He wanted to cry, "All my life you have done me evil!" but he restrained himself. What was the use? It was useless and indecorous. He would cry aloud no more. Only with his head still pressed in his hands, with voice at once sorrowful and enraged, he repeated, "No! no! no!" At bottom he felt that Olì was right. He understood that she really desired his happiness. But precisely the idea that at that moment she was more generous and more reasonable than he, irritated him and made her seem odious. Olì was transformed. Her illumined eyes watched him supplicatingly, lovingly. As she repeated, "Let me go," her still youthful voice vibrated with infinite tenderness, her countenance expressed untold grief. Perhaps a sweet dream, which never before had brightened the horror of her existence, had touched her heart; to stay! to live for him! to find peace! But from the depths of her simple soul an instinct for good--the flame which lies hidden even in the flint--impelled her to disregard this dream. A thirst for sacrifice devoured her. Anania understood that in her own way she wished to fulfil her duty, just as in his way he wished to fulfil his. But Anania was the stronger. He was resolved to conquer by any means, by force if necessary, by the cruelty of the surgeon who to heal the sufferer will open his flesh with steel. She threw herself on the ground. Again she wept, implored, supplicated. Anania answered always No. "Then what will become of me?" she sobbed, "Holy Mother! what shall I do? Must I again leave you by stratagem? do you good by force? Yes, I will leave you--I will go. You cannot compel me. I don't acknowledge your right--I am free--I will go." He raised his head and surveyed her. He was no longer angered, but his cold eyes and grey face grown suddenly old were terrible. "Listen," he said firmly. "We must end this. It's all settled--there's no more to be said. You will not move one step without my knowledge. Listen, and keep my words in mind as if they were the words of one dead. Till now, I have endured the dishonour and the grief of your shameful life, because I was not able to prevent it, and because I hoped some day to put a stop to it. But from to-day it is different. If you attempt to go away from here, I shall follow you. I'll kill you. I'll kill myself! I shall not wish to go on living!" Olì looked at him in fear. He was like her father. Uncle Micheli, when he had driven her away from the Cantoniera. He had the same cold look, the same calm and terrible countenance, the same hollow voice, the same inexorable tone. She seemed looking at the old man's ghost, risen up to punish her; and she felt the whole horror of death. She spoke no further word, but crouched upon the floor, trembling with terror and despair. A sad night fell upon the wind-shaken hamlet.