She, too, leant against a tree panting.
'You said, Father, that Mr. Manisty was to leave you at midday.'
'And you wish to see him?' he cried.
'I am determined to see him,' she said in a low voice, biting her lip.
And again she was off, a gleam of whiteness gliding down, down, through the cool green heart of the Sassetto, towards the Paglia.
They emerged upon the fringe of the wood, where amid scrub and sapling trees stood the little sun-baked house.
From the distance came a sound of wheels—a carriage from Selvapendente crossing the bridge over the Paglia?
Mrs. Burgoyne looked at the house for a moment in silence. Then, sheltered under her large white parasol, she passed round to the side that fronted the river.
There, in the shade, sat Manisty, his arms upon his knees, his head buried in his hands.
He did not at first hear Mrs. Burgoyne's step, and she paused a little way off. She was alone. The priest had not followed her.