She must return to the island.

She stood still in the path, between the high banks.

Her body was demanding not to be forced by the will to go to the island.

"I must go back to the island."

She walked on very slowly till she could see the shining water over the
sloping, vine-covered land. The sight of the water reminded her that
Gaspare would be waiting for her on the sand below the village. When she
remembered that she stopped again. Then she turned round, and began to
walk back towards the highroad.

Gaspare was waiting. If she went down to the sand she would have to meet
his great intent eyes, those watching eyes full of questions. He would
read her. He would see in a moment that--she knew. And he would see more
than that! He would see that she was hating him. The hatred was only
dawning, struggling up in her tangled heart. But it existed--it was
there. And he would see that it was there.

She walked back till she reached the tunnel under the highroad. But
she did not pass through it. She could not face the highroad with its
traffic. Perhaps the English ladies would be coming back. Perhaps--She
turned again and presently sat down on a bank, and looked at the dry and
wrinkled ground. Nobody went by. The lizards ran about near her feet.
She sat there over an hour, scarcely moving, with the sun beating upon
her head.

Then she got up and walked fast, and with a firm step, towards the
village and the sea.

The village is only a tiny hamlet, ending in a small trattoria with a
rough terrace above the sea, overlooking a strip of sand where a few
boats lie. As Hermione came to the steps that lead down to the terrace
she stood still and looked over the wall on her left. The boat from
the island was at anchor there, floating motionless on the still water.
Gaspare was not in it, but was lying stretched on his back on the sand,
with his white linen hat over his face.

He lay like one dead.

She stood and watched him, as she might have watched a corpse of some
one she had cared for but who was gone from her forever.

Perhaps he was not asleep, for almost directly he became aware of her
observation, sat up, and uncovered his face, turning towards her and
looking up. Already, and from this distance, she would see a fierce
inquiry in his eyes.

She made a determined effort and waved her hand.

Gaspare sprang to his feet, took out his watch, looked at it, then went
and fetched the boat.

His action--the taking ou