“Certainly, Signor Barone.  I myself sent his note to you.  Though, on his own statement of the very unfortunate circumstances connected with this unhappy affair, I was compelled to detain him, still there is at present no definite accusation against him which should justify me in preventing him from having free communication with his friends.  You shall be taken to his room immediately.  You will see, Signor Barone, that we have endeavoured to make him as comfortable as the circumstances would allow.”

“Manutoli,” said Ludovico, after the first expressions of astonishment and condolence had been spoken between the young men, “of course I knew I should see you here before long; and my note was to call you at once, instead of waiting to see you in the morning; because I want you to do something for me before you sleep this night—­something that I don’t want to wait for till to-morrow morning.”

“To be sure, my dear fellow, anything; I am ready for anything, if it takes all night.”

“Thanks.  Well, now, look here:  I am innocent of this deed—­”

“S’ intende; of course you are.”

“S’ intende, of course; that’s just the worst of it.  It is so much a matter of course that I should say I had not done it if I had, that my saying so is of no use at all.  Nevertheless, to you I must say that I neither did it nor have I the slightest conception or suspicion who did.  And you may guess that the fact itself is a horror and a grief to me that I shall never get over, putting this dreadful suspicion of my own guilt out of the question.  A horror and a grief, and a remorse, too; for if I had not moved away from her the tragedy could not have happened.”

“I really do not see that you need blame yourself for—­”

“I ought not to have left her side.  Yet, God knows, it never entered my head to dream of the possibility of any harm; all seemed so still, so peaceful, so utterly quiet; yet, at that moment, the hand that did the deed could not have been far off.”

“Let the circumstances have been what they might,” resumed Manutoli, after a moment’s pause, “nobody would have dreamed of connecting you with the deed had it not been for the strong motive which seems so clear and intelligible to every fool who sets his brains to work on the matter.  I suppose it is true that you had been informed of your uncle’s intention to offer the poor girl marriage?”

“True that I had been told of it, for the first time, by herself during our drive, poor girl.”

“Ah—­h—­h!  To think of such a man being guilty of such insane folly--and of all the misery that is likely to grow out of it.  How on earth did she ever contrive to get such a fatal influence over him?”

“She schemed for it from her first arrival here—­aimed avowedly to herself at nothing less than inducing the Marchese di Castelmare to marry her—­and succeeded.  For all that, I’ll tell you what, Adolfo—­ there was a great deal more good in that poor girl than you would have thought.”