“Monsieur Emile—is she—is Madre—ill?”
She began to tremble once more, as she had trembled when she came to fetch Gaspare from the nook of the cliff beside the Saint’s Pool.
“Not as you mean, Vere.”
“You are sure? You are certain?”
“Not in that way.”
“But then I heard Madre come out and go to her bedroom. I didn’t hear whether she locked the door. I only heard it shut. But Gaspare says he knows it is locked. Two or three minutes after the door was shut I heard—I heard—”
“Don’t be afraid. Tell me—if I ought to know.”
Those words voiced a deep and delicate reluctance which was beginning to invade him. Yet he wished to help Vere, to release this child from the thrall of a terror which could only be conquered if it were expressed.
“Tell me,” he added, slowly.
“I heard Madre—Monsieur Emile, it was hardly crying!”