ure and his.

"Where is the island, Gaspare?" cried Vere through the wind to him.

"Chi lo sa, Signorina."

He waved one hand to the blackness before them.

"It must be there."

She strained her eyes, then looked away towards where the land must be.
At a long distance across the leaping foam she saw one light. As the
boat rose and sank on the crests and into the hollows of the waves the
light shone and faded, shone and faded. She guessed it to be a light at
the Antico Giuseppone. Despite the head wind and the waves that met
them the launch travelled bravely, and soon the light was gone. She told
herself that it must have been at the Giuseppone, and that now they
had got beyond the point, and were opposite to the harbor of the Villa
Rosebery. But no lights greeted them from the White Palazzo in the wood,
or from the smaller white house low down beside the sea. And again she
looked straight forward.

Now she was intent on San Francesco. She was thinking of him, of the
Pool, of the island. And she thrilled with joy at the thought of the
wonderful wildness of her home. As they drew on towards it the waves
were bigger, the wind was stronger. Even on calm nights there was always
a breeze when one had passed the Giuseppone going towards Ischia, and
beyond the island there was sometimes quite a lively sea. What would it
be to-night? Her heart cried out for a crescendo. Within her, at that
moment, was a desire like the motorist's for speed. More! more! More
wind! More sea! More uproar from the elements!

And San Francesco all alone in this terrific blackness! Had he not been
dashed from his pedestal by the waves? Was the light at his feet still
burning?

"Il Santo!" she said to Gaspare.

He bent his head till it was close to her lips.

"Il Santo! What has become of him, Gaspare?"

"He will be there, Signorina."

So Gaspare, too, held to the belief of the seamen of the Bay. He had
confidence in the obedience of the sea, this sea that roared around
them like a tyrant. Suddenly she had no doubt. It would be so. The saint
would be untouched. The light would still be burning. She looked for it.
And now she remembered her mother. She must tell her mother directly she
saw it. But all was blackness still.

And the launch seemed weary, like a live thing whose strength is ebbing,
who strains and pants and struggles gallantly, not losing heart but
losing physical force. Surely it was going slower. She laid one hand
upon th