Leonora lifted her head from her lover’s shoulder, and withdrew from his embrace.  She wiped away her tears and rose to her feet with the determination of irrevocable resolution.

“I have made up my mind.  It hurts me very much to say what I am going to say; but I can’t help it.  It will do you no good to say ’no’—­I cannot stay under this roof another day.  Everything is over between my aunt and me.  Poor old woman!  The dream I cherished was to care for her lovingly, tenderly till she died in my arms, be to her what I failed to be to father....  But they have opened her eyes.  To her I am nothing but a sinner now and my presence upsets everything for her....  I must go away.  I’ve already told Beppa to pack my things....  Rafael, my love, this is our last night together....  To-morrow ... and you will never see me again.”

The youth recoiled as if someone had struck him in the breast.

“Going?  Going ...?  And you can say that coolly, simply, just like that?  You are leaving me ... this way ... just when we are happiest ...?”

But soon he had himself in hand again.  This surely could be nothing more than a passing impulse, a notion arrived at in a flash of anger.  Of course she did not really mean to go!  She must think things over, see things clearly.  That was a crazy idea!  Desert her Rafaelito?  Absurd!  Impossible!

Leonora smiled sadly.  She had expected him to talk that way.  She, too, had suffered much, ever so much, before deciding to do it!  It made her shudder to think that within two days she would be off again, alone, wandering through Europe, caught up again in that wild, tumultuous life of art and love, after tasting the full sweetness of the most powerful passion she had ever known—­of what she believed was her “first love.”  It was like putting to sea in a tempest with destination unknown.  She loved him, adored him, worshipped him, more than ever now that she was about to lose him.

“Well, why are you going?” the young man asked.  “If you love me, why are you forsaking me?”

“Just because I love you, Rafael....  Because I want you to be happy.”

For her to remain would mean ruin for him:  a long battle with his mother, who was an implacable, a merciless foe.  Dona Bernarda might be killed, but never conquered!  Oh, no!  How horrible!  Leonora knew what filial cruelty was!  How had she treated her father?  She must not now come between a son and a mother!  Was she, perhaps, a creature accursed, born forever to corrupt with her very name the sacredest, purest relations on earth?

“No, you must be good, my heart.  I must go away.  We can’t go on loving each other here.  I’ll write to you, I’ll let you know all I’m doing....  You’ll hear from me every day, if I have to write from the North Pole!  But you must stay!  Don’t drive your mother to despair!  Shut your eyes to the poor woman’s injustice!  For after all, she is doing it all out of her immense love for you....  Do you imagine I am glad to be leaving you—­the greatest happiness I have ever known?”