picked up the great-grandfather's
boot, and prepared to begin her work. Franco went to the window and
pressed his forehead against the glass. He remained there some time,
absorbed in contemplation of the shadows of night. Presently he said
softly, without turning his head:

"Never, never has your soul been wholly mine."

No answer.

Then he faced about and asked his wife in a tone entirely free from
anger, and with that ineffable gentleness which was his in moments of
moral or physical depression, if, since the very beginning of their
union, he had ever failed her in any way. An almost inaudible "No" was
the answer.

"Then perhaps you did not love me as I believed?"

"No, no, no!"

Franco was not sure he had understood correctly, and repeated:

"You did not love me?"

"Yes, yes! So dearly!"

His spirits began to revive, and a shade of severity returned to his
voice.

"Then," said he, "why did you not give me your whole soul?"

She was silent. She had been trying in vain to resume her work, but her
hands trembled.

And now this terrible question! Should she answer or not? By answering,
by revealing for the first time things that lay buried at the bottom of
her heart, she would only be widening the painful gap between them; but
could she be dishonest? She was silent so long that at last Franco said:
"You will not speak?" Then she mustered all her strength and spoke.

"It is true, my soul has never been wholly yours." She trembled as she
spoke the words, and Franco held his breath.

"I have always felt myself different from you, separated from you,"
Luisa continued, "in that sentiment which should govern all others. You
hold the religious views my mother held. Religion was to my mother, as
it is to you, a union of certain beliefs, ceremonies, and precepts,
inspired and governed by the love of God. I have always shrunk from this
conception of religion; no matter how hard I may have tried, I have
never been able to feel this love of an invisible and incomprehensible
Being; I have never been able to understand what good could come of
forcing my reason to accept things I do not understand. Nevertheless I
felt an ardent longing to direct my life towards what was good,
according to a disinterested ideal. Moreover, by her words and example
my mother had embued me with such a strong sense of my duty towards God
and the Church, that my doubts caused me great pain, and I struggled
hard against them. My mother was