He remembered the adventure with Bustianeddu, the childish project of flight; then the ceaseless dreams, the inextinguishable desire for a journey towards the lands beyond the sea. Yet now that he was leaving the island he felt sad, half repenting that he had not gone on with his studies at Cagliari. He had been so happy there! Last May, Margherita had come for the fantastic splendours of the Feast of St Efès. He had spent never-to-be-forgotten hours with her among merry companies of fellow citizens. Margherita was charming, very tall and well-formed. Her beautiful hair, her dark blue eyes shadowed by long black lashes, attracted the attention of passers-by who turned their heads to look at her. Anania, slighter and shorter than she, walked by her side trembling with jealousy and joy. It seemed impossible that this beautiful creature, so regal, so reserved, in whose disdainful eyes shone the pride of an imperial race, should abase herself to love, even to look at him. Margherita talked little. She was no flirt, and unlike the generality of women did not change look or voice when a man admired or addressed her. Was this superiority, simplicity, or contempt? "Am I enough for her?" the lover asked himself. "Yes, surely, for she feels that no other love can equal mine." He really did love her very deeply. He had eyes for no one else. He never looked at a woman except to compare her with Margherita and find her inferior. The more he became a man, the more she a woman, the more their love took flame. Anania had days of delirium in which he thought of the long years that must elapse ere he could have her, and felt the waiting an impossibility, felt he must die consumed by desire. But on the whole he loved her calmly, with patience, with constancy, and purity. During the last vacation they had often been alone together in Margherita's courtyard, under the chaste eyes of the stars, the impassive face of the moon. Their meetings were facilitated by the servant who was also the medium of their correspondence. For the most part they were silent, Margherita trembling lightly, pensive, and vigilant. Anania panted, smiled, and sighed, oblivious of time and space, of all the things and affairs of men. "You are so cold!" he would say. "Why don't you speak the same words that you write?" "I'm afraid." "Of what? If your father surprises us, I will kneel to him and say, 'No, we are doing no harm. We are united for eternity.' Don't be afraid, my dearest! I will be worthy of you. I have a future before me. I intend to be _somebody_." She made no answer. She did not say that if Signor Carboni were to find out, the future might be shattered. But she continued vigilant.