Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 12. CHAPTER TWELVE (continued)

The evening was still. The sun sank almost to the edge of a
purple ocean; and the white lighthouse, livid against the
background of clouds filling the head of the gulf, bore the
lantern red and glowing, like a live ember kindled by the fire of
the sky. Giselle, indolent and demure, raised the altar-cloth
from time to time to hide nervous yawns, as of a young panther.

Suddenly Linda rushed at her sister, and seizing her head,
covered her face with kisses. Nostromo's brain reeled. When she
left her, as if stunned by the violent caresses, with her hands
lying in her lap, the slave of the treasure felt as if he could
shoot that woman. Old Giorgio lifted his leonine head.

"Where are you going, Linda?"

"To the light, padre mio."

"Si, si--to your duty."

He got up, too, looked after his eldest daughter; then, in a tone
whose festive note seemed the echo of a mood lost in the night of
ages--

"I am going in to cook something. Aha! Son! The old man knows
where to find a bottle of wine, too."

He turned to Giselle, with a change to austere tenderness.

"And you, little one, pray not to the God of priests and slaves,
but to the God of orphans, of the oppressed, of the poor, of
little children, to give thee a man like this one for a husband."

His hand rested heavily for a moment on Nostromo's shoulder; then
he went in. The hopeless slave of the San Tome silver felt at
these words the venomous fangs of jealousy biting deep into his
heart. He was appalled by the novelty of the experience, by its
force, by its physical intimacy. A husband! A husband for her!
And yet it was natural that Giselle should have a husband at some
time or other. He had never realized that before. In discovering
that her beauty could belong to another he felt as though he
could kill this one of old Giorgio's daughters also. He muttered
moodily--