A dull, dim consciousness drew her forward toward the low wall, and the abyss that yawned beneath.  There she should lie at peace.  There the stillness would quiet her heart that beat so hard against her side—­surely her heart must burst!  She had a dumb instinct that she should like to sleep; she was so weary.  Stronger grew the passion of her longing to cast herself on that cold bed—­deep, deep below—­to rest forever.  She tried to move, but could not.  She tottered and almost fell.  Then all swam before her.  She sank backward against the door; with her two hands she clutched the post.  Her white face was set.  But in her agony not a sound escaped her.  Her secret—­Nobili’s secret—­must be kept, she told herself.  No one must ever know that Nobili had left her—­that she was about to die—­no one, no one!

With a last effort she tried to rush forward to take that leap below which would end all.  In vain.  All nature rushed in a wild whirlwind around her!  A deadly sickness seized her.  Her eyes closed.  She dropped beside the door, a little ruffled heap upon the ground, Nobili’s letter clasped tightly in her hand.

  “My love he is to Lucca gone,
  To Lucca fair, a lord to be,
  And I would fain a message send,
  But who will tell my tale for me?”

Sang out Pipa from above.

  “All the folk say that I am brown;
  The earth is brown, yet gives good corn;
  The clove-pink, too, although ’tis brown,
  In hands of gentlefolk is borne.”

  “They say my love is brown; but he
  Shines like an angel-form to me;
  They say my love is dark as night,
  To me he seems an angel bright!”

Not hearing the children’s voices, and fearing some trick of naughty Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, Pipa leaned put over the window-sill.  “My babe, my babe, where art thou?” was on her lips to cry; instead, Pipa gave a piercing scream.  It broke the mid-day silence.  Argo barked loudly.

“Dio Gesu!” Pipa cried wildly out.  “The signorina, she is dead!  Help! help!”

CHAPTER III.

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

Many hours had passed.  Enrica lay still unconscious upon her bed, her face framed in her golden hair, her blue eyes open, her limbs stiff, her body cold.  Sometimes her lips parted, and a smile rippled over her face; then she shuddered, and drew herself, as it were, together.  All this time Nobili’s letter was within her hand; her fingers tightened over it with a convulsive grasp.

Pipa and the cavaliere were with her.  They had done all they could to revive her, but without effect.  Trenta, sitting there, his hands crossed upon his knees, his eyes fixed upon Enrica, looked suddenly aged.  How all this had come about he could not even guess.  He had heard Pipa’s screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, and he and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her on her