ards the caffe when the sun was up--and he
knew.

As he drew near to the cottage he walked carefully, though still swiftly,
but when he reached it he paused, bent forward his head, and listened.
He was in the tangle of coarse grass that grew right up to the north wall
of the cottage, and close to the angle which hid from him the sea-side
and the cottage door. At first he heard nothing except the faint murmur
of the sea upon the rocks. His stillness now was as complete as had been
his previous activity, and in the one he was as assured as in the other.
Some five minutes passed. Again and again, with a measured monotony, came
to him the regular lisp of the waves. The grass rustled against his legs
as the little wind of morning pushed its way through it gently, and a
bird chirped above his head in the olive-trees and was answered by
another bird. And just then, as if in reply to the voices of the birds,
he heard the sound of human voices. They were distant and faint almost as
the lisp of the sea, and were surely coming towards him from the sea.

When Gaspare realized that the speakers were not in the cottage he crept
round the angle of the wall, slipped across the open space that fronted
the cottage door, and, gaining the trees, stood still in almost exactly
the place where Maurice had stood when he watched Maddalena in the dawn.

The voices sounded again and nearer. There was a little laugh in a girl's
voice, then the dry twang of the plucked strings of a guitar, then
silence. After a minute the guitar strings twanged again, and a girl's
voice began to sing a peasant song, "Zampagnaro."

At the end of the verse there was an imitation of the ceramella by the
voice, humming, or rather whining, bouche fermee. As it ceased a man's
voice said:

"Ancora! Ancora!"

The girl's voice began the imitation again, and the man's voice joined in
grotesquely, exaggerating the imitation farcically and closing it with a
boyish shout.

In response, standing under the trees, Gaspare shouted. He had meant to
keep silence; but the twang of the guitar, with its suggestion of a
festa, the singing voices, the youthful laughter, and the final
exclamation ringing out in the dawn, overcame the angry and suspicious
spirit that had hitherto dominated him. The boy's imp of fun was up and
dancing within him. He could not drive it out or lay it to rest.

"Hi--yi--yi--yi--yi!"

His voice died away, and was answered by a silence that seemed like