arer, lying there so still with
no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she felt to its full extent
how Nobili had wronged her. Why had he not come himself and asked her
if all this were true? To leave her thus forever! Without even asking
her--oh, how cruel! She believed in him, why did he not believe in
her? No one had ever yet told her a lie; within herself she felt
no power of deceit. She could not understand it in others, nor the
falseness of the world. Now she must learn it! Then a great longing
and tenderness came over her. She loved Nobili still. Even though
he had smitten her so sorely, she loved him--she loved him, and she
forgave him! But stronger and stronger grew the thought, even while
these longings swept over her like great waves, that Nobili was
unworthy of her. Should she love him less for that? Oh, no! He was
unworthy of her--yet she yearned after him. He had left her--but in
her heart Nobili should forever sit enthroned--and she would worship
him!

And they had been so happy, so more than happy--from the first moment
they had met--and he had shattered it! Oh, his love for her was dead
and buried out of sight! What was life to her without Nobili? Oh,
those forebodings that had clung about her from the very moment he
had left Corellia! Now she could understand them. Never to see him
again!--was it possible? A great pity came upon her for herself. No
one, she was sure, could ever have suffered like her--no one--no one.
This thought for some time pursued her closely. There was a terrible
comfort in it. Alas! all her life would be suffering now!

As Enrica lay there, her face turned toward the wall, and her eyes
closed (Pipa watching her, thinking she had dozed), suddenly her bosom
heaved. She gave a wild cry. The pent-up tears came pouring down her
cheeks, and sob after sob shook her from head to foot.

This burst of grief saved her--Fra Pacifico said so when he came down
later. "Death had passed very near her," he said, "but now she would
recover."

CHAPTER IV.

FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA.

On the evening of that day the marchesa was in her own room, opening
from the sala. The little furniture the room contained was collected
around the marchesa, forming a species of oasis on the broad desert
of the scagliola floor. A brass lamp, placed on a table, formed the
centre of this habitable spot. The marchesa sat in deep shadow, but
in the outline of her tall, slight figure, and in the carri