“‘Is your mother dead?’
“‘I do not know; I have never seen her.’
“‘This ring, my child—is it a ring of betrothal or of marriage?’
“‘It is a ring of marriage.’
“‘Where, then, is your husband?’
“‘He left me in the mountains, in the hut of the shepherd Orio.’
“‘That was long ago?’
“She shook her head. Though health had restored her memory to her, it had yet left but faint and blurred impressions of that week of suffering in the hut. She realised little of the meaning of the tie she had contracted; of sense of obligation there was none.
“‘Girl,’ said the priest, severely, ‘the Holy Gospels teach us that the wife should cleave unto her husband. You are well punished for your sins, as God always punishes those who break His commandments. You must return to Zlarin when your strength is wholly restored. I must speak to the Count when he is back again. I fear you have acted very wrongly.’
“Her only answer was a merry laugh, excellency. He neither frightened nor convinced her. She did not believe that the God he spoke of would ever carry her back to that loneliness and misery which she had fled. Nay, all exhortation was lost upon her; and when the Count returned at the end of the week he found Father Mark full of bitterness and despair.