The Call of the Blood

"You see it. He was coming from the island. He fell and was drowned. It

is very simple."

"Yes, no doubt. Still, there must be an inquiry. Gaspare will have to

explain--"

He looked at the weeping boy, then at the woman who stood there holding

the boy's hand in hers.

"But that will be for to-morrow," he muttered, fingering his shirt-front

and looking down. "That will be for to-morrow."

As he went out he added: "Signora, do not remain in your wet clothes."

"I--oh, thank you. They do not matter."

She did not follow him into the next room. As he went down the steps to

the terrace the sound of Gaspare's passionate weeping followed him into

the night.

When the doctor was on the donkey and was riding out through the arch,

after a brief colloquy with the fishermen and with Giuseppe, whom he had

told to remain at the cottage for the rest of the night, he suddenly

remembered the cigar which he had left upon the table, and he pulled up.

"What is it, Signor Dottore?" said one of the fishermen.

"I've left something, but--never mind. It does not matter."

He rode on again.

"It does not matter," he repeated.

He was thinking of the English signora standing beside the bed in her wet

skirts and holding the hand of the weeping boy.

It was the first time in his life that he had ever sacrificed a good

cigar.

He wondered why he did so now, but he did not care to return just then to

the Casa del Prete.