If he
had hidden Emilio's letter at home, its discovery might have ruined his
family as well as himself. It was his duty to consider all these
things. In those days no man could serve two masters, and he had to
choose between endangering the cause and failing to serve a friend. He
chose the latter--and he was right."

I stood listening, fascinated by the rapidity and skill with which she
had built up the hypothesis of Briga's defence. But before she ended a
strange thing happened--her argument had convinced me. It seemed to me
quite likely that Briga had in fact been actuated by the motives she
suggested.

I suppose she read the admission in my face, for hers lit up
victoriously.

"You see?" she exclaimed. "Ah, it takes one brave man to understand
another."

Perhaps I winced a little at being thus coupled with her hero; at any
rate, some last impulse of resistance made me say: "I should be quite
convinced, if Briga had only spoken of the letter afterward. If brave
people understand each other, I cannot see why he should have been
afraid of telling you the truth."

She colored deeply, and perhaps not quite resentfully.

"You are right," she said; "he need not have been afraid. But he does
not know me as I know him. I was useful to Italy, and he may have
feared to risk my friendship."

"You are the most generous woman I ever knew!" I exclaimed.

She looked at me intently. "You also are generous," she said.

I stiffened instantly, suspecting a purpose behind her praise. "I have
given you small proof of it!" I said.

She seemed surprised. "In bringing me this letter? What else could you
do?" She sighed deeply. "You can give me proof enough now."

She had dropped into a chair, and I saw that we had reached the most
difficult point in our interview.

"Captain Alingdon," she said, "does any one else know of this letter?"

"No. I was alone in the archives when I found it."

"And you spoke of it to no one?"

"To no one."

"Then no one must know."

I bowed. "It is for you to decide."

She paused. "Not even my mother," she continued, with a painful blush.

I looked at her in amazement. "Not even--?"

She shook her head sadly. "You think me a cruel daughter? Well--_he_
was a cruel friend. What he did was done for Italy: shall I allow
myself to be surpassed?"

I felt a pang of commiseration for the mother. "But you will at least
tell the Countess--"

Her eyes filled with tears. "My poor mother--don't m