So they chattered together awhile, and presently the boat went round the point of the island to the north side, and they took in the sails, and the six men pulled her lustily along under the shore, until they reached the little harbour of Casamicciola.
"We can stay here and rest all day," said Julius, as they entered the hotel on the hill, half an hour later. "We shall not be disturbed, and this afternoon we will sail over to Naples, and you can do your shopping when it is cool."
At half past eight they sat down to a breakfast of figs and bread-and-butter and coffee. At the same moment over there in Sorrento, Temistocle laid the key of Leonora's room on Marcantonio's writing-table, and edged away to make sure of an easy escape through the door.
"How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Leonora, stopping in the consumption of a very ripe black fig, to look out at the sea and the exquisite islands that lie like jewels between Ischia and the mainland.
A waiter had brought a shabby book of ruled paper, with a pen and some ink. He asked if his excellency would be good enough to write his name. Julius took the pen and wrote something, glancing up with a smile at Leonora, who finished her fig in silence.
"Let me see," said she, when he had done. He handed her the book, while the servant waited respectfully.
Julius had written simply, "Mr. and Mrs. Batiscombe, England."
"Give me the pen," said Leonora. "Oh, dip it in the ink, please—thanks!" She wrote something and gave him back the book. Underneath his writing she had put in another name.
"I wanted to write it," said she with a little laugh. Julius looked, and laughed too.
"Leonora Batiscombe," that was all.