a told her
that I did not belong to her."

"My child," said the monk, calmly but firmly, "put these thoughts away
from your mind. They are idle and vain imaginations. Assunta knew
nothing; Vincenza did not always speak the truth. In any case, it is
impossible to prove the truth of her story. It is a sin to let your mind
dwell on the impossible. Your name is Bernardino Vasari, and you are to
be brought up in the monastery of San Stefano by wise and pious men. Is
that not happiness enough for you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, indeed; I wish for nothing else," said Dino, throwing
himself at Padre Cristoforo's feet, and pressing his lips to the monk's
black gown, while the tears poured down his smooth, olive cheeks.
"Indeed I am not ungrateful, Reverend Father, and I will never wish to
be anything but what you want me to be."

"Better so," soliloquised the Father, when he had comforted Dino with
kind words, and led him away to join the companions that would
henceforth be his; "better that he should not wish to rise above the
station in which he has been brought up! We shall never prove Vincenza's
story. If we could do that, we should be abundantly recompensed for
training this lad in the doctrines of the Church--but it will never be.
Unless, indeed, the woman Vincenza could be found and urged to
confession. But that," said the monk, with a regretful sigh, "that is
not likely to occur. And, therefore, the boy will be Dino Vasari, as far
as I can see, to his life's end. And Vincenza's child is living in the
midst of a rich English family under the name of Brian Luttrell. I must
not forget the name. In days to come who knows whether the positions of
these two boys may not be reversed?"

Thus mused Father Cristoforo, and then he smiled and shook his head.

"Vincenza was always a liar," he said to himself. "It is the most
unlikely thing in the world that her story should be true."

END OF THE PROLOGUE.

CHAPTER II.

BY THE LOCH.

"It is you who have been the thief, then?"

The question was uttered in tones of withering contempt. The criminal,
standing before his judge with downcast face and nervously-twitching
fingers, found not a word to reply.

"Answer me," said Richard Luttrell, imperatively. "Tell me the
truth--or, by Heaven, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life, and
make you speak! Did you, or did you not, take this money out of my
strong-box?"

"I meant to put it back," faltered the culprit. He was a sle