n the black water. She put out her
hand and felt for the ring through which the rope was slipped. The rope
was wet. It took her some minutes to undo it. Then she got into the
boat. Her eyes were more accustomed to the darkness now, and she could
see the arched opening which gave access to the lake. She found the
oars, pushed them into the rowlocks, and pulled gently to the opening.
The boat struck against the wall and grated along it. She stood up and
thrust one hand against the stone, leaning over to the side. The boat
went away swiftly, and she nearly fell into the water, but managed
to save herself by a rapid movement. She sank down, feeling horribly
afraid. Yet, a moment after, she asked herself why she had not let
herself go. It was too dark there under the house. Out in the open air
it would be different, it would be easier. She wanted the stars above
her. She did not know why she wanted them, why she wanted anything now.

The boat slipped out from the low archway into the open water.

It was a pale and delicate night, one of those autumn nights that are
full of a white mystery. A thin mist lay about the water, floated among
the lower woods. Higher up, the mountains rose out of it. Their green
sides looked black and soft in the starlight, their summits strangely
remote and inaccessible. Through the mist, here and there, shone faintly
the lights of the scattered villages. The bells in the water were still
ringing languidly, and their voices emphasised the pervading silence, a
silence full of the pensive melancholy of Nature in decline.

Viola rowed slowly out towards the middle of the lake. Awe had come upon
her. There seemed a mystical presence in the night, something far away
but attentive, a mind concentrated upon the night, upon Nature, upon
herself. She was very conscious of it, and it seemed to her not as if
eyes, but as if a soul were watching her and everything about her; the
stars and the mountains, the white mist, even the movement of the boat.
This concentrated, mystical attention oppressed her. It was like a soft,
impalpable weight laid upon her. She rowed faster.

But now it seemed to her as if she were being followed. Casa Felice had
already disappeared. The shore was hidden in the darkness. She could
only see vaguely the mountain-tops. She paused, then dipped the oars
again, but again--after two or three strokes--she had the sensation
that she was being followed. She recalled Paolo's action when th