ly with Gaspare?

She drew back, lifted her face from her hands, and stood straight up
against the curtain of the window. In a moment she heard the sound of
oars in the water, and saw that the boat was from the island, and that
Gaspare was in it alone. He looked up, saw her, and raised his cap, but
with a rather reluctant gesture that scarcely indicated satisfaction or
a happy readiness to greet her. She hesitated, then called out to him.

"Good-morning, Gaspare."

"Good-morning, Signora."

"How early you are up!"

"And you, too, Signora."

"Couldn't you sleep?"

"Signora, I never want much sleep."

"Where have you been?"

"I have been for a row, Signora."

He lifted his cap again and began to row in. The boat disappeared into
the Saint's Pool.

"He has been to Mergellina."

The mind of Hermione was awake again. The sight of Gaspare had lifted
those feet of lead. Once more she was in flight.

Arabs can often read the thoughts of those whom they know. In many
Sicilians there is some Arab blood, and sometimes Hermione had felt that
Gaspare knew well intentions of hers which she had never hinted to him.
Now she was sure that in the night he had divined her determination to
go to Mergellina, to see the mother of Ruffo, to ask her for the truth
which Gaspare had refused to tell. He had divined this, and he had gone
to Mergellina before her. Why?

She was fully roused now. She felt like one in a conflict. Was there,
then, to be a battle between herself and Gaspare, a battle over this
hidden truth?

Now she felt that it was vital to her to know this truth. Yet when her
mind, or her tormented heart, was surely on the verge of its statement,
was--or seemed to be--about to say to her, "Perhaps it is--that!" or
"It is--that!" something within her, housed deep down in her, refused to
listen, refused to hear, revolted from--what it did not acknowledge the
existence of.

Paradox alone could hint the condition of her mind just then. She was in
the thrall of fear, but, had she been questioned, would not have allowed
that she was afraid.

Afterwards she never rightly knew what was the truth of her during this
period of her life.

There was to be a conflict between her and Gaspare.

She came from the window, took a bath, and dressed. When she had
finished she looked in the glass. Her face was calm, but set and grim.
She had not known she could look like that. She hated her face, her
expression, and she came awa