ed and looked downward, but Hermione looked upward
towards the bare flank that rose behind the cottage.

"It's Sebastiano, signora."

The ceramella droned on, moving slowly with its player on the hidden path
beneath the olive-trees.

A second pistol-shot rang out sharply.

"Go down and meet him, Lucrezia."

"May I--may I, really, signora?"

"Yes; go quickly."

Lucrezia bent down and kissed her padrona's hand.

"Bacio la mano, bacio la mano a Lei!"

Then, bareheaded, she went out from the awning into the glare of the
sunshine, passed through the ruined archway, and disappeared among the
rocks. She had gone to her music. Hermione stayed to listen to hers, the
crack of the pistol up there near the blue sky.

Sebastiano was playing the tune she loved, the "Pastorale," but to-day
she did not heed it. Indeed, now that she was left alone she was not
conscious that she heard it. Her heart was on the hill-top near the blue.

Again and again the shots rang out. It seemed to Hermione that she knew
which were fired by Maurice and which by Gaspare, and she whispered to
herself "That's Maurice!" when she fancied one was his. Presently she was
aware of some slight change and wondered what it was. Something had
ceased, and its cessation recalled her mind to her surroundings. She
looked round her, then down to the ravine, and then at once she
understood. There was no more music from the ceramella. Lucrezia had met
Sebastiano under the olives. That was certain. Hermione smiled. Her
woman's imagination pictured easily enough why the player had stopped.
She hoped Lucrezia was happy. Her first words, still more her manner, had
shown Hermione the depth of her heart. There was fire there, fire that
burned before a shrine when she prayed to the Madonna della Rocca. She
was ready even to be badly treated if only she might have Sebastiano. It
seemed to be all one to her. She had no illusions, but her heart knew
what it needed.

Crack went the pistol up on the mountain-top.

"That's not Maurice!" Hermione thought.

There was another report, then another.

"That last one was Maurice!"

Lucrezia did not seem even to expect a man to be true and faithful.
Perhaps she knew the Sicilian character too well. Hermione lifted her
face up and looked towards the mountain. Her mind had gone once more to
the Thames Embankment. As once she had mentally put Gaspare beside
Artois, so now she mentally put Lucrezia. Lucrezia distrusted the south