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"
"Your mother has done a great deal for me," said Artois, seriously--
"far more than she will ever know."
There was a sound of deep, surely of eternal feeling in his voice,
which suddenly touched the girl to the quick.
"I like to hear you say that--like that," she said, softly. "I think
Madre does a great deal for us all."
If Hermione could have heard them her torn heart might perhaps have
ceased to bleed. It had been difficult for her to do what she had done
--to leave the island that morning. She had done it to discipline her
nature, as Passionists scourge themselves by night before the altar.
She had left Emile alone with Vere simply because she hated to do it.
The rising up of jealousy in her heart had frightened her. All night
she had lain awake feeling this new and terrible emanation from her
soul, conscious of this monster that lifted up its head and thrust it
forth out of the darkness.
But one merit she had. She was frank with herself. She named the
monster before she strove to fight it, to beat it back into the
darkness from which it was emerging.


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