The river was lighted up by the flames of
the dying day, and in the distance the water looked smooth and
glistening as if great spots of oil or bitumen were floating on it. The
Campagna, stretching away like an ocean of ruins, was of a uniform
violet tint. Nearer the town the sky flushed a deep crimson.
'Poor little thing!' murmured Elena in a tone of heartfelt compassion,
and pressing closer to Andrea.
The wind had risen to a gale. A flock of crows swept across the burning
heavens, very high up, croaking hoarsely.
A sudden passionate exaltation suddenly filled the souls of the two at
sight of this vast solitude. Something tragic and heroic seemed to enter
into their love and the hill-tops of their passion to catch the blaze of
the stormy sunset. Elena stood still.
'I can go no further,' she gasped.
The carriage was still at some distance, standing motionless where they
had left it.
'A little further, Elena, just a step or two! Shall I carry you?'
Then, seized with a sort of frenzy, he burst out again--Why was she
going away? Why did she want to break with him? Surely their destinies
were indissolubly knit together now? He could not live without
her--without her eyes, her voice, the constant thought of her. He was
saturated through and through with love of her--his whole blood was on
fire as with some deadly poison.
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