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his　head　between　her　hands　and　kiss　it。　　She　remembered　so　well　the
day　that　longing　first　came　to　her。　　She　was　giving　him　tea；　it　was
quite　early　in　the　Easter　term；　he　was　stroking　her　cat；　who　always
went　to　him；　and　telling　her　that　he　meant　to　be　a　sculptor；　but
that　his　guardian　objected；　so　that；　of　course；　he　could　not　start
till　he　was　of　age。　　The　lamp　on　the　table　had　a　rose…coloured
shade；　he　had　been　rowinga　very　cold　dayand　his　face　was
glowing；　generally　it　was　rather　pale。　　And　suddenly　he　smiled；　and
said：　〃It's　rotten　waiting　for　things；　isn't　it？〃　　It　was　then　she
had　almost　stretched　out　her　hands　to　draw　his　forehead　to　her
lips。　　She　had　thought　then　that　she　wanted　to　kiss　him；　because　it
would　have　been　so　nice　to　be　his　mothershe　might　just　have　been
his　mother；　if　she　had　married　at　sixteen。　　But　she　had　long　known
now　that　she　wanted　to　kiss；　not　his　forehead；　but　his　lips。　　He
was　there　in　her　lifea　fire　in　a　cold　and　unaired　house；　it　had
even　become　hard　to　understand　that　she　could　have　gone　on　all
these　years　without　him。　　She　had　missed　him　so　those　six　weeks　of
the　Easter　vacation；　she　had　revelled　so　in　his　three　queer　little
letters；　half…shy；　half…confidential；　kissed　them；　and　worn　them　in
her　dress！　　And　in　return　had　written　him　long；　perfectly　correct
epistles　in　her　still　rather　quaint　English。　　She　had　never　let　him
guess　her　feelings；　the　idea　that　he　might　shocked　her
inexpressibly。　　When　the　summer　term　began；　life　seemed　to　be　all
made　up　of　thoughts　of　him。　　If；　ten　years　ago；　her　baby　had　lived；
if　its　cruel　deathafter　her　agonyhad　not　killed　for　good　her
wish　to　have　another；　if　for　years　now　she　had　not　been　living　with
the　knowledge　that　she　had　no　warmth　to　expect；　and　that　love　was
all　over　for　her；　if　life　in　the　most　beautiful　of　all　old　cities
had　been　able　to　grip　herthere　would　have　been　forces　to　check
this　feeling。　　But　there　was　nothing　in　the　world　to　divert　the
current。　　And　she　was　so　brimful　of　life；　so　conscious　of　vitality
running　to　sheer　waste。　　Sometimes　it　had　been　terrific；　that
feeling　within　her；　of　wanting　to　liveto　find　outlet　for　her
energy。　　So　many　hundreds　of　lonely　walks　she　had　taken　during　all
these　years；　trying　to　lose　herself　in　Naturehurrying　alone；
running　in　the　woods；　over　the　fields；　where　people　did　not　come；
trying　to　get　rid　of　that　sense　of　waste；　trying　once　more　to　feel
as　she　had　felt　when　a　girl；　with　the　whole　world　before　her。　　It
was　not　for　nothing　that　her　figure　was　superb；　her　hair　so　bright
a　brown；　her　eyes　so　full　of　light。　　She　had　tried　many
distractions。　　Work　in　the　back　streets；　music；　acting；　hunting；
