a good girl, but rather luxurious and self-indulgent.  She is not cut out for a poor man’s wife.  And pray don’t go and fancy that nobody loves my child but you.  Mine is not so hot as yours, of course; but believe me, sir, it is less selfish.  You would expose her to poverty and misery; but I say no; it is my duty to protect her from all chance of them; and, in doing it, I am as much your friend as hers, if you could but see it.  Come, Dr. Staines, be a man, and see the world as it is.  I have told you how to earn my daughter’s hand and my esteem:  you must gain both, or neither.”

Dr. Staines was never quite deaf to reason:  he now put his hand to his brow and said, with a sort of wonder and pitiful dismay, “My love for Rosa selfish!  Sir, your words are bitter and hard.”  Then, after a struggle, and with rare and touching candor, “Ay, but so are bark and steel; yet they are good medicines.”  Then with a great glow in his heart and tears in his eyes, “My darling shall not be a poor man’s wife, she who would adorn a coronet, ay, or a crown.  Good-by, Rosa, for the present.”  He darted to her, and kissed her hand with all his soul.  “Oh, the sacrifice of leaving you,” he faltered; “the very world is dark to me without you.  Ah, well, I must earn the right to come again.”  He summoned all his manhood, and marched to the door.  There he seemed to turn calmer all of a sudden, and said firmly, yet humbly, “I’ll try and show you, sir, what love can do.”

“And I’ll show you what love can suffer,” said Rosa, folding her beautiful arms superbly.

It was not in her to have shot such a bolt, except in imitation; yet how promptly the mimic thunder came, and how grand the beauty looked, with her dark brows, and flashing eyes, and folded arms! much grander and more inspired than poor Staines, who had only furnished the idea.

But between these two figures swelling with emotion, the representative of common sense, Lusignan pere, stood cool and impassive; he shrugged his shoulders, and looked on both lovers as a couple of ranting novices he was saving from each other and almshouses.

For all that, when the lover had torn himself away, papa’s composure was suddenly disturbed by a misgiving.  He stepped hastily to the stairhead, and gave it vent.  “Dr. Staines,” said he, in a loud whisper (Staines was half way down the stairs:  he stopped).  “I trust to you as a gentleman, not to mention this; it will never transpire here.  Whatever we do—­no noise!”

CHAPTER II.

Rosa Lusignan set herself pining as she had promised; and she did it discreetly for so young a person.  She was never peevish, but always sad and listless.  By this means she did not anger her parent, but only made him feel she was unhappy, and the house she had hitherto brightened exceeding dismal.

By degrees this noiseless melancholy undermined the old gentleman, and he well-nigh tottered.