He stopped again, suddenly realising what he was saying.  But Beatrice, quick to suspect, saw the look of pained embarrassment in his face and almost guessed the truth.  She grew pale by degrees.

“What man?” she asked shortly.

Ruggiero turned his head and looked away from her, gazing out to seaward.

“What was the man’s name?” she asked again with the stern intonation that anger could give her voice.

Still Ruggiero would not speak.  But his white face told the truth well enough.

“On what day was it?” she enquired, as though she meant to be answered.

“It was the day when you talked with me about my name, Signorina.”

“At what time?”

“It must have been between midday and one o’clock.”

Beatrice remembered how on that day San Miniato had given a shallow excuse for not remaining to breakfast at that hour.

“And what was his name?” she now asked for the third time.

“Excellency—­Signorina—­do not ask me!” Ruggiero was not good at lying.

“It was the Conte di San Miniato, Ruggiero,” said Beatrice in a low voice that trembled with anger.  Her face was now almost as white as the sailor’s.

Ruggiero said nothing at first, but turned his head away again.

“Per Dio!” he ejaculated after a short pause.  But there was no mistaking the tone.

Beatrice turned away and with bent head began to walk towards the ascent.  She could not help the gesture she made, clenching her hands once fiercely and then opening them wide again; but she thought no one could see her.  Ruggiero saw, and understood.

“She is saying to herself, ‘I must marry that infamous animal,’” thought Ruggiero.  “But I do not think that she will marry him.”

At the foot of the ascent, Beatrice turned and looked back.  Teresina and Bastianello were coming quickly along the little wooden bridge, but Ruggiero was close to her.

“You have not done me a good service to-day, Ruggiero,” she said, but kindly, dreading to wound him.  “But it is my fault, and I should not have pressed you as I did.  Do not let the thought trouble you.”

“I thank you, Signorina.  And it is true that this was not a good service, and I could bite out my tongue because it was not.  But some Saint may give me grace to do you one more, and that shall be very good.”

“Thank you, Ruggiero,” said Beatrice, as the maid and the other sailor came up.

CHAPTER XII.

Beatrice did not speak again as she slowly walked up the steep ascent to the hotel.  Bastianello and Teresina exchanged a word now and then in a whisper and Ruggiero came last, watching the dark outline of Beatrice’s graceful figure, against the bright light which shone outside at the upper end of the tunnel.  Many confused thoughts oppressed him, but they were like advancing and retreating waves breaking about the central rock of his one unalterable purpose.  He followed Beatrice till they reached the door of the house.  Then she turned and smiled at him, and turned again and went in.  Bastianello of course carried the bag upstairs for Teresina, and Ruggiero stayed below.