e--the guns loaded.--Where is Pipa? Say nothing to Pipa. Do you
understand? Don't tell Pipa--"

"Understand? No, diavalo! I don't understand," bursts out Adamo. "If
you want any one shot, tell me who it is, padrona, and I will do it."

"That would be murder, Adamo." The marchesa is standing very near
him. Adamo sees the savage gleam that comes into her eyes. "If any one
leaves the house to-night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop
him. You, or the dogs, or the gun--no matter. Stop him, I command you.
I have my reasons. If a life is lost I cannot help it--nor can you,
Adamo, eh?"

She smiles grimly. Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, and nods. He is
greatly relieved. The padrona is not mad, nor will she die.

"You may sleep in peace, padrona." With the utmost respect Adamo
raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. "Next time ask Adamo to do
something more, and he will do it. Trust me, no one shall leave the
house to-night alive."

The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. "Go--go," she says; "we
must not be seen together."

"The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He vanishes behind the
trees.

"Now I can meet Guglielmi!" The marchesa rapidly crosses the sala to
the door of her own room, which she leaves ajar.

CHAPTER IX.

HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE.

The room to which Angelo conducts Count Nobili is on the ground-floor,
in the same wing as the chapel. It is reached by the same corridor,
which traverses all that side of the house. Into this corridor many
other doors open. Pipa had chosen it because it was the best room in
the house. From the high ceiling, painted in gay frescoes, hangs a
large chandelier; the bed is covered with red damask curtains. Such
furniture as was available had been carried thither by Pipa and Adamo.
One large window, reaching to the ground, looks westward over the low
wall.

The sun is setting. The mighty range of mountains are laced with gold;
light, fleecy cloudlets float across the sky. Behind rise banks of
deepest saffron. These shift and move at first in chaos; then they
take the form as of a fiery city. There are domes and towers and
pinnacles as of living flame, that burn and glisten. Another moment,
and the sun has sunk to rest. The phantom city fades; the ruddy
background melts into the gray mountain-side. Dim ghost-like streaks
linger about the double summits of La Pagna. They vanish. Nothing then
remains but masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into nig