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Very well, then, he was there in the sun ready. "We'll never part from Gaspare," Maurice thought, as he looked and understood. He saw no other figure. The donkey-boy had perhaps forgotten his mission or had started late. Maurice chafed bitterly at the delay. But he could not well leave his guest on this first day of his coming to Monte Amato, more especially after the events of the preceding day.
The crowd was growing thinner, was surely melting away. "We had better go to the hotel," Artois said. "Perhaps they are there. If they are not there " He did not finish the sentence. They found a cab and drove swiftly towards the Marina. All the time the little carriage rattled over the stony streets Artois expected Gaspare to speak to him, to tell him more, to tell him something tremendous.
Yet for years her talks with him had been her greatest pleasure, outside of her intercourse with Vere and her relations with Gaspare. The change that had come over their friendship, like a mist over the sea, was subtle, yet startling in its completeness.
"Perhaps she has saved the life of the sick signore by going." "Si, signore." Gaspare said no more, but as they rode up, drawing ever nearer to the bare mountain-side and the house of the priest, Maurice's heart reiterated the thought of the boy. Why had Hermione ever gone? What a madness it had all been, her going, his staying!
When Gaspare came in that evening with a string of little birds in his hand and asked Maurice if there were any letter from Africa to say when the signora would arrive, Maurice answered "No." "Then the signora will not be here for the fair, signorino?" said the boy. "I don't suppose no, Gaspare, she will not be here for the fair." "She would have written by now if she were coming.
"If we can't do anything, let us go down quickly, Gaspare!" "Si, Signorina. We will go quickly." He opened the door and they went out. In the Pool of the Saint there was no boat. They went to the crest of the island and looked out over the sea. Not far off, between the island and Nisida, there was a boat. Gaspare put his hands to his mouth and hailed her with all his might.
Salvatore looked keenly from one to the other. "Are you tired, Maddalena?" he asked, with a sort of rough suspicion. "Si," she answered. She followed him slowly across the railway line towards the sea, while Maurice and Gaspare turned their donkeys' heads towards the mountain. They rode upward in silence. Gaspare was sleepy.
There, under the low roof of the out-house, dressed only in his shirt and trousers with his brown arms bare and his hair tumbled over his damp forehead, lay Gaspare on a heap of hay close to Tito, the donkey. Some hens were tripping and pecking by his legs, and a black cat was curled up in the hollow of his left armpit.
So she made no remark and went off to her room behind the house, walking heavily and untying the handkerchief that was round her head. When she had gone, Gaspare stood by the table, thinking deeply. He had lied to Lucrezia. The padrone was not asleep. His bed had not been slept in. Where had he gone? Where was he now?
There was a world of meaning in his voice. Maurice laughed joyously. He began to feel like an ingenious school-boy who was going to have a lark. There was neither thought of evil nor even a secret stirring of desire for it in him. "A rivederci, Lucrezia!" he cried. And they set off. When they were not far from the sea, Gaspare said: "Signorino, why do you like to come here?
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