?"

"Better wait, however, until we know more. Nobili may be hot-headed,
vain, and credulous, but he is generous to a fault. If he cannot
justify himself, why, then"--the priest's voice changed, his swarthy
face flushed with a dark glow--"I am willing to give him the benefit
of the doubt--charity demands this--but if Nobili cannot justify
himself"--(the cavaliere made an indignant gesture)--"leave him to
me. You shall be satisfied, cavaliere. God deals with men's souls
hereafter, but he permits bodily punishment in this world. Nobili
shall have his, I promise you!"

Fra Pacifico clinched his huge fist menacingly, and dealt a blow in
the air that would have felled a giant.

Having given vent to his feelings, to the unmitigated delight of
the cavaliere, who nodded and smiled--for an instant forgetting his
sorrow, and Enrica lying there--Fra Pacifico composed himself.

"The marchesa must see that letter," he said, in his usual manner.
"Take it to her, cavaliere. Hear what she says."

The cavaliere took the letter in silence. Then he shrugged his
shoulders despairingly.

"I must go now to Corellia. I will return soon. That Enrica still
lives is full of hope." Fra Pacifico said this, turning toward the
little bed with its modest shroud of white linen curtains. "But I can
do nothing. The feeble spark of life that still lingers in her frame
would fly forever if tormented by remedies. I have hope in God only."
And he gave a heavy sigh.

Before Fra Pacifico departed, he took some holy water from a little
vessel near the bed, and sprinkled it upon Enrica. He ordered Pipa to
keep her very warm, and to watch every breath she drew. Then he glided
from the room with the light step of one well used to sickness.

Cavaliere Trenta followed him slowly. He paused motionless in the
open doorway, his eyes, from which the tears were streaming, fixed on
Enrica--the fatal letter in his hand. At length he tore himself away,
closed the door, and, crossing the sala, knocked at the door of the
marchesa's apartment.

* * * * *

In the gray of the early morning of the second day, just as the sun
rose and cast a few straggling gleams into the room, Enrica called
faintly to Pipa. She knew Pipa when she came. It seemed as if
Enrica had waked out of a long, deep sleep. She felt no pain, but an
excessive weakness. She touched her forehead and her hair. She handled
the sheets--then extended both her hands to Pip