given　them　up　one　after　the　other；　taken　to　them　passionately
again。　　They　had　served　in　the　past。　　But　this　year　they　had　not
served。　。　。　。　　One　Sunday；　coming　from　confession　unconfessed；　she
had　faced　herself。　　It　was　wicked。　　She　would　have　to　kill　this
feelingmust　fly　from　this　boy　who　moved　her　so！　　If　she　did　not
act　quickly；　she　would　be　swept　away。　　And　then　the　thought　had
come：　Why　not？　　Life　was　to　be　livednot　torpidly　dozed　through　in
this　queer　cultured　place；　where　age　was　in　the　blood！　　Life　was
for　loveto　be　enjoyed！　　And　she　would　be　thirty…six　next　month！
It　seemed　to　her　already　an　enormous　age。　　Thirty…six！　　Soon　she
would　be　old；　actually　oldand　never　have　known　passion！　　The
worship；　which　had　made　a　hero　of　the　distinguished…looking
Englishman；　twelve　years　older　than　herself；　who　could　lead　up　the
Cimone　della　Pala；　had　not　been　passion。　　It　might；　perhaps；　have
become　passion　if　he　had　so　willed。　　But　he　was　all　form；　ice；
books。　　Had　he　a　heart　at　all；　had　he　blood　in　his　veins？　　Was
there　any　joy　of　life　in　this　too　beautiful　city　and　these　people
who　lived　in　itthis　place　where　even　enthusiasms　seemed　to　be
formal　and　have　no　wings；　where　everything　was　settled　and
sophisticated　as　the　very　chapels　and　cloisters？　　And　yet；　to　have
this　feeling　for　a　boyfor　one　almost　young　enough　to　be　her　son！
It　was　soshameless！　　That　thought　haunted　her；　made　her　flush　in
the　dark；　lying　awake　at　night。　　And　desperately　she　would　pray
for　she　was　devoutpray　to　be　made　pure；　to　be　given　the　holy
feelings　of　a　mother；　to　be　filled　simply　with　the　sweet　sense　that
she　could　do　everything；　suffer　anything　for　him；　for　his　good。
After　these　long　prayers　she　would　feel　calmed；　drowsy；　as　though
she　had　taken　a　drug。　　For　hours；　perhaps；　she　would　stay　like
that。　　And　then　it　would　all　come　over　her　again。　　She　never
thought　of　his　loving　her；　that　would　beunnatural。　　Why　should　he
love　her？　　She　was　very　humble　about　it。　　Ever　since　that　Sunday；
when　she　avoided　the　confessional；　she　had　brooded　over　how　to　make
an　endhow　to　get　away　from　a　longing　that　was　too　strong　for　her。
And　she　had　hit　on　this　planto　beg　for　the　mountains；　to　go　back
to　where　her　husband　had　come　into　her　life；　and　try　if　this
feeling　would　not　die。　　If　it　did　not；　she　would　ask　to　be　left　out
there　with　her　own　people；　away　from　this　danger。　　And　now　the
foolthe　blind　foolthe　superior　foolwith　his　satiric　smile；
his　everlasting　patronage；　had　driven　her　to　overturn　her　own　plan。
Well；　let　him　take　the　consequences；　she　had　done　her　best！　　She
would　have　this　one　fling　of　joy；　even　if　it　meant　that　she　must
stay　out　there；　and　never　see　the　boy　again！

