She lifted her hands:  “Oh! be silent, and let that night die.”

“I may speak of that night when you drove home from Penarvon Castle, and a robber?  You have forgotten him, perhaps!  What did he steal? not what he came for, but something dearer to him than anything he possesses.  How can I say—?  Dear to me?  If it were dipped in my heart’s blood!—­”

Emilia was far from being carried away by the recollection of the scene; but remembering what her emotion had then been, she wondered at her coolness now.

“I may speak of Wilming Weir?” he insinuated.

Her bosom rose softly and heavily.  As if throwing off some cloak of enchantment that clogged her spirit!  “I was telling you of this dress,” she said:  “I mean, of Countess Branciani.  She thought her husband was the Austrian spy who had betrayed them, and she said, ’He is not worthy to live.’  Everybody knew that she had loved him.  I have seen his portrait and hers.  I never saw faces that looked so fond of life.  She had that Italian beauty which is to any other like the difference between velvet and silk.”

“Oh! do I require to be told the difference?” Wilfrid’s heart throbbed.

“She,” pursued Emilia, “she loved him still, I believe, but her country was her religion.  There was known to be a great conspiracy, and no one knew the leader of it.  All true Italians trusted Countess Branciani, though she visited the Austrian Governor’s house—­a General with some name on the teeth.  One night she said to him, ’You have a spy who betrays you.’  The General never suspected Countess Branciani.  Women are devils of cleverness sometimes.

“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.