d into the
tunnel their lusty voices died away.

Because his instinct was to walk slowly, to linger on the way, he walked
very fast. The slanting light fell gently, delicately, over the opulent
vineyards, where peasants were working in huge straw hats, over the
still shining but now reposeful sea. In the sky there was a mystery of
color, very pure, very fragile, like the mystery of color in a curving
shell of the sea. The pomp and magnificence of sunset were in abeyance
to-night, were laid aside. And the sun, like some spirit modestly
radiant, slipped from this world of vineyards and of waters almost
surreptitiously, yet shedding exquisite influences in his going.

And in the vineyards, as upon the dusty highroad, the people of the
South were singing.

The sound of their warm voices, rising in the golden air towards the
tender beauty of the virginal evening sky, moved Artois to a sudden
longing for a universal brotherhood of happiness, for happy men on a
happy earth, men knowing the truth and safe in their knowledge. And he
longed, too, just then to give happiness. A strongly generous emotion
stirred him, and went from him, like one of the slanting rays of light
from the sun, towards the island, towards his friend, Hermione. His
reluctance, his sense of fear, were lessened, nearly died away. His
quickness of movement was no longer a fight against, but a fulfilment of
desire.

Once she had helped him. Once she had even, perhaps, saved him from
death. She had put aside her own happiness. She had shown the divine
self-sacrifice of woman.

And now, after long years, life brought to him an hour which would prove
him, prove him and show how far he was worthy of the friendship which
had been shed, generously as the sunshine over these vineyards of the
South, upon him and his life.

He came down to the sea and met the fisherman, Giovanni, upon the sand.

"Row me quickly to the island, Giovanni!" he said.

"Si, Signore."

He ran to get the boat.

The light began to fall over the sea. They cleared the tiny harbor and
set out on their voyage.

"The Signora has been here to-day, Signore," said Giovanni.

"Si! When did she come?"

"This morning, with Gaspare, to take the tram to Mergellina."

"She went to Mergellina?"

"Si, Signore. And she was gone a very long time. Gaspare came back for
her at half-past eleven, and she did not come till nearly three. Gaspare
was in a state, I can tell you. I have known him--for