od about the note."

"Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder. "He tried to carry
the baby--"

"But why not Gino or Perfetta?"

"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. The baby wants
to sleep." She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then she
wiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes.
Philip looked away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were
travelling with the whole world's sorrow, as if all the mystery, all the
persistency of woe were gathered to a single fount. The roads were
now coated with mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not less
swiftly, sliding by long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks
pretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view of
Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon they ought to
come to that little wood where violets were so plentiful in spring. He
wished the weather had not changed; it was not cold, but the air was
extraordinarily damp. It could not be good for the child.

"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he said.

"Of course," said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've started him
again. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish you wouldn't talk; it makes
me so nervous."

"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too uncanny. Poor Gino! I'm
terribly sorry for Gino."

"Are you?"

"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know what he wants. He
doesn't grip on to life. But I like that man, and I'm sorry for him."

Naturally enough she made no answer.

"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us no good
by it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. Suppose a really
decent woman had set up Gino--I believe Caroline Abbott might have done
it--mightn't he have been another man?"

"Philip," she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, "do you
happen to have those matches handy? We might as well look at the baby
again if you have."

The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He suggested
that they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp from the driver.

"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again."

They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third match.
At last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, and for a full
quarter minute they contemplated the face that trembled in the light of
the trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They were lying
in the mud in