“I don’t drink.”
“I think you said, Mr. Harker, that you belonged to a ship here?”
“Yes, sir, the Pathfinder, sailing now for Santa Barbara. And I must go aboard now or lose my passage. So I will say good-bye, Mr. Kingsborough. I hope to hear some day that nothing has come of all this.”
“Is your ship a steamer, did you say?”
“The ship in the sailing ship berths there, about to sail.”
“Well, a pleasant voyage to you. And thank you again for coming to warn me. I’ll see you to the gate.”
Outside, the sun had westered so that the light was off the house. The oppression in the air, added to the gloom of the evening, made the place menacing.
At the angle of the house, the woman was watering the xicales. She wore white gardening gauntlets and a sun hat. Sard felt his heart leap up with expectation. He took a step towards her.
“This way, Mr. Harker,” Hilary said, correcting him. “That way leads to the garden.”
The woman had turned from them; he did not see her face; she disappeared round the angle of the house.