his useless legs and thin hands, for fencing was the only exercise for
which he had ever cared. He had none of that sanguine vitality which
would have made such an existence intolerable to Taquisara, or even to
Veronica. With her beside him, or if he could not have her, with books
or conversation, he was not only contented, but happy. It must be
remembered, too, that he was not aware that his condition was hopeless
and that he might live a total cripple for many years to come. If he had
known that, he might have been less gay; not knowing it, married to the
woman he loved and looking forward to complete recovery, life was little
short of a paradise within sight of a heaven.

Veronica never tired of taking care of him, and one might have supposed
that she was satisfied with the prospect of nursing him all her life, or
all his. But she herself by no means believed the doctor's predictions.
She had been too sure that he was to die, and too much surprised and
delighted by his recovery, to accept on mere faith of any man's verdict
the assurance that he was never to walk again. There was the reaction,
too, after the strong emotion and the heart-rending anxiety, the
relaxation of mind and nerve, and the willingness to be happy again
after so much strain and stress.

As Gianluca's general health improved, the Duca and Duchessa began to
speak of an early departure for their own place near Avellino. Their
eldest son's illness had placed him first with them, but they had
several other children, all of whom had been under the care of a sister
of the Duchessa during the latter's stay at Muro. The motherly woman
was beginning to be anxious about them, and the old gentleman had a
fair-haired little daughter of eleven summers, whom he especially loved
and longed to see.

They thought that before long Gianluca might be moved. It was growing
colder, day by day, in the first chill of early autumn, and they
believed that a little warmth would do him good. Veronica should come
and pay them a visit, and Taquisara, too.

As for the marriage, they meant that it should be an open secret for a
little while longer. The servants knew of it, and would tell other
servants of course, and the Duchessa had written of it to her sister, on
hearing which fact Veronica had written to Bianca Corleone, telling her
exactly what had happened, lest Bianca should hear of it from some one
else. It was long before she had an answer to this letter, and when it