things had not been
within Matilde's reach, and it was Elettra's duty to go to the pantry
where coffee was made, and to bring the little tray to Veronica's room.
At night, the young girl had a glass of water and a biscuit set beside
her, when she went to sleep, but she rarely touched either. Elettra now
brought the biscuits herself and kept them in a cupboard in the
dressing-room, and she herself drew the water every night to fill the
glass. So far as any food and drink which came to her room were
concerned, Veronica was perfectly safe. But Elettra could not control
what she ate in the dining-room. She would not communicate her fears to
Veronica, either, for she knew her mistress well; and at the same time
she did not know what or how much Don Teodoro had told her during his
visit. Veronica was perfectly fearless, and was inclined to be
impatient, at any time, when any one insisted upon her taking any
precautions, for any reason whatsoever--even against catching cold. She
was not rash, however, for she had not been brought up in a way to
develop any such tendency. She was naturally courageous, and that was
all. She was unconscious of the quality, for she had not hitherto been
aware of ever being in any real danger.

As for Don Teodoro's warning, she put it down as the result of some
mental shock which had weakened his intelligence. Possibly Bosio's
sudden and terrible death had affected him in that way. At all events,
she was enough of an Italian to know how often in Italy such
extraordinary ideas of fictitious treachery find their way into the
brains of timid people. On the face of it, the whole story seemed to her
utterly absurd and foolish, from the tale of Macomer's ingenious frauds
upon her property, to the supposition that she was in danger of being
murdered for her fortune. Murder was always found out in the end, she
thought, and of course such people as her aunt and uncle, even if they
had any real reason for wishing their niece out of the way, would never
really think of doing anything at once so wicked and so unwise. But the
whole thing was absurd, she repeated to herself, and she found it easy
to put it out of her thoughts.

Meanwhile, the first days after the catastrophe passed in that sad,
unmarked succession of objectless hours by which time moves in a house
where such a death has taken place. It is not the custom among the upper
classes of Italians to attend the funerals of relations and friends. The
se