the two girls after the scene witnessed in his presence by Paolina from the window of the church—­in the course of that walk, let us suppose, the friar became acquainted with the fact that this girl—­his daughter, we will say, for, in all probability, she is such—­had murdered her rival.  The knowledge of the fact sends him back to his cell half dead with horror and fright.  His interest in Paolina ties his tongue, and frustrates all our efforts to get any explanation from him.  How will that do, eh, Signor Giovacchino?”

“Admirably well.  Clearly helps to give consistency and probability to our theory of the facts.  I begin to think that all danger to my client is at an end, and, upon my word, I am more glad of it than I can tell you; it would have been a shocking thing.  I am an old Ravenna man, you know, and should have felt it differently from what you would, you know.”

“True; but I am glad enough that the Marchese should be cleared in the matter, and so will the Government be—­very glad.”

“I suppose there is no objection to my seeing the Marchesino?”

“Oh, certainly not the least in the world.  It is a pity that he should be detained here any longer; but I am almost afraid to take the responsibility of discharging him before some formal inquiry has been made.”

“Naturally, naturally.  When do you suppose you will be ready to bring the affair to a trial?”

“Oh, very soon.  If there were any chance of getting that old frate into court it would be worth while to wait for him; but I am afraid that the longer we wait the worse his fever and ague will get.  But I shall have another try at him out there first.”

And with that Signor Fortini passed to the chamber in which the Marchese Ludovico was confined.

CHAPTER III

Could it have been the Aged Friar?

“Signor Marchese,” said the old man, stretching out his hand with, for him, a very unusual degree of impulsive cordiality, “I have come to make amende honorable—­I need hardly say how delighted I am to do so.  It is not only that I think I may say there is now very little chance of any mischief falling on you in consequence of that unlucky excursion to the Pineta, but that I am able, thank God, to say that I have myself no longer the smallest suspicion that you had any hand in the crime that has been committed there.”

“Has anything been discovered, then?” asked Ludovico, eagerly.  “Ah—­ h—­h! that would be good news indeed,” added the young man, drawing a long breath of relief,—­the evident strength of which feeling afforded a measure of the suffering he had endured more indicative of the real state of his mind than any amount of depression which he had before allowed to be apparent.

“Well; enough, I think, has been discovered to relieve you of all suspicion—­enough, as I said, to convince my own mind very satisfactorily that you are innocent of all complicity in the matter.”