I waved my hand with an airy gesture of amicable agreement.

“Certainly not,” I said, “unless she be an arrant coquette and therefore a worthless woman, and you, who know so well her intrinsic goodness and purity, have no reason to fear.  But, if not love or money, what is it that troubles you?  It must be serious, to judge from your face.”

He played absently with a ring I had given him, turning it round and round upon his finger many times before replying.

“Well, the fact is,” he said at last, “I am compelled to go away—­to leave Naples for a time.”

My heart gave an expectant throb of satisfaction.  Going away!—­ leaving Naples!—­turning away from the field of battle and allowing me to gain the victory!  Fortune surely favored me.  But I answered with feigned concern: 

“Going away!  Surely you cannot mean it.  Why?—­what for? and where?”

“An uncle of mine is dying in Rome,” he answered, crossly.  “He has made me his heir, and I am bound for the sake of decency to attend his last moments.  Rather protracted last moments they threaten to be too, but the lawyers say I had better be present, as the old man may take it into his head to disinherit me at the final gasp.  I suppose I shall not be absent long—­a fortnight at most—­and in the meanwhile—­”

Here he hesitated and looked at me anxiously.

“Continue, caro mio, continue!” I said with some impatience.  “If I can do anything in your absence, you have only to command me.”

He rose from his chair, and approaching the window where I sat in a half-reclining posifion, he drew a small chair opposite mine, and sitting down, laid one hand confidingly on my wrist.

“You can do much!” he replied, earnestly, “and I feel that I can thoroughly depend upon you.  Watch over her!  She will have no other protector, and she is so beautiful and careless!  You can guard her—­ your age, your rank and position, the fact of your being an old friend of the family—­all these things warrant your censorship and vigilance over her, and you can prevent any other man from intruding himself upon her notice—­”

“If he does,” I exclaimed, starting up from my seat with a mock tragic air, “I will not rest till his body serves my sword as a sheath!”

And I laughed loudly, clapping him on the shoulder as I spoke.  The words were the very same he had himself uttered when I had witnessed his interview with my wife in the avenue.  He seemed to find something familiar in the phrase, for he looked confused and puzzled.  Seeing this, I hastened to turn the current of his reflections.  Stopping abruptly in my mirth, I assumed a serious gravity of demeanor, and said: