"What is your answer, Enrica? I must hear your answer from yourself."
The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank from allowing Fra
Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation marked on her every feature.
"My aunt, if Nobili comes here to claim me, I will marry him," answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop"—her eye had meanwhile traveled to the letter still lying on the table—a horrible doubt crossed her mind. "Will Nobili know that I am not what he says there—in that letter?"
Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed to ask all that had happened about Count Marescotti, and how her name had been mixed up with his, but the words refused to come.
"Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperiously. "If Count Nobili comes to marry you, is not that proof enough that he is satisfied?"
Enrica felt that it must be so. A wild joy possessed her. This joy was harder to bear than the pain. Enrica was actually sinking under the hope that Nobili might return to her!
Fra Pacifico noticed the gray shadow that was creeping over her face.
"Enrica must go at once to her room," he said abruptly, "else I cannot answer for the consequences. Her strength is overtaxed."
As he spoke, Fra Pacifico hastily opened the door leading into the sala. He took Enrica by the hand and raised her. She was perfectly passive. The marchesa rose also; for the first time she came into the full light of the lamp. Enrica stooped and kissed her hand mechanically.
"My niece, you may prepare for your approaching marriage. Count Nobili will be here shortly—never fear."