Countess Mont d’Oro was a practical, sensible woman. Instead of expressing sympathy for the young man in his almost uncontrollable grief, she used common sense.
“I do not think you have any right to blame yourself in any way for this sad affair. You were not, even in the remotest degree, the cause of it. If she had been engaged to you and had received my letter, she would have made the journey in just the same way, but instead of your receiving the news of it from her guardian’s son, she would, no doubt, have written to you herself and would have told you that she was going to make the trip on the fishing schooner so that her guardian could not follow her, for you remember that young Mr. Glynne says in his letter that her guardian had refused his permission for her to visit me. Now, we must hope for the best. Miss Renville’s guardian has the first report of the accident. One was saved and he, naturally, thinks that the others were lost. They may have been picked up by some vessel and we may hear from them within a few days.”
“You give me hope,” said Jack, “but I must confess that it is only a faint one. Dying men clutch at straws, they say, and I will grasp what you offer me.”
“Come and see me every day,” said the Countess. “I am a widow with one son about your age. I must confess that he is not a very affectionate or dutiful young man so far as his mother is concerned. Some sons are that way.”
“Yes, a good many are that way,” said Jack, “when they are young, but many of them reform when they grow older, and make up by their devotion for their past neglect.”
“I see,” said the Countess, “you are holding out a straw to me. I hope yours will prove a more substantial one than mine is likely to be.”
Jack called on the Countess every day. On one of his visits the Countess told him that her son was betrothed to a beautiful young girl who lived at Alfieri in Corsica. “That is my present home,” she added. “I was born in Italy; my husband, the late Count, was a native of Corsica, though of Italian ancestry.”
A week passed and still no tidings. “I can bear this no longer,” said Jack to the Countess. “My hope has died out. I know that the worst has happened and the dream of my life is gone forever. I had intended to stop in London and ask the Admiralty not to assign me to a post in the Navy, but I learn there are rumours of a coming war. Russia’s aggressions in the Crimea are resented not only by this country, but by my own, and I heard to-day that the King of Sardinia is disposed to form a triple alliance against the Muscovite. I shall go back to London to-morrow and request that I be assigned at once to some position of duty.”
“I would advise you not to do it,” said the Countess.
“You have been very kind to me,” said Jack. “Please make your advice more explicit. What do you think it best for me to do?”