Taquisara

ul blue eyes, which seemed to follow her into the carriage; and in the rattling and jolting, she heard again and again that one weak sob which had so disturbed her. At that mo

lter of a projecting balcony. A couple of barefooted boys crouched on the wet pavement by the sea-stairs, with a piece of sacking drawn over both their heads together, gnawing hard-tack, and as the rain struck the stones, it splashed up in their faces under their sack. On the left, the coral shops showed their brilliant wares dimly through the rain-streaks, with closed glass doors through which here and there the disconsolate face of the shopkeeper was visible, as he stood gazing out upon the dismal, dripping scene. A sailor man came out of the marine headquarters at the turning of the Strada dei Giganti, bending his flat cap against the rain and burying his ears in the blue linen collar of his

ted nothing, and therefore that she could not be disappointed. She was very glad to get back to her own room. So far as she at all knew what a home meant, the Palazzo Macomer was home to her, and she had no distinct recollection of any other. Gregorio and Matilde and Bosio were her own family, so far

raphed well, as the phrase goes. His clear, pale complexion, his well-cut, refined features, his smooth, thick, silky hair looked singularly well against the smoked background, and had at once the strength and the transparency which make a good photograph by adding an illusion of relief to the flatness of mere outline and light and shade. Probably the likeness was flattered. But Veronica did not think so just then, coming as she did from a disillusionment whic

o would think it their right to advise and guide. All this would be different with Gianluca for her husband. The Della Spina were proud of their name and would expect her to bear it. They were numerous, too; the old father and mother would oppress and burden her life, and the brothers and sisters of Gianluca would grow up to be more or less

a, during those days of gnawing anxiety. She was struck, too, and startled, by Gregorio's hideous laugh, which broke out twice during the meal without any apparent reason. Even the servants seemed to shudd

far the least strong in character, but his very remarkable self-possession made him their equal in the present case. On the previous evening, when Veronica had not

Bride of Lammermoor-the book he had given her and which she had begun to read during her solitary dinner on the previous evening. She was sure of the response to what she said, before she said

n of their natural refinement. To-day, he reminded her of certain portraits of Van Dyck. But when luncheon was over, she avoided being alone with him, for she had not yet come to any decision. It would be more true, perhaps, to say that she distrusted herself in the decision she now seemed to have

, if she had ever been taught to suppose that love was necessary before marriage. She had been far too carefully brought up in Italian ideas of the old school, however, to make any such self-examination necessar

e was far too wise; and Veronica was grateful for being left entirely to her own thoughts in the matter. Nor did Bosio bestow upon her any questioning glance, nor betray his anxiety in any way except by his pallor, which he could not help, of course. Veronica thought that once or twice his eyes brightened unnaturally, in the course of conversation; and in his manner towards her she might have fancied

ed to place herself with her back to the light, so that Veronica could not see her expression clearly. At last she rose and said that she must go out. The weather had improved a little, and she asked Veronica to go with h

ly unaccountable, to send for Bosio to meet her in the drawing-room, and to tell him outright that she was willing to marry him. Nothing but maidenly self-respect prevented her from doing so at once, and the hours seemed very long before dinner. Many times she rose from her seat by the fire and moved about her room i

they had seemed to be in the morning. There was a fresh colour in them, and it was becoming to her and pleased her. Her soft hair had fallen a little upon each side of he

a moment before the fire and looked once more at Bosio's photograph, asking herself seriously for the last time

was not probable that such a thing could be found in the Palazzo Macomer. The maid came back empty-handed. Veronica told her to find an artificial one, and Elettra, after some searching, produced a very b

her cheeks so deftly and artistically that the young girl did not at first detect the deception. But her features had still been drawn and weary. They relaxed suddenly in a genuine smile when she saw the gardenia. But Bosio grew paler, Veronica thought, and looked very nervous. At table, he was opposite Veronica, and he reminded her more than ever of Van Dyck's portrait

r of an hour Matilde left the room, merely observing that she was going to write

id not quite realize how it was that she found herself standi

r lengthened herself-as slight young girls have a way of doing when they are pleased, a

