R XLVII.

AT PORTICI.

Natalie slept far from soundly the first night after her arrival in
Naples; she was glad when the slow, anxious hours, with all their
bewildering uncertainties and forebodings, were over. She rose early,
and dressed quickly; she threw open the tall French windows to let in
the soft silken air from the sea; then she stepped out on the balcony to
marvel once more--she who knew Naples well enough--at the shining beauty
around her.

It was a morning to give courage to any one; the air was fresh and
sweet; she drank deep of the abundant gladness and brightness of the
world. The great plain of waters before her shimmered and sparkled in
millions of diamonds; with here and there long splashes of sunny green,
and here and there long splashes of purple where the sea-weed showed
through. The waves sprung white on the projecting walls of the Castello
dell' Ovo, and washed in on the shore with a soft continuous murmur; the
brown-sailed fishing-boats went by, showing black or red as they
happened to be in sunshine or shadow. Then far away beyond the shining
sea the island of Capri lay like a blue cloud on the horizon; and far
away beyond the now awakening city near her rose Vesuvius, the twin
peaks dark under some swathes of cloud, the sunlight touching the lower
slopes into a yellowish green, and shining on the pink fringe of villas
along the shore. On so fair and bright a morning hope came as natural to
her as singing to a bird. The fears of the night were over; she could
not be afraid of what such a day should bring forth.

And yet--and yet--from time to time--and just for a second or so--her
heart seemed to stand still. And she was so silent and preoccupied at
breakfast, that her mother remarked it; and Natalie had to excuse
herself by saying that she was a little tired with the travelling. After
breakfast she led her mother into the reading-room, and said, in rather
an excited way,

"Now, mother, here is a treat for you; you will get all the English
papers here, and all the news."

"You forget, Natalie," said her mother, smiling, "that English papers
are not of much use to me."

"Ah, well, the foreign papers," she said, quickly. "You see, mother, I
want to go along to a chemist's to get some white rose."

"You should not throw it about the railway carriages so much,
Natalushka," the unsuspecting mother said, reprovingly. "You are
extravagant."

She did not heed.

"Perhaps they will have it