oud upon it. She was something
risen from the grave to haunt him in that lonely place and drive him
mad; and the appalling howl of the great dog robe deafeningly on the
silence and trembled and died away, and began again.

Ercole's hand relaxed, and the knife fell gleaming at his feet. One
instant more and he turned and fled through the trees, towards San
Gregorio, his dog galloping heavily after him.

Regina's hands fell by her sides, and the folds of her cloak closed
together and hung straight down. She stared into the shadowy distance a
moment after her father, and saw his figure twice in the light where the
trees were wider apart, before he disappeared altogether. She looked
down and saw the knife at her feet, and she picked it up and felt the
point. It was as sharp as a needle, for Ercole had whetted it often
since he had sat by the gate in the early morning last August. It was
wet, for the grass under the trees had not dried since the rain.

She felt the point and edge with her hand, and sighed. It would have
been better to have felt it in her breast, but she would not take her
own life. She was not afraid to do it, and her young hand would have
been strong enough and sure enough to do it quickly. It was not the
thought of the pain that made her close the knife; it was the fear of
hell. Nothing she had done in her life seemed very bad to her, because
it had all been for Marcello. If Ercole had killed her, she thought that
God would have forgiven her after a time. But if she killed herself she
would instantly be seized by devils and thrust into real flames, to
burn for ever, without the slightest chance of forgiveness. She had been
taught that, and she believed it, and the thought of the fire made her
shut the clasp-knife and slip it into her dress with a sigh. It would be
a pity to throw it away, for it seemed to be a good knife, and her
father could not have had it very long.

She fastened her frock under her mantle and went a few steps down the
little slope towards the Colosseum. To go on meant to go home, and she
stopped again. The place was very lonely and peaceful, and the light on
the great walls was quiet and good to see. Though she had stood so
still, waiting to die, and had said her little prayer so calmly, her
brave heart had been beating slow and hard as if it were counting the
seconds before it was to stop; and now it beat fast and softly, and
fluttered a little, so that she felt faint, as even brav