Now, as she wrote her letter, she forgot all her uneasiness, and her pen flew.
At last she sighed her name—“Vere.”
She was just going to put the letter into its envelope when something struck her, and she paused. The she added:
“P.S.—Just now Madre gave me leave to read your books.”
CHAPTER XXV
The words of the old Oriental lingered in the mind of Artois. He was by nature more fatalistic than Hermione, and moreover he knew what she did not. Long ago he had striven against a fate. With the help of Gaspare he had conquered it—or so he had believed till now. But now he asked himself whether he had not only delayed its coming. If his suspicion were well founded,—and since his last visit to the island he felt as if it must be,—then surely all he had done with Gaspare would be in vain at the last.
If his suspicion were well founded, then certain things are ordained. They have to happen for some reason, known only to the hidden Intelligence that fashions each man’s character, that develops it in joy or grief, that makes it glad with feasting, or forces it to feed upon the bread of tears.
Did Gaspare know? If the truth were what Artois suspected, and Gaspare did know it, what would Gaspare do?
That was a problem which interested Artois intensely.