her brother to the door, trembling for what he might say
or do. Well she knew that his command was given only that he might have
a chance to speak with her alone.

"Mind what you say to your confessor," he whispered, grasping her arm
and speaking in her ear. "You are to be a nun: you wish to be, and you
are willing to set out to-morrow. Tell him no nonsense--do you hear?--or
it will be worse for you. I shall know every word you say. If he asks if
you had a toothache say Yes. Do you hear?"

"Yes, Matteo."

She went back half fainting, and did as she had been commanded. If there
had been any little lurking impulse to beg for another week or month, it
died of fear. If she had any confession to make of other wishes than
those chosen for her, she postponed it. Matteo might be behind the door
listening, or in the next room or at the window. It seemed to her that
he could make himself invisible in order to keep guard over her.

So the priest talked a little, learned nothing, gave some advice,
recommended himself to her prayers, gave her his benediction, and went.
Then Pepina called her to see the trunk all packed with linen that had
been laid by for her for years, and Matteo, who had really been lurking
about the house, told her to go to bed, and himself really went off this
time to the Lungara. Pepina's lover came for her to sit out on the
doorstep with him, and Silvia was left alone. Nobody cared for her. All
had other interests, and they forgot her the moment she was out of their
sight. Worse, even: they wanted her to be for ever out of their sight,
that they might never have to think of her.

But no: there was one who did not forget her--who would perhaps now have
heard that she was going away, and be waiting in the mountain-path for
her. She hastened to her room, locked the door and went to the window.
He made a gesture of haste, and she dropped the ball down to him. This
was not the second time that their conversation had been held by means
of a thread. Indeed, they had come to talk so every night. At first it
had been a few words only, and Silvia's unconsciousness and her
sincerity in her intention to follow her mother's will had imposed
silence on the young man. But little by little he had ventured, and she
had understood; and within the last week there had been no concealments
between them, though Silvia still resisted all his prayers to change her
resolution and brave her brother.

His first note was in her ha