uisara had described it to Gianluca himself--a mere exchange of a few
words, while the girl watched her aunt almost all the time with a sort
of childish fear of doing something not quite right. Veronica could not
be said to know any man to the extent of exchanging ideas with him,
except her uncle and Bosio himself. And she liked Bosio very much. It
was not at all improbable, considering all the circumstances, that she
might be delighted with the idea of marrying him, merely because she
liked him, and he was familiar in her daily life. Bosio knew that
Matilde would speak to her about it at once; and when he tried to think
what he should do if Veronica readily accepted the proposition, the pain
in his head grew intolerable, and he found it impossible to think
connectedly. The horrible dishonour of it stared him in the face--and
beyond the dishonour, still more fearfully imposing, rose the vision of
sure disgrace and infamy for the woman he loved, if he himself refused
to do this vile deed.

He looked ill, worn out with mental distress and physical exhaustion,
when Taquisara entered the room, and the servant closed the door. The
Sicilian came forward, and Bosio rose to meet him, still wondering why
he had come, but far too much disturbed by his own troubles to care.
Nevertheless, he supposed that the matter must be of some importance.
Taquisara was surprised by his appearance, for he was evidently
suffering.

"I ought almost to ask you to excuse me for having received you, in my
condition," said Bosio, politely. "I have a violent headache. But I am
wholly at your service. In what can I be of use to you?"

Taquisara found himself in an awkward position. He had expected to find
Bosio Macomer radiant and ready to be congratulated by any one who chose
to knock at his door. Instead, he found a man apparently both ill and
distressed. He hesitated a moment, for he knew Bosio but slightly, after
all.

"I do not know whether you will think it strange that I should come," he
said, and his square face grew more square as he looked straight at
Bosio. "I am Gianluca della Spina's best friend."

"Ah! Yes--I think I have heard so," answered Bosio, not startled, but
considerably disturbed, as his gentle eyes met Taquisara's bold glance.

"I have come, as a friend, to ask whether it is really true that you are
to marry Donna Veronica Serra," continued Taquisara, feeling that after
all he might as well go straight to the point.

Bos