Ferrati came to Ragna early the next morning, and found her restless and worn, her eyes sunken by the fever of the night. She told him of Valentini's proposal and her doubts, ending with:

"Something tells me that I should not accept; it may only be a foolish fancy, but I feel it very strongly."

"I think," said Ferrati, "that you are overwrought and hysterical by all your self-questioning. The question, as I see it, is simple enough: in accepting you have everything to gain, in refusing everything to lose. Now the point of the matter is, do you care enough for Egidio to become his wife, or at least do you feel sure of never caring more for another man?"

"I told him that I did not love him," said Ragna, "but he said that made no difference to him, that he was content to take me, feeling merely a friendly affection for him, that he would trust to the future to bring the rest. I should do my best,—gratitude alone would make me do that. But I don't think I could ever love a man very much again."

"Perhaps," said Ferrati musingly, "that the feeling you have for him is better than love, considering the circumstances, and you may grow to love him in time; women often do grow to love the men they marry for friendship or by their parents' choice. You are of a steady, serious nature, not subject to caprice,—that is in your favour."

"Oh, I am quite sure at least I shall love no other man, I am done with love,—I have seen what it is!"

Ferrati smiled.

"You have still much to learn, Ragna, and I hope Egidio may be the man to teach it to you."

Ragna smiled in answer, rather bitterly however.

"Then your opinion is?"

"That you should marry Egidio, if you have no more serious reasons against it; I am sure that it will be best for you both—and there will be the great satisfaction to you of having provided for the future of your child,—think of the child."

"I do think of the child, and it is for its sake that I shall accept, since you think it the right thing to do."

"I am sure of it, and I hope the future has great happiness in store for you."

They talked for a little while on indifferent matters, but when he left her, she moved restlessly about taking things up and putting them down again aimlessly. Though the fact of the decision being made, took a great weight from her mind she still felt uneasy and could settle to nothing, dreading Valentini's visit in the afternoon.

A curious sense of embarrassment had kept her from telling Ferrati of the compact between herself and Valentini, to observe only friendly relations leaving the marriage a mere form for the eyes of the world. It was unfortunate that she had not told the Doctor as with his man's knowledge of life and of the fiery temperament of his friend, he would have seen the impossibility of prolonging any such state of affairs, and the mere fact of Egidio's having proposed such a scheme would have aroused his suspicions as to his friend's motives in the matter and his entire sincerity of purpose. Egidio was no Sir Galahad and was not in the least given to idealizing the relations between man and woman, or even capable of conceiving of such a relation apart from the sexual element, and Ferrati knew it.

As it was, he went home very pleased with the way things were falling out, and announced the coming engagement to Virginia who raised her arms in silent amazement, and let them drop limply.

"Not Egidio Valentini?" she said. "Poor girl!"

"Now why do you say that, Virginia?"

"I say 'poor girl' if she is to marry Egidio, that is all. What on earth can induce her to do such a thing?"

"What can she do? Think of her situation, NinÌ. I consider her fortunate to have found as good a man as Egidio."

"As good a man as Egidio—well—what I wonder is, what has induced him to propose to her. What does he expect to gain by it? She is not rich."

"Now, NinÌ, you are unjust; you have never liked Egidio, I know, but you must admit that he is behaving most magnanimously. Here is a girl who has been unfortunate, who has no money, and who is about to lose her reputation, he offers her marriage, he gives her his name, he declares himself ready to recognise the child, what more would you have? What better proof of his disinterestedness? I tell you, you have always misjudged Egidio, you let your prejudice blind you."

"Believe me, Rico, there is more in this than meets the eye,—gatto ci cova, Egidio is not the man for such a quixotic action. I am sorry for Ragna, I am afraid she will find herself out of the frying pan into the fire."

"I hope at least, that you will say nothing to her to discourage her. She has had a hard time already to make up her mind—and you must admit that this marriage is her one chance."

"Did you influence her in any way, Rico?"

"She asked me my opinion and I told her I thought she should accept Egidio, if not for her own sake, then for the child's."