yalty of carriage not at all connected with beauty; for she was not beautiful, and she herself knew that there were times when she

done so through Matilde. She smiled, looking at the clock, and thinking about it all. Then she realized that no word had been spoken on either side, and she turned her head a little s

now," she said quietly, a

and raised it to his lips. She noticed even then that his own hand was dry and burning. He did not trust himself to

little at his silence now, and the ro

ill?" he asked, as though it co

rew bright as though she were happ

d of that," he

ng that will convince you. It is a secret. You must not tell my aunt that I know. I could have married Don Gianluca d

had been only momentarily shaken. For there h

shall I thank you, Veronica? Or do you understand without wo

nderstand,"

ts being, and he touched it with his lips, and in his heart he knelt to kiss it, as something too holy to be in this world-just because it was innocent, and his own was not. For herself he set her on no pedestal, he did not worship her, he did not love her, he admired her with the cold judgment

ven if he ruined the woman he had loved so long, as well as the brother who bore

hen he had kissed her hand that second time

alone in his room, he had sworn that he would not marry her, whatever happened. For it was not enough that Matilde had set him free, and that he had rejoiced for one hour in his

t he would never marry Veronica Serra. And now, almost on the same spot, and facing th

you will,"

e said, passing his hand over his eyes, to shu

must say something also. He must tell her how he had dreamed of this instant, how her white shade had visited and soothed his dismal hours-and the rest. As he thought what he should say, love's phrase-book turned to a grim and fearful blasphemy in his own inner ears. But she expected it, of course, and he must speak, when he would have given the life he had to save her from himself and to save himself from the last fall, below which there could be no falling. It was almost impossibl

ronica," he began. "I had

ration through his softened voice, and lent the base lie he spoke such deadly bea

, on the shelf before the clock. Slowly she turned towards h

t-the love of heart and hand and soul, to live for you and die for you, in trust and faith, and love of you. You wonder? Beloved-if you knew yourself, you would not wonder that I love you so! There is no man who could save himself, if he lived by your side, as I have lived. You smile at tha

for she believed. And he, in his suffering within, was moved; as a man is, who, being in his life but a poor knave, plays bright truth and splendid pa

and she looked down, while her hand

t now-all that I did not dare to think of as even most dimly possible in my lonely life-that is why I thank you, that is why I bless you, and adore you, and love you as I d

pon it, pressure for word, to the end, in the terrible play of acted earnestness. Even his

s own eyes. But he liked her. She had always trusted him and liked him too, and there had been only kindness between them always. That made it

rthy of your love," said Ver

ll. She yielded, not knowing what she should do. Quite close she was, and he held her, unresisting, and kissed her. She had known, but she

ncast eyes, for she felt that sh

, love," he

ce. The door closed behind her, and he was alone, very quiet and pale, thinkin

e burning; he felt as though his head were shaking on his shoulders, palsied by a blow. But such as the deed was, it had been well done, to

n hour or more; but though he watched the clock's face, his eyes saw no mo

ht have come back-or her ghost, for he felt as though he had killed her with his hands

forward to where Bosio was stand

ly, with heavy eyes

over" he

rward, not und

off?" she cr

ng laugh, bad to hear. "It is don

her hand to her left side for o

he said, so low that Bosi

lending with the tinge of the paint. He did not move, and she came and s

me," she said.

e to look at a few moments earlier, with the rouge visible on her ghastly cheeks. No one could have detected it now, and she was

s lips, half hidden in his silky beard. He told himself that he had fallen the last fall, to the very depths; yet he knew that there was a

you yesterday afternoon," she said gent

aven you did!"

voice of gold and velvet. "I will try t

s eyes, but

ce was not abo

an I? Can we live w

He spoke louder,

er to him, st

day-not as though it were good bye-one k

e he had kissed Veronica. Then he trembled from head to foot, and his heart stood still. An instant later he w

as he went through the rooms, and the antechamber, and hall, and out upon the cold staircase, and up to his own door, and on, and in, till he turne

two minutes, Bosio Macomer lay dead, alone, und

n evil which even he would not do upon the innocent life of another. He died lest he should do it, and desperately gras