wept round them both, shutting
them out, in a world apart, from the life and movement of the street.

"Yes," he whispered at last; "the steamers--I spoke of that; and I said
his name--oh, my God! my God! What shall I do?"

He came to himself suddenly, realizing her presence and the mortal
terror in her face. Yes, of course, she must think------

"Gemma, you don't understand!" he burst out, moving nearer; but she
recoiled with a sharp cry:

"Don't touch me!"

Arthur seized her right hand with sudden violence.

"Listen, for God's sake! It was not my fault; I----"

"Let go; let my hand go! Let go!"

The next instant she wrenched her fingers away from his, and struck him
across the cheek with her open hand.

A kind of mist came over his eyes. For a little while he was conscious
of nothing but Gemma's white and desperate face, and the right hand
which she had fiercely rubbed on the skirt of her cotton dress. Then
the daylight crept back again, and he looked round and saw that he was
alone.

CHAPTER VII.

IT had long been dark when Arthur rang at the front door of the great
house in the Via Borra. He remembered that he had been wandering about
the streets; but where, or why, or for how long, he had no idea. Julia's
page opened the door, yawning, and grinned significantly at the haggard,
stony face. It seemed to him a prodigious joke to have the young master
come home from jail like a "drunk and disorderly" beggar. Arthur went
upstairs. On the first floor he met Gibbons coming down with an air of
lofty and solemn disapproval. He tried to pass with a muttered "Good
evening"; but Gibbons was no easy person to get past against his will.

"The gentlemen are out, sir," he said, looking critically at Arthur's
rather neglected dress and hair. "They have gone with the mistress to an
evening party, and will not be back till nearly twelve."

Arthur looked at his watch; it was nine o'clock. Oh, yes! he would have
time--plenty of time------

"My mistress desired me to ask whether you would like any supper, sir;
and to say that she hopes you will sit up for her, as she particularly
wishes to speak to you this evening."

"I don't want anything, thank you; you can tell her I have not gone to
bed."

He went up to his room. Nothing in it had been changed since his arrest;
Montanelli's portrait was on the table where he had placed it, and
the crucifix stood in the alcove as before. He paused a moment on the
threshold, l