“But how is she living? In what rank—among what associates?”
“I only know that she maintains a costly retinue at the 'Albergo Reale;' that her equipages, her servants, her liveries, bespeak wealth without limit. She is a mystery to the city she inhabits. So much have I heard from others; from herself, a few lines reached me at Dieppe, begging me to see you, and—you will scarcely believe it—asking for a release from that bond of betrothal that passed between you,—as if it could signify anything.”
“Was the freedom thus obtained to be used in your favor, Enrique?”
The other grew purple, and it was a few seconds before he could answer. “No; that is over forever. She has refused me as one so much below her that the very thought of an alliance would be degradation. The sailor—the buccaneer—raise his eyes to her whom princes seek in vain? I go now to say my last farewell: so long as there dwells upon my mind the slenderest chance of meeting her, so long will hope linger in my heart; not the high hope that spirits one to glorious enterprise, but that feverish anxiety that unnerves the courage and shakes the purpose. I cannot endure it any longer.”
“Remain with me, then, for a day—for two at furthest—and we will go together to Naples.”
“Do not ask me, Roland. Some accident—some one of those chances which befall each hour of life—might delay us; and then I might never see her more. She is to leave Naples by the end of the month, but to go whither, or how, she will not tell. Promise me to follow. Let us meet there; and then, if the world has not a faster hold upon you than I deem it has, we 'll seek our fortune together in new lands. What say you? is it a bargain?”
“Agreed,” said Roland. “I'll leave this within a week, without it be my fate to quit it never. Let us rendezvous at Naples, then; and fortune shall decide what after.”
“How hundreds of things press upon my mind, all of which, when I am gone, will be remembered, but which now are confusedly mingled up together! What warnings I meant to have given you! what cautions! and now I can think of nothing.”
“I have room for but one thought,” said Cashel, sternly: “it is a debt which every hour unpaid increases by a tenfold interest.”
“It need not weigh long upon your conscience. Linton wears the dress of a grandee of Spain to-night; but he 'll conceal it from time to time beneath a plain brown domino with yellow cape. Do not mix with your company on arriving, but wait till about twelve o'clock in your room, and you'll hear him as he enters his own: then, without risk of disturbance, you can see him; or, if you like it better, send another to him. Should he be the man you suppose, the whole can easily be arranged by the light of morning.”