"You will come back," said Dino, in a tone that admitted of no contradiction. "I know you will come back."
"Dino mio, you will come to see me some day, perhaps," said Brian. "Listen. I leave their future in your care. Do you understand? Make it possible for them to be happy."
"I will do what is possible to bring you home again."
"Caro mio, that is not possible," said Brian. "Do not try. You see this letter? Keep it until I have been an hour gone; then open it. Will you promise me that?"
"I promise."
"And now good-bye. Success and good fortune to you," said Brian, trying to smile. "When we meet again——"
"Shall we ever meet again?" said Dino, with one arm round Brian's neck, with his eyes looking straight into Brian's, with a look of pathetic longing which his friend never could forget. "Or is it a last farewell? Brother—my brother—God bless thee, and bring thee home at last." But it was of no earthly home that Dino thought.
And then they parted.
It was more than an hour before Dino thought of opening the letter which Brian had left with him. It ran as follows:—
"Dino mio, pardon me if I have done wrongly. You told my story and I have told yours. I feared lest you, in your generosity, should hide the truth, and therefore I have written fully to your mother. Go to her if she sends for you, and remember that she has suffered much. I have told her that you have the proofs: show them to her, and she will be convinced. God bless you, my only friend and brother."