"Ancora! Ancora!"
The girl's voice began the imitation again, and the man's voice joined in grotesquely, exaggerating the imitation farcically and closing it with a boyish shout.
In response, standing under the trees, Gaspare shouted. He had meant to keep silence; but the twang of the guitar, with its suggestion of a festa, the singing voices, the youthful laughter, and the final exclamation ringing out in the dawn, overcame the angry and suspicious spirit that had hitherto dominated him. The boy's imp of fun was up and dancing within him. He could not drive it out or lay it to rest.
"Hi—yi—yi—yi—yi!"
His voice died away, and was answered by a silence that seemed like a startled thing holding its breath.
"Hi—yi—yi—yi—yi!"
He called again, lustily, leaped out from the trees, and went running across the open space to the edge of the plateau by the sea. A tiny path wound steeply down from here to the rocks below, and on it, just under the concealing crest of the land, stood the padrone with Maddalena. Their hands were linked together, as if they had caught at each other sharply for sympathy or help. Their faces were tense and their lips parted. But as they saw Gaspare's light figure leaping over the hill edge, his dancing eyes fixed shrewdly, with a sort of boyish scolding, upon them, their hands fell apart, their faces relaxed.
"Gasparino!" said Maurice. "It was you who called!"
"Si, signore."
He came up to them. Maddalena's oval face had flushed, and she dropped the full lids over her black eyes as she said: