Yet not much of a love-speech.
Ruggiero's had been better, as a little true steel is better than much
iron at certain moments in life. It succeeded very well at the moment,
but its ultimate success would have been surer if it had reached no ears
but Beatrice's. Neither she nor San Miniato were aware that a few feet
below them a man was lying on his back, with white face and clenched
hands, staring at the pale moonlit sky above him, and listening in stony
despair to every word that was spoken.
The sight would have disturbed them, had they seen it, though they both
were fearless by nature and not easily startled. Had Beatrice seen
Ruggiero at that moment, she would have learned once and for ever the
difference between real passion and its counterfeit. But Ruggiero knew
where he was and had no intention of betraying himself by voice or
movement. He suffered almost all that a man can suffer by the heart
alone, but he was strong and could bear torture.
The hardest of all was that he understood the real truth, partly by
instinct and partly through what he knew of his master. Those rough
southern sailors sometimes have a wonderful keenness in discovering the
meaning of their masters' doings.
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