“You like Peppina, Vere?” asked her mother one day.
“Yes, because I pity her so much.”
There was a sound that was almost like passion in the girl’s voice; and, looking up, Hermione saw that her eyes were full of light, as if the spirit had set two lamps in them.
“It is strange,” Vere continued, in a quieter tone; “but sometimes I feel as if on the night of the storm I had had a sort of consciousness of her coming—as if, when I saw the Saint’s light shining, and bent down to the water and made the sign of the Cross, I already knew something of Peppina’s wound, as if I made the sign to protect our Casa del Mare, to ward off something evil.”
“That was coming to us with Peppina, do you mean?”
“I don’t know, Madre.”
“Are you thinking of Giulia’s foolish words about the evil eye?”
“No. It’s all vague, Madre. But Peppina’s cross sometimes seems to me to be a sign, a warning come into the house. When I see it it seems to say there is a cross to be borne by some one here, by one of us.”
“How imaginative you are, Vere!”
“So are you, Madre! But you try to hide it from me.”