"But not un sogno sinistro, eccellenza? that would be a bad omen indeed, at this hour of the night, and by moonlight too," answered Paolo, eagerly.
"It was probably the sleeping with the moon shining full upon my face which caused me to dream," he replied, without saying whether the dream was a sinister one or not. Paolo did not seem to be satisfied with this answer, and said gravely, "Oh eccellenza, it is very unlucky!... May you be preserved from all evil!"
Mr. Earnscliffe smiled, but he would have preferred that Paolo had dwelt less upon his fears about the dream; for although not generally superstitious, he could not shake off the gloomy impression which it left upon him. All his bright visions had vanished, and in their place came painful reminiscences of poor Mary Elton. He would have given much to have been able to feel sure that she would forget him and be happy again; but something whispered to him that it would not be so—that, whether in good or evil, she was not one likely to change, and she had given proof of how strong a woman's feelings can be. Perhaps, also, there was mixed up in his pity for her a latent, almost a superstitious dread of her as he had seen her in his dream. Then he thought of Anina—of how he was to tell her that he intended to leave Capri immediately, and the thought of the child's grief made him shrink from facing it; yet he felt that it would be cruel in him to go away without telling her: no, that could not be—and then it was that he felt how fond he had become of the beautiful child.
Beauty in women had naturally a most powerful attraction for him, yet for years he had been shut out from the enjoyment of it by his blighting belief in their falseness. This, in his estimation, overclouded all their loveliness. "Beauty in a woman," he would say, "being so overclouded, is less worthy of admiration in her than in a statue; in this, at least, there is no deception—we find here all that we can expect, namely, regularity of outline and one fixed expression." But in Anina he saw living beauty combined with perfect artlessness, and it won his heart at once; then, too, her ardent affection for himself and desire to be with him had its own charm for the lonely rich man. She had been quite a companion to him in his wanderings about the island; he had taught her to read, and with a feeling of sadness he recalled the pretty lighting-up of her expressive face whenever he praised her; and again, how charmingly penitent she used to look when he chid her for inattention. And he had to tell her that there must be an end to all this, and doubted that even the beautiful present which he was going to give her would console her for his departure. He felt that her grief would probably not be of very long duration, but he feared that it would be sharp and violent, and it pained him to think that he was to be the cause of it. All this brought him to the conclusion that the sooner the leave-taking was over the better; so he resolved to go the next day.
It was very late when they touched Capri. As Mr. Earnscliffe wished Paolo good-night, he desired him to come to the hotel in the morning at six, and to bring Anina with him.
But two hours remained before sunrise, yet even for that short time Mr. Earnscliffe could not rest; his head was tossing about upon his pillow until about four, when he got up—no unusual hour in Italy during the fine season—and ordering his coffee at half-past five, he went out and bathed.
Soon after his return, and by the time he had finished his light breakfast, Paolo and Anina had arrived—he had learned from his master that anti-Italian virtue, punctuality.
Mr. Earnscliffe told Paolo that he wanted to speak with him; as the child left the room, he said, "Paolo, I asked you to come to me this morning in order to tell you that I mean to give you my boat——"
Paolo looked delighted and exclaimed, "Sua eccellenza, è troppo buono."