"Help me, Nera!--You can save me!" He started to his feet. "I am so wretched--so wounded--so desperate!"

"Sit down," she answered, pointing to the sofa.

Mechanically he obeyed.

"You are nothing of all this if you do not marry Enrica Guinigi; if you do, you are all you say."

"What am I to do?" exclaimed n.o.bili. "I have signed the contract."

"Break it"--Nera spoke the words boldly out--"break it, or you will be dishonored. Do you think you can live in Lucca with a wife that you have bought?"

n.o.bili bounded from his chair.

"O G.o.d!" he said, and clinched his hands.

"You must be calm," she said, hastily, "or my mother will hear you."

(All she can do, she thinks, is not worse than n.o.bili deserves, after that ball.) "Bought!--Yes. Will any one believe the marchesa would have given her niece to you otherwise?"

n.o.bili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had called up long trains of thought, opening out into horrible vistas. There was a dreadful logic about all she said that brought instant conviction with it. All the blood within him seemed whirling in his brain.

"But Nera, how can I--in honor--break this marriage?" he urged.

"Break it! well, by going away. No one can force you to marry a girl who allowed herself to be hawked about here and there--offered to Marescotti, and refused--to others probably."

"She may not have known it," said n.o.bili, roused by her bitter words.

"Oh, folly! Why come to me, Count n.o.bili? You are still in love with her."

At these words n.o.bili rose and approached Nera. Something in her expression checked him; he drew back. With all her allurements, there was a gulf between them n.o.bili dared not pa.s.s.

"O Nera! do not drive me mad! Help me, or banish me."

"I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed pa.s.sionate earnestness. "Have you seen the sonnet?"

"No."

"If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My mother has seen it," Nera added, with well-simulated horror. "She would not let me read it."

Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini had never seen the sonnet. But if she had, there was not one word in the sonnet that might not have been addressed to the Blessed Virgin herself.

"No, I will not see the sonnet," said n.o.bili, firmly. "Not that I will marry her, but because I do not choose to see the woman I loved befouled. If it is what you say--and I believe you implicitly--let it lie like other dirt, I will not stir it."

"A generous fellow!" thought Nera. "How I could have loved him! But not now, not now."

"You have been the object of a base fraud," continued Nera. Nera would follow to the end artistically; not leave her work half done.

"She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," cried n.o.bili, with a pang he could not hide. "She has deceived me, and I loved her!"

His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal.

Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. n.o.bili's obstinate clinging to Enrica chafed her.

"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?"

she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound.

"Never," he answered, shrinking back.

"Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has pa.s.sed days and days alone with him."

"No, not alone," interrupted n.o.bili, stung with a sense of his own shame.

"Oh, you excuse her!" Nera laughed bitterly. "Poor count, believe me.

I tell you what others conceal."

n.o.bili shuddered. His face grew black as night.

"Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage. If not, your course is clear--fly. If Enrica Guinigi has the smallest sense of decency, she cannot urge the marriage."

And n.o.bili heard this in silence! Oh, shame, and weakness and pa.s.sion of hot blood; and women's eyes, and cruel, bitter tongues; and jealousy, maddening jealousy, hideous, formless, vague, reaching he knew not whither I Oh, shame!

"Write to her, and say you have discovered that she was in league with her aunt, and had other lovers. Every one knows it."

"But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me? I shall need it." n.o.bili opened both his arms. His eyes clung wildly to hers. She was his only hope.

Nera did not move; only she turned her head away to hide her face from him. She dared not let n.o.bili move her. Poor n.o.bili! She could have loved him dearly!

Seeing her thus, n.o.bili's arms dropped to his side hopelessly; a wan look came over his face.

"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Nera! I offer you a broken heart; have pity on me! Say, can you love me, Nera? Only a little. Speak! tell me!"

n.o.bili was on his knees before her; every feature of his bright young face formed into an agony of entreaty.

There was a flash of triumph in Nera's black eyes as she bent them on n.o.bili, that chilled him to the soul. Kneeling before her, he feels it. He doubts her love, doubts all. She has wrought upon him until he is desperate.

"Rise, dear n.o.bili," Nera whispered softly, touching his lips with hers, but so slightly. "To-morrow--come again to-morrow. I can say nothing now." Her manner was constrained. She spoke in little sentences. "It is late. Supper is ready. My mother waiting.

To-morrow." She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her knee. She touched the curls upon his brow with her light finger-tips; but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she dared not meet.

"Not one word?" urged n.o.bili, in a faltering voice. "Send me away without one word of hope? I shall struggle with horrible thoughts all night. O Nera, speak one word--but one!" He clasped her hands, and looked up into her face. He dared do no more. "Love me a little, Nera," he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand upon his throbbing heart.

Nera trembled. She rose hastily from her chair, and raised n.o.bili up also.

"I--I--" (she hesitated, and avoided his pa.s.sionate glance)--"I have given you good advice. To-morrow I will tell you more about myself."

"To-morrow, Nera! Why not to-night?"

Spite of himself n.o.bili was shocked at her reserve. She was so self-possessed. He had flung his all upon the die.

"You have advised me," he answered, stung by her coldness. "You have convinced me, I shall obey you. Now I must go, unless you bid me stay."