He got up and, leaving the death-charm lying on the table, went to the
door. There he hesitated. Should he go to the terrace, to Vere? Or
should he go up-stairs to that dark room and try to speak to his
friend? Or should he go out to the cliff, to seek Gaspare and Ruffo?
Ruffo drew him. He had to go to the cliff.
He went out by the front door. At first he thought of descending at
once by the steps to the Pool of San Francesco. But he changed his
mind and went instead to the bridge.
He looked over into the Pool.
It was a very clear night. San Francesco's light was burning brightly.
Very sincerely it was burning beneath the blessing hands of the Saint.
A ray of gold that came from it lay upon the darkness of the Pool,
stealing through the night a little way, as if in an effort to touch
the Casa del Mare.
In the Pool there was one boat. Artois saw no one by the sea's edge,
heard no voices there, and he turned towards the crest of the island,
to the seat where Vere so often went at night, and where Hermione,
too, had often sought out Ruffo.
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