Hermione, he felt
now, did not understand the Sicilians as he understood them. If she did
she would not bring back Artois from Africa, she would not arrive openly
with him. But surely she ought to understand that such an action would
make people wonder, would be likely to make them think that Artois was
something more than her friend. And then Maurice thought of the day of
their arrival, of his own descent to the station, to wait upon the
platform for the train. Artois was not going to stay in the house of the
priest. That was impossible, as there was no guest-room. He would put up
at the hotel in Marechiaro. But that would make little difference. He was
to arrive with Hermione. Every one would know that she had spent all this
time with him in Africa. Maurice grew hot as he thought of the smiles on
the Sicilian faces, of the looks of astonishment at the strange doings of
the forestieri. Hermione's enthusiastic kindness was bringing her husband
almost to shame. It was a pity that people were sometimes thoughtless in
their eager desire to be generous and sympathetic.

One day, when Maurice had been brooding over this matter of the
Sicilian's view of Hermione's proceedings, the spirit moved him to go
down on foot to Marechiaro to see if there were any letters for him at
the post. It was now June 7th. In four days would come the fair. As the
time for it drew near, his anxiety lest anything should interfere to
prevent his going to it with Maddalena increased, and each day at post
time he was filled with a fever of impatience to know whether there
would be a letter from Africa or not. Antonino generally appeared about
four o'clock, but the letters were in the village long before then, and
this afternoon Maurice felt that he could not wait for the boy's coming.
He had a conviction that there was a letter, a decisive letter from
Hermione, fixing at last the date of her arrival with Artois. He must
have it in his hands at the first possible moment. If he went himself to
the post he would know the truth at least an hour and a half sooner than
if he waited in the house of the priest. He resolved, therefore, to go,
got his hat and stick, and set out, after telling Gaspare, who was
watching for birds with his gun, that he was going for a stroll on the
mountain-side and might be away for a couple of hours.

It was a brilliant afternoon. The landscape looked hard in the fiery
sunshine, the shapes of the mountains fierce and relentless