which, to me, is the best time inItaly in all the year."
"Ah yes," he sighed. "I have always heard so. Myself I love Italy--Ionly wish I could escape from this country with its long dismal wintersand live in sunshine always."
"You would very soon tire of it," she assured him, looking him straightin the face with her fine eyes. "Even our bright sun gives one fever,and our blue sky becomes so monotonous that one longs for the calm of agrey English day."
"I would like to try it for a year or two," he declared wistfully.
"Then why don't you?"
He was silent, and their eyes met again.
"Because I am not my own master, Miss Morini," was his low response."My living, such as it is, lies here in England. I am the factotum of aman who has elevated money to be his god, and I am compelled to servehim in silence and without complaint because it happens to be my lot inlife."
"A rather unhappy and uncomfortable one, I should imagine," sheremarked, suddenly growing grave.
"At times, yes," was his brief reply. He did not wish to burden herwith his own disappointments and misfortunes. She knew what was hisposition, a mere secretary, and that was sufficient. What hope could heever have of daring to aspire to her hand? He might stand as herfriend, but become her lover, never!
And when, a week later, he called at Orton to wish her farewell, as hisvacation was at an end and he was compelled to return to his chambers inthe Temple, and to that room in Mr Morgan-Mason's flat in Queen Anne'sMansions, he looked in vain in her eyes for some sign of genuine regret.There was none. No, she too had realised that on account of hisposition love was forbidden him.
"We shall meet here again, I hope, Mr Macbean--next summer," sheexclaimed, laughing airily, as she gave him her small white hand.
"I hope so," was his fervent reply in a low, meaning voice, as theirhands clasped.
And then, with sinking heart and full of grave apprehensions regardingher future, he bowed and left her, left her, alas! to Jules Dubard--Jules Dubard of all men!
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE TRAITOR.
Camillo Morini stood at the big window of his private cabinet in theMinistry of War at Rome, gazing down upon the silent courtyard, white inthe glaring heat of afternoon.
He was dressed in a cool suit of clean white linen, as is the summermode in the South, and as he stood gazing out at the sentry standing inhis box motionless as a statue, he calmly smoked his after-luncheoncigar--a good Havanna he had brought from England. The man who was soconstantly juggling with a nation's future pressed his lips together,and afterwards heaved a big sigh--a sigh that echoed through the big,lofty room.
The Minister's cabinet, like all the rooms in the new War Office, wasbig and bare, with a marble floor for summer, and a high stove of whiteterra-cotta with broad brass bands for winter. Upon the ceiling werefine modern frescoes; the walls, however, unlike those of the otherrooms, which were mostly colour-washed, were papered dark red, and theheavy furniture was covered with thick red plush; while in one cornerwas a handsome marble bust of Victor Emmanuel upon a pedestal, and abovehung a large framed portrait of King Umberto, the reigning sovereign,and a huge shield bearing the arms of Italy. In the centre stood a hugewriting-table of carved walnut, with a great high-backed chair, the seatof the man who ruled the army of Italy.
The doors were double, with a wide space between, so that the messengerin uniform who lounged outside should overhear nothing, while so hemmedin by secretaries was the Minister that he was as difficult of approachas the very sovereign himself.
That huge square block of new stuccoed buildings, with long corridors,enormous clerks' room, and big courtyard, the echoes of which wereawakened day and night by the regular tramp of the sentries and theclank of arms, was at that moment a veritable hive of industry--for ofall the government departments in Rome, the War Office, with itstremendous responsibilities, is the best conducted.
His Excellency was reflecting upon something that Angelo Borselli, theUnder-Secretary, had told him while they had been lunching together atthe club. He recognised the seriousness of it all, and he sighed inconsequence.
Presently, while his eyes were still fixed upon that sentry erect andmotionless in his box, upon which the sun beat down so fiercely, therewas a rap at the door, and there entered the uniformed messenger who hadbeen on guard outside, who saluted, saying--
"General Arturo Valentini of the 6th Alpine Regiment, together with acaptain of the same regiment, crave an audience with your Excellency."
"What is the captain's name?" grunted the Minister of War.
The messenger looked at the card that had been given him, and replied--
"Captain Felice Solaro, your Excellency."
"Ah! Solaro! Solaro!" exclaimed Morini, tossing away his cigar. "Showthem in."
And as he passed before the tiny mirror he glanced at himself to adjusthis cravat and see that not a single hair was awry--a habit of hisbefore giving audience.
A few moments later two men in uniform were ushered in. The general,short of stature, white-haired, with firm military step, a red face, andwhite moustache, saluted and stood at attention as he entered theMinister's presence; while the captain, a smart-looking, dark-haired manof forty, followed his superior's example, yet as Morini darted a quickglance at him, he visibly trembled at it. The captain's face was whiteas death, and as he stood for a moment in the awkward silence thatfollowed, his gloved fingers chafed his sword hilt nervously.
"Well, general?" inquired the Minister, who had never before met thatdistinguished officer, but whom he, of course, knew well by repute.Valentini had been Inspector-General of Genio fifteen years ago, and hadserved Italy well in those fierce campaigns of the early sixties, as hisrow of medals and decorations showed. "Why do you wish for audience?"he asked sharply.
"Your Excellency, I am here to crave for a more merciful sentence uponthis man," the kindly old officer answered, turning to the captain, whostood with head bowed at his side. "I am his commanding officer, and injustice I wish to intercede for him."
The Minister raised his eyes in surprise, and asked--
"And what is this man's name, pray?"
"I am Felice Solaro, your Excellency," faltered the captain, as thoughfearing to pronounce his own name. "My general has travelled with mefrom Piedmont to obtain audience and to implore your mercy."
"Solaro!" echoed the Minister, looking straight at him. "Ah yes, Iremember!" Then turning to the general, Morini added in a hard,impatient tone--
"I cannot see why you should have troubled yourself to come to Rome onsuch an errand--and without leave too! I thought this man was underarrest? Is this the way you execute military justice in the north?"
"I took it upon myself to bring the captain here," was the fine oldofficer's answer.
"And he wears his sword, I see!" remarked the Minister, with a sneer."I suppose you have taken it upon yourself to give it back to him--eh?"
"I returned him his sword temporarily, your Excellency, in order thatduring our journey here no one should recognise him as the man who hasbeen sentenced, and further, in order that he should stand before you inthe full possession of his rights as an officer, and ask your leave toexplain."
"I have no time to hear any explanations from men who have beencondemned by court-martial, General Valentini. It is your duty to hearhis excuses--not mine. The whole matter is quite clear. I have had thepapers before me, and have gone through them carefully. They were sentto me in England. And if you ask me my private opinion, general, Ithink that dismissal from the army and fifteen years' imprisonment is avery light sentence upon a traitor. Had I been on the court-martial Ishould have given a life sentence."
"But, your Excellency!" gasped the unhappy captain, his face blanched,his hands trembling, "I am innocent. I am the victim of some cleverconspiracy, by which the real culprit has shielded himself. I had nochance of defending myself at the court-martial, for--"
"Silence!" cried the Minister. "Yo
u have been tried and found guilty oftreason against your king and country. The evidence is as plain as thelight of day, and yet you deny your guilt?"
"I do deny it," declared the unhappy captain. "They refused to hear myexplanation."
"That is true, your Excellency," interposed the general. "The court satfor four days in Turin with closed doors, and as three of the officerscomposing it were due to go on their annual leave, the sitting on thefourth day was terminated hurriedly, sentence was given, and sent to youfor confirmation. Your Excellency has confirmed it, therefore CaptainSolaro has no appeal except to yourself."
"You, as his commanding officer, were not a member of the court?"
"No, your