Ruffo drew him. He had to go to the cliff.
He went out by the front door. At first he thought of descending at once by the steps to the Pool of San Francesco. But he changed his mind and went instead to the bridge.
He looked over into the Pool.
It was a very clear night. San Francesco’s light was burning brightly. Very sincerely it was burning beneath the blessing hands of the Saint. A ray of gold that came from it lay upon the darkness of the Pool, stealing through the night a little way, as if in an effort to touch the Casa del Mare.
In the Pool there was one boat. Artois saw no one by the sea’s edge, heard no voices there, and he turned towards the crest of the island, to the seat where Vere so often went at night, and where Hermione, too, had often sought out Ruffo.
Gaspare and Ruffo were near it. Almost directly he saw their forms, relieved against the dimness but not deep darkness of the night, and heard their voices talking. As he went towards them Gaspare was speaking vehemently. He threw up one arm in a strong, even, and excited gesture, and was silent. Then Artois heard Ruffo say, in a voice that, though respectful and almost deprecatory, was yet firm like a man’s:
“I cannot take it away, Gaspare. When I go home my mamma will ask me if I have put it in the house.”
“Dio mio!” cried Gaspare. “But you have put it in the house! Is it not there—is it not there now to bring death upon the Signora, upon the Signorina, upon us all?”
“It was made for Peppina. My mamma made it only against Peppina, because she has brought evil into our house. It will hurt only Peppina! It will kill only Peppina!”
He spoke now with a vehemence and passion almost equal to Gaspare’s. Artois stood still. They did not see him. They were absorbed in their conversation.