"What is it then?" he asked relieved. "The comfort,—the stay,—of which you spoke?"
She smiled through her tears; the old-time smile.
"I do not see your life," he said anxiously. "What is it—what shall it be? Till that be known to me, Ilaria, I shall not know rest or peace. You are beautiful,—too beautiful for this licentious court! Here you cannot remain—alone!"
"I fear the twilight," she said, with a shudder. "There is but one goal for me, and, when the hour comes, you shall lead me there. Proserpina will turn Lady of Shadows in very truth, and move veiled through her rose garden."
"But why must this thing be?" he queried with a choking sensation. "I, too, have sinned—"
"Of sin I know nothing," said Ilaria mournfully, "I apprehend neither the word, nor the thing!"
"Then why this last extremity?"
"Will you not understand?" she interposed petulantly. "Your presence here has shown me once for all that I may not continue to walk in the old way; I may not walk in yours, and I would not have you walk in mine! You wavered towards it of late! Once upon a time I should have rejoiced; now my spirit is full of fear."
She crept close to him and looked up at him with tremulous lids.
He caught her to him with all the old-time love in his eyes. All fears, all misgivings, all doubts of the woman he loved, were utterly blotted out in their embrace, and over Ilaria's features there flitted the gleam of a long forgotten happiness.