And after he died I was left with the little ones on my hands until my elder brother was able to give them a home.
Then there was Giovanni.
Do you know, when he came to England we were almost afraid to meet each other with that frightful memory between us.
He was so bitterly remorseful for his share in it all--that unhappy letter he wrote from prison.
But I believe, really, it was our common trouble that drew us together."
Martini smiled and shook his head.
"It may have been so on your side," he said; "but Giovanni had made up his mind from the first time he ever saw you.
I remember his coming back to Milan after that first visit to Leghorn and raving about you to me till I was perfectly sick of hearing of the English Gemma.
I thought I should hate you. Ah! there it comes!"
The carriage crossed the bridge and drove up to a large house on the Lung'Arno.
Montanelli was leaning back on the cushions as if too tired to care any longer for the enthusiastic crowd which had collected round the door to catch a glimpse of him.
The inspired look that his face had worn in the Cathedral had faded quite away and the sunlight showed the lines of care and fatigue.
When he had alighted and passed, with the heavy, spiritless tread of weary and heart-sick old age, into the house, Gemma turned away and walked slowly to the bridge.
Her face seemed for a moment to reflect the withered, hopeless look of his.
Martini walked beside her in silence.
"I have so often wondered," she began again after a little pause; "what he meant about the deception.
It has sometimes occurred to me----"
"Yes?"
"Well, it is very strange; there was the most extraordinary personal resemblance between them."
"Between whom?"
"Arthur and Montanelli.
It was not only I who noticed it.
And there was something mysterious in the relationship between the members of that household.
Mrs. Burton, Arthur's mother, was one of the sweetest women I ever knew.
Her face had the same spiritual look as Arthur's, and I believe they were alike in character, too.
But she always seemed half frightened, like a detected criminal; and her step-son's wife used to treat her as no decent person treats a dog.
And then Arthur himself was such a startling contrast to all those vulgar Burtons. Of course, when one is a child one takes everything for granted; but looking back on it afterwards I have often wondered whether Arthur was really a Burton."
"Possibly he found out something about his mother--that may easily have been the cause of his death, not the Cardi affair at all," Martini interposed, offering the only consolation he could think of at the moment.
Gemma shook her head.
"If you could have seen his face after I struck him, Cesare, you would not think that.
It may be all true about Montanelli--very likely it is-- but what I have done I have done."
They walked on a little way without speaking,
"My dear," Martini said at last; "if there were any way on earth to undo a thing that is once done, it would be worth while to brood over our old mistakes; but as it is, let the dead bury their dead.
It is a terrible story, but at least the poor lad is out of it now, and luckier than some of those that are left--the ones that are in exile and in prison.
You and I have them to think of, we have no right to eat out our hearts for the dead.
Remember what your own Shelley says:
'The past is Death's, the future is thine own.'
Take it, while it is still yours, and fix your mind, not on what you may have done long ago to hurt, but on what you can do now to help."
In his earnestness he had taken her hand. He dropped it suddenly and drew back at the sound of a soft, cold, drawling voice behind him.
"Monsignor Montan-n-nelli," murmured this languid voice, "is undoubtedly all you say, my dear doctor.
In fact, he appears to be so much too good for this world that he ought to be politely escorted into the next.
I am sure he would cause as great a sensation there as he has done here; there are p-p-probably many old-established ghosts who have never seen such a thing as an honest cardinal. And there is nothing that ghosts love as they do novelties----"
"How do you know that?" asked Dr. Riccardo's voice in a tone of ill-suppressed irritation.
"From Holy Writ, my dear sir.
If the Gospel is to be trusted, even the most respectable of all Ghosts had a f-f-fancy for capricious alliances.
Now, honesty and c-c-cardinals--that seems to me a somewhat capricious alliance, and rather an uncomfortable one, like shrimps and liquorice.
Ah, Signor Martini, and Signora Bolla!
Lovely weather after the rain, is it not?
Have you been to hear the n-new Savonarola, too?"
Martini turned round sharply.