I heard her to the end, or almost to the end: for while she drew near
to conclude, and while I stood grinding my teeth upon the certainty
that the whole plot--from the kidnapping to the spreading of the
slanders--had been Master Domenico's work, and his only, the air
thudded with a distant dull concussion: whereat she broke off,
lifting her head to listen.
"It is the sound of guns," said I, listening too, while half a dozen
similar concussions followed. "Heavy artillery, too, and from the
southward."
"Nay; but what light is yonder, to the north?"
She pointed into the night behind me, and I turned to see a faint
glow spreading along the northern horizon, and mounting, and
reddening as it mounted, until the black hills between us and Cape
Corso stood up against it in sharp outline.
"O wife," said I, "since you must be weary, sleep for a while, and I
will keep watch: but wake soon, for yonder is something worth your
seeing."
"Whose work is it, think you?"
"The work," said I, "of a man who would set the whole world on fire,
and only for love."
CHAPTER XXVI.
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