The night was far spent when they rose to seek repose.
Reckavile through a mist saw a vision of loveliness, and Italy was forgotten.
“There’s a lot to be said for Mahomet, and his sporting religion,” he said musingly. “It’s a dull life with only one woman.”
Chapter VI.
The Blow Falls
Three days they kept it up. Wynter discovered new wonders in the cellar each day, and while at breakfast everyone was discussing trains, towards evening departure had been forgotten. Reckavile was first down, in a dressing gown, and stood before the great fireplace in the hall, now empty and black.
The morning was far gone, but none of his guests showed any sign of appearing.
The butler approached him with The Times newspaper, and a large bumper of brandy. He idly opened the paper, and glanced at the news, then a pang shot through him as he read of an earthquake shock which had been felt in northern Italy, and several houses had been demolished near Venice. A great wave of disgust went over him, and his thoughts went back to the little villa, and the poor girl waiting for him, perhaps overtaken by this hideous menace.
The moment he thought of this fair child in danger, he sickened of his surroundings. God, what a hog he was. He looked in the glass and saw the blotched face and heavy eyes, and with a blow he smashed the heavy mirror, careless of a bleeding fist. The butler came in alarmed at the sound, though he was inured to most things in that house.
“Have you hurt yourself, my lord?” he asked.
“It’s nothing, get one of the servants to clear up that mess.”