Directly dinner was over they parted, driven by the mutual desire to
be alone.
And then Hermione waited for that against which she had prayed.
Artois would come to the island that night. Useless to pray! He was
coming. She felt that he was on the sea, environed by this strange
mist that hung to-night over the waters. She felt that he was coming
to Vere. She had gone to Africa to save him--in order that he might
fall in love with her then unborn child.
Monstrosities, the monstrosities that are in life, deny them, beat
them back, close our eyes to them as we will, rose up around her in
the hot stillness. She felt haunted, terrified. She was forcibly
changed, and now all the world was changing about her.
She must have relief. She could not sit there among spectres waiting
for the sound of oars that would tell her Vere's lover had come to the
island. How could she detach herself for a moment from this horror?
She thought of Ruffo.
As the thought came to her she got up and went out of the house.
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