morn broke dark and stormy. Thunder-clouds purpled before the
rising sun, and ere mid-day there fell torrents of rain. Heedless of
the sky, Marcian rode forth this morning; rode aimlessly about the
hills, for the villa was no longer endurable to him. He talked awhile
with a labouring serf, who told him that the plague had broken out in
Arpinum, where, during the last week or two, many had died. From his
steward he had already heard the same news, but without heeding it; it
now alarmed him, and for some hours fear had a wholesome effect upon
his thoughts. In the coolness following upon the storm, he enjoyed a
long, tranquil sleep. And this day he did not see Veranilda.

A mile or two down the valley was a church, built by Marcian's
grandfather, on a spot where he had been saved from great peril; the
land attached to it supported two priests and certain acolytes,
together with a little colony of serfs. On his ride this morning
Marcian had passed within view of the church, and would have gone
thither but for his rain drenched clothing. Now, during the second
night of temptation, he resolved to visit the priests as soon as it was
day and to bring one of them back with him to the villa, to remain as
long as Veranilda should be there. Firm in this purpose he rose with
the rising sun, called for his horse, and rode to the bridge. There,
looking down at the white cataract, stood Veranilda and her attendant.

He alighted. With a timid smile the maiden advanced to meet him.

'Abroad so early?' were his first words, a mere tongue-found phrase.

'I was tempted by the fresh morning. It does not displease you, lord
Marcian?'

'Nay, I am glad.'

'It is so long,' continued the gentle voice, 'since I was free to walk
under the open sky.'

Marcian forgot that his gaze was fixed upon her, forgot that he was
silent, forgot the purpose with which he had ridden forth.

'I hoped I might see you to-day,' she added. 'You have yet no news for
me?'

'None.'

The blue eyes drooped sadly.

'To-morrow, perhaps,' she murmured. Then, with an effort to seem
cheerful, as if ashamed of her troubled thought, 'I had listened so
long to a sound of falling water that I could not resist the desire to
see it. How beautiful it is!'

Marcian felt surprise; he himself saw the cataract as an object of
beauty, but had seldom heard it so spoken of, and could least of all
have expected such words on the lips of a woman, dread seeming to him
the more n