Gaspare, he knew, was on the watch. That was why he was absent from his

duties. But the hour was at hand when he would be relieved. The evening

was coming. Maurice was glad. He was ready to face even violence, but he

felt that he could not for much longer endure suspense and play the quiet

host and husband.

Tea was over and Gaspare had not returned. The clock he had bought at the

fair struck five.

"I ought to be going," Artois said.

There was reluctance in his voice. Hermione noticed it and knew what he

was feeling.

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"You must come up again very soon," she said.

"Yes, monsieur, come to-morrow, won't you?" Maurice seconded her.

The thought of what was going to happen before to-morrow made it seem to

him a very long way off.

Hermione looked pleased.

"I must not be a bore," Artois answered. "I must not remind you and

myself of limpets. There are rocks in your garden which might suggest the

comparison. I think to-morrow I ought to stay quietly in Marechiaro."

"No, no," said Maurice. "Do come to-morrow."

"Thank you very much. I can't pretend that I do not wish to come. And,

now that donkey-boy--has he climbed up, I wonder?"

"I'll go and see," said Maurice.

He was feverishly impatient to get rid of Artois. He hurried to the arch.

A long way off, near the path that led up from the ravine, he saw a

figure with a gun. He was not sure, but he was almost sure that it was

Gaspare. It must be he. The gun made him look, indeed, a sentinel. If

Salvatore came the boy would stop him, stop him, if need be, at the cost

of his own life. Maurice felt sure of that, and realized the danger of

setting such faithfulness and violence to be sentinel. He stood for a

moment looking at the figure. Yes, he knew it now for Gaspare. The boy

had forgotten tea-time, had forgotten everything, in his desire to carry

out his padrone's instructions. The signora was not to know. She was

never to know. And Salvatore might come. 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. To do so would

seem discourteous. He returned to the terrace ill at ease, but strove to

disguise his restlessness. It was nearly six o'clock when the boy at last

appeared. Artois at once bade Hermione and Maurice good-bye and mounted

his donkey.




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