The colonel raised his eyebrows with a smile. “Can't you guess? Think a minute.” Arthur shook his head. The colonel put out both hands with a gesture of polite surprise. “Can't guess? Really? Why, you yourself, Mr. Burton. Who else could know your private love affairs?” Arthur turned away in silence. On the wall hung a large wooden crucifix; and his eyes wandered slowly to its face; but with no appeal in them, only a dim wonder at this supine and patient God that had no thunderbolt for a priest who betrayed the confessional. “Will you kindly sign this receipt for your papers?” said the colonel blandly; “and then I need not keep you any longer. I am sure you must be in a hurry to get home; and my time is very much taken up just now with the affairs of that foolish young man, Bolla, who tried your Christian forbearance so hard. I am afraid he will get a rather heavy sentence. Good-afternoon!” Arthur signed the receipt, took his papers, and went out in dead silence. He followed Enrico to the massive gate; and, without a word of farewell, descended to the water's edge, where a ferryman was waiting to take him across the moat. As he mounted the stone steps leading to the street, a girl in a cotton dress and straw hat ran up to him with outstretched hands. “Arthur! Oh, I'm so glad--I'm so glad!” He drew his hands away, shivering. “Jim!” he said at last, in a voice that did not seem to belong to him. “Jim!” “I've been waiting here for half an hour. They said you would come out at four. Arthur, why do you look at me like that? Something has happened! Arthur, what has come to you? Stop!” He had turned away, and was walking slowly down the street, as if he had forgotten her presence. Thoroughly frightened at his manner, she ran after him and caught him by the arm. “Arthur!” He stopped and looked up with bewildered eyes. She slipped her arm through his, and they walked on again for a moment in silence. “Listen, dear,” she began softly; “you mustn't get so upset over this wretched business. I know it's dreadfully hard on you, but everybody understands.” “What business?” he asked in the same dull voice. “I mean, about Bolla's letter.” Arthur's face contracted painfully at the name. “I thought you wouldn't have heard of it,” Gemma went on; “but I suppose they've told you. Bolla must be perfectly mad to have imagined such a thing.” “Such a thing----?” “You don't know about it, then? He has written a horrible letter, saying that you have told about the steamers, and got him arrested. It's perfectly absurd, of course; everyone that knows you sees that; it's only the people who don't know you that have been upset by it. Really, that's what I came here for--to tell you that no one in our group believes a word of it.” “Gemma! But it's--it's true!”