"And she wasn't the only one, though she supposed she was. From the first, the drink got hold of him again. And this time it killed him,--he led an awful life of it there for days. As soon as I found out that he had gone--which wasn't at once, as I had given up going over there regularly--I chased up to Savannah after him as fast as I could tear,--I had the feeling that he was going to the devil! I couldn't find him at first, though I scoured the town. And when I did, he was past helping;--all I could do was to try to get him back to Romney; I wanted him to die decently, at home, and not up there among those-- Well, sir, he died the next day. I couldn't tell those women down there--Miss Abercrombie, Mrs. Singleton, and her aunt, Miss Peggy. They were all there, of course, and crying; but they would have cried a great deal worse if they had known the truth, and, as there was nothing to be gained by it for any one, it seemed cruel to tell them. For good women are awful fools, you know; they are a great deal harder than we are; they think nothing of sending a man to hell; they're awfully intolerant. 'Tany rate, I made up my mind that I'd say nothing except to you, leaving it to you to inform the wife or not, as you thought best. Then, suddenly, off I had to go on that yachting expedition. But as soon as I landed I started; and, here I am--on the first stage of the journey." Paul did not speak. "I say, do you take it so hard, then?" said Knox, with an embarrassed laugh. Paul got up. "You have done me the greatest service that one man can do another." He put out his hand. Knox, much relieved, gave it a prolonged shake. "Faults and all, he was the biggest kind of a trump, wasn't he? Drunkards are death to the women--to the wives and mothers and sisters; but some of 'em are more lovable than lots of the moral skinflints that go nagging about, saving a penny, and grinding everybody but themselves. The trouble with Ferdie was that he was born without any conscience, just as some people have no ear for music; it was a case of heredity; and heredity, you know--" "You needn't excuse him to _me_," said Paul. XXXV. Outside of a walled town in North Italy there stands, on a high hill, an old villa, which, owing to its position, is visible for miles in every direction. It was built in the fourteenth century. Its once high tower was lowered in A. D. 1423. Its blank yellow walls are long, pierced irregularly by large windows, which are covered with iron cages; massive doors open upon a square court-yard within; an avenue of cypresses leads up the bare hill to the entrance.