moment the superstitious
horror returned upon him. But he banished it. That could not be. His
heart was flooded by conviction that cruelty has an end, that the most
relentless fate fails at last in its pursuing, that the _fattura della
morte_, if it brought death with it, brought a death that was not of the
body, brought, perhaps, a beautiful death of something that had lived
too long.

He banished fear, and he entered the chamber on the right. It was lit
only by an opening looking to the sea. As he came into it he saw a tall
thing--like a tall shadow--pass close to him and disappear. He saw that,
and he heard the faint sound of material in movement.

There was then still another chamber on this side, and Hermione had
passed into it. He followed her in silence, came to the doorway of it,
looked, saw black darkness. There was no other opening either to sea or
land. In it Hermione had found what she sought--absolute blackness.

But he had found her. Here she could not escape him.

He stood in the doorway. He remembered Vere's trust in him. He
remembered Gaspare's trust. He remembered that Gaspare was waiting in
the boat for him--for them. He remembered the words of Gaspare:

"You must make the poor Signora understand!"

That was what he had to do: to make Hermione understand. And that surely
he could do. Surely he had the power to do it now.

For he himself understood.

CHAPTER XLII

"Hermione!"

Artois spoke to the void.

"Hermione, because I have followed you, because I have come here, don't
you think that I am claiming any right. Don't think that I imagine,
because I am your--because I am--I mean that it has not been easy to
me to come. It has not been--it is not a simple thing to me to break in
upon--upon--"

He had begun to speak with determination. He had said the very first
words with energy, almost with a warm eagerness, as of one hurrying on
to vital speech. But suddenly the energy faltered, the eagerness failed,
the ring of naturalness died out of the voice. It was as if a gust of
cold air had blown out a flame. He paused. Then he said, in a low voice:

"You hate me for coming."

He stopped again. He stared at the void, at the blackness.

"You hate me for being here."

As he said the last words the blackness before him surely gathered
itself together, took a form, the form of a wave, towered up as a
gigantic wave towers, rolled upon him to overwhelm him. So acute was
his sensation of bei