boy, with a strong stroke of the left oar turned its prow towards the
pool over which San Francesco watched.

"They're going into the Saint's Pool to have a siesta," said Vere.
"Isn't he a splendid boy, Madre?"

As she spoke the boat was passing almost directly beneath them, and
they saw its name painted in red letters on the prow, /Sirena del
Mare/. The two men, one young, one middle-aged, were staring before
them at the rocks. But the boy, more sensitive, perhaps, than they
were to the watching eyes of women, looked straight up to Vere and to
her mother. They saw his level rows of white teeth gleaming as the
song came out from his parted lips, the shining of his eager dark
eyes, full of the careless merriment of youth, the black, low-growing
hair stirring in the light sea breeze about his brow, bronzed by sun
and wind. His slight figure swayed with an easy motion that had the
grace of perfectly controlled activity, and his brown hands gripped
the great oars with a firmness almost of steel, as the boat glided
under the lee of the island, and vanished from the eyes of the
watchers into the shadowy pool of San Francesco.

When the boat had disappeared, Vere lifted herself up and turned round
to her mother.

"Isn't he a jolly boy, Madre?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

She spoke in a low voice. Her eyes were still on the sea where the
boat had passed.