The Call of the Blood

"Will you please allow me to write a line to a friend?" Hermione said.

"Then I shall be ready to answer your questions."

"Certainly, signora," said the Pretore; "we are very sorry to disturb

you, but it is our duty."

He had gray hair and a dark mustache, and his black eyes looked as if

they had been varnished.

Hermione went to the writing-table, while the men stood in silence

filling up the little room.

"What shall I say?" she thought.

She heard the boots of the Cancelliere creak as he shifted his feet upon

the floor. The Maresciallo cleared his throat. There was a moment of

hesitation. Then he went to the steps and spat upon the terrace.

"Don't come yet," she wrote, slowly.

Then she turned round.

"How long will your inquiry take, do you think, signore?" she asked of

the Pretore. "When will--when can the funeral take place?"

"Signora, I trust to-morrow. I hope--I do not suppose there will be any

reason to suspect, after what Dr. Marini has told us and we have seen,

that the death was anything but an accident--an accident which we all

most deeply grieve for."

"It was an accident."

She stood by the table with the pen in her hand.

"I suppose--I suppose he must be buried in the Campo Santo?" she said.

"Do you wish to convey the body to England, signora?"

"Oh no. He loved Sicily. He wished to stay always here, I think,

although--"

She broke off.

"I could never take him away from Sicily. But there is a place

here--under the oak-trees. He was very fond of it."

Gaspare began to sob, then controlled himself with a desperate effort,

turned round and stood with his face to the wall.

"I suppose, if I could buy a piece of land there, it could not be

permitted--?"

She looked at the Pretore.

"I am very sorry, signora, such a thing could not possibly be allowed. If

the body is buried here it must be in the Campo Santo."

"Thank you."

She turned to the table and wrote after "Don't come yet": "They are taking him away now to the hospital in the village. I

shall come down. I think the funeral will be to-morrow. They tell

me he must be buried in the Campo Santo. I should have liked him to

lie here under the oak-trees.

HERMIONE."

When Artois read this note tears came into his eyes.