a little colour in his face, and often the deep blue
light came into his beautiful eyes. He was to live, then, and she felt
that she was cruel, and base, and cowardly to let his thoughts of her
grow.

Those were the good days. There were worse ones, when he lay like a dead
angel before her, and only in his eyes there was a little life. Then
more than once, she gave him the magic of her touch, laid one hand
softly upon one of his, or smoothed his silk pillow and arranged the
shawl about him. Perhaps she was wrong to do such things, just because
she was so young; but when she did them he breathed freely again, and
the faint false dawn of a new day that might never brighten rose in the
alabaster cheeks.

Once, Taquisara, standing on the great round bastion below, unnoticed by
them both under the spreading vine, turned suddenly by chance and looked
up through the leaves, and he saw how Veronica was bending forward
towards his friend and touching one hand of his--for it was not far to
see. Taquisara did not look again, but presently he went in, and there
was less of unconcern in his handsome bronze face that day, and his dark
eyes were harder and colder than they were wont to be.

Veronica liked him, and forgot altogether the unpleasantness which there
had been between them. He was as gentle as a woman with Gianluca. He
seemed to be strong, too, for on the bad days when his friend could not
walk at all, he carried him like a child from room to room. Veronica saw
how necessary he was, and he knew it himself, for after his first
protest he made no attempt to go away. Gianluca, naturally sensitive and
abnormally impressionable, hated to be touched by servants, as some
invalids do, and Taquisara's constant presence saved him much suffering,
none the less acute because it was imaginary.

At luncheon, at dinner, whenever the Duca and Duchessa were present,
Taquisara did his best to help the conversation and always seemed
cheerful, unconcerned, and hopeful for Gianluca's recovery. It was on
rare occasions, when Veronica found herself alone with him for a few
moments, or together with him and Don Teodoro, that the man appeared to
her silent, morose, and sometimes almost ill-tempered. He did not again
speak rudely in her presence, but she guessed that the unspoken thought
was constantly in his mind--that, and something else which she could not
understand. Daily, hourly perhaps, he was inwardly accusing her of
playing with Gianlu