answered. I was going because I suspected that all was not well with
her. Why was Donna Giulia in retirement? Why was the villa at the
disposition of the learned judge? Why was Sir John Macartney so guarded
in his admissions, and why so desirous that I should not see Count
Giraldi? Apart from my private grievance against that person, which,
after all, was only based on surmise and the convictions of Virginia, I
could see no possible reason why I should not meet him, but one. That
was, that he was fallen a victim to Aurelia's charms. And to a certain
extent I felt that I should be responsible for that misfortune, for if I
had never loved her she had never been in Florence; and if she had never
been in Florence, she had never seen this accomplished, scoffing,
cynical Tuscan.

I was not ashamed to confess that I still thought Aurelia the most
beautiful woman in the world, the most heavenly in conversation as in
person the most superb. All the old glamour was upon me still. I knew
that I should be a child at her knees the moment I set eyes upon her
again; I knew that I should be imparadised, longing after impossible
goodness, filled with impossible joys. But I knew also that I did not
desire her. She was sacred, she was so little of the earth that as well
might one hope to wed a seraph, all compact of fire, as she. I set by
her, in my mind's eye, that passionate Virginia--that faithful,
clinging, serving mate of what I knew were my happiest days. Ah, my
sweet, lovely, loving wife! Virginia's long kisses, Virginia's close
arms, her beating bosom, her fury of love, the meekness, obedience,
steadfastness into which it could all be changed at a mere lift of my
brows--ah, nuptial love, wedded bliss, the joys of home and the hearth,
English joys! Virginia meant all this and more to me. I swore to myself
that without her I could not live, that to deserve her I would renounce
the world, my patrimony, my country, and that not even a changed