It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Maurice and Gaspare said

good-bye to Maddalena and her father on the road by Isola Bella.

Salvatore had left the three donkeys at Cattaro, and had come the rest of

the way on foot, while Maddalena rode Gaspare's beast.

"The donkey you bought is for Maddalena," Maurice had said to him.

And the fisherman had burst into effusive thanks. But already he had his

eye on a possible customer in Cattaro. As soon as the Inglese had gone

back to his own country the donkey would be resold at a good price. What

did a fisherman want with donkeys, and how was an animal to be stabled on

the Sirens' Isle? As soon as the Inglese was gone, Salvatore meant to put

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a fine sum of money into his pocket.

"Addio, signorino!" he said, sweeping off his hat with the wild,

half-impudent gesture that was peculiar to him. "I kiss your hand and I

kiss the hand of your signora."

He bent down his head as if he were going to translate the formal phrase

into an action, but Maurice drew back.

"Addio, Salvatore," he said.

His voice was low.

"Addio, Maddalena!" he added.

She murmured something in reply. 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. His head nodded loosely

as he rode, but his hands never let go their careful hold of the clock.

Round about him his many purchases were carefully disposed, fastened

elaborately to the big saddle. The roses, faded now, were still above his

ears. Maurice rode behind. He was not sleepy. He felt as if he would

never sleep again.

As they drew nearer to the house of the priest, Gaspare pulled himself

together with an effort, half-turned on his donkey, and looked round at

his padrone.

"Signorino!"

"Si."

"Do you think the signora will be asleep?"

"I don't know. I suppose so."

The boy looked wise.

"I do not think so," he said, firmly.

"What--at three o'clock in the morning!"

"I think the signora will be on the terrace watching for us."

Maurice's lips twitched.

"Chi lo sa?" he replied.

He tried to speak carelessly, but where was his habitual carelessness of

spirit, his carelessness of a boy now? He felt that he had lost it

forever, lost it in that last hour of the fair.




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