speeding back to Dartmouth, while Doria spoke eagerly. But the
passenger felt little disposed to gratify the Italian's curiosity.
Instead he asked him a few questions respecting himself and found
that the other delighted to discuss his own affairs. Doria revealed
a southern levity and self-satisfaction that furnished Brendon with
something to think about before the launch ran to the landing-stage
at Dartmouth.

"How comes it you are not back in your own country, now the war is
over?" he asked Doria.

"It is because the war is over that I have left my own country,
signor," answered Giuseppe. "I fought against Austria on the sea;
but now--now Italy is an unhappy place--no home for heroes at
present. I am not a common man. I have a great ancestry--the Doria
of Dolceaqua in the Alpes Maritimes. You have heard of the Doria?"

"I'm afraid not--history isn't my strong suit."

"On the banks of the River Nervia the Doria had their mighty castle
and ruled the land of Dolceaqua. A fighting people. There was a
Doria who slew the Prince of Monaco. But great families--they are
like nations--their history is a sand hill in the hour-glass of
time. They arise and crumble by the process of their own
development. Si! Time gives the hour-glass a shake and they are
gone--to the last grain. I am the last grain. We sank and sank till
only I remain. My father was a cab driver at Bordighera. He died in
the war and my mother, too, is dead. I have no brothers, but one
sister. She disgraced herself and is, I hope, now dead also. I know
her not. So I am left, and the fate of that so mighty family lies