The Call of the Blood - Page 79/317

Delarey wondered why she was not sleeping, and strove to ask her,

speaking carefully his best Sicilian, and using eloquent gestures, which

set her smiling, then laughing again. In reply to him she pointed towards

the sea, then towards the house, then towards the sea once more. He

guessed that some fisherman had risen early to go to his work, and that

she had got up to see him off, and had been too wakeful to return to bed.

"Niente più sonno!" he said, opening wide his eyes.

"Niente! Niente!"

He feigned fatigue. She took his travesty seriously, and pointed to the

house, inviting him by gesture to go in and rest there. Evidently she

believed that, being a stranger, he could not speak or understand much of

her language. He did not even try to undeceive her. It amused him to

watch her dumb show, for her face spoke eloquently and her pretty, brown

hands knew a language that was delicious. He had no longer any thought of

sleep, but he felt curious to see the interior of the cottage, and he

nodded his head in response to her invitation. At once she became the

hospitable peasant hostess. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness and

pleasure, and she went quickly by him to the door, which stood half open,

pushed it back, and beckoned to him to enter.

He obeyed her, went in, and found himself almost in darkness, for the big

windows on either side of the door were shuttered, and only a tiny flame,

like a spark, burned somewhere among the dense shadows of the interior at

some distance from him. Pretending to be alarmed at the obscurity, he put

out his hand gropingly, and let it light on her arm, then slip down to

her warm, strong young hand.

"I am afraid!" he exclaimed.

He heard her merry laugh and felt her trying to pull her hand away, but

he held it fast, prolonging a joke that he found a pleasant one. In that

moment he was almost as simple as she was, obeying his impulses

carelessly, gayly, without a thought of wrong--indeed, almost without

thought at all. His body was still tingling and damp with the sea-water.

Her face was fresh with the sea-wind. He had never felt more wholesome or

as if life were a saner thing.

She dragged her hand out of his at last; he heard a grating noise, and a

faint light sputtered up, then grew steady as she moved away and set a

match to a candle, shielding it from the breeze that entered through the

open door with her body.