Indeed, it
was her trust in Gaspare which made her fear so keen. As she stood on
the staircase she knew that. If Gaspare kept things, kept anything
from her that at all concerned her life, it must be because he was
faithfully trying to save her from some pain or misery.
But perhaps she was led astray by her depression of to-night. Perhaps
this mystery was her own creation, and he would be quite willing to
explain, to clear it away with a word.
"Gaspare," she said, "have you finished locking up?"
"Not quite, Signora. I have the front of the house to do."
"Of course. Well, when you have finished come up to my room for a
minute, will you?"
"Va bene, Signora."
Was there reluctance in his voice? She thought there was. She went up-
stairs and waited in her sitting-room. It seemed to her that Gaspare
was a very long time locking up. She leaned out of the window that
overlooked the terrace to hear if he was shutting the French windows.
When she did so she saw him faintly below, standing by the balustrade.
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