"I wish you had not done that, I wish you had kept out of the affair altogether. It never does to make up people's minds for them, the time always comes when they turn on you and rend you. And in this case the responsibility is far too great—you will regret it some day, mark my words!"

"How pessimistic you are, Virginia, your name ought to be Cassandra!" said the Doctor angrily. "I should think that instead of blaming me you would join me in trying to secure Ragna's happiness. And you are so unjust to Egidio, I ask you, what has he ever done to give you such a poor opinion of him?"

Virginia smiled enigmatically.

"We shall see what we shall see," she said.

Presently she rose from the table and left the room, leaving her husband to reflect on the curious ways of women. Nevertheless her reception of his news had given him a vague feeling of uneasiness which he vainly tried to shake off. Virginia was rarely mistaken in her judgment of men and things, and he generally relied on her intuition and keen perceptions. But then, what cause could there be for doubt? So far as he could see, Egidio in this at least, was the very pattern of disinterestedness and chivalry. He lacked the clue to the mystery, for Astrid had never told him as she had Valentini, of Ragna's expectations from her aunt—true he had never sought any information on the subject. And above all, Ferrati's chief characteristic was a total inability to believe ill of anyone who had gained his affection.

Valentini came for his answer at the time appointed and found Ragna, outwardly calm, awaiting him. She was standing by the window, the shutters casting greenish reflections on her white piquÉ gown. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the waxiness of her skin and the weary droop of her mouth, as she came forward with outstretched hand to greet him. His glance questioned her.

"It is 'yes'," she answered with composure.

He sank to one knee and lifted her hands to his lips. Hers curled slightly at the dramatic gesture, it seemed tawdry, after the hours of agonised indecision she had passed through, still it was better than verbal raptures. Egidio rose to his feet, and seeing that she was in no mood for demonstrative affection, had the tact to maintain a restrained friendliness of demeanour that went far towards soothing the girl and putting her at her ease. Nevertheless when he had taken his departure she was conscious of a distinct sensation of relief, and wondered at herself for it. Was this not the way of deliverance and was it not being made as easy for her as lay in the circumstances?

They had agreed as to the necessity of hastening the marriage; prolonging the actual state of affairs could be of no possible advantage, and Ragna herself, now that she had made up her mind, was eager to bring the thing to its logical conclusion without further delay. Valentini's motives are readily devinable.

"I have her!" he chuckled as he ran down the stairs, swinging his cane jauntily, "she can't draw back now—and she would not if she could, she is not the kind that breaks promises."

The banns were published at once at the Palazzo Vecchio, and as Ragna was of age there was no difficulty to be anticipated. They had agreed to forgo the religious marriage, Egidio being a fervent son of the Church only when it suited his convenience so to appear, and Ragna, imbued with her philosophical studies, attaching no importance to the, to her, empty ceremony. Having the civil wedding alone would also avoid the delay and expense occasioned by a mixed marriage.

She had decided not to write to her relations in time for any remonstrance to reach her before the fait accompli should render any such interference obviously useless. "Since I have decided on this step," she reasoned, "why do anything to make it more difficult? They cannot understand why I am doing it—they never can know; they will think I have gone out of my mind."

To those about her she showed an impassive face, and even the sympathetic questionings of Dr. Ferrati were unsuccessful in eliciting a response.

"It is as though you had built a stone wall about yourself—you have become a Sister of the Murate," he complained to her one day.

She smiled in answer.

"I do feel rather frozen; perhaps being the Signora Valentini will thaw me out."

"I hope so, I feel as though I had lost my little friend."

