“I was about to ask if there never is to be an end to these annoyances,” observed the lady in English; “but there must be some mistake in this.  The house of Caraccioli is one of the most illustrious of Italy, and can scarcely have any of this class, who feel an interest in him of whom we are thinking.  I will, therefore, inquire further into this matter.  Signorina,”—­changing the language to Italian and speaking with severity, like one who questioned what she heard—­“Caraccioli is a noble name, and is not often borne by the daughter of any prince’s tower-keepers!”

Ghita trembled, and she looked abashed.  But she was sustained by too high a principle and was too innocent herself to stand long rebuked in the presence of guilt; and, as the flush which resembled that which so often passes over her native skies at even left her countenance, she raised her eyes to the dark-looking face of the lady and gave her answer.

“I know what your Eccellenza means,” she said, “and feel its justice.  Still it is cruel to the child not to bear the name of her parent.  My father was called Caraccioli, and he left me his name as my sole inheritance.  What may have been his right to it, let my uncle say.”

“Speak, then, Signor Giuntotardi.  First give us the history of this name; then tell us what has brought you here.”

“Noble lady, my sister, as pious and innocent a woman as ever lived in Italy, and now blessed in heaven, married Don Francesco Caraccioli, the son of Don Francesco of that illustrious family, who now stands condemned to death for having led the fleet against the king; and Ghita here is the only fruit of the union.  It is true that the church did not authorize the connection which brought my niece’s father into being; but the noble admiral never hesitated to acknowledge his son, and he gave him his name, until love bound him in wedlock with a poor scholar’s sister.  Then, indeed, his father turned his face from him, and death soon removed both husband and wife from the reach of all earthly displeasure.  This is our simple story, noble and illustrious signora, and the reason why my poor niece, here, bears the name as great as that of Caraccioli.”

“You mean us to understand, Signor Giuntotardi, that your niece is the grand-daughter of Don Francesco Caraccioli, through a natural son of that unfortunate admiral?”

“Such is the fact, Signora.  As my sister was honestly married, I could do no less than bring up her daughter to bear a name that her father was permitted to bear before her.”

“Such things are common and require no apology.  One question more before I explain to the English admiral what you have said.  Does Prince Caraccioli know of the existence of this grand-daughter?”

“Eccellenza, I fear not.  Her parents died so soon—­I loved the child so well—­and there was so little hope that one illustrious as he would wish to acknowledge a connection through the holy church with persons humble as we, that I have never done more to make my niece known than to let her bear the same name as her father.”