rella!"

The Marchesino was offering his arm to conduct Vere to the launch. He
cast a challenging look of triumph at Artois.

"I would come in the launch," Artois said hastily. "But--Good-night!"

He turned away.

"A rivederci, Emilio!" called the Marchesino.

"--derci!"

The last syllables only came back to them through the wind and the rain.

"Take my arm, Signorina."

"Grazie, it is all right like this."

"Ma--"

"I am quite covered, really, thank you."

She hurried on, smiling, but not taking his arm. She knew how to be
obstinate.

"Ma Signorina--mais Mademoiselle--"

"Gaspare! Is Madre all safe in the launch?"

Vere glided from under the Marchesino's umbrella and sought the shade
of Gaspare's. Behind, the Marchesino was murmuring to himself Neapolitan
street expressions.

"Si, Signorina."

Gaspare's face had suddenly lighted up. His Padroncina's little hand was
holding tightly to his strong arm.

"Take care, Signorina. That is water!"

"Oh, I was nearly in. I thought--"

He almost lifted her into the launch, which was rising and falling on
the waves.

"Madre! What a night!"

Vere sank down on the narrow seat of the little cabin. The Marchesino
jumped aboard. The machine in the stern throbbed. They rushed forward
into the blackness of the impenetrable night, the white of the leaping
foam, the hissing of the rain, the roaring of the wind. In a blurred and
hasty vision the lights of Frisio's ran before them, fell back into the
storm like things defeated. Hermione fancied she discerned for a second
the blind man's scarlet face and open mouth, the Padrone at a window
waving a frantic adieu, having only just become aware of their
departure. But if it were so they were gone before she knew--gone into
mystery, with Emile and the world.

The Marchesino inserted himself reproachfully into the cabin. He had
turned up the collar of his "smoking," and drawn the silk lapels forward
over his soft shirt-front. His white gloves were saturated. He came to
sit down by Vere.

"Madame!" he said reproachfully, "we should have waited. The sea is too
rough. Really, it is dangerous. And the Signorina and I--we could have
danced together."

Hermione could not help laughing, though she did not feel gay.

"I should not have danced," said Vere. "I could not. I should have had
to watch the storm."

She was peering out of the cabin window at the wild foam that leaped
up round the little craft and disappeared