ifling things. And then Artois was moved to tell her of the
conversation he had that evening overheard, to repeat to her, almost
word for word, what the old Oriental had said. When he had finished
Hermione was silent for a minute. Then she moved her chair and said, in
an unsteady voice:

"I don't think I should ever learn the lesson of the desert. Perhaps
only those who belong to it can learn from it."

"If it is so it is sad--for the others."

"Let us go and find Vere," she said.

"Are you sure she is on the cliff?" he asked, as they passed out by the
front door.

"I think so. I am almost certain she is."

They went forward, and almost immediately heard a murmur of voices.

"Vere is with some one," said Artois.

"It must be Ruffo. It is Ruffo."

She stood still. Artois stood still beside her. The night was windless.
Voices travelled through the dreaming silence.

"Don't be afraid. Sing it to me."

Vere's voice was speaking. Then a boy's voice rang out in the song of
Mergellina. The obedient voice was soft and very young, though manly.
And it sounded as if it sang only for one person, who was very near.
Yet it was impersonal. It asked nothing from, it told nothing to, that
person. Simply, and very naturally, it just gave to the night a very
simple and a very natural song.

As Artois listened he felt as if he learned what he had not been able
to learn that day at Mergellina. Strange as this thing was--if indeed
it was--he felt that it must be, that it was ordained to be, it and
all that might follow from it. He even felt almost that Hermione must
already know it, have divined it, as if, therefore, any effort to hide
it from her must be fruitless, or even contemptible, as if indeed all
effort to conceal truth of whatever kind was contemptible.

The words of the Oriental had sunk deep into his soul.

When the song was over he turned resolutely away. He felt that those
children should not be disturbed. Hermione hesitated for a moment. Then
she fell in with his caprice. At the house door he bade her good-bye.
She scarcely answered. And he left her standing there alone in the still
night.

CHAPTER XXIV

Her unrest was greater than ever, and the desire that consumed her
remained ungratified, although Emile had come to the island as if in
obedience to her fierce mental summons. But she had not seen him even
for a moment with Vere. Why had she let him go? When would he come
again? She might ask him to co