“I have loved him enough to bury myself in the convent for his sake, to save, as I dreamed, his soul. I love him enough now to defy the world and marry him despite all scorn and hissing, for I know that God is better pleased that an evil vow were broken than kept. Betwixt you and me there has been a great battle for Walter’s soul. With all your powers you have striven to drag him down to hell, and Satan has been with you. You are beautiful enough to pluck to damnation a saint. And I have striven against you as a weak, untaught mountain girl with only her white conscience and her prayers to save him from you; to save him and all his glorious gifts of heart and mind for the works of heaven. And I have won--have won! The dross has been purged out of him. On my side has been the dear Lord God, and He is stronger than the Master Devil. Therefore do you, most fair and sinful lady, leave us to live our lives, and may you repent in peace.” “You have won him?” repeated Marianna, in a kind of wan agony, her lips blanched and drawn. “Even so.” Ilsa looked at me. I nodded. The face of the Italian flushed crimson. “Perdition! Am I not southern born? Can I stand here a smiling fool? You have won him? _Evviva!_ Then let the bridegroom lead home his bride. Ecco!--” With the last word her hand flew to her belt, she drew a pistol and fired; but with the flash I smote aside the barrel with the shaft of my weapon. The ball found a victim, but not the one intended. With a direful scream the old abbess released her niece’s arm and fell a white heap upon the floor; across the smoke-filled room we stared at one another horribly. Marianna dropped the empty pistol and stood gazing for a moment in a stupor. Ilsa seemed unable to stir or speak. Andrea cast himself upon the fallen woman, but rose, shaking his head. “The heart--_instantemente_,” was all he could articulate. “Murderess,” I found power to cry, and was making to seize Marianna’s other weapons, when an echoing shout without the door told how our truce was at an end. “There is murder within! Force open! Secure the mad man!” “Down the trellis, Eccellenza, down the trellis, while I hold them back,” Andrea pleaded. As he spoke, however, a rush of men swept the door almost from its hinges. “Impossible,” I retorted. “Can I leave _them_? This attack must be checked until these men will listen to reason. The only chance!” A second blow smote the door inward, wrenched clear of all fastenings. Half a score of faces seemed crowding after it. Weapons were tossing. Curses flying. But the strength of fifty seemed in my arms that day. The great partisan danced over my head like a willow wand as I swung it. “Back, swine,” I thundered, “or be I mad or sane, I will brain you all.”