"He must have loved you!" I said.
She laughed.
"Of course," she said, airily. "But many people love me--that is nothing new; I am accustomed to be loved. But you see," she went on, reverting to the will again, "it specifies, 'EVERYTHING HE DIES POSSESSED OF;' that means all the money left to him by his uncle in Rome, does it not?"
I bowed. I could not trust myself to speak.
"I thought so," she murmured, gleefully, more to herself than to me; "and I have a right to all his papers and letters." There she paused abruptly and checked herself.
I understood her. She wanted to get back her own letters to the dead man, lest her intimacy with him should leak out in some chance way for which she was unprepared. Cunning devil! I was almost glad she showed me to what a depth of vulgar vice she had fallen. There was no question of pity or forbearance in HER case. If all the tortures invented by savages or stern inquisitors could be heaped upon her at once, such punishment would be light in comparison with her crimes--crimes for which, mark you, the law gives you no remedy but divorce. Tired of the wretched comedy, I looked at my watch.
"It is time for me to take my leave of you," I said, in the stiff, courtly manner I affected. "Moments fly fast in your enchanting company! But I have still to walk to Castellamare, there to rejoin my carriage, and I have many things to attend to before my departure this evening. On my return from Avellino shall I be welcome?"
"You know it," she returned, nestling her head against my shoulder, while for mere form's sake I was forced to hold her in a partial embrace. "I only wish you were not going at all. Dearest, do not stay long away--I shall be so unhappy till you come back!"
"Absence strengthens love, they say," I observed, with a forced smile. "May it do so in our case. Farewell, cara mia! Pray for me; I suppose you DO pray a great deal here?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, naively; "there is nothing else to do."
I held her hands closely in my grasp. The engagement ring on her finger, and the diamond signet on my own, flashed in the light like the crossing of swords.
"Pray then," I said, "storm the gates of heaven with sweet-voiced pleadings for the repose of poor Ferrari's soul! Remember he loved you, though YOU never loved him. For YOUR sake he quarreled with me, his best friend--for YOUR sake he died! Pray for him--who knows," and I spoke in thrilling tones of earnestness--"who knows but that his too-hastily departed spirit may not be near us now--hearing our voices, watching our looks?"