The morn broke dark and stormy.  Thunder-clouds purpled before the rising sun, and ere mid-day there fell torrents of rain.  Heedless of the sky, Marcian rode forth this morning; rode aimlessly about the hills, for the villa was no longer endurable to him.  He talked awhile with a labouring serf, who told him that the plague had broken out in Arpinum, where, during the last week or two, many had died.  From his steward he had already heard the same news, but without heeding it; it now alarmed him, and for some hours fear had a wholesome effect upon his thoughts.  In the coolness following upon the storm, he enjoyed a long, tranquil sleep.  And this day he did not see Veranilda.

A mile or two down the valley was a church, built by Marcian’s grandfather, on a spot where he had been saved from great peril; the land attached to it supported two priests and certain acolytes, together with a little colony of serfs.  On his ride this morning Marcian had passed within view of the church, and would have gone thither but for his rain drenched clothing.  Now, during the second night of temptation, he resolved to visit the priests as soon as it was day and to bring one of them back with him to the villa, to remain as long as Veranilda should be there.  Firm in this purpose he rose with the rising sun, called for his horse, and rode to the bridge.  There, looking down at the white cataract, stood Veranilda and her attendant.

He alighted.  With a timid smile the maiden advanced to meet him.

‘Abroad so early?’ were his first words, a mere tongue-found phrase.

’I was tempted by the fresh morning.  It does not displease you, lord Marcian?’

‘Nay, I am glad.’

‘It is so long,’ continued the gentle voice, ’since I was free to walk under the open sky.’

Marcian forgot that his gaze was fixed upon her, forgot that he was silent, forgot the purpose with which he had ridden forth.

‘I hoped I might see you to-day,’ she added.  ’You have yet no news for me?’

‘None.’

The blue eyes drooped sadly.

‘To-morrow, perhaps,’ she murmured.  Then, with an effort to seem cheerful, as if ashamed of her troubled thought, ’I had listened so long to a sound of falling water that I could not resist the desire to see it.  How beautiful it is!’

Marcian felt surprise; he himself saw the cataract as an object of beauty, but had seldom heard it so spoken of, and could least of all have expected such words on the lips of a woman, dread seeming to him the more natural impression.

‘That on the other side,’ he said, pointing across the island, ’is more beautiful still.  And there is shade, whilst here the sun grows too hot.  But you must not walk so far.  My horse has a very even pace.  If you would let me lift you to the saddle—­’

‘Oh, gladly!’ she answered, with a little laugh of pleasure.

And it was done.  For a moment he held her, for a moment felt the warmth and softness of her flesh; then she sat sideways upon the horse, looking down at Marcian with startled gaiety.  He showed her how to hold the reins, and the horse went gently forward.