“This is not a fair question,” interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her terrible aunt.  “I know she still loves him.  The love of a heart like hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust accusations it contains.”

Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili’s letter lying where he had placed it on the table.  Seeing the letter, Enrica started back and shivered.

“Is it not so, Enrica?”

The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed themselves gently in response.  A faint smile flitted across Enrica’s face.  Fra Pacifico had spoken all her mind, which she in her weakness could not have done, especially with her aunt’s dark eyes riveted upon her.

“Then you still love Count Nobili?” The marchesa accentuated each word with bitter emphasis.

“I do,” answered Enrica, faintly.

“If Count Nobili returns here, will you marry him?”

As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf.  “What was she to answer?” The little composure she had been able to assume utterly forsook her.  She who had believed that nothing was left but to die, was suddenly called upon to live!

“O my aunt,” Enrica cried, springing to her feet, “how can I look Nobili in the face after that letter?  He thinks I have deceived him.”

Enrica stopped; the words seemed to choke her.  With an imploring look, she turned toward Fra Pacifico.  Without knowing what she did Enrica flung herself on the floor at his feet; she clasped his knees—­she turned her beseeching eyes into his.

“O my father, help me!  Nobili is my very life.  How can I refuse what is my very life?  When Nobili left me, my first thought was to die!”

“Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death?” asked Fra Pacifico, stooping over her.

“Yes, yes,” and Enrica wrung her hands, “yes, I would have done it—­I could not bear to live without him.”

A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico’s brow.  He crossed himself.  “God be praised,” he exclaimed, “you were saved from that wickedness!”

“My father”—­Enrica extended her arms toward him—­“I implore you, for the love of Jesus, let me enter a convent!”

In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her powers of persuasion.  The words were addressed to the priest; but her blue eyes, filled with tears, gathered themselves upon the marchesa imploringly.  Enrica awaited her fate in silence.  The priest rose and gently replaced her on her chair.  All the benevolence of his manly nature was called forth.  He cast a searching glance at the marchesa.  Nothing betrayed her feelings.

“Calm yourself, Enrica,” Fra Pacifico said, soothingly.  “No one seeks to hurry or to force you.  But I could not for a moment sanction your entering a convent.  In your present state of mind it would be an unholy and an unnatural act.”