Duplicity: "There is no sadder grief than that which lies at the bottom of a life that has been wrecked through deception"

The sunlight fell slanting across her feet. Amongst the trees two or three birds were twittering softly; it was warm, it was dreamy, she was forgetting Dante. She tried to rouse herself as the thought of him crossed her mind, and she fancied that she almost rose from the chair; but she had hardly lifted one hand. Then she saw his face close before her, her lips relaxed, the pain was gone, she smiled happily, and she was asleep. Half an hour later her maid came quietly out to ask whether she needed anything, and seeing that she was sleeping peacefully spread a light shawl over her feet, placed the silver handbell within easy reach on the table, and went away again. Towards evening Ricci came back and then the men, straggling in on their tired little horses, for they had ridden far and fast. Dante was not with them. Rizzo came in alone, and saw his wife lying in her chair in the evening light. He stood still a moment, and then came over and bent near her, looking earnestly into her quiet face. "Already," he said aloud, but in a very low voice. His hand shook as he laid it on her heart, bending low. Then he started violently and stood bolt upright, as an unearthly howl rent the air. Nino, Greco's queer dog, was close beside him, his forepaws planted on the upper step of the verandah, his head thrown up, his half-open jaws showing his jagged teeth, his rough coat bristling like spikes of bearded barley. And Greco, still a hundred yards away amongst the trees, shook his head and hurried forward as he heard the long-drawn note of brute terror. "Somebody is dead," he said to himself.