the Sicily
she had never seen. And this boy had not seen Sicily either.

"Isn't it odd that you and I have never seen Sicily?" she said, "and
that both our mothers have? And mine is all English, you know."

"My mamma would be very glad to kiss the hand of your Signora Mother,"
replied Ruffo. "I told her about the kind ladies who gave me cigarettes,
and that the Signorina had never seen her father. When she heard that
the Signorina was born after her father was dead, and that her father
had died in Sicily, she said--my poor mamma!--'If ever I see the
Signorina's mother, I shall kiss her hand. She was a widow before she
was a mother; may the Madonna comfort her.' My mamma spoke just like
that, Signorina. And then she cried for a long time. But when Patrigno
came in she stopped crying at once."

"Did she? Why was that?"

"I don't know, Signorina."

Vere was silent for a moment. Then she said:

"Is your Patrigno kind to you, Ruffo?"

The boy looked at her, then swiftly looked away.

"Kind enough, Signorina," he answered.

Then they both kept silence. They were standing side by side thus,
looking down rather vaguely at the Saint's pool, when another boat
floated gently into it, going over to the far side, where already
lay the two boats at the feet of San Francesco. Vere saw it with
indifference. She was accustomed to the advent of the fishermen at this
hour. Ruffo stared at it for a moment with a critical inquiring gaze.
The boat drew up near the land and stopped. There was a faint murmur of
voices, then silence again.

The Marchesino had told the two sailors that they could have an hour or
two of sleep before beginning to fish.

The men lay down, shut their eyes, and seemed to sleep at once. But
Artois and the Marchesino, lounging on a pile of rugs deftly arranged
in the bottom of the stern of the boat, smoked their cigars in a silence
laid upon them by the night silence of the Pool. Neither of them had as
yet caught sight of the figures of Vere and Ruffo, which were becoming
more clearly relieved as the moon rose and brought a larger world within
its radiance, of its light. Artois was satisfied that the members of the
Casa del Mare were in bed. As they approached the house he had seen no
light from its windows. The silence about the islet was profound, and
gave him the impression of being in the very heart of the night. And
this impression lasted, and so tricked his mind that he forgot that the
hour was not