ed than
he owned by the dying man's words and looks. It was a painful story of
well-meant mistakes, he thought, and it explained many things which he
had not understood. Linking it with all he knew besides, he had the
whole history of Spicca's mysterious, broken life, together with the
explanation of some points in his own which had never been clear to him.
The old cynic of a duellist had been a man of heart, after all, and had
sacrificed his whole existence to keep a secret for a woman whom he
loved but who did not care for him. That was all. She was dead and he
was dying. The secret was already half buried in the past. If it were
told now, no one would believe it.

Orsino returned on the following day. He had sent for news several
times, and was told that Spicca still lingered. He saw him again but the
old man seemed very weak and only spoke a few words during the hour
Orsino spent with him. The doctor had said that he might possibly live,
but that there was not much hope.

And again on the next day Orsino came back. He started as he entered the
room. An old Franciscan, a Minorite, was by the bedside, speaking in low
tones. Orsino made as though he would withdraw, but Spicca feebly
beckoned to him to stay, and the monk rose.

"Good-bye," whispered Spicca, following him with his sunken eyes.

Orsino led the Franciscan out. At the outer door the latter turned to
Orsino with a strange look and laid a hand upon his arm.

"Who are you, my son?" he asked.

"Orsino Saracinesca."

"A friend of his?"

"Yes."

"He has done terrible things in his long life. But he has done noble
things, too, and has suffered much, and in silence. He has earned his
rest, and God will forgive him."

The monk bowed his head and went out. Orsino re-entered the room and
took the vacant chair beside the bed. He touched Spicca's hand almost
affectionately, but the latter withdrew it with an effort. He had never
liked sympathy, and liked it least when another would have needed it
most. For a considerable time neither spoke. The pale hand lay
peacefully upon the pillows, the long, shadowy frame was wrapped in a
gown of dark woollen material.

"Do you think she will come to-day?" asked the old man at length.

"She may come to-day--I hope so," Orsino answered.

A long pause followed.

"I hope so, too," Spicca whispered. "I have not much strength left. I
cannot wait much longer."

Again there was silence. Orsino knew that there was nothi