The Call of the Blood - Page 267/317

"I can't help it, Gaspare!"

She was saying that mentally, saying it again and again, as she hurried

onward.

Had there not been omens?

That last letter of hers, whose loss had prevented Maurice from meeting

her on her return, from welcoming her! When she had reached the station

of Cattaro, and had not seen him upon the platform, she had felt "I have

lost him." Afterwards, directly almost, she had laughed at the feeling as

absurd. But she had had it. And then, when at last he had come, she had

been moved to suggest that he might like to sleep outside upon the

terrace. And he had agreed to the suggestion. They had not resumed their

old, sweet relation of husband and wife.

Had there not been omens?

And only an hour ago, scarcely that, not that, she had knelt before the

Madonna della Rocca and she had prayed, she had prayed passionately for

deserted women, for women who loved and who had lost those whom they

loved.

The fear was upon her fully now, and she fully knew that it was. Why had

she prayed for lonely, deserted women? What had moved her to such a

prayer?

"Was I praying for myself?"

At that thought a physical weakness came to her, and she felt as if she

could not go on. By the side of the path, growing among pointed rocks,

there was a gnarled olive-tree, whose branches projected towards her.

Before she knew what she was doing she had caught hold of one and stood

still. So suddenly she had stopped that Gaspare, unprepared, came up

against her in the dark.

"Signora! What is the matter?"

His voice was surely angry. For a moment she thought of telling him to go

on alone, quickly.

"What is it, signora?"

"Nothing--only--I've walked so fast. Wait one minute!"

She felt the agony of his impatience, and it seemed to her that she was

treating him very cruelly to-night.

"You know, Gaspare," she said, "it's not easy for women--this rough

walking, I mean. We've got our skirts."

She laughed. How unnatural, how horrible her laugh sounded in the

darkness! He did not say any more. She knew he was wondering why she had

laughed like that. After a moment she let go the branch. But her legs

were trembling, and she stumbled when she began to walk on.

"Signora, you are tired already. You had better let me go alone."

For the first time she told him a lie.

"I should be afraid to wait here all by myself in the night," she said.

"I couldn't do that."