he sat with his bead leaning on both
hands, the door opened. "Come," said she, gently,--"come!" He arose, and
followed her. No sooner was all quiet around than M'Caskey rowed swiftly
back to his quarters, and, packing up hastily his few effects, made with
all speed for the little bay, where was the village he had passed on his
arrival, and through which led the road to Reggio. That something was
"up" at Naples he was now certain, and he resolved to be soon on the
field; whoever the victors, they would want _him_.

On the third evening he entered the capital, and made straight for
Caffarelli's house. He met the Count in the doorway. "The man I wanted,"
said he, as he saw the Major. "Go into my study and wait for me."

"What has happened?" asked M'Caskey, in a whisper. "Everything. The King
is dead."

CHAPTER XLII. MARK LYLE'S LETTER

The following letter was received at Lyle Abbey shortly after the events
recorded in our last chapter had happened. It was from Mark Lyle to his
sister, Mrs. Trafford:--

"Hotel Victoria, Naples.

"My dear Alice,--While I was cursing my bad luck at being too late for
the P. and O. steamer at Marseilles, your letter arrived deciding me to
come on here. Nothing was ever more fortunate: first of all, I shall
be able to catch the Austrian Lloyds at Anevna, and reach Alexandria in
good time for the mail; and, secondly, I have perfectly succeeded--at
least I hope so--in the commission you gave me. For five mortal days I
did nothing but examine villas. I got a list of full fifty, but in the
course of a little time the number filtered down to ten possible, and
came at last to three that one could pronounce fairly habitable. To
have health in this climate--that is to say, to escape malaria--you must
abjure vegetation; and the only way to avoid tertian is to book yourself
for a sunstroke. These at least were my experiences up to Tuesday last,
for all the salubrious spots along the seashore had been long since
seized on either by the King or the Church, and every lovely point of
view was certain to be crowned by a royal villa or a monastery. I was
coming back then on Tuesday, very disconsolate indeed from a long day's
fruitless search, when I saw a perfect gem of a place standing on the
extreme point of a promontory near Caserta. It was of course 'royal'--at
least it belonged to a Count d'Amalfi, which title was borne by some
younger branch of the Bourbons; yet as it was untenanted, and seve