nst the seat. She heard Artois get
in, the boat pushed off, the splash of the oars. But she did not open
her eyes, until presently an instinct told her there was something she
must see. Then she looked.

The boat was passing under the blessing hand of San Francesco, under the
light of the Saint, which was burning calmly and brightly.

Hermione moved. She bent down to the water, the _acqua benedetta_. She
sprinkled it over the boat and made the sign of the cross. When they
reached the island Artois got out. As she came on shore he said to her:

"Hermione, I left the--the two children together in the garden. Do you
think--will you go to them for a moment? Or--"

"I will go," she answered.

She was no longer trembling. She followed him up the steps, walking
slowly but firmly. They came to the house door. Gaspare had kept close
behind them. At the door Artois stopped. He felt as if to-night he ought
to go no farther.

Hermione looked at him and passed into the house. Gaspare, seeing that
Artois did not follow her, hesitated, but Artois said to him:

"Go, Gaspare, go with your Padrona."

Then Gaspare went in, down the passage, and out to the terrace.

Hermione was standing there.

"Do you think they are in the garden, Gaspare?" she said.

"Si, Signora. Listen! I can hear them!"

He held up his hand. Not far away there was a sound of voices speaking
together.

"Shall I go and tell them, Signora?"

After a moment Hermione said:

"Yes, Gaspare--go and tell them."

He went away, and she waited, leaning on the balustrade and looking
down to the dim sea, from which only the night before Ruffo's voice
had floated up to her, singing the song of Mergellina. Only the night
before! And it seemed to her centuries ago.

"Madre!"

Vere spoke to her. Vere was beside her. But she gazed beyond her child
to Ruffo, who stood with his cap in his hand and his eyes, full of
gentleness, looking at her for recognition.

"Ruffo!" she said.

Vere moved to let Ruffo pass. He came up and stood before Hermione.

"Ruffo!" she said again.

It seemed that she was going to say more. They waited for her to say
more. But she did not speak. She stood quite still for a moment looking
at the boy. Then she put one hand on his shoulder, bent down and touched
his forehead with her lips.

And in that kiss the dead man was forgiven.

EPILOGUE

On a radiant day of September in the following year, from the little
harbor of Mergelli