for the old sacristan who came up here
yesterday, and fell to talking about the chapel, mentioned how the
painter--a gran' maestro he called him--bargained to be buried at the
foot of the altar, and the Marchese had not kept his word, not liking
to break up the marble pavement, and had him interred outside the walls,
with the prior's grave and a monk at either side of him. His brushes and
colors, and his tools for fresco-work, were all buried in the chapel;
for they had been blessed by the Pope's Nuncio, after the completion of
the basilica at Udine. Have n't I remembered my story well, and the old
fellow didn't tell it above nine times over? This was old Lami's last
work, and here his last resting-place."

"What is it seems so familiar to me in that name? Every time you have
uttered it I am ready to say I have heard it before."

"What so likely, from Augustus or your sister."

"No. I can answer for it that neither of them ever spoke of him to me. I
know it was not from _them_ I heard it."

"But how tell the story of this suit without naming him?"

"They never did tell me the story of the suit, beyond the fact that my
grandfather had been married privately in early life, and left a son
whom he had not seen nor recognized, but took every means to disavow and
disown. Wait now a moment; my mind is coming to it. I think I have the
clew to this old fellow's name. I must go back to the villa, however, to
be certain."

"Not a word of our discovery here to any one," cried Cutbill. "We must
arrange to bring them all here, and let them be surprised as we were."

"I 'll be back with you within an hour," said Jack. "My head is full of
this, and I 'll tell you why when I return."

And they parted.

Before Cutbill could believe it possible, Jack, flushed and heated,
re-entered the room. He had run at top-speed, found what he sought for,
and came back in intense eager-ness to declare the result.

"You 've lost no time, Jack; nor have I, either. I took up the flags
under the altar-steps, and came upon this oak box. I suppose it was
sacrilege, but I carried it off here to examine at our leisure."

"Look here," cried Jack, "look at this scrap of paper. It was given to
me at the galleys at Ischia by the fellow I was chained to. Read these
names: Giacomo Lami,--whose daughter was Enrichetta,--I was to trace him
out, and communicate, if I could, with this other man, Tonino Baldassare
or Pracontal,--he was called by both names.