About three o'clock the veil of rain grew less dense; they could see the fields again; from where he sat, Heathcote could see the road and the mill.
"Can we not go now?" said Anne.
"By no means, unless you covet the drenching we have taken so much care to escape. But by four I think it will be over." He lit a cigar, and leaning back against the rock, said, "Tell me some more about that island; about the dogs and the ice."
"No," said Anne, coloring a little; "you are laughing at me. I shall tell you no more."
Then he demanded autocratically that she should sing. "I choose the song you sang on New-Year's night; the ballad."
And Anne sang the little chanson, sang it softly and clearly, the low sound of the rain forming an accompaniment.
"Do you know any Italian songs?"
"Yes."
She sang one of Belzini's selections, and remembered to sing it as Tante had directed.