re was, perhaps, no creature in the world on this particular
April morning whose happiness approached Fay's. She raised her white
eyelids and smiled at Wentworth.

His well-conducted heart nudged him suddenly like a vulgar, jocular
friend.

"Is all your gladness for Michael?" he said boldly. "Have you none to
spare for me?"

He was in for it.

"You must forgive me if I am too impetuous, too precipitate," he said,
"but won't you make me doubly happy, Fay, before I go." He rose and came
towards her. She looked down, half frightened, and he suddenly felt
himself colossal, irresistible, a man not to be trifled with. "You have
known for a long time that I love you," he said. "Won't you tell me that
you love me a little, too?"

A delightful sense of liberty and newness of life were flowing in
regenerating waves over Fay's spirit.

Wentworth seemed a part of this all-pervading joyousness and freedom.
She made a little half unconscious movement towards him, and in a
moment, that intrepid man, that dauntless athlete of the emotions had
taken her in his arms.

CHAPTER XXIV

He who gives up the smallest part of a secret has the
rest no longer in his power.--JEAN PAUL.

The Marchesa's confession made a great and immediate sensation
throughout Italy. Everyone who had known Michael, and a great many who
had not, proclaimed with one consent that his innocence was no news to
them. The possibility that he might be shielding someone had been
discussed at the time of the trial, but had found no shred of
confirmation.

And now the mystery was solved at last, and in the most romantic manner.
Michael had come out with flying colours.

To many minds the romance was enhanced by the fact that the Marchesa was
a gentle, middle-aged, grey-haired woman in no way attractive, whose
whole interest in life centred in her daughter. Michael's transcendent
act of chivalry towards the Marchesa, dramatically acknowledged by her
at last upon her deathbed, appealed even to the most unimaginative
natures. He became the hero of the hour. Telegrams of congratulation
poured in from every quarter. Letters snowed in on him. Even before
Wentworth could reach him enthusiastic strangers had tried to force
their way into his cell. Determined young reporters came out in
gondolas, and it was all the warders and the doctor could do to protect
Michael from invasion.

He sat apparently stunned in his cell, the only person unmoved. Every
se