"To-morrow—yes, to-morrow at this time."
"To-morrow night then—at this time I will be here. Good-night, signorina."
He walked away without another word. When he reached the park, instead of going down the drive, he turned away towards the golf links. Crossing the River Linden by a little wooden bridge, he climbed the hill, and presently he reached the broad expanse of moors. Then, and not until then, did he manifest any feeling whatever.
No one was near, the great moors were desolated by the night. Birds, and beasts, and flowers were asleep. The night winds swept gently across the spaces, making a kind of sad music. The man laughed aloud—a wild, harsh laugh. There was a kind of joy in the laugh, but it was unholy joy. It was the laugh of a man who believed he had succeeded in an evil thing—such a laugh as Mephistopheles uttered when he watched the ruin of Faust and Marguerite.
For hours he tramped the heathery moors; he seemed to rejoice in the silence of the night, in the loneliness of the region.
"To-morrow night," he said at length. "My answer is to come to-morrow. After six years I will hold her in my arms again. Six years! Great God, what I have been through in that time! Six years ago she drove me away from her, and she destroyed everything that was good in me, but now my time is come!"
For the first time for years he was unable to sleep that night. Hour after hour he tossed in his bed, and then presently, when the first dawn of morning appeared, he rose and went to the window.
How quiet and peaceful everything was! Save the faint twitter of the birds, who had not yet begun their glad thanksgiving chorus, and the gentle ripple of the river, no sound was to be heard. The valley lay in a light, thin haze, the dew hung on millions of blades of grass, the air was sweet with the purity of the morning. It seemed impossible for any one to cherish dreams of vengeance amidst such a scene, but there was no softening in Ricordo's eyes.
He dressed quickly and went out. The sun had now risen, and all nature had burst into new life. Everywhere the birds poured forth their song of praise, the lambs sported in the meadows, the cattle eagerly ate the dewy grass; everywhere life was a joy. He looked across the valley, and up on the hillside where Olive's home could be seen between the trees. The peacefulness and beauty of the scene seemed to affect him. A look of wonder came into his eyes, and there was an expression on his face difficult to describe. But it quickly passed away.
"No, no," he cried, "there is no hope for me. There is nothing worth living for now, save that. Oh, how I hate her!"