The old man was not longer there, but Clelia Alba said to him —­

“Dario says they summon you to Dan Beda, and that you will not go?”

“He said right.”

“But, my son,” cried his mother, “go you must!  These orders are not to be shirked.  Those who give them have the law behind them.  You know that.”

“They have the villainy of the law behind them:  the only portion of the law the people ever suffered to see.”

“But how can you know what it is about if you do not go?”

“There is only one thing which it can be.  One thing that I will not hear.”

“You mean for the river —­ for the land?”

“What else?”

Her face grew as stern as his own.  “If that be so...  Still you should go, my son; you should go to hold your own.”

“I will hold my own,” said Adone; and in his thoughts he added, “but not by words.”

“What is the day of the month for which they call you?” asked his mother.

“The date is passed by three days.  That is a little feat which authority often plays upon the people.”

They went within.  The meal was eaten in silence; the nut-brown eyes of Nerina looked wistfully in their faces, but she asked nothing; she guessed enough.

Adone said nothing to Don Silverio of the summons, for he knew that the priest would counsel strongly his attendance in person at San Beda, even though the date was already passed.

But the Vicar had heard of it from the postman, who confided to him the fears he felt that Adone would neglect the summons, and so get into trouble.  He perceived at once the error which would be committed if any sentence should be allowed to go by default through absence of the person cited..  By such absence the absentee discredits himself; whatsoever may be the justice of his cause, it is prejudiced at the outset.  But how to persuade of this truth a man so blind with pain and rage and so dogged in self-will as Adone had become, Don Silverio did not see.  He shrank from renewing useless struggles and disputes which led to no issue.  He felt that Adone and he would only drift farther and farther apart with every word they spoke.

The young man viewed this thing through a red mist of hatred and headstrong fury; it was impossible for his elder to admit that such views were wise or pardonable, or due to anything more than the heated visions evoked by a great wrong.

That evening at sunset he saw the little girl Nerina at the river.  She had led the cows to the water, and they and she were standing knee deep in the stream.  The western light shone on their soft, mottled, dun hides and on her ruddy brown hair and bright young face.  The bearded bulrushes were round them; the light played on the broad leaves of the docks and the red spikes of great beds of willow-herb; the water reflected the glowing sky, and close to its surface numbers of newly-come swallows whirled and dipped and darted, chasing gnats, whilst near at hand on a spray a little woodlark sang.