Ducks could best be hunted after night. He would
show him how it was done.
It was almost dark, when they set off in a small rowboat for Duck
Island, and twenty minutes later Fernando was on his way to his farewell
visit to Morgianna.
The sun had set, but it was not yet dark when Fernando reached the broad
piazza. He asked himself if she would be at home or away. He had said
nothing of his coming. This visit was wholly on his own account. He had
walked up and down the piazza two or three times, when through the open
door he caught the flutter of a garment on the stairway. It was
Morgianna's--to whom else could it belong? No dress but hers had such a
flow as that. He gathered up courage and followed it into the hallway.
His darkening the door, into which the sombre shadows of twilight were
already creeping, caused her to look around. "Oh that face! If it hadn't
been for that," thought Fernando, "I could never have faced the Briton.
She is twenty times handsomer than ever. She might marry a Lord!"
He didn't say this. He only thought it--perhaps looked it also.
Morgianna was glad to see him and was _so_ sorry her father was away
from home. Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account.
Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was
nearly dark. At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the
hall, which was tolerably light from the open door.
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