He had been willing and ready to give up all right to
hope for the woman he loved, in order that his friend might marry her,
but the idea that there should be an irregularity about the marriage, or
no real marriage at all, as he believed was the case, was more than he
could, or would, bear. To speak with Veronica was out of the question.
He knew enough of women to understand that if she ever knew how, by an
accident, she had held his hand instead of Gianluca's at the moment when
she was giving her very soul to save the dying man, she might never
forgive him. She might even turn and hate him. She would never believe
that he himself had not known what he was doing. If it were possible, he
would not incur such risk. Anything in reason and honour would be better
than to be hated by her. He had seen her change of manner, of late, and
he knew very well that she was beginning to like him much more than
formerly.
In the morning, after Don Teodoro had said mass, Taquisara went to him
and found him over his books. This time the priest recognized him at
once and rose to greet him gravely, as though he had expected his visit.
"Have you made up your mind what to do?" asked the Sicilian, as he sat
down.
It was as though they had been in the habit of discussing the situation
together, and were about to renew a conversation which had been broken
off.
"I know what I shall have to do, if matters go any further," answered
the priest, in a dull voice, unlike his own.
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