"You must be in time, Lauretta," said the little priest; "you must not leave your mother alone all night. Is it far where you are going?"
"To Anacapri."
"And I to Capri. God guard you, my child! and you, my son!"
Lauretta kissed his hand, and said a farewell, which the padre and Antonino might have divided between them. Antonino, however, did not claim his share of it; he took off his cap to the padre, and did not look at Lauretta.
When, however, they had both turned their backs upon him, he permitted his glance to follow the padre as he strode carefully up the stony beach, but for a very short distance, and then directed it to the girl, who was mounting the hill to the right, holding his hand over his eyes to shade them from the bright sun. When she reached the place where the road begins to run between the walls, she paused for a moment, as if to take breath, and turned round. The Marina lay at her feet, above her towered the steep cliffs, and before her spread the sea in all its azure beauty. It was, indeed, a view well worth the pause.
Chance so willed it that her glance, sweeping past Antonino's boat, encountered the one which he had sent after her. They both made a movement, like persons who wish to excuse themselves--"a mere matter of accident;" and then the girl continued her way with closely-compressed lips.
CHAPTER II.
It was only an hour after midday, and Antonino had been sitting long on a bench before the little fishing osteria. Something seemed to be passing through his mind, for every five minutes he sprang up, stepped out into the sun, and examined carefully the paths which led right and left to the two island towns. "The weather looked suspicious," he told the hostess; "it was clear enough now, but he knew this colour of the sea and sky; it had looked just like this before the last great storm, when the English family were saved with such difficulty. She must remember it?"
"No."
"Well, she would remember what he had said, if it changed before night."