began, I believe, by reproaching her with
having led me on; and when she defended herself, I retaliated by
taunting her with Briga's indifference. She grew pale at that, and said
it was enough to love a hero, even without hope of return; and as she
said it she herself looked so heroic, so radiant, so unattainably the
woman I wanted, that a sneer may have escaped me:--was she so sure then
that Briga was a hero? I remember her proud silence and our wretched
parting. I went away feeling that at last I had really lost her; and
the thought made me savage and vindictive.

Soon after, as it happened, came the _Five Days_, and Milan was free. I
caught a distant glimpse of Donna Candida in the hospital to which I
was carried after the fight; but my wound was a slight one and in
twenty-four hours I was about again on crutches. I hoped she might send
for me, but she did not, and I was too sulky to make the first advance.
A day or two later I heard there had been a commotion in Modena, and
not being in fighting trim I got leave to go over there with one or two
men whom the Modenese liberals had called in to help them. When we
arrived the precious Duke had been swept out and a provisional
government set up. One of my companions, who was a Modenese, was made a
member, and knowing that I wanted something to do, he commissioned me
to look up some papers in the ducal archives. It was fascinating work,
for in the pursuit of my documents I uncovered the hidden springs of
his late Highness's paternal administration. The principal papers
relative to the civil and criminal administration of Modena have since
been published, and the world knows how that estimable sovereign cared
for the material and spiritual welfare of his subjects.

Well--in the course of my search, I came across a file of old papers
marked: "Taken from political prisoners. A.D. 1831." It was the year of
Menotti's conspiracy, and everything connected with that date was
thrilling. I loosened the band and ran over the letters. Suddenly I
came across one which was docketed: "Given by Doctor Briga's son to the
warder of His Highness's prisons." _Doctor Briga's son?_ That could be
no other than Fernando: I knew he was an only child. But how came such
a paper into his hands, and how had it passed from them into those of
the Duke's warder? My own hands shook as I opened the letter--I felt
the man suddenly in my power.

Then I began to read. "My adored mother, even in this lowest