."

"Was he never heard of again?"

"Once--only once--by the friend I speak about."

Roma felt dizzy, as if she were coming near to some deep places; but she
could not stop--something compelled her to go on.

"Who was the friend?" she asked.

"One of his poor waifs--a boy who owed everything to him, and loved and
revered him as a father--loves and reveres him still, and tries to
follow in the path he trod."

"What--what was his name?"

"David Leone."

She looked at him for a moment without being able to speak. Then she
said:

"What happened to him?"

"The Italian courts condemned him to death, and the English police drove
him from England."

"Then he has never been able to return to his own country?"

"He has never been able to visit his mother's grave except by secret and
at night, and as one who was perpetrating a crime."

"What became of him?"

"He went to America."

"Did he ever return?"

"Yes! Love of home in him, as in all homeless ones, was a consuming
passion, and he came back to Italy."

"Where--where is he _now_?"

David Rossi stepped up to her, and said:

"In this room."

She rose:

"Then _you_ are David Leone!"

He raised one hand:

"_David Leone is dead!_"

There was silence for a moment. She could hear the thumping of her
heart. Then she said in an almost inaudible whisper:

"I understand. David Leone is dead, but David Rossi is alive."

He did not speak, but his head was held up and his face was shining.

"Are you not afraid to tell me this?"

"No."

Her eyes glistened and her lips quivered.

"You insulted and humiliated me in public this morning, yet you think I
will keep your secret?"

"I _know_ you will."

She felt a sensation of swelling in her throbbing heart, and with a slow
and nervous gesture she held out her hand.

"May I ... may I shake hands with you?" she said.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then their hands seemed to leap at
each other and clasp with a clasp of fire.

At the next instant he had lifted her hand to his lips and was kissing
it again and again.

A sensation of triumphant joy flashed through her, and instantly died
away. She wished to cry out, to confess, to say something, she knew not
what. But _David Leone is dead_ rang in her ears, and at the same moment
she remembered what the impulse had been which brought her to that
house.

Then her eyes began to swim and her heart to fail, and she wanted to fly
away without utte