* * * * *

“Dearest,—­This is to adjure you not to leave England for the present—­not till you hear from me—­or until we return.  Have patience, and hope.  You are not forgotten.  My mother sends you her blessing.

  Your Betrothed.”

* * * * *

“But there is no address!” he exclaimed.  “Where are they?”

“Where are they?  It is no secret, do you see?  They are in Naples.”

“In Naples!”

“Oh, I assure you, my dear friend, it is a noble heart, a brave heart, that loves you.  Many a day ago I said to her, ’Little child, when you are in trouble, go to friends who will welcome you; say you are the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi; say to them that Calabressa sent you.’  And you thought she was in no trouble!  Ah, did she not tell me of the pretty home you had got for the poor mother who is my old friend? did she not tell me how you thought they were to be comfortable there, and take no heed of anything else?  But you were mistaken.  You did not know her.  She said,’My betrothed is in danger:  I will take Calabressa at his word:  before any one can hinder me, or interfere, I will go and appeal, in the name of my family, in the name of myself!’ Ah, the brave child!”

“But appeal to whom?” said Brand, breathlessly.

“To the Council, my friend!” said Calabressa with exultation.

“But gracious heavens!” Brand cried, with his hand nervously clutching the arm of his chair, “is the secret betrayed, then?  Do they think I will shelter myself behind a woman?”

“She could betray no secret,” Calabressa said, triumphantly, “she herself not knowing it, do you not perceive?  But she could speak bravely!”

“And the result?”

“Who knows what that may be?  In the mean time, this is the result—­I am here!”

At another moment this assumption of dignity would have been ludicrous; but Brand took no heed of the manner of his companion; his heart was beating wildly.  And even when his reason forced him to see how little he could expect from this intervention—­when he remembered what a decree of the Council was, and how irrevocable the doom he had himself accepted—­still the thought uppermost in his mind was not of his own safety or danger, but rather of her love and devotion, her resolve to rescue him, her quick and generous impulse that knew nothing of fear.  He pictured her to himself in Naples, calling upon this nameless and secret power, that every man around him dreaded, to reverse its decision!  And then the audacity of her bidding him hope!  He could not hope; he knew more than she did.  But his heart was full of love and of gratitude as he thought of her.

“My dear friend,” said Calabressa, lowering his voice, “my errand is one of great secrecy.  I have a commission which I cannot altogether explain to you.  But in the mean time you will be so good as to give me—­in extense, with every particular—­the little history of how you were appointed to—­to undertake a certain duty.”