“I am so glad to meet you again, Mr.
Thornton, to express once more my gratitude
for what you did for us last night!
To your generous daring we probably
owe our lives.”

“I did but my duty, Miss Delamere;
but I am certainly rendered very happy
in thinking I may have been of some
service to you and your uncle.”

The color deepened in her lovely features,
and she seemed a little embarrassed.

“Of course, we're very grateful and all
that, and of course you don't merit anything
in particular, and so on,” said Mr.
Blakely. “That's all as it should be.”

I laughed, and Georgine smiled; and
turning to him, she said:

“I hope you feel better, dear uncle.”

“Oh, don't worry about me, Puss! I'll
be all right in time.”

I soon managed to draw Georgine into
conversation, and was highly gratified at
finding she had intellectual abilities of a
high order, a poetic temperament, a delicate
fancy, a singleness of heart, and a
most exquisite refinement of thought,
sentiment, and feeling. She was indeed
a rare human flower, blooming in a world
all too selfishly chilling.

While seated by an open window, looking
out upon a most beautiful scene, with
the soft air of southern Italy stealing in
upon us from balmy groves of the orange
and olive, the footman entered and whispered
to his master.

“Show him up at once, John,” was his
answer.

“The Count Saverlini, Alfred,” he said
to me, as the servant withdrew. “I'll
introduce you.”

At the mention of the name of the
count, the sweet features of my compan
ion suddenly became much flushed, and
she seemed not a little embarrassed. I
confess I was surprised and annoyed at
this; but I did not feel that our brief acquaintance
would justify me in asking
any questions.

Shortly after, the count entered with a
bow and a smile, and kindly greeted the
uncle and niece. I was then presented
to his lordship by Mr. Blakely, in what
to me seemed a little too obsequious a
manner.

“Allow me, my lord, the pleasure of
making known to you Mr. Alfred Thornton,
a young gentleman to whose courageous
daring my niece and self are probably
indebted for our lives.”

“Most happy to know you, Mr. Thornton,
and quite envy you,” said the count,
in the same soft, insinuating tone I had
heard below, accompanied by a dignified
and graceful bow, and a smile intended
to express a most fascinating suavity.

“As an odious American, I feel myself
highly honored by such distinguished
notice,” returned I, with a low bow;
“and I shall only be too happy if I am
not eventually arrested as a robber
chief.”

Count Saverlini was no ordinary man,
as will be shown hereafter. His feelings
and features were usually quite under
his control, but in this instance he was
so completely taken aback at hearing
me repeat the disparaging remarks of his
lady friends, that he slightly started and
flushed, and glanced quickly at Mr.
Blakely and Georgine, as if to see if
they understood the words as well as
he did. They did not, of course, and
the features of both expressed surprise.

Perhaps it was not very polite in me to
answer thus at such a time; but somehow

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I could not help it. I felt that the opportunity
for flinging back the slurring
words was too good to be neglected, and
I used it.

“How? What, Alfred? What do you
mean?” exclaimed Mr. Blakely, in surprise.

“Only a little pleasantry of mine, sir,”
I answered, with a smile, and a marked
glance at the count. Though we never
met before, I fancy his lordship understands
me.”

The latter drew himself up rather
haughtily, compressed his lips, and passing
me without further notice, took a
seat by the side of Miss Delamere, and,
renewing his habitual smile, at once entered
into conversation with her, congratulating
her on her providential escape
in his blandest tones, and saying how
happy he was at finding she had sustained
no personal injury.

As I had risen from my seat on being
presented to the count, and still remained
standing, and now began to feel myrather
out of place in that company, I
was naturally in the mood to be more
critical in my observation of the nobleman
than I might have been under ordinary
circumstances.

He was a tall, finely-formed, graceful,
elegantly-dressed man, of perhaps eight-and-twenty.
His dark, Italian features
were classic and handsome. He had
long, black hair, which swept down
around his neck and shoulders; a broad,
intellectual forehead; a straight nose; a
beautiful mouth, with a heavy mustache
on his upper lip, and a well turned chin.
So far as mere physical beauty went, his
face was almost perfect; but there was
something in the expression—the looking
out through all, as it were, of a dark,
unprincipled spirit—that I did not like.
The glittering eyes had too much of the
serpent in them for me—the smile too
much of deceit—and there was in, over,
and through all, a certain undefinable
something, that to my view bespoke the
mere selfish, sensual voluptuary. Having
a wonderful command over the external
man, even with passion boiling and seething
within, and being a perfect master of
all fashionable art, with every confidence
in his own powers of fascination, he was
certainly a dangerous person to bring in
contact with the young, and lovely, and
innocent of the opposite sex.

