"I am afraid of you," he said.

"Of me?" Her presence of mind returned. "What an idea! just because I
suggested that poor little Veronica might catch a cold or a fever in
this horrible weather and might die of the one or the other? And just
because I am fond of her, and said that I should be afraid of seeing her
in the dark! Heaven give her a hundred years of life! Why should we talk
of such sad things?"

"It is certainly not I who wish to talk of them, or think of them,"
answered Bosio, thoughtfully, and turning once more to the fire. "You
are overwrought, Matilde--you are unhappy, afraid of the future--what
shall I say? Sometimes you speak in a strange way."

"Is it any wonder? The case is desperate, and I am desperate, too--"

"Do not say it--"

"Then say that you will marry Veronica, and save us all, and bring peace
into the house--for my sake, Bosio--for me!"

She leaned forward, and her hands met upon her knee in something like a
gesture of supplication, while she sought his eyes.

"For your sake," repeated Bosio, dreamily. "For your sake? But you ask
the impossible, Matilde. Besides, she would not marry me. She would
laugh at the idea. And then--for you and me--it is horrible! You have no
right to ask it."