When she first spoke, he was assured that the _secret of his life_, was known to her. He was aghast at the thought, but at the same time, overjoyed to know, that the _taint_ of his blood, was not regarded by Eleanor as a crime. But her concluding words revealed the truth. She was not aware of the fact. She was utterly mistaken, as to his motive, for his abrupt departure from Florence. Instead of the real cause, she assigned one which was comparatively frivolous. "Shall I tell her all?" the thought crossed his mind, as he gazed upon her, and he shuddered at the idea. "And so you thought that our opinion of you, was measured by your wealth, or by your want of wealth? For shame Randolph! You are now the sole heir of your father, but were it otherwise, Randolph, our friendship for you would remain unchanged." "The sole heir of my father's estate!" Randolph muttered to himself,--"I dare not, dare not, tell her the real truth." But the fascination of that woman's loveliness was upon him. The sound of her voice vibrated through every fiber of his being. When he gazed into her eyes, he forgot the darkness of his destiny, the taint of his blood, the gloom of his heart, and the hopes and fears of his future. He lived in the present moment, in the smile, the voice, the glance of the woman who sat by him,--her presence was world, home, heaven to him--all else was blank nothingness. "Don't you think that I'm a very strange woman?" she said with a smile, and a look of undefinable fascination. "Remember, from my childhood, Randolph, I have been deprived of the care and counsel of a mother. Without country and without home, I have been hurried with my father from place to place, and seen much of the world, and may be learned to battle with it. I am not much of a 'woman of society,' Randolph. The artificial life led by woman in that conventional world, called the 'fashionable,' never had much charm for me. My books, my pencil, the society of a friend, the excitement of a journey, the freedom to-speak my thoughts without fear of the world's frown,--these, Randolph, suit me much better than the life of woman, as she appears in the fashionable world. And whenever I transgress the 'decorums' and 'proprieties,' you will be pleased to remember that I am but a sort of a wild woman--a very barbarian in the midst of a civilized world." Randolph did not say that she was an angel, but he thought that she was very beautiful for a wild woman. She rose. "Come, let us join father," she said,--"and I am dying to see this sister of yours, friend Randolph."