It had only taken a few minutes; the voices of the women were still audible, and the sound of the mandoline.
CHAPTER IV.
LA MORT DANS L'ÂME
The masses of the downs were gray and shadowy; there was only a faint streak of red in the eastern sky, and the whitened stones of the piazza had that peculiar look of stillness which transfigures familiar places seen at early dawn, when Dino came out of the house in which he had spent the night.
The cool sweet air tasted pleasantly to his feverish lips; he stood bareheaded for a moment, drawing in a long deep breath of freshness before he struck into the path which was to lead him back to Leghorn. But early as it was, there was already some one stirring before him. As he passed the church a slender figure wrapped in a dark shawl moved hastily forward from behind one of the pillars, and a trembling voice said, 'Dino!'
He started as if he had been shot.
'Italia! Italia! you there—at this hour!'
He sprang up the steps towards her, and they met just under the fading wreaths of yesterday's festival.
They stood there grasping both one another's hands; it was difficult to say which face looked the paler and more agitated.