already chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer wet. Nor would it
again be wetted by any tear.

Chapter 9

The details of Harriet's crime were never known. In her illness
she spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to Lilia--lent, not
given--than of recent troubles. It was clear that she had gone prepared
for an interview with Gino, and finding him out, she had yielded to a
grotesque temptation. But how far this was the result of ill-temper, to
what extent she had been fortified by her religion, when and how she had
met the poor idiot--these questions were never answered, nor did they
interest Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have been
arrested by the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As it
was, they had been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of the
town.

As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too great. Round the
Italian baby who had died in the mud there centred deep passions and
high hopes. People had been wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save
himself had been trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this
vast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemed
to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The
passion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to
transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that he
was still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun
or the clouds above him, and the tides below.

The course of the moment--that, at all events, was certain. He and no
one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet's
crime--easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at
home. Every one had contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one
chose, one might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate.
But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to acknowledged
weakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no one else, must take
the news of it to Gino.

Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and people
had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards some
cottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and order
the driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours'
absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully.
Pain, physical and mental, had made him stupid. It was some time before
he realized that she