| PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
 (continued)Leonardo told him that the senora had not risen yet.  The senora
had given into her charge the girls belonging to that Italian
 posadero. She, Leonarda, had put them to bed in her own room. The
 fair girl had cried herself to sleep, but the dark one--the
 bigger--had not closed her eyes yet. She sat up in bed clutching
 the sheets right up under her chin and staring before her like a
 little witch. Leonarda did not approve of the Viola children
 being admitted to the house. She made this feeling clear by the
 indifferent tone in which she inquired whether their mother was
 dead yet. As to the senora, she must be asleep. Ever since she
 had gone into her room after seeing the departure of Dona Antonia
 with her dying father, there had been no sound behind her door.
 
 The doctor, rousing himself out of profound reflection, told her
abruptly to call her mistress at once. He hobbled off to wait for
 Mrs. Gould in the sala. He was very tired, but too excited to sit
 down. In this great drawing-room, now empty, in which his
 withered soul had been refreshed after many arid years and his
 outcast spirit had accepted silently the toleration of many
 side-glances, he wandered haphazard amongst the chairs and tables
 till Mrs. Gould, enveloped in a morning wrapper, came in rapidly.
 
 "You know that I never approved of the silver being sent away,"
the doctor began at once, as a preliminary to the narrative of
 his night's adventures in association with Captain Mitchell, the
 engineer-in-chief, and old Viola, at Sotillo's headquarters. To
 the doctor, with his special conception of this political crisis,
 the removal of the silver had seemed an irrational and ill-omened
 measure. It was as if a general were sending the best part of his
 troops away on the eve of battle upon some recondite pretext. The
 whole lot of ingots might have been concealed somewhere where
 they could have been got at for the purpose of staving off the
 dangers which were menacing the security of the Gould Concession.
 The Administrador had acted as if the immense and powerful
 prosperity of the mine had been founded on methods of probity, on
 the sense of usefulness. And it was nothing of the kind. The
 method followed had been the only one possible. The Gould
 Concession had ransomed its way through all those years. It was a
 nauseous process. He quite understood that Charles Gould had got
 sick of it and had left the old path to back up that hopeless
 attempt at reform. The doctor did not believe in the reform of
 Costaguana. And now the mine was back again in its old path, with
 the disadvantage that henceforth it had to deal not only with the
 greed provoked by its wealth, but with the resentment awakened by
 the attempt to free itself from its bondage to moral corruption.
 That was the penalty of failure. What made him uneasy was that
 Charles Gould seemed to him to have weakened at the decisive
 moment when a frank return to the old methods was the only
 chance. Listening to Decoud's wild scheme had been a weakness.
 
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