find the Italy of poets. The great sun moved slowly down the sky. The grand curve of the bay stirred vague memories of Greek legend. The colours glowed and deepened on the water, here quivering with hot light, here still and green and marvellously clear. Ned Harefel was not easily impressed by scenery, but he felt the charm of the place and the hour. As he walked back to the inn, he was in a cheerful mood, glad that his duty had brought him to such a place, and confident that, if he must use the weapons suggested by the enemy, he would use them well. He found his cousin with Mr and Miss Archer, seated on the loggia, and looking across the little quay to the broad waters, which were settling into gloom. Irvine, the friend whom he loved, and for whose sake he had travelled day and night, greeted him with a cool nod, and turned away to murmur at the ear of the dangerous enchantress; but Sebastian, the enemy whom he was eager to vanquish, held him by the hand while he presented him to his daughter, and almost embraced him with his arm while he congratulated himself on the pleasant addition to their party. It was embarrassing for Mr Edward Harefel. After dinner they returned to the balcony, and the evening was passed in the

dim light. Miss Archer refused to sing, choosing to hear the quiet lapping of the water. She spoke little; but that little was uttered with a manner which Harefel thought too confident for a young girl. Irvine made the briefest inquiries about his friends at home, and was occasionally sarcastic. But the great Sebastian was in his happiest vein, talking, without appearing talkative; listening, with evident interest; telling stories of himself, and arousing no suspicion of egoism; instructing, with a refreshing gaiety; amusing, with a delightful gravity. This man, so graceful and so careless, who wore the best clothes in the easiest manner, had an extraordinary power of charming young men. He made them feel that they were men of the world. When Ned betook himself to rest, he was so busy recalling the remarks of his new friend, that he forgot to rehearse his plans against his new enemy. Thus ended the first day of the conference, in which the Envoy Extraordinary of the Harefel family gained no conspicuous advantage over the representative of Bohemia.

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CHAPTER IX.

SUCCESS.

ALL may be retrieved.

The wise young man woke with the sun in his eyes, and joy in his heart. To breathe that air was ecstasy, and nothing was impossible. Happiness and duty for once were hand in hand. He would fulfil the object of his mission, and enjoy it too. He would carry off his cousin, but not too quick. Up, young hero, wily as Odysseus by this old Greek sea, put by your shining arms, and clothe yourself with guile! neglect not the poison of asps, O thou sucking-dove! Up, young hero, clear-eyed and stout of limb, for the morning is fair, and youth and beauty and breakfast are awaiting thee! Truly, it is hard to be suspicious in the fresh morning air, in the presence of kindliness and beauty. It was very hard for young Mr Harefel to remember that the lazy debonair gentle

man, who was so much interested in his appetite, was an arch-schemer. Miss Archer, smooth and neat, in pearly tints, could not be changed by any mental effort into a pitiless weaver of spells. Everything seemed frank in the clear atmosphere. They were at breakfast in the wide balcony, as if all the world might see. The striped awning above them just trembled with that lightest breeze which camre stepping and pausing across the sun-flecked sea. The envoy was but a young man, after all. His spirits rose in spite of himself. To-morrow he would be cautious; but to-day! O boy, fill up his coffee-cup, and crown his curls with short-lived roses! A little more fish? If you please. This place is a paradise. I hope you do not take Mr Sebastian Archer for a serpent.

sunshine, and sleeps in his coils.

He lolls in the

Sweet maiden

Eve, pass the young gentleman an orange—a golden fruit from the garden of the Hesperides.

A week passed like a day. The dawn came from the sea fresh and fair as a new-born Aphrodite, and the hours went by on strong, still wings, to a more perfect night. It was a revelation of beauty to that simple young islander, Mr Edward Harefel. Amalfi bade fair to be his Capua. His purpose melted in the sun; his faculties grew drowsy in the soft air.

Young Odysseus had drawn near to the island of the Sirens, and had forgotten to bind himself to the mast. Yet, when he thought about it, he did not approve of Miss Archer. She did not agree with his notion of what a woman should be. She was outspoken-nay, even arrogant-on subjects which are well known to be too deep for her sex. He gathered from occasional remarks that she had formed a plan of life, in which man had no part at all, or one strangely unimportant. She had read so much, of which he had not even heard, that he could hardly satisfy himself by deciding that she was necessarily superficial. And finally, he entertained an awful suspicion that she had once or twice drawn out his views for her amusement. Certainly she was clever, and she sang wonderfully; but she was not the right sort of girl. He felt instinctively that his mother would not approve of her. Of this unuttered criticism, Irvine Dale was painfully conscious. It came to reinforce his own doubts, while it irritated him against the critic. He sniffed more contemptuously at the opinion of the world, the more he felt its influence. His mind was in a ferment. In the presence of the young woman he felt attraction and repulsion. His temper was unequal, and his manners suffered in