Left alone, Ragna felt overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the turn her affairs had taken and torn with doubt as to the course to pursue. She did not question Egidio's sincerity, had she not seen the tears in his eyes as he pleaded with her? And besides what ulterior motive could he possibly have? She was consumed with gratitude for his generosity, the offer of his name and protection to a girl in her position--to her it would mean salvation. Marriage with a man who knew all and in spite of it loved her still, would be a haven of refuge, it would save her reputation and give her child the advantage of a father's name. But could she accept the offer, could she accept the charity of it? True, Egidio had put it as a benefit to be conferred still more on him than on her--but even so, could she accept? With her woman's knowledge of the facts of life and marriage, could she be his wife? She did not love him and the thought of submitting to his kisses and caresses sickened her with physical repugnance--but then he had said he would be a brother, a friend, nothing more, that merely to have her by his side would satisfy him. As a friend she liked him and found him interesting, and his person was not unpleasing apart from that faint underlying sense of physical repulsion she was conscious of in his presence. Then his threat of suicide,--he meant it, she could see that! Could she take upon herself the responsibility of driving him to such desperate courses? Could she bear the thought of his blood upon her head in addition to her burthen, heavy enough already, in all conscience? Still marriage, a binding contract involving her whole life and his,--could she honestly bring herself to accept? She rose and feverishly paced the floor, refusing the refreshment of eggs and milk that Carolina brought her. Oh, why was this decision forced upon her now? The more she thought the more confused did she become. All arguments were in favour of her accepting and she was at a loss to explain her reluctance. Some hidden instinct warned her against it,--but could she in justice to herself, to Valentini, and above all, to the child--could she refuse? He had said that he would love the child as his own, might not the child himself, reproach her some day for bringing him into the world nameless, a bastard, when it had lain with her to give him an honourable name and position? For the child's sake could she dare to refuse? Surely for his sake, she could fulfill her part of the contract, be an affectionate friend, a faithful and dutiful helpmate, wife in name only? Finally in her perplexity, she decided to lay the case before Ferrati and abide by his judgment in the matter. He, a man of the world, a friend both of herself and of Valentini would know what was right, would counsel her wisely. This decision brought her some measure of calm, but when she was in bed her torment returned, and she spent the night feverishly arguing the pros and cons.