nd then shuffled round the
bastion again.

Taquisara scarcely left the sick man's side except when Gianluca could
be alone with Veronica. He was evidently very anxious, though his face
betrayed little of what he felt. He knew it, and was glad that nature
had given him that bronze-like colour, which could hardly change at all.
When the whole party were together, he talked; he talked when he was
alone with Gianluca; but when he was with Gianluca and Veronica he spoke
in monosyllables. Once she noticed that he was biting his lip nervously,
just as he turned away his face.

Though Gianluca was worse, without doubt, he insisted that there should
be no change in his way of spending the day. To amuse him, Veronica and
Taquisara fenced a little of an afternoon. But the Sicilian had no heart
in it, and evidently did not care whether Veronica touched him or not,
and his indifference annoyed her, so that she sometimes worked herself
into little furies of attack, and he, rather than really attack her in
return and oppose his strength, broke ground and let himself be driven
back across the room.

"Some day I shall take the foil with the green hilt," laughed Veronica.
"Then you will really take the trouble to fight me."

The foil with the green hilt was the sharp one which had got among the
others by mistake. Taquisara smiled indifferently.

"My life is at your service," he said, in a tone that seemed a little
sarcastic.

"Keep it for those who need it," she answered, laughing again, and
glancing at Gianluca.

Her tone was a little scornful, too, and Gianluca watched them both with
some surprise. Almost any one would have thought that they disliked each
other, but such a possibility had never struck him before. He would have
admitted that Veronica might not like Taquisara, but that any one in the
world should not like Veronica was beyond his comprehension. He spoke to
his friend about it when they were alone.

"What is the matter between you and Donna Veronica?" he asked that
evening, before dinner.

"Nothing," answered Taquisara, stopping in his walk. "What do you mean."

"I think you dislike her," said Gianluca.

"I?" The Sicilian's strong voice rang in the room. "No," he added
quietly, and recovering instantly from his astonishment. "I do not
dislike her. What makes you think that I do?"

"Little things. You seem so silent and out of temper when she is in the
room. To-day when she was laughing about the pointed foil