"I know it," Regina answered; but still there was something in her tone which he could not understand.
"Then why do you say that he means to separate us?"
Regina did not reply, but she opened her eyes and looked into Marcello's long and lovingly. She knew something that he did not know, and which had haunted her long. When Folco had come to the bedside in the hospital, she had seen the abject terror in his face, the paralysing fear in his attitude, the trembling limbs and the cramped fingers. It had only lasted a moment, but she could never forget it. A child would have remembered how Folco looked then, and Regina knew that there was a mystery there which she could not understand, but which frightened her when she thought of it. Folco had not looked as men do who see one they love called back from almost certain death.
"What are you thinking?" Marcello asked, for her deep look stirred his blood, and he forgot Folco and everything in the world except the beautiful creature that sat there, within his reach, in the lonely pine-woods.
She understood, and turned her eyes to the distance; and she saw the quiet room in the hospital, the iron bedstead painted white, the smooth pillow, Marcello's emaciated head, and Corbario's face.
"I was thinking how you looked when you were ill," she answered simply.
The words and the tone broke the soft little spell that had been weaving itself out of her dark eyes. Marcello drew a short, impatient breath and threw himself on his side again, supporting his head on his hand and looking down at the brown pine-needles.
"You do not know Folco," he said discontentedly. "I don't know why you should dislike him."
"I will tell you something," Regina answered. "When you are tired of me, you shall send me away. You shall throw me away like an old coat."
"You are always saying that!" returned Marcello, displeased. "You know very well that I shall never be tired of you. Why do you say it?"