The Castle Of The Shadows

								

darkness of the olive grove closing in the white road that overhung the
rock-bed of the river.
The hills rose higher, shutting out the day, and there was a brooding
silence, only intensified by the hushed whisper of the water among its
pebbles.
The shoulders of the heights were losing their gold glitter now; and
Virginia had a curious sensation of leaving reality behind and entering a
mysterious dreamland.
For a long time they rode without speaking. Then Virginia broke the spell
of constraint which had fallen upon them.
"Where are the persons who gather the olives?" she asked of the Italian,
who rode almost sullenly beside her.
"This isn't the time of year for that," he replied, more abruptly than
was his custom in speaking to her.
"I never saw such a deserted place!" exclaimed the girl. "We have ridden
ever so far into the valley now--two miles at least--and there hasn't
been a sign of human habitation; not a person, not a house, except the
little ruined tower we passed a few minutes ago, and that old château
almost at the top of the hill. Look! the last rays of the sun are
touching its windows before saying good-bye to the valley. Aren't they
like the fiery eyes of some fierce animal glaring watchfully down at us
out of the dusk?"
Pointing upward, she turned to him for approval of her fancy, and to her
surprise saw him pale, as if he had been attacked with sudden illness.
"What is the matter?" she asked quickly.
"Nothing at all," he replied. "A slight chill, perhaps."
"No, there is more than that," Virginia said slowly. "I'm sure of it.
I've been sure ever since we stood on the bridge looking up this valley.
You wanted to go on. You could hardly bear to stop, and when I proposed
riding in you made excuses."
"Only for your sake, fearing you might catch cold."
"Yet you suggested going on to another valley. Would it have been warmer
than this? Oh, Marchese, I don't like you when you are subtle and
secretive. It reminds me that we are of different countries--as different
as the north can be from the south. Do tell me what is really in your
mind. Why do you hate this valley? Why has coming into it tied your
tongue, and made you look as if you had seen a ghost?"
"You exaggerate, Miss Beverly," said Loria. "But if you care to know the
precise truth you shall, on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you turn your horse's head and consent to go out into the sunshine
again. When we are there I will tell you."
"No. If I hear your story, and think it worth turning back for, I will. I
mean to have a nearer glimpse of that château. It must have a lovely
view over the tops of the olive trees."
She touched the mare, who changed from a trot into a gallop. In five
minutes more they would be under the castle; but almost instantly Loria,
obliged to follow, had caught up with her again.
"One of the greatest sorrows of my life is connected with this valley,"