And now, as I sit here in listless idleness, that
other fellow is hastening across Egypt, or
ploughing his way through the Red Sea, to come
and marry her! I ask you, D., what amount
of philosophy is required to bear up under
this?

"I conclude I shall leave this some time next
week—not to come near England, though—for I
foresee that it will soon be out where, now, and
with whom I have been spending my holidays.
Fifty fellows must suspect, and some half-dozen
must know all about it. America, I take it,
must be my ground—as well there as anywhere
else—but I can't endure a plan, so enough of
this. Don't write to me till you hear again, for
I shall leave this certainly, though where for, not
so certain.

"What a deal of trouble and uncertainty that
girl might spare me if she'd only consent to say
' Yes.' If I see her alone this evening, I half
think I shall ask her.

"Farewell for a while, and believe me,
"Yours ever,

"HARRY C.

"P.S. Nine o'clock, evening. Came down to
dinner looking exceedingly pretty, and dressed
to perfection. All spite and malice, I'm certain.
Asked me to take her out to sail to-morrow.
We are to go off on an exploring expedition to
an island—' que sais je?'

"The old Grainger looks on me with aunt-like
eyes. She has seen a bracelet of carbuncles in
dull gold, the like of which Loyd could not give
her were he to sell justice for twenty years to
come. I have hinted that I mean them for my
mother-in-law whenever I marry, and she
understands that the parentage admits of a
representative. All this is very ignoble on my part;
but if I knew of anything meaner that would
ensure me success, I'd do it also.

"What a stunning vendetta on this girl, if
she were at last to consent, to find out whom
she had married, and what. Think of the winter
nights' tales, of the charges that hang over me,
and their penalties. Imagine the Hue and Cry
as light reading for the honeymoon!"

He added one line on the envelope, to say he
would write again on the morrow; but this
promise he did not keep.

CHAPTER XXIII. A STORM.

THE boat excursion mentioned in Calvert's
letter was not the only pleasure-project of that
day. It was settled that Mr. Stockwell should
come out and give Milly a lesson in photography,
in which, under Loyd's former guidance, she had
already made some progress. He was also to give
Miss Grainier some flower-seeds of a very rare
kind, of which he was carrying a store to the
Pasha of Egypt, and which required some peculiar
skill in the sowing. They were to dine, too, at a
little rustic house beside the lake; and, in fact,
the day was to be one of festivity and enjoyment.

The morning broke splendidly; and though a
few clouds lingered about the Alpine valleys,
the sky over the lake was cloudless, and the
water was streaked and marbled with those
parti-coloured lines which Italian lakes wear in the
hot days of midsummer. It was one of those
autumnal mornings in which the mellow colouring
of the mature season blends with the soft air
and gentle breath of spring, and all the features
of landscape are displayed in their fullest beauty.
Calvert and Florence were to visit the Isola de
San Giulio, and bring back great clusters of the
flowers of the " San Guiseppe" trees, to deck
the dinner-table. They were also to go on as
far as Pella for ice or snow, to cool their wine,
the voyage being, as Calvert said, a blending of
the picturesque with the profitable.

Before breakfast was over the sky grew slightly
overcast, and a large mass of dark cloud stood
motionless over the summit of Monterone.

"What will the weather do, Carlo?" asked
Calvert of the old boatman of the villa, as he
came to say that all was in readiness.

"Who knows, 'cellenza?" said he, with a
native shrug of the shoulders. " Monterone is a
big traitor of a mountain, and there's no
believing him. If that cloud scatters, the day
will be fine; if the wind brings down fresh
clouds from the Alps, it will come on a
' burrasca.'"

"Always a burrasca; how I am sick of your
burrasca," said he, contemptuously. "If you
were only once in your life to see a real storm,
how you'd despise those petty jobbles, in which
rain and sleet play the loudest part."

"What does he say of the weather?" asked
Florence, who saw that Calvert had walked on
to a little point with the old man, to take a
freer view of the lake.

"He says, that if it neither blows hard nor
rains, it will probably be fine. Just what he
has told us every day since I came here."

"What about this fine trout that you spoke
of, Carlo?"

"It is at Gozzano, 'cellenza; we can take it
as we go by."

"But we are going exactly in the opposite
direction, my worthy friend; we are going to
the island, and to Pella."

"That is different," said the old man, with
another shrug of the shoulders.

"Didn't you hear thunder? I'm sure I did,"
cried Miss Grainger.

"Up yonder it's always growling," said Calvert,
pointing towards the Simplon. " It is
the first welcome travellers get when they pass
the summit."

"Have you spoken to him, Milly, about Mr.
Stockwell? "Will he take him up at Orta, and
land him here?" asked Miss Grainger, in a
whisper.

"No, aunt; he hates Stockwell, he says.
Carlo can take the blue boat and fetch him.
They don't want Carlo, it seems."

"And are you going without a boatman,
Florry?" asked her aunt.

"Of course we are. Two are quite cargo
enough in that small skiff, and I trust I
am as skilful a pilot as any Ortese fisherman,"
broke in Calvert.