Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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THE SIROCCO
139
they had lost, and those who were not as yet widows
thought of the time when they would not be able to
go on the street, because no husband would be with
them; when they would be left to loneliness, poverty,
oblivion; when they would be nothing, mean
nothing; when they would be the world’s outcast
children because they no longer had a husband; because
nothing any longer gave them the right to live.
It was late in December, the days between
Christmas and the New Year.
There was still the same danger of insurrection,
and people still heard terrifying rumors. It was
said that Falco Falcone had gathered together a
band of brigands in the quarries, and that he was
only waiting for the appointed day to break into
Diamante and plunder it.
It was also whispered that the people in several of
the small mountain towns had risen, torn down the
custom’s offices at the town-gates, and driven away
the officials.
People said too that troops were passing from
town to town, arresting all suspicious people, and
shooting them down by hundreds.
Every one said that they must fight. They could
not let themselves be murdered by those Italians
without trying to make some resistance.
During all this, Donna Micaela sat tied to her
father’s sick-bed, just as she had sat before by Don
Ferrante’s. She could not escape from Diamante,
and terror so grew within her that she was nothing
but one trembling fear.
The last and worst of all the messages of terror
that reached her had been about Gaetano.
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