ast eyes, her cheeks mantling with blushes.

"I leave you!"--a soft dew came into Enrica's eyes as she fixed them
upon Nobili--a dew that rapidly formed itself into two tears that
rolled silently down her cheek--"never--never!"

Spite of the horrors of the past, these words, that look, tell him
she is his! Nobili's heart leaps within him. For a moment he is
breathless--speechless in the tumult of his great joy.

"Oh! my beloved!" he cries, in a voice that penetrates her very soul.
"Come to me--here--to a heart all your own!" He springs forward and
clasps her in his arms. "Thus--thus let the past perish!" Nobili
whispers as his lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his
breast. She has once more found her home.

A subdued knock is heard at the door.

"Sangue di Dio!" mutters Nobili, disengaging himself from
Enrica--"what new torment is this? Is there no peace in this house?
Who is there?"

"It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his hatchet face
and glaring teeth. In an instant his piercing eyes have traveled round
the room. He has taken in the whole situation--Count Nobili in the
middle of the floor--flushed--agitated--furious at this interruption;
Enrica--revived--conscious--blushing at his side. The investigation
is so perfectly satisfactory that Maestro Guglielmi cannot suppress a
grin of delight.

"Believe me, Signore Conte," he says, advancing cautiously a step or
two forward into the room, a deprecating look on his face--"believe
me--this intrusion"--Guglielmi turns to Enrica, grins again palpably,
then bows--"is not of my seeking."

"Tell me instantly what brings you here?" demands Nobili, advancing.
(Nobili would have liked beyond measure to relieve his feelings by
kicking him.)

"It is just that"--Guglielmi cannot refrain from another glance round
before he proceeds--(yes, they are reconciled, no doubt of it.
The judgeship is his own! Evviva! The illustrious personage--so
notoriously careful of his subject's morals--who had deigned to
interest himself in the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of
a son and heir to the Guinigi, add a pension--who knows? At this
reflection the lawyer's eyes become altogether unmanageable)--"it is
just that," repeats Guglielmi, making a desperate effort to collect
himself. "Personally I should have declined it, personally; but the
marchesa's commands were absolute: 'You must go yourself, I will
permit no deputy.'"

"Damn the marchesa! Shall I never