The Beautiful Wretch - William Black (freda ebook reader .TXT) 📗

for a time-table; and eventually made out that by taking the night train somewhere or other, he could remain at Bellagio over the next day. And he was rewarded, so far as the weather went. The morning was quite Como-like--fair and blue and calm; the sun shining on the far wooded hills, and on the sparkling little villages at their foot; the green lake still running high, with here and there a white tip breaking; a blaze of sunlight on the gardens below--on the green acacia-branches and the masses of scarlet salvia--and on the white hot terraces where the lizards lay basking.

It was a long, idle, delicious day; and somehow he contrived to be near Nan most of the time. He was always anxious to know what she thought about this or about that; he directed her attention to various things; he sometimes talked to her about his ship--and about what sailors thought of when they were far from home and friends. They went out on the lake--these four; the hot sun had stilled the water somewhat; reclining in the cushioned stern of the boat, in the shelter of the awning, they could hear the bells on shore faint and distant. Or they walked in that long allee leading from one end of the gardens--the double line of short chestnuts offering cool and pleasant shadow; the water lapping along the stone parapet beside them; and between each two of the stems a framed picture, as it were, of the lake and the velvet-soft slopes beyond. It was all very pretty, they said. It was a trifle common-place, perhaps; there were a good many hotels and little excursion steamers about; and perhaps here and there a suggestion of the toy-shop. But it was pretty. Indeed, towards sunset, it was very nearly becoming something more. Then the colours in the skies deepened; in the shadows below the villages were lost altogether; and the mountains, growing more and more sombre under the rich gold above began to be almost fine. One half forgot the Cockneyism and familiarity of the place, and for a moment had a glimpse of the true loneliness and solemnity of the hills.

As the dusk fell they began to bethink themselves of what was before them.

'It would have been a bad thing for the musicians from La Scala if they had attempted to go out last evening,' Miss Beresford remarked.

'It will be a bad thing for us,' said Edith, who was the musical one, 'if we attempt to go on board their steamer this evening. It will be far too loud. You should never be too near. And, especially where there is water, music sounds so well at some distance.'

'You can hire a small boat, then,' said Nan. 'They are all putting up their Chinese lanterns.'

'Oh, I wouldn't advise that,' said Frank King, quickly. 'I don't think it would be safe.'

'A sailor afraid of boats!' said Miss Edith with a laugh.

'Oh, as for that,' said Nan, warmly, 'every one knows that it's those who are most ignorant of boats who are most reckless in them. It's very easy to be brave if you're stupidly ignorant. I know papa used to say it was always the most experienced sportsman who took most care about unloading his gun on going into a house. Why, if you're walking along the pier, and see some young fools standing up in a boat and rocking it until the gunwale touches the water, you may be sure they're haberdashers down from the borough for a day, who have never been in a boat before.'

In the dusk they could not see that Frank King's face flushed with pleasure at this warm defence; but he only said quietly,

'You see there will be ten or twelve steamers churning about in the dark; and if some careless boatman were to make a mistake--or lose his head--you might be under the paddles in a second. I think you should either get on board or stay ashore; and I should say you were as well off here as anywhere. You will see the procession on the lake very well; and even if they should halt over there at Cadenabbia for the music, we could hear it here excellently.'

'It is very good advice, Edith,' said Miss Beresford, seriously. 'I don't at all like small boats. And there goes the first dinner-bell; so let's make haste.'

At dinner Frank King did not say much; he seemed to be thinking of his departure on the morrow. Once, however, when they happened to be talking about Brighton, he looked across the table to Nan, and said,

'Oh, by the way, what was the name of the woman you told me about--whom you met on the downs?'

'Singing Sal,' answered Nan, with composure.

'I shall ask about her when I get to Portsmouth,' he said.

'She is seldom in the big towns; she prefers tramping by herself along the country roads.'

'Is this another of Nan's _protegees_?' asked Miss Beresford. 'She knows the most extraordinary people. She is like the children when they are sent down to the beach when the tide is low; they are always most delighted with the monstrous and hideous things they can pick up.'

'You must have seen Singing Sal,' said Nan quietly. 'And she is neither monstrous nor hideous. She is very well dressed, and she sings with a great deal of feeling.'

'Perhaps she will come and have afternoon tea with us?' said Edith, with a sarcastic air.

'I don't think she would find it interesting enough,' Nan answered, calmly.

