Seated at the hearth Anania saw a peasant who looked like an Egyptian priest, with a long square black beard, and wide opened, round, black eyes. In his hands he held a large black rosary, and he looked at the new-comer ferociously. Anania began to feel a mysterious disquiet. He recalled the embarrassed air of the man who had brought him the news of his mother's danger. He remembered that a few days ago he had left her suffering but not gravely ill. He suspected they were trying to conceal something from him. A terrible idea flashed through his mind. All this in one moment while the widow who remained at the door was saying to the black bearded man-- "Fidele, see to the horse. The straw is there. Make haste." "At what o'clock did she die?" asked Anania, turning also to the peasant whose black eyes, round like holes, impressed him strangely. "At two," answered a voice of the deepest bass. "At two? That was the hour when I got the news. Why was I not told sooner?" "You could have done nothing," said Aunt Grathia, who was still guarding the horse. "Make haste, son Fidele!" she repeated impatiently. "Why didn't you warn me," said Anania, stooping mechanically to take off his spur. "What was the matter with her? What did the doctor say? God knows I had no idea----Well, I'm going up to see her." He straightened himself and moved towards the stair, but Aunt Grathia still holding the lamp hastily prevented him. "What, my son? The thing you will see is a corpse!" she cried in horror-struck tones. "_Nonna_! Do you suppose I'm afraid? Come with me." "Very well." The old woman preceded him up the wooden stair. Her deformed shadow as tall as the roof, trembled on the wall. At the door of the room where the dead woman lay. Aunt Grathia stopped and hesitated. Again she pressed Anania's arm. He noticed that the old woman was shivering; and, he knew not why, he shuddered himself. "Son," said the widow, in a whisper "don't be shocked." He grew pale; the thought deformed and monstrous, like the shadows trembling on the wall, took form and filled his soul with terror. "What is it?" he cried, guessing the fearful truth. "The Lord's will be done." "She killed herself?" "Yes." "My God! How horrible!" He cried thus twice; it seemed as if his hair rose on his head; he heard his voice resounding in the funereal silence of the house. Then he collected himself and pushed the door. On the pallet bed where a few night's ago he had himself slept, he saw the corpse delineated under the sheet which covered it. Through the open window entered the fresh evening air; and the flame of a wax candle burning by the bedside seemed to wish to fly away, to escape into the fragrant night.