Receiving no answer, Trenta looked hard at Enrica.  He was struck by her absent expression.  There was a far-away look on her face he had never noticed on it before.

“Enrica,” he said, taking both her hands within his own, “I fear you are not amused.  These subjects are too grave to interest you.  What are you thinking about?”

An anxious look came into her eyes, and she glanced hastily round, as if to assure herself that no one was near.

“Oh!  I am thinking of such strange things!” She stopped and hesitated, seeing the cavaliere’s glance of surprise.  “I should like to tell you all, dear cavaliere—­I would give the world to tell you—­”

Again she stopped.

“Speak—­speak, my child,” he answered; “tell me all that is in your mind.”

Before she could reply, the count and Baldassare reappeared, accompanied by the porter of the Guinigi Palace and the keys.

“Are you sure you would rather not return home again, Enrica?  You have only to turn the corner, remember,” asked Trenta, looking at her with anxious affection.

“No, no,” she answered, greatly confused; “please say nothing—­not now—­another time.  I should like to ascend the tower; let us go on.”

The cavaliere was greatly puzzled.  It was plain there was something on her mind.  What could it be?  How fortunate, he told himself, if she had taken a liking to Marescotti, and desired to confess it!  This would make all easy.  When he had spoken to the count, he would contrive to see her alone, and insist upon knowing if it were so.

The door was now opened, and the porter led the way, followed by the count and Baldassare.  Trenta came next, Enrica last.  They ascended stair after stair almost in darkness.  After having mounted a considerable height, the porter unlocked a small door that barred their farther advance.  Above appeared the blackened walls of the hollow tower, broken by the loop-holes already mentioned, through which the ardent sunshine slanted.  Before them was a wooden stair, crossing from angle to angle up to a dizzy height, with no other support but a frail banister; this even was broken in places.  The count and Enrica both entreated the cavaliere to remain below.  Marescotti ventured to allude to his great age—­a subject he himself continually, as has been seen, mentioned, but which he generally much resented when alluded to by others.

Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, when the count had done speaking, he placed his foot firmly on the first stair, and began to ascend after the porter.  The others were obliged to follow.  At the last flight several loose planks shook ominously under their feet; but Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on perseveringly.  He also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to him, and who by this time was both giddy and frightened.  At length a trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached and unbarred by the attendant.  Without, covered with grass, is a square platform, protected by a machicolated parapet of turreted stone-work.  In the centre rises a cluster of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant, spite of the wind and storms of centuries.