It must be sent home this evening. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. We’re regarded as inflammable litter that mustn’t be left about. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined.
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