Standing　in　her　dusky　hall；　where　a　faint　scent　of　woodrot　crept
out　into　the　air；　whenever　windows　and　doors　were　closed；　she　was
all　tremulous　with　secret　happiness。　　To　be　with　him　among　her
mountains；　to　show　him　all　those　wonderful；　glittering　or　tawny
crags；　to　go　with　him　to　the　top　of　them　and　see　the　kingdoms　of
the　world　spread　out　below；　to　wander　with　him　in　the　pine　woods；
on　the　Alps　in　all　the　scent　of　the　trees　and　the　flowers；　where
the　sun　was　hot！　　The　first　of　July；　and　it　was　only　the　tenth　of
June！　　Would　she　ever　live　so　long？　　They　would　not　go　to　San
Martino　this　time；　rather　to　Cortinasome　new　place　that　had　no
memories！

She　moved　from　the　window；　and　busied　herself　with　a　bowl　of
flowers。　　She　had　heard　that　humming　sound　which　often　heralded　her
husband's　approach；　as　though　warning　the　world　to　recover　its　good
form　before　he　reached　it。　　In　her　happiness　she　felt　kind　and
friendly　to　him。　　If　he　had　not　meant　to　give　her　joy；　he　had
nevertheless　given　it！　　He　came　downstairs　two　at　a　time；　with　that
air　of　not　being　a　pedagogue；　which　she　knew　so　well；　and；　taking
his　hat　off　the　stand；　half　turned　round　to　her。

〃Pleasant　youth；　young　Lennan；　hope　he　won't　bore　us　out　there！〃

His　voice　seemed　to　have　an　accent　of　compunction；　to　ask　pardon
for　having　issued　that　impulsive　invitation。　　And　there　came　to　her
an　overwhelming　wish　to　laugh。　　To　hide　it；　to　find　excuse　for　it；
she　ran　up　to　him；　and；　pulling　his　coat　lapels　till　his　face　was
within　reach；　she　kissed　the　tip　of　his　nose。　　And　then　she
laughed。　　And　he　stood　looking　at　her；　with　his　head　just　a　little
on　one　side；　and　his　eyebrows　just　a　little　raised。


IV


When　young　Mark　heard　a　soft　tapping　at　his　door；　though　out　of
bed；　he　was　getting　on　but　dreamilyit　was　so　jolly　to　watch　the
mountains　lying　out　in　this　early　light　like　huge　beasts。　　That　one
they　were　going　up；　with　his　head　just　raised　above　his　paws；
looked　very　far　away　out　there！　　Opening　the　door　an　inch；　he
whispered：

〃Is　it　late？〃

〃Five　o'clock；　aren't　you　ready？〃

It　was　awfully　rude　of　him　to　keep　her　waiting！　　And　he　was　soon
down　in　the　empty　dining…room；　where　a　sleepy　maid　was　already
bringing　in　their　coffee。　　Anna　was　there　alone。　　She　had　on　a
flax…blue　shirt；　open　at　the　neck；　a　short　green　skirt；　and　a　grey…
green　velvety　hat；　small；　with　one　black…cock's　feather。　　Why　could
not　people　always　wear　such　nice　things；　and　be　as　splendid…
looking！　　And　he　said：

〃You　do　look　jolly；　Mrs。　Stormer！〃

She　did　not　answer　for　so　long　that　he　wondered　if　it　had　been　rude
to　say　that。　　But　she　DID　look　so　strong；　and　swift；　and　happy…
looking。

Down　the　hill；　through　a　wood　of　larch…trees；　to　the　river；　and
across　the　bridge；　to　mount　at　once　by　a　path　through　hay…fields。
How　could　old　Stormer　stay　in　bed　on　such　a　morning！　　The　peasant
girls　in　their　blue　linen　skirts　were　already　gathering　into
bundles　what　the　men　had　scythed。　　One；　raking　at　the　edge　of　a
field；　paused　and　shyly　nodded　to　them。　　She　had　the　face　of　a
Madonna；　very　calm　and　grave　and　sweet；　with　delicate　arched　brows
a　face　it　was　pure　pleasure　to　see。　　The　boy　looked　back　at　her。
Everything　to　him；　who　had　never　been　out　of　England　before；　seemed
strange　and　glamorous。　　The　chalets；　with　their　long　wide　burnt…
brown　wooden　balconies　and　low…hanging　eaves　jutting　far　beyond　the
walls；　these　bright　dresses　of　the　peasant　women；　the　friendly
little　cream…coloured　cows；　with　blunt；　smoke…grey　muzzles。　　Even
the　feel　in　the　air　was　new；　that　delicious　crisp　burning　warmth
that　lay　so　lightly　as　it　were　on　the　surface　of　frozen　stillness；
and　the　special　sweetness　of　all　places　at　the　foot　of　mountains
scent　of　pine…gum；　burning　larch…wood；　and　all　the　meadow　flowers
and　grasses。　　But　newest　of　all　was　the　feeling