The pale, oval face was infinitely sweet, the slanting eyes of heavenly
blue were infinitely tender, the brown hair was plaited into two long
tresses that hung forward upon either breast and were entwined with threads
of gold and shimmering jewels. On the pale brow a brilliant glowed with
pure white fires, and her hands were held out to me in welcome.
Her lips parted to breathe my name.
"Agostino d'Anguissola!" There were whole tomes of tender meaning in those
syllables, so that hearing her utter them I seemed to learn all that was in
her heart.
And then her shining whiteness suggested to me the name that must be hers
"Bianca!" I cried, and in my turn held out my arms and made as if to
advance towards her. But I was held back in icy, clinging bonds, whose
relentlessness drew from me a groan of misery.
"Agostino, I am waiting for you at Pagliano," she said, and it did not
occur to me to wonder where might be this Pagliano of which I could not
remember ever to have heard. "Come to me soon."
"I may not come," I answered miserably. "I am an anchorite, the guardian
of a shrine; and my life that has been full of sin must be given henceforth
to expiation. It is the will of Heaven."
She smiled all undismayed, smiled confidently and tenderly.
"Presumptuous!" she gently chid me.
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