eaned back, and luxuriated in the pleasant
motion, and looked up at the deep blue sky that bent above him,
and around at the wide expanse of water, the green verdurous hills,
the vine-clad meadows, and the purple mountains.

From time to time he noticed, with satisfaction, that his
course ran along the shore, parallel to it, as it appeared.
He noticed, however, that he was now farther away from it than
when he started; but as yet the distance did not seem excessive;
in fact, it seemed on the whole preferable, since it gave him
a finer view. Before him the shore ran on until it terminated
on a headland, and David thought that this would be a good
place to fix as the limit of his voyage.

Never was any human being more utterly out of place than David in
this sail-boat, and never was any human being more serenely
unconscious of his unfitness. David's frame of mind was one of
calm, beatific enjoyment. He was quite unconscious of the increase
of the distance between his boat and the shore, which grew greater
every moment, and equally unobservant of the lapse of time. In
times of great enjoyment the hours fly quickly by, and in David's
high exaltation of feeling the time thus fled.

At length, even in the midst of his happiness, the sober practical
thought obtruded itself of time and space. How long had he been
out? How much time would he have? How far had he gone? He looked
at his watch. To his utter amazement and consternation, he found
that it was seven o'clock--the time fixed for breakfast. He had
been sailing for two hours at least. As to distance, he could not
grapple with that thought, but turned hastily, and looked back.
That look gave him but little satisfaction. He could see a line of
white at the skirts of the sea; but whether it was Castellamare,
or Naples itself, he was unable to guess.

It was a wide, sharp; and painful awakening from his bliss
and serene delight, and it was an effectual one. No more placid
gliding now; no careless voyaging. Two hours! Seven o'clock!
Already they were at breakfast, and waiting for him. They were
wondering about his absence. And when could he join them
again? Two hours! If it had taken two hours to come thus far,
it would also take fully as much time to go back. Go back?
And where should he go, or how could he get back?

Thus far, David's idea about his course, if he can be said to have
had an idea, was, that it lay along the shore, and that somehow he
could go back as ea