"No," said David. "You didn't quite understand what I wanted to say." And he then proceeded to tell his story in plain English. He was listened to with deep attention; but as his story turned out to be so different from the first report of the ex-brigand, the lady stole an arch look at her husband, and her eyes fairly danced with fun and merriment. But the ex-brigand bore it admirably; and as David ended, and showed himself to be in no such deep affliction as had been supposed, he once more burst forth in a fresh peal of riotous laughter.
Upon this David ventured to hint at his own late fears, and on being questioned by the lady he confessed frankly what had been the interpretation that he put upon the signs of the ex-brigand.
"Well," said that worthy, "I'm not a brigand at all. I'm an artist."
"I'm sure I don't wonder, Walter," said the lady. "You dress yourself up in such an absurd fashion—and I've always told you that this room looks like a bandit's den."
"No, no, Laura; say an artist's studio. How could I get along without my furniture. As for my dress, it's quite in keeping with the place and the people. It's picturesque, and that's all an artist is bound to consider."
Further explanations followed, in the course of which it appeared that this ex-brigand was Mr. Walter Ludlow, an American artist, who, for the time being, was living here with his bride. They had been married three months. The island was Capri. They were enjoying love in a cottage, which cottage was furnished in an artistic, rather than a fashionable way. They lived here quite free from restraint, and the artist occupied the time partly with his art, and partly with general enjoyment. Neither of them felt at all inclined to leave Capri for some time to come, but thought it the pleasantest place in the world.
Ludlow happened that day to be cleaning his gun, with the intention of going on a shooting excursion. The noise which had been made in the wood by David had startled him, and he had gone to see what it was, with the idea that some cattle had strayed along the shore, and were coming into the fields and gardens.
When Ludlow explained his gestures to David, and the latter confessed what interpretation he had put on them, further laughter was elicited from the fun-loving artist, in which his wife joined, and David also. Ludlow, as soon as he was in a condition to speak, proceeded to explain what he really meant. His gestures were all intended by him to express the following ideas:—
1. I'm an American.
2. I don't live here—I only lodge.
3. I'm an artist.
4. I'm very sorry for you, and I'll take care of you.
5. I'm going out shooting soon.
6. Don't fret. I'll take care of you, and the boat too,
as long as you like.
7. I live in that house up there, and you can stay there
till you hear from your friends.
But Mrs. Ludlow now retreated, and before long she had a table set for their young guest, at which David took his seat, and ate with an appetite that had been sharpened by his long fast. While at the table Ludlow questioned him more particularly about his friends, and where he had left them.