rather than have relieved it. Still she pitied her old
friend, although no word expressed it; nothing but the pressure of her
hand resting upon his shoulder. Trenta's sobs were the only sound that
broke the silence.

"This is losing time," she said. "Send at once for Fra Pacifico. Until
he comes, we know nothing."

When Fra Pacifico's rugged, mountainous figure entered Enrica's room,
he seemed to fill it. First, he blessed the sweet girl lying before
him with such a terrible mockery of life in her widely-opened eyes.
His deep voice shook and his grave face twitched as he pronounced the
"Beatus." Leaning over the bed, Fra Pacifico proceeded to examine her
in silence. He uncovered her feet, and felt her heart, her hands,
her forehead, lifting up the shining curls as he did so with a tender
touch, and laying them out upon the pillow, as reverently as he would
replace a relic.

Cavaliere Trenta stood beside him in breathless silence. Was it life
or death? Looking into Fra Pacifico's motionless face, none could
tell. Pipa was kneeling in a corner, running her rosary between her
fingers; she was listening also, with mouth and eyes wide open.

"Her pulse still beats," Fra Pacifico said at last, betraying no
outward emotion. "It beats, but very feebly. There is a little warmth
about her heart."

"San Ricardo be thanked!" ejaculated Trenta, clasping his hands.

With the mention of his ancestral saint, the cavaliere's thoughts ran
on to the Trenta chapel in the church of San Frediano, where they had
all stood so lately together, Enrica blooming in health and beauty at
his side. His sobs choked his voice.

"Shall I send to Lucca for a doctor?" Trenta asked, as soon as he
could compose himself.

"As you please. Her condition is very precarious; nothing can be done,
however, but to keep her warm. That I see has been attended to. She
could swallow nothing, therefore no doctor could help her. With such
a pulse, to bleed her would be madness. Her youth may save her. It
is plain to me some shock or horror must have struck her down and
paralyzed the vital powers. How could this have been?"

The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy eyebrows knit;
then he turned to Pipa.

"Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, "to account for this?"

"Nothing your reverence," she answered. "I saw the signorina,
and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found her lying in the
doorway."

"Had any one seen her?"

"No one."