"You can hire a small boat, then," said Nan. "They are all putting up their Chinese lanterns."
"Oh, I wouldn"t advise that," said Frank King, quickly. "I don"t think it would be safe."
"A sailor afraid of boats!" said Miss Edith with a laugh.
"Oh, as for that," said Nan, warmly, "every one knows that it"s those who are most ignorant of boats who are most reckless in them. It"s very easy to be brave if you"re stupidly ignorant. I know papa used to say it was always the most experienced sportsman who took most care about unloading his gun on going into a house. Why, if you"re walking along the pier, and see some young fools standing up in a boat and rocking it until the gunwale touches the water, you may be sure they"re haberdashers down from the borough for a day, who have never been in a boat before."
In the dusk they could not see that Frank King"s face flushed with pleasure at this warm defence; but he only said quietly,
"You see there will be ten or twelve steamers churning about in the dark; and if some careless boatman were to make a mistake--or lose his head--you might be under the paddles in a second. I think you should either get on board or stay ash.o.r.e; and I should say you were as well off here as anywhere. You will see the procession on the lake very well; and even if they should halt over there at Cadenabbia for the music, we could hear it here excellently."
"It is very good advice, Edith," said Miss Beresford, seriously. "I don"t at all like small boats. And there goes the first dinner-bell; so let"s make haste."
At dinner Frank King did not say much; he seemed to be thinking of his departure on the morrow. Once, however, when they happened to be talking about Brighton, he looked across the table to Nan, and said,
"Oh, by the way, what was the name of the woman you told me about--whom you met on the downs?"
"Singing Sal," answered Nan, with composure.
"I shall ask about her when I get to Portsmouth," he said.
"She is seldom in the big towns; she prefers tramping by herself along the country roads."
"Is this another of Nan"s _protegees_?" asked Miss Beresford. "She knows the most extraordinary people. She is like the children when they are sent down to the beach when the tide is low; they are always most delighted with the monstrous and hideous things they can pick up."
"You must have seen Singing Sal," said Nan quietly. "And she is neither monstrous nor hideous. She is very well dressed, and she sings with a great deal of feeling."
"Perhaps she will come and have afternoon tea with us?" said Edith, with a sarcastic air.
"I don"t think she would find it interesting enough," Nan answered, calmly.
When, after dinner, they went out on to the balcony above the garden, they found that the wonders of the night had already begun. Far on the other side of the lake the houses of Cadenabbia were all ablaze with millions of small gold points, the yellow glow from which glimmered down on the black water. Then in the garden here, there were rows upon rows of Chinese lanterns, of all colours, just moving in the almost imperceptible breeze; while along the sh.o.r.e, the villas had their frontage-walls decorated with brilliant lines of illuminated cups, each a crimson, or white, or emerald star. Moreover, at the steps of the terrace below, there was a great bustle of boats; and each boat had its pink paper lantern glowing like a huge firefly in the darkness; and there was a confusion of chaffering and calling with brightly dressed figures descending by the light of torches, and disappearing into the unknown. Then these boats began to move away--with their glow-worm lanterns swaying in the black night. The hotel seemed almost deserted.
There was silence along the sh.o.r.es.
By and by, at a great distance, they beheld a wonderful thing come slowly into view--far away in the open s.p.a.ce of darkness that they knew to be the lake. It was at first only a glow of crimson; but as it came nearer, this glow separated into points, each point a ruby-coloured shaft of fire, and they saw that this must be a steamer illuminated by red lamps. And then another steamer, and another, came sailing up, with different colours gleaming; until one, far higher than the others--a great ma.s.s of glittering gold--appeared in the midst of them, and round this all the fleet of small boats, that were, of course, only distinguishable by their parti-coloured lanterns, seemed to gather.
"That is the steamer that has the musicians, clearly," said Frank King.
"Yes; but I don"t hear any music," answered Edith, in a voice that seemed rather ominous.
They sat and waited. The last of the guests had got into the small boats and gone away; they were left alone in front of the big hotel.
The moon was rising behind the hills in the south, and already the surface of the lake was beginning to declare itself--a dull blue-black.
"I cannot hear the least sound; is it possible they can be playing?"
said Edith, disappointedly.
