tween them for a while. Olive stared with
fascinated eyes at this tall, lithe man whose red _lucco_, falling in
straight folds to his feet, became him well. The upper part of his
face was in shadow, and she saw only the strong lines of the cleft
chin, and the beautiful cruel lips that smiled at her as though they
knew what her answer must be.

She was of those who are apt to prefer one hour of troubled joy to the
long, grey, eventless years of the women who are said to be happy
because they have no history, and it seemed to her that the moment had
come when she must make a choice. This love was not what she had
dreamed of, longed for; other lips, kinder and more true, should have
set their seal on her accomplished womanhood. She knew that this that
was offered was a perilous and sharp-edged thing, a bright sheath
that held a sword for her heart, and yet that heart sang exultantly
as it fluttered like a wild bird against the bars of its cage. It sang
of youth and life and joy that cares not for the morrow.

It sang.

Filippo watched her closely and he saw that she was yielding. Her lips
parted, and instinctively as he came towards her she closed her eyes
so nearly that he saw only a narrow line of blue gleaming between her
lashes. But as he laid his hands upon her shoulders something awoke
within her, a terror that screamed in her ears.

"I am afraid," she said brokenly. "Leave me and come back to-morrow
morning if you will. I cannot answer you now."

As he still held her she spoke again. "If I come to you willingly I
shall be more worth having, and if you do not go now I will never
come. I will drown myself in the Arno."

"Very well. I will come to-morrow."

When he was gone she went stumblingly across the room to the mattress
on the floor in the farthest corner, and threw herself down upon it,
dressed as she was.

There was no more oil in the little lamp, and its flame flickered and
went out after a while, leaving her in the dark. The clocks were
striking two. Long since the moon had set behind the hills and now the
stars were fading, or so it seemed. There was no light anywhere.

Olive did not sleep. Her frightened thoughts ran to and fro busily,
aimlessly, like ants disturbed, hither and thither, this way and that.
He could give her so much. Nothing real, indeed, but many bright
counterfeits. For a while she would seem to be cared for and beloved.
Yes, but if the true love came she would be shamed. She kne