The sound ceased; there was a knock at the door.

Her heart beat violently; but fear gave way to another sentiment when she heard a voice, too well known, calling on her name.

She went to the door.
"Open, Isabel,--it is Zicci," said the voice again.
And why did the actress feel fear no more, and why did that virgin hand unbar the door to admit, without a scruple or, a doubt, at that late hour, the visit of the fairest cavalier of Naples?
I know not; but Zicci had become her destiny, and she obeyed the voice of her preserver as if it were the command of Fate.
Zicci entered with a light and hasty step.

His horseman's cloak fitted tightly to his noble form, and the raven plumes of his broad hat threw a gloomy shade over his commanding features.
The girl followed him into the room, trembling and blushing deeply, and stood before him with the lamp she held shining upward on her cheek, and the long hair that fell like a shower of light over the bare shoulders and heaving bust.
"Isabel," said Zicci, in a voice that spoke deep emotion, "I am by thy side once more to save thee.

Not a moment is to be lost.