Why did thy heart beat, Viola?
The infant's sharp cry of pain called her back to the couch; and there still sat the old man, unconscious of his wife's movements, not stirring, his eyes glazing fast as they watched the agonies of that slight frame.

By degrees the wail of pain died into a low moan,--the convulsions grew feebler, but more frequent; the glow of fever faded into the blue, pale tinge that settles into the last bloodless marble.
The daylight came broader and clearer through the casement; steps were heard on the stairs,--the old woman entered hastily; she rushed to the bed, cast a glance on the patient, "She lives yet, signor, she lives!" Viola raised her eyes,--the child's head was pillowed on her bosom,--and she beheld Zanoni.

He smiled on her with a tender and soft approval, and took the infant from her arms.

Yet even then, as she saw him bending silently over that pale face, a superstitious fear mingled with her hopes.

"Was it by lawful--by holy art that--" her self-questioning ceased abruptly; for his dark eye turned to her as if he read her soul, and his aspect accused her conscience for its suspicion, for it spoke reproach not unmingled with disdain.
"Be comforted," he said, gently turning to the old man, "the danger is not beyond the reach of human skill;" and, taking from his bosom a small crystal vase, he mingled a few drops with water.