Page 35 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

CHAPTER FOUR

LL the morning Nostromo had kept his eye from afar
Aon the Casa Viola, even in the thick of the hottest
scrimmage near the Custom House. ‘If I see smoke rising
over there,’ he thought to himself, ‘they are lost.’ Directly
the mob had broken he pressed with a small band of Italian
workmen in that direction, which, indeed, was the shortest
line towards the town. That part of the rabble he was pur-
suing seemed to think of making a stand under the house;
a volley fired by his followers from behind an aloe hedge
made the rascals fly. In a gap chopped out for the rails of
the harbour branch line Nostromo appeared, mounted on
his silver-grey mare. He shouted, sent after them one shot
from his revolver, and galloped up to the cafe window. He
had an idea that old Giorgio would choose that part of the
house for a refuge.
His voice had penetrated to them, sounding breathlessly
hurried: ‘Hola! Vecchio! O, Vecchio! Is it all well with you
in there?’
‘You see—‘ murmured old Viola to his wife. Signora Te-
resa was silent now. Outside Nostromo laughed.
‘I can hear the padrona is not dead.’
‘You have done your best to kill me with fear,’ cried Si-
gnora Teresa. She wanted to say something more, but her
voice failed her.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard