as deaf, as a hunted dog that runs straight on, hearing and seeing nought, made mad with terror.
Only mad she was not; the great love in her burned too clearly like a strong light in a lamp of alabaster, and her courage made her calm.
Saturnino passed through the ancient ways that dive down through the heart of the city to the riverside. He crossed the Tiber by the bridge of S. Angelo. The sun had now set; a crimson hue was upon all the scene; the river rippled in lines of gold, the pine-trees were black against the glow, the angel on Hadrian's tomb lifted a flashing sword into the light.
Even in that moment the beauty of the evening upon Tiber forced some perception of itself upon her; he never paused nor saw. He entered Trastevere.
Its streets and lanes were dark. Lamps were burning, and the glisten of fountains showed white through the gloom.
The great bells were tolling, for on the morrow it was the feast of S. Elizabeth. The air seemed to palpitate visibly with their rocking sounds. There were many monks and priests in the streets, their white or
