Moreover, as we were both convinced that the hollows of
the links were alive with hidden spies upon our movements, we hoped
that our appearance with the box might lead to a parley, and,
perhaps, a compromise.
It was nearly three when we issued from the pavilion. The rain had
taken off; the sun shone quite cheerfully.
I have never seen the gulls fly so close about the house or
approach so fearlessly to human beings. On the very doorstep one
flapped heavily past our heads, and uttered its wild cry in my very
ear.
"There is an omen for you," said Northmour, who like all
freethinkers was much under the influence of superstition. "They
think we are already dead."
I made some light rejoinder, but it was with half my heart; for the
circumstance had impressed me.
A yard or two before the gate, on a patch of smooth turf, we set
down the despatch-box; and Northmour waved a white handkerchief
over his head. Nothing replied. We raised our voices, and cried
aloud in Italian that we were there as ambassadors to arrange the
quarrel; but the stillness remained unbroken save by the sea-gulls
and the surf. I had a weight at my heart when we desisted; and I
saw that even Northmour was unusually pale. He looked over his
shoulder nervously, as though he feared that some one had crept
between him and the pavilion door.
"By God," he said in a whisper, "this is too much for me!"
I replied in the same key: "Suppose there should be none, after
all!"
"Look there," he returned, nodding with his head, as though he had
been afraid to point.
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