Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART SECOND: THE ISABELS 7. CHAPTER SEVEN (continued)

Downstairs in the big kitchen a candle was burning, surrounded by
the shadows of the walls, of the ceiling, but no ruddy glare
filled the open square of the outer door. The carriage with Mrs.
Gould and Don Martin, preceded by the horseman bearing the torch,
had gone on to the jetty. Dr. Monygham, who had remained, sat on
the corner of a hard wood table near the candlestick, his seamed,
shaven face inclined sideways, his arms crossed on his breast,
his lips pursed up, and his prominent eyes glaring stonily upon
the floor of black earth. Near the overhanging mantel of the
fireplace, where the pot of water was still boiling violently,
old Giorgio held his chin in his hand, one foot advanced, as if
arrested by a sudden thought.

"Adios, viejo," said Nostromo, feeling the handle of his revolver
in the belt and loosening his knife in its sheath. He picked up a
blue poncho lined with red from the table, and put it over his
head. "Adios, look after the things in my sleeping-room, and if
you hear from me no more, give up the box to Paquita. There is
not much of value there, except my new serape from Mexico, and a
few silver buttons on my best jacket. No matter! The things
will look well enough on the next lover she gets, and the man
need not be afraid I shall linger on earth after I am dead, like
those Gringos that haunt the Azuera."

Dr. Monygham twisted his lips into a bitter smile. After old
Giorgio, with an almost imperceptible nod and without a word, had
gone up the narrow stairs, he said--

"Why, Capataz! I thought you could never fail in anything."

Nostromo, glancing contemptuously at the doctor, lingered in the
doorway rolling a cigarette, then struck a match, and, after
lighting it, held the burning piece of wood above his head till
the flame nearly touched his fingers.

"No wind!" he muttered to himself. "Look here, senor--do you know
the nature of my undertaking?"

Dr. Monygham nodded sourly.