"Dead, my Paolina; and I am suspected of having murdered her," he
said slowly, and with an accent of profound despair.
"What--what! You suspected! By whom? What does it mean? La Bianca
murdered--and by you. What does it mean, Ludovico mio? For pity's
sake, tell me, what does it mean?"
And the pale features began to work, awl the large deep eyes filled
with tears, and the neat moment she fell back into a chair sobbing
hysterically.
"I was the last person with whom she was seen alive; and--there was,
it seems, strong reason why it may be supposed that I should wish
her dead--God help me! I learned this morning--the poor girl told me
herself, to my extreme surprise--that my uncle, the Marchese
Lamberto, had proposed marriage to her. You can understand, my
darling, that such a marriage would be a very dreadful misfortune to
me: therefore, people think that I put the unhappy girl to death."
"Oh, my love, my love; come to me, come to me, and let me hold you!"
said the poor girl, struggling to speak amid her convulsive sobbing,
and holding out her hands towards him. "Oh, my Ludovico, this is
very dreadful. But it is impossible--impossible! They will know that
it is impossible that you could have done such a thing. Murder! You-
-murder a defenceless girl! Oh, it is nonsense. Nobody will believe
anything so monstrous.
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