ackness below rose hoarse shouts and prolonged calls--some
near, some far. Faintly with them mingled the quavering and throaty
voice of the blind man, now raised in "Santa Lucia."

"What are we going to do, Monsieur Emile?"

"We must get home at once before it gets worse," said Hermione.
"Marchese, I am so sorry, but I am afraid we must ask for the launch."

"But, madame, it is only a squall. By midnight it will be all over. I
promise you. I am a Neapolitan."

"Ah, but you promised that there would be no storm at all."

"Sa-a-nta-a Lu-u-ci-i-a! Santa Lu-cia!"

The blind man sounded like one in agony. The thunder crashed again just
above him, as if it desired to beat down his sickly voice.

Artois felt a sharp stab of neuralgia over his eyes.

Behind, in the restaurant, the waiters were running over the pavement
to shut the great windows. The rush of the rain made a noise like
quantities of silk rustling.

The Marchesino laughed, quite unabashed. His cheeks were slightly
flushed and his eyes shone.

"Could I tell the truth, Signora? You might have refused to come. But
now I speak the solemn truth. By midnight--"

"I'm afraid we really can't stay so late as that."

"But there is a piano. I will play valses. I will sing." He looked
ardently at Vere, who was eagerly watching the sea from the window.

"And we will dance, the Signorina and I."

Artois made a brusque movement towards the terrace, muttering something
about the launch. A glare of lightning lit up the shore immediately
below the terrace, showing him the launch buffeted by the waves that
were now breaking over the sandy beach. There came a summoning call from
the sailors.

"If you do stay," Artois said to the Marchesino, turning back to them,
"you must send the launch round to Mergellina. I don't believe it can
stop here."

"Well, but there are rocks, Caro Emilio. It is protected!"

"Not enough."

"Signora," said Gaspare, "we had better go. It will only get worse. The
sea is not too bad yet."

"Come along!" Hermione cried, with decision. "Come, Vere! I'm very
sorry, Marchese, but we must really get back at once. Good-night, Emile!
Gaspare give me your arm."

And she set off at once, clinging to Gaspare, who held an open umbrella
over her.

"Good-night, Vere!" said Artois.

The girl was looking at him with surprised eyes.

"You are going--"

"I shall take the tram."

"Oh--of course. That is your quickest way."

"Signorina--the umb