hilosophical and poetical mourners hardly suffered much more than
Guy did during those months, and for long after too, though he was
always quite silent on the subject, and would speak cheerfully on others
now and then, and though, from the day that he parted with Constance to
that of his own death, his eyes were as dry as the skies over the Delta.
He used to lie for hours in that state of utter listlessness which
gives a reality to the sad old Eastern proverb, "Man is better sitting
than standing, lying down than sitting, dead than lying down."

With all this, however, his health improved every day. After the wild
life he had led lately, the perfect rest and the clear pure air
refreshed him marvelously. It had the effect of coming out of a room
heated and laden with smoke into the cool summer morning. His strength,
too, had returned almost completely. I found this out at Baiae.

The guardian of the _Cento Camerelle_, a big _lazzarone_, became
inordinately abusive. My impression is that he had received about
fifteen times his due; but, seeing our yacht in the offing, he conceived
the idea that we were princes in our own country, and ought to be robbed
in his proportionally. Guy's eyes began to gleam at last, and he made a
step toward the offender. I thought he was going to be heavily visited;
but Livingstone only lifted him by the throat and held him suspended
against the wall, as you may see the children in those parts pin the
lizards in a forked stick. Then he let him drop, unhurt, but green with
terror. A year ago, a straightforward blow from the shoulder would have
settled the business in a shorter time, and worked a strange alteration
in good Giuseppe's handsome sunburnt face. But the old hardness of heart
was wearing away. I had another proof of this some days later.

We were dropping down out of the Bay of Naples. Though we weighed anchor
in early morning, it was past noon before we cleared the Bocca di Capri,
for there was hardly wind enough to give the _Petrel_ steerage-way. The
smoke from our long Turkish pipes mounted almost straight upward, and
lingered over our heads in thin blue curls; yet the sullen, discontented
heave and roll in the water were growing heavier every hour. The black
tufa cliffs crested with shattered masonry--the foundations of the sty
where the Boar of Capreae wallowed--were just on our starboard quarter,
when Riddell, the master, came up to Livingstone. "I think we'd better
make all sn