"We had to find Nancy," said Valeria.
"And of little Edith and her poor mother, forsaken in their darkest hour by those they loved——"
"But it was to safeguard Nancy," said Valeria.
Hearing her words, he realized the puissance of all-conquering, maternal love. Nothing mattered but Nancy, though Nancy herself, with gentle, unconscious hands, had taken all things from her. Had not he him self, the lover of Valeria's girlhood, turned from her, heart-stricken for Nancy?
There was a pause.
"And I am thinking of you, Valeria, over whose heart I have trampled, ..." said Nino, with a break in his voice.
"You could not help it. You loved Nancy," said Valeria. "And now"—her pitying eyes filled with tears—"your hope is shipwrecked and your heart broken, too."
Nino did not answer. He turned away and gazed out of the window. He was thinking of Nancy, so mild and sweet-voiced, with eyes like blue hyacinths under the dark drift of her hair. And once more he realized how Nancy in her dove-like innocence had absorbed and submerged the existence of those around her. Her sweet helplessness itself had wrecked and shattered, had devastated and destroyed. The lives of all those who loved her had gone to nourish the clear flame of her genius, the white fire of her youth.
Nino gazed down at the red wedding-carpet that stretched its scarlet line to the pavement's edge like a narrow path of blood.
"Behold," he said, "the trail of the dear devourer—the course of the dove of prey!"