Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN (continued)

Linda stood up. She had recognized the voice.

"Is he dead?" she cried, bending over.

"Yes, my poor girl. I am coming round," the doctor answered from
below. "Pull to the beach," he said to the rowers.

Linda's black figure detached itself upright on the light of the
lantern with her arms raised above her head as though she were
going to throw herself over.

"It is I who loved you," she whispered, with a face as set and
white as marble in the moonlight. "I! Only I! She will forget
thee, killed miserably for her pretty face. I cannot understand.
I cannot understand. But I shall never forget thee. Never!"

She stood silent and still, collecting her strength to throw all
her fidelity, her pain, bewilderment, and despair into one great
cry.

"Never! Gian' Battista!"

Dr. Monygham, pulling round in the police-galley, heard the name
pass over his head. It was another of Nostromo's triumphs, the
greatest, the most enviable, the most sinister of all. In that
true cry of undying passion that seemed to ring aloud from Punta
Mala to Azuera and away to the bright line of the horizon,
overhung by a big white cloud shining like a mass of solid
silver, the genius of the magnificent Capataz de Cargadores
dominated the dark gulf containing his conquests of treasure and
love.

THE END