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Updated: June 5, 2025
So now he waited alone on the crest of the island, looking towards the Casa del Mare. What would be the result of this strange and daring embassy? He was not long to be in doubt. "Signore! Signore!" Gaspare's voice was calling him from somewhere in the darkness. "Signore." "I am coming." There had been a thrill of emotion in the appeal sent out to him. He hurried towards the house.
Now it was trying to persecute her more cruelly. Suddenly she resolved not to let it have its way. Why was she so frightened at a delay that might be explained in a moment and in the simplest manner? Why was she frightened at all? Gaspare's foot struck a stone and sent it flying down the path past her. Ah! it had been Gaspare. His face, his manner, had startled her, had first inclined her to fear.
"I felt sure not. Don't you like his coming to the island?" Gaspare's face was still flushed. "Signora, it is nothing to do with me." A sort of dull anger seemed to be creeping into his voice, an accent of defiance that he was trying to control. Hermione noticed it, and it brought her to a resolve that, till now, she had avoided.
"I hope it is my father, signorino. If he has got the money he will not be angry; but if Gaspare has it " "Your father is a fox of the sea, and can cheat better than a boy. Don't be frightened." When they reached the land, Salvatore and Gaspare met them. Gaspare's face was glum, but Salvatore's small eyes were sparkling. "I have won it all all!" he said. "Ecco!"
She had hair like Gaspare's, black-brown, immensely thick and wavy, with tiny feathers of gold about the temples. She was tall, and had the contours of a strong though graceful girl just blooming into womanhood. Her hands were as brown as Delarey's, well shaped, but the hands of a worker. She was perhaps eighteen or nineteen, and brimful of lusty life.
"Why that day specially, signorino?" he asked, after a pause. "Oh, well it will be my last day of I mean that the signora will be coming back from Africa by then, and we shall " "Si, signore?" "We sha'n't be able to run quite so wild as we do now, you see. And, besides, we shall be going to England very soon then." Gaspare's face lighted up. "Shall I see London, signorino?" "Yes," said Maurice.
Maurice knew enough about the Sicilian character to be fully aware of that. And what had he to hide? Nothing. He must wait for Gaspare, and then he could set out for the sea. It seemed to him a long time before he saw Tito, the donkey, tripping among the stones, and heard Gaspare's voice hailing him from below. He was impatient to be off, and he shouted out: "Presto, Gaspare, presto!"
Evidently he respected Gaspare, and the two understood each other. And though Gaspare's words were harsh, his eyes, as they looked at Ruffo, seemed to contradict them. Nevertheless, there was excitement, a strung-up look in his face. "Gaspare!" said Vere. Her eyes shot fire. "Signorina?" "Madre does like to hear what Ruffo has to say. Don't you, Madre?" Gaspare looked unmoved.
He relied upon Artois. He trusted him and this fact, of Gaspare's trust and reliance upon him, added now to that feeling of ardor that had risen up in Artois, gave him courage, helped to banish completely that punishing sensation which had condemned him to keep away from Hermione as one unworthy to approach her, to touch even the hem of her grief. No need to tell Gaspare to row quickly.
Artois felt that it was this fact of the disappearance of the death-charm which for the moment paralyzed Gaspare's activities. What stirring of ancient superstition was in the Sicilian's heart he did not know, but he knew that now his own time of action was come. No longer could he delegate to others the necessary deed. And with this knowledge his nature seemed to change.
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