dared
to make me such a proposal. Let me see you to-morrow, and for the last
time." And haughtily waving his hand, he motioned to her to leave; and
she turned away, with her hands over her face, and quitted the room.

CHAPTER XL. THE MAJOR'S TRIALS

Major Miles M'Caskey is not a foreground figure in this our story, nor
have we any reason to suppose that he possesses any attractions for
our readers. When such men--and there are such to be found on life's
highway--are met with, the world usually gives them what sailors call
a "wide berth and ample room to swing in," sincerely trusting that they
will soon trip their anchor and sail off again. Seeing all this, I have
no pretension, nor indeed any wish, to impose his company any more
than is strictly indispensable, nor dwell on his sojourn at the Molo of
Montanara. Indeed, his life at that place was so monotonous and weary to
himself, it would be a needless cruelty to chronicle it.

The Major, as we have once passingly seen, kept a sort of brief journal
of his daily doings; and a few short extracts from this will tell us all
that we need know of him. On a page of which the upper portion was torn
away, we find the following:--

"Arrived at M----- on the 6th at sunset. Ruined old rookery.
Open at land side, and sea defences all carried away; never could
have been strong against artillery. Found Mrs. M'C. in the style of
waiting-woman to a Countess Butler, formerly Nini Brancaleone. A warm
interview; difficult to persuade her that I was not in pursuit of
herself,--a feminine delusion I tried to dissipate. She"--henceforth it
is thus he always designates Mrs. M'Caskey--"she avers that she knows
nothing of the Count d' Amalfi, nor has ever seen him. Went into a long
story about Sir Omerod Butler, of whom I know more myself. She pretends
that Nini is married to him--legally married; don't believe a word of it
Have my own suspicions that the title of Amalfi has been conferred on B.
himself, for he lives estranged from England and Englishmen. Will learn
all, however, before I leave.

"Roast pigeons, with tomato, a strange fish, and omelette, with Capri
to wash it down; a meagre supper, but they say it shall be better
to-morrow.

"_7th, Wednesday_.--Slept soundly and had a swim; took a sea view of the
place, but could see no one about. Capital breakfast--'_Frutti di mare_'
boiled in Rhine wine; fellow who waited said a favorite dish of his
Excellency's, meaning Sir. O. B.