Her eye fell on Orso’s picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief upon it.

“Yes, I have news,” said Colomba, with a smile.

Then she took up the picture.

“Do you think it like him?  He is better looking than that!”

“Really,” stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, “I took down that picture in a fit of absence!  I have a horrid habit of touching everything and never putting anything back!  How is your brother?”

“Fairly well.  Giocanto came here before four o’clock this morning.  He brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia.  Orso hasn’t written anything to me!  It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has written ‘For Miss N.’  But sisters are never jealous!  Giocanto says it hurt him dreadfully to write.  Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, offered to do it at his dictation.  But he would not let him.  He wrote it with a pencil, lying on his back.  Brandolaccio held the paper for him.  My brother kept trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest movement gave him the most dreadful agony in his arm.  Giocanto says it was pitiful.  Here is his letter.”

Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was written in English.  Its contents were as follows: 

“MADEMOISELLE:  An unhappy fate has driven me on.  I know not what my enemies will say, what slanders they will invent.  I care little, so long as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence!  Ever since I first saw you I have been nursing wild dreams.  I needed this catastrophe to show me my own folly.

“I have come back to my senses now.  I know the future that lies before me, and I shall face it with resignation.  I dare not keep this ring you gave me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman.  I fear, Miss Nevil, you may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed.  Or rather, I fear it may remind me of the days of my own madness.  Colomba will give it to you.  Farewell, mademoiselle!  You are about to leave Corsica, and I shall never see you again.  But tell my sister, at least, that I still possess your esteem—­and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy of it.

“O.D.R.”

Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who was watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring glance as to what it all meant.  But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, and looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger and pulling it off again.

“Dear Miss Nevil,” said Colomba, “may I not know what my brother says to you?  Does he say anything about his health?”

“Indeed,” said Miss Lydia, colouring, “he doesn’t mention it.  His letter is in English.  He desires me to tell my father—­He hopes the prefect will be able to arrange——­”

With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both Miss Nevil’s hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes—­