st eight--or better
say nine? That will give you plenty of time to come up quietly."

"Yes. Let's say nine."

Still he did not move to go.

"Have you been happy to-day, Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes, very--since this morning."

"Since?"

"Yes. This morning I--"

She stopped.

"I was a little puzzled," she said, after a minute, with her usual
frankness. "Tell me, Maurice--you weren't made unhappy by--by what I told
you?"

"About--about the child?"

"Yes."

He did not answer with words, but he put his arms about her and kissed
her, as he had not kissed her since she went away to Africa. She shut her
eyes. Presently she felt the pressure of his arms relax.

"I'm perfectly happy now," she said. "Perfectly happy."

He moved away a step or two. His face was flushed, and she thought that
he looked younger, that the boyish expression she loved had come back to
him.

"Good-bye, Hermione," he said.

Still he did not go. She thought that he had something more to say but
did not know how to say it. She felt so certain of this that she said:

"What is it, Maurice?"

"We shall come back to Sicily, I suppose, sha'n't we, some time or
other?"

"Surely. Many times, I hope."

"Suppose--one can never tell what will happen--suppose one of us were to
die here?"

"Yes," she said, soberly.

"Don't you think it would be good to lie there where we lay this
afternoon, under the oak-trees, in sight of Etna and the sea? I think it
would. Good-bye, Hermione."

He swung the bathing-dress and the towels up over his shoulder and went
away through the arch. She followed and watched him springing down the
mountain-side. Just before he reached the ravine he turned and waved his
hand to her. His movements, that last gesture, were brimful of energy and
of life. He acted better then than he had that day upon the terrace. But
the sense of progress, the feeling that he was going to meet fate in the
person of Salvatore, quickened the blood within him. At last the suspense
would be over. At last he would be obliged to play not the actor but the
man. He longed to be down by the sea. The youth in him rose up at the
thought of action, and his last farewell to Hermione, looking down to him
from the arch, was bold and almost careless.

Scarcely had he got into the ravine before he met Gaspare. He stopped.
The boy's face was aflame with expression as he stood, holding his gun,
in front of his padrone.

"Gaspare!" Maurice said to him.