Quickly the white form looked round, and saw the youth.  She rose slowly, and said, “My name is Idoine.  I am innocent of the cruel deception, most unhappy youth.”  Then he covered his eyes, from a sudden, sharp pang at the return of the cold, heavy reality.  Thereupon he looked at her again, and his whole being trembled at her glorified resemblance to the departed—­prouder and taller her stature, paler her complexion, more thoughtful the maidenly brow.  She could not, when he looked upon her so silently and comparingly, repress her sympathy; she wept, and he too.

“Do I, too, distress you?” said he, in the highest emotion.

“I only weep,” she innocently said, “that I am not Liana.”

“Noble princess,” he replied, “this holy spot takes away all sense of mutual strangeness.  Idoine, I know that you once gave me peace, and here I thank you.”

“I did it,” she said, “without knowing you, and therefore could allow myself the use of a fleeting resemblance.”

He looked at her sharply; everything within him loved her, and his whole heart, opened by wounds, was unfolded to the still soul.  But a stern spirit closed it.  “Unhappy one, love no one again; for a dark, destroying angel goes with poisoned sword behind thy love.”

Idoine turned to go.  He knelt, pressed her hand to his bosom, and only said, “Peace, all-gracious one!” Idoine, after a few swift steps, passed out of his sight.

Albano hastened preparations for his journey; but ere the preparations were ended, a letter was brought to him that caused him to abandon the project altogether.  It was a letter from the long-dead Princess Eleonore, wife of the old prince who had died when Albano had first entered Pestitz.  Now, in the fullness of time, was the letter placed before Albano’s eyes and the token of the fullness of time was the death, without issue, of Prince Luigi, and the seeming inheritance of his dominions by the House of Haarkaar.

Thus the letter began: 

“My son,—­Hear thine own history from the mouth of thy mother; from no other will it come to thee more acceptably.

“The birth of thy brother Luigi at a late period of our married life annihilated the hopes of succession of the house of Haarkaar.  But Count Cesara discovered proofs of some dark actions which were to cost thy poor brother his life.  ‘They will surely get the better of us at last,’ said thy father.

“Madame Cesara and I loved each other; we were both of romantic spirit.  She had just borne a lovely daughter, called Linda.  We made the singular contract that, if I bore a son, we would exchange; with her, my son could grow up without incurring the danger which had always threatened thy brother in my house.

“Soon afterwards I brought forth thee and thy sister Julienne at a birth.  ‘I keep’ I said, to the countess, ’my daughter, thou keepest thine; as to Albano, let the prince decide.’  Thy father allowed that thou shouldst be brought up as son of the count.  The documents of thy genealogy were thrice made out, and I, the count, and the court chaplain Spener, were put in possession of them.  The Countess Cesara went off with Linda to Valencia, and took the name Romeiro.  By this change of names all would be covered up as it now stands.