Lady Olive was content to do anything, so I handed her into the carriage, and we started homewards, with the fresh breeze from the Mediterranean blowing in our faces, and the glorious prospect of Palermo at the edge of the most luxurious plain of Southern Europe before our eyes.
In about an hour we reached the villa, and found my father and Mr. Leigh, with a pile of books before them, still eagerly conversing. I had promised Lady Olive in a weak moment to return and dine with them, but when Lord Parkhurst cordially extended the invitation to my father, I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard him, after a moment's indecision, accept. But he did so, and after a few very minutes' delay we all set out together for Palermo.
That was a very pleasant day—so pleasant that I felt almost inclined to echo Lady Olive's words whispered to me as we lounged about on the Marina, pretending to listen to the band, and call it one of the happiest of my life. I had never seen my father so thoroughly interested as he was with Mr. Leigh, and as we rode home together in the moonlight I asked him about it.
"I never met a man to whom I took such a liking, or in whom I was more interested," my father declared. "He has lived for a long time amongst the Arabs, and seems to have been much impressed by them. He is a disciple of a very curious Calvinistic doctrine of fatalism, which has a good deal of resemblance to the creed of the nomad Arabs. I don't think it ever struck him till I pointed it out."
"He is going back to Egypt, isn't he?" I asked.
"He is. There is a storm brewing there, and he is going to try and see what he can do to prevent mischief. He has asked me to go with him, Hugh," my father added, quietly.
"But you won't go?" I cried.
He looked at me with one of his old sweet smiles, which it filled me with joy to see again, and he rested his arm for a moment on my shoulder.
"Hugh, I have promised to think it over. Before I decide, we will have a talk about it; but not to-night."