"Dear Nobili!" murmured Enrica, softly.
"As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over the battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up through the wood, where the rocks are lower, and watched among the shrubs. I saw the marchesa carried out in Adamo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, passed from mouth to mouth. I looked around—you were not there. I understood it all; I rushed to save you."
Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with passionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a bad dream at daylight.
Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears.
"Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would keep Nobili from you?" He gave a merry laugh. "I shall not leave Corellia until we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it—I told him so last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Lucca. Both will speak to your aunt. One may have done so already, for what I know, for Fra Pacifico had left his house before I rose. He must be here. Is this a time to weep, Enrica?" he asked her tenderly. How comely Nobili looked! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes!
"I am very foolish—I hope you will forgive me," was Enrica's answer, spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in herself was shaken, since Count Marescotti's name had jarred between them. "Let us walk a little in the shade."
"Yes. Lean on me, dearest; the morning is delicious. But remember,
Enrica, I will have smiles—nothing but smiles."
As Nobili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up and down among the flowering trees that, bowing in the light breeze, shed gaudy petals at their feet—Nobili looked so strong, and resolute, and bold—his eyes had such a power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her—that the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. Nobili's strength came to her as her own strength. She, who had been so crushed and wounded, brought so near to death, needed this to raise her up to life. And now it came—came as she gazed at him.
Yes, she would live—live a new life with him. And Nobili had done it—done it unconsciously, as the sun unfolds the bosom of the rose, and from the delicate bud creates the perfect flower.
Something Nobili understood of what was passing within her, but not all. He had yet to learn the treasures of faith and love shut up in the bosom of that silent girl—to learn how much she loved him—only him. (A new lesson for one who had trifled with so many, and given and taken such facile oaths!)