was, she grew preternaturally calm.

"You have driven him away," moaned the Signora piteously. "You have
driven away my boy! Was he not good enough for you?"

She asked the question suddenly and vehemently, turning upon poor Aurora
with something like fury. She was quite beside herself, and the Contessa
motioned the girl away. Aurora rose and disappeared round the corner of
the house.

Alone with her friend, Maddalena did her best to comfort her. There were
arguments enough: it was barely noon, and Marcello had not been gone
four hours; he was used to taking long walks, he had probably gone as
far as the tower, and had rested there before coming back; or he had
gone to meet Ercole on the road to Porto d'Anzio; or he had gone off
towards the Nettuno woods to get over his anger in solitude; it was
natural enough; and after all, if he had gone to Rome as Aurora
thought, no harm could come to him, for he would go home, and would
surely send a telegram before evening. It was unlike him, yes; but just
at his age boys often did foolish things.

"Marcello is not foolish!" objected the Signora indignantly.

She could by no means listen to reason, and was angry because her friend
tried to argue with her. She rose with an energy she seldom displayed,
and began to walk up and down the verandah. Her face was very pale, her
lip quivered when she spoke, and there was an unnatural light in her
eyes. There was room for much moderate affection in her gentle nature;
she had loved her first husband; she loved Corbario dearly; but the
passion of her life was her son, and at the first presentiment of real