As he turned to go, Genevieve watched him down the long avenue out of sight, and then, sinking on her knees, she sobbed long and bitterly, so full of her grief and care that she was oblivious to her surroundings. Her face was deadly pale, her white lips moved passionately, as she knelt there weeping, half praying, half cursing herself in her despair.
‘Genevieve!’
The word, uttered in a tone of wonder and alarm, was repeated a second time before the agitated girl looked up. Salvarini was standing there, his usually grave face a prey to suspicion and alarm, a look which did not disguise entirely an expression of tenderness and affection. Genevieve rose to her feet and wiped away her tears. It was some moments before she was calm enough to speak to the wondering man at her side.
‘I have chosen an unfortunate moment for my mission,’ Salvarini mournfully continued; ‘I am afraid my presence is unwelcome here.—Genevieve, there is something behind this I do not understand. It must be beyond an ordinary grief to move you like this.’
‘There are some sorrows we dare not think of,’ Genevieve replied with an air of utter weariness.—‘Luigi, do not press me now. Some day, perhaps, I will ask you to help me.’
‘I am afraid a brother is the fittest confidant in a case like this. Pardon me, if I am wrong; but when I hear you talking to a man—for his voice came to me—and then I find you in such a plight as this, I must think.—O Genevieve! my only love, my idol and dream since I first saw your face, to have given your heart to some one unworthy of you. What will Carlo say, when he hears of it?’
‘But he must not hear,’ Genevieve whispered, terrified. ‘Luigi, you have surprised me; but you must keep my secret—I implore you.’
‘I can refuse no words of yours. But one thing you must, nay, shall do—you must tell me who this man is; you must have an avenger.’
‘Luigi,’ the girl said, laying her hand gently upon his arm, ‘I shall be my own avenger—that I have sworn by the cross I hold in my hand. If it is for years, I can wait—and hope.’
‘That is a wrong spirit,’ Salvarini replied sorrowfully. ‘You are mad just now with your wrongs. Stay here at home, and let me be your champion. I love you too well to admire such sentiments from you yet. I shall not press you now; but all time, for good or for evil, I shall wait for you.’