She saw her benignant gaze, and knelt down, confessing all to the wonder-working saint, and besought her to heal her sick heart. She hardly knew what oppressed her so, and what made her so immensely happy, at the same time. To her, woods and fields were indeed vocal, every flitting bird and gurgling brook, every passing cloud and whispering breeze brought messages of love from him. To the mercy of God and the love of Christ she now committed her love. Today in the boundless reverence and religious enthusiasm she felt the need of his presence so much more.
She looked right and left. "Something must have happened," she murmured to herself, greatly disappointed, as it was almost twilight, and nowhere was to be seen the tall imposing figure of the fascinating man so dear to her. The sun had gone down and the shadows of the summer evening commenced to gather in the near forest, and climbed, like trooping spirits, up the rocky mountain side.
"He was always so punctual," her voice faltered suddenly, and it grew dark before her eyes; she trembled so that she was obliged to grasp one of the large candle-holders near her in order to keep her from falling to the ground.
An elegant carriage with four horses had just dashed by, in which she fancied she saw her lover with a richly dressed lady; her heart contracted painfully. Sadly, with downcast eyes praying continually, she took her way back to the village.
Although with her pure and simple views of life, there was no room for doubt in her loving heart, still the disquieting thoughts that he must be rich and of high position, she could not keep altogether away. How else could he be driving about with a signora apparently of nobility? Involuntarily, hot tears trickled down her red cheeks out of the great blue eyes, like drops of rain from a patch of blue sky.
When Luigi came to the village on the following day he found Concetta's eyes swollen with weeping. She scarcely dared to raise them, still heavy with tears, to his face, for fear he should read in them her great love for him.
Luigi Pavichino, the young roue, who had succeeded quickly enough with his flattering words in making her forget the cause of her secret grief, now laughed lightly with a merriment that had none too pleasant a sound, as if he were well used to such scenes of jealousy. He called her his dear little bride, whom he loved and would always love, and therewith he kissed her rosy lips passionately, assuring her on his honor that he had been driving in no carriage, but had been at the monastery with the Padre, and then at five o'clock had come to Saint Cecelia's shrine, without seeing her.
The nearer the wedding day approached, the oftener Luigi came to the village, assuring her always of the unchangeableness of his love.