"Povera Madre mia!" at last she said.

But she did not seem distressed for herself. No personal grievance, no
doubt of complete love assailed her. And the fact that this was so
demonstrated, very quietly and very completely, the relation existing
between this mother and this child.

"I wonder, now," Vere said, presently, "why I never specially wished
to be a boy until to-day--because, after all, it can't be from you
that the wish came. If it had been it must have come long ago. And it
didn't. It only came when I heard that boy's voice. He sings like all
the boys, you know, that have ever enjoyed themselves, that are still
enjoying themselves in the sun."

"I wish he would sing once more!" said Hermione.

"Perhaps he will. Look! He's getting into the boat. And the men are
stopping too."

The boy was very quick in his movements. Almost before Vere had
finished speaking he had pulled on his blue jersey and white trousers,
and again taken the big oars in his hands. Standing up, with his face
set towards the islet, he began once more to propel the boat towards
it. And as he swung his body slowly to and fro he opened his lips and
sang lustily once more,

"O Napoli, bella Napoli!"

Hermione and Vere sat silently listening as the song grew louder and
louder, till the boat was almost in the shadow of the islet, and the