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Chapter 8

           “Betrayed!Betrayed!”hemutteredtohimself.Noonecared.Hemighthavebeendrownedbythistime.Noonewouldhavecaredunless,perhaps,thechildren,hethoughttohimself.ButtheywerewiththeEnglishsignora,andnotthinkingofhimatall.

           HewaveredinhispurposeofmakingstraightfortheCasaViola.Towhatend?Whatcouldheexpectthere?Hislifeseemedtofailhiminallitsdetails,eventothescornfulreproachesofTeresa.Hewasawarepainfullyofhisreluctance.Wasitthatremorsewhichshehadprophesiedwith,whathesawnow,washerlastbreath?

           Meantime,hehaddeviatedfromthestraightcourse,incliningbyasortofinstincttotheright,towardsthejettyandtheharbour,thesceneofhisdailylabours.ThegreatlengthoftheCustomHouseloomedupallatoncelikethewallofafactory.Notasoulchallengedhisapproach,andhiscuriositybecameexcitedashepassedcautiouslytowardsthefrontbytheunexpectedsightoftwolightedwindows.

           Theyhadthefascinationofalonelyvigilkeptbysomemysteriouswatcherupthere,thosetwowindowsshiningdimlyupontheharbourinthewholevastextentoftheabandonedbuilding.Thesolitudecouldalmostbefelt.Astrongsmellofwoodsmokehungaboutinathinhaze,whichwasfaintlyperceptibletohisraisedeyesagainsttheglitterofthestars.Asheadvancedintheprofoundsilence,theshrillingofinnumerablecicalasinthedrygrassseemedpositivelydeafeningtohisstrainedears.

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