s of the sun. It was the expression that had changed. In
cities one sees anxious-looking men everywhere. In London Delarey had
stood out from the crowd not only because of his beauty of the South, but
because of his light-hearted expression, the spirit of youth in his eyes.
And now here, in this reality that seemed almost like a dream in its
perfection, in this reality of the South, there was a look of strain in
his eyes and in his whole body. The man had contradicted his surroundings
in London--now he contradicted his surroundings here.

While Artois was thinking this Maurice's expression suddenly changed, his
attitude became easier. He turned round from the wall, and Artois saw
that the keen anxiety had gone out of his eyes. Gaspare was below with
his gun pretending to look for birds, and had made a sign that the
approaching figure was not that of Salvatore. Maurice's momentary sense
of relief was so great that it threw him off his guard.

"What can have been happening beyond the wall?" Artois thought.

He felt as if a drama had been played out there and the denouement had
been happy.

Hermione came back at this moment.

"Poor Lucrezia!" she said. "She's plucky, but Sebastiano is making her
suffer horribly."

"Here!" said Artois, almost involuntarily.

"It does seem almost impossible, I know."

She sat down again near him and smiled at her husband.

"You are coming back to health, Emile. And Maurice and I--well, we are in
our garden. It seems wrong, terribly wrong, that any one should suffer
here. But Lucrezia loves like a Sicilian. What violence there is in these
people!"

"England must not judge them."

He looked at Maurice.

"What's that?" asked Hermione. "Something you two were talking about when
I was in the kitchen?"

Maurice looked uneasy.

"I was only saying that I think the sun--the South has an influence," he
said, "and that----"

"An influence!" exclaimed Hermione. "Of course it has! Emile, you would
have seen that influence at work if you had been with us on our first day
in Sicily. Your tarantella, Maurice!"

She smiled again happily, but her husband did not answer her smile.

"What was that?" said Artois. "You never told me in Africa."

"The boys danced a tarantella here on the terrace to welcome us, and it
drove Maurice so mad that he sprang up and danced too. And the strange
thing was that he danced as well as any of them. His blood called him,
and he obeyed the call."

She loo