in Tyrol:—­it was Wilfrid.  Their greeting was disturbed by the rushing up of half-a-dozen troopers.  The men claimed him as an Austrian spy.  With difficulty Vittoria obtained leave to drive him on to their commanding officer.  It appeared that the white umbrella was notorious for having been seen on previous occasions threading the Piedmontese lines into and out of Peschiera.  These very troopers swore to it; but they could not swear to Wilfrid, and white umbrellas were not absolutely uncommon.  Vittoria declared that Wilfrid was an old English friend; Pericles vowed that Wilfrid was one of their party.  The prisoner was clearly an Englishman.  As it chanced, the officer before whom Wilfrid was taken had heard Vittoria sing on the great night at La Scala.  “Signorina, your word should pass the Austrian Field-Marshal himself,” he said, and merely requested Wilfrid to state on his word of honour that he was not in the Austrian service, to which Wilfrid unhesitatingly replied, “I am not.”

Permission was then accorded to him to proceed in the carriage.

Vittoria held her hand to Wilfrid.  He took the fingers and bowed over them.

He was perfectly self-possessed, and cool even under her eyes.  Like a pedlar he carried a pack on his back, which was his life; for his business was a combination of scout and spy.

“You have saved me from a ditch to-day,” he said; “every fellow has some sort of love for his life, and I must thank you for the odd luck of your coming by.  I knew you were on this ground somewhere.  If the rascals had searched me, I should not have come off so well.  I did not speak falsely to that officer; I am not in the Austrian service.  I am a volunteer spy.  I am an unpaid soldier.  I am the dog of the army—­fetching and carrying for a smile and a pat on the head.  I am ruined, and I am working my way up as best I can.  My uncle disowns me.  It is to General Schoneck that I owe this chance of re-establishing myself.  I followed the army out of Milan.  I was at Melegnano, at Pastrengo, at Santa Lucia.  If I get nothing for it, the Lenkensteins at least shall not say that I abandoned the flag in adversity.  I am bound for Rivoli.  The fortress (Peschiera) has just surrendered.  The Marshal is stealing round to make a dash on Vicenza.”  So far he spoke like one apart from her, but a flush crossed his forehead.  “I have not followed you.  I have obeyed your brief directions.  I saw this carriage yesterday in the ranks of our troops.  I saw Pericles.  I guessed who might be inside it.  I let it pass me.  Could I do more?”

“Not if you wanted to punish me,” said Vittoria.

She was afflicted by his refraining from reproaches in his sunken state.

Their talk bordered the old life which they had known, like a rivulet, coming to falls where it threatens to be e, torrent and a flood; like flame bubbling the wax of a seal.  She was surprised to find herself expecting tenderness from him:  and, startled by the languor in her veins, she conceived a contempt for her sex and her own weak nature.  To mask that, an excessive outward coldness was assumed.  “You can serve as a spy, Wilfrid!”