“Si, Signorina! Si, Signorina!”
He took her hand and held it. They went to the door. When he put out his other hand to open it Vere shivered.
“If we can’t do anything, let us go down quickly, Gaspare!”
“Si, Signorina. We will go quickly.”
He opened the door and they went out.
In the Pool of the Saint there was no boat. They went to the crest of the island and looked out over the sea. Not far off, between the island and Nisida, there was a boat. Gaspare put his hands to his mouth and hailed her with all his might. The two men in her heard, and came towards the shore.
A few minutes later, with money in their pockets, and set but cheerful faces, they were rowing with all their strength in the direction of Naples.
That afternoon Artois, wishing to distract his thoughts and quite unable to work, went up the hill to the Monastery of San Martino. He returned to the hotel towards sunset feeling weary and depressed, companionless, too, in this gay summer world. Although he had never been deeply attached to the Marchesino he had liked him, been amused by him, grown accustomed to him. He missed the “Toledo incarnate.” And as he walked along the Marina he felt for a moment almost inclined to go away from Naples. But the people of the island! Could he leave them just now? Could he leave Hermione so near to the hands of Fate, those hands which were surely stretched out towards her, which might grasp her at any moment, even to-night, and alter her life forever? No, he knew he could not.
“There is a note for Monsieur!”
He took it from the hall porter.