"Then what will become of me?" she sobbed, "Holy Mother! what shall I do? Must I again leave you by stratagem? do you good by force? Yes, I will leave you—I will go. You cannot compel me. I don't acknowledge your right—I am free—I will go."
He raised his head and surveyed her.
He was no longer angered, but his cold eyes and grey face grown suddenly old were terrible.
"Listen," he said firmly. "We must end this. It's all settled—there's no more to be said. You will not move one step without my knowledge. Listen, and keep my words in mind as if they were the words of one dead. Till now, I have endured the dishonour and the grief of your shameful life, because I was not able to prevent it, and because I hoped some day to put a stop to it. But from to-day it is different. If you attempt to go away from here, I shall follow you. I'll kill you. I'll kill myself! I shall not wish to go on living!"
Olì looked at him in fear. He was like her father. Uncle Micheli, when he had driven her away from the Cantoniera. He had the same cold look, the same calm and terrible countenance, the same hollow voice, the same inexorable tone. She seemed looking at the old man's ghost, risen up to punish her; and she felt the whole horror of death. She spoke no further word, but crouched upon the floor, trembling with terror and despair.
A sad night fell upon the wind-shaken hamlet.
Anania had not been able to get a horse that evening, so he was obliged to spend another night at Fonni, sleeping a strange sleep like the sleep of a convict on the day he has been sentenced.
Aunt Grathia and Olì sat up a long time over the fire. Olì had the cold fit which is precursor of fever; her teeth chattered, she yawned and groaned. As in the nights of long ago, the wind roared through the kitchen, stirring the black relics of the bandit. By the firelight the widow worked at her spinning, her face pallid and impassive as that of a spectre. But she told her guest no stories of her dead husband, nor did she dare to offer consolation. Only now and then she vainly implored the sufferer to go to bed.
"I'll go, if you'll do me one kindness," said Olì at last.
"What is it?"