"_Dolce Sacramento! Santo Sacramento!_"... The music swayed and echoed through the church. Kitty uncovered her eyes and felt a sudden exhilaration in the blaze of light. It reminded her of the bending Christ in the picture of San Giorgio. Awe and beauty flowed in upon her, in spite of the poor music and the tawdry church. What if she tried religion?--recalled what she had been taught in the convent?--gave herself up to a director? She shivered and recoiled. How would she ever maintain her faith against William--William, who knew so much more than she? Then, into the emptiness of her heart there stole the inevitable temptations of memory. Where was Geoffrey? She knew well that he was a violent and selfish man; but he understood much in her that William would never understand. With a morbid eagerness she recalled the play of feeling between them, before that mad evening at Hamel Weir. What perpetual excitement--no time to think--or regret! During her weeks of illness she had lost all count of his movements. Had he been still writing during the summer for the newspaper which had sent him out? Had there not been rumors of his being wounded--or attacked by fever? Her memory, still vague and weak, struggled painfully with memories it could not recapture. The Italian paper of that morning--she had spelled it out for herself at breakfast--had spoken of a defeat of the insurrectionary forces, and of their withdrawal into the highlands of Bosnia. There would be a lull in the fighting. Would he come home? And all this time had he been the mere spectator and reporter, or fighting, himself? Her pulses leaped as she thought of him leading down-trodden peasants against the Turk. But she knew nothing. Surely during the last few months he had purposely made a mystery of his doings and his whereabouts. The only sign of him which seemed to have reached England had been that volume of poems--with those hateful lines! Her lip quivered. She was like a weak child--unable to bear the thought of anything hostile and unkind. If he had already turned homeward? Perhaps he would come through Venice! Anyway, he was not far off. The day before she and Margaret had made their first visit to the Lido. And as Kitty stood fronting the Adriatic waves, she had dreamed that somewhere, beyond the farther coast, were those Bosnian mountains in which Geoffrey had passed the winter. Then she started at her own thoughts, rose--loathing herself--drew down her veil, and moved towards the door. * * * * * As she reached the leathern curtain which hung over the doorway, a lady in front who was passing through held the curtain aside that Kitty might follow. Kitty stepped into the street and looked up to say a mechanical "Thank you." But the word died on her lips. She gave a stifled cry, which was echoed by the woman before her. Both stood motionless, staring at each other. Kitty recovered herself first.