Waking suddenly, she had heard Elettra's anxious voice, giving the
strong impression that she was really in present peril. Then she had
really thought that she heard another footstep, somewhere, while Elettra
was standing still beside her. It had only been the cat, of course. It
was such a very fat cat, as Elettra said, and the floors were of the
old-fashioned sort, laid on wooden beams, and trembled very easily, as
they do in old Italian houses. But each detail had fitted with another,
into a sort of whole which was a reflexion of the priest's story. Some
of it all at once looked true, and instead of going to sleep at once,
Veronica's eyes were wide open, and she turned uneasily on her pillow.
Of course, it was absurd, for she had received the money when she had
insisted upon having it, and if Elettra's room was damp, that quite
explained her presence. Besides, Elettra could not be supposed to know
what Don Teodoro had said to Veronica. And then, there was the rest of
the story, all that connected Bosio and Matilde. She absolutely refused
to think of believing that. She would not even admit that there might
have been some little foundation for it in the past.
Instinctively driving away the thought, she began to say certain prayers
for the poor man, and little by little, repeating the words often, her
mind grew calm, and she fell asleep once more. Yet in her sleep the
needle of doubt ran through the little bits of memories, one by one,
threading them in one continuous string.
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