"Softly, softly, my blessed angel!" cried Pipa, following her with outstretched arms as if she were a baby taking its first steps. "You were all but dead this morning, and now you run like little Gigi when I call to him."

"I can walk very well, Pipa." Enrica opened the door with feverish haste. "I must not keep my aunt waiting."

"Let me put a shawl round you," insisted kind Pipa. "The evening is fresh."

She wrapped a large white shawl about her, that made Enrica look paler and more ghost-like than before.

"n.o.body loves me like you, Pipa--n.o.body--dear Pipa!"

Enrica threw her soft arms around Pipa as she said this. She felt so lonely the tears came into her eyes, already swollen with excessive weeping.

"Who knows?" was Pipa's grave reply. "It is a strange world. You must not judge a man always by what he does."

Enrica gave a deep sigh. She had hurried out of her room into the sala with a headlong impulse to rush to her aunt. Now she dreaded what her aunt might have to say to her. The little strength she had suddenly left her. The warm blood that had mounted to her head chilled within her veins. For a few moments she leaned against Pipa, who watched her with anxious eyes. Then, disengaging herself from her, she trod feebly across the floor. The sala was in darkness. Enrica stretched out her hands before her to feel for the door. When she had found it she stopped terrified. What was she about to hear? The deep voice of Fra Pacifico was audible from within. Enrica placed her hand upon the handle of the door--then she withdrew it. Without the autumn wind moaned round the corners of the house. How it must roar in the abyss under the cliffs! Enrica thought. How dark it must be down there in the blackness of the night! Like letters written in fire, n.o.bili's words rose up before her--"I am gone from you forever!" Oh! why was she not dead?--Why was she not lying deep below, buried among the cold rocks?--Enrica felt very faint. A groan escaped her.

Fra Pacifico, accustomed to listen to the almost inaudible sounds of the sick and the dying, heard it.

The door opened. Enrica found herself within the room.

"Enrica," said the marchesa, addressing her blandly (did not all now depend upon her?)--"Enrica, you look very pale."

She made no reply, but looked round vacantly. The light of the lamp, coming suddenly out of the darkness, the finding herself face to face with the marchesa, dazzled and alarmed her.

Fra Pacifico took both Enrica's hands in his, drew an arm-chair forward, and placed her in it.

"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question," the marchesa spoke.

At the sound of her aunt's voice, Enrica shuddered visibly. Was it not, after all, the marchesa's fault that n.o.bili had left her? Why had the marchesa thrown her into Count Marescotti's company? Why had the marchesa offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti without telling her? At this moment Enrica loathed her. Something of all this pa.s.sed over her pallid face as she turned her eyes beseechingly toward Fra Pacifico. The marchesa watched her with secret rage.

Was this silly, love-sick child about to annihilate the labors of her life? Was this daughter of her husband's cousin, Antonio--a collateral branch--about to consign the Guinigi name to the tomb? She could have lifted up her voice and cursed her where she stood.

"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question." Spite of her efforts to be calm, there was a strange ring in her voice that made Enrica look up at her. "Enrica, do you still love Count n.o.bili?"

"This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her terrible aunt. "I know she still loves him. The love of a heart like hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust accusations it contains."

Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to n.o.bili's letter lying where he had placed it on the table. Seeing the letter, Enrica started back and shivered.

"Is it not so, Enrica?"

The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed themselves gently in response. A faint smile flitted across Enrica's face. Fra Pacifico had spoken all her mind, which she in her weakness could not have done, especially with her aunt's dark eyes riveted upon her.

"Then you still love Count n.o.bili?" The marchesa accentuated each word with bitter emphasis.

"I do," answered Enrica, faintly.

"If Count n.o.bili returns here, will you marry him?"

As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf. "What was she to answer?" The little composure she had been able to a.s.sume utterly forsook her. She who had believed that nothing was left but to die, was suddenly called upon to live!

"O my aunt," Enrica cried, springing to her feet, "how can I look n.o.bili in the face after that letter? He thinks I have deceived him."

