e cave, that I had put a knife into him
under the left shoulder-blade--before this morning."

They spoke lightly. It seemed as if each desired for the moment to get
away from their mood in the confessional of Virgil's Grotto, and from
the sadness of the white and silent day.

As to Ruffo, about whom they jested, he was in sight of Naples, and not
far from Mergellina, still rowing with tireless young arms, and singing
to "Bella Napoli," with a strong resolve in his heart to return to the
Saint's Pool on the first opportunity and dive for more cigarettes.

CHAPTER IV

At the Antico Giuseppone, Artois left the boat from the islet and,
taking another, was rowed towards the public gardens of Naples, whose
trees were faintly visible far off across the Bay. Usually he talked
familiarly to any Neapolitan with whom he found himself, but to-day he
was taciturn, and sat in the stern of the broad-bottomed craft looking
towards the city in silence while the boatman plied his oars. The
memory of his conversation with Hermione in the Grotto of Virgil, of
her manner, the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice there, gave him
food for thought that was deep and serious.

Although Artois had an authoritative, and often an ironical manner that
frightened timid people, he was a man capable of much emotion and of
great loyalty. He did not easily trust or easily love, but in those
whose worth he had thoroughly proved he had a confidence as complete as
that of a child. And where he placed his complete confidence he placed
also his affection. The one went with the other almost as inevitably as
the wave goes with the wind.

In their discussion about the emotion of the heart Artois had spoken the
truth to Hermione. As he had grown older he had felt the influence of
women less. The pleasures of sentiment had been gradually superceded
in his nature--or so at least he honestly believed--by the purely
intellectual pleasures. More and more completely and contentedly had
he lived in his work, and in the life of preparation for it. This life
could never be narrow, for Artois was a traveller, and studied many
lands.

In the years that had elapsed since the tragedy in Sicily, when the
husband of Hermione had met his death suddenly in the sea, almost in
sight of the home of the girl he had betrayed, the fame of Artois had
grown steadily. And he was jealous of his fame almost as a good woman is
jealous of her honor. This jealousy had led him t