He wondered whether she knew its meaning, with what sinister intention it had been made. Something in the little worthless thing must have attracted her, have fascinated her, or she would not have taken it. In her distress of mind, in her desire for solitude, she would have hastened away and left it lying where it was.
Perhaps she had a purpose in leaving the island with the fattura della morte.
Her taking of it began to seem to Artois, as it had evidently seemed to Gaspare, a fact of profound significance. His imagination, working with an almost diseased rapidity and excitement, brought before him a series of scenes in which the death-charm figured as symbol. In one of these there were two women—Hermione and Maddalena.
Hermione might have set out on some wild quest to Mergellina. He remembered the face at the window, and knew that to-night everything was possible.
“Row quickly, Gaspare!”
Gaspare bent almost furiously to the oars. Then sharply he turned his head.
“What is it?”
“I can see the boat! I can see the Signora!”
The words struggled out on a long breath that made his broad chest heave. Instinctively Artois put his hands on the gunwale of the boat on either side of him, moving as if to stand up.
“Take care, Signore!”