“She has deceived me.  I know she has deceived me,” cried Nobili, with a pang he could not hide.  “She has deceived me, and I loved her!”

His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal.

Nera did not like this.  Her work was not complete.  Nobili’s obstinate clinging to Enrica chafed her.

“Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?” she asked.  She grew impatient, and must probe the wound.

“Never,” he answered, shrinking back.

“Heavens!  What falseness!  Why, she has passed days and days alone with him.”

“No, not alone,” interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense of his own shame.

“Oh, you excuse her!” Nera laughed bitterly.  “Poor count, believe me.  I tell you what others conceal.”

Nobili shuddered.  His face grew black as night.

“Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage.  If not, your course is clear—­fly.  If Enrica Guinigi has the smallest sense of decency, she cannot urge the marriage.”

And Nobili heard this in silence!  Oh, shame, and weakness and passion of hot blood; and women’s eyes, and cruel, bitter tongues; and jealousy, maddening jealousy, hideous, formless, vague, reaching he knew not whither I Oh, shame!

“Write to her, and say you have discovered that she was in league with her aunt, and had other lovers.  Every one knows it.”

“But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me?  I shall need it.”  Nobili opened both his arms.  His eyes clung wildly to hers.  She was his only hope.

Nera did not move; only she turned her head away to hide her face from him.  She dared not let Nobili move her.  Poor Nobili!  She could have loved him dearly!

Seeing her thus, Nobili’s arms dropped to his side hopelessly; a wan look came over his face.

“Forgive me!  Oh, forgive me, Nera!  I offer you a broken heart; have pity on me!  Say, can you love me, Nera?  Only a little.  Speak! tell me!”

Nobili was on his knees before her; every feature of his bright young face formed into an agony of entreaty.

There was a flash of triumph in Nera’s black eyes as she bent them on Nobili, that chilled him to the soul.  Kneeling before her, he feels it.  He doubts her love, doubts all.  She has wrought upon him until he is desperate.

“Rise, dear Nobili,” Nera whispered softly, touching his lips with hers, but so slightly.  “To-morrow—­come again to-morrow.  I can say nothing now.”  Her manner was constrained.  She spoke in little sentences.  “It is late.  Supper is ready.  My mother waiting.  To-morrow.”  She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her knee.  She touched the curls upon his brow with her light finger-tips; but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she dared not meet.

“Not one word?” urged Nobili, in a faltering voice.  “Send me away without one word of hope?  I shall struggle with horrible thoughts all night.  O Nera, speak one word—­but one!” He clasped her hands, and looked up into her face.  He dared do no more.  “Love me a little, Nera,” he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand upon his throbbing heart.