The hush of the night’s first moments had fallen upon the scene. What light tarried in the west showed the mountain’s contour, but relieved the darkness no longer. Yellow windows studded the lower plains and the woody heights. They could see above the trees the shadowy towers of Villa Barbiondi, and only a little way before them now, but still invisible, stood the gates of the villa park. They had reached the foot of a sharp rise in the road when two blazing orbs shot over the crest of the hill, bathing horses and riders in a stream of light. A motor car came to a standstill, and the older of the two occupants, a tall man in the fifties, sprang down nimbly. “Hera! Hera!” he cried. “Heaven be praised!” As he approached he snatched a mask from his face, and there was her father, Don Riccardo. “And to think that you are here, all of you, safe as ever!” he exclaimed, caressing her hand. “Ah, my daughter, this is a joyous moment.” “Yes; all of me saved, _babbo_ dear,” she said. “But indeed it came near being the other way.” “Again Heaven be praised!” said Don Riccardo. “Heaven and this gentleman,” Hera amended, turning to Mario. “The Honourable Forza--my father.” “Your hand, sir!” cried Don Riccardo, going around her horse to where Mario stood. “Believe me, you have saved my life as well. My debt to you is so great that I can never hope to pay.” Mario told him that it was not such a big debt. “In plain truth,” he added, “I was obliged to save Donna Hera in order to save myself. So it was the sort of activity, you see, that comes under the head of self-preservation.” “Ah, is it so?” returned Don Riccardo, genially. “Nevertheless, sir, I shall look further into your report of the affair. To-night I shall sound it. In your presence we shall have the testimony of an eyewitness. At least we shall if you will give us your company at dinner, which, by the way, is waiting.” “I am sorry, but to-night I cannot.” “Then to-morrow, or Wednesday, Thursday, Friday?” “Wednesday I should be glad.” “Good! On Wednesday, then, we shall tarnish your fame for veracity, and, if I mistake not, brighten it for modesty.” The final tones of the sunset’s colours had given way to deepest shadow. At Hera’s side, listening to her account of the river episode, stood Don Riccardo’s companion of the motor car--a dark, bearded man of middle height, whose face was hard and cruel, and seemed the more so in the grim flare of the machine’s lamps. “Signor Tarsis!” Don Riccardo called to him. “Let me present you. The Honourable Forza. Probably you have met.” Tarsis, drawing nearer, gave Mario no more than a half nod of recognition, while he said, in a manner of one merely observing the civilities: “I have to thank you for the service I hear you have rendered my affianced wife.”