“Oh, how much better! and how long will it take them?”
“Two hours, if they 're good rowers; three, or even four, if they 're not.”
“Come in and have a glass of wine,” said she; “and you shall look through the telescope, and tell me how they row, and who are in the boat,—I mean how many are in it.”
“What a fine glass! I can see them as if they were only a cable's length off. There's the Signorino Maso, your brother, at the bow oar; and then there's a sailor, and another sailor; and there's a signore, a large man,—per Bacco, he's the size of three,—at the stroke; and an old man, with white hair, and a cap with gold lace round it, steering; he has bright buttons down his coat.”
“Never mind him. What of the large man,—is he young?”
“He pulls like a young fellow! There now, he has thrown off his coat, and is going at it in earnest! Ah, he's no signore after all.”
“How no signore?” asked she, hastily.
“None but a sailor could row as he does! A man must be bred to it to handle an oar in that fashion.”
She took the glass impatiently from him, and tried to see the boat; but whether it was the unsteadiness of her hand, or that some dimness clouded her eyes, she could not catch the object, and turned away and left the room.
The land-wind freshened, and sent a strong sea against the boat, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the party landed, and, led by Tom, ascended the path to the cottage. At his loud shout of “Lucy,” she came to the door looking very happy indeed, but more agitated than she well liked. “My sister, Colonel Cave,” said Tom, as they came up; “and here's an old acquaintance, Lucy; but he's a major now. Sir Brook is away to England, and sent you all manner of loving messages.”