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As
the boat rose and sank on the crests and into the hollows of the waves
the light shone and faded, shone and faded. She guessed it to be a
light at the Antico Giuseppone. Despite the head wind and the waves
that met them the launch travelled bravely, and soon the light was
gone. She told herself that it must have been at the Giuseppone, and
that now they had got beyond the point, and were opposite to the
harbor of the Villa Rosebery. But no lights greeted them from the
White Palazzo in the wood, or from the smaller white house low down
beside the sea. And again she looked straight forward.
Now she was intent on San Francesco. She was thinking of him, of the
Pool, of the island. And she thrilled with joy at the thought of the
wonderful wildness of her home. As they drew on towards it the waves
were bigger, the wind was stronger. Even on calm nights there was
always a breeze when one had passed the Giuseppone going towards
Ischia, and beyond the island there was sometimes quite a lively sea.


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