again. It was a sweet
and merciful thought, full of rest, of self-surrender, and of peace. It
was good to gaze upon it now that her faith in the spirits was gone
also. To die, to end it all! On that former occasion the image of her
old uncle had been strong in helping to dispel the fascination. Now it
was not so strong. Since Maria's death Uncle Piero had lapsed into a
state of almost complete silence which Luisa believed to be the
beginning of the apathy of old age. She did not understand that in the
old man's soul profound disapproval was mingled with grief, nor did she
understand how great was his aversion to these daily and repeated visits
to the cemetery, the flowers, the mysterious journeys to Casarico, and
above all, how he regretted her complete abandonment of the church. If
she had not been so engrossed in her dead child she might have
understood her uncle better, at least on this last point, the church,
for now the silent old man himself went to Mass oftener than before, his
heart returning to the religion of his father and mother, which,
heretofore, he had practised coldly, from habit, and out of respect for
family traditions. It seemed to Luisa that he had grown very dull, and
that if only his personal needs were attended to, he would be quite
content. Cia was there to attend to his comforts, and the means that had
sufficed for three would be more than sufficient for two. Luisa thought
she saw the water rise a hand's breadth. And Franco? Franco would be in
despair, would mourn for a few years, and then he would be happier than
ever. Franco knew the secret of speedy consolation. The water seemed to
rise another hand's breadth.

At the same moment in which she had approached the parapet, Franco,
passing the church of S. Francesco di Paolo in Via di Po, had seen
lights and heard the organ. He went in. Hardly had he said a short
prayer when the one dominant thought took possession of him once more;
the sound of the organ became the noise of trumpets and drums, the clash
of arms; and while a hymn of peace was rising from the altar, he, in
imagination, was furiously charging the enemy. Suddenly he saw before
his mind's eye the image of Luisa, pale, and dressed in mourning. He
began to think of her, to pray for her with intense fervour.

Then, standing there on the church-place of Oria, she turned cold and
was filled with dread, while the tempting thought gradually vanished.
She tried to recall it, but could not.