Regina turned round, astonished and trembling. She had no strength left. "Antonio," she whispered, her arm round his neck, "Why are you like this? What is it? What's the matter?" "Do you ask?" he murmured, not looking at her. His voice was hardly a breath, but a breath in which Regina felt the raging of a storm of resentment. Again she was afraid. "You don't mean to forgive me!" she said, separating herself from him. But already he had turned and pressed her to him, his lips seeking hers with a fervour which seemed rather of despair than of passion. Adamo's voice rang out from the bank. "Antonio--o! Regina--a!" Then Petrin's broad back swayed from right to left, and his whip cracked. "_Quel ragass m'ha fatto ciappar pagura_ (That boy made me jump)," said the man, as if talking in his sleep. Antonio and Regina moved apart, and she blushed in the darkness as if new to love. Her heart was beating strongly, but between its strokes of joy were shudders of sickening grief. After supper, as on the night of Regina's arrival, they all went out, except Signora Caterina. Toscana and her brothers ran about as usual, leaving their sister and her husband far behind. "Yes," said Regina; "my mother is right. You look ill! Surely you've been having fever!" He did not answer at once. He was thinking. He seemed seeking an appropriate beginning for a speech and unsuccessful in finding it. "Your mother herself looks out of sorts," he said at last. "What distress you must have caused her, Regina!" "I? But I never told her a word!" "Didn't you?" "Don't you believe me? To explain your silence, I said you were ill." "Oh, did you?" he repeated, still incredulous. "Well, I was imagining it was her advice had made you less--unkind." "Unkind? What do you mean?" she asked, coldly. Antonio was perhaps frightened in his turn. Had he deceived himself, thinking Regina penitent and ready to come home? He became animated, and found that beginning of speech which he had sought. The hour of explanation had come. Regina asked nothing better; but to her surprise she did not feel the commotion, the joy, the tenderness, which she had anticipated. She was distressed. Antonio had forgiven her; he had suffered; he had come, resolved to take her back at all costs; he loved her more than ever, with true passion; he was united to her by all the strong ties of his heart and his senses. But she was not content; she was not properly stirred. Something was standing between her husband and herself--something inexorable. They walked as of old, their arms round each other, their fingers interlaced; but there was a whole gulf between them, a whole immense river of cold, colourless water, perfidiously silent, like that river down there below the road, scarce visible between the black trees in the black night.