por took him. His head sunk upon his arms, folded upon
those outspread charts, while the noise of all the rude activities
surrounding him subtly transformed itself into that of a great
orchestra. And above this, superior to, yet nobly supported by it,
Morabita's voice rose in the suave and passionate phrases of the
glorious cavatina--"_Ernani, Ernani, involami, all aborito
ampleso._"--Yes, her voice was as good as ever! Richard drew a long
breath of relief. Here, at least, was something true to itself, and
amid so much of change, so much of spoiling, still unspoilt! He raised
his head and listened. For something must have happened, something of
serious moment. The orchestra, for some unaccountable reason, had
suddenly broken down. Yes, it must be the orchestra which disaster had
overtaken, for a voice very certainly continued. No, not a voice, but
voices--those of Vanstone the captain, and Price the first mate, and
old Billy Tinn the boatswain--loud, imperative, violently remonstrant,
but swept under and swamped at moments by cries and volleys of foulest,
Neapolitan _argot_ from hoarse, Neapolitan throats. And that abruptly
silenced orchestra?--Richard came back to himself, came back to
actualities of environment and prosaic fact. An infinitely weariful
despair seized him. For the sound that had reached so sudden a
termination was not that of cunningly-attuned, musical instruments, but
the long-drawn, chattering rush of the coal, pitched from the baskets
down the echoing, iron shoots.

The cabin door opened discreetly and Powell, incarnation of decorous
punctualities even amid existing tumultuously discomposing
circumstances, entered.

"From the villa, sir," he said, depositing letters and newspapers upon
the table.

Richard put out his hand, turned them over mechanically. For again,
somehow, notwithstanding the babel without, that exquisite
invitation--"_Ernani, Ernani, involami_,"--assailed his ears.

The valet waited a little, quiet and deferential in bearing, yet
observing his master with a certain keenness and anxiety.

"I saw Mr. Bates, as you desired, sir," he said at last.

Richard looked up at him vaguely. And it struck him that while Powell
was on shore to-day he had undoubtedly had his hair cut. This
interested him--though why, he would have found it difficult to say.

"Mr. Bates thought you should be informed that a gentleman called early
yesterday afternoon, as he said by appointment."

Yes--certa