the thought that
Miss Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so
small, so poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury--the idea
that she might possibly despise it--all these feelings made his brain a
chaos, and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement.

At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which
his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he
smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he
was grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy
retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to
resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba,
however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to
collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on
his hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He
saw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be
his behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the
opinion of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world
to him. He would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But
on whom was he to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to
be guilty of murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only
the vulgar prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being
murderers. Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil's talisman, and whisper
the motto "Life is a battle!" over to himself. At last, in a resolute
voice, he said, "I will win it!" Strong in that thought, he rose to his
feet, took up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard
a knock at the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any
visitor to appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by
the woman who acted as their servant.

"It's nothing!" she said, hurrying to the door.

Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice
answered, "It is I."

Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba
reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed
girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief,
from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven's wing. The
child was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with
intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied
to him, peas