farm-servant? Why even bring poor Harry to book, and force him to confess, and convict him, if not of falsehood, yet of sanctioning a false impression? Mr. Bonamy with true magnanimity decided that he would not humiliate, as he might do, even the chief culprit, if culprit he could be said to be. It was no use to make all suffer. He thought it best on the whole to make an effort to keep the trouble to himself. Meanwhile Lydia had knocked with some timidity and trembling at the door of the Vice-Consul’s house. She asked for Mrs. Oliver with a hesitation that was very unusual to her. Now that the moment had come her heart beat so loudly, her breath came so quick, that she did not feel able to face it. She was led soberly up to the large, cool, shadowed drawing-room, in which with so much agitation she had spent the previous night. There was no trace of agitation or disturbance of any kind about the tranquil place, all closed up and semidark, according to the Italian wont, against the fierceness of the sun. The old graceful furniture, the dim pictures on the walls, the signs of long established living everywhere, made it almost impossible to think of any change or revolution that could happen in such a settled place. Lydia sat down in a corner, feeling herself more than an intruder--a traitor and introducer of strife and trouble into the stillness. She had asked instinctively for the wife, lest after all she might be making a mistake; and only after she had done so, had it occurred to her that to have her husband thus discovered and identified, though he had done no wrong, might not be an agreeable incident in Rita’s life. This, however, was but a momentary thought. To feel that she was herself within a few minutes of the truth was an excitement which occupied all her being. Her mind had room for little more.