ed his hand on his heart
whenever he mentioned the name of his betrothed. The easiest way out of
the business was to take it as a joke. Wyant had played the wall to this
new Pyramus and Thisbe, and was philosophic enough to laugh at the part
he had unwittingly performed.

He held out his hand with a smile to Count Ottaviano.

"I won't deprive you any longer," he said, "of the pleasure of reading
your letter."

"Oh, sir, a thousand thanks! And when you return to the casa Lombard,
you will take a message from me--the letter she expected this
afternoon?"

"The letter she expected?" Wyant paused. "No, thank you. I thought
you understood that where I come from we don't do that kind of
thing--knowingly."

"But, sir, to serve a young lady!"

"I'm sorry for the young lady, if what you tell me is true"--the Count's
expressive hands resented the doubt--"but remember that if I am under
obligations to any one in this matter, it is to her father, who has
admitted me to his house and has allowed me to see his picture."

"HIS picture? Hers!"

"Well, the house is his, at all events."

"Unhappily--since to her it is a dungeon!"

"Why doesn't she leave it, then?" exclaimed Wyant impatiently.

The Count clasped his hands. "Ah, how you say that--with what force,
with what virility! If you would but say it to HER in that tone--you,
her countryman! She has no one to advise her; the mother is an idiot;
the father is terrible; she is in his power; it is my belief that he
would kill her if she resisted him. Mr. Wyant, I tremble for her life
while she remains in that house!"

"Oh, come," said Wyant lightly, "they seem to understand each other well
enough. But in any case, you must see that I can't interfere--at
least you would if you were an Englishman," he added with an escape of
contempt.

III

Wyant's affiliations in Siena being restricted to an acquaintance with
his land-lady, he was forced to apply to her for the verification of
Count Ottaviano's story.

The young nobleman had, it appeared, given a perfectly correct account
of his situation. His father, Count Celsi-Mongirone, was a man of
distinguished family and some wealth. He was syndic of Orvieto, and
lived either in that town or on his neighboring estate of Mongirone. His
wife owned a large property near Siena, and Count Ottaviano, who was the
second son, came there from time to time to look into its management.
The eldest son was in the army, the youngest