“She made it—the woman who wronged you made it to bring death into the Casa del Mare.”
“Not to me?”
“No, to Peppina. Has it not brought another death? Or, at least, does it not typify another death to-night, the death of a great lie? I think it does. I look upon it as a symbol. But—but—?”
He looked at her. He was at the huge doorway of the palace. The sea murmured below him. Hermione understood and bent her head.
Then Artois threw the death-charm far away into the sea.
“Let me take you to the boat. Let me take you back to the island.”
She did not answer him. But when he moved she followed him, till they came to the rocks and saw floating on the dim water the two white boats.
“Gaspare!”
“Vengo!”
That cry—what did it recall to Hermione? Gaspare’s cry from the inlet beneath the Isle of the Sirens when he was bringing the body of Maurice from the sea. As she had trembled then, she began to tremble now. She felt exhausted, that she could bear no more, that she must rest, be guarded, cared for, protected, loved. The boat touched shore. Gaspare leaped out. He cast an eager, fiery look of scrutiny on his Padrona. She returned it. Then, suddenly, he seized her hand, bent down and kissed it.