"Nothing more than a run in a motor-car!" Morgana said, gaily.
Nothing more,—but to Lady Kingswood it seemed much more. She belonged to simple Victorian days—days of quiet home-life and home affections, now voted "deadly dull!" and all the rushing to and fro and gadding about of modern men and women worried and distressed her, for she had the plain common sense to perceive that it did no good either to health or morals, and led nowhere. She looked wistfully out to sea,—the blue Sicilian sea so exquisite in tone and play of pure reflections,—and thought how happy a life lived after the old sweet ways might be for a brilliant little creature like Morgana, if she could win "a good man's love" as Shakespeare puts it. And yet—was not this rather harking back to mere sentiment, often proved delusive? Her own "good man's love" had been very precious to her,—but it had not fulfilled all her heart's longing, though she considered herself an entirely commonplace woman. And what sort of a man would it be that could hold Morgana? As well try to control a sunbeam or a lightning flash as the restless vital and intellectual spirit that had, for the time being, entered into feminine form, showing itself nevertheless as something utterly different and superior to women as they are generally known. Some thoughts such as these, though vague and disconnected, passed through Lady Kingswood's mind as she turned away from the sea-shore to re-ascend the flower-bordered terraces of the Palazzo d'Oro,—and it was with real pleasure that she perceived on the summit of the last flight of grassy steps, the figure of Don Aloysius. He was awaiting her approach, and came down a little way to meet her.
"I saw the air-ship flying over the monastery,"—he explained, greeting her—"And I was anxious to know whether la Signora had gone away into the skies or was still on earth! She has gone, I suppose?"
"Yes, she has gone!" sighed Lady Kingswood—"and the Marchese with her, and one assistant. Her 'nerve' is simply astonishing!"
"You did not think of venturing on a trip with her yourself?"—and the priest smiled kindly, as he assisted her to ascend the last flight of steps to the loggia.
"No indeed! I really could not! I feel I ought to be braver—but I cannot summon up sufficient courage to leave terra firma. It seems altogether unnatural."
"Then what will you do when you are an angel, dear lady?" queried Aloysius, playfully—"You will have to leave terra firma then! Have you ever thought of that?"
She smiled.
"I'm afraid I don't think!" she said—"I take my life on trust. I always believe that God who brought me HERE will take care of me THERE!—wherever 'there' is. You understand me, don't you? You speak English so well that I'm sure you do."
"Yes—I understand you perfectly"—he replied—"That I speak English is quite natural, for I was educated at Stonyhurst, in England. I was then for a time at Fort Augustus in Scotland, and studied a great many of the strange traditions of the Highland Celts, to which mystic people Miss Royal by birth belongs. Her ancestry has a good deal to do with her courage and character."