oes not
know"--he lowered his voice almost to a whisper--"she does not know
about the Signora and the _fattura della morte_."

"We must not let her know--"

He stopped. Suddenly his ears seemed full of the sound of splashing oars
in water. Yet he heard nothing.

"Gaspare," he said quickly, "have you looked everywhere for the
Signora?"

"I have looked in the house, Signore. I have been on the terrace and
to the Signorina in the garden. Then I came to tell you. I thought you
should know about the Signora and the _fattura della morte_."

Artois felt that it was this fact of the disappearance of the
death-charm which for the moment paralyzed Gaspare's activities. What
stirring of ancient superstition was in the Sicilian's heart he did not
know, but he knew that now his own time of action was come. No longer
could he delegate to others the necessary deed. And with this knowledge
his nature seemed to change. An ardor that was almost vehement with
youth, and that was hard-fibred with manly strength and resolution, woke
up in him.

Again his ears were full of the sound of oars in water.

"Ruffo," he said, "will you obey me?"

He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Si, Signore."

"Go into the garden. Stay with the Signorina till I come."

"Si, Signore."

"If it is a long time, if the Signorina is afraid, if she wants to do
anything, you are to say that Don Emilio said she was not to be afraid,
and that she was to wait."

"Si, Signore."

The boy paused, looking steadily at Artois, then, seeing that he had
finished, turned away and went softly into the house.

"Gaspare, come with me."

Gaspare said nothing, but followed him down to the foot of the cliff.
One of the island boats was gone. When Gaspare saw that he ran to pull
in the other. He held out his arm to help Artois into the boat, then
took the oars, standing up and looking before him into the night.

"Row towards the village, Gaspare."

"Si, Signore."

At that moment Gaspare understood much of what was in Artois's mind. He
relied upon Artois. He trusted him--and this fact, of Gaspare's trust
and reliance upon him, added now to that feeling of ardor that had
risen up in Artois, gave him courage, helped to banish completely that
punishing sensation which had condemned him to keep away from Hermione
as one unworthy to approach her, to touch even the hem of her grief.

No need to tell Gaspare to row quickly. With all his strength he forced
the boa