"Ilaria--can you guess the import of this hour? Can you guess why we are here at this moment?" She looked up at him questioningly, but did not speak. "We are here," he stammered, looking helplessly into her face,--"to say farewell." "Farewell?" she repeated with wonderment. "Do you not ride with us?" A negative gesture was slowly followed by the words: "I do not ride with you." "I do not understand!" she said, hesitation in her tone. "Has the Viceroy--" "I am no longer of the court!" She started. He saw the roses fade from her cheeks. "Dismissed?" The words stung him like a whip-lash. He bowed his head. "I will see Count Capecé at once! He will not refuse a boon to Ilaria Caselli!" She had arisen, as if to suit the action to the words. He gently drew her back, disregarding her resistance, her wondering look. "It is beyond recall!" From the castle court there came the sound of a fanfare. Neither noted it. Yet a touch of impatience tinged Ilaria's words, as she turned to him anew. "What ails you, Francesco? You are dealing in enigmas. Why are you dismissed? Why may I not see the Viceroy at once,--ere it be too late?" "Because it _is_ too late. We part--for life!" A deadly pallor had overspread her features. "I do not understand!" she faltered. His head drooped. It was with difficulty he maintained his self-control. "I feared as much,--and yet, the word must be spoken,--farewell--forever--these two words alone--" "Forever!" she exclaimed, "and between us? No,--no,--not that,--not that!" She held out both hands to him. He caught them in his own, as a drowning man would hold on to a straw. "And yet,--we must!" he replied, with a choking voice. "Oh, Ilaria--Ilaria--my sweetheart--my darling,--save me! Save me!" He broke off suddenly and stared at her vacantly. "Lord Christ,--what do I say! No, no! I did not mean that! I pray to God, that we may not." "May not--what?" she interposed, her eyes in his. "Francesco, speak! What troubles you? What is the meaning of it all?" "Oh, Ilaria," he said slowly, "it is indeed more difficult to tell than I had guessed. When I leave Avellino, it will be never to return!" "But why--why, Francesco?" she questioned, alarmed by his words, but more by the wild expression of his countenance. "How can I tell it--how can I tell it? Is it not enough for you, to know that I must go?" "You frighten me!" she whispered, drawing nearer to him. He took her in his arms and held her close, very close to him, pressing his lips upon her closed eyes. It was his farewell to love, to life. "Tell me that you love me!" he begged in piteous tones. "I love you," she breathed in whispered accents, broken by a sob. "Do you not know?" "I love you," he cried with sudden fierceness, flinging the words in rebellion at the inexorable fate which was in store for him. "Then,--why must we say it,--the word?" she queried anxiously. "Think you that I fear to follow you,--wherever you may go?"