y not? She was his mother. What then? Must a man be
blind and stupid to the point of rejecting evidence because it concerns
his mother? But did she give herself to him? Why yes, since this man had
had no other love, since he had remained faithful to her when she was
far away and growing old. Why yes, since he had left all his fortune to
his son--their son!

And Pierre started to his feet, quivering with such rage that he longed
to kill some one. With his arm outstretched, his hand wide open, he
wanted to hit, to bruise, to smash, to strangle! Whom? Every one; his
father, his brother, the dead man, his mother!

He hurried off homeward. What was he going to do?

As he passed a turret close to the signal mast the strident howl of the
fog-horn went off in his very face. He was so startled that he nearly
fell and shrank back as far as the granite parapet. He sat down
half-stunned by the sudden shock. The steamer which was the first to
reply seemed to be quite near and was already at the entrance, the tide
having risen.

Pierre turned round and could discern its red eye dim through the fog.
Then, in the broad light of the electric lanterns, a huge black shadow
crept up between the piers. Behind him the voice of the look-out man,
the hoarse voice of an old retired sea-captain, shouted:

"What ship?" And out of the fog the voice of the pilot standing on
deck--not less hoarse--replied:

"The Santa Lucia."

"Where from?"

"Italy."

"What port?"

"Naples."

And before Pierre's bewildered eyes rose, as he fancied, the fiery
pennon of Vesuvius, while, at the foot of the volcano, fire-flies danced
in the orange-groves of Sorrento or Castellamare. How often had he
dreamed of these familiar names as if he knew the scenery. Oh, if he
might but go away, now at once, never mind whither, and never come back,
never write, never let any one know what had become of him! But no, he
must go home--home to his father's house, and go to bed.

He would not. Come what might he would not go in; he would stay there
till daybreak. He liked the roar of the fog-horns. He pulled himself
together and began to walk up and down like an officer on watch.

Another vessel was coming in behind the other, huge and mysterious. An
English India-man, homeward bound.

He saw several more come in, one after another, out of the impenetrable
vapour. Then, as the damp became quite intolerable, Pierre set out
towards the town. He was so cold that he wen