Ragna had, as it were, shut Ferrati out of the more intimate part of her personality, for the time being—indeed she had shut herself out, living on the surface, occupying her thoughts with the details of her simple preparations. She did not wish to dwell on the confused, apprehensive state of her feelings, and above all wished to hide that state from the eyes of her kind friend, so delighted at the prospect of this unhoped for escape from the difficulties of her situation. He, on his part, had tried to put away from him Virginia's insidious suggestions, but they would return at times in spite of him. To set his conscience entirely at rest he desired to penetrate the girl's thoughts and feelings with regard to Valentini and their approaching union or to have a conversation with Valentini himself, but to all his tentative questions Ragna opposed an impenetrable mask of reserve, answering superficially or turning the question. And never before had Egidio been so elusive; the Doctor found it impossible to obtain more than the most casual exchange of greetings with him. It was always,

"Ciao, old man! I shall come to see you some day soon. I am in a fearful hurry to-day, I had no idea that getting married was such hard work!"

Virginia herself called on Ragna soon after the announcement of the engagement. To her keen eyes the girl seemed thin, feverish, as though harassed by unwelcome thoughts and doing her best to evade them. She sat down by Ragna's side on the shabby sofa, and took a listless hand between her own.

"Now tell me, dear, how it all came about, won't you? I was never so surprised in my life as when Rico told me."

"Why should you be surprised? Though, of course, it is surprising that anyone should wish to marry me. Oh, I quite understand that!" The girl's voice was bitter.

"Oh, no cara, not that! You misunderstand me. I was astonished that Valentini should marry at all—I looked for his motives—"

"His motives?"

Virginia patted the hand she held.

"Now don't be angry with me, cara. Valentini is the most utterly selfish man I know, and for him to marry you in the present circumstances is something I can't understand. That he should be attracted by you, yes—but marriage! I ask myself, what is there beneath it all? I ask myself this, because, believe me, Ragna dear, I do not wish you to make a mistake, to be unhappier than you are. Remember that when one is married it is for a long time."

"What do you know against Valentini?" asked Ragna.

"I know nothing to his discredit except that he is utterly selfish and self-indulgent—it is a feeling, I search for the solution of this problem. I do not believe it possible for Egidio Valentini to be disinterested."

"Then let me tell you, Signora, that you are quite, quite wrong. Signor Valentini has made me an extremely honourable and disinterested offer which I am grateful and proud to accept. I only hope I may prove myself worthy of the trust he has in me, and I must refuse to discuss him further." Ragna drew her hand away as she spoke, and as she was looking straight before her, missed the half amused, half pitying smile that crept over Virginia's face.

"If that is the way you look at it, there is nothing more to be said, and I am sorry, if with the best of intentions, I have hurt you or seemed to meddle. Only one thing, cara, don't be too grateful—yet. Don't hold yourself too cheap, you will gain nothing, believe me, by making of yourself a door-mat for your husband to wipe his feet on. That sort of thing never does with any man, but with Valentini it would be fatal."

"But you must see that it is my duty to be grateful!"

"Grateful! Duty! Then you do not love him at all?"

"It is not a love marriage—we are great friends; he has been, is, most kind to me."

"But he loves you? He has said so?"

"He has told me so," said Ragna gravely, "but we are on a friendly footing, not lovers at all. And that is why I must be grateful, don't you see?"

Virginia puckered her brows thoughtfully; she did not in the least believe in either Egidio's love or his disinterestedness—still less in his marrying on a "friendly footing" merely, but she could give no positive grounds for her disbelief. Ragna's reserve and her refusal to discuss her fiancÉ's motives, or in any way throw more light on the question forbade any further pursuance of the subject. After all if the girl was satisfied, what more was necessary, what more could be said or done? Virginia had an uncomfortable feeling that the matter should not be left thus, but Ragna's next words closed the subject definitely and decisively.

"Thank you very much indeed for your kindly interest, Signora. There are many things I should like to consult you about, as I am a stranger here. Will you help me with my little trousseau?"

A trousseau is a subject near and dear to the feminine heart the world over, and the two were still immersed in the fascinating discussion when the tinkle of the door-bell announced Egidio's arrival. Virginia rose as he entered the room and turning to Ragna, kissed her on both cheeks.

"I wish you all happiness, my dear," she said pointedly, "I really must run away now, the babies will be calling for me. I shall come for you in the morning and we will go shopping."

