her. Do
so--do so. Look, she is so overcome she cannot speak," and he points
to Enrica, who is now trembling like an aspen-leaf, her fair head
bowed upon her bosom, the big tears trickling down her white cheeks.

When the marchesa, checked by Trenta, has ceased speaking, Enrica
raises her heavy eyelids and turns her eyes, swimming in tears,
upon her aunt. Then she clasps her hands--the small fingers knitting
themselves together with a grasp of agony--and wrings them. Her lips
move, but no sound comes from them. Something there is so pitiful in
this mute appeal--she looks so slight and frail in the background of
the fading sunlight--there is such a depth of unspoken pathos in
every line of her young face--that the marchesa pauses; she pauses ere
putting into execution her resolve of turning Enrica herself, with her
own hands, from the palace.

A new sentiment has also within the last few minutes arisen within
her--a sentiment of curiosity. The marchesa is a woman; in many
respects a thorough woman. The first flash of fury once passed, she
feels an intense longing to know how all this had come about. What had
passed? How had Enrica met Nobili? Whether any of her household had
betrayed her? On whom her just vengeance shall fall?

Each moment that passes as the quick thoughts rattle through her
brain, it seems to her more and more imperative that she should inform
herself what had really happened under her roof!

At this moment Enrica speaks in a low voice.

"O my aunt! I have done nothing! Indeed, indeed,"--and a great sob
breaks in and cuts her speech. "I have done nothing."

"What!" cries the marchesa, her fury again roused by such a daring
assertion. "What do you call nothing? Do you deny that you love
Nobili?"

"No, my aunt. I love him--I love him."

The mention of Nobili's name gave Enrica courage. With that name
the sunlit days of meeting came back again. A gleam of their divine
refraction swam before her. Nobili--is he not strong, and brave, and
true? Is he not near at hand? Oh, if he only knew her need!--oh, if he
could only rush to her--bear her in his arms away--away to untrodden
lands of love and bliss where she could hide her head upon his breast
and be at peace!

All this gave her courage. She passes her hand over her face and
brushes the tears away. Her blue eyes, that shine out now like a rent
in a cloudy sky, are meekly but fearlessly cast upon her aunt.

"You dare to tell me you love him--you