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 he

was prepared to be the first to go in with the net, there was a general

laugh, and a babel of talk broke forth--talk which he did not fully

understand, yet which did not make him feel even for a moment a stranger.




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