Thus saying he left her, and was hurrying home, with his thoughts so agitated that he scarcely remarked a man who stood in his way at the bottom of the stairs, till Harry Martin stopped him, by pronouncing his name.
"I am afraid, Sir Morley," he said, as soon as the other paused--"I am afraid I gave you some offence by what I said to you in Germany, about some one that you trust. Now I--"
"You did, my good friend!" replied Morley; "but I was wrong, and you were right. All that is over--my eyes are opened, and I trust no more."
"That's right--that's right!" cried Harry Martin. "All may go well, then, and you may be as happy as the day is long; for if ever man was loved by an angel, you are, by one not very far from here."
"Hush!" Cried Morley; "hush! You are mistaken altogether;" and, turning away, he hurried back as fast as possible to his own hotel, and quitted Rome ere the day was many hours older.
CHAPTER LVI.
A month passed in Naples, and Morley strove to drown recollection, to drown thought, to drown the ringing echo of the tempter's words, to quell, by any means, the struggle that still went on in his heart--the longing, eager, ardent desire to fly to Juliet Carr, to tell her, with all the impetuous madness of intense passion, that he loved her still, to shew her that she had destroyed his peace for ever, and to leave her to decide, whether he were to live with her or to die by his own hand. He knew that it was frenzy--he knew that it was crime. With as much courage as any ancient warrior ever strove, he fought against the host of dark temptations that beset him, in the vain hope that time would mitigate the intensity of his feelings; but time brought no balm--his heart knew no relief. The gay and gabbling crowd in the ball-room, the palace, and the theatre, distracted not his attention for a moment. With difficulty, even for a few minutes, did he fix his attention upon all the objects of ancient art, which formerly would have amused his fancy. The political strife of various parties which at that time convulsed all Europe, scarcely roused his mind from the bitter memories that were in his heart to give it even a thought; and Morley's sole delight soon became to sail over the deep blue sea of the bay, gazing in melancholy listlessness upon the waters, and longing for a quiet abode beneath the rolling of those sunshiny waves.
It soon, however, grew a weariness and a pain to him, to be forced, even during a part of the day, to see and hear the merry multitudes of the siren city. The coarse and glaring vice, the utter moral degradation of almost all classes, the miserable laziness and destitution of the lower orders, the frivolous wickedness of the higher, all became an offence to his eyes; and he determined, at length, to get rid of the whole and to remove to some distance from Naples, although there was one employment for a part of his day, which could not be, without difficulty, obtained anywhere but in the city. It may seem strange that this his sole occupation was the examination of almost all the principal London journals. But there was only one part of those journals into which he looked--only one name that he sought for. It was the name of Lord Clavering. From time to time, he found it amongst those of the most diligent attendants upon parliamentary duties. Morley read no more that day when he had once seen the name. He perused not the speech to which it was attached, nor examined the nature of the petition which the earl presented. He could not hate him more than he did, and he did not wish to hate him less; but still, to know that he was afar, that he was not in the same land with Juliet Carr, was something.
He resolved, at length, as I have said, to quit the city, and take up his abode at such a distance that he could continually send into Naples for intelligence, without setting his foot within the walls itself. The generous though just act of Helen Barham having removed the necessity for economy, Morley could indulge at ease whatever fancies suited his humour best at the time; and, rowing along the shores of the bay towards Sorrento, he pitched upon a solitary villa, not far from that place, towards Castellamare as the house be should like to hire. It was seated upon the high rocky ground, and was visible from the sea; but on enquiring at the latter town, he found that there was no road to it but a mule-path, and that it was inhabited by the Italian family to whom it belonged. The latter difficulty, however, was speedily removed; gold was an object to the Italians, and none to Morley; and, while he had his boat, he needed no other road but the waves.
In this new abode, then, was he soon fixed, and certainly a lovelier scene never soothed the disappointed heart. The view over the bay was beyond description; a deep indentation of the shore brought the profound waters up to the very foot of the rock under the villa, and one of those arching caves, of which there are so many on the Sorrentine shores, admitted the sea still farther, so that a sight of steps from the house itself, similar to those near the villa Cocumella, led down by a subterranean passage to the verge of the bay; and Morley's boat could be brought in under the very crag on which his dwelling stood. A little farther on, however, a winding path, ornamented by some tall cypresses, led down to the shore, which was strewed at that spot with ruins of various ancient buildings, and covered almost to the edge of the sea with all the wild flowers and rich creeping plants of that climate, while here and there the gigantic aloe had planted itself, giving a peculiar character to the picture, produced by no other European plant. High hills lay up behind; and, along the shore on both sides, appeared all that variety of rock, and precipice, and smooth descent, and soft sloping bank, which every one who has rounded that headland must remember. We will not dwell farther upon a description of the place, but will only add, that the usual drawback to all Italian scenery was found not far off, as one approached Sorrento, in numerous stone walls and narrow roads, forming a sort of labyrinth, which required some degree of knowledge and experience to escape from, in the attempt to find freer space upon the mountain tops beyond.