"Francesco," she said suddenly, as they neared the sea, "think not hard of me! Strife and unrest are everywhere. It is better to escape the world!"
"Better perhaps," he said, with his eyes upon the clouds.
"Forget that there is such a woman as Ilaria," she said. "I, too, shall strive to forget the past."—
"Who can forget?" he muttered. "While life lasts, memory lives on!"
They had come to the causeway, where the track wound like a black snake towards the golden heights. Not a sound was there save the distant surging of the sea. The distorted trees thrust out their hands and seemed to cry an eternal "Vale" to the two upon the road.
At the foot of the causeway, Francesco turned his horse.
"Go in peace!" he said, his voice vibrating with inward emotion, her image haunting his heart, like a fell dream at night.
She stretched out a hand.
"Francesco—you will not leave me yet?"
"Ah!" he cried with sudden great bitterness, "is it so easy to say farewell?"