lt that it was a true one. Gianluca was more to her than any one she
knew, in a way which no one could understand, and she had a right to see
him before he died. If, by any happy chance, he should live, people
might perhaps talk. She should not care, for she should have done right.
That was the way in which she accounted to herself for her action; but
the consciousness that Don Teodoro was not quite wrong was there. She
remembered it afterwards, when the fatality that was quietly lying in
wait for her raised its head from ambush and stared her in the face. But
then, at the first beginning, she was angry with the old priest for
trying to oppose her.

There was not more than time to finish the preparations, after all, for
she received a note from the Duchessa, written from Eboli, saying that
they would arrive a day earlier than they had expected, as the heat in
the plain was intense, and they were anxious to get Gianluca to a cooler
region of the mountains as soon as possible. Veronica had written, too,
placing the castle at Laviano at their disposal, as a resting-place, so
as to break the journey more easily for the invalid, and she sent men
over to see that all was in order and to take a few necessary things for
the guests.

It was a sort of caravan that at last halted before the fountain of
Muro, at the entrance to the village. Veronica had been warned of their
near approach, and was there to meet them, with Don Teodoro by her side.

First came the Duca and Duchessa together in a huge carriage drawn by
four horses, with three servants, two men and a maid. Veronica could not
see past the vehicle, as it blocked the way, and she stopped beside it
to greet the couple.

"My dear child!" cried the Duchessa. "We shall never forget your
kindness, and all the trouble you have taken! Gianluca is in the next
carriage. I think you have saved his life!"

There was a sort of inoffensive motherliness in her tone which surprised
Veronica--a suggestion of possession that irritated her. But she smiled,
said a few words, and ordered the carriage to move on,--an operation
which, though difficult in such a narrow way, was possible since she had
improved and paved the streets. A couple of her men walked before the
horses to clear the way of the women and children and the few men who
were not away at work, for the news of the arrival had spread, and the
people flocked together to see whether the visitors would bear
comparison with their