"As you will," I answered, wearily, "only believe me, you make a foolish decision. But do what you like; only arrange all so that we leave to-night. And now get back quickly--give no explanation at the hotel of what has occurred, and lose no time in sending on my carriage. I will wait alone at the Villa Romani till it comes."

The vehicle rumbled off, bearing Vincenzo seated on the box beside the driver. I watched it disappear, and then turned into the road that led me to my own dishonored home. The place looked silent and deserted--not a soul was stirring. The silken blinds of the reception-rooms were all closely drawn, showing that the mistress of the house was absent; it was as if some one lay dead within. A vague wonderment arose in my mind. WHO was dead? Surely it must be I--I the master of the household, who lay stiff and cold in one of those curtained rooms! This terrible white-haired man who roamed feverishly up and down outside the walls was not me--it was some angry demon risen from the grave to wreak punishment on the guilty. I was dead--I could never have killed the man who had once been my friend. And he also was dead--the same murderess had slain us both--and SHE lived! Ha! that was wrong--she must now die--but in such torture that her very soul shall shrink and shrivel under it into a devil's flame for the furnace of hell!