Through the windy darkness I made my way back to the Manor. By that time I had thought it all over. Conquered by the utter desolation within and without me, I had said to myself, “Life like this is worse than death. I will try one way more; I will go to her, I will take her to my heart, I will beg her to love and trust me, and to accept my tender forgiveness. Perhaps I have been too hard, too taciturn and sullen. She has mistaken my sorrow for coldness, my pride for cruelty and pertinacity. There shall be an end to this. She shall understand the full tenderness of my love, once and for ever.” With these thoughts struggling wildly within me, I hastened home.
Then, as the devil would have it, I saw Baptisto, waiting on the threshold of my den. The moment I appeared he crept up to me, and clutched my arm.
“Senor, senor! where have you been? I have been waiting for you.”
“What is it, man?” I asked, startled by his manner.
“Come and see!”
He led me towards the house. I walked a few steps, then paused nervously.
“What has happened?” I asked.
“Nothing, senor; but the clergyman is here again, with my lady.”
That was enough. It turned my tenderness into anger, my lethargy into passion. Shaking off the fellow’s touch, I hastened to the house. As I went I saw lights in the drawing-room; and, instead of entering the house door, I ascended the flight of iron steps which leads to the terrace. Then, with the cunning of jealousy, cold enough to subdue the fever of rage, I crept along the terrace till I reached the folding doors of the drawing-room. The doors were closed, the curtains and blinds were drawn, but there was one small space through which I could see into the room.
I looked in.