"Yes; it is most lovely," she replied, rising, and going towards the walk spoken of. He followed her, and they leaned over the balustrade as he named to her the different buildings by which they were surrounded, and which she, being less familiar with Venice than he was, failed to recognise, shrouded as they now were in the dark hues of night.
He ceased speaking, and for a few moments they remained silent, until Flora said, "Now, Mr. Earnscliffe, tell me about Capri and your favourite boatman there."
They walked up and down, as he described to her Capri, its rocky heights, its views, and the celebrated Blue Grotto. Then he told her Anina's story. He passed lightly over the episode with Mr. Elliot in the morning, but detailed fully the good doctor's history after dinner. He dwelt upon the picture of the Englishman sitting on the rocks sketching, and the young wife leaning her little hands on his shoulders, and looking down so fondly at him, that even the old man envied him. Mr. Earnscliffe stopped, and Flora felt that he was now looking down on her; she did not dare to believe that it was "fondly;" nevertheless, there crept over her a delicious sensation of happiness. It was not a picture that a girl could well contemplate unmoved, when held up to her by the man whom she loved, as she walked by his side in the starlight; and now, if never before, Flora admitted to herself that she did love Mr. Earnscliffe.
After a momentary pause he continued, describing Anina's asking for the Madonna, her delight with the statue, then her passionate grief at his departure. Suddenly he changed the subject, and said, "I have not told you that I saw your friends, the Eltons, at Naples; indeed, I dined with them the day before I left Capri. I also saw another friend of yours at Naples—Mr. Lyne!"
How grateful she felt to the night whose darkness hid the bright blush which this name called up; and she wondered if Mr. Earnscliffe could have heard that she had refused him, and if that could in any way be the cause of the great change in his manner to her. His words on the night of his arrival, about the individual injustice to her of which he had been guilty, seemed to imply something of the kind. Ah! if this were the case, she had, indeed, cause to hope! She found it somewhat difficult to steady her voice, as she answered, "Indeed! And how are the Eltons?"
"Quite well, I believe," he rejoined hurriedly; for at that moment there recurred to him the memory of Mary Elton, as she stood before him that evening in the shrubbery, with flashing eyes, and also as she appeared to him afterwards in his dream; and he quite shuddered.
"Are you cold, Mr. Earnscliffe?" asked Flora, in a tone of surprise.
"No. It was one of those unaccountable shudders which sometimes come over one.... But I am keeping you and Mrs. Adair up; it must be nearly ten, and of course you would like to go to bed early to-night. I will go and wish Mrs. Adair good-night."
He left her; and again she leaned over the balustrade, and thought that going to bed was the last thing in the world that she would like to do. His voice, sounding close beside her, startled her, as he said, "Good-bye, Miss Adair! Will you believe it? it is half-past ten. How unconscionably I have kept you up."
"No, indeed, you have not. It is my last night in Venice, and I would not have had it shortened for anything.... Good-bye."