A Rent In A Cloud Part 30

Think of the winter nights' tales, of the charges that hang over me, and their penalties. Imagine the Hue and Cry as light reading for the honeymoon!"

He added one line on the envelope, to say he would write again on the morrow; but his promise he did not keep.

CHAPTER XXIII. A STORM.

THE boat excursion mentioned in Calvert's letter was not the only pleasure-project of that day. It was settled that Mr. Stockwell should come out and give Milly a lesson in photography, in which, under Loyd's former guidance, she had already made some progress. He was also to give Miss Grainger some flower-seeds of a very rare kind, of which he was carrying a store to the Pasha of Egypt, and which required some peculiar skill in the sowing. They were to dine, too, at a little rustic house beside the lake; and, in fact, the day was to be one of festivity and enjoyment.

The morning broke splendidly; and though a few clouds lingered about the Alpine valleys, the sky over the lake was cloudless, and the water was streaked and marbled with those parti-coloured lines which Italian lakes wear in the hot days of midsummer. It was one of those autumnal mornings in which the mellow colouring of the mature season blends with the soft air and gentle breath of spring, and all the features of landscape are displayed in their fullest beauty. Calvert and Florence were to visit the Isola de San Giulio, and bring back great cl.u.s.ters of the flowers of the "San Guiseppe" trees, to deck the dinner-table. They were also to go on as far as Pella for ice or snow to cool their wine, the voyage being, as Calvert said, a blending of the picturesque with the profitable.

Before breakfast was over the sky grew slightly, overcast, and a large ma.s.s of dark cloud stood motionless Over the summit of Monterone.

"What will the weather do, Carlo?" asked Calvert of the old boatman of the villa, as he came to say that all was in readiness.

"Who knows, 'cellenza?" said he, with a native shrug of the shoulders.

"Monterone is a big traitor of a mountain, and there's no believing him.

If that cloud scatters, the day will be fine; if the wind brings down fresh clouds from the Alps it will come on a 'burrasca'."

"Always a burrasca; how I am sick of your burrasca," said he, contemptuously. "If you were only once in your life to see a real storm, how you'd despise those petty jobbles, in which rain and sleet play the loudest part."

"What does he say of the weather?" asked Florence, who saw that Calvert had walked on to a little point with the old man, to take a freer view of the lake.

"He says, that if it neither blows hard nor rains, it will probably be fine. Just what he has told us every day since I came here."

"What about this fine trout that you spoke of, Carlo?"

"It is at Gozzano, 'cellenza; we can take it as we go by."

"But we are going exactly in the opposite direction, my worthy friend; we are going to the island, and to Pella."

"That is different," said the old man, with another shrug of the shoulders.

"Didn't you hear thunder? I'm sure I did," cried Miss Grainger.

"Up yonder it's always growling," said Calvert, pointing towards the Simplon. "It is the first welcome travellers get when they pa.s.s the summit."

"Have you spoken to him, Milly, about Mr. Stockwell? Will he take him up at Orta, and land him here?" asked Miss Grainger, in a whisper.

"No, aunt; he hates Stockwell, he says. Carlo can take the blue boat and fetch him. They don't want Carlo, it seems."

"And are you going without a boatman, Flurry?" Asked her aunt

"Of course we are. Two are quite cargo enough in that small skiff, and I trust I am as skilful a pilot as any Ortese fisherman," broke in Calvert.

"Oh, I never disputed your skill, Mr. Calvert."

"What, then, do you scruple to confide your niece to me?" said he, with a low whisper, in which the tone was more menace than mere inquiry.

"Is this the first time we have ever gone out in a boat together?"

She muttered some a.s.surance of her trustfulness, but so confusedly, and with such embarra.s.sment, as to be scarcely intelligible. "There! that was certainly thunder!" she cried.

"There are not three days in three months in this place without thunder.

It is the Italian privilege, I take it, to make always more noise than mischief."

"But will you go if it threatens so much?" said Miss Grainger.

"Ask Florry. For _my_ part, I think the day will be a glorious one."

"I'm certain it will," said Florence, gaily; "and I quite agree with what Harry said last night Disputing about the weather has the same'

effect as firing great guns: it always brings down the rain."

Calvert smiled graciously at hearing himself quoted.

It was the one sort of flattery he liked the best, and it rallied him out of his dark humour. "Are you ready?"--he had almost added "dearest,"

and only caught himself in time--perhaps, indeed, not completely in time--for she blushed, as she said, "Eccomi."

The sisters affectionately embraced each other. Emily even ran after Florence to kiss her once again, after parting, and then Florry took Calvert's arm, and hastened away to the jetty. "I declare," said she, as she stepped into the boat, "this leave-taking habit, when one is going out to ride, or to row, or to walk for an hour, is about the stupidest thing I know of."

"I always said so. It's like making one's will every day before going down to dinner. It is quite true you may chance to die before the dessert, but the mere possibility should not interfere with your asking for soup. No, no, Florry, you are to steer; the tiller is yours for to-day; my post is here;" and he stretched himself at the bottom of the boat, and took out his cigar. The light breeze was just enough to move the little lateen sail, and gradually it filled out, and the skiff stole quietly away from sh.o.r.e, without even a ripple on the water.

"What's the line, Florry?' Hope at the helm, pleasure at the prow,' or is it love at the helm?"

"A bad steersman, I should say; far too capricious," cried she, laughing.

"I don't know. I think he has one wonderful attribute; he has got wings to fly away with whenever the boat is in danger, and I believe it is pretty much what love does always."

"Can't say," said she, carelessly. "Isn't that a net yonder? Oughtn't we to steer clear of it?"

"Yes. Let her fall off--so--that's enough. What a nice light hand you have."

"On a horse they tell me my hand is very light."

"How I'd like to see you on my Arab 'Said.' Such a creature! so large-eyed, and with such a full nostril, the face so concave in front, the true Arab type, and the jaw a complete semicircle. How proud he'd look under you, with that haughty snort he gives, as he bends his knee.

He was the present of a great Rajah to me--one of those native fellows we are graciously pleased to call rebels, because they don't fancy to be slaves. Two years ago he owned a territory about the size of half Spain, and he is now something like a brigand chief, with a few hundred followers."

"Dear Harry, do not talk of India--at least not of the mutiny."

"Mutiny! Why call it mutiny, Florry? Well, love, I have done," he muttered, for the word escaped him, and he feared how she might resent it.

"Come back to my lightness of hand."

"Or of heart, for I sorely suspect, Florence, the quality is not merely a manual one."

"Am I steering well?"