n usual, till
after Ruffo was sure to be at the island, and let her mother stroll to
the cliff top. Or, if she were there with him first, she would soon make
an excuse to go away, and casually tell her mother that he was there
alone or with Gaspare. And all this was done so naturally that Hermione
did not know it was deliberate, but merely fancied that perhaps Vere's
first enthusiasm for the fisher-boy was wearing off, that it had been a
child's sudden fancy, and that it was lightly passing away.

Vere rather wondered at her mother's liking for Ruffo, although
she herself had found him so attractive, and had drawn her mother's
attention to his handsome face and bold, yet simple bearing. She
wondered, because she felt in it something peculiar, a sort of heat and
anxiety, a restlessness, a watchfulness; attributes which sprang from
the observation of that resemblance to the dead man which drew her
mother to Ruffo, but of which her mother had never spoken to her.

Nor did Hermione speak of it again to Gaspare. He had almost angrily
denied it, but since the night of Artois' visit she knew that he had
seen it, been startled, moved by it, almost as she had been.

She knew that quite well. Yet Gaspare puzzled her. He had become moody,
nervous, and full of changes. She seemed to discern sometimes a latent
excitement in him. His temper was uneven. Giulia had said that one could
not speak with him. Since that day she had grumbled about him again, but
discreetly, with a certain vagueness. For all the servants thoroughly
appreciated his special position in the household as the "cameriere
di confidenza" of the Padrona. One thing which drew Hermione's special
attention was his extraordinary watchfulness of her. When they were
together she frequently surprised him looking at her with a sort of
penetrating and almost severe scrutiny which startled her. Once or
twice, indeed, she showed that she was startled.

"What's the matter, Gaspare?" she said, one day. "Do I look ill again?"

For she had remembered his looking at her in the boat.

"No, Signora," he answered, this time, quickly. "You are not looking ill
to-day."

And he moved off, as if anxious to avoid further questioning.

Another time she thought that there was something wrong with her dress,
or her hair, and said so.

"Is there anything wrong with me?" she exclaimed. "What is it?" And
she instinctively glanced down at her gown, and put up her hands to her
head.

And