rezia."

And then the padrona and the cameriera sat down together on the terrace
under the stars, and talked together about the man the cameriera loved,
and his exceeding glory.

Meanwhile, Maurice and Gaspare were giving themselves joyously to the
glory of the night. The glamour of the moon, which lay full upon the
terrace where the two women sat, was softened, changed to a shadowy
magic, in the ravine where the trees grew thickly, but the pilgrims did
not lower their voices in obedience to the message of the twilight of the
night. The joy of life which was leaping within them defied the subtle
suggestions of mystery, was careless because it was triumphant, and all
the way down to the sea they sang, Gaspare changing the song when it
suited his mood to do so; and Maurice, as in the tarantella, imitating
him with the swiftness that is born of sympathy. For to-night, despite
their different ages, ranks, ways of life, their gayety linked them
together, ruled out the differences, and made them closely akin, as they
had been in Hermione's eyes when they danced upon the terrace. They did
not watch the night. They were living too strongly to be watchful. The
spirit of the dancing faun was upon them, and guided them down among the
rocks and the olive-trees, across the Messina road, white under the moon,
to the stony beach of Isola Bella, where Nito was waiting for them with
the net.

Nito was not alone. He had brought friends of his and of Gaspare's, and a
boy who staggered proudly beneath a pannier filled with bread and cheese,
oranges and apples, and dark blocks of a mysterious dolce. The
wine-bottles were not intrusted to him, but were in the care of Giulio,
one of the donkey-boys who had carried up the luggage from the station.
Gaspare and his padrone were welcomed with a lifting of hats, and for a
moment there was a silence, while the little group regarded the
"Inglese" searchingly. Had Maurice felt any strangeness, any aloofness,
the sharp and sensitive Sicilians would have at once been conscious of
it, and light-hearted gayety might have given way to gravity, though not
to awkwardness. But he felt, and therefore showed, none. His soft hat
cocked at an impudent angle over his sparkling, dark eyes, his laughing
lips, his easy, eager manner, and his pleasant familiarity with Gaspare
at once reassured everybody, and when he cried out, "Ciao, amici, ciao!"
and waved a pair of bathing drawers towards the sea, indicating that