not yet begun and the baths were not
completed. Only in July, after the festa of the Madonna del Carmine, do
the Neapolitans give themselves heart and soul to the sea. Artois knew
this, and wondered idly what the women were doing on the terrace. One
had a dog. It sat in the sun and began to cough. A long wagon on two
wheels went by, drawn by two mules and a thin horse harnessed abreast.
It was full of white stone. The driver had bought some green stuff and
flung it down upon the white. He wore a handkerchief on his head. His
chest was bare. As he passed beneath the window he sang a loud song that
sounded Eastern, such a song as the Spanish wagoners sing in Algeria, as
they set out by night on their long journeys towards the desert. Upon
a tiny platform of wood, fastened to slanting stakes which met together
beneath it in a tripod, a stout man in shirt and trousers, with black
whiskers, was sitting on a chair fishing with a rod and line. A boy
sat beside him dangling his legs over the water. At a little distance a
large fishing-smack, with sails set to catch the breeze farther out in
the Bay, was being laboriously rowed towards the open sea by half-naked
men, who shouted as they toiled at the immense oars.

Artois wondered where they were going. Their skins were a rich orange
color. From a distance in the sunlight they looked like men of gold.
Their cries and their fierce movements suggested some fantastic quest to
lands of mysterious tumult.

Artois wished that Vere could see them.

What were the inhabitants of the island doing?

To-day his mind was beyond his governance, and roamed like a vagrant
on a long, white road. Everything that he saw below him in the calm
radiance of the morning pushed it from thought to thought. Yet none of
these thoughts were valuable. None seemed fully formed. They resembled
henids, things seen so far away that one cannot tell what they are, but
is only aware that they exist and can attract attention.

He came out upon his balcony. As he did so he looked down into the road,
and saw a hired carriage drive up, with Hermione in it.

She glanced up and saw him.

"May I come in for a minute?"

He nodded, smiling, and went out to meet her, glad of this interruption.

They met at the door of the lift. As Hermione stepped out she cast a
rather anxious glance at her friend, a glance that seemed to say that
she was not quite certain of her welcome. Artois' eyes reassured her.

"I feel guil