he was
mad, that his father had been in a lunatic asylum; but when he died he
left all his money to charitable institutions."

"When did he die?"

Hugh Rossiter hesitated a moment. "Some time in September--I do not
know the exact date. But he had been failing for months. I know a
cousin of his, Count Orsino, and he was asking me what had become of
the woman he married; but I did not give him much information."

"But why does she call herself Miss Jacobi when she is really the
Contessa Ferrari?"

"Oh, that is just her craze. I believe she was a bit queer and unhinged
when Jacobi got her back. Anyhow, he was obliged to pacify her a bit.
She threw away her wedding-ring and never again alluded to her wretched
marriage, and he is obliged to give in to her. I believe Jacobi was
properly frightened that time. When I saw them in Paris Jacobi had just
had a run of good luck. It is my private opinion he gambles. I once
lost a good bit of money to him; but a burnt child dreads the fire--eh,
Colonel? No more baccarat for me."

"And Miss Jacobi seemed in fairly good spirits?"

"Yes," hesitatingly; "but I fancied she had a fit of the blues
sometimes, as though Count Antonio's ghost haunted her--oh, by the bye,
he was still in the land of the living then. She and Jacobi seemed good
friends, though she was evidently afraid of him. He told me one day,
when he had been rather too free with the Burgundy, that she was in his
way; that he wanted her to marry, and that he intended marrying
himself; but he had promised her that her next husband should be young
and an Englishman. I remember that this greatly surprised me. 'I
understood that Count Antonio was living,' I observed; but Jacobi only
winked at me in a stupid sort of way. 'Oh, we know all about that, my
boy, but the gout will soon finish him; and there is no hurry--Leah is
not thirty yet, and she is handsomer than she ever was in her life;'
and he filled himself another bumper."

Malcolm was silent. Hugh Rossiter had apparently finished his recital,
for he took up his meerschaum and polished it tenderly, an action that
was full of suggestion. But Colonel Godfrey put his hand on his arm.

"One moment, my dear fellow, and then we will go out and have a smoke
before luncheon. I can see Herrick has something else to ask you. Hurry
up, my boy, or our friend here will lose patience."

"I shall be sorry to tax Mr. Rossiter's patience," replied Malcolm;
"but I hope he will be goo