Sky and water grew black and a long shudder ran through the
boat. For a moment she hung back, staggering under a white fury of
blows; then the gale seemed to lift and swing her about and she shot
forward through a long tunnel of glistening blackness, bows on for
Peschiera.
"The enemy's roof!" thought Odo. He reached for Fulvia's hand and found
it in the darkness. The rain was driving against them now and he drew
her close and wrapped his cloak about her. She lay still, without a
tremor, as though in that shelter no fears could reach her. The night
roared about them and the waters seemed to divide beneath their keel.
Through the tumult Odo shouted to the boatmen to try to make some
harbour north of Peschiera. They shouted back that they must go where
the wind willed and bless the saints if they made any harbour at all;
and Odo saw that Peschiera was their destiny.
It was past midnight when they set foot on shore. The rain still fell in
torrents and they could hardly grope their way up the steps of the
landing-stage. Odo's first concern was to avoid the inn; but the
boatmen, exhausted by their efforts and impatient to be under shelter,
could not be bribed to seek out at that hour another lodging for the
travellers. Odo dared not expose Fulvia longer to the storm, and
reluctantly they turned toward the inn, trusting that at that hour their
coming would attract little notice.
A travelling-carriage stood in the courtyard, and somewhat to Odo's
surprise the landlord was still afoot.
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