simple and natural; and she was very beautiful, and I was very, very much in love. It was not long before I discovered that old Teresa's black eyes were watching us from behind the blind of the drawing-room. She must have crept from her bed to see that her charge got into no mischief. I chafed at the espionage, but as yet it was too early to escape from it. Before Teresa could hobble out of doors I had met Pauline more than once in the same way. She seemed, I was glad to believe, pleased when I joined her. The difficulty I labored under was to make her talk. She would listen to all I had to say without comment and without reply, save "Yes" or "No." If, by a rare chance, she asked a question or spoke a longer sentence than usual, the effort was never sustained. I attributed a great deal of this to shyness and to her secluded life, for the only person she had to speak to was that terrible old Teresa. Although every word and action of Pauline's told me she was well educated and well bred, I was certainly surprised at her ignorance of literature. I quoted an author, mentioned a book by name; the remark passed unnoticed, or she looked at me as if puzzled by my allusion or distressed at her own ignorance. Although I had now seen her several times, I was not satisfied at the progress I had made. I knew I had not as yet struck the keynote of her nature. As soon as the old servant, duenna, friend, or what she was, grew well, I heard some startling news. My landlady asked me if I could recommend her apartments to any friend of mine-such another as myself, she was good enough to say. Miss March was going to leave, and the landlady thought she would prefer taking a gentleman in her place. I felt certain this was a countermove of that old hag Teresa's. She had cast venomous glances at me when we passed each other on the stairs-had responded surlily when I asked her if she had quite recovered from the effects of her accident; in a word, I knew she was my enemy, that she had discovered my feelings toward Pauline and was doing her best to keep us apart. I had no means of knowing the extent of her power or influence over the girl, but I had some time since ceased to regard her as nothing more than a servant. The intelligence that my fellow-lodgers were about to quit showed me that to bring my love for Pauline to a successful issue I must in some way make matters straight with this unpleasant old attendant. That same evening, as I heard her coming down the stairs, I threw open my door and stood face to face with her. "Signora Teresa," I said, with high-flown politeness, "will it please you to step into my room? I wish to speak to you.' She gave me a quick, suspicious glance, but nevertheless complied with my request. I closed the door and placed a chair for her. "Your poor knee-is it quite well?" I asked, sympathetically and in Italian. "It is quite well, signor," she replied, laconically. " Will you take a glass of sweet wine? I have some here." Teresa, in spite of our inimical relations, made no objection; so I filled a glass and watched her sip it approvingly. "Is the signorina-Miss March-well? I have not seen her to-day." "She is well." person. I drew out my pocketbook and "It is about her I wish to speak to you. counted out a hundred pounds in new crisp notes. Teresa eyed them hungrily. You have guessed that?" "I have guessed it." As she spoke Teresa gave me a sullen, defiant look. Yes," I continued, "your vigilant, faithful eyes have seen what I have no wish to conceal. I love the Signorina Pauline." "She is not to be loved," said Teresa, sulkily. She nodded. I pushed a couple of the notes toward her. Her skinny hand seemed twitching with the desire to grasp them. "Tell me who Miss March's friends are and take these two notes; all the rest shall "One so beautiful must be loved. I love be yours on the day we are married.” her and will marry her." "She is not to be married.” Listen, Teresa. I say I will marry her. I am a gentleman and rich: I have fifty thousand lire a year. The amount of my income, magnificent when reduced to her native coinage, was not without its expected effect. If her eyes, as they met mine, were as unfriendly as ever, their look of astonishment and increasing respect told me I was appealing to her tenderest feeling, cupidity. "Now tell me why I should not marry the signorina. Tell me who her friends are, that I may see them and ask her in marriage." She is not for marriage.” This was all I could get from the old woman. She would tell me nothing about. Pauline's family or friends; she would only reiterate that she was not for love or for marriage. I had but one chance left. Teresa's eager look when I mentioned the income I possessed had impressed me. I must condescend to the vulgar act of direct bribery; the end would justify the means. As I was so often travelling it was my habit to carry a large sum of money on my The old woman sat silent for a while, but I knew temptation was assailing her. Presently I heard her murmuring, "Fifty thousand lire! fifty thousand lire a year!" The spell worked. At last she rose. "Are you going to take the money ?" I asked. "I cannot. I dare not. I am bound. But-" "But what?" "I will write. I will say what you say to il dottore." "Who is the doctor? I can write to him or see him." "Did I say il dottore? It was a slip. No, you must not write. I will ask him, and he must decide." "You will write at once?" Teresa, with a lingering glance at the money, turned to leave me. "You had better take these two notes,' I said, handing them to her. She buttoned them in the bosom of her dress with feverish delight. "Tell me, Teresa," I said, coaxingly, “tell me if you think if the Signorina-Pauline -cares at all for me." to you she is not for love or marriage." testily; "I do not know. But again I say | Teresa would write or come to me. I had not forgotten the eager looks she cast upon my money. But day after day passed without letter or message. Not for love or marriage! I laughed aloud as I thought of the old woman's absurd and oft-repeated assertion. If on the earth there was one woman more than another made for love and marriage, it was my beautiful Pauline. I wondered what Teresa could mean; then, remembering the fervor with which she prayed in San Giovanni, I decided that, being an ardent Catholic, she wished Pauline to take the veil. This theory would explain everything. Now that I had bought Teresa, I looked forward to the enjoyment of Pauline's society without espionage or interruption. The old woman had taken my money, and no doubt would do her best to earn more. If I could persuade the girl to let me pass several hours of each day in her company, I need fear no hindrance from Teresa. The bribe had been accepted, and, although I blushed at the expedient to which I had been compelled to resort, it had been successful. I was obliged to defer any further attempt at love-making until the next evening, as an important piece of business had to