"Natalie—my wife!" he calls in his sleep.
And behold! the white tombstone has letters of fire written on it, and the white flowers are changed to drops of blood, and the two black figures have hurried away and disappeared. How the wind tears down this wide valley, in which there is no sign of life. It is so sad to be left alone.
Well, it was about eight o'clock when he was awakened by the entrance of Waters. He jumped up, and looked around, haggard and bewildered. Then his first thought was,
"A few more nights like this, and Zaccatelli will have little to fear."
He had his bath and breakfast; all the time he was forcing himself into an indignant self-contempt. He held out his hand before him, expecting to see it tremble: but no. This reassured him somewhat.
A little before eleven he was at the house in Hans Place. He was immediately shown up-stairs. Natalie's mother was there to receive him, she did not notice he looked tired.
"Natalie is coming to you this morning?" he said.
"Oh yes; why not? It gives her pleasure, it gives me joy. But I will not keep the child always in the house; no, she must have her walk. Yesterday, after you had left, we went to a very secluded place—a church not far from here, and a cemetery behind."
"Oh, yes; I know," he said. "But you might have chosen a more cheerful place for your walk."
"Any place is cheerful enough for me when my daughter is with me," said she, simply; "and it is quiet."