pposite the two ladies. He
seldom drove with Mrs. Denvil. The count punctiliously observed
appearances. He did not dislike the circulation of a rumor which
elected him as the devoted cavalier of the rich American lady--a
position which kept other men at a distance.

Cecilia darted forward from a sheltered path and laid her hand on the
carriage door. Her look was troubled and perplexed. Suspicion had
taken no positive form in her mind; she was merely striving to read
San Donato's message, which had haunted her memory all day: "These
through great affliction came, but they never swerved from duty. Are
you afraid?"

"Mamma, come home with me!" she cried, clinging to the door.

"You here, Cecilia!" the mother exclaimed.

"Yes; come home," she reiterated.

"You must sit beside me and take a drive instead," interposed the
count, quick to avert a scene.

"No; do not touch _me_," said Cecilia, her large eyes flashing.

"Jealousy," thought the Countess di Moccoli.

Mrs. Denvil shook her finger playfully at the intruder, and resumed
her conversation. She supposed mademoiselle was back among the trees.
Mademoiselle was at home; Cecilia had run away from her to follow her
mamma. This was the girl's reading of San Donato's message. She drew
back, hurt and offended. She had failed. The slight childish form
crossed to the parapet, and stood there, looking down on the Piazza
del Popolo, where the pedestrians were dwarfed to pigmies. She thought
of her absent father, who represented ever an earthly providence to
her, by reason of mademoiselle's admonition, the supply of pin-money,
and the letters she wrote under dictation. She idealized this distant
yet benign influence. Behind her the crowd increased, the music rose
and fell, the carriages moved rapidly past each other in a maze of
wheels. On the horizon the red ball of a sun dipped, shedding a
tremulous rosy mist over St. Peter's dome.

Cecilia turned, saw her mother's landau again approaching, yielded to
a childish impulse, and ran toward it, repenting of her rudeness to
the count. He had always been so gentle, so tender with her, from the
first. Her eyes were fixed on the maroon liveries; she strove to
attract the count's notice, approached the brink of gliding vehicles,
then her foot slipped on the freshly sprinkled gravel; she fell, and
the carriage passed over her.

A little heap lay in the road; other horses were reined in furiously,
not to trample on it as well. Th