She gave her finger-tips to Egidio and their eyes met, each divining in the other a veiled hostility. In her glance he read an undisguised query and he met it with a sort of insolent defiance.

"Congratulations," she said, in her clear, low voice. "You have gained a good wife—take care of her or I shall hold you to account."

He bowed, "Servo suo, Signora Virginia," and opened the door for her.

He returned to Ragna, a slight frown on his face, but waited with characteristic caution until the outer door slammed to, before he said,

"The Signora Virginia does not like me, cara; you must not let her poison your mind against me."

Ragna flushed guiltily, but loyally took up the cudgels in her friend's defence.

"You are unjust, Egidio, she only wants me to be happy, and she is most kind in helping me. You must not speak of her like that!"

"Oh, she does not like me, I have always known it. She dislikes me because I am her husband's friend. All women are jealous at heart of their husbands' friends, male or female."

Ragna laughed at the absurdity of the idea and said playfully,

"Then I think you dislike her because she is my friend!"

"Perhaps that is it," agreed Valentini. "I am jealous of all who are near you, dear one, when I am away."

He smiled to himself and registered a mental vow that Ragna should see but little of Virginia in future. "She knows or guesses too much, and she has a sharp tongue," he thought.

Carolina, the Venetian maid, was the only one who openly expressed disapproval. She flounced about the kitchen, banging the pots and pans, in a state of continual ill-humour.

"I do not like that Signore!" she would say a dozen times a day, "I do not like him. You will be sorry if you marry him, Signorina mia!"

In vain did Ragna reprove her, in vain asked her the reason for her dislike of Valentini.

"I do not know why, Signorina, but I hate him. He has the evil eye, I know it—this marriage will bring you no luck. I shall burn candles to the Madonna, but it will do no good—even the Madonna can't exorcise the evil eye!"

Her croakings made Ragna uncomfortable, and she avoided Carolina to the serving-maid's intense distress.

Meanwhile time was passing and the wedding day arrived. Egidio and Ragna accompanied by Ferrati and his wife, Agosti, a Neapolitan friend of Egidio's who was to be second witness, and the weeping Carolina bringing up the rear, made up the small cortÈge. It was a hot morning and the city was deserted. A few idle facchini and women of the people followed them up to the Sala de' matrimoni, where a wheezy clerk read through the marriage contract, and a bored, perspiring official representing the absent Sindaco put the questions to the pair. As Ragna rose from her red velvet armchair to answer, it seemed to her that she must be dreaming. The dry rapid reading, the abrupt, indifferent manner of the official, the darkened musty hall, traversed by a stray beam of sunlight in which dust motes danced—could this be her wedding? Mechanically she answered and when told to do so, signed her name in the registers under Egidio's; Ferrati and Agosti signed also, then the official gave her a copy of the certificate and wished her happiness. As in a trance she descended the stair, on Egidio's arm, and heard him say:

"You are my wife now, Ragna, you have promised to obey me and follow me everywhere—to the world's end—to Hell if I lead the way!"

An oppression stopped her breathing, her head swam, the premonition came over her that not to Hell would she follow the man at her side, but through a daily, living Hell, to the end of her life. She stumbled and would have fallen, but Egidio sustained her, and Ferrati hurrying forward caught her other arm.

"Poor child," he said, "it is the emotion and the heat, she is quite overcome! Let us get her quickly to the carriage!"

So, half supporting, half carrying her, they reached the landau, waiting below in the courtyard. Virginia would have taken the place beside Ragna but Egidio thrust her aside, and himself took the girl's head on his shoulder, and held the smelling salts to her nose.

"See," said Ferrati to his wife, "how fond he is of her!"

Virginia held her peace, but inwardly thought, "All for the gallery!"

In this she was not quite right, as Egidio, for the moment, was thoroughly honest in his anxiety for Ragna. She was his wife, his possession, his chattel; he loved her for the moment because she was fair to look upon, but above all because she was newly his.

