The darkness was closing in upon him, and he took up the handbell
to ring for lights. When the servant entered there was genuine
sorrow in his face, genuine anxiety in his voice, as he inquired
for news from the sick-room. The man only answered that his
mistress was still asleep, and then withdrew, after first leaving
a sealed letter on the table by his master's side. Fabio summoned
him back into the room, and asked when the letter had arrived. He
replied that it had been delivered at the palace two days since,
and that he had observed it lying unopened on a desk in his
master's study.
Left alone again, Fabio remembered that the letter had arrived at
a time when the first dangerous symptoms of his wife's illness
had declared themselves, and that he had thrown it aside, after
observing the address to be in a handwriting unknown to him. In
his present state of suspense, any occupation was better than
sitting idle. So he took up the letter with a sigh, broke the
seal, and turned inquiringly to the name signed at the end.
It was "NANINA."
He started, and changed color. "A letter from her," he whispered
to himself. "Why does it come at such a time as this?"
His face grew paler, and the letter trembled in his fingers.
Those superstitious feelings which he had ascribed to the nursery
influences of his childhood, when Father Rocco charged him with
them in the studio, seemed to be overcoming him now.
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