was faintly aware
of the unreason of his previous mood and quite resolved not to express
it, but while he was writing of his every-day life in Sicily a vision of
the sick-room in Africa came before him again. He saw his wife shut in
with Artois, tending him. It was night, warm and dark. The sick man was
hot with fever, and Hermione bent over him and laid her cool hand on his
forehead.

Abruptly Maurice finished his letter and thrust it into an envelope.

"Here, Gaspare!" he said. "Take the donkey and ride down with these to
the post."

"How quick you have been, signore! I believe my letter to the signora is
longer than yours."

"Perhaps it is. I don't know. Off with you!"

When Gaspare was gone, Maurice felt restless, almost as he had felt on
the night when he had been left alone on the terrace. Then he had been
companioned by a sensation of desertion, and had longed to break out into
some new life, to take an ally against the secret enemy who was attacking
him. He had wanted to have his Emile Artois as Hermione had hers. That
was the truth of the matter. And his want had led him down to the sea.
And now again he looked towards the sea, and again there was a call from
it that summoned him.

He had not seen Maddalena since Gaspare came to seek him in the Sirens'
Isle. He had scarcely wanted to see her. The days had glided by in the
company of Gaspare, and no moment of them had been heavy or had lagged
upon its way.

But now he heard again the call from the sea.

Hermione was with her friend. Why should not he have his? But he did not
go down the path to the ravine, for he thought of Gaspare. He had tricked
him once, while he slept in the cave, and once Gaspare had tracked him to
the sirens' house. They had spoken of the matter of Maddalena. He knew
Gaspare. If he went off now to see Maddalena the boy would think that the
sending him to the post was a pretext, that he had been deliberately got
out of the way. Such a crime could never be forgiven. Maurice knew enough
about the Sicilian character to be fully aware of that. And what had he
to hide? Nothing. He must wait for Gaspare, and then he could set out for
the sea.

It seemed to him a long time before he saw Tito, the donkey, tripping
among the stones, and heard Gaspare's voice hailing him from below. He
was impatient to be off, and he shouted out:

"Presto, Gaspare, presto!"

He saw the boy's arm swing as he tapped Tito behind with his switch, and
the d