body knew that she had loved him. I have seen his portrait and
hers. I never saw faces that looked so fond of life. She had that Italian
beauty which is to any other like the difference between velvet and
silk."

"Oh! do I require to be told the difference?" Wilfrid's heart throbbed.

"She," pursued Emilia, "she loved him still, I believe, but her country
was her religion. There was known to be a great conspiracy, and no one
knew the leader of it. All true Italians trusted Countess Branciani,
though she visited the Austrian Governor's house--a General with some
name on the teeth. One night she said to him, 'You have a spy who betrays
you.' The General never suspected Countess Branciani. Women are devils of
cleverness sometimes.

"But he did suspect it must be her husband--thinking, I suppose, 'How
otherwise would she have known he was my spy?' He gave Count Branciani
secret work and high pay. Then he set a watch on him. Count Branciani was
to find out who was this unknown leader. He said to the Austrian
Governor, 'You shall know him in ten days.' This was repeated to Countess
Branciani, and she said to herself, 'My husband! you shall perish, though
I should have to stab you myself.'"

Emilia's sympathetic hand twitched. Wilfrid's seized it, but it proved no
soft melting prize. She begged to be allowed to continue. He entreated
her to. Thereat she pulled gently for her hand, and persisting, it was
grudgingly let go.

"One night Countess Branciani put the Austrians on her husband's track.
He knew that she was true to her country, and had no fear of her, whether
she touched the Black-yellow gold or not. But he did not confide any, of
his projects to her. And his reason was, that as she went to the
Governor's, she might accidentally, by a word or a sign, show that she
was an accomplice in the conspiracy. He wished to save her from a
suspicion. Brave Branciani!"

Emilia had a little shudder of excitement.

"Only," she added, "why will men always think women are so weak? The
Count worked with conspirators who were not dreaming they would do
anything, but were plotting to do it. The Countess belonged to the other
party--men who never thought they were strong enough to see their ideas
acting--I mean, not bold enough to take their chance. As if we die more
than one death, and the blood we spill for Italy is ever wasted! That
night the Austrian spy followed the Count to the meeting-house of the
conspirators. It was though