"'The Calabrian winds carried me away,'" Jack went on.
"Oh, yes; but I don't understand the Parthenope."
"That's Naples," he answered. "'Naples holds me.'"
"Oh, is that it? I know the rest. 'I sang pastures, fields, leaders.'"
"Good! You shall have an A in the examination in spite of Parthenope," he assured her. "Perhaps 'heroes' is a better word for duces, though."
"I'm afraid I don't deserve an A," she laughed, "but I am satisfied if I pass at all."
As they came out of the tomb Jack picked a spray from the beautiful laurel growing beside the entrance, and held it out to her. She took it with a murmured word of thanks, and put it in her gown. Not far away on the right of the path was a rude seat or bench, shaded by fig and olive trees, and partially screened from the path by dwarf plums. It was slightly higher than the way by which they had come.
"Here," Jack said, "let's go up and rest a bit. The view is worth seeing."
They turned to the seat and took their places in silence. The view was not perceptibly different from that which they had on the path, but as Jack looked at Katrine and Katrine cast down her eyes, this was not a matter which they were likely to notice.
"Katrine," the captain began,—for they had come, almost by insensible degrees, to call each other by their Christian names,—"I've got to tell you something. It isn't altogether pleasant for me, but it's only fair that you should know."