THE CHALLENGE
“How long is it since you have seen England, Sir Hugh?” asked Dame Carleon languidly.
“Some eighteen months, lady, although in truth it seems more, for many things have happened to me in that time.”
“Eighteen months only! Why, ‘tis four long years since I looked upon the downs of Sussex, which are my home, the dear downs of Sussex, that I shall see never again.”
“Why say you so, lady, who should have many years of life before you?”
“Because they are done, Sir Hugh. Oh, in my heart I feel that they are done. That should not grieve me, since my only child is buried in this glittering, southern city whereof I hate the sounds and sights that men call so beautiful. Yet I would that I might have been laid at last in the kind earth of Sussex where for generations my forbears have been borne to rest,” and suddenly she began to weep.
“What ails you, lady? You are not well?”
“Oh, I know not. I think it is the heat or some presage of woe to come, not to me only, but to all men. Look, nature herself is sick,” and she led him to the broad balcony of the chamber and pointed to long lines of curious mist which in the bright moonlight they could see creeping toward Venice from the ocean, although what wind there was appeared to be off land.
“Those fogs are unnatural,” she went on. “At this season of the year there should be none, and these come, not from the lagoons, but up from the sea where no such vapours were ever known to rise. The physicians say that they foretell sickness, whereof terrible rumours have for some time past reached us from the East, though none know whether these be true or false.”
“The East is a large place, where there is always sickness, lady, or so I have heard.”