d suddenly
aged. How all this had come about he could not even guess. He had
heard Pipa's screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, and he
and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her on her bed; and the
marchesa had charged him to watch her, and let her know when she came
to her senses. Neither the cavaliere nor Pipa knew that Enrica had had
a letter from Nobili. Pipa noticed a paper in her hand, but did not
know what it was. The signorina had been struck down in a fit, was
Pipa's explanation. It was very terrible, but God or the devil--she
could not tell which--did send fits. They must be borne. An end would
come. She had done all she could. Seeing no present change, Trenta
rose to go to the marchesa. His joints were so stiff he could not move
at all without his stick, and the furrows which had deepened upon his
face were moistened with tears.

"Is Enrica no better?" the marchesa asked him, in a voice she tried to
steady, but could not. She trembled all over.

"Enrica is no better," he answered.

"Will she die?" the marchesa asked again.

"Who can tell? She is in the hands of God."

As he spoke, Trenta shot an angry scowl at his friend--he knew her
so well. If Enrica died the Guinigi race was doomed--that made her
tremble, not affection for Enrica. A word more from the marchesa, and
Trenta would have told her this to her face.

"We are all in the hands of God," the marchesa repeated, solemnly, and
crossed herself. "I believe little in doctors."

"Still," said Trenta, "if there is no change, it is our duty to send
for one. Is there any doctor at Corellia?"

"None nearer than Lucca," she replied. "Send for Fra Pacifico. If he
thinks it of any use, a man shall be dispatched to Lucca immediately."

"Surely you will let Count Nobili know the danger Enrica is in?"

"No, no!" cried the marchesa, fiercely. "Count Nobili comes back here
to marry Enrica or not at all. I will not have him on any other terms.
If the child dies, he will not come. That at least will be a gain."

Even on the brink of death and ruin she could think of this!

"Enrica will not die! she will not die!" sobbed the poor old
cavaliere, breaking down all at once. He sank upon a chair and covered
his face.

The marchesa rose and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Her heart was
bleeding, too, but from another cause. She bore her wounds in silence.
To complain was not in the marchesa's nature. It would have increased
her suffering