It was a beautiful spectacle, at all events, even if there were no sound accompanying it. For now the moon had risen clear, and there was a pale soft light all along the northern hills, and just enough radiance lying over the bosom of the lake to show the darkness of the hulls of the distant steamers. And then, as they watched, some order seemed to grow out of that confusion of coloured lights; the high golden ma.s.s drew away; and then the others followed, until the long undulating line seemed like some splendid meteor in the night. There was no sound. Cadenabbia, with all its yellow fire, was as clearly deserted as this Bellagio here, with all its paper lanterns and coloured cups. The procession had slowly departed. The _Serenata_ was taking place somewhere else. The gardens of this hotel were silent but for the occasional voices of Frank King and his companions.
Well, they laughed away their disappointment; and chatted pleasantly, and enjoyed the beautiful night, until Miss Beresford thought it was time for them to go indoors.
"But where"s Nan?" she said. "That girl is never to be found."
"I think I can find her," said Frank King, rising hastily. He had been regarding for some time back that long allee between the chestnuts, and a dark figure there that was slowly pacing up and down, occasionally crossing the patches of moonlight. When he had got about half-way along, he found Nan leaning with her elbows on the parapet, and looking out on the moonlit lake.
"Oh, Miss Anne," he said, "your sister wants you to come indoors."
"All right," she said cheerfully, raising herself and preparing to go.
"But I want to say a word to you," he said hurriedly. "I have been trying for an opportunity these two days. I hope you won"t think it strange or premature or impertinent----"
"Oh no," said Nan, with a sudden fear of she knew not what; "but let us go indoors."
"No, here, now," he pleaded. "Only one moment. I know we are young; perhaps I should not ask you to pledge yourself, but all I ask for is to be allowed to hope. Surely you understand. Nan, will you be my wife--some day?"
He would have taken her hand; but she withdrew quickly, and said with a sort of gasp--
"Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea. It must be my fault, I am sure; but I did not know--I was not thinking of such a thing for a moment----"
"But you will give me leave to hope?" he said. "I mean some day--not now."
"Oh no, no!" she said with an earnestness that was almost piteous. "If I have made a mistake before, this must be clear now. Oh, don"t think of such a thing. It never could be--never, never. I am very sorry if I have pained you; but--but you don"t know anything about me; and you will soon forget, for we are both far too young--at least I am--to think of such things; and--and I am very, very sorry."
"But do you mean that I am never to think of it again, even as a hope?"
he said, slowly.
"Oh, I do mean that--I do! If there has been a mistake, let it be clear now. Can I not be your friend?"
She held out her hand. After a second or so of hesitation, he took it.
"I know more of you than you suspect," he said slowly, and with a touch of hopelessness in his voice. "I could see what you were the first half-hour I had spoken to you. And I know you know your own mind, and that you are sincere. Well, I had hoped for something else; but even your friendship will be valuable to me--when I have had a little time to forget."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Nan, somewhat incoherently. "I know you will be wise. You have your profession to think of; that is of far more importance. I know you will be wise, and generous too, and forgive me if the fault has been mine. Now, we will not speak of any such thing again; let it be as if it had never been. Come."
He pressed her hand in silence--it was a token of good-bye. These two did not see each other again for more than three years.
CHAPTER X.
JINNY.
One night towards the end of that interval a strange scene occurred in the old manor-house of Kingscourt, Wiltshire. From an early part of the evening it was apparent that something unusual was about to take place. The sleepy old mansion was all astir, a big fire blazed in the fireplace of the hall, and even the long corridor, which was in effect a picture-gallery, and ordinarily looked rather grim with its oak panelling and dusky portraits and trophies of arms, had been so brilliantly lit up that it seemed almost cheerful.
There was no cheerfulness, however, on the face of the lord of the manor himself; and there was nothing but a keen and anxious sympathy in the regard of his friend the Vicar, who had come to keep him company.
The former, Stephen Holford King, was a hale old man of over seventy, with a smoothly-shaven face grown red with exposure to the weather, silvery short-cropped hair, and fine, impressive features. His old college friend, the Rev. Mr. Lynnton, was a smaller man, and somewhat younger, though his pale face had a sad expression, as though he had come through much trouble. He also was clean shaven, which added character to his clear-cut features. His chest was narrow, and he stooped a little.
"It is kind of you to come early, Vicar," said the taller man, who seemed much agitated in spite of his outwardly firm demeanour. "It will be a terrible ordeal for my poor wife. I wish the evening were over."