Part 50 (1/2)

Your reverence found fault, a moment back, with my self-a.s.sumed status of judge. Are you going to borrow the cloak which you do not permit me to wear? You have heard both sides. To what proof can you refer a decision?”

The long, lean figure drew itself up very rigidly.

”I am a sinful man myself, Signor. I make no decisions. But I have been appealed to, as I understand, by those whom I find in your power. I shall not permit your restraint of them to continue. You can refer any grievance you have against them to properly const.i.tuted tribunals over there.” He lifted his arm and pointed south to where storm and night hid Sicily.

He turned to Luigi.

”Emmanuele and I are, as you see, sodden to the skin. It may reach your great intelligence, by degrees, that we need warmth and refreshment.”

The smuggler made an apologetic gesture.

”But certainly, Reverenza. There is in the house a fire. My poor provisions are at your service.”

The priest looked towards Claire with another courtly doffing of his hat.

”And you, Signora, and you, Signor, will add to my felicity by sharing both with me?”

She looked at him gravely.

”They have not starved us; we had food a couple of hours ago,” she said.

”But your company, here and to the mainland, is a boon straight from the hand of G.o.d.”

He inclined his head in a.s.sent.

”I am His servant, Signora,” he said. ”I thank Him for permitting me to serve Him, in serving you. Shall we make our way to the house? The hour must be close on midnight.”

He made a motion towards the path. He looked imperturbably at Landon, who, with Muhammed, still stood astride it.

”You appear to be blocking the lady's way, Signor,” he said. ”Not intentionally, I dare to hope.”

Landon shrugged his shoulders and drew aside.

”On the contrary, your reverence. Not for worlds would I stand between you and refreshment--and sleep.”

He looked at Muhammed with a half-sardonic, half-inquiring gaze as he spoke. And there was a faintly emphasized inflection on the last two words.

The Moor looked back at him impa.s.sively, and then drew aside with an obsequious droop of the head.

But to Claire and, to a less extent to Aylmer, there was a queer, indefinite sense of something which impended--something which racked them with suspicion in the att.i.tude of those about them. Landon's surrender was too facile; Luigi's deference too pliant; Muhammed's apathetic eyes were never less convincing of guilelessness. When they reached the cottage, and stood with Padre Sigismondi before the blaze in the great open hearth and watched the quick preparations which were being made to improvise a meal, the unreality of their surroundings seemed to grow in significance. No one interfered with them; no one even noticed them. Luigi set the table; Muhammed busied himself with the coffee-pot; Landon held the father's dripping garments to the blaze while their owner a.s.sumed a sailor's trousers and jersey in an adjoining room. It was too incredible, this sudden turning of tables. They looked at each other doubtfully.

Their speculations received a sudden interruption. The door opened to admit Miller.

He was half dressed. He blinked--it was apparent that he and sleep had parted company a short half minute before.

”I heard noises,” he said, and then his glance fell upon the two who stood near the fireplace, side by side. His usual phlegm seemed to desert him. He gave an exclamation.

”You!” he cried. ”You!”

He wheeled towards Landon.

”Will you explain?” he cried harshly. ”What is happening?”