So this man of peace was a
destroyer, after all! Gerald aroused him. Again he asked pardon. Mila
was nowhere to be seen, and with a sinking at the heart new to his
buoyant temperament, Gerald bade the magician good night. It was
arranged that he would leave the next day, for, like Milton, he was
haunted by "the ghost of a linen decency." But that night he did not
sleep, and no sound of music came to his ears from Mila's chamber. Once
he tried to open his window. It was nailed down.
A gray day greeted his tired eyes. In an hour he was bidding his friends
good-by and thanking them for their hospitality. He had hoped that Mila
would accompany him a few steps on his long journey, but she made no
sign beyond a despairing look at her uncle, who was surly, as if he had
felt the reaction from too prolonged a debauch of the spirit. Gerald lit
his pipe, kissed the hand of Mila with emphasis, and parted from them.
He had not gone a hundred yards before he heard soft footsteps tracking
him. He turned and was disappointed to see that it was only Karospina,
who came up to him, breathing heavily, and in his catlike eyes the fixed
expression of monomania.
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