I have known him--for years I
have known him--and never have I seen him as he was to-day."
"And the Signora? When she came, did she look tired?"
"Signore, the Signora's face was like the face of one who has been
looked on by the evil eye."
"Row quickly, Giovanni!"
"Si, Signore."
The men talked no more.
When they came in sight of the island the last rays of the sun were
striking upon the windows of the Casa del Mare.
The boat, urged by Giovanni's powerful arms, drew rapidly near to the
land, and Artois, leaning forward with an instinct to help the rower,
fixed his eyes upon these windows which, like swift jewels, focussed
and gave back the light. While he watched them the sun sank. Its
radiance was withdrawn. He saw no longer jewels, casements of magic,
but only the windows of the familiar house; and then, presently, only
the window of one room, Hermione's. His eyes were fixed on that as the
boat drew nearer and nearer--were almost hypnotized by that. Where was
Hermione? What was she doing? How was she? How could she be, now that
--she knew? A terrible but immensely tender, immensely pitiful
curiosity took possession of him, held him fast, body and soul.
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