And yet he was now seated by the side
of the lovely Georgine Delamere, talking
to her with a familiarity that seemed to
tell of a long and intimate acquaintance.
She was blushing and embarrassed, too—
the natural result, it might be, of feeling
flattered by the marked attention of such
a brilliant, charming man of rank in the
presence of a comparative stranger who
was steadily observing her. Perhaps I
was in the way and ought to take my
leave. In spirit I trembled for her, and
longed to warn her against an insidious
enemy, at the same time knowing that by
all the laws of good breeding I had no
right to interfere. Had it been otherwise,
his countship would have been
speedily removed, either quietly or by
force. But I was powerless to act, and I
knew and felt it—felt it painfully.

And yet what was she to me, or I to
her, on an hour's acquaintance? She
was very sweet, very lovely, very innocent—
but I was not her Mentor. We
had first met under very peculiar circumstances.
I had risked my life to save
hers; she had called me her preserver,
my deepest sympathies had been excited
by the scornful treatment she had received
from her aunt the night before,

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and the statement of her uncle that
morning, and somehow my romantic nature
had been wrought up in a manner
that I had not stopped to analyze. Without
due consideration, I had let my fancy
run forward and unconsciously begin
to build some airy castles. I had
been poetically dreaming, only to be suddenly
and rudely awakened.

“My dear Georgine, I have not seen so
much of you of late as I could wish,” I at
length heard the count remark, in his
most insinuating tone, and with his most
charming smile.

She was at the moment looking up into
his face, and the color deepened on
hers. I did not listen for her reply. I
had no right to stand there, even if I had
desired to do so. My resolution was in-
stantly taken. I would leave at once.
Approaching Mr. Blakely, therefore, I
extended my hand and said:

“I really hope, sir, that the next time
I have the pleasure of seeing you I shall
find you in a fair way of recovery.”

“Bless me, Alfred, you're not going already?”
he exclaimed in a tone of surprise.

“Yes,” said I, with a furtive glance at
Georgine, whose sweet, blue eyes I now
found were fixed earnestly, I somehow
fancied almost reproachfully, upon me,
“I have some matters to which I must
give immediate attention.”

“I'm really sorry, Alfred, you're in
such a hurry. I wanted to talk over this
outrage a little more, and settle upon
some plan of action, with your approval;
but of course I can't ask you to stay
against your interest.”

“You have a counselor in your noble
friend,” said I.

“Very true. How long do you remain
in Naples?”

“I do not know—I may leave at any
minute.”

I again glanced furtively at Georgine,
and I fancied that I saw her lovely features
turn pale. This might have been
fancy, however, but they were certainly
very sad.

“Surely, Alfred, you won't go without
seeing me again?”

“No, Mr. Blakely, I promise you that.”

“Where are you stopping?”

“At the Hotel des Etrangers.”

“Will a note there find you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, come soon again, and Heaven
bless you.”

He shook my hand warmly, and I was
turning away, when Georgine started up
rather suddenly and came forward. The
count still remained seated, and now studiously
gazed out of the window.

“Are you about to leave us, Mr. Thornton?”
she inquired, in that timid, hesitating
way which seemed to express regret.

I replied the same as to the uncle, that
I had some affairs to look after.

Her clear, sweet, blue eyes seemed to
look into my very soul, as she said, so
earnestly:

“I hope you will believe, Mr. Thornton,
that I shall always feel very, very
grateful to you, as the preserver of
my dear uncle's life, not to mention my
own!”

I quietly took her little lily hand, and,
as I slightly pressed it, replied, in a low
tone, that reached no ears but hers:

“Miss Delamere, I hope you will believe
in return that I shall always be the
happier for knowing that I have in any
manner served you.”

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