made free of the ocean
here. What is that far-away light?"

He pointed.

"Low down? Oh, that must be the light of a fisherman, one of those who
seek in the rocks for shell-fish."

"How mysterious it looks, moving to and fro! One feels life there, the
doings of unknown men in the darkness."

"I wonder if--would you hate to go out a little way in the boat? The men
look so strange when one is near them, almost like fire-people."

"Hate! Let us go."

"And we'll get Madre to come too."

"Oh yes."

Vere got up and they went into the house. As they came out upon the
terrace Hermione took up her embroidery, and Gaspare, who was standing
beside her, picked up the tray with the coffee-cups and went off with it
towards the kitchen.

"Well, Vere?"

"Madre, we are going out a little way in the boat, and we want you to
come with us."

"Where are you going?"

"To see the fishermen, just beyond the grotto of Virgilio. You will
come?"

"Do come, my friend," added Artois.

But Hermione sat still.

"I'm a little tired to-night," she answered. "I think I would rather
stay quietly here. You won't be long, will you?"

"Oh no, Madre. Only a few minutes. But, really, won't you?" Vere laid
her hand on her mother's. "It's so lovely on the sea to-night."

"I know. But honestly, I'm lazy to-night."

Vere looked disappointed. She took away her hand gently.

"Then we'll stay with you, won't we, Monsieur Emile?"

"No, Vere," said her mother quickly, before he could answer. "You two
go. I sha'n't be dull. You won't be very long?"

"No, of course. But--"

"Go, dearest, go. Are you going to row, Emile?"

"I could. Or shall we take Gaspare?"

"It's Gaspare's supper-time," said Vere.

"Hush, then!" said Artois, putting his finger to his lips. "Let us creep
down softly, or he will think it his duty to come with us, starving, and
that would spoil everything. Au revoir, Hermione," he whispered.

"Good-bye, Madre," whispered Vere.

They glided away, the big man and the light-footed child, going on
tiptoe with elaborate precaution.

As Hermione looked after them, she said to herself:

"How young Emile is to-night!"

At that moment she felt as if she were much older than he was.

They slipped down to the sea without attracting the attention of
Gaspare, got into the little boat, and rowed gently out towards Nisida.

"I feel like a contrabandista," said Artois, as they stole under the lee
of the island towards the open