To the American these Sicilian people looked very much alike. They were
all a bit fantastic, and the scene reminded him of a fancy-dress ball
where all the men represented brigands. Many of them were, or seemed to
be, of truculent countenance; some wore piratical ear-rings, others had
shawls wrapped about their heads as if for concealment. Any one of them
might have been a brigand, for all he knew, and he saw how easy it
would be for a handful of evil-intentioned persons to mingle unobserved
with such a throng. Yet his better sense told him that he was silly to
imagine such things. He had allowed old women's tales to upset his
nerves.
A half-hour later, as he was watching the crowd from the loggiato,
Margherita appeared, and he thought for a moment that she too might
feel some vague foreboding, but her first words reassured him.
"My good friend, I missed you," she said, "but I had no chance of
leaving until this moment." Coming close to him, she inquired: "Has
something gone amiss? You have seemed sad all this evening. I do not
know, but I fear your heart is--heavy."