erous tyrants
deceived and intimidated the Pope--the good and saintly Pope--and
through him they told me that your arrest was certain, your life in
danger, and nothing could save you from your present peril but that I
should denounce you for your past offences. The phantom of conspiracy
rose up before me, and I remembered my father, doomed to life-long exile
and a lonely death. It was my dark hour, dearest, and when they promised
me--faithfully promised me--that your life should be spared...."

A faint sound came from the bedroom. Roma heard it, but Rossi, in the
tumult of his emotion, heard nothing.

"I know what you will say, dear--that you would have given your life a
hundred times rather than save it at the loss of all you hold so dear.
But I am no heroine, David. I am only a woman who loves you, and I could
not see you die."

He felt his soul swell with love and forgiveness, and he wanted to sob
like a child, but Roma went on, and without trying to keep back her
tears.

"That's all, dear. Now you know everything. It is not your fault that
the love you have brought home to me is dead. I hoped that before you
came home I might die too. I think my soul must be dead already. I do
not hope for pardon, but if your great heart _could_ pardon me...."

"Roma," said Rossi at last, while tears filled his eyes and choked his
voice, "when I escaped from the police I came here to avenge myself; but
if you say it was your love that led you to denounce me...."

"I do say so."

"Your love, and nothing but your love...."

"Nothing! Nothing!"

"Though I am betrayed and fallen, and may be banished or condemned to
death, yet...."

Her heart swelled and throbbed. She held out her arms to him.

"David!" she cried, and at the next moment she was clasped to his
breast.

Again there was a faint sound from the adjoining room.

"The woman lies," said a voice behind them.

The Baron stood in the bedroom door.

VII

The Baron's impulse on going into the bedroom had been merely to escape
from one who must be a runaway prisoner, and therefore little better
than a madman, whose worst madness would be provoked by his own
presence; but when he realised that Rossi was self-possessed, and even
magnanimous in his hour of peril, the Baron felt ashamed of his
hiding-place, and felt compelled to come out. In spite of his pride he
had been forced to overhear the conversation, and he was humiliated by