She had never yet known or imagined such a fear. That she felt. But she
had another feeling, contradictory, surely. It began to seem to her as if
this fear, which was now coming upon her, had been near her for a long
time, ever since the night when she knew that she was going to Africa.
Had she not even expressed it to Maurice?

Those beautiful days and nights of perfect happiness--can they ever come
again? Had she not thought that many times? Was it not the voice of this
fear which had whispered those words, and others like them, to her mind?
And had there not been omens? Had there not been omens?

She heard Gaspare's feet behind her in the ravine, and it seemed to her
that she could tell by the sound of them upon the many little loose
stones that he was wild with impatience, that he was secretly cursing her
for obliging him to go so slowly. Had he been alone he would have sped
down with a rapidity almost like that of travelling light. She was
strong, active. She was going fast. Instinctively she went fast. But she
was a woman, not a boy.

"I can't help it, Gaspare!"

She was saying that mentally, saying it again and again, as she hurried
onward.

Had there not been omens?

That last letter of hers, whose loss had prevented Maurice from meeting
her on her return, from welcoming her! When she had reached the station
of Cattaro, and had not seen him upon the platform, she had felt "I have
lost him." Afterwards, directly almost, she had laughed at the feeling as
absurd. But she had had it. And then, when at last he had come, she had
been moved to suggest that he might like to sleep outside upon the
terrace. And he had agreed to the suggestion. They had not resumed their
old, sweet relation of husband and wife.