It was his dismissal from the office of Under-Secretary of War.
The other, which he handed to Solaro, caused him to cry aloud with joy, for it was his reinstatement in the army and a declaration of his innocence of the crime of which he had been charged.
Then Solaro unlocked the door, and turning to the Sicilian and Dubard, who were standing together pale, crestfallen, and ashamed, he said—
“Go, you pair of assassins. Don’t either of you put foot in Italy again, or I’ll take it upon myself to prosecute you for your vile plot and my own false imprisonment. Then, at your trial, the whole affair will come out. You hear?”
“Yes!” muttered Dubard, with flashing eyes. “We hear your threats.”
And in silence both the elegant bridegroom and his dark-faced friend passed from the study and out of the house, never to re-enter it.
Then, when they had gone, Mary, a pale, tragic figure in her bridal dress, flung herself into George’s ready arms, crying—
“You have saved me—saved me!” and she burst into tears of joy, the outpourings of an overburdened heart.
For the first time Camillo Morini guessed the truth, yet then and there, before Felice Solaro, whose statement had liberated both of them, George Macbean openly confessed his great passion for her, a declaration of purest and strongest affection, of which she, by her own action, had already acknowledged reciprocation.
And so the Minister, on recovering from his surprise, gladly gave the hand of his daughter to the gallant, upright man who had placed himself in such jeopardy in order to save her and to unmask the conspirators, while Felice Solaro was the first to offer the pair his hearty congratulations. Hand in hand they stood, content in each other’s love.