“You talk as if he were lost.  I tell you he will surely come back before long.”

“I hope so.”

But Marcello did not come back, and after Aurora had returned to the cottage and was seated in her chair again, with her book, she grew restless, and went over in her memory what had passed in the morning.  It was not possible that Marcello should really mean to carry out his threat, to go away without a word, to leave her, to leave his mother; and yet, he was gone.  A settled conviction came over her that he was really gone, just as he was, most probably back to Rome.  She had teased him, and he had been very angry, absurdly angry; and yet she was perhaps responsible, in a way, for his disappearance.  Presently his mother would grow anxious and would ask questions, and then it would all come out.  It would be better to be brave and to say at once that he had been angry with her; she could confess the truth to her mother, to the Signora, if necessary, or even to both together, for they were women and would understand.  But she could not tell the story before Corbario.  That would be out of the question; and yet, anything would be better than to let them all think that something dreadful had happened to Marcello.  He had gone to Rome, of course; or perhaps only to Porto d’Anzio, in which case he would meet Ercole coming back.

The hours wore on to midday, and Signora Corbario’s uneasiness grew into real anxiety.  The Contessa did her best to soothe her, but was anxious herself, and still Aurora said nothing.  Folco was grave, but assured every one that the boy would soon return, though the Signora would not believe it.

“He will never come back!  Something dreadful has happened to him!” And therewith she broke down completely and burst into tears.

“You must go and look for him,” said Maddalena quietly to Corbario.

“I think you are right,” he answered.  “I am going to find him,” he said softly, bending down to his wife as she lay in her chair, trying to control her sobs.  “I will send some of the men towards Porto d’Anzio and will go towards Nettuno myself.”

She loved him and believed in him, and she was comforted when she saw him go away and heard him calling the men from their hut.

Aurora was left alone with the two women.

“I am afraid Marcello is gone to Rome,” she said, with an effort.

The Signora raised herself in her long chair and stared hard at the girl.  The Contessa looked at her in surprise.

“What do you know about it?” cried the Signora.  “Why have you not spoken, if you know anything?  Don’t you see that I am half mad with anxiety?”

Aurora had never seen the good lady in such a state, and was almost frightened; but there was nothing to be done now, except to go on.  She told her little story timidly, but truthfully, looking from her mother to the Signora while she spoke, and wondering what would happen when she had finished.