"Who is there?" asked Uncle Isidoro.

"_Ave Maria!_" The salutation came from Aunt Martina Dejas, who now, after satisfying herself that the old man was entirely alone, entered and cautiously closed the door behind her.

"Oh, Martina! _Grazia plena!_" responded the fisherman, astonished to see who his visitor was.

Her head and shoulders were completely enveloped in a petticoat worn in lieu of a shawl; her features were paler and more gaunt even than ordinary, and to Isidoro she seemed to have aged greatly.

"Sit down, Martina Dejas," said he politely, offering her a stool. "What good wind blows you here?"

"It's an ill wind," she replied. Then, looking all around her, she said: "I want to talk to you privately; can any one hear us? Where is _he_?"

"Still at the shop; he does not get back till later."

"Listen," said the old woman, seating herself; "you can probably guess what it is that brings me here?"

"No, I cannot guess, Martina Dejas," declared the other, though all the time he knew very well. "But why didn't you send for me? I would have gone to your house."

"At my house there is some one who has the ears of a hare; she can hear through a stone wall. Now, listen--I don't suppose I have to make you promise not to tell any one? You wouldn't betray my confidence, would you?"

"I will not betray you."

"You are a man of the Lord, Isidoro Pane; a very dreadful thing has happened; will you help me to set it right?"

"If I can," he said, spreading out his arms and hands. "Tell me about it!"

The old woman sighed.

"Tell you about it! Yes," she said, "that is what I am going to do, Isidoro; but what I have to say burns my lips, and you are the only human being I would breathe it to. A terrible misfortune has overtaken my house. Do you see how old I have grown? For months I have not been able to close my eyes. Giovanna, my daughter-in-law, has a lover--Costantino Ledda. You don't seem surprised!" she added quickly, seeing that the other remained unmoved. "You knew it already! Some one has known about it! Perhaps there are others too--perhaps every one knows the disgrace of my house!"

"Easy, easy; don't be frightened. I did not know it, and I don't think any one else does. It may not be true, either, but if it were, and people knew about it--no one would be surprised."

"No one would be surprised!"

"Certainly not, Martina Dejas; no one at all. Every one knows perfectly well--pardon me if I speak frankly--that Giovanna married your son entirely from motives of self-interest. Now Costantino has come back; _they_ were in love with one another _before_, and now they are in love with one another _after_; it is perfectly natural."

"It is perfectly natural! How can you say such things, Isidoro Pane? Is it perfectly natural for a woman to be unfaithful? For a beggar taken in out of the streets to betray her benefactors? Is it perfectly natural that my son, Brontu Dejas, who had the courage to do what not another soul would have dreamed of doing--is it natural that he should be deceived?"

"Yes, it is all natural."

"Ah," exclaimed Aunt Martina, getting up, her eyes flashing with anger, "then it was quite useless for me to come here!"

"Easy, easy!" said the old man again. "Just sit down, Martina, and tell me quietly what brought you. Let us put all these questions aside--they are of no use now, anyhow--and discuss the situation as it is. I think I can guess what it is you want me to do; you want me to use my influence with Costantino to get him to leave your family in peace----?"

The old woman sat down again, and opened her heart. Yes, that was what she wanted, that Isidoro should do all he could to induce Costantino to give Giovanna up.

"This misery will kill me," she said in conclusion, her voice trembling; "but at least my Brontu will have been spared. Ah, if he should ever find out about it, he is lost! He is sure to kill some one, either Giovanna or Costantino. I am continually haunted by the most horrible presentiments; I keep seeing a smear of blood before my eyes. You will see, Isidoro; you will see! If we don't find some way to stop this shameful thing, some horrible tragedy will occur----!"

As she talked, Aunt Martina had been growing steadily paler, until she was now quite livid; her lips trembled, and her eyes gleamed partly with anger, partly with unshed tears.

