Again he experienced a moment of atrocious doubt, and was atrociously oppressed by the thought of the excursion postponed, of the day missed.
"And are we to go alone?" he asked, hesitating, and fearing the reply.
"We two are going alone," replied Lilian serenely.
It was impossible for him, a man over whom so many intoxicating and terrible emotions had passed, to dominate the pallor which disturbed his face, and the blush that afterwards suffused it. He could say nothing for the interior tumult of his being. She, still serene, added:
"Dear May wishes me to leave a note to tell her what time we shall probably return. At what time shall we return, Signor Sabini?"
"At six, I think; not before," he stammered.
"The whole day, then," replied the girl. She went to a table and wrote a note on a leaf from her pocket-book, enclosed it in an envelope, and gave it to a servant. Then her periwinkle-blue eyes invited Lucio to follow her to the stairs which descended to the vestibule; a little chasseur came after them, carrying the wraps and the rug. Agilely Lilian climbed up with a spring, Lucio placed himself beside her, the chasseur spread the rug over their knees and settled the wraps. The coachman, too, wrapped his feet and body in a covering as far as his chest, and cracked his whip; the bells tinkled, the carriage started along the silent road that crosses the Dorf and inclines towards the wood on the hill of Charnadüras, and set off at a trot into the silent country, all white with snow.
As a reaction to his immense emotion of a few moments ago, Lucio Sabini was invaded by a wave of cynicism. So this beautiful girl with whom he was in love, and who was in love with him, was left in his power, she was given to him for a whole day without hardly anyone knowing where they had gone; alone for a whole day, scarcely being asked, and that by chance, the hour of return, perhaps merely to fix the dinner-hour; and Miss May Ford was doing this, Lilian Temple's only guardian, she to whom her father had entrusted her as a second mother. But were these Englishwomen, young and old, stupid and fools, or corrupt? And did they think him an idiot or a saint? Why was the girl entrusted to him, to whom he had been making love for three weeks? So that he should compromise her, perhaps, and be forced to marry her? What a stupid joke to play on an experienced man like him; there was not a Miss Ford in the land of Albion, or any other land, who could have managed him! And was Lilian Temple unaware—an idiot, an accomplice? An accomplice? Frowning and stern, he bit his lips beneath his moustaches. The carriage crossed the great Valley of Samaden, where the snow covered the Corvatsch and the Muotta to their bases, and extended in white flutings over the expanses of the meadows.
"What is the matter?" Lilian suddenly asked, after too long a silence.
At first she looked at him timidly, then more frankly. And he saw in her face an expression he had never noticed before.