The taking possession of Camaldoli had turned out much more difficult and dangerous than even San Giacinto had anticipated, for the catastrophe of Ferdinando Pagliuca's death had at once aroused the anger and revengeful resentment of the whole neighbourhood. He made up his mind that it would be necessary for himself or Orsino to return to Rome at once, both in order to see the Minister of the Interior, with a view to obtaining special protection from the government, and to see the Pagliuca family, in the hope of pacifying them.

The latter mission would not be an easy nor an agreeable one, and San Giacinto would gladly have undertaken it himself. On the other hand, he did not trust Orsino's wisdom in managing matters in Sicily. The young man was courageous and determined, but he had not the knowledge of the southern character which was indispensable. Moreover, he was not the real owner of the lands, and would not feel that he had authority to act independently in all cases. It was, therefore, decided that Orsino should go back to Rome at once, while San Giacinto remained at Camaldoli to get matters into a better shape.

It was a dreary journey for Orsino. He telegraphed that he was coming, found that there was no steamer from Messina, crossed to Reggio, and travelled all night and all the next day by the railway, reaching Rome at night, jaded and worn.

He found, as he had expected, that all Rome was talking of his adventure with the brigands, and of the death of Ferdinando Pagliuca, and of the probable consequences. But he learned to his surprise how Tebaldo had been heard to say at the club on the previous afternoon that Ferdinando was no relation of his, and that it was a mere coincidence of names.

'Nevertheless,' said Sant' Ilario, 'we all believe that you have killed his brother. Tebaldo Pagliuca has no mind to have it said that his brother was a brigand and died like a dog. He says he is not in Sicily, but left some time ago. As no one in Rome ever saw him, most people will accept the statement for the girl's sake, if not for the rest of the family.'

Orsino looked down thoughtfully while his father was speaking. He understood at once that the story being passably discreditable to the d'Oriani, he had better seem to fall in with their view of the case, by holding his peace when he could. His father and mother, as well as the old Prince, insisted upon hearing a detailed account of the affair in the woods, however, and he was obliged to tell them all that had happened, though he said nothing about the fancied resemblance of Ferdinando to Vittoria, and as little as possible about the way in which the people had carried off the man's body with a public demonstration of sorrow. After all, no one had told him that Ferdinando was the brother of Tebaldo. He had taken it for granted, and it was barely possible that he might have been mistaken.

'There may be others of the name,' he said, as he concluded his story.

His mother looked at him keenly. Half an hour later he was alone with her in her own sitting-room.

'Why did you say that there might be others of the name?' she asked gravely. 'Why did you wish to imply that the unfortunate man may not have been the brother of Don Tebaldo and Donna Vittoria?'

Orsino was silent for a moment. There was reproach in Corona's tone, for she herself had not the slightest doubt in the matter. He came and stood before her, for he was a truthful man.

'It seemed to me,' he said, 'that I might let him have the benefit of any doubt there may be, though I have none myself. The story will be a terrible injury to the family.'

'You are certainly not called upon to tell it to everyone,' said Corona. 'I only wished to know what you really thought.'

'I am sorry to say that I feel sure of the man's identity, mother. And I want you to help me,' he added suddenly. 'I wish to see Donna Vittoria alone. You can manage it.'

Corona did not answer at once, but looked long and earnestly at her eldest son.

'What is it, mother?' he asked, at last.

'It is a very terrible thing,' she answered slowly. 'You love the girl, you wish to marry her, and you have killed her brother. Is not that the truth?'

'Yes, that is the truth,' said Orsino. 'Help me to see her. No one else can.'

'Does anyone know? Did you speak about it to her mother, or her brothers, before you left? Does Ippolito know?'

'No one knows. Will you help me, mother?'

'I will do my best,' said Corona thoughtfully. 'Not that I wish you to marry into that family,' she added. 'They have a bad name.'

'But she is not like them. It is not her fault.'

'No, it is not her fault, and she has not their faults. But for her brothers—well, we need not talk of that. For the sake of what there has been between you two, already, you have a sort of right to see Vittoria.'

'I must see her.'

