_It could not be_!
He put the argument many times, feverishly at first, then more
calmly--coming always to the same conclusion, "it could not be." It was
a comfort to reach so sensible and positive a decision. To-morrow he
would go to his daughter, and meanwhile he must continue his work; he
needed to reassert his power, for he had been strangely shaken.
He drew the scattered papers together, but the lines, blurred and
confused, carried no meaning; the fragments of broken glass in the
little trays beside him were a dull, untranslucent gray, and written all
over papers and fragments, in vivid letters that burned into his brain,
were those other terrible words of Piero's which he had tried in vain to
forget--"Thy daughter is dying for this curse." _Marina--dying_!
How should Piero know more about Marina than her own father knew? Did he
profess to be a physician that one should credit his every word? What
did he mean by his impudent boast of "dying for her, if need should be!"
Had she not her husband and father to care for her? Her husband "who was
denying her the only thing that could give her life and peace," Piero
had said.
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