hould
not see it.

She uttered an incredulous cry and tore the letter open. A light struck
up from it into her face as she read--a radiance that smote me to the
soul. For a moment I longed to snatch the paper from her and efface the
name on the back. It hurt me to think how short-lived her happiness
must be.

Then she did a fatal thing. She came up to me, caught my two hands and
kissed them. "Oh, thank you--bless you a thousand times! He died
thinking of us--he died loving Italy!"

I put her from me gently: it was not the kiss I wanted, and the touch
of her lips hardened me.

She shone on me through her happy tears. "What happiness--what
consolation you have brought my poor mother! This will take the
bitterness from her grief. And that it should come to her now! Do you
know, she had a presentiment of it? When we heard of the Duke's flight
her first word was: 'Now we may find Emilio's letter.' At heart she was
always sure that he had written--I suppose some blessed instinct told
her so." She dropped her face on her hands, and I saw her tears fall on
the wretched letter.

In a moment she looked up again, with eyes that blessed and trusted me.
"Tell me where you found it," she said.

I told her.

"Oh, the savages! They took it from him--"

My opportunity had come. "No," I said, "it appears they did _not_ take
it from him."

"Then how--"

I waited a moment. "The letter," I said, looking full at her, "was
given up to the warder of the prison by the son of Doctor Briga."

She stared, repeating the words slowly. "The son of Doctor Briga? But
that is--Fernando," she said.

"I have always understood," I replied, "that your friend was an only
son."

I had expected an outcry of horror; if she had uttered it I could have
forgiven her anything. But I heard, instead, an incredulous
exclamation: my statement was really too preposterous! I saw that her
mind had flashed back to our last talk, and that she charged me with
something too nearly true to be endurable.

"My brother's letter? Given to the prison warder by Fernando Briga? My
dear Captain Alingdon--on what authority do you expect me to believe
such a tale?"

Her incredulity had in it an evident implication of bad faith, and I
was stung to a quick reply.

"If you will turn over the letter you will see."

She continued to gaze at me a moment: then she obeyed. I don't think I
ever admired her more than I did then. As she read the name a tremor
crossed her