The rose from her bosom?  No.  That was too significant at once, and too commonplace; besides, it might wither, and he find an excuse for not restoring it.  It must be something valuable, stately, formal, which he must needs return.  And she drew off a diamond hoop, and put it quietly into his hand.

“You promise to return if?”

“I promised long ago.”

He took it, and lifted it—­she thought that he was going to press it to his lips.  Instead, he put it to his forehead, bowing forward and moved it slightly.  She saw that he made with it the sign of the Cross.

“I thank you,” he said, with a look of quiet gratitude.  “I expected as much, when you came to understand my request.  Again, thank you!” and he drew back humbly, and left her there alone; while her heart smote her bitterly for all the foolish encouragement which she had given to one so tender and humble, and delicate and true.

And so did Frank Headley get what he wanted; by that plain earnest simplicity, which has more power (let worldlings pride themselves as they will on their knowledge of women) than all the cunning wiles of the most experienced rake; and only by aping which, after all, can the rake conquer.  It was a strange thing for Valencia to do, no doubt:  but the strange things which are done in the world (which are some millions daily) are just what keep the world alive.

CHAPTER XVII.

BAALZEBUB’S banquet.

The next day there were three cholera cases:  the day after there were thirteen.

He had come at last, Baalzebub, God of flies, and of what flies are bred from; to visit his self-blinded worshippers, and bestow on them his own Cross of the Legion of Dishonour.  He had come suddenly, capriciously, sportively, as he sometimes comes; as he had come to Newcastle the summer before, while yet the rest of England was untouched.  He had wandered all but harmless about the West country that summer; as if his maw had been full glutted five years before, when he sat for many a week upon the Dartmoor hills, amid the dull brown haze, and sun-burnt bents, and dried-up watercourses of white dusty granite, looking far and wide over the plague-struck land, and listening to the dead-bell booming all day long in Tavistock churchyard.  But he was come at last, with appetite more fierce than ever, and had darted aside to seize on Aberalva, and not to let it go till he had sucked his fill.

And all men moved about the streets slowly, fearfully; conscious of some awful unseen presence, which might spring on them from round every corner; some dreadful inevitable spell, which lay upon them like a nightmare weight; and walked to and fro warily, looking anxiously into each other’s faces, not to ask, “How are you?” but “How am I?” “Do I look as if—?” and glanced up ever and anon restlessly, as if they expected to see, like the Greeks, in their tainted camp, by Troy, the pitiless Sun-god shooting his keen arrows down on beast and man.