Now that she was no longer alone, Miss De Bracy was less alarmed; but the tones of the fisherman’s voice, his manner and appearance, surprised her, as by the strong light of a full moon she gazed at him.
He was a tall, handsome man, much fairer than the generality of the Neapolitans; his attire the same picturesque costume as that of the fishermen, but better, and of finer materials; whilst he spoke pure Italian, but not the Neapolitan dialect.
“This is no fisherman,” thought the young girl, as she thanked the stranger, who was holding the pungent essence contained in a bottle to her aunt’s nostrils; who in a very short time was able to continue the walk.
Looking up at the motionless figure of the fisherman, Mrs. Webb politely thanked him, and taking a few silver coins from her purse, she begged him to accept them. Her niece’s eyes were fixed upon the stranger; and she saw his dark cheek flush, and his still darker eyes sparkle with a strange expression; but he at once said, gently putting back Mrs. Webb’s hand—
“No, lady; not for a service of this kind; your thanks are ample reward.”
And with a look of unmistakable admiration at Anne De Bracy, which called the hot blood to her cheek, he made a graceful salute, and retired amongst the rocks.
“How very odd, Anne,” said Mrs. Webb; “what an uncommonly handsome, graceful kind of person for a fisherman. I fear I frightened you, dear.”
“I was not so much frightened, aunt,” answered the niece, thoughtfully; “but as we were some little distance from help, I did not exactly know what to do, till this stranger ran up and carried you here, and sprinkled your face with water.”
“He is certainly a very handsome fisherman,” observed Mrs. Webb; “we have seen, I think, all our neighbours here, and I certainly never remarked him.”
“I do not think he is a fisherman,” replied Miss De Bracy, with a smile, as they slowly proceeded home.