For a moment with him
she had seemed to see her Mercury in the flesh. She must watch for his
return.

When the morning came she began her fight. She made her excuse, and left
the morning free for Emile to be with Vere.

Two dreary hours she spent in Naples. The buzzing city affected her
like a nightmare. Coming back through Mergellina, she eagerly looked
for Ruffo. But she did not see him. Nor had she seen him in the early
morning, when she passed by the harbor where the yachts were lying in
the sun.

Gaspare came with the boat to take her over from the nearest village to
the island.

"Don Emilio has come?" she asked him, as she stepped into the boat.

"Si, Signora. He has been on the island a long time."

Gaspare sat down facing his Padrona and took the oars. As he rowed the
boat out past the ruined "Palace of the Spirits" he looked at Hermione,
and it seemed to her that his eyes pitied her.

Could Gaspare see what she was feeling, her humiliation, her secret
jealousy? She felt as if she were made of glass. But she returned his
gaze almost sternly, and said:

"What's the matter, Gaspare? Why do you look at me like that?"

"Signora!"

He seemed startled, and slightly reddened, then looked hurt and almost
sulky.

"May I not look at you, Signora?" he asked, rather defiantly. "Have I
the evil eye?"

"No--no, Gaspare! Only--only you looked at me as if something were the
matter. Do I look ill?"

She asked the question with a forced lightness, with a smile. He
answered, bluntly:

"Si, Signora. You look very ill."

She put up her hand to her face instinctively, as if to feel whether his
words were true.

"But I'm perfectly well," she said.

"You look very ill, Signora," he returned.

"I'm a little bit tired, perhaps."

He said no more, and rowed steadily on for a while. But presently she
found him looking gravely at her again.

"Signora," he began, "the Signorina loves the island."

"Yes, Gaspare."

"Do you love it?"

The question startled her. Had he read her thoughts in the last days?

"Don't you think I love it?" she asked.

"You go away from it very often, Signora."

"But I must occasionally go in to Naples!" she protested.

"Si, Signora."

"Well, but mustn't I?"

"Non lo so, Signora. Perhaps we have been here long enough. Perhaps we
had better go away from here."

He spoke slowly, and with something less than his usual firmness, as if
in his mind there was uncertainty, some inde