How John Lenox tried to kill time during the following two months, and
how time retaliated during the process, it is needless to set forth. It
may not, however, be wholly irrelevant to note that his cough had
gradually disappeared, and that his appetite had become good enough to
carry him through the average table d'hôte dinner. On the morning after
his arrival at Naples he found a cable dispatch at the office of Cook &
Son, as follows: "Sixty cash, forty stock. Stock good. Harum."
"God bless the dear old boy!" said John fervently. The Pennsylvania
property was sold at last; and if "stock good" was true, the dispatch
informed him that he was, if not a rich man for modern days, still, as
David would have put it, "wuth consid'able." No man, I take it, is very
likely to receive such a piece of news without satisfaction; but if our
friend's first sensation was one of gratification, the thought which
followed had a drop of bitterness in it. "If I could only have had it
before!" he said to himself; and indeed many of the disappointments of
life, if not the greater part, come because events are unpunctual. They
have a way of arriving sometimes too early, or worse, too late.
Another circumstance detracted from his satisfaction: a note he
expected did not appear among the other communications waiting him at
the bankers, and his mind was occupied for the while with various
conjectures as to the reason, none of which was satisfactory. Perhaps
she had changed her mind. Perhaps--a score of things! Well, there was
nothing for it but to be as patient as possible and await events. He
remembered that she had said she was to visit some friends by the name
of Hartleigh, and she had told him the name of their villa, but for the
moment he did not remember it. In any case he did not know the
Hartleighs, and if she had changed her mind--as was possibly indicated
by the omission to send him word--well----! He shrugged his shoulders,
mechanically lighted a cigarette, and strolled down and out of the
Piazza Martiri and across to the Largo della Vittoria. He had a
half-formed idea of walking back through the Villa Nazionale, spending
an hour at the Aquarium, and then to his hotel for luncheon. It occurred
to him at the moment that there was a steamer from Genoa on the Monday
following, that he was tired of wandering about aimlessly and alone, and
that there was really no reason why he should not take the said steamer
and go home. Occupied with these reflections, he absently observed, just
opposite to him across the way, a pair of large bay horses in front of a
handsome landau. A coachman in livery was on the box, and a small
footman, very much coated and silk-hatted, was standing about; and, as
he looked, two ladies came out of the arched entrance to the court of
the building before which the equipage was halted, and the small footman
sprang to the carriage door.
One of the ladies was a stranger to him, but the other was Mrs. William
Ruggles; and John, seeing that he had been recognized, at once crossed
over to the carriage; and presently, having accepted an invitation to
breakfast, found himself sitting opposite them on his way to the Villa
Violante. The conversation during the drive up to the Vomero need not be
detailed. Mrs. Hartleigh arrived at the opinion that our friend was
rather a dull person. Mrs. Ruggles, as he had found out, was usually
rather taciturn. Neither is it necessary to say very much of the
breakfast, nor of the people assembled.
It appeared that several guests had departed the previous day, and the
people at table consisted only of Mr. and Mrs. Ruggles, Mary, Mr. and
Mrs. Hartleigh and their two daughters, and John, whose conversation was
mostly with his host, and was rather desultory. In fact, there was
during the meal a perceptible air of something like disquietude. Mr.
Ruggles in particular said almost nothing, and wore an appearance of
what seemed like anxiety. Once he turned to his host: "When ought I to
get an answer to that cable, Hartleigh? to-day, do you think?"
"Yes, I should say so without doubt," was the reply, "if it's answered
promptly, and in fact there's plenty of time. Remember that we are about
six hours earlier than New York by the clock, and it's only about seven
in the morning over there."
* * * * *
Coffee was served on the balustraded platform of the flight of marble
steps leading down to the grounds below.
"Mary," said Mrs. Hartleigh, when cigarettes had been offered, "don't
you want to show Mr. Lenox something of La Violante?"
"I shall take you to my favorite place," she said, as they descended the
steps together.
The southern front of the grounds of the Villa Violante is bounded and
upheld by a wall of tufa fifty feet in height and some four hundred feet
long. About midway of its length a semicircular bench of marble, with a
rail, is built out over one of the buttresses. From this point is
visible the whole bay and harbor of Naples, and about one third of the
city lies in sight, five hundred feet below. To the left one sees
Vesuvius and the Sant' Angelo chain, which the eye follows to Sorrento.
