"Look," he said after a long silence; "you'll stay here till I've settled my affairs. Aunt Grathia will buy you new clothes----" Her voice, suffering but still fresh and clear, rang out. "I don't want anything." "How do you mean?" he asked, arresting his step by the fire. "I'm not going to stay." "_What_?" he cried, turning round, his eyes wide, his fist clenched. Ah! then it was not all done! She dared--why did she dare? Ah! then she didn't understand that her son had suffered and struggled all his life to attain one end; namely, to take her away from her life of vagabondage and sin, even if he must sacrifice his whole future to do it! How could she dare to rebel? How could she wish to escape? Had she no comprehension of her position, of his determination? "What do you mean?" he said restraining his anger. He stood to listen, shivering, agitated, driving his nails into his palms, his face working. Aunt Grathia watched, ready to defend Olì if he attempted to strike her. The three wild creatures had drawn together by the hearth, and among them rose the blue and hissing flame of a firebrand. It seemed a live thing. Olì roused herself. "Listen," she said, "and don't get angry, for anger will be useless. The evil is done and nothing can remedy it. You may kill me, but you won't get any good by that. The only thing you can do is to let me alone. I can't stay here. I'll go away and you'll never hear more of me. You must imagine you've never seen me." "That's just what I told him," said the widow, "but he doesn't think it possible. Where could you go? But yes--there's one way! You must stay here, as he wishes, instead of straying about the world; and we won't say who you are, and he can live in peace as if you were far away. Why, poor dear, should you leave this? Where can you go?" "Where God wills." "God!" burst out Anania; "God commands you now to obey me. Don't dare to repeat that you won't stay here. Don't dare! Do you suppose I'm joking? You shan't move one step without my leave. If you disobey. I'm capable of----" "It's for your good!" she insisted, meeting the young man's anger; "Listen, at least. Don't be cruel to me, who have been the victim of every human wickedness, while I know you are indulgent to that father of yours who was my ruin----" "She's right!" said the widow. "Hold your tongue!" shouted Anania. Olì took courage. "I don't know how to speak," she went on; "I don't know how to speak, because I am stupefied by misfortunes. But I ask you this one thing, shouldn't I have everything to gain by staying here? If I want to go away isn't it because I'm thinking of you? Answer me. Ah! now he won't even listen!" she cried in despair, turning to the widow. Anania was again pacing the floor, and seemed really deaf to her words, but suddenly he shuddered and cried, "I'm listening!" She went on humbly, content that at least he no longer threatened her.