the bitterest! Could he bear it?--and
Enrica--would she not suffer? And if she did, what then? Why, she
deserved it--she must deserve it, else why was she accused? Enrica was
treacherous--the tool of her aunt. He could not doubt it. If she
cared for him at all, it was for the sake of his money--hateful
thought!--yet, having signed the contract, he supposed he _must_
give her the name of wife. But the future mother of his children was
branded.

Oh, the golden days at mountain-capped Corellia!--that watching in the
perfumed woods--that pleading with the stars that shone over Enrica
to bear her his love-sick sighs! Oh, the triumph of saving her dear
life!--the sweetness of her lips in that first embrace under the
magnolia-tree! Fra Pacifico too, with his honest, sturdy ways--and the
white-haired cavaliere, so wise and courteous. Cheats, cheats--all!
It made him sick to think how they must have laughed and jeered at him
when he was gone. Oh, it was damnable!

His teeth were set. He started up as if he had been stung, and stamped
upon the floor. Then like a madman he rushed up and down the spacious
floor. After a time, brushing the drops of perspiration from his
forehead, Nobili grew calmer. He sat down to think.

Must he marry Enrica?--he asked himself (he had come to that)--marry
the lady of the sonnet--Marescotti's love? He did not see how he could
help it. The contract was signed, and nothing proved against her.
Well--life was long, and the world wide, and full of pleasant things.
Well--he must bear it--unless there had been sin! Nobili did not see
it, nor did he hear it; but much that is never seen, nor heard, nor
known, is yet true--horribly true. He did see it, but as he thought
these cruel thoughts, and hardened himself in them, a pale, scared
face, with wild, pleading eyes, vanished with a shriek of anguish.

Others had loved him well, Nobili reasoned--other women--"_Not so well
as I_" an inaudible voice would have whispered, but it was no longer
there to answer--others that had not been rejected--others fairer than
Enrica--Nera!

With that name there came a world of comfort to him. Nera loved
him--she loved him! He had not seen Nera since that memorable night
she lay like one dead before him. Before he took a final resolve
(by-and-by he must investigate, inquire, know when, and how, and by
whom, all this talk had come), would it not be well to see Nera? It
was a duty, he told himself, he owed her; a duty del