“I was a widower; you were a little boy of six. The Batistellis were powerful, and I knew that our lives would be forfeited if we remained in Corsica. The Count gave me all the money he had in his possession, and a letter of credit for a large sum. I took you, mounted a fleet horse supplied by the Count, and made my way to Ajaccio. I obtained a disguise and, a few days later, secured a passage to France. I made my way at once to England, where I placed you at school. The Count sent me more money, from time to time, and I lived the life of a man of leisure; but when you were old enough to enter the Navy, my occupation was gone. I had taken the name of Hector Duquesne, and had given you that of Victor.
“I wearied of my quiet, do-nothing life, and decided to come back to Corsica. But what could I do here? If I returned under my own name, although I was an innocent man, the vendetta would claim me as a victim. I assumed the name of Cromillian and organised my company of moral bandits, pledged to do all they could to discountenance the practice of the vendetta.
“But I yearned to see you, and wrote to you, telling you who you were and why you had been banished from your native land, though I did not tell you when and where you could see me. I had hoped to meet you in some way, look upon your face for the last time, and then warn you to leave Corsica forever. You must do it now. My life will soon pay the forfeit, and yours will if you remain here. The vendetta never dies while food for the stiletto or the rifle remains alive.”
The Countess was deeply affected by Cromillian’s story. She had never dreamed that her husband was connected in any way with such a tragedy. What a whirligig of fate it was which had brought the father and son together under her roof. Cromillian must have divined what was passing in the Countess’s mind.
“My dear lady,” he said, “do not worry about what I have told you. The Corsicans are born murderers. If your husband had not killed Conrad Batistelli, he would have lost his own life. Is Pascal dead?”
“Yes,” said Vandemar, “he is to be buried to-morrow.”
“I shall soon follow him. Have they found old Manassa? I fired at him after he shot me, and then he ran for the woods.”
“We shall have a search made for him,” said Vandemar.
Father and son were left together. Each was at the portal of a new life. One was to go—he knew not where; the other looked forward to a life of happiness with the woman he loved.
As the Admiral and the Countess left the room, the former asked: