oment she
loved those little, innocent secrets that she kept.

But then she thought again of her mother, the most beloved of all her
world. There had been in her mother's voice a sound of tragedy.

Vere stood for a long while by the window thinking.

The day was very hot. She longed to bathe, to wash away certain
perplexities that troubled her in the sea. But Gaspare was not on the
island. He had gone she knew not where. She looked at the sea with
longing. When would Gaspare be back? Well, at least she could go out in
the small boat. Then she would be near to the water. She ran down the
steps and embarked. At first she only rowed a little way out into the
Saint's Pool, and then leaned back against the white cushions, and
looked up at the blue sky, and let her hand trail in the water. But
she was restless to-day. The Pool did not suffice her, and she began
to paddle out along the coast towards Naples. She passed a ruined,
windowless house named by the fisherfolk "The Palace of the Spirits,"
and then a tiny hamlet climbing up from a minute harbor to an antique
church. Children called to her. A fisherman shouted: "Buon viaggio,
Signorina!" She waved her hand to them apathetically and rowed slowly
on. Now she had a bourne. A little farther on there was a small inlet of
the sea containing two caves, not gloomy and imposing like the Grotto
of Virgilio, but cosy, shady, and serene. Into the first of them she ran
the boat until its prow touched the sandy bottom. Then she lay down
at full length, with her hands behind her head on the cushions, and
thought--and thought.

Figures passed through her mind, a caravan of figures travelling as all
are travelling: her mother, Gaspare, Giulia, with her plump and swarthy
face; Monsieur Emile, to whom she had drawn so pleasantly, interestingly
near in these last days; the Marchesino (strutting from the hips and
making his bold eyes round), Peppina, Ruffo. They went by and returned,
gathered about her, separated, melted away as people do in our musings.
Her eyes were fixed on the low roof of the cave. The lilt of the water
seemed to rock her soul in a cradle. "Madre--Ruffo! Madre--Ruffo!"
The words were in her mind like a refrain. And then the oddity, the
promiscuity of life struck her. How many differences there were in this
small group of people by whom she was surrounded! What would their fates
be, and hers? Would her life be happy? She did not feel afraid. Youth
ran in her veins. Bu