Straight out in front stands Capri, and to the right the curve of the
bay, ending at Posilipo. The two, John and his companion, halted near
the bench, and leaned upon the parapet of the wall for a while in
silence. From the streets below rose no rumble of traffic, no sound of
hoof or wheel; but up through three thousand feet of distance came from
here and there the voices of street-venders, the clang of a bell, and
ever and anon the pathetic supplication of a donkey. Absolute quiet
prevailed where they stood, save for these upcoming sounds. The April
sun, deliciously warm, drew a smoky odor from the hedge of box with
which the parapet walk was bordered, in and out of which darted small
green lizards with the quickness of little fishes.
John drew a long breath.
"I don't believe there is another such view in the world," he said. "I
do not wonder that this is your favorite spot."
"Yes," she said, "you should see the grounds--the whole place is
superb--but this is the glory of it all, and I have brought you
straight here because I wanted to see it with you, and this may be the
only opportunity."
"What do you mean?" he asked apprehensively.
"You heard Mr. Ruggles's question about the cable dispatch?" she said.
"Yes."
"Well," she said, "our plans have been very much upset by some things he
has heard from home. We came on from Algiers ten days earlier than we
had intended, and if the reply to Mr. Ruggles's cable is unfavorable, we
are likely to depart for Genoa to-morrow and take the steamer for home
on Monday. The reason why I did not send a note to your bankers," she
added, "was that we came on the same boat that I intended to write by;
and Mr. Hartleigh's man has inquired for you every day at Cook's so that
Mr. Hartleigh might know of your coming and call upon you."
John gave a little exclamation of dismay. Her face was very still as she
gazed out over the sea with half-closed eyes. He caught the scent of the
violets in the bosom of her white dress.
"Let us sit down," she said at last. "I have something I wish to say to
you."
He made no rejoinder as they seated themselves, and during the moment or
two of silence in which she seemed to be meditating how to begin, he sat
bending forward, holding his stick with both hands between his knees,
absently prodding holes in the gravel.
"I think," she began, "that if I did not believe the chances were for
our going to-morrow, I would not say it to-day." John bit his lip and
gave the gravel a more vigorous punch. "But I have felt that I must say
it to you some time before we saw the last of each other, whenever that
time should be."
"Is it anything about what happened on board ship?" he asked in a low
voice.
"Yes," she replied, "it concerns all that took place on board ship, or
nearly all, and I have had many misgivings about it. I am afraid that I
did wrong, and I am afraid, too, that in your secret heart you would
admit it."
"No, never!" he exclaimed. "If there was any wrong done, it was wholly
of my own doing. I was alone to blame. I ought to have remembered that
you were married, and perhaps--yes, I did remember it in a way, but I
could not realize it. I had never seen or heard of your husband, or
heard of your marriage. He was a perfectly unreal person to me, and
you--you seemed only the Mary Blake that I had known, and as I had known
you. I said what I did that night upon an impulse which was as
unpremeditated as it was sudden. I don't see how you were wrong. You
couldn't have foreseen what took place--and----"
"Have you not been sorry for what took place?" she asked, with her eyes
on the ground. "Have you not thought the less of me since?"
He turned and looked at her. There was a little smile upon her lips and
on her downcast eyes.
"No, by Heaven!" he exclaimed desperately, "I have not, and I am not
sorry. Whether I ought to have said what I did or not, it was true, and
I wanted you to know----"
He broke off as she turned to him with a smile and a blush. The smile
was almost a laugh.
"But, John," she said, "I am not Mrs. Edward Ruggles. I am Mary Blake."
* * * * *
The parapet was fifty feet above the terrace. The hedge of box was an
impervious screen.
* * * * *
Well, and then, after a little of that sort of thing, they both began
hurriedly to admire the view again, for some one was coming. But
it was only one of the gardeners, who did not understand
English; and confidence being once more restored, they fell to
discussing--everything.
"Do you think you could live in Homeville, dear?" asked John after a
while.
"I suppose I shall have to, shall I not?" said Mary. "And are you, too,
really happy, John?"
John instantly proved to her that he was. "But it almost makes me
unhappy," he added, "to think how nearly we have missed each other. If I
had only known in the beginning that you were not Mrs. Edward Ruggles!"
Mary laughed joyously. The mistake which a moment before had seemed
almost tragic now appeared delightfully funny.
"The explanation is painfully simple," she answered. "Mrs. Edward
Ruggles--the real one--did expect to come on the Vaterland, whereas I
did not. But the day before the steamer sailed she was summoned to
Andover by the serious illness of her only son, who is at school there.
I took her ticket, got ready overnight--I like to start on these
unpremeditated journeys--and here I am." John put his arm about her to
make sure of this, and kept it there--lest he should forget. "When we
met on the steamer and I saw the error you had made I was tempted--and
yielded--to let you go on uncorrected. But," she added, looking lovingly
up into John's eyes, "I'm glad you found out your mistake at last."