Part 30 (2/2)

As for Marcantonio, he tossed upon his bed and dreamed broken dreams that woke him again and again with a sudden start; he dreamed he had found his man, and the excitement of the moment waked him. Then he dreamed he was quarrelling with his sister, and was suddenly wide awake at the sound of her reproachful voice. He was talking to Leonora, pleading with her, and using all his eloquence to win her back, and she laughed scornfully at him--and that waked him too.

But at last he slept soundly for an hour or two, just before daybreak, and awoke feeling tired, but more restful. The dawn came stealing through the windows, and he got up and moved about a little, with a sensation of enjoyment in the cool, fresh air.

He looked into the gla.s.s, and started at his own face that he saw reflected there. It seemed like a hideous mask of himself, all drawn and distorted and pale. But had he looked at himself on the previous day he might have seen an improvement now. He was deadly pale, but no longer yellow, and his eyes had lost the redness which had frightened his sister. He looked ill, but not crazy, and he felt that he could trust himself to-day not to say the things he had said yesterday.

He would go to Turin of course--that was settled--unless Diana were too tired; but he would not have admitted such a condition when he went to bed the night before.

He rang the bell and ordered his things to be got ready. The old servant, who had slept on a sofa outside, looked haggard and unshaved, and stared suspiciously as he heard the order. But he did not dare to make any remarks, as he would have done if his master had been well.

Marcantonio had been ill once before, when he was a boy of fifteen, and had on that occasion, when he was delirious, shown a remarkable tendency to throw everything within reach at the people about him when he did not instantly get what he wanted. The old man remembered the fact, and was silently obedient, for the Signor Marchese looked as though he were ill again. The mildest people are often the most furious in the delirium of a fever.

CHAPTER XX.

After all, Julius was not quite certain whether Leonora had fainted, or was asleep. She had been comfortably settled in the boat at the first, and a quarter of an hour had pa.s.sed in hoisting and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the sails, and bringing the craft before the wind. She might have fallen asleep from sheer fatigue and weariness,--Julius could not tell. He bent far down over the stern, and fetched up a few drops of water from the sea with one hand, while the other supported Leonora's drooping head,--the tiller could take care of itself for a moment,--and he sprinkled her face softly and watched her; once more--and she opened her eyes as from a pleasant dream, and looking up to his she smiled, and closed them again. He bent down and spoke almost in a whisper.

”Darling, are you quite comfortable?” She moved her head in a.s.sent, the quiet smile still playing on her lips. Then she lay quite still for a while, and listened to the rush of the water, and the occasional dull, wooden sound as the rudder moved a little on its hinges. The boat rolled softly from side to side, in a long, easy motion and glided swiftly down the bay.

Presently Leonora moved, sat up, and looked about her, at the sea, and the land, and the fiery-crested mountain.

”Where are we going, Julius?” she asked, with a smile at the question.

”I am sure I don't know,” said he, laughing. ”There are lots of places we can go to. Ischia, Capri,--Naples if you like. Select, dearest, there is a good boat between us and the water, and we have the world before us.”

”But we must go somewhere where we can get some breakfast,” said she gravely. ”And where I can buy things,” she added, laughing again. ”Do you know that this is all I have got in the world to wear?”

”That is serious indeed,” said Julius. ”There are provisions and things to drink in the boat, but there is no millinery. We had better go to Naples.”

”I think I could manage for one day,” said Leonora, doubtfully. ”I have brought heaps of handkerchiefs, and hairpins, and cologne water,--they are all in the bag.”

”Handkerchiefs and hairpins!” repeated Julius, and laughed at the idea.

A woman leaves her husband, who wors.h.i.+ps her, scatters trouble and tears and madness broadcast, and she thinks of handkerchiefs and hairpins, and remembers where she has put them.

”Yes,” said Leonora, ”they will be very useful. We could go to Ischia first, and to Naples to-morrow night,--or rather to-night, I should say. That is,--if you think”--

”What, dear?” asked Julius.

”If you think it is quite--far enough.”

”We cannot go very far. It is six or seven hours from here to Ischia, if the wind holds. We should be there between six and seven o'clock.”

”I think that would be best,” said Leonora in a tone of decision. She was silent for a moment. Presently she looked up into Batis...o...b..'s face, and her own was white and beautiful in the moonlight. ”I wonder,” she said, ”whether any one heard that noise the dogs made? Oh, the poor, poor kitten,--it makes me quite cry to think of her!”

”Poor thing!” said Julius sympathetically. ”But its ghost will not haunt the gardens, for it was amply avenged.”

”Yes indeed!” said Leonora. ”Oh, Julius, you are so strong,--I like you.”

”Thanks,” said Julius, ”you are awfully good to like me.” He laughed, but his hand caressed her hair tenderly, and Leonora was happy.

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