I shall be so unhappy till you come back!"

"Absence strengthens love, they say," I observed, with a forced smile.
"May it do so in our case. Farewell, cara mia! Pray for me; I suppose
you DO pray a great deal here?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, naively; "there is nothing else to do."

I held her hands closely in my grasp. The engagement ring on her
finger, and the diamond signet on my own, flashed in the light like the
crossing of swords.

"Pray then," I said, "storm the gates of heaven with sweet-voiced
pleadings for the repose of poor Ferrari's soul! Remember he loved you,
though YOU never loved him. For YOUR sake he quarreled with me, his
best friend--for YOUR sake he died! Pray for him--who knows," and I
spoke in thrilling tones of earnestness--"who knows but that his
too-hastily departed spirit may not be near us now--hearing our voices,
watching our looks?"

She shivered slightly, and her hands in mine grew cold.

"Yes, yes," I continued, more calmly; "you must not forget to pray for
him--he was young and not prepared to die."

My words had some of the desired effect upon her--for once her ready
speech failed--she seemed as though she sought for some reply and found
none. I still held her hands.

"Promise me!" I continued; "and at the same time pray for your dead
husband! He and poor Ferrari were close friends, you know; it will be
pious and kind of you to join their names in one petition addressed to
Him 'from whom no secrets are hid,' and who reads with unerring eyes
the purity of your intentions. Will you do it?"

She smiled, a forced, faint smile.

"I certainly will," she replied, in a low voice; "I promise you."

I released her hands--I was satisfied. If she dared to pray thus I
felt--I KNEW that she would draw down upon her soul the redoubled wrath
of Heaven; for I looked beyond the grave! The mere death of her body
would be but a slight satisfaction to me; it was the utter destruction
of her wicked soul that I sought. She should never repent, I swore; she
should never have the chance of casting off her vileness as a serpent
casts its skin, and, reclothing herself in innocence, presume to ask
admittance into that Eternal Gloryland whither my little child had
gone--never, never! No church should save her, no priest should absolve
her--not while _I_ lived!

She watched me as I fastened my coat and began to draw on my gloves.

"Are you going now?" she asked, somewhat timidly.

"Yes, I am going now