Yet why should she confess? The abominable impulse was gone. Something
sweet and tender had taken its place. To confess to him now would be
cruel. It would wound his beautiful faith in her.
And yet the seeds she had sown were beginning to fructify. They might
spring up anywhere at any moment, and choke the life that was dearer to
her than her own. Thank God, it was still impossible to injure him
except by her will and assistance. But her will might be broken and her
assistance might be forced, unless the law could be invoked to protect
her against itself. It could and it should be invoked! When she was
married to David Rossi no law in Italy would compel her to witness
against him.
But if Rossi hesitated from any cause, if he delayed their marriage, if
he replied unfavourably to the letter in which she had put aside all
modesty and asked him to marry her soon--what then? How was she to
explain his danger? How was she to tell him that he must marry her
before Parliament rose, or she might be the means of expelling him from
the Chamber, and perhaps casting him into prison for life? How was she
to say: "I was Delilah; I set out to betray you, and unless you marry me
the wicked work is done!"
The afternoon was far spent; she had eaten nothing since morning, and
was lying face down on the bed, when a knock came to the door.
"The person in the studio to see you," said Felice.
It was Bruno in Sunday attire, with little Joseph in top-boots, and more
than ever like the cub of a young lion.
"A letter from him," said Bruno.
It was from Rossi. She took it without a word of greeting, and went back
to her bedroom. But when she returned a moment afterwards her face was
transformed. The clouds had gone from it and the old radiance had
returned. All the brightness and gaiety of her usual expression were
there as she came swinging into the drawing-room and filling the air
with the glow of health and happiness.
"That's all right," she said. "Tell Mr. Rossi I shall expect to see
him soon ... or no, don't say that ... say that as he is over head and
ears in work this week, he is not to think it necessary.... Oh, say
anything you like," she said, and the pearly teeth and lovely eyes
broke into an aurora of smiles.
Bruno, whose bushy face and shaggy head had never once been raised since
he came into the room, said: "He's busy enough, anyway--what with this big meeting coming off on
Wednesday, and the stairs to his room as full of people as the Santa
Scala."