Suddenly he remembered a thought which had shot through him one sweet evening long ago, in the silence of the pine forest, scarce broken by the song of the ticket-of-leave-man shepherd. "Was she ever in prison?" he asked. "Yes, I think so; once. Certain things were found in her room which had been taken from a country church by one of her friends. She was let off because she proved her ignorance of the matter." "You are lying!" muttered Anania in a low hard voice. "Why can't you tell me the truth. She has been a thief also. Why don't you say it? Do you think it doesn't matter? Doesn't matter as much even as this?" he said, showing the tip of his little finger. "What a nail, good God!" cried the old woman. "Why do you let your nail grow like that?"[22] He did not answer, but sprang to his feet and walked up and down furiously. The widow did not move, and after a space he calmed himself. He stood before her, and said in a voice very quiet though bitter-- "Why was I born? Why did they bring me into the world? Look! I am ruined now. My life is destroyed, my career ended. I can't go on with my studies. And the girl I was going to marry, without whom I cannot live, will give me up. I mean I must give her up." "But why? Doesn't she know who you are?" "Yes, she knows that much, but she doesn't know that _woman_ could ever come across our path. How could a pure, delicate girl live beside an infamous woman?" "But what do you want to do? You said yourself she's nothing to you." "What is your advice?" "Mine? my advice? To leave her to her own way," replied the widow fiercely. "Weren't you deserted by her? Your bride need never see the unhappy creature. You yourself need never see her." Anania looked at her, compassionate, but contemptuous. "You don't understand!" he said, "you can't understand. Let it alone. Now I have to consider the best way for me to see her. I must go to her to-morrow morning." "You're mad." "You don't understand." They faced each other, each pitying and scornful. Then they argued, quarrelled almost. Anania wanted to start at once, or at least the first thing to-morrow. The widow suggested summoning Olì to Fonni without telling her why. "As you are so obstinate! You know it would be far better to leave her alone. As she has walked till now, so she will walk to the end. Let her be." "Nonna," he answered, "you also must be afraid of me. That's silly. I'm not going to hurt a hair of her head. I'll take charge of her. She shall live with me, and I'll work for her. I'll do her good, not harm. It's my duty." "Yes, yes, your _duty_. Still you ought to think, my son; to consider. How are you going to support her? How will you set about it?" "Never mind." "What do you propose to do?" "Never mind." "Well, well! But I tell you she's mad afraid of you. If you come upon her, suddenly, she's capable of doing something foolish----" "Well then, get her here. But at once--to-morrow morning."