At last a noise in the deserted road behind him, the growing rumbling of a cart, made him think it safer to move, even at the risk of a little sound in doing so.  He reached the ground safely before he could be seen, and proceeded to brush the brick-dust off the torn knees of his grey trousers.

He walked down the hill into the town with an air of finality, for he had determined to go back to England.  He could not have analysed his impressions; he could not have accounted for his sense of impotence and defeat, but so it was.  He had come across the personality of Madame Danterre, and he thereupon left her in possession of the field.  But at the same time, before leaving Florence, he gave largely of the sinews of war to that able spy, the Italian detective, Pietrino.

CHAPTER V

“Your mother’s daughter”

The surprising disposal of Sir David Bright’s fortune was to have very important consequences in a quiet household among the Malcot hills, of the existence of which Sir Edmund Grosse and Lady Rose Bright were entirely unaware.

In a small wind-swept wood that appeared to be seeking shelter in the hollow under the great massive curve of a green hill, there stood one of those English country houses that must have been planned, built, and finished with the sole object of obtaining coolness and shade.  The principal living rooms looked north, and the staircase and a minute study were the only spots that ever received any direct rays of the sun.  All the rooms except this favoured little study had windows opening to the ground, and immediately outside grew the rich mossy turf that indicates a clay soil.  The mistress of the house was not easily daunted by her surroundings, and she had impressed her cheerful, comfortable, and fairly cultured mind on all the rooms.  Mrs. Carteret was the widow of a Colonel Carteret, who had retired from the army to farm his own acres, and take his place in local politics.  It is needless to say that, while the politics had gained from the help of an upright and chivalrous, if narrow, mind, the acres had profited little from his attentions.  When he died he left all he possessed absolutely to his widow, who was not prepared to find how very little that all had become.  Mrs. Carteret took up the burden of the acres, dairy, gardens, and stable, with a sense of sanctified duty none the less heroic in sensation because she was doing all these things for her own profit.  Her neighbours held her in proportionate respect; and, as she had a fine person, pleasant manners, and good connections, she kept, without the aid of wealth, a comfortable corner in the society of the county.