er saw done by a woman," he said, "was brought
about by an act of my own--and one of which I am not particularly
proud. For that reason I have never spoken of it before--there was a
time when I didn't even care to think of it--but all that is past now.
She died years ago, and so did the Jack Alingdon she knew, and in
telling you the story I am no more than the mouthpiece of an old
tradition which some ancestor might have handed down to me."

He leaned back, his clear blind gaze fixed smilingly on me, and I had
the feeling that, in groping through the labyrinth of his young
adventures, I had come unawares upon their central point.

II

When I was in Milan in 'forty-seven an unlucky thing happened to me.

I had been sent there to look over the ground by some of my Italian
friends in England. As an English officer I had no difficulty in
getting into Milanese society, for England had for years been the
refuge of the Italian fugitives, and I was known to be working in their
interests. It was just the kind of job I liked, and I never enjoyed
life more than I did in those days. There was a great deal going
on--good music, balls and theatres. Milan kept up her gayety to the
last. The English were shocked by the _insouciance_ of a race who could
dance under the very nose of the usurper; but those who understood the
situation knew that Milan was playing Brutus, and playing it uncommonly
well.

I was in the thick of it all--it was just the atmosphere to suit a
young fellow of nine-and-twenty, with a healthy passion for waltzing
and fighting. But, as I said, an unlucky thing happened to me. I was
fool enough to fall in love with Donna Candida Falco. You have heard of
her, of course: you know the share she had in the great work. In a
different way she was what the terrible Princess Belgioioso had been to
an earlier generation. But Donna Candida was not terrible. She was
quiet, discreet and charming. When I knew her she was a widow of
thirty, her husband, Andrea Falco, having died ten years previously,
soon after their marriage. The marriage had been notoriously unhappy,
and his death was a release to Donna Candida. Her family were of
Modena, but they had come to live in Milan soon after the execution of
Ciro Menotti and his companions. You remember the details of that
business? The Duke of Modena, one of the most adroit villains in
Europe, had been bitten with the hope of uniting the Italian states
under his rule. It was a v