She had vanished.
A moment later he caught sight of her pressing up the path above him. She was going swiftly, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. Now and again a ray of the sinking sun shone upon her hair, till she seemed a queen crowned or a saint glorified.
With all his heart Antonio yearned to leap after her, to capture her like a shy creature of the woods, and to bear her back in triumph, seated on his shoulder as she had sat after the thunderstorm. But his limbs refused to obey. His feet seemed to have been rooted for centuries in the granite. He could not move an inch.
Two cypresses, which they had often halted to admire, hid her from his sight. A groan, which he could not stifle, broke from the monk. There was one more point in the path, one only, where she could reappear. Would she turn round? Would she look back? As he waited, red-hot pincers seemed to be working and worming within him as if they would have his heart out of his body. He felt as if he were bleeding at every pore.
She reappeared. She did not turn round. She did not look back. She was gone.
BOOK VI
"ITE, MISSA EST"
I
Having charged José to place himself at the disposal of Mrs. Baxter, Antonio took the road for Villa Branca about an hour after sunrise. Utter weariness had brought a few hours' sleep to his eyelids; but he felt unrested and unrefreshed. By the time he reached Santa Iria fatigue compelled him to hire a horse.
While his mount was a-saddling the monk sat musing outside the wine-shop. What was Isabel doing? Of what was she thinking? Had she slept? Was she truly hating him at last? Would she come once more to the cascade?