"Don't let's go with him if he asks us," whispered Marcella. "Let's be
alone."
"Of course--he's a bore," whispered Louis. "I wouldn't lose this day at
Pompeii for a shipload of footling schoolmasters."
Very early next morning he wakened her by tapping on her cabin door. She
had heard him tossing about in the night and was not surprised that he
looked tired and rather haggard. But she forgot to ask him what was the
matter as Naples burst upon her the moment she put her head above the
companion-way where he was waiting for her.
"Oh--look at it," she gasped.
"Yes, isn't it?" he said, waving his arm as if he were responsible for
Naples. "Look at the jolly old bonfire."
All round, in the brilliant blue waters of the Bay, ships lay as if
asleep; a few little tugs fussed nervously, a few little boats laden
brilliantly with fruit and vegetables glided along as though they were
content to reach somewhere quite near by to-morrow or the day after.
There was a cloud over the grey town at the foot of Vesuvius; it looked
like winding sheets about the dead; it reminded Marcella insensibly of
Lashnagar as she saw the mist and smoke wraiths mingle grey and white,
rising from fissures, creeping along gullies until they formed a wreath
at the crest of the volcano through which a thin needle of yellower
smoke was rising straight as a pinnacle through the windless air.
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