She stood listening to this declaration of friendship by the man who had pried into her father’s secrets. It was on the tip of her tongue to openly charge him with ulterior motives, nevertheless her better judgment prevailed. She recognised, as her father had pointed out, that no good end could be served by showing her hand at that juncture, therefore she allowed him to argue without raising her voice in protest. He had followed her from Tuscany because he was apprehensive lest she should tell her father the truth. Why? He was in fear of something; of what, she could not tell.
A great conspiracy, ingenious and widespread, was afoot to encompass her father’s ruin, therefore she resolved to remain at his side and at any cost face the perils of exposure. The few hours she had spent in her father’s society had shown that, so full was he of his responsible official duties and affairs concerning the army of Italy, he had, in a few weeks, become an entirely changed man. His face was now pale and drawn, and when he sat alone with her there rested upon his countenance a haunted look—the look of a man who was face to face with ruin. Loving her father, she had been quick to recognise the truth. At first it had staggered her, but her surprise and horror had given place to a deep filial sympathy, and while determined to hide her secret from her mother, she had become at the same time her father’s confidante and friend.
“I am quite well aware of the intentions of the Opposition,” she answered coldly, after a painful pause. “But I am not in the least apprehensive. My father has for so many years been a faithful servant of his sovereign that the Italian people still have confidence in him. Neither the country nor the Camera can fail to recognise the many reforms he has introduced into the army, or how he has alleviated the lot of the common conscript.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, with a deep sigh. “I am glad that you recognise your father’s strong position—the strongest of any man in the Italian Government. Nevertheless,” he added, “those shrieking firebrands can, if they so desire, set Italy aflame. We have that truth to face, and we must face it.”
Her lips were pressed together, for she saw how cleverly he was changing his tactics towards her. She also recognised how, by appearing to have confidence in the future, she could place him off his guard. Her father’s honour was, she felt, in her hands, and the magnitude of the issue aroused within her all her woman’s innate tact and courage.
“I came to Rome because my father telegraphed to me,” she said quite simply. “He wanted to take me with him to Palermo to visit my aunt, but the king’s programme is changed, so we are not going after all. I intend to return to San Donato the day after to-morrow. It is still too hot in Rome.”
“Ah! then I own myself quite mistaken,” he laughed. “I have been unduly anxious, for I attributed your sudden departure to your natural desire to tell His Excellency all that I had explained in confidence. We men, you know, are in the habit of saying that women cannot keep secrets.”
“I can keep one,” she declared.
“Yes,” he answered. “I know you can. Upon your secrecy in this affair the very fate of the Ministry depends, believe me. You know that I am your father’s true friend—as well as yours.”
She held her breath, and her eyes met his.