ttle boy
working among the vines, and she had given him new clothes and had taken
him into her home and into her confidence. She had trusted him. She had
remembered him in England. She had written to him from far away, telling
him to prepare everything for her and the padrone when they were coming.

He began to sob violently again, thinking of it all, of how he had
ordered the donkeys to fetch the luggage from the station, of how--

"Hush, Gaspare!"

Hermione again put her hand on his. She was sitting near the bed on which
the body was lying between dry sheets. For she had changed them with
Gaspare's assistance. Maurice still wore the clothes which had been on
him in the sea. Giuseppe, the fisherman, had explained to Hermione that
she must not interfere with the body till it had been visited by the
authorities, and she had obeyed him. But she had changed the sheets. She
scarcely knew why. Now the clothes had almost dried on the body, and she
did not see any more the stains of water. One sheet was drawn up over the
body, to the chin. The matted dark hair was visible against the pillow,
and had made her think several times vaguely of that day after the
fishing when she had watched Maurice taking his siesta. She had longed
for him to wake then, for she had known that she was going to Africa,
that they had only a few hours together before she started. It had seemed
almost terrible to her, his sleeping through any of those hours. And now
he was sleeping forever. She was sitting there waiting for nothing, but
she could not realize that yet. She felt as if she must be waiting for
something, that something must presently occur, a movement in the bed,
a--she scarcely knew what.

Presently the clock Gaspare had brought from the fair chimed, then played
the "Tre Colori." Lucrezia had set it to play that evening when she was
waiting for the padrone to return from the sea.

When he heard the tinkling tune Gaspare lifted his head and listened till
it was over. It recalled to him all the glories of the fair. He saw his
padrone before him. He remembered how he had decorated Maurice with
flowers, and he felt as if his heart would break.

"The povero signorino! the povero signorino!" he cried, in a choked
voice. "And I put roses above his ears! Si, signora, I did! I said he
should be a real Siciliano!"

He began to rock himself to and fro. His whole body shook, and his face
had a frantic expression that suggested violence.

"I p