to him
some day."

"The saints grant it. I fear that I may not be worthy. To him the high
places will be given; to me--to me----But he will pray for me."

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. The old man's
form was bent; his face was shrunken, his eyes were dim. As she rightly
guessed, it was the sorrow of Dino's death that had aged him in this
way.

Brian spoke next.

"Tell me," he said, "tell me for the last time, father, what you believe
to have been the truth of the story. Did Vincenza change the children,
or did she not?"

"My son," said the old monk, "a few months--nay, a few weeks ago, I said
to myself that I would never answer that question. But life is slipping
away from me; and I cannot leave the world with even the shadow of a lie
upon my lips. When I sent Dino to England, I believed that Vincenza had
done this thing. When Dino returned to us, I still believed that he was
Mrs. Luttrell's son. But since our Dino's death, I have had a message--a
solemn message--from the persons who saw Vincenza die. She had charged
them with her last breath to tell me that the story was false--that the
children were never changed at all. It was Mrs. Luttrell's delusion that
suggested the plan to her. She hoped that she might make money by
declaring that you were her son, and Dino, Mrs. Luttrell's. She swore on
her death-bed that Dino was her child, and that it was Lippo Vasari who
was buried in the churchyard of San Stefano."

"Which story are we to believe?" said Brian, almost doubtingly.

"The evidence is pretty evenly balanced," replied the Prior. "Believe
the one that suits you best."

Brian did not answer; he stood for a moment with his head bent and his
eyes fixed on the ground. "To think," he said at last, "of the misery
that we have suffered through--a lie!" Then he looked up, and met
Elizabeth's eyes. "You are right," he said, as if answering some
unspoken comment, "I have no reason to complain. I found Dino--and I
found you; a friend and a wife--I thank God for them both."

He took her hand in his, and his face was lit up with the look of love
that was henceforth, as hitherto, to make the happiness of his life and
hers.

And when they went forth from the monastery doors it seemed to them a
good omen that the last words echoing in their ears were those of the
old monk's farewell salutation:--

"Go in peace!"

THE END.

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