ella alone.

'How is she?' he asked, as soon as he saw her face by the light of the
hanging lamp in the hall.

'Who, sir?' inquired the woman, not understanding.

'My wife----' He sprang past her to go in.

'The Lady Ortensia has not come home,' he heard Pina say behind him, in
a tone of such astonishment that he stopped before he had reached the
door of the sitting-room.

'Not come home?' he cried in amazement. 'You are out of your senses!'

Pina had shut the front door, and she followed him as he rushed into the
sitting-room after speaking. She had lit the lamp, and it was burning
quietly on the table. The door of the bedroom was opened wide to let the
air circulate, but there was no light there. Nevertheless Stradella ran
on to the bed.

'Ortensia!' he cried, feeling for her head on the pillows, for he could
not see.

Then he uttered a low exclamation of surprise and looked round. Pina was
already bringing in the lamp, and he realised at once that she had
spoken the truth. Ortensia had not come home; but even now no doubt of
the Bravi crossed his mind, and he was anxious only because Trombin had
said that she was feeling ill. The carriage must have broken down or
some other accident had happened which would explain why Trombin had not
found the conveyance waiting as he had expected. The thought of a
possible accident was distressing enough, but it was a comfort to think
that Gambardella and Cucurullo were with her, and would bring her home
in due time.

In a few words Stradella repeated to Pina what Trombin had told him, and
in his own anxiety he did not see that she was now very pale, and that
her hand shook so violently that she had to set down the lamp she held
for fear of dropping it.

'She will be at home in a few minutes,' Stradella said in conclusion,
trying to reassure himself. 'I will go downstairs again and wait for
her. Give me my cloak, Pina, for I am very hot, and it will be cool
under the archway.'

Trembling in every limb, Pina got his wide black cloak and laid it upon
his shoulders. He drew up one corner of it and threw it round his neck,
so as to muffle his throat against the outer air.

'Pina,' he said, 'your mistress was feeling ill. She was dizzy, my
friend said. We must have something ready for her to take. What will be
best?'

'Perhaps a little infusion of camomile,' Pina answered, her teeth
chattering with fear.

He could not help noticing from her voice that there was someth