As dawn was breaking, Lucrezia and Gaspare climbed slowly up the
mountain-side towards the cottage. Lucrezia's eyes were red, for she had
just bidden good-bye to Sebastiano, who was sailing that day for the
Lipari Isles, and she did not know how soon he would be back. Sebastiano
had not cried. He loved change, and was radiant at the prospect of his
voyage. But Lucrezia's heart was torn. She knew Sebastiano, knew his wild
and adventurous spirit, his reckless passion for life, and the gifts it
scatters at the feet of lusty youth. There were maidens in the Lipari
Isles. They might be beautiful. She had scarcely been jealous of
Sebastiano before her betrothal to him, for then she had had no rights
over him, and she was filled with the spirit of humbleness that still
dwells in the women of Sicily, the spirit that whispers "Man may do what
he will." But now something had arisen within her to do battle with that
spirit. She wanted Sebastiano for her very own, and the thought of his
freedom when away tormented her.

Gaspare comforted her in perfunctory fashion.

"What does it matter?" he said. "When you are married you can keep him in
the house, and make him spin the flax for you."

And he laughed aloud. But when they drew near to the cottage he said: "Zitta, Lucrezia! The padrone is asleep. We must steal in softly and not
waken him."