nor prematurely gaunt and
weather-beaten. He was only five-and-twenty years of age, then, and the
beautiful Bianca was but twenty-one, and had already been married two
years to Corleone. But the suffering of a lifetime had been crushed into
those two years; for Corleone was bad, from his head to his heart, all
through, and she had believed that she loved him.

Then, half broken-hearted, she had listened to Ghisleri; and he loved
her truly, with all his heart. Even society found little to say at that,
and perhaps there was little enough to be said. To all intents and
purposes, Corleone had abandoned her, and Ghisleri was often with her.
It was not until later that her brother, Gianforte Campodonico, lifted
up his hand against Ghisleri for the first time.

So Ghisleri was sitting beside Bianca on that morning, in her garden,
when there was a sound of wheels, behind the house; and then,
unannounced, as one familiar with the place, Veronica Serra came swiftly
down the walk towards the pair. Ghisleri rose to his feet,--a tall, fair
man, sunburnt, lean and strong, with bright blue eyes,--and Bianca
turned in her chair, with a smile, and held out her hand, as she sat, to
the young girl.

"You do not mind?" asked Veronica, smiling innocently. "Am I not
interrupting you?"

"No, dear--no." A very faint dawn of colour rose in Bianca's almost
unnatural pallor.

"Something so strange has happened," said Veronica.

Then she nodded to Pietro Ghisleri, realizing that she had forgotten
him. He moved forward for her the chair on which he had been sitting,
while he continued to stand. Veronica had often met him there before.

"Donna Veronica has something to say to you," he said to Bianca. "If you
will allow me, I will go up to the stable and look at that dog."

Bianca nodded, as though it were a matter of course that Pietro should
look after her dogs when there was anything the matter with them, and
Veronica sat down. Her expression was strange, Bianca thought, as
though she did not know whether to laugh or cry. Yet she looked fresh
and well and not tired. The girl told her story in half a dozen words,
as soon as Ghisleri was out of hearing.

"They want me to marry Bosio," she said, and then drew breath, holding
both of Bianca's hands and looking into her eyes.

"You? Marry Bosio Macomer? Oh! no--Veronica--no!"

Bianca's voice expressed the greatest apprehension, for Veronica was
almost her only intimate friend. Veronica se