n almost savage light in his eyes. Something in the atmosphere of the
sea-bound retreat made him feel emancipated, as if he had stepped out of
the prison of civilized life into a larger, more thoughtless existence,
an existence for which his inner nature fitted him, for which he had
surely been meant all these years that he had lived, unconscious of what
he really was and of what he really needed.

"How happy I could have been as a Sicilian fisherman!" he thought. "How
happy I could be now!"

"St! St!"

He looked round quickly.

"St! St!"

It must be Maddalena, but where was she? He moved forward till he was at
the edge of the land where the tiny path wound steeply downward to the
sea. There she was standing with her face turned in his direction, and
her lips opened to repeat the little summoning sound.

"How did you know I was there?" he said, whispering, as he joined her.
"Did you hear me come?"

"No, signore."

"Then--"

"Signorino, I felt that you were there."

He smiled. It pleased him to think that he threw out something, some
invisible thread, perhaps, that reached her and told her of his nearness.
Such communication made sympathy. He did not say it to himself, but his
sensation to-night was that everything was in sympathy with him, the
night with its stars, the sea with its airs and voices, Maddalena with
her long eyes and her brown hands, and her knowledge of his presence when
she did not see or hear him.

"Let us go down to the sea," he said.

He longed to be nearer to that low and level sound that moved and excited
him in the night.

"Father's boat is there," she said. "It is so calm to-night that he did
not bring it round into the bay."

"If we go out in it for a minute, will he mind?"

A sly look came into her face.

"He will not know," she said. "With all that money Gaspare and he will
play till dawn. Per Dio, signore, you are birbante!"

She gave a little low laugh.

"So you think I--"

He stopped. What need was there to go on? She had read him and was openly
rejoicing in what she thought his slyness.

"And my father," she added, "is a fox of the sea, signore. Ask Gaspare if
there is another who is like him. You will see! When they stop playing at
dawn the twenty-five lire will be in his pocket!"

She spoke with pride.

"But Gaspare is so lucky," said Maurice.

"Gaspare is only a boy. How can he cheat better than my father?"

"They cheat, then!"

"Of course, when they ca