CHAPTER VI.

Give me the man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

In my heart's core.

HAMLET.

On the fourth evening after the preceding conversation, two horsemen, closely muffled up in riding cloaks, entered Milan by the eastern gate of the city. Instead, however, of proceeding along the Corso, they turned quickly into a narrow street leading to the suburbs. They were both well mounted and armed, and the few people they met in the streets gazed curiously after them, as if wondering why they should choose so unfrequented a path. At

length, after riding in silence for a quarter of an hour, they halted opposite a large mansion, surrounded by a high wall. One of them immediately dismounted, and after sounding the knocker which hung at the gate, it was opened by an aged domestic, and they both entered.

"Thank Heaven!" said the first, who had dismounted, "I am once more in my native city."

"Had you listened to me, my lord," replied the other, " you would not have incurred this risk."

"Nay, you are ever looking on the gloomy side; I assure you there is no danger, now that my enemy Bernabo is no longer in the way." "I hope it may be so."

“Well, well—will you sup now?—or have a moonlight gallop to the lake, and surprise our friends?"

"You forgot, my lord, our nags are in no condition to perform such a feat to-night."

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True, I had forgot. Michele, did they take all from my stables?"

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Everything, my lord," replied the domestic.

"The blushless theives! Well, let us go and see what they have left us."

"My lord," observed the domestic, "an elderly man, in the garb of a palmer, has been waiting your arrival these two hours, and is now within."

"Did he name me?"

The domestic replied in the affirmative. "That is strange," rejoined his master; "I do not know what his visit can mean.'

"He desired particularly to see you."

“Well, then, let us see him, by all means." The domestic led the way to the house, and ushered the two travellers into a large empty apartment, which appeared to have been but recently deprived of its furniture. A wood fire blazed on the hearth at one end of the room, and beside it there sat an elderly person, in whom Alfred immediately recognised the recluse whose hospitality he had shared on the banks of the lake of Como. He rose as the two young men entered the room.

"Ah! father, is it you?" exclaimed Manfredi, extending his hand to the palmer; "this

is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure. I am only grieved you should have had so sorry a reception;—you see the knaves have left me nothing but my bare walls."

“I am afraid, Julio, you have risked what is of more value-your life and good name, by your sudden return.”

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"My life, father, may be in danger,” replied the young Count; "but I hope my name shall ever remain without a stain.'

"I have not come hither to admonish you, my son, but to warn you of impending danger; but it does not become us to hold such discourse here—” he added, glancing at the domestic, who still remained in the room.

"Michele," said Manfredi, "what can you give us for supper ?-we have ridden thirty miles since dinner time."

The domestic shrugged his shoulders. "My lord, the larder is empty."

"Pleasant news, indeed-the cellar, too?"
Michele nodded.

"There, then," said the young Count, throw

ing his purse on the table,. "let us have something with all haste."

The domestic immediately left the room, and another shortly afterwards entered, and began to arrange the table for the evening meal. Manfredi, saying that he would return in a few minutes, left his guests, and Alfred found himself alone with the palmer.

"My son," said the latter, "chance has once more thrown us together. I thought, when last we parted, I saw you for the last time. You know that I have abandoned the world; its affairs have no longer any interest for me. You will, therefore, be astonished to see me here." There was a short pause.

"Julio Manfredi," he continued, "is about to engage in a desperate conspiracy against the Lords of Milan, reckless alike of the consequences to others and himself. It is in vain that he invokes on his side the spirit of philanthropy and justice; it is ambition that hurries him on to certain destruction. I have come hither with the feeble hope of turning him from his purpose, as much for his own sake, as for that

VOL. II.

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