Ragna's faintness soon passed off, and crushing down her presentiment as silly weakness, she smiled up into her husband's face. Agosti came forward, hat in hand, wished them happiness and went his ways; Ferrati and Virginia took their places facing the pair, as Egidio still refused to relinquish his post by Ragna's side—a malicious desire to annoy Virginia had something to do with this, perhaps—and they drove to Ferrati's house where luncheon was spread. In spite of all efforts on the part of Ferrati it was but a half-earted affair, and all felt relieved when at the close Virginia carried Ragna off to her room to rest. They were all to dine together at the restaurant of the "Due Terrazze," and then the newly wedded couple were to go to the apartment Egidio had taken in the Via Serragli.

Dinner was gayer than luncheon had been; Ragna, now quite herself again, feeling as does a bather when the first cold plunge has been made, entertained them all by her gay sallies and quiet wit. The coloured lanterns swinging from the pergola, the music on the terrace, the many tables of merry diners calling for pesciolini d' Arno, fritto misto and Chianti all seemed delightful to her unaccustomed eyes. They drank her health and Egidio's and she smiled, and sparkled; it seemed to her that she had really reached port, that the worst of her troubles must be over. So when Egidio squeezed her hand under the table, she returned the pressure, and Ferrati who saw the movement rejoiced that all was well. Ragna smiled at him and at Egidio, but the latter's head being in the shadow, she did not see the expression of his burning, gloating eyes fixed on the flushed face and shining hair under the white lace hat. He did not, however, escape the watchful Virginia.

Dinner was over at last and Ferrati and his wife on their way home, accompanied by much cracking of the fiaccheraio's whip, and Ragna seated in a carriage by Egidio's side let herself lapse into a sort of reverie. So it was done, she was married! She was the wife of Egidio Valentini, far from her home, her kindred! The sultry night air, through which a faint breeze was stirring, wafting the odour of the thick-lying dust to her nostrils, oppressed her. She longed for a breath from her native fjords, crisp and aromatic from mountain and fir woods, sharp with the tang of the sea. She closed her eyes to the noisy strolling crowd thronging the streets and a wave of homesickness swept over her. She fought it down and found solace in the thought that at last anxiety and fear of a public shame were over for her, that she was saved from disgrace, and through Valentini. A flood of gratitude welled up in her heart, she took his hand and raised it to her lips, tears brimming in her eyes.

"How good you are to me," she murmured, "How very good!"

He smiled and put his arm around her and she nestled back against it confidingly. Neither spoke again till they reached the house in the Via Serragli, but Egidio watched her obliquely out of those burning eyes of his, and his arm tingled where she leaned against it. He shifted his feet nervously once or twice and his breath came fast, but he gave no other sign of the emotion that possessed him. As they rattled over the TrinitÀ bridge the full moon, reflected in the dark glancing waters below, shamed the yellow street lamps, and the houses towering above the Lung 'Arno Giucciardini glowed here and there with lights behind the barred windows. As the darkness of the narrowing street engulfed them, Ragna felt a vague uneasiness come over her—but was she not safe with her husband-friend?

They drew up before the door of a palazzo, Egidio paid the driver, and opened the heavy portone with a large iron key. They climbed to the first floor and at the sound of their approach a door on the landing opened disclosing Carolina silhouetted against the light within.

"The Signora is tired," said Egidio, in a slightly hoarse voice, "she wants to go to bed at once, take the light!" Then to Ragna, "Come, carissima, this is your room."

Carolina lit the way to a large bedroom, overlooking the street on one side and a garden on the other. It was furnished with a large old four-poster bed with canopy and valance, some armchairs, a table, a couch and a large writing desk. A screen hid the wash-stand, and Carolina had laid out Ragna's simple toilet necessaries on a monumental dressing table. A huge carved clothes-press stood against the wall.

"It is a beautiful room," said Ragna, but she shivered. With the wavering shadows of Carolina's guttering candle, it seemed an abode of grotesque and horrible ghostly shapes, a gloomy cavern haunted by kobolds and evil spirits.

