the light of Heaven shines on the world. And when the window is open, we
feel happy and thankful, and wish to sing and laugh. But when we have
done something to make God angry with us, then He sends angels to draw
clouds over the window, so that we may be shut out of His sight, and the
light of Heaven may be shut off from us. And then we are lonely and
cold, and we could quarrel with anything, even with the pigs. God wishes
to show us how bad it would be always to be shut off from His sight. But
now they have drawn the cloud away, so God is not angry any more. I made
a good act of contrition, and He has forgiven me."

Maria Dolores smiled, but under her smile there was a look of
seriousness, a look of concern.

"My dear," she said smiling, and looking concerned, "you should try to
control your vivid little imagination. If every time a cloud crosses the
sun, you are going to assume the responsibility for it, and to fancy
that you have offended God, I'm afraid you'll have rather an agitated
life."

"Oh, no; not _every_ time," exclaimed Annunziata, and she was manifestly
on the point of making a fine distinction, when abruptly the current of
her ideas was diverted. "Sh-h! There comes Prospero," she cried,
starting up. "I can see the top of his white hat above the rhododendron
bushes. He has driven his friend to Cortello, and come home. I must run
away, or he will see that I've been crying. Don't tell him," she begged,
putting her finger on her lips; and she set off running, towards the
presbytery, just as John stepped forth from behind the long hedge of
rhododendrons.

IV

John stepped forth from behind the rhododendrons, with a kind of
devil-may-care, loose, aimless gait, the brim of his Panama pulled
brigandishly down over one ear, his hands in the pockets of his coat,
his head bent, his brow creased, his eyes sombre, every line and fibre
of his person advertising him the prey of morose disgust. But when he
saw Maria Dolores, he hastily straightened up, unpocketed his hands,
took off his hat (giving it a flap that set the brim at a less truculent
angle), and smiled. And when, the instant after, he caught sight of the
flying form of Annunziata, his smile turned into a glance of wonder.

"What is the matter with Annunziata? Why is she running with all her
legs like that?" he asked.

Maria Dolores had the tiniest catch of laughter. "She is running away
from you," she answered.

"From _me_?" marvelled John.