houghts, Mr. Mallard, and speak different
languages."

"But we know a little more of each other than we did. For my part, I
feel it a gain."

During the rest of the drive they scarcely spoke at all; the few
sentences exchanged were mere remarks upon the scenery. Both carriages
drew up at the gate of the villa, where Miriam and Mallard alighted.
Spence, rising, called to the latter.

"Will you accompany Miss Doran the rest of the way?"

"Certainly."

Mallard took his seat in the other carriage; and, as it drove off, he
looked back. Miriam was gazing after them.

Cecily was a little tired, and not much disposed to converse. Her
companion being still less so, they reached the Mergellina without
having broached any subject.

"It has been an unforgettable day," Cecily said, as they parted.

CHAPTER VI

CAPTIVE TRAVELLERS

He had taken leave of the Spences and Mrs. Baske, yet was not sure that
he should go. He had said good-bye to Mrs. Lessingham and to Cecily
herself, yet made no haste to depart. It drew on to evening, and he sat
idly in his room in Casa Rolandi, looking at his traps half packed.
Then of a sudden up he started. "Imbecile! Insensate! I give you
fifteen minutes to be on your way to the station. Miss the next
train--and sink to the level of common men!" Shirts, socks--straps,
locks; adieux, tips--horses, whips! Clatter through the Piazzetta
Mondragone; down at breakneck speed to the Toledo; across the Piazza
del Municipio; a good-bye to the public scriveners sitting at their
little tables by the San Carlo; sharp round the corner, and along by
the Porto Grande with its throng of vessels. All the time he sings a
tune to himself, caught up in the streets of the tuneful city; an air
lilting to the refrain--

"Io ti voglio bene assaje
E tu non pienz' a me!"

Just after nightfall he alighted from the train at Pompeii. Having
stowed away certain impedimenta at the station, he took his
travelling-bag in his hand, broke with small ceremony through porters
and hotel-touts, came forth upon the high-road, and stepped forward
like one to whom the locality is familiar. In a minute or two he was
overtaken by a little lad, who looked up at him and said in an
insinuating voice, "Albergo del Sole, signore?"

"Prendi, bambino," was Mallard's reply, as he handed the bag to him.
"Avanti!"

A divine evening, softly warm, dim-glimmering. The dusty road ran on
between white trunks of plane-trees; when