"We'll come downstairs, son; we'll come down. No, don't torment yourself. She has died because she had to die. You did your duty; and she--perhaps, she also did hers--although truly the Lord gave us life for repentance, and bade us live----Let us come down, my son." "She was still young!" said Anania, somewhat calmed, his eyes resting on the dead woman's black hair, "No, Aunt Grathia, I am not upset, let us stay here a moment. How old was she? Thirty--eight? Tell me," he asked again, "at what hour did she die? How did she do it? Tell me all about it." "Come downstairs, then I'll tell you. Come!" repeated Aunt Grathia. But he did not move. He was still looking at the dead woman's hair, marvelling that it was so abundant and so black. He would have liked to cover it with the sheet, but felt a strange fear of again touching the corpse. The widow performed this act of reverence, then taking Anania's hand, led him away. His eye fell on the small table against the wall, at the foot of the bed; but they went out and sat together on the staircase, the lamp set on the boards by their side. The widow narrated a long history, of which Anania ever retained in his memory these sad fragments. "She kept saying, 'Oh, I'll go! You'll see I shall go, whether he likes it or not. I've harmed him enough, Aunt Grathia, now I must set him free, and in such fashion that he shall never again so much as hear my name. I'll desert him a second time to expiate the sin of my first desertion.' Then she sharpened the knife on the grindstone, poor thing! When we got the _rezetta_ in the coloured handkerchief, she grew so pale; and she tore the packet and wept----Oh yes, she cut her throat. Yes, this very morning at six, when I had gone to the fountain. When I came back, I found her in a pool of blood. She was still alive--her eyes horribly wide open. "All the officials, the colonel, the Prætor, the Town-Clerk, they all invaded the house. It was like hell! People crowded in the street, the women cried like children. The Prætor took the knife and looked at me with terrible eyes. He asked if you had ever threatened your mother. But then I saw he also was in tears. "She lived till midday. It was agony for everyone. Son, you know that in my life, I have seen terrible things--never anything like this. No, one doesn't die of sorrow and pity, for you see I am still alive. Ah! why are we born?" she ended with tears. Anania was deeply moved. This strange old woman, who had long seemed petrified by griefs, wept; but he, he who only last night had wept for love in Margherita's arms, he could not weep; remorse and anguish were tearing at his heartstrings. He got up and moved again towards the death-chamber. "I want to look at something," he said tremulously. The widow raised her lamp, reopened the door, let the young man pass in, and waited. So sad she was, so black with that antique iron lantern in her hand, she looked like the figure of death, vigilantly waiting.