There was no answer.
Then she opened the door and went in. Possibly Vere was sleeping. The
mosquito-net was drawn round the bed, but Hermione saw that her child
was not behind it. Vere had gone out somewhere.
The mother went to the big window which looked out upon the sea. The
green Venetian blind was drawn. She pushed up one of its flaps and
bent to look through. Below, a little way out on the calm water, she
saw Vere's boat rocking softly in obedience to the small movement that
is never absent from the sea. The white awning was stretched above the
stern-seats, and under it lay Vere in her white linen dress, her small
head, not protected by a hat, supported by a cushion. She lay quite
still, one arm on the gunwale of the boat, the other against her side.
Hermione could not see whether her eyes were shut or open.
The mother watched her for a long time through the blind.
How much of power was enclosed in that young figure that lay so still,
so perfectly at ease, cradled on the great sea, warmed and cherished
by the tempered fires of the sun! How much of power to lift up and to
cast down, to be secret, to create sorrow, to be merciful! Wonderful,
terrible human power!
The watching mother felt just then that she was in the hands of the
child.
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