Oh, the demoniac look that his face wore at that instant! His face upturned to the bleak light was that of a fiend.
Blinded by his passions, he did not observe, as in a calmer moment he might have done, even in the gloom, the difference between this tall figure and that of his wife. He only saw a woman landing on the isle, springing up the rocks, and disappearing in the darkness, and who but Laura would have ventured to the isle that stormy night.
When the night fell in more than Egyptian darkness, accompanied by wind, and lightning, and rain, he made his way blindly through it all to the trysting-place; and, sheltered behind a friendly rock, he crouched down like a panther waiting for its prey.
"She will not come in this storm—she cannot; you will wait in vain," said the voice of Reason, faintly trying to make itself heard.
"She will come—she will!" said Jealousy. "She has braved the storm to come to the island; and, though fire should fall from heaven, she will keep her tryst. Wait! wait! and you will have your revenge."
And the demon voice conquered.
* * * * *
Meantime, how went the night in the widow's cottage?
When—wet, dripping, soaked through—Carl reached the cottage, his first care was to change his wet clothes, and seat himself at the table, where a smoking supper awaited him.
Mrs. Tom held up her hands in wonder and amazement when she heard that Sibyl had braved all that furious storm to come to the isle.