"For shame, Count Nobili!—you have yourself exonerated her."
"Enrica must have been an accomplice!" cried Nobili, transported out of himself. Count Marescotti's name had exasperated him beyond control.
"Fool!" exclaimed Fra Pacifico. "Will you not listen to reason? Has not Enrica by her own act renounced all claim to you as a wife? Is not that enough?"
Nobili was silent. Hitherto he had been driven on, goaded by the promptings of passion, and the firm belief that Enrica was the mere tool of her aunt. Now the same facts detailed by the priest placed themselves in a new light. For the first time Nobili doubted whether he was entirely justified in all that he had done—in all that he was about to do.
Meanwhile Fra Pacifico was losing all patience. His manly nature rose within him at what he considered Nobili's deliberate cruelty. Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico was violent in face of wrong.
"Why did you not let her die?" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It would have saved her a world of suffering. I thought I knew you, Mario Nobili—knew you from a boy," he added, contemplating him with a dark scowl. "You have deceived me. Every word you utter only sinks you lower in my esteem."
"It would indeed have been better had we both perished in the flames!" cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish—"perished—locked in each other's arms! Poor Enrica!" He turned away, and a low sob burst from his heart of hearts. "The marchesa has destroyed my love!—She has blighted my life!" Nobili's voice sounded hollow in the dimly-lighted room. At last Nobili was speaking out—speaking, as it were, from the grave of his love! "Yes, I loved her," he continued dreamily—"I loved her! How much I did not know!"
He had forgotten he was not alone. The priest was but dimly visible. He was leaning against the wall, his massive chin resting on his hand, listening to Nobili. Now, hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico's anger had vanished. After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil! Nobili was neither cruel nor heartless; but he had been driven to bay! Now he pitied him, profoundly. What could he say to him? He could urge Nobili no more. He must work out his own fate!
Again Nobili spoke.
"When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she entered the chapel, I dared not look again! It was too late. My pride as a man, all that is sacred to me as a gentleman, has been too deeply wounded. The marchesa has done it. She alone is responsible. She has left me no alternative. I will never accept a wife forced upon me by her—never, by Heaven! My father, these are my last words. Carry them to Enrica."