Page 611 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

wanted to show that he was equal yet to the task of guarding
alone the honour of his house.
Nostromo went away early. As soon as he had disap-
peared, walking towards the beach, Linda stepped over the
threshold and, with a haggard smile, sat down by the side
of her father.
Ever since that Sunday, when the infatuated and desper-
ate Ramirez had waited for her on the wharf, she had no
doubts whatever. The jealous ravings of that man were no
revelation. They had only fixed with precision, as with a nail
driven into her heart, that sense of unreality and deception
which, instead of bliss and security, she had found in her
intercourse with her promised husband. She had passed
on, pouring indignation and scorn upon Ramirez; but, that
Sunday, she nearly died of wretchedness and shame, lying
on the carved and lettered stone of Teresa’s grave, subscribed
for by the engine-drivers and the fitters of the railway work-
shops, in sign of their respect for the hero of Italian Unity.
Old Viola had not been able to carry out his desire of bury-
ing his wife in the sea; and Linda wept upon the stone.
The gratuitous outrage appalled her. If he wished to
break her heart—well and good. Everything was permitted
to Gian’ Battista. But why trample upon the pieces; why seek
to humiliate her spirit? Aha! He could not break that. She
dried her tears. And Giselle! Giselle! The little one that, ever
since she could toddle, had always clung to her skirt for pro-
tection. What duplicity! But she could not help it probably.
When there was a man in the case the poor featherheaded
wretch could not help herself.

10 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard