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Then he bade them good-bye, his pulse at fever-time. Half-past ten next morning found him walking hither and thither on the Mergellina, frequently consulting his watch. He decided at length to approach the house in which his acquaintances dwelt. Passing through the portone, whom should he encounter but Clifford Marsh, known to him only from the casual meeting at Pompeii, not by name.
"Like what, Signorina? Why should I not look at you?" "What have you been doing at Mergellina?" She spoke rather imperiously. "Nothing particular, Signorina." "Oh!" She paused, but he did not speak. "Where did you see Ruffo?" "At the harbor, Signorina." "Tell me, Gaspare, do you like him?" "Ruffo?" "Yes." "I do not dislike him, Signorina. He has never done me any harm." "Of course not.
As to Ruffo, about whom they jested, he was in sight of Naples, and not far from Mergellina, still rowing with tireless young arms, and singing to "Bella Napoli," with a strong resolve in his heart to return to the Saint's Pool on the first opportunity and dive for more cigarettes.
Maria says " "I can't do any commissions, because I shall probably not go beyond Mergellina. Find Gaspare, will you?" Giulia went away and Hermione descended to the Saint's Pool. She waited there two or three minutes. Then Gaspare appeared above. "You want the boat, Signora?" "Yes, Gaspare." He leaped down the steps and stood beside her. "Where do you want to go?" She hesitated.
His imagination, working with an almost diseased rapidity and excitement, brought before him a series of scenes in which the death-charm figured as symbol. In one of these there were two women Hermione and Maddalena. Hermione might have set out on some wild quest to Mergellina. He remembered the face at the window, and knew that to-night everything was possible. "Row quickly, Gaspare!"
I am going to Mergellina." "Oh!" Vere did not ask her what she was going to do there. She showed no special interest, no curiosity. "What will you do, Vere?" "I don't know." She glanced round. Hermione saw that her usually bright eyes were dull and lack-lustre. "I don't know what I shall do." She sighed and began to eat her egg slowly, as if she had no appetite. "Did you sleep well, Vere?"
The guests numbered seven or eight; with one exception besides Elgar, they were Germans, all artists of one kind or another, fellows of genial appearance, loud in vivacious talk. The exception was a young Englishman, somewhat oddly dressed, and with a great quantity of auburn hair that rolled forward upon his distinguished brow. At a certain pension on the Mergellina he was well known.
The tram-bell sounded. She lifted her head mechanically. A moment later she was rushing down towards Naples. Before the tram reached the harbor of Mergellina, on the hill opposite the Donn' Anna, Hermione got out. Something in her desired delay; there was plenty of time. She would walk a little way among the lively people who were streaming to the Stabilimenti to have their morning dip.
She waited and listened, but not actively, for she did not feel as if Ruffo could ever stand with her in the embrace of such a night, he, a boy, with bright hopes and eager longings, he the happy singer of the song of Mergellina. And yet, when in a moment she found him standing by her side, she accepted his presence as a thing inevitable.
They stood for a moment quite still. Then he said, in a low voice: "You took the fattura della morte?" "Yes," she answered. "It was in in her room at Mergellina to-day." "Have you got it still?" "Yes." She held out her right hand. He took the death-charm from her. "She made it the woman who wronged you made it to bring death into the Casa del Mare." "Not to me?" "No, to Peppina.
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