d, that there had been something in him, not all himself, which had run
wild, despising restraint. And he had known that it was running wild, and
he had thought to let it go just so far and no farther. He had set a
limit of time to his wildness and its deeds. And he had set another
limit. Surely he had. He had not ever meant to go too far. And then, just
when he had said to himself "E' finito!" the irrevocable was at hand, the
moment of delirium in which all things that should have been remembered
were forgotten. What had led him? What spirit of evil? Or had he been
led at all? Had not he rather deliberately forced his way to the tragic
goal whither, through all these sunlit days, these starry nights, his
feet had been tending?

He looked upon himself as a man looks upon a stranger whom he has seen
commit a crime which he could never have committed. Mentally he took
himself into custody, he tried, he condemned himself. In this hour of
acute reaction the cool justice of the Englishman judged the passionate
impulse of the Sicilian, even marvelled at it, and the heart of the
dancing Faun cried: "What am I--what am I really?" and did not find the
answer.

"Signorino?"

"Yes, Gaspare."

"When we get to that rock we shall see the house."

"I know."

How eagerly he had looked upward to the little white house on the
mountain on that first day in Sicily, with what joy of anticipation, with
what an exquisite sense of liberty and of peace! The drowsy wail of the
"Pastorale" had come floating down to him over the olive-trees almost
like a melody that stole from paradise. But now he dreaded the turn of
the path. He dreaded to see the terrace wall, the snowy building it
protected. And he felt as if he were drawing near to a terror, and as if
he could not face it, did not know how to face it.

"Signorino, there is no light! Look!"

"The signora and Lucrezia must be asleep at this hour."

"If they are, what are we to do? Shall we wake them?"

"No, no."

He spoke quickly, in hope of a respite.

"We will wait--we will not disturb them."

Gaspare looked down at the parcel he was holding with such anxious care.

"I would like to play the 'Tre Colori,'" he said. "I would like the
first thing the signora hears when she wakes to be the 'Tre Colori.'"

"Hush! We must be very quiet."

The noise made on the path by the tripping feet of the donkeys was almost
intolerable to him. It must surely wake the deepest sleeper. They we