For an instant Nobili’s eye met Enrica’s.  He turned hastily away.  Enrica sighed.  Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone.  Nobili had turned away from her!

Fra Pacifico placed Enrica’s hand in that of Nobili.  Poor little hand—­how it trembled!  Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had clasped it?  What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger!  So lately, too!  No—­Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face changes.  But the contact of Nobili’s beloved hand utterly overcame Enrica.  The limit of her endurance was reached.  Again the shadow of death was upon her—­the shadow that had led her to the dark abyss.

When Nobili dropped her hand; Enrica leaned forward upon the edge of the marble rails.  She hid her head upon her arms.  Her long hair, escaped from the fastening, shrouded her face.

“Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus!” spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico.

He made the sign of the cross.  The address followed.  The priest’s last words died away in sonorous echoes.  It was done.  They were man and wife!

Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he felt during the discharge of his office; but his conscience sorely smote him.  He asked himself with dismay if, in helping Enrica, he had not committed a mortal sin?  Hitherto he had defended Count Nobili; now his whole soul rose against him.  “Would Nobili say nothing in justification?” Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico’s fists clinched themselves under his vestments.

But Nobili was about to speak.  He gave a hurried glance round the circle—­upon Enrica kneeling at the altar; with the air of a man who forces himself to do a hateful penance, he broke silence.

“In the presence of the blessed sacrament”—­his voice was thick and hoarse—­“I declare that, after the explanations given, I withdraw my accusations.  I hold that lady, now Countess Nobili”—­and he pointed to the motionless mass of white drapery kneeling beside him—­“I hold that lady innocent in thought and life.  But I include her in the just indignation with which I regard this house and its mistress, whose agent she has made herself to deceive me.”

Count Nobili’s kindling eye rested on the marchesa.  She, in her turn, shot a furious glance at the cavaliere.

“‘Explanations given!’ Then Trenta had dared to exonerate Enrica!  It was degrading!”

“This reparation made,” continued Count Nobili—­“my name and hand given to her by the Church—­honor is satisfied:  I will never live with her!”

Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these last words?  No appeal?  No mercy?  Or had the marchesa driven him to bay?

The marchesa!—­Nobili’s last words had shattered the whole fabric of her ambition!  Never for a moment had the marchesa doubted that, the marriage once over, Nobili would have seriously refused the splendid position she offered him.  Look at her!—­She cannot conceal her consternation.