"What is it?" she asked quickly.
"There is a boat, signora."
"Where."
She looked into the darkness but saw nothing.
"Close to the house, signora."
"But how do you know?"
"I heard the oars. The man in the boat was not rowing, but just as I
began to sing he began to row. When I stopped singing he stopped rowing."
"You didn't see the boat?"
"No, signora. It carries no light."
He looked at her mysteriously.
"/It may be the contrabbandieri/."
"Smugglers?"
"Yes."
He turned his head over his shoulder and whistled, in a peculiar way.
There was no reply. Then he bent down over the gunwale of the boat till
his ear nearly touched the water, and listened.
"The boat has stopped. It must be near us."
His whole body seemed quivering with attentive life, like a terrier's
when it stands to be unchained.
"Might it not be a fisherman?" asked Lady Holme.
He shook his head.
"This is not the hour."
"Some tourists, perhaps, making an excursion?"
"It is too far. They never come here at night."
His eyes stared, his attitude was so intensely alert and his manner so
mysterious that, despite her desperate preoccupation, Lady Holme found
herself distracted for a moment. Her mind was detached from herself, and
fixed upon this hidden boat and its occupant or occupants.
"You think it is /contrabbandieri/?" she whispered. He nodded.
"I have been one, signora."
"You!"
"Yes, when I was a boy, in the winter.
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