"You alarm me, and you make me feel very sorry for you as well," said Uncle Isidoro gravely. "But see here, whose fault is it all? I remember--this visit of yours brings it all back to me--another visit I once had; it was from Giacobbe Dejas, poor soul. Well, he sat there, just where you are sitting now, and he said almost the same words: 'We must find some way to stop this thing; if we don't, some terrible misfortune will surely happen!' And so we did; we tried our best to stop that shameful thing, but without avail. You and your son, and all the rest of you, were determined to bring about your own ruin. You fell into mortal sin; you broke the laws of G.o.d, and now your punishment has come!"

"We! only we!" exclaimed the old woman haughtily. "No; the fault belongs to them as well. To Bachissia Era, for her avarice and wickedness in throwing her daughter at Brontu; and to Giovanna, for abandoning her first husband when she loved him, and marrying another out of self-interest! The blame belongs equally to all, or, rather, it does not; it is _theirs_ alone, for we did nothing but what was good.

It is theirs, theirs, and I hate every one of them--vile, low-born beggars--traitors. And I can tell you, if Costantino does not give this thing up, he'll bitterly regret it. Beg, implore, adjure him! Tell him not to bring ruin on a respectable house, and then,--if he will not listen----"

"Hush, Martina," begged the fisherman, seeing that she was working herself into a fury. "Don't talk foolishness. But tell me, are you really certain that Giovanna and Costantino are meeting each other?"

"Absolutely certain. For three months now, as I told you, I have hardly closed my eyes. One night I heard some one talking to Giovanna. She saw right away that I had noticed something, and for a while she was on her guard. But now--now she has thrown aside all prudence. The other day they met at Bachissia Era's cottage; I saw them plainly; and not only that, I heard them; I listened at the door. Then, last night he was with her again; do you understand? actually in my house, beneath my roof! And I--I was trembling so with rage I hardly knew what I was about; but I waited for him below; I was going to speak to him, and then I was going to stab him--kill him, if I could--I had a knife ready in my hand. But do you know, I could not stir a limb! I could not even open my lips when he crept down as stealthily as a thief, first on to the roof, and then the ground, and away! Ah, I am nothing but a poor old woman; I can't do a thing. I was just frightened, and I hid. Giovanna knows that I care more for Brontu than for anything else in the world, and that I would sacrifice everything to spare him, even the honour of our name. And so the ungrateful creature is taking advantage of the tenderest feeling that I have. She is counting on my being afraid to tell him for fear that he will commit murder, and so be ruined forever, and that is why she dares to carry it on. But I--I--Isidoro, I will be capable of doing almost anything if Costantino does not break this off. Tell him so."

"But why don't you speak to Giovanna?" asked the fisherman.

"Because--well, I'm afraid of her. She follows me about and watches me all the time like a tigress ready to spring. She hates me, just as I hate her at times; and at the very first word she would fly at me and choke me to death. I don't dare to open my mouth. Oh, it is all so horrible! You don't know what days I pa.s.s! Death would be far less bitter than the life I am leading."

As she spoke these words, Aunt Martina buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

A feeling of intense pity rose in the old fisherman's heart. In the days of his most grinding poverty he had never been reduced to tears, and to think of the rich, proud Martina Dejas being actually more wretched than an old pauper like himself!

"I will do my very best," he said. "Now go, and try not to worry. You had better get off at once, though; it is time for _him_ to be coming back." She got up, wrapped the petticoat carefully around her head and shoulders, and when Isidoro had looked out to make sure that no one was about who might recognise her, walked slowly away.

The air was sharp; the wind was blowing in gusts, tearing the first dead leaves from the trees. Aunt Martina, struggling against it, felt more anxious and depressed even than when she came. It seemed as though that chill, autumn wind that shook and lashed and tore her, were tearing and lashing her spirit as well. The presentiments of evil that she had spoken of as haunting her, were stronger than ever. Pa.s.sing a certain wretched little hovel, more forlorn and poverty-stricken than any of the others, she shot a keen glance at it, and then quickly lowered her eyes, as though in dread lest some invisible being should read the dark thought of her soul. The owner of this hovel, a poor peasant, had come to her some time before, and had asked her to lend him some money. "Lend it to you!" she had exclaimed derisively. "And how do you propose to repay it?" "If I can't pay you back in money," the man had replied, "there may be some other way of showing my grat.i.tude. You could require any service at all of me."

