e's
rather rough rebuke upon the cliff before Artois and Vere? Or had
Gaspare emphasized that by further directions when alone with Ruffo? She
tried deftly to find out, but the boy baffled her. But perhaps he was
delicate about money, unlike Neapolitans, and feared that if he talked
too much of his mother the lady of the island would think he was "making
misery," was hoping for another twenty francs. As to his Patrigno, the
fact that Peppina was living on the island made that subject rather a
difficult one. Nevertheless, Hermione could not help suspecting that
Gaspare had told the boy not to bother her with any family troubles.

She had not offered him money again. The giving of the twenty francs had
been a sudden impulse to help a suffering woman, less because she was
probably in poverty than because she was undoubtedly made unhappy by
her husband. Since she had suffered at the hands of death, Hermione
felt very pitiful for women. She would gladly have gone to see Ruffo's
mother, have striven to help her more, both materially and morally.
But as to a visit--Peppina seemed to bar the way. And as to more money
help--she remembered Gaspare's warning. Perhaps he knew something of the
mother that she did not know. Perhaps the mother was an objectionable,
or even a wicked woman.

But when she looked at Ruffo she could not believe that. And then
several times he had spoken with great affection of his mother.

She left things as they were, taking her cue from the boy in despite
of her desire. And here, as in some other directions, she was secretly
governed by Gaspare.

Only sometimes did she see in Ruffo's face the look that had drawn her
to him. The resemblance to Maurice was startling, but it was nearly
always fleeting. She could not tell when it was coming, nor retain it
when it came. But she noticed that it was generally when Ruffo was moved
by affection, by a sudden sympathy, by a warm and deferent impulse that
the look came in him. And again she thought of the beautiful obedience
that springs directly from love, of Mercury poised for flight to the
gods, his mission happily accomplished.

She wondered if Artois had ever thought of it when he was with Ruffo.
But she felt now that she could never ask him.

And, indeed, she cherished her knowledge, her recognition, as something
almost sacred, silently shared with Gaspare.

To no one could that look mean what it meant to her. To no other heart
could it make the same a