silence of the wood, frightened me because
they carried with them an impression of something preternatural,
something indefinably weird and compelling. He was no longer the humble
suppliant of that morning in the park, spoke no more of his diffident
hopes, his half-mystical aspirations, his incurable sense of sorrow.
This time he did not beg and entreat. It was the voice of passion, full
of audacity and virile power, a voice I did not know in him.

'"You love me, you love me--you cannot help but love me--tell me that
you love me!"

'His horse was close beside mine. I felt him brush me; I almost felt the
breath of his burning words upon my cheek, and I thought I must swoon
with anguish and fall into his arms.

'"Tell me that you love me," he repeated obstinately, relentlessly.
"Tell me that you love me!"

'Under the terrible strain of his insistent voice, I believe I answered
wildly--whether with a cry or a sob, I do not know--

'"I love you, I love you, I love you!" and I set my horse at a gallop
down the narrow rugged path between the crowded tree-trunks, unconscious
of what I was doing.

'He followed me crying--"Maria, Maria, stop--you will hurt yourself."

'But I fled blindly on. I do not know how my horse managed to keep clear
of the trees, I do not know why I was not thrown; I am incapable of
retracing my impressions in that mad flight through the dark wood, past
the gleaming patches of water. When at last I came out upon the road,
near the bridge, I seemed to have come out of some hallucination.

'"Do you want to kill yourself?" he said almost fiercely. We heard the
sound of the approaching carriage and turned to meet it. He was going to
speak to me again.

'"Hush, for pity's sake," I entreated, for I felt I was at the end of my
forces.

'He was silent. Then, with an assurance that stupefied me, he said to
Francesca--"Such a pity you did not come! It was perfectly enchanting."

'And he went on talking as quietly and unconcernedly as if nothing had
happened, even with a certain amount of gaiety. I was only too thankful
for his dissimulation which screened me, for if I had been obliged to
speak, I should inevitably have betrayed myself, and for both of us to
have been silent would doubtless have aroused Francesca's suspicions.

'A little further on, the road wound up the hill towards Schifanoja. Oh,
the boundless melancholy of the evening! A new moon shone in the
faintly-tinted, pale-green sky, where m