The smooth lips were drawn in and tightly compressed; and she held her breath, while her right hand strained upon her left with all her might.

Then the lips parted with a sort of little snap as she drew breath again; and she turned her head suddenly, and looked behind her, growing a trifle paler, as though she expected to see something startling.
She tried to smile, and roused herself, rang the bell for the servant to put out the lights, and left the room.

It was long before she slept that night.

In the next room she could hear Gregorio's slow and regular footsteps, as he walked up and down without ceasing.

In his own room upstairs, Bosio Macomer sat staring at the ashes of the burnt-out fire on his hearth.