l Gaspare said nothing. He sat there on the floor of the boat with
his dripping clothes clinging to his body, staring before him as if he
were too deeply immersed in gloomy thoughts to hear what was being said
to him.

"Gaspare!" Maurice exclaimed, moved by a sudden impulse. "Do you think
you would be very unhappy away from your 'paese'?"

Gaspare shifted forward suddenly. A light gleamed in his eyes.

"D'you think you could be happy with me in England?"

He smiled.

"Si, signore!"

"When we have to go away from Sicily I shall ask the signora to let me
take you with us."

Gaspare said nothing, but he looked at Salvatore, and his wet face was
like a song of pride and triumph.

XIV

That day, ere he started with Gaspare for the house of the priest,
Maurice made a promise to Maddalena. He pledged himself to go with her
and her father to the great fair of San Felice, which takes place
annually in the early days of June, when the throng of tourists has
departed, and the long heats of the summer have not yet fully set in. He
gave this promise in the presence of Salvatore and Gaspare, and while he
did so he was making up his mind to something. That day at the fair
should be the day of his farewell to Maddalena. Hermione must surely be
coming back in June. It was impossible that she could remain in Kairouan
later. The fury of the African summer would force her to leave the sacred
city, her mission of salvation either accomplished or rendered forever
futile by the death of her friend. And then, when Hermione came, within a
short time no doubt they would start for England, taking Gaspare with
them. For Maurice really meant to keep the boy in their service. After
the strange scene of the morning he felt as if Gaspare were one of the
family, a retainer with whose devoted protection he could never dispense.
Hermione, he was sure, would not object.

Hermione would not object. As he thought that, Maurice was conscious of a
feeling such as sometimes moves a child, upon whom a parent or guardian
has laid a gently restraining hand, violently to shrug his shoulders and
twist his body in the effort to get away and run wild in freedom. He knew
how utterly unreasonable and contemptible his sensation was, yet he had
it. The sun had bred in him not merely a passion for complete personal
liberty, but for something more, for lawlessness. For a moment he envied
Gaspare, the peasant boy, whose ardent youth was burdened with so few