I did hope that you would hear me
and know that I was about--wishing you would come."

"I always come out in the morning," she replied with sudden demureness.
"Indeed--I wondered where you were. Let us go out, shall we?"

"We might go for a walk," suggested Brook.

"It is too late."

"Just a little walk--down to the town and across the bridge to Atrani,
and back. Couldn't we?"

"Oh, we could, of course. Very well--I've got a hat on, haven't I? All
right. Come along!"

"My people are coming to-day," said Brook, as they passed through the
door. "I've just had a telegram."

"To-day!" exclaimed Clare in surprise, and somewhat disturbed.

"Yes, you know I have been expecting them at any moment. I fancy they
have been knocking about, you know--seeing Paestum and all that. They
are such queer people. They always want to see everything--as though it
mattered!"

"There are only the two? Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone?"

"Yes--that's all." Brook laughed a little as though she had said
something amusing.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Clare, naturally enough.

"Oh, nothing. It's ridiculous--but it sounded funny--unfamiliar, I mean.
My father has fallen a victim to knighthood, that's all. The affliction
came upon him some time ago, and his name is Adam--of all the names in
the world."

"It was the first," observed Clare reassuringly. "It doesn't sound badly
either--Sir Adam. I beg his pardon for calling him 'Mr.'" She laughed in
her turn.

"Oh, he wouldn't mind," said Brook. "He's not at all that sort. Do you
know? I think you'll like him awfully. He's a fine old chap in his way,
though he is a brewer. He's much bigger than I am, but he's rather odd,
you know. Sometimes he'll talk like anything, and sometimes he won't
open his lips. We aren't at all alike in that way. I talk all the time,
I believe--rain or shine. Don't I bore you dreadfully sometimes?"

"No--you never bore me," answered Clare with perfect truth.

"I mean, when I talk as I did yesterday afternoon," said Johnstone with
a shade of irritation.

"Oh, that--yes! Please don't begin again, and spoil our walk!"

But the walk was not destined to be a long one. A narrow, paved footway
leads down from the old monastery to the shore, in zigzag, between low
whitewashed walls, passing at last under some houses which are built
across it on arches.

Just as they came in sight a tall old man emerged from this archway,
walking steadily up the hill. He was tall a