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A moment later he heard the splash of oars in the sea, and knew that
the Marchesino's boat was leaving the island.
He drew his lips together like one about to whistle.
The sound of the oars died away.
Then he began to whistle softly "La Ciocciara."

CHAPTER XXXII
The ghostly day sank into a ghostly night that laid pale hands upon
the island, holding it closely, softly, in a hypnotic grasp, bidding
it surely rest, it and those who dwelled there with all the dreaming
hours. A mist hung over the sea, and the heat did not go with day, but
stayed to greet the darkness and the strange, enormous silence that
lay upon the waters. In the Casa del Mare the atmosphere was almost
suffocating, although every window was wide open. The servants went
about their duties leaden-footed, drooping, their Latin vivacity
quenched as by a spell. Vere was mute. It seemed, since the episode of
the Carmine, as if her normal spirit had been withdrawn, as if a dumb,
evasive personality replaced it.


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