She understood what he meant. He was ready to undertake anything, even the commission of a crime, in order to get the money he needed. But she had not wanted anything, and so had sent him off. Now, pa.s.sing the forlorn little house, rapidly falling into ruins, through the darkness and wind, and melancholy of the night, she saw again before her the gaunt, resolute figure of this man; his hollow, sunken eyes; his lips, white from hunger; his dark, bony hands, ready for any act by which he might hope to s.n.a.t.c.h a little ease and comfort out of life; and the horrible schemes of vengeance that were tearing at her selfish old heart began to take a fearful and well-defined shape.

Thus she pa.s.sed on. A dark, forbidding form, enveloped in her black _tunic_, swept by the wind past that wretched hovel like a shadowy portent of evil.

That same evening Uncle Isidoro reasoned with Costantino at length, urging him by every argument at his command to avert what otherwise must inevitably result in a catastrophe for himself, for Giovanna, and for every one concerned.

Costantino regarded the old man steadily with his usual melancholy smile. "What," he demanded, "could happen? You admit yourself that the old harpy will never talk to her son. And--isn't she my wife, Giovanna?

Haven't I a perfect right to be with her whenever I choose?"

"Ah, child of the Lord," sighed Uncle Isidoro, clasping his hands and shaking his head, "you will be made to suffer for it in some way; you had better look out: Martina Dejas is capable of anything where her son is concerned."

A look of hatred came into Costantino's eyes.

"Listen," he said; "my heart is like a vessel full of deadly poison; a single drop more and it will overflow. Let them look out who have brought all this on themselves." Then he got up and went out into the night. For hours he wandered aimlessly about, like one who had lost his way, in the wind-swept solitude. Then, about midnight, he found himself, almost without knowing how he got there, as on that first evening, beneath Giovanna's window. He climbed on the shed and tapped.

Aunt Martina, lying wakeful and alert, heard everything; heard Costantino approach, heard his knock, heard Giovanna open to him; and then she knew it was hopeless. Without doubt Isidoro had faithfully reported his conversation with her, and this was Costantino's reply: he had come directly and defiantly to Giovanna. "No doubt," thought the old woman bitterly, "he argues that since old Martina lacks the courage to make her son unhappy by telling him the truth, he may as well profit by her weakness. Yes; no doubt that is what he thinks. But, he has forgotten to take account of what the poor old mother may be stirred up to do in order to protect her boy! Now, Costantino Ledda, it is between us two!"

One night as Costantino slid down from the shed beneath Giovanna's window, he felt something cold and sharp enter his side; in the darkness he made out the figure of a man, his face covered with a black cloth. He threw himself upon him, and after a brief struggle, breathless, silent, determined, he succeeded in throwing him down and disarming him. Then he let him go without so much as attempting to identify him. What did it signify who the a.s.sa.s.sin was? Behind that black mask he knew only too well that Aunt Martina's gaunt features looked out, and that it was her hand that had directed the murderous stroke.

He made his way back to Isidoro's hut, and, the fisherman being absent on one of his journeys, dressed the wound himself, hiding away like a stricken animal, and concealing what had happened from every one. He did not even undress, but for three days and nights lay stretched on his pallet, a prey to the bitterest reflections.

The weather had become cold; outside, the wind whistled among the dry hedges, and, forcing its way into the hut, made the long threads of cobweb swing back and forth, and brought down clouds of dust from the roof. Through the window Costantino could see processions of pale blue clouds scudding across the cold, bright background of the sky; and he said to himself that he wanted to die.

Death, death, what else remained for him? The world--his world--was now only a cold and empty void.

His feeling for Giovanna could never be what it once had been; he had, indeed, resumed his relations with her, but she could never mean the same thing to him again after having deserted him in his hour of need.

The very pleasure which he felt in their clandestine intercourse was due in part to his hatred of the Dejases. The Dejases! The mere thought of the joy which his death would afford them, even now, aroused him and put new life into his veins!