he house, then gone out once more.

"Come up-stairs for a minute, Gaspare," she said. "I want to speak to
you."

He looked less stern, but still unlike himself.

"Si, Signora. Shall I put on my jacket?"

"No, no, never mind. Come like that."

She went up-stairs, treading softly, lest she might disturb Vere. He
followed. When they were in her sitting-room she said:

"Gaspare, why did you go to bed without coming to say good-night to me?"

He looked rather confused.

"Did I forget, Signora? I was tired. Forgive me."

"I don't know whether you forgot. But you never came."

As Hermione spoke, suddenly she felt as if Gaspare, too, were going,
perhaps, to drift from her. She looked at him with an almost sharp
intensity which hardened her whole face. Was he, too, being insincere
with her, he whom she trusted implicitly?

"Did you forget, Gaspare?" she said.

"Signora," he repeated, with a certain, almost ugly doggedness, "I was
tired. Forgive me."

She felt sure that he had chosen deliberately not to come to her for
the evening salutation. It was a trifle, yet to-night it hurt her. For
a moment she was silent, and he was silent, looking down at the floor.
Then she opened her lips to dismiss him. She intended to say a curt
"Good-night"; but--no--she could not let Gaspare retreat from her behind
impenetrable walls of obstinate reserve. And she did know his nature
through and through. If he was odd to-night, unlike himself, there was
some reason for it; and it could not be a reason that, known to her,
would make her think badly of him. She was certain of that.

"Never mind, Gaspare," she said gently. "But I like you to come and say
good-night to me. I am accustomed to that, and I miss it if you don't
come."

"Si, Signora," he said, in a very low voice.

He turned a little away from her, and made a small noise with his nose
as if he had a cold.

"Gaspare," she said, with an impulse to be frank, "I saw Ruffo
to-night."

He turned round quickly. She saw moisture in his eyes, but they were
shining almost fiercely.

"He told me something about his Patrigno. Did you know it?"

"His Patrigno and Peppina?"

Hermione nodded.

"Si Signora; Ruffo told me."

"I gave the boy something for his mother."

"His mother--why?"

There was quick suspicion in Gaspare's voice.

"Poor woman! Because of all this trouble. Her husband is in prison."

"Lo so. But he will soon be out again. He is 'protected.'"

"Who prot