"I remember that when I went to my husband, I likewise wanted every woman
of my acquaintance to be married." Laura sighed deeply. "What is this
poor withered body of mine now? It feels like an old volcano, cindery,
with fire somewhere:--a charming bride! My dear, if I live till my
children make me a grandmother, I shall look on the love of men and women
as a toy that I have played with. A new husband? I must be dragged
through the Circles of Dante before I can conceive it, and then I should
loathe the stranger."

News came that the volunteers were crushed. It was time for Vittoria to
start for Pallanza, and she thought of her leave-taking; a final leave-
taking, in one sense, to the friends who had cared too much for her.
Laura delicately drew Georgiana aside in the sick-room, which she would
not quit, and alluded to the necessity for Vittoria's departure without
stating exactly wherefore: but Georgiana was a Welshwoman. Partly to
show her accurate power of guessing, and chiefly that she might reprove
Laura's insulting whisper, which outraged and irritated her as much as if
"Oh! your poor brother!" had been exclaimed, she made display of
Merthyr's manly coldness by saying aloud, "You mean, that she is going to
her marriage." Laura turned her face to Merthyr. He had striven to rise
on his elbow, and had dropped flat in his helplessness. Big tears were
rolling down his cheeks. His articulation failed him, beyond a
reiterated "No, no," pitiful to hear, and he broke into childish sobs.
Georgiana hurried Laura from the room. By-and-by the doctor was promptly
summoned, and it was Georgiana herself, miserably humbled, who obtained
Vittoria's sworn consent to keep the life in Merthyr by lingering yet
awhile.

Meantime Luigi brought a letter from Pallanza in Carlo's handwriting.