spoke slowly. The two women looked at him with dilated eyes.

"Is Michael dead?" said Magdalen.

"No. Michael is, I believe, well. The murderer of the Marchese di
Maltagliala has confessed. It is in to-day's papers. The Marchese was
murdered by his wife. It was quite sudden and unpremeditated, the work
of an instant of terror. She has made a full confession on her deathbed.
It exonerates Michael entirely. She implores his forgiveness for her
long silence."

The Bishop's last words reached Fay from a great distance. The room with
its many books, and the tall mullioned window with the bare elm branches
across it, were all turning gently together in a spreading dimness. The
only thing that remained fixed was Magdalen's shoulder, and even that
shook a little. Fay leaned her face against it, and let all the rest go.
The window with its tree quivered for a moment across the dark and then
flickered out. The consciousness of tender hands and voices lingered a
moment longer and then vanished too.

CHAPTER XXIII

All the heavy days are over.--W. B. YEATS.

It was very late when Magdalen and Fay reached home.

Bessie was on the lookout for them, and met them in the hall.

"Wentworth has been here," she said. "He arrived about an hour after you
had started. As you were both out he asked to see me. He was greatly
excited. He had come to tell us that Michael's innocence has suddenly
been proved. He goes to Italy to-morrow. He said he would call here on
his way to the station a little before eleven, to tell you both about
it."

And punctually at a few minutes to eleven Wentworth appeared, and was
ushered into the little white morning-room where Fay was waiting for
him.

The room was full of sunshine. The soft air came gently in, bringing
with it a breath of primroses.

Delight was in the room, tremulous, shining in Fay's eyes. Delight was
in the whole atmosphere. An enormous boundless relief overflowed
everything.

Wentworth was excited, softened, swept out of himself.

He held her soft hand in his. He tried to speak, but he could not. His
eyes filled with tears. He was ashamed.

And when he looked up he saw Fay's eyes were wet, too. His heart went
out to her. She was rejoicing with him. He pulled himself together, and
told her what little he knew; not much more than the bare facts
contained in the papers. It was now known by the Marchesa's confession
that the murder took place inside the Colle Alto garde