The answers to Ovid’s questions were not to be found in Carmina’s reply. She had reasons for not mentioning the conversazione; and she shrank from writing to him of his mother. Her true position in Mrs. Gallilee’s house — growing, day by day, harder and harder to endure; threatening, more and more plainly, complications and perils to come — was revealed in her next letter to her old friend in Italy. She wrote to Teresa in these words:

“If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I have spoken of Miss Minerva!

“After I had written to you, I would have recalled my letter, if it could have been done. I began, that evening, to feel ashamed of what I had said in my anger. As the hours went on, and bedtime approached, I became so wretched that I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by intruding on her once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she was, to all appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in her voice, when she asked what I wanted, which made me think — though she looks like the last person in the world to be guilty of such weakness — that she had been crying.

“I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of repentance and regret. What I actually said to her, has slipped out of my memory; I was frightened and upset — and I am always stupid in that condition. My attempt at reconciliation may have been clumsy enough; but she might surely have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her. And yet, what else could she have imagined?— to judge by her own actions and words.

“Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She snatched it up and held it before my face, and looked at me as if I was some extraordinary object that she had never seen or heard of before! ‘You are little better than a child,’ she said; ‘I have ten times your strength of will — what is there in you that I can’t resist? Go away from me! Be on your guard against me! I am false; I am suspicious; I am cruel. You simpleton, have you no instincts to protect you? Is there nothing in you that shrinks from me?’

“She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched mocking laugh. ‘There she stands,’ cried this strange creature, ‘and looks at me with the eyes of a baby that sees something new! I can’t frighten her. I can’t disgust her. What does it mean?’ She dropped into a chair; her voice sank almost to a whisper — I should have thought she was afraid of me, if such a thing had been possible. ‘What do you know of me, that I don’t know of myself?’ she asked.

“It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. I took a chair, and sat down by her. ‘I only know what you said to me yesterday,’ I answered.

“‘What did I say?’

“‘You told me you were miserable.’

“‘I told you a lie! Believe what I have said to you to-day. In your own interests, believe it to be the truth!’

“Nothing would induce me to believe it. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You were miserable yesterday, and you are miserable to-day. That is the truth!’

“What put my next bold words into my head, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter; the thought was in me — and out it came.

“‘I think you have some burden on your mind,’ I went on. ‘If I can’t relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you bear it. Come! tell me what it is.’ I waited; but it was of no use — she never even looked at me. Because I am in love myself, do I think everybody else is like me? I thought she blushed. I don’t know what else I thought. ‘Are you in love?’ I asked.

“She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so violently that she threw it on the floor. Still, not a word passed her lips. I found courage enough to go on — but not courage enough to look at her.

“‘I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me,’ I said. ‘There is my consolation, whatever my troubles may be. Are you not so fortunate?’ A dreadful expression of pain passed over her face. How could I see it, and not feel the wish to sympathise with her? I ran the risk, and said, ‘Do you love somebody, who doesn’t love you?’

“She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. I think she looked at herself in the glass. ‘Well,’ she said, speaking to me at last, ‘what else?’

“‘Nothing else,’ I answered —‘except that I hope I have not offended you.’

“She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, and took up the candle again. Once more she held it so that it lit my face.

“‘Guess who he is,’ she said.

“‘How can I do that?’ I asked.

“She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, quite incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved her. She spoke to me in a changed voice, gently and sadly.

“You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. It’s of no use — you can do nothing. Forgive my insolence yesterday; I was mad with envy of your happy marriage engagement. You don’t understand such a nature as mine. So much the better! ah, so much the better! Good-night!’

“There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffering, in those words, that I could not find it in my heart to leave her. I thought of how I might have behaved, of the wild things I might have said, if Ovid had cared nothing for me. Had some cruel man forsaken her? That was her secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. Your last letter, with our old priest’s enclosure, was in my pocket. I took it out.

“‘Would you mind reading a short letter,’ I said, ‘before we wish each other goodnight?’ I held out the priest’s letter.

“She drew back with a dark look; she appeared to have some suspicion of it. ‘Who is the writer?’ she inquired sharply.

“‘A person who is a stranger to you.’

“Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, and waited to hear what I had to say next. ‘The person,’ I told her, ‘is a wise and good old man — the priest who married my father and mother, and baptised me. We all of us used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted advice. My nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid’s absence; she spoke to him about my marriage engagement, and of my exile — forgive me for using the word!— in this house. He said he would consider, before he gave her his opinion. The next day, he sent her the letter which you have got in your hand.’

“There, I came to a full stop; having something yet to say, but not knowing how to express myself with the necessary delicacy.

“‘Why do you wish me to read the letter?’ she asked, quietly.

“I think the............