about two hundred and their bulk filled a boat which was
despatched early in the following afternoon to be rowed over to Tragara
and unloaded before the party arrived.

Ruggiero and his brother worked hard at the preparations, silent,
untiring and efficient as usual, but delighted in their hearts at the
prospect of something less monotonous than the daily sail or the daily
row within sight of Sorrento. To men who have knocked about the sea for
years, from Santa Cruz to Sebastopol, the daily life of a sailor on a
little pleasure boat lacks interest, and if circumstances had been,
different Ruggiero would probably have shipped before now as boatswain
on board one of the neat schooners which are yearly built at the Piano
di Sorrento, to be sold with their cargoes of salt as soon as they reach
Buenos Ayres. But Ruggiero had contracted that malady of the heart which
had taken him to the chemist's for the first time in his life, and which
materially hindered the formation of any plan by which he might be
obliged to leave his present situation. Moreover the disease showed no
signs of yielding; on the contrary, the action of the vital organ
concerned became more and more spasmodic and alarming, while its
possessor grew daily leaner and more silent.

The last package had been taken down, the last of the score of articles
which the Marchesa was sure to want with her in the sail boat before
she reached the spot where the main cargo of comforts would be waiting;
the last sandwich, the last box of sweetmeats, the iced lemonade, the
wraps and the parasols were all stowed away in their places. Then San
Miniato went to fetch the Marchesa, marshalling in his two porters with
their chair between them.

"Dearest Marchesa," said the Count, "if you will give yourself the
trouble to sit in this chair, I will promise that no further exertion
shall be required of you."

The Marchesa di Mola looked up with a glance of sleepy astonishment.

"And why in that chair, dearest friend? I am so comfortable here. And
why have you brought those two men with you?"

"Have you forgotten our dinner at Tragara?" asked San Miniato.

"Tragara!" gasped the Marchesa. "You are not going to take me to
Tragara! Good heavens! I am utterly exhausted! I shall die before we get
to the boat."

"Altro e parlar di morte--altro e morire," laughed San Miniato, quoting
the famous song. "It is one thing to talk of death, it is quite another
to die. Only this little f