He dressed himself in haste, opened the door, and stepped out into the loggia.  Not finding Fra Pacifico there, or in the other rooms, he passed down the stone steps into the little square, threading his way beyond as he best could, through the tortuous little alleys toward the gate.  Most of the men had already gone to work; but such as lingered, or whose business kept them at home, rose as he passed, and bared their heads to him.  The mothers and the girls stared at him and smiled; troops of children followed at his heels through the town, until he reached the gate.

Without, the holiness of Nature was around.  The morning air blew upon him crisp and clear.  The sky, blue as a turquoise, was unbroken by a cloud.  The trees were bathed in gold.  The chain of Apennines rose up before him in lines of dreamy loveliness, like another world, midway toward heaven.  A passing shower veiled the massive summits toward Massa and Carrara, but the broad valley of the Serchio, mapped out in smallest details, lay serenely luminous below.  Beyond the gate there was no certain road.  It broke into little tracts and rocky paths terracing downward.  Following these, streams ran bubbling, sparkling like gems as they dashed against the stones.  No shadows rested upon the grass, cooled by the dew and carpeted by flowers.  The woods danced in the October sunshine.  Painted butterflies and gnats circled in the warm air; green lizards gamboled among the rocks that cut the turf.  Flocks of autumn birds swooped round in rapid flight.  Some freshly-shorn sheep, led by a ragged child, cropped the short herbage fragrant with strong herbs.  A bristly pig carrying a bell about his neck, ran wildly up and down the grassy slope in search of chestnuts.

Through this sylvan wilderness Nobili came stepping downward by the little paths, like a young god full of strength and love!

The villa lay beneath him; the blackened ruins of the tower rose over the chestnut-tops.  These blackened ruins showed him which way to go.  As he set his foot upon the topmost terrace of the garden, his heart beat fast.

Enrica would be there, he knew it.  Enrica would be waiting for him.  Could Nobili yearn so fondly for Enrica and she not know it?  Could the mystic bond that knit them together, from the first moment they had met, leave her unconscious of his presence?  No; that subtile charm that draws lovers together, and breathes from heart to heart the sacred fire, had warned her.  She was standing there—­there, beneath him, under the shadow of a flowery thicket.  Enrica was leaning against the trunk of a magnolia-tree, the shining leaves framing her in a rich canopy, through which a glint of sunshine pierced, falling upon her light hair and the white dress she wore.