The Call of the Blood - Page 291/317

"No, signora."

"We shall be able to rest presently," she said.

She was thinking of the time when they would take Maurice from her. She

left Gaspare sitting near the bed, and went out onto the terrace.

Lucrezia and Gaspare, both thoroughly tired out, were sleeping soundly.

She was thankful for that. Soon, she knew, she would have to be with

people, to talk, to make arrangements. But now she had a short spell of

solitude.

She went slowly up the mountain-side till she was near the top. Then she

sat down on a rock and looked out towards the sea.

The world was not awake yet, although the sun was coming. Etna was like a

great phantom, the waters at its foot were pale in their tranquillity.

The air was fresh, but there was no wind to rustle the leaves of the

oak-trees, upon whose crested heads Hermione gazed down with quiet,

tearless eyes.

She had a strange feeling of being out of the world, as if she had left

it, but still had the power to see it. She wondered if Maurice felt like

that.

He had said it would be good to lie beneath those oak-trees in sight of

Etna and the sea. How she wished that she could lay his body there,

alone, away from all other dead. But that was impossible, she supposed.

She remembered the doctor's words. What were they going to do? She did

not know anything about Italian procedure in such an event. Would they

take him away? She had no intention of trying to resist anything, of

offering any opposition. It would be useless, and besides he had gone

away. Already he was far off. She did not feel, as many women do, that so

long as they are with the body of their dead they are also with the soul.

She would like to keep the dear body, to have it always near to her, to

live close to the spot where it was committed to the earth. But Maurice

was gone. Her Mercury had winged his way from her, obedient to a summons

that she had not heard. Always she had thought of him as swift, and

swiftly, without warning, he had left her. He had died young. Was that

wonderful? She thought not. No; age could have nothing to say to him,

could hold no commerce with him. He had been born to be young and never

to be anything else. It seemed to her now strange that she had not felt

this, foreseen that it must be so. And yet, only yesterday, she had

imagined a far future, and their child laying them in the ground of

Sicily, side by side, and murmuring "Buon riposo" above their mutual

sleep.