When, after dinner, they went out on to the balcony above the garden, they found that the wonders of the night had already begun. Far on the other side of the lake the houses of Cadenabbia were all ablaze with millions of small gold points, the yellow glow from which glimmered down on the black water. Then in the garden here, there were rows upon rows of Chinese lanterns, of all colours, just moving in the almost imperceptible breeze; while along the shore, the villas had their frontage-walls decorated with brilliant lines of illuminated cups, each a crimson, or white, or emerald star. Moreover, at the steps of the terrace below, there was a great bustle of boats; and each boat had its pink paper lantern glowing like a huge firefly in the darkness; and there was a confusion of chaffering and calling with brightly dressed figures descending by the light of torches, and disappearing into the unknown. Then these boats began to move away--with their glow-worm lanterns swaying in the black night. The hotel seemed almost deserted. There was silence along the shores.

By and by, at a great distance, they beheld a wonderful thing come slowly into view--far away in the open space of darkness that they knew to be the lake. It was at first only a glow of crimson; but as it came nearer, this glow separated into points, each point a ruby-coloured shaft of fire, and they saw that this must be a steamer illuminated by red lamps. And then another steamer, and another, came sailing up, with different colours gleaming; until one, far higher than the others--a great mass of glittering gold--appeared in the midst of them, and round this all the fleet of small boats, that were, of course, only distinguishable by their parti-coloured lanterns, seemed to gather.

'That is the steamer that has the musicians, clearly,' said Frank King.

'Yes; but I don't hear any music,' answered Edith, in a voice that seemed rather ominous.

They sat and waited. The last of the guests had got into the small boats and gone away; they were left alone in front of the big hotel. The moon was rising behind the hills in the south, and already the surface of the lake was beginning to declare itself--a dull blue-black.

'I cannot hear the least sound; is it possible they can be playing?' said Edith, disappointedly.

It was a beautiful spectacle, at all events, even if there were no sound accompanying it. For now the moon had risen clear, and there was a pale soft light all along the northern hills, and just enough radiance lying over the bosom of the lake to show the darkness of the hulls of the distant steamers. And then, as they watched, some order seemed to grow out of that confusion of coloured lights; the high golden mass drew away; and then the others followed, until the long undulating line seemed like some splendid meteor in the night. There was no sound. Cadenabbia, with all its yellow fire, was as clearly deserted as this Bellagio here, with all its paper lanterns and coloured cups. The procession had slowly departed. The _Serenata_ was taking place somewhere else. The gardens of this hotel were silent but for the occasional voices of Frank King and his companions.

Well, they laughed away their disappointment; and chatted pleasantly, and enjoyed the beautiful night, until Miss Beresford thought it was time for them to go indoors.

'But where's Nan?' she said. 'That girl is never to be found.'

'I think I can find her,' said Frank King, rising hastily. He had been regarding for some time back that long allee between the chestnuts, and a dark figure there that was slowly pacing up and down, occasionally crossing the patches of moonlight. When he had got about half-way along, he found Nan leaning with her elbows on the parapet, and looking out on the moonlit lake.

'Oh, Miss Anne,' he said, 'your sister wants you to come indoors.'

'All right,' she said cheerfully, raising herself and preparing to go.

'But I want to say a word to you,' he said hurriedly. 'I have been trying for an opportunity these two days. I hope you won't think it strange or premature or impertinent----'

'Oh no,' said Nan, with a sudden fear of she knew not what; 'but let us go indoors.'

'No, here, now,' he pleaded. 'Only one moment. I know we are young; perhaps I should not ask you to pledge yourself, but all I ask for is to be allowed to hope. Surely you understand. Nan, will you be my wife--some day?'

He would have taken her hand; but she withdrew quickly, and said with a sort of gasp--

'Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea. It must be my fault, I am sure; but I did not know--I was not thinking of such a thing for a moment----'

'But you will give me leave to hope?' he said. 'I mean some day--not now.'

'Oh no, no!' she said with an earnestness that was almost piteous. 'If I have made a mistake before, this must be clear now. Oh, don't think of such a thing. It never could be--never, never. I am very sorry if I have pained you; but--but you don't know anything about me; and you will soon forget, for we are both far too young--at least I am--to think of such things; and--and I am very, very sorry.'

'But do you mean that I am never to think of it again, even as a hope?' he said, slowly.

'Oh, I do mean that--I do! If there has been a mistake, let it be clear now. Can I