ned from the
marchesa to Enrica, and whispered in her ear, "My only love, this is
more than I can bear!"

Enrica had heard nothing. She had been lost in happy thoughts. In her
mind a vision was passing. She was in the close street of San Simone,
within its deep shadows that fell so early in the afternoon. Before
her stood the two grim palaces, the cavernous doorways and the
sculptured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both: one, her old home;
the other, that was to be her home. She saw herself go in here, cross
the pillared court and mount upward. It was neither day nor night, but
all shone with crystal brightness. Then Nobili's voice came to her,
and she roused herself.

"My love," he repeated, "I must go--I must go! I cannot trust myself a
moment longer with--"

What he had on his lips need not be written. "That lady," he added,
hastily correcting himself, and he pointed to the marchesa, who, led
by the cavaliere, had reseated herself upon the sofa, looking defiance
at everybody.

"I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As Nobili spoke, he led
her aside to one of the windows. "Now, good-by," and his eyes gathered
upon her with passionate fondness; "think of me day and night."

Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first entered, except
to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her head dropped on her breast. A
dread--a horror came suddenly upon her. "O Nobili, why must we part?"

"Scarcely to part," he answered, pressing her hand--"only for a few
days; then always to be together."

Enrica tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly.
Then she turned away her head, and big tears rolled down her cheeks.
When at last Nobili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the
door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her
hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action.

Spite of his indignation, Count Nobili did not fail duly to make his
salutation to the marchesa.

The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened
the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was oppressive in the still
air. A star or two had come out, and twinkled faintly on the broad
expanse of deep-blue sky. The fountain murmured hollow in the silence
of coming night.

"Good-by," said Cavaliere Trenta to Nobili, in his thin voice.
"I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is unhinged--quite
unhinged; but her heart is excellent, believe me, most excellent."