But the voice of the sea was no longer the same in the darkness, where the Countess knelt in silence beside the bed--knelt, her head bowed on her clasped hands, as she had knelt before, but with a mind how different, with what different thoughts! Count Hannibal could see her head but dimly, for the light shed upwards by the spume of the sea fell only on the rafters.

But he knew she was there, and he would fain, for his heart was full, have laid his hand on her hair.
And yet he would not.

He would not, out of pride.

Instead he bit on his harsh beard, and lay looking upward to the rafters, waiting what would come.

He who had held her at his will now lay at hers, and waited.