She moved away from the balustrade and turned towards the house.
Above, in her sitting-room, the light still shone. The other windows
on this side of the Casa del Mare were dark. She felt that she must go
to that light quickly, and she hastened in, went cautiously--though
now almost panic-stricken--through the black room with the French
windows, and came into the dimly lighted passage that led to the front
door.
Gaspare was there locking up. She came to him.
"Good-night, Gaspare," she said, stopping.
"Good-night, Signora," he answered, slightly turning his head, but not
looking into her face.
Hermione turned to go up-stairs. She went up two or three steps. She
heard a bolt shot into its place below her, and she stopped again.
To-night she felt for the first time almost afraid of Gaspare. She
trusted him as she had always trusted him--completely. Yet that trust
was mingled with this new and dreadful sensation of fear bred of her
conviction that he held some secret from her in his breast.
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