Page 595 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

‘I am going in to cook something. Aha! Son! The old man
knows where to find a bottle of wine, too.’
He turned to Giselle, with a change to austere tender-
ness.
‘And you, little one, pray not to the God of priests and
slaves, but to the God of orphans, of the oppressed, of the
poor, of little children, to give thee a man like this one for
a husband.’
His hand rested heavily for a moment on Nostromo’s
shoulder; then he went in. The hopeless slave of the San
Tome silver felt at these words the venomous fangs of jeal-
ousy biting deep into his heart. He was appalled by the
novelty of the experience, by its force, by its physical inti-
macy. A husband! A husband for her! And yet it was natural
that Giselle should have a husband at some time or other.
He had never realized that before. In discovering that her
beauty could belong to another he felt as though he could
kill this one of old Giorgio’s daughters also. He muttered
moodily—
‘They say you love Ramirez.’
She shook her head without looking at him. Coppery
glints rippled to and fro on the wealth of her gold hair. Her
smooth forehead had the soft, pure sheen of a priceless pearl
in the splendour of the sunset, mingling the gloom of starry
spaces, the purple of the sea, and the crimson of the sky in
a magnificent stillness.
‘No,’ she said, slowly. ‘I never loved him. I think I never …
He loves me—perhaps.’
The seduction of her slow voice died out of the air, and

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard