“She will go to none, sir.  She says she must be where she can serve Adone.  If she be shut up, she will escape and run into the woods.  Three years ago she was a wild thing; she will turn wild again.”

“Like enough!  But we must do what we can.  I am going home.  I will come or send to you in a few hours.”

Gianna reluctantly let him go.  As he crossed the river he looked down on the bright water, here green as emeralds, there brown as peat, eddying round the old stone piers of the bridge, and an infinite sorrow was on him.

As a forest fire sweeps away under its rolling smoke and waves of flame millions of obscure and harmless creatures, so the baneful fires of men’s greed and speculations came from afar and laid low these harmless lives with neither thought of them or pity.

Later in the day he sent word to Gianna to bring Nernia to the presbytery.  They both came, obedient.  The child looked tired and had lost her bright colour; but she had a resolute look on her face.

“My poor little girl,” he said gently to her, “Madonna Clelia is angered against you.  We will hope her anger will pass ere long.  Meanwhile you must not go to the house.  You would not make ill-blood between a mother and her son?”

“No,” said Nernia.

“I have found a home for awhile for you, with old Alaida Manzi; you know her; she is a good creature.  I am very sorry for you, my child; but you did wrong to be absent at night; above all not to go back to your chamber when Clelia Alba bade you to do so.”

Nernia’s face darkened.  “I did no harm.”

“I am sure you did not mean to do any; but you disobeyed Madonna Clelia.”

Nernia was silent.

“You are a young girl; you must not roam the country at night.  It is most perilous.  Decent maidens and women are never abroad after moonrise.”

Nernia said nothing.

“You will promise me never to go out at night again?”

“I cannot promise that, sir.”

“Why?”

“If I be wanted, I shall go.”

“If Adone Alba bid you —­ is that your meaning?”

Nernia was silent.

“Do you think that it is fitting for you to have secrets from me, your confessor?”

Nernia was silent; her rosy mouth was closed firmly.  It was very terrible to have to displease and disobey Don Silverio; but she would not speak, not if she should burn in everlasting flames for ever.

“Take her away.  Take her to Alaida,” he said wearily to Gianna.

“She only obeys Adone, sir,” said the old woman.  “All I can say counts as naught.”

“Adone will send her on no more midnight errands, unless he be brute and fool both.  Take her away.  Look to her, you and Alaida.”

“I will do what I can, sir,” said Gianna humbly, and pushed the girl out into the village street before her.

Don Silverio sat down at his deal writing-table and wrote in his fine, clear calligraphy a few lines:  “In the name of my holy office I forbid you to risk the life and good name of the maiden Nernia on your unlawful errands.”