rt and her pulse in a tumult, went on
without answering. It seemed to her she was being borne through the
darkness towards him, on the tide of an unknown sea.

Towards him, towards him. Towards his God also? The mighty wind confused
her, roaring above and around her. Noemi's words, Carlino's words were
rending her soul in a violent struggle. Towards his God also? Ah! how
could she tell? In the meantime, towards him!

CHAPTER IX. IN THE WHIRLWIND OF GOD

I. At two o'clock on the following day Jeanne, with Maria and Noemi, was
waiting at Casa Selva for news from Villa Mayda, her thoughts dwelling,
from time to time, on the persistent silence at the Grand Hotel.
Giovanni had gone to Villa Mayda before seven o'clock. He had returned
at nine. He had not been able to see Benedetto. Professor Mayda would
not allow him or any one else to enter. He knew that the sick man had
received the Sacraments, but more as an act of devotion than because
he was in immediate danger. However, in the night a trace of fever
had reappeared. It was hoped the attack might be conquered or checked.
Perhaps, in making this report to Jeanne, Giovanni had slightly coloured
it with optimism. Benedetto was in the Professor's own room. Giovanni
said it would not be possible to describe how full of exquisite, womanly
tenderness were the attentions lavished upon him by this terrible Mayda,
who was believed by many to be harsh and proud. Giovanni had gone back
again after lunch about mid-day. From Carlino nothing had come, neither
a written word, nor a message. Notwithstanding her other great sorrow,
Jeanne could not help thinking of him also. What if his grief, his
anger, had really made him ill? Her friends reassured her. Either
the maid or the footman would have come to tell her. She had little
confidence in the intelligence of these servants. What was to be done?
Jeanne was about to beg that some one might be sent to inquire, when, at
a quarter-past two, hurried steps were heard in the hall, and Giovanni
entered, in his great-coat, his hat in his hand. Jeanne glanced at his
face, and understood that the moment was come. She rose, as white
as death. Silently and immediately Maria and Noemi rose also, Maria
watching Jeanne, while Noemi gazed at her brother-in-law, who,
confronted by Jeanne's ghostly face, could find no words. Five or six
terrible seconds passed, but not more. Then Maria said, in a hushed
voice:

"Are we to go?"

Her husband ans