Gemma's letter, which he had worn all day upon
his neck. He picked it up, unfolded it, and kissed
the dear scribble; then began folding the paper
up again, with a dim consciousness of having done
something very ridiculous, when he noticed on
the back of the sheet a postscript which he had
not read before. "Be sure and come as soon as
possible," it ran, "for I want you to meet Bolla.
He has been staying here, and we have read together
every day."

The hot colour went up to Arthur's forehead as
he read.

Always Bolla! What was he doing in Leghorn
again? And why should Gemma want to read
with him? Had he bewitched her with his smuggling?
It had been quite easy to see at the meeting
in January that he was in love with her; that
was why he had been so earnest over his propaganda.
And now he was close to her--reading
with her every day.

Arthur suddenly threw the letter aside and knelt
down again before the crucifix. And this was the
soul that was preparing for absolution, for the
Easter sacrament--the soul at peace with God and
itself and all the world! A soul capable of sordid
jealousies and suspicions; of selfish animosities and
ungenerous hatred--and against a comrade! He covered