As the sun sank, fear once more beset him. This house lay open on
all sides, its only protection being a couple of dogs, which prowled
at large. He thought with dread of the possibility of a brigand
attack. But when night had fallen, when all lights except his own
were extinguished, when no sound struck against the deep monotone of
the cataracts, this emotion yielded before another, which no less
harassed his mind. In the hall, in the corridors, in the
garden-court, he paced ceaselessly, at times walking in utter
darkness, for not yet had the moon risen. When at length its rays
fell upon the pillars of the upper gallery where Veranilda slept, he
stood looking towards her chamber, and turned away at length with a
wild gesture, like that of a demoniac in torment.
The man was torn between spiritual fervour and passions of the
flesh. With his aspiration to saintliness blended that love of his
friend which was the purest affection he had known in all the years
of manhood; yet this very love became, through evil thoughts, an
instrument against him, being sullied, poisoned by the basest spirit
of jealousy, until it seemed all but to have turned to hate.
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