“But he did suspect it must be her husband—­thinking, I suppose, ’How otherwise would she have known he was my spy?’ He gave Count Branciani secret work and high pay.  Then he set a watch on him.  Count Branciani was to find out who was this unknown leader.  He said to the Austrian Governor, ‘You shall know him in ten days.’  This was repeated to Countess Branciani, and she said to herself, ’My husband! you shall perish, though I should have to stab you myself.’”

Emilia’s sympathetic hand twitched.  Wilfrid’s seized it, but it proved no soft melting prize.  She begged to be allowed to continue.  He entreated her to.  Thereat she pulled gently for her hand, and persisting, it was grudgingly let go.

“One night Countess Branciani put the Austrians on her husband’s track.  He knew that she was true to her country, and had no fear of her, whether she touched the Black-yellow gold or not.  But he did not confide any, of his projects to her.  And his reason was, that as she went to the Governor’s, she might accidentally, by a word or a sign, show that she was an accomplice in the conspiracy.  He wished to save her from a suspicion.  Brave Branciani!”

Emilia had a little shudder of excitement.

“Only,” she added, “why will men always think women are so weak?  The Count worked with conspirators who were not dreaming they would do anything, but were plotting to do it.  The Countess belonged to the other party—­men who never thought they were strong enough to see their ideas acting—­I mean, not bold enough to take their chance.  As if we die more than one death, and the blood we spill for Italy is ever wasted!  That night the Austrian spy followed the Count to the meeting-house of the conspirators.  It was thought quite natural that the Count should go there.  But the spy, not having the password, crouched outside, and heard from two that came out muttering, the next appointment for a meeting.  This was told to Countess Branciani, and in the meantime she heard from the Austrian Governor that her husband had given in names of the conspirators.  She determined at once.  ’Now may Christ and the Virgin help me!’”

Emilia struck her knees, while tears started through her shut eyelids.  The exclamation must have been caught from her father, who liked not the priests of his native land well enough to interfere between his English wife and their child in such a matter as religious training.

“What happened?” said Wilfrid, vainly seeking for personal application in this narrative.

“Listen!—­Ah!” she fought with her tears, and said, as they rolled down her face:  “For a miserable thing one can not help, I find I must cry.  This is what she did.  She told him she knew of the conspiracy, and asked permission to join it, swearing that she was true to Italy.  He said he believed her.—­Oh, heaven!—­And for some time she had to beg and beg; but to spare her he would not let her join.  I cannot tell