"That is a beautiful part that you are engaged upon, Gina. Bring it forward, that we may exhibit our handiwork."
Gina Montani, without raising her eyes, and trembling inwardly and outwardly, rose, and advanced with the embroidery. The Signora Lucrezia eyed her, covertly.
"Is it not a handsome pattern?" exclaimed Adelaide, her thoughts now really occupied with the beauty of the work. "And I was so industrious while you were away, Giovanni. I did a good portion of this myself--I did, indeed; all the shadings of the rosebuds are my doing, and those interlaces of silver."
The Lady Adelaide stopped, for, on looking to his face for approbation, she was startled by the frightful pallor which had overspread it. "Oh, Giovanni, you are ill!--my husband, what is it? Giovanni--"
"It is nothing," interrupted the count, leading her hurriedly from the room. "I rode hard, and the sun was hot. A cup of wine will restore me."
But not less awake to this emotion of the count's than she had been to Gina's, was the Signora Lucrezia, and she came to the conclusion that there was some unaccountable mystery at the bottom of it, which she determined to do all in her power to find out.
Days passed. The count had not yet seen Gina alone, though he had sought for the opportunity; but one morning when he entered the Lady Adelaide's embroidery room--so called--Gina sat there alone, sorting silks. He did not observe her at the first moment, and, being in search of his wife, called to her, "Adelaide!"
"The Lady Adelaide is not here, signor," was Gina's reply, as she rose from her seat.
"Gina," he said, advancing cautiously, and speaking in an under tone, "what in the name of all the saints brought you here--an inmate of my castle--the attendant of the Lady Adelaide?"
"You shall hear the truth," she gasped, leaning against the wall for support. "I have lived long, these many months, in my dreary home, unseeing you, uncared for, knowing only that you were happy with another. Giovanni, can you picture what I endured? My mother died--you may have heard of it--and her relations sent for me into their distant country, and would have comforted me; but I remained on alone to be near you. I struggled much with my unhappy passion. My very soul was wearing away with despair. I would see you pass sometimes at a distance with your retainers--and that was heaven to me. Then came a thought into my mind; I wrestled with it, and would have driven it away--but there it was, ever urging me; it may be that my better angel sent it there; it may be that the Evil One, who is ever tempting us for ill, drove it on."