en passion.

He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, was well-made and very tall; in
character he was neither better nor worse than most men of his age, but
as a steward he was tolerably honest, and as a lover he was thoroughly
sincere. He went with a quick step into the central hall to meet his
visitor: he supposed that the vicar had come about flowers for the feast
of St. Peter and St. Paul, which was on the morrow. Though the villa
gardens were wholly neglected, they were still rich in flowers which
wanted no care, lilies, lavender, old-fashioned roses, oleanders red and
white, and magnolia-trees.

"Good-evening, reverend Father. You do me honor," he said, as he saw
Gesualdo. "Is there anything that I can do for you? I am your humble
servant."

Gesualdo looked at him curiously. He had never noticed the young man
before: he had seen him ride past, he had seen him at mass, he had
spoken to him of the feasts of the Church, but he had never noticed him.
Now he looked at him curiously as he answered, without any preface
whatever,--

"I am come to speak to you of Generosa Fe, the wife of Tasso Tassilo."

The young steward colored violently. He was astonished and silent.

"She loves you," said Gesualdo, simply.

Falko Melegari made a gesture as though he implied that it was his place
neither to deny nor to affirm.

"She loves you," said Gesualdo, again.

The young man had that fatuous smile which unconsciously expresses the
consciousness of conquest. But he was honest in his passion and ardent
in it.

"Not so much as I love her," he said, rapturously, forgetful of his
hearer.

Gesualdo frowned.

"She is the wife of another man," he said, with reproof. Falko Melegari
shrugged his shoulders: that did not seem any reason against it to him.

"How will it end?" said the priest.

The lover smiled. "These things always end in one way."

Gesualdo winced, as though some one had wounded him.

"I am come to bid you go out of Marca," he said, simply.

The young man stared at him; then he laughed angrily.

"Good Ser Vicario," he said, impatiently, "you are the keeper of our
souls, no doubt, but not quite to such a point as that. Has Tassilo sent
you to me, or she?" he added, with a gleam of suspicion in his eyes.

"No one has sent me."

"Why, then----"

"Because, if you do not go, there will be tragedy and misery. Tasso
Tassilo is not a man to make you welcome to his couch. I have known
Generosa since she was a lit