'I went there yesterday, after we read the news in the papers,' said Corona. 'Her mother was ill. Later your father came in and said he had seen Don Tebaldo at the club. You heard what he said. They mean to deny the relationship. In fact, they have done so. I can therefore propose to take Vittoria to drive to-morrow afternoon, and I can bring her here to tea, in my own sitting-room. Then you may come here and see her, and I will leave you alone for a little while. Yes—you have a right to see her and to defend yourself to her, and explain to her how you killed that poor man, not knowing who he was.'

'Thank you—you are very good to me. Mother—' he hesitated a moment—'if my father had killed your brother by accident, would you have married him?'

He fixed his eyes on Corona's. She was silent for a moment.

'Yes,' she answered presently. 'The love of an honest woman for an honest man can go farther than that.'

She turned her beautiful face from Orsino as she spoke, and her splendid eyes grew dreamy and soft, as she leaned back in her chair beside her writing-table. He watched her, and a wave of hope rose slowly to his heart. But all women were not like his mother.

Early on the following morning she wrote a note to Vittoria. The answer came back after a long time, and the man sent up word that he had been kept waiting three-quarters of an hour for it. It was written in a tremulous hand, and badly worded, but it said that Vittoria would be ready at the appointed time. Her mother, she added, was ill, but wished her to accept the Princess's invitation.

Vittoria had grown thin and pale, and there was a sort of haunted look in her young eyes as she sat beside Corona in the big carriage. Corona herself hesitated as to what she should say, for the girl was evidently in a condition to faint, or break down with tears, at any sudden shock. Yet it was necessary to tell her that Orsino was waiting for her, and it might be necessary also to use some persuasion in inducing her to meet him.

'My dear,' said Corona, after a little while, 'I want you to come home with me when we have had a little drive. Do you mind? We will have tea together in my little room.'

'Yes—of course—I should like it very much,' answered Vittoria.

'We shall not be quite alone,' Corona continued. 'I hope you will not mind.'

Corona Saracinesca had many good qualities, but she was not remarkably clever, and when she wished to be tactful she often found herself in conflict with the singular directness of her own character. At the same time, she feared to let the girl at her side see how much she knew. Vittoria looked so pale and nervous that she might faint. Corona had never fainted. The girl naturally supposed that Orsino was still in Sicily.

They were near the Porta Salaria, and there was a long stretch of lonely road between high walls, just beyond it. Corona waited till they had passed the gate.

'My dear,' she began again, taking Vittoria's hand kindly, 'do not be surprised at what I am going to tell you. My son Orsino—'

Vittoria started, and her hand shook in her companion's hold.

'Yes—my son Orsino has come back unexpectedly and wishes very much to see you.'

Vittoria leaned back suddenly and closed her eyes. Corona thought that the fainting fit had certainly come, and tried to put her arm round the slight young figure. But as she looked into Vittoria's face, she saw that the soft colour was suddenly blushing in her cheeks. In a moment her eyes opened again, and there was light in them for a moment.

'I did not know how you would take it,' said Corona, simply, 'but I see that you are glad.'

'For him—that he is safe,' answered the young girl, in a low voice. 'But—'

She stopped, and gradually the colour sank away from her face again, and her eyes grew heavy once more. The trouble was greater than the gladness.

'Will you see him, in my own room?' asked the elder woman, after a pause.

'Oh, yes—yes! Indeed I will—I must see him. How kind you are!'

Corona leaned forward and spoke to the footman at once, and the carriage turned back towards the city. She knew well enough how desperately hard it would be for Vittoria to wait for the meeting. She knew also, not by instinct of tact, but by a woman's inborn charity, that it would be kind of her to speak of other things now that she had said what was necessary, and not to force upon Vittoria the fact that Orsino had revealed his secret, still less to ask her any questions about her true relationship to Ferdinando Pagliuca, which might put her in the awkward position of contradicting Tebaldo's public statement. But as they swept down the crowded streets, amongst the many carriages, Vittoria looked round into Corona's face almost shyly, for she was very grateful.

'How good you are to me!' she exclaimed softly. 'I shall not forget it.'

Corona smiled, but said nothing, and ten minutes later the carriage thundered under the archway of the gate. Corona took Vittoria through the state apartments, where they were sure of meeting no one at that time, and into her bedroom by a door she seldom used. Then she pointed to another at the other side.

'That is the way to my sitting-room, my dear,' she said. 'Orsino is there alone.'

With a sudden impulse she kissed her on both cheeks and pushed her towards the door.