be attended to in the morning. It kept me away from home for several hours; and when at last I returned to Maida Vale, I was thunderstruck to hear that my fellow-lodgers had left the house. The landlady had no idea whither they had gone. Teresa-who, it appears, always acted as purse-bearer—had paid her dues and had departed with her young mistress. There was nothing more to tell. I threw myself into my chair cursing Italian guile, yet, as I thought of Italian cupidity, not altogether hopeless. Perhaps I spent those days, for the most part, wandering about the streets in the vain hope of encountering the fugitives. It was only after this second loss that I really knew the extent. of my passion. I cannot describe the longing I had to see that fair face once more. Yet I feared the love was all on my side. If Pauline had felt even a passing interest in me, she could scarcely have left in this secret and mysterious manner. Her heart was yet to be won, and I knew that unless I won it no woman's love would to me be worth having. I should have returned to my old lodging in Walpole street, had it not been that I feared to quit Maida Vale lest Teresa, if she should be faithful to her engagements, might miss me; so I lingered on there until ten days went slowly by. Then, just as I was beginning to despair, a letter came. It was written in a delicate pointed Italian style and signed "Manuel Ceneri." It simply said that the writer would have the honor of calling upon me about noon to-day. Nothing was hinted at as to the object of the visit, but I knew it could be connected with only one thing the desire of my heart. Teresa, after all, had not played me false: Pauline would be mine. I waited with feverish impatience until this unknown Manuel Ceneri should make his appearance. A few minutes after twelve he was announced and shown into my room. I recognized him at once. He was the middle-aged man with rather round shoulders who had talked to Teresa under the shade 66 I expect nothing or wish for nothing." "She had money once-a large fortune; it was lost long ago. You will not ask how or where?" of San Giovanni at Turin. Doubtless he "I am bound to be particular in this was il dottore spoken of by the old woman matter," he said, "as my niece has nothas being the arbiter of Pauline's fate. He ing." bowed politely as he entered, cast one quick look at me, as if trying to gather what he could from my personal appearance, then seated himself in the chair I offered him. "I make no apology for calling," he said; you will no doubt guess why I come.' His English was fluent, but the foreign accent very marked. "I can only repeat my former words." "Very well. I feel I have no right to refuse your offer. Although she is half Italian, her manners and habits are English. An English husband will suit her best. You have not yet, I believe, spoken of love to her?" "I have had no opportunity. I should no doubt have done so, but as soon as our ac "Then you know what the wish-the quaintance commenced she was taken away." great wish-of my life is?" Yes, I know you want to marry my niece. Now, Mr. Vaughan, I have many reasons for wishing my niece to remain single, but your proposal has induced me to reconsider the matter." Pauline might have been a bale of cotton, so impassively did her uncle speak of her future. "In the first place," he went on, "I am told you are well born and rich. Is that so ?" "Yes; my instructions to Teresa were strict. It was only on condition she obeyed her that I allowed Pauline to live in England." Although this man spoke as one who had absolute authority over his niece, he had not said one word which evinced affection. So far as that went, she might have been a stranger to him. "But now, I suppose," I said, "I shall be allowed to see her?" "Yes-on conditions. The man who "My family is respectable. I am well marries Pauline March must be content to connected, and may be called rich." "You will satisfy me on the latter point, I suppose ?" I bowed stiffly, and, taking a sheet of paper, wrote a line to my solicitors asking them to give the bearer the fullest information as to my resources. Ceneri folded up the note and placed it in his pocket. Perhaps I showed the annoyance I felt at the mercenary exactness of his inquiries. take her as she is. He must ask no questions, seek to know nothing of her birth and family, nothing of her early days; he must be content to know that she is a lady, that she is very beautiful and that he loves her. Will this suffice?" The question was such a strange one that even in the height of my passion I hesitated. "I will say this much," added Ceneri: "she is good and pure; her birth is equal to your own. She is an orphan, and her only near relative is myself." "I am content," I cried, holding out my hand to seal the compact. "Give me Pauline; I ask no more.' Why should I not be content? What did I want to know about her family, her antecedents or her history? So madly did I long to call that beautiful girl mine that I believe had Ceneri told me she was worthless and disgraced among women I should have said, “Give her to me and let her begin life anew as my wife." Men do such things for love. "Now, Mr. Vaughan," said the Italian, drawing his hand from mine, "my next question will astonish you. You love Pauline, and I believe she is not indifferent to you-" He paused, and my heart beat at the thought. Will your arrangements permit of an early marriage-an immediate marriage? Can I upon my return to the Continent in a few days leave her future in your hands entirely?" "I would marry her to-day if it were possible," I cried. We need not be so impetuous as that; but could you arrange for, say, the day after to-morrow?" I stared at him; I could scarcely believe I heard correctly. To be married to Pauline within a few hours! There must be something in the background of such bliss. Ceneri must be a madman. Yet even from the hands of a madman how could I refuse my happiness? "But I don't know if she loves me. Would she consent?" I stammered. Pauline is obedient, and will do as I wish. You can woo her after her marriage instead of before it." "But can it be done on so short a notice?" "I believe there are such things as special licenses to be bought? You are wondering at my suggestion. I am bound to return to Italy almost at once. Now, I put it to you: can I, under the present circumstances, leave Pauline here with only a servant to look after her? No, Mr. Vaughan; strange as it may seem, I must either see her your wife before I leave or I must take her back with me. The latter may be unfortunate for you, as here I have only myself to consider, whilst abroad there may be others to consult, and perhaps I must change my mind." "Let us go to Pauline and ask her," I said, rising impatiently. "Certainly," said Ceneri, gravely; "we will go at once." Till now I had been sitting with my back to the window. As I faced the light I noticed the Italian doctor look very straightly |