‘I don’t think her life has been a happy one heretofore; mind you make it more so, Phil. She has very warm feelings, as I dare say you know better than I, and the passionate nature of the South, little as one would think it. Her father’s blindness was caused by her, in a fit of fury. She will tell you the story herself, no doubt; she was more sinned against than sinning, I shall always say. I don’t think she has ever got over the shock and the grief, and it seems to have crushed out all the passion of her nature, and almost all else but the devotion to her father. Remember that, Phil; and be very gentle and patient if she does not all at once yield to you the first place, which naturally seems your right.’ ‘I will, my Mentor; I will! Give me all the good advice you can, for I’m a muff, and I know it; but I do love Roma!’ ‘Then love will teach you better than I,’ said Tor; and they walked on in silence. ‘Ah, Philip Debenham!’ said Michael Meredith, as the two entered the room together. ‘Philip Debenham and my friend the Signor. I am happy to welcome you both.’ ‘You will welcome one of us still more warmly, when I have introduced him afresh,’ answered Tor, as he took the old man’s hand in his. ‘You are pleased to speak in riddles, Philip,’ said Meredith, smiling. ‘Not at all, sir, I assure you.’ ‘Do you mean to say that I require a new introduction to my friend Signor Pagliadini?’ ‘I do indeed!’ Meredith was smiling blandly, as if he rather enjoyed the little mystery. ‘Under a new name?’ ‘Yes; a new name that is yet not altogether new to you.’ ‘Then let me hear this new, familiar name.’ ‘The name of my friend here,’ said Tor quietly, ‘is Philip Debenham!’ ‘Very much at your service, sir,’ said Phil, in his own voice and tongue; ‘who has to return you many thanks for your hospitality, and begs to apologize for the deception practised upon you.’ Michael Meredith had started, and changed colour somewhat, as Phil’s voice had fallen upon his ear. ‘Philip Debenham! Philip Debenham!’ he repeated slowly. ‘It is, indeed, as if one had returned from the dead! It is the voice of my well-beloved friend himself!’ ‘Of his son, at least, Mr. Meredith, who hopes soon to become well beloved on his own account,’ said Phil. ‘But you, Philip—I mean, you whom I have learned to call Philip, in spite of early misgivings—who and what are you?’ ‘Philip no longer, now that my work of deputy is done. I assure you, Mr. Meredith, I have acted in all things merely as a deputy.’ ‘And who are you, then?’ ‘He’s the best fellow in all the world!’ cried Phil impulsively; ‘my friend Torwood!’ ‘You are Philip Debenham—there can be no doubt of that!’ said Meredith slowly; ‘but why was this mystery made? Why were you represented by your friend? Why did you appear here in disguise? And how did you obtain an introduction from my esteemed relative Signor Mattei?’