"The wall—it is nothing, signora. I have crossed it many times. It is nothing for a man."
"In the day, perhaps, but at night—don't, Gaspare—d'you hear me?—you are not—"
She stopped, holding her breath, for she saw him coming lightly, poised on bare feet, straight as an arrow, and balancing himself with his out-stretched arms.
"Ah!"
She had shrieked out. Just as he was midway Gaspare had looked down at the sea—the open sea on the far side of the wall. Instantly his foot slipped, he lost his balance and fell. She thought he had gone, but he caught the wall with his hands, hung for a moment suspended above the sea, then raised himself, as a gymnast does on a parallel bar, slowly till his body was above the wall. Then—Hermione did not know how—he was beside her.
She caught hold of him with both hands. She felt furiously angry.
"How dare you disobey me?" she said, panting and trembling. "How dare you—"
But his eyes silenced her. She broke off, staring at him. All the healthy color had left his face. There was a leaden hue upon it.
"Gaspare—are you—you aren't hurt—you—"
"Let me go, signora! Let me go!"