l
by ourselves. No, it would take courage to do that! She'd need to have
good grounds ... Fool I was not to let her talk ... then I'd know the
very worst!" And anything, at that moment, seemed to the Rector
preferable to his state of anxious, raging torment.

"_Pare! Pare!_" a cheery little voice began to call from the deck of the
_Mayflower_. Supper was ready! Supper! Who could care about supper with
that mess on a fellow's mind! The Rector strode up to the boat, and in a
tone that was surprisingly harsh and commanding, told the men to eat
their meal and go to bed, for he had something to attend to in town. If
he didn't come back, they were to get up and have things ready for the
start at sunrise.

Pascualo did not look at his little son, but darted, like a phantom, off
along the black shore, running into boats at times, then stumbling into
the deep puddles that the sea had dug out in the sand in stormy weather.
But he was feeling better! It was a relief to be thinking that he would
soon be talking to Rosario again. Those terrible insults she had hurled
at him had stopped hurting. His brain was no longer that whirl of mad
desperate ravings! He seemed to be walking on air, instead, as though
his heavy body were a feather! Yet there was still a griping sensation
in his throat, that caught his breath; and when he swallowed, his mouth
had the bitter taste of brine. To the last word! To the last word! She
would tell every blessed thing she knew, or she'd be sorry! _Recristo_,
who would have said two hours before that after such a trip offshore, he
would be sneaking off to the house of a woman he despised, and through
the back streets so no one would see him! What a devil of a woman! Stuck
the knife in just the right spot! How was it that five words from a
chatter-box could spoil a man's soul like that!

He was almost running as he entered a dirty street in one of the most
miserable sections of the village, lines of dwarf olives on either
hand, the sidewalks filthy with trodden dirt, and lined with two rows of
shacks, the front yards fenced in with old boards. The door of Rosario's
cottage was closed. He ran into it with a violence that almost snapped
the latch, and as it swung open, it banged violently against the wall
behind. In the murky light of a single candle, Rosario was sitting on a
stool, her head between her hands. Her demeanor of sorrow and despair
was quite in harmony with the desolate, ill-furnished interior o