“He lived very unhappily with his first wife; and he was divorced from his second wife for sufficient reasons.  Two years ago he came to our school with Nancy’s father, and made my acquaintance.  My father died, his creditors seized everything, and I had to leave the school, much to Nancy’s distress and that of the other pupils.  At this period Sir B——­ M——­ took charge of me, and gave me a sum which placed me beyond the reach of, want for the rest of my days.  I was grateful, and begged him to take me with him when he told me he was leaving England.  He was astonished; and, like a man of honour, said he loved me too well to flatter himself that we could travel together without his entertaining more ardent feelings for me than those of a father.  He thought it out of the question for me to love him, save as a daughter.

“This declaration, as you may imagine, paved the way for a full agreement.”

“‘However you love me,’ I said, ’I shall be well pleased, and if I can do anything for you I shall be all the happier.’

“He then gave me of his own free will a written promise to marry me on the death of his wife.  We started on our travels, and till my late unhappy connection I never gave him the slightest cause for complaint.”

“Dry your eyes, dear Betty, he is sure to forgive you.  I have friends at Leghorn, and no one shall find out that we have made acquaintance.  I will put you in good hands, and I shall not leave the town till I hear you are back with Sir B——­ M——.  If he prove inexorable I promise never to abandon you, and to take you back to England if you like.”

“But how can you spare the time?”

“I will tell you the truth, my dear Betty.  I have nothing particular to do at Rome, or anywhere else.  London and Rome are alike to me.”

“How can I shew my gratitude to you?”

I summoned the vetturino, and told him we must return to Viterbo.  He objected, but I convinced him with a couple of piastres, and by agreeing to use the post horses and to spare his own animals.

We got to Viterbo by seven o’clock, and asked anxiously if no one had found a pocket-book which I pretended I had lost.  I was told no such thing had been found, so I ordered supper with calmness, although bewailing my loss.  I told Betty that I acted in this sort to obviate any difficulties which the vetturino might make about taking us back to Sienna, as he might feel it his duty to place her in the hands of her supposed husband.  I had up the small trunk, and after we had forced the lock Betty took out her cloak and the few effects she had in it, and we then inspected the adventurer’s properties, most likely all he possessed in the world.  A few tattered shirts, two or three pairs of mended silk stockings, a pair of breeches, a hare’s foot, a pot of grease, and a score of little books-plays or comic operas, and lastly a packet of letters; such were the contents of the trunk.