down the narrow path, whispering in her ears. But though she yielded
for a time to the nightmare spell, common-sense had not utterly deserted
her, and presently it made its voice heard. She began to say to herself
that in giving way to such fantastic fears she was being unworthy of
herself, almost contemptible. In former times she had never been a
foolish woman or weak. She had, on the contrary, been strong and
sensible, although unconventional and enthusiastic. Many people had
leaned upon her, even strong people. Artois was one. And she had never
yet failed any one.

"I must not fail myself," she suddenly thought. "I must not be a fool
because I love."

She loved very much, and she had been separated from her lover very soon.
Her eagerness to return to him had been so intense that it had made her
afraid. Yet she had returned, been with him again. Her fear in Africa
that they would perhaps never be together again in their Sicilian home
had been groundless. She remembered how it had often tormented her,
especially at night in the dark. She had passed agonizing hours, for no
reason. Her imagination had persecuted her. Now it was trying to
persecute her more cruelly. Suddenly she resolved not to let it have its
way. Why was she so frightened at a delay that might be explained in a
moment and in the simplest manner? Why was she frightened at all?

Gaspare's foot struck a stone and sent it flying down the path past her.

Ah! it had been Gaspare. His face, his manner, had startled her, had
first inclined her to fear.

"Gaspare!" she said.

"Si, signora?"

"Come up beside me. There's room now."

The boy joined her.

"Gaspare," she continued, "do you know that when we meet the padrone, you
and I, we shall look like two fools?"

"Meet the padrone?" he repeated, sullenly.

"Yes. He'll laugh at us for rushing down like this. He'll think we've
gone quite mad."

Silence was the only response she had.

"Won't he?" she asked.

"Non lo so."

"Oh, Gaspare!" she exclaimed. "Don't--don't be like this to-night. Do you
know that you are frightening me?"

He did not answer.

"What is the matter with you? What has been the matter with you all day?"

"Niente."

His voice was hard, and he fell behind again.

Hermione knew that he was concealing something from her. She wondered
what it was. It must be something surely in connection with his anxiety.
Her mind worked rapidly. Maurice--the sea--bathing--Gaspare's
fear--