Enrica stopped; the words seemed to choke her. With an imploring look, she turned toward Fra Pacifico. Without knowing what she did Enrica flung herself on the floor at his feet; she clasped his knees--she turned her beseeching eyes into his.

"O my father, help me! n.o.bili is my very life. How can I refuse what is my very life? When n.o.bili left me, my first thought was to die!"

"Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death?" asked Fra Pacifico, stooping over her.

"Yes, yes," and Enrica wrung her hands, "yes, I would have done it--I could not bear to live without him."

A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico's brow. He crossed himself. "G.o.d be praised," he exclaimed, "you were saved from that wickedness!"

"My father"--Enrica extended her arms toward him--"I implore you, for the love of Jesus, let me enter a convent!"

In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her powers of persuasion. The words were addressed to the priest; but her blue eyes, filled with tears, gathered themselves upon the marchesa imploringly.

Enrica awaited her fate in silence. The priest rose and gently replaced her on her chair. All the benevolence of his manly nature was called forth. He cast a searching glance at the marchesa. Nothing betrayed her feelings.

"Calm yourself, Enrica," Fra Pacifico said, soothingly. "No one seeks to hurry or to force you. But I could not for a moment sanction your entering a convent. In your present state of mind it would be an unholy and an unnatural act."

Although outwardly unmoved, never in her life had the marchesa felt such exultation. Had Fra Pacifico seconded Enrica's proposal to enter a convent, all would have been lost! Still nothing was absolutely decided. It was possible Fra Pacifico might yet frustrate her plans.

She ventured another question.

"If Count n.o.bili meets you at the altar, you will not then refuse to marry him?"

There was an imperceptible tremor in the marchesa's voice. The suspense was becoming intolerable to her.

"Refuse to marry him? Refuse n.o.bili? No, no, I can refuse n.o.bili nothing," answered Enrica, dreamily. "But he will not come!--he is gone forever!"

"He will come," insisted the marchesa, pushing her advantage skillfully.

"But will he love me?" asked the tender young voice. "Will he believe that I love him? Oh, tell me that!--Father Pacifico, help me! I cannot think." Enrica pressed her hands to her forehead. She had suffered so much, now that the crisis had come she was stunned, she had no power to decide. "Dare I marry him?--Ought we to part forever?" A flush gathered on her cheek, an ineffable longing shone from her eyes.

More than life was in the balance--not only to Enrica, but to the marchesa--the marchesa, who, wrapped within the veil of her impenetrable reserve, breathlessly awaited, an answer.

Fra Pacifico showed unmistakable signs of agitation. He rose from his chair, and for some minutes strode rapidly up and down the room, the floor creaking under his heavy tread. The life of this fragile girl lay in his hands. How could he resist that pleading look? Enrica had done nothing wrong. Was Enrica to suffer--die, perhaps--because n.o.bili had wrongfully accused her? Fra Pacifico pa.s.sed his large, muscular hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin, then stopped to gaze upon her. Her lips were parted, her eyes dilated to their utmost limit.

"My child," he said at last, laying his hand upon her head with fatherly tenderness--"my child, if Count n.o.bili returns here, you will be justified in marrying him."

Enrica sank back and closed her eyes. A great leap of joy overwhelmed her. She dared not question her happiness. To behold n.o.bili once more--only to behold him--filled her with rapture.

"What is your answer, Enrica? I must hear your answer from yourself."

The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank from allowing Fra Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation marked on her every feature.

"My aunt, if n.o.bili comes here to claim me, I will marry him,"

answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop"--her eye had meanwhile traveled to the letter still lying on the table--a horrible doubt crossed her mind. "Will n.o.bili know that I am not what he says there--in that letter?"

Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed to ask all that had happened about Count Marescotti, and how her name had been mixed up with his, but the words refused to come.

"Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperiously. "If Count n.o.bili comes to marry you, is not that proof enough that he is satisfied?"