an English night-light near its end, was burning. It was this
that Delarey had seen like a spark in the distance. At the foot of each
bed stood a big box of walnut wood, carved into arabesques and grotesque
faces. There were a few straw chairs and kitchen utensils. An old gun
stood in a corner with a bundle of wood. Not far off was a pan of
charcoal. There were also two or three common deal-tables, on one of
which stood the remains of a meal, a big jar containing wine, a flat loaf
of coarse brown bread, with a knife lying beside it, some green stuff in
a plate, and a slab of hard, yellow cheese.

Delarey was less interested in these things than in the display of
photographs, picture-cards, and figures of saints that adorned the
walls, carefully arranged in patterns to show to the best advantage. Here
were colored reproductions of actresses in languid attitudes, of peasants
dancing, of babies smiling, of elaborate young people with carefully
dressed hair making love with "Molti Saluti!" "Una stretta di Mano!"
"Mando un bacio!" "Amicizia eterna!" and other expressions of friendship
and affection, scribbled in awkward handwritings across and around them.
And mingled with them were representations of saints, such as are sold at
the fairs and festivals of Sicily, and are reverently treasured by the
pious and superstitious contadine; San Pancrazio, Santa Leocanda, the
protector of child-bearing women; Sant Aloe, the patron saint of the
beasts of burden; San Biagio, Santo Vito, the patron saint of dogs; and
many others, with the Bambino, the Immacolata, the Madonna di Loreto, the
Madonna della Rocca.

In the faint light cast by the flickering candle, the faces of saints and
actresses, of smiling babies, of lovers and Madonnas peered at Delarey as
if curious to know why at such an hour he ventured to intrude among them,
why he thus dared to examine them when all the world was sleeping. He
drew back from them at length and looked again at the great bed with its
fat pillows that stood in the farther room secluded from the sea-breeze.
Suddenly he felt a longing to throw himself down and rest.

The girl smiled at him with sympathy.

"That is my bed," she said, simply. "Lie down and sleep, signorino."

Delarey hesitated for a moment. He thought of his companions. If they
should wake in the cave and miss him what would they think, what would
they do? Then he looked again at the bed. The longing to lie down on it
was irresistible