not right to detain me against my wish. Let go my hands." He obeyed her, sprang to his feet, but continued his pleading tones: "Daphne, I beseech you to recall your decision. You asked for a day to consider. Let me meet you here in twenty-four hours. I have been too precipitate. I surprise, frighten you. You were not prepared for this. Give me your final answer to-morrow." "I have given you my answer." He looked at her beautiful face, so cold in its firmness to resist all entreaties, and then, turning as if to address an imaginary audience, said: "Can this cold statue really be the same maiden who but yesterday smiled at my gifts and blushed at my words? How quick a change has passed over her! Yes," he continued, observing the colour that mounted to Daphne's brow at these last words, "yes, blush at your actions of yesterday. You cannot deny that by your words and your smiles you have encouraged me to this confession." "Mr. Vasari," she returned, speaking very humbly, with her eyes fixed on one pretty little foot that was shifting uneasily to and fro on the greensward, "I cannot deny that your attentions gave me pleasure. I am fond of admiration--perhaps too fond. I am only too sorry now that my vanity had led you to put a false interpretation on what was intended for friendship only, and must ask you to forgive me." He looked with a wistful gaze at her fair face, but read no encouragement there. A long silence ensued during which he seemed to grow calmer and more resigned to his position. "Enough of this supplication," he muttered, folding his cloak around him with a moody, half-scornful air. Art had apparently humiliated itself too long in the presence of Beauty. "Let us part friends," said Daphne. But he turned from the little hand offered to him in friendship. Magnanimity did not form part of his character. "Will you not come and see us to-morrow?" said Daphne, affecting not to notice the repulse. "I leave Rivoli to-day--this hour. You will see me no more." "Will you not say good-bye to my father and Frank?"