early
traffic, and when she reached the Porta San Gallo, it was easy to pass
while a dispute was going forward about the toll for panniers of eggs
and market produce which were just entering.

Out! Once past the houses of the Borgo, she would be beyond the last
fringe of Florence, the sky would be broad above her, and she would have
entered on her new life--a life of loneliness and endurance, but of
freedom. She had been strong enough to snap asunder the bonds she had
accepted in blind faith: whatever befell her, she would no more feel the
breath of soft hated lips warm upon her cheek, no longer feel the breath
of an odious mind stifling her own. The bare wintry morning, the chill
air, were welcome in their severity: the leafless trees, the sombre
hills, were not haunted by the gods of beauty and joy, whose worship she
had forsaken for ever.

But presently the light burst forth with sudden strength, and shadows
were thrown across the road. It seemed that the sun was going to chase
away the greyness. The light is perhaps never felt more strongly as a
divine presence stirring all those inarticulate sensibilities which are
our deepest life, than in these moments when it instantaneously awakens
the shadows. A certain awe which inevitably accompanied this most
momentous act of her life became a more conscious element in Romola's
feeling as she found herself in the sudden presence of the impalpable
golden glory and the long shadow of herself that was not to be escaped.
Hitherto she had met no one but an occasional contadino with mules, and
the many turnings of the road on the level prevented her from seeing
that Maso was not very far ahead of her. But when she had passed Pietra
and was on rising ground, she lifted up the hanging roof of her cowl and
looked eagerly before her.

The cowl was dropped again immediately. She had seen, not Maso, but--
two monks, who were approaching within a few yards of her. The edge of
her cowl making a pent-house on her brow had shut out the objects above
the level of her eyes, and for the last few moments she had been looking
at nothing but the brightness on the path and at her own shadow, tall
and shrouded like a dread spectre.

She wished now that she had not looked up. Her disguise made her
especially dislike to encounter monks: they might expect some pious
passwords of which she knew nothing, and she walked along with a careful
appearance of unconsciousness till she had seen