The Honour of Savelli: A Romance

Is writing this book the Author has made no effort to point a moral; all that has been done is an attempt to catch the "spirit of the true Romance," and to amuse. The book was partly written in the intervals of work in India, and was completed during the leisure allowed by furlough on medical certificate. In dealing with this period of Italian history, in which the story is set, the Author would say he has taken Dumas for his model, but hopes that he has worked out his scheme on original lines; and he has used, as far as possible, the language in which an Italian living in the beginning of the sixteenth century would express himself. At the time the book was written the Author had not read Mr. Stanley Weyman's brilliant novel, "A Gentleman of France." Had he done so the style of the present book would doubtless have been much improved from the lessons taught by a master-hand. The Author, in bringing this to the notice of the reader, would humbly add that he is making no challenge to break a lance with so redoubted a knight as the creator of Gaston de Marsac. CONTENTS. I. A Bolt from the Blue. II. Ruin. III. Madame D'Entrangues. IV. A Fool's Cap and a Sore Heart. V. D'Entrangues Scores a Point. VI. Bernabo Ceci. VII. The Garden of St. Michael. VIII. Temptation. IX. The Marzocco Inn. X. Niccolo Machiavelli. XI. The Letter to D'Amboise. XII. The Ambuscade. XIII. Rome. XIV. George of Amboise. XV. The Gift of Bayard. XVI. Friend or Foe. XVII. The Vatican. XVIII. The Opal Ring. XIX. Exit the Ancient Brico. XX. "A Brown Paul--a Little Copper." XXI. The Rescue of Angiola. XXII. The Ride to St. Jerome. XXIII. The Pavilion of Tremouille. XXIV. Too Dearly Bought. XXV. The Vengeance of Corte. XXVI. Concerning many Things. XXVII. My Lord, the Count. PRELUDE. I. He rydes untoe ye Dragon's Gate, And blowes a ryngynge calle: A gallant Knyghte in armoure bryghte, 'Twere sadde toe see him falle. Deare Sayntes of Mercy steele hys harte, And nerve hys arme withalle! II. Noe glove bears he uponne hys creste, And lettynge droppe hys visor's barres, I sawe hys starke soule lookynge forthe, Toe meete ye whysperes of ye starres. True Knyghte of God, whose arme is stronge, Whose harte is pure, whose lance is longe. III. Lette…