dead silence
which descends while fate's great hand is working in the dark, and men
hold their breath and shut their eyes, listening speechless for the dull
footfall of near destiny.

At last Veronica, without a word, turned from the table and went slowly
towards a door. Taquisara did not move. When her hand was on the lock,
she turned her head.

"Stand by me, whatever I do to-day," she said earnestly.

"Yes. I will."

He did not find any eloquent words nor oaths of protest, but she saw his
face and believed him. She bent her head once, as though acknowledging
his promise, and she went out quietly, closing the door behind her.

Some minutes passed before Taquisara also left the room in the other
direction. He wondered why she had said those last words, for he had
seen again that desperate look in her face and did not understand it.
Perhaps she meant to marry Gianluca before he died, and at the thought
Taquisara felt as though a strong man had struck him a heavy blow just
on his heart, and for one instant he steadied himself by the table and
swallowed hard, as though the breath were out of him. It did not last a
moment. Then he, too, went out, to go to his friend.

Gianluca was gentle, quiet, almost cheerful, on that morning. He had
evidently forgotten that he had opened his eyes and seen Taquisara
standing by his bedside in the night, nor would he have thought anything
of so common an occurrence had it come back to his recollection. He
certainly did not remember having spoken of dying. But he was very weak,
and his face was deadly pale, rather than transparent, as it usually
seemed.

Taquisara had thought of what the doctor had said about his sufferings,
and hesitated before lifting him to carry him to the next room.

"Tell me," he said, "does it hurt you very much when I take you up?"

"It hurts," answered Gianluca, with a smile. "Hurting is relative, you
know. I can bear it very well. There are things that hurt more."

"What? When you try to move alone?"

"Oh no! Imaginary things. You hurt me very little--you are so careful.
What should I have done without you?"

Taquisara had never touched him so tenderly before, though he was
always as gentle as a woman with him. He lifted him, carried him from
his bedroom and laid him in his accustomed chair. The pale head rested
with a sigh upon the brown silk cushion.

"Thank you," he said faintly. "That was better than ever. But I am
better to-day, too."

The