” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. He smothered a laugh. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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