The Eternal City. Sir Hall Caine
a squirrel or a cage of white mice. We had a cup of tea and a piece of bread for breakfast, and were forbidden to return home until we had earned our supper. Then—then the winter days and nights in the cold northern climate, and the little southern boys with their organs and squirrels, shivering and starving in the darkness and the snow."
Roma's eyes were filling frankly, and she was allowing the tears to flow.
"Thank God, I have another memory," he continued. "It is of a good man, a saint among men, an Italian refugee, giving his life to the poor, especially to the poor of his own people."
Roma's labouring breath seemed to be arrested at that moment.
"On several occasions he brought their masters to justice in the English courts, until, finding they were watched, they gradually became less cruel. He opened his house to the poor little fellows, and they came for light and warmth between nine and ten at night, bringing their organs with them. He taught them to read, and on Sunday evenings he talked to them of the lives of the great men of their country. He is dead, but his spirit is alive—alive in the souls he made to live."
Roma's eyes were blinded with the tears that sprang to them, and her throat was choking, but she said:
"What was he?"
"A doctor."
"What was his name?"
David Rossi passed his hand over the furrow in his forehead, and answered:
"They called him Joseph Roselli."
Roma half rose from her seat, then sank back, and the lace handkerchief dropped from her hand.
"But I heard afterwards—long afterwards—that he was a Roman noble, one of the fearless few who had taken up poverty and exile and an unknown name for the sake of liberty and justice."
Roma's head had fallen into her bosom, which was heaving with an emotion she could not conceal.
"One day a letter came from Italy, telling him that a thousand men were waiting for him to lead them in an insurrection that was to dethrone an unrighteous king. It was the trick of a scoundrel who has since been paid the price of a hero's blood. I heard of this only lately—only to-night."
There was silence for a moment. David Rossi had put one arm over his eyes.
"Well?"
"He was enticed back from England to Italy; an English minister violated his correspondence with a friend, and communicated its contents to the Italian Government; he was betrayed into the hands of the police, and deported without trial."
"Was he never heard of again?"
"Once—only once—by the friend I speak about."
Roma felt dizzy, as if she were coming near to some deep places; but she could not stop—something compelled her to go on.
"Who was the friend?" she asked.
"One of his poor waifs—a boy who owed everything to him, and loved and revered him as a father—loves and reveres him still, and tries to follow in the path he trod."
"What—what was his name?"
"David Leone."
She looked at him for a moment without being able to speak. Then she said:
"What happened to him?"
"The Italian courts condemned him to death, and the English police drove him from England."
"Then he has never been able to return to his own country?"
"He has never been able to visit his mother's grave except by secret and at night, and as one who was perpetrating a crime."
"What became of him?"
"He went to America."
"Did he ever return?"
"Yes! Love of home in him, as in all homeless ones, was a consuming passion, and he came back to Italy."
"Where—where is he now?"
David Rossi stepped up to her, and said:
"In this room."
She rose:
"Then you are David Leone!"
He raised one hand:
"David Leone is dead!"
There was silence for a moment. She could hear the thumping of her heart. Then she said in an almost inaudible whisper:
"I understand. David Leone is dead, but David Rossi is alive."
He did not speak, but his head was held up and his face was shining.
"Are you not afraid to tell me this?"
"No."
Her eyes glistened and her lips quivered.
"You insulted and humiliated me in public this morning, yet you think I will keep your secret?"
"I know you will."
She felt a sensation of swelling in her throbbing heart, and with a slow and nervous gesture she held out her hand.
"May I … may I shake hands with you?" she said.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then their hands seemed to leap at each other and clasp with a clasp of fire.
At the next instant he had lifted her hand to his lips and was kissing it again and again.
A sensation of triumphant joy flashed through her, and instantly died away. She wished to cry out, to confess, to say something, she knew not what. But David Leone is dead rang in her ears, and at the same moment she remembered what the impulse had been which brought her to that house.
Then her eyes began to swim and her heart to fail, and she wanted to fly away without uttering another word. She could not speak, he could not speak; they stood together on a precipice where only by silence could they hold their heads.
"Let me go home," she said in a breaking voice, and with downcast head and trembling limbs she stepped to the door.
IX
Reaching the door, she stopped, as if reluctant to leave, and said in a voice still soft, but coming more from within:
"I wished to meet you face to face, but now that I have met you, you are not the man I thought you were."
"Nor you," he said, "the woman I pictured you."
A light came into her eyes at that, and she looked up and said:
"Then you had never seen me before?"
And he answered after a moment:
"I had never seen Donna Roma Volonna until to-day."
"Forgive me for coming to you," she said.
"I thank you for doing so," he replied, "and if I have sinned against you, from this hour onward I am your friend and champion. Let me try to right the wrong I have done you. What I said was the result of a mistake—let me ask your forgiveness."
"You mean publicly?"
"Yes!"
"You are very good, very brave," she said; "but no, I will not ask you to do that."
"Ah! I understand. I know it is impossible to overtake a lie. Once started it goes on and on, like a stone rolling down-hill, and even the man who started can never stop it. Tell me what better I can do—tell me, tell me."
Her face was still down, but it had now a new expression of joy.
"There is one thing