graciousness of youth there, of youth and
promise; but there was tragedy there, too, in the heart of Hermione, and
in Peppina, typified by the cross upon her cheek. And does not like draw
like?

For a moment he saw the little island with a great cloud above it. But
when he landed and met Vere he felt the summer, and knew that the sky
was clear.

Hermione was not on the island, Vere told him. She had left many
apologies, and would be home for lunch. She had had to go in to Naples
to see the dentist. A tooth had troubled her in the night. She had gone
by tram. As Vere explained Artois had a moment of surprise, a moment of
suspicion--even of vexation. But it passed when Vere said:

"I'm afraid poor Madre suffered a great deal. She looked dreadful this
morning, as if she hadn't slept all night."

"Poveretta!" said Artois.

He looked earnestly at Vere. This was the first time they had met since
the revelation of Peppina. What the Marchesino had seen Artois saw more
plainly, felt more strongly than the young Neapolitan had felt. But he
looked at Vere, too, in search of something else, thinking of Ruffo,
trying to probe into the depth of human mysteries, to find the secret
spring that carried child to child.

"What do you want, Monsieur Emile?"

"I want to know how the work goes," he answered, smiling.

She flushed a little.

"And I want to tell you something," he added. "My talk with you roused
me up. Vere, you set me working as I have not worked for a long while."

A lively pleasure showed in her face.

"Is that really true? But then I must be careful, or you will never come
to see us any more. You will always be shut up in the hotel writing."

They mounted the cliff together and, without question or reply, as by
a mutual instinct, turned towards the seat that faced Ischia, clear
to-day, yet romantic with the mystery of heat. When they had sat down
Vere added:

"And besides, of course, I know that it is Madre who encourages you when
you are depressed about your work. I have heard you say so often."

"Your mother has done a great deal for me," said Artois, seriously--"far
more than she will ever know."

There was a sound of deep, surely of eternal feeling in his voice, which
suddenly touched the girl to the quick.

"I like to hear you say that--like that," she said, softly. "I think
Madre does a great deal for us all."

If Hermione could have heard them her torn heart might perhaps have
ceased to bleed.