to Evelyn's situation than her own. She paced the room in agony; for, unacquainted with English laws, she even exaggerated his danger. Accustomed to the tragic histories of her own country, the midnight dagger of the assassin was uppermost in her thoughts. Every noise made her start; and the wind, as it howled round the battlements, seemed in every gust to bring the low groan of the murdered.
Lord Avonleigh certainly meant to punish his daughter; but the penalty was far beyond what he had dreamed. He had no designs on Robert Evelyn's life. To have him exiled again, and the marriage with Francesca cancelled and concealed, was the plan that floated before him. The envy he had felt towards the house of Evelyn was appeased, and some remembrance of early friendship and former ties arose within him. But he was provoked; the marriage of the banished heir with his daughter was like a triumph over himself; he could not endure it.
Lord Avonleigh was an angry rather than a vindictive man. Vindictiveness requires more energy of character than he possessed. Indeed, it may be questioned whether he would of himself have taken the violent measures of the preceding evening. The truth is, Francesca did not