"I am glad you like it," said Egidio gratified. "Good-night, mogliettina, sleep well." He kissed her on the forehead without bending, she was nearly as tall as he and withdrew.

Carolina helped her to undress and she crept into the huge bed with a sigh of relief, for the emotions of the day had tired her out. When the maid had left her she lay quite still, following with her eyes the unfamiliar outlines of this furniture, dimly seen by the flickering night-light. She wondered why she had felt no curiosity as to the rest of the apartment, why she had not even asked to see it. "Poor Egidio! I hope he was not disappointed! I shall be nicer to him to-morrow. He is so kind and this is a beautiful room, even if it is so large and strange and unhome-like—" Her thoughts were wandering drowsily on, when a sudden noise brought her to a sitting posture. A crack of light showed in the wall, then a door she had not seen before, opened and Egidio appeared, dressed for the night.

"You! You!" she stammered in surprise, clutching together the folds of her night-dress at the neck.

"Yes, I," he answered. "You did not think that was all the good-night I should ask for, did you?"

He used the familiar "tu," instead of the "Lei" he had always addressed her with heretofore. That and something rough in his voice alarmed her, a sudden fear froze her veins but she hid it, and said with well assumed calm,

"Egidio dear, it is good of you to say good-night again. You thought I would feel lonely?"

"Yes," he answered grimly, "I thought you would be lonely, so I have come to keep you company. Make room for me beside you, dear."

"Oh!" she laughed with a catch in her throat, "I am not so lonely as all that! I am quite sleepy—I shall sleep very well indeed. Good-night Egidio!"

He bent forward and she raised her cheek, but he kissed her on the mouth and as his lips touched hers his arms went around her and pressed her to him.

"Oh, no!" she panted, "oh, no! no! Not that, Egidio, not that! You said you would be a friend to me, a brother, nothing more!"

"I was a fool then," he muttered, "and you were a fool if you believed I could marry you, a woman like you, and be no more than a brother!"

She struggled wildly to free herself, but he clasped her tight, and forcing her hands away from his chest where she had braced them, said angrily:

"Look here, Ragna, after all, I am your husband, I have my rights and I mean to take them, Intendiamoci, I don't want to hurt you, but if you behave this way, I shall, so make an end of it! And remember this, you owe me a wife's duty in return for all I have done for you!"

With a groan she fell back on her pillows and his lips found hers again.

Thus did Ragna learn the most bitter of all humiliations, and it seemed to her, that night, that her very soul died within her, together with her newborn self-respect. Now indeed was all dust and ashes and gall—all that remained to her was the outward shell of respectability, "And God knows how dearly bought," she moaned into her pillow, as in the grey dawn she lay with aching head and dry painful throat from which rose hard tearless sobs of disgust and despair. Even if Egidio had loved her, she thought, but she knew now that his feeling for her was anything but love; a vile passion brutal and overmastering, a desire that would bite rather than kiss, tear rather than caress, the passion of a beast. And all the tenderness, the consideration, the respect of the past few weeks? Sham, all sham! "Then Virginia was right, this is what she tried to warn me against, and I would not listen!" thought Ragna. "And it is for always, there can be no escape—never until death!" Then she hugged herself in her arms, "Ah, little child, little child of mine, your name is dearly bought." So she lay, crushed and miserable, in the sad dawn, and there rose to her ears the creak and rattle of the axles of the heavy country carts, bringing in fowls and vegetables and hay from the country. One after another they creaked and groaned by, now and then a whip cracked, or a muffled curse rose. Then came the sweepers with the swish of brooms and water and a few early street cries pierced the morning stillness.

And always in after life, these morning sounds, the creaking of the carts, the swish of the brooms, the hawkers' cries, were associated in Ragna's mind, together with the chill and cruel dawn, with a dreary sense of hopelessness, as when the watcher by a sickbed sees, by the first livid streak of light, the ashen grey of death steal over some beloved face, and realizes the despairing cheerlessness of all the long day to follow, of all the cheerless dawns throughout the years.