last secret, she was again assailed by a curious,
and horrible, sensation of apprehension. She again felt very little and
very helpless, like a child.

She moved away from the balustrade and turned towards the house. Above,
in her sitting-room, the light still shone. The other windows on this
side of the Casa del Mare were dark. She felt that she must go to that
light quickly, and she hastened in, went cautiously--though now almost
panic-stricken--through the black room with the French windows, and came
into the dimly lighted passage that led to the front door.

Gaspare was there locking up. She came to him.

"Good-night, Gaspare," she said, stopping.

"Good-night, Signora," he answered, slightly turning his head, but not
looking into her face.

Hermione turned to go up-stairs. She went up two or three steps. She
heard a bolt shot into its place below her, and she stopped again.
To-night she felt for the first time almost afraid of Gaspare. She
trusted him as she had always trusted him--completely. Yet that trust
was mingled with this new and dreadful sensation of fear bred of her
conviction that he held some secret from her in his breast. Indeed, it
was her trust in Gaspare which made her fear so keen. As she stood on
the staircase she knew that. If Gaspare kept things, kept anything from
her that at all concerned her life, it must be because he was faithfully
trying to save her from some pain or misery.

But perhaps she was led astray by her depression of to-night. Perhaps
this mystery was her own creation, and he would be quite willing to
explain, to clear it away with a word.

"Gaspare," she said, "have you finished locking up?"

"Not quite, Signora. I have the front of the house to do."

"Of course. Well, when you have finished come up to my room for a
minute, will you?"

"Va bene, Signora."

Was there reluctance in his voice? She thought there was. She went
up-stairs and waited in her sitting-room. It seemed to her that Gaspare
was a very long time locking up. She leaned out of the window that
overlooked the terrace to hear if he was shutting the French windows.
When she did so she saw him faintly below, standing by the balustrade.
She watched him, wondering what he was doing, till at last she could not
be patient any longer.

"Gaspare!" she called out.

He started violently.

"I am coming, Signora."

"I am waiting for you."

"A moment, Signora!"

Yes, his voice was reluctant; but he went a