‘Well, I am not surprised that you should have passed your time delightfully here,’ said Lord Cadurcis to Lady Annabel, when they had entered the villa; ‘for I never beheld so delightful a retreat. It is even more exquisite than your villa on the lake, of which George gave me so glowing a description. I was almost tempted to hasten to you. Would you have smiled on me!’ he added, rather archly, and in a coaxing tone.

‘I am more gratified that we have met here,’ said Lady Annabel.

‘And thus,’ added Cadurcis.

‘You have been a great traveller since we last met?’ said Lady Annabel, a little embarrassed.

‘My days of restlessness are over,’ said Cadurcis. ‘I desire nothing more dearly than to settle down in the bosom of these green hills as you have done.’

‘This life suits Mr. Herbert,’ said Lady Annabel. ‘He is fond of seclusion, and you know I am accustomed to it.’

‘Ah! yes,’ said Cadurcis, mournfully. ‘When I was in Greece, I used often to wish that none of us had ever left dear Cherbury; but I do not now.’

‘We must forget Cherbury,’ said Lady Annabel.

‘I cannot: I cannot forget her who cherished my melancholy childhood. Dear Lady Annabel,’ he added in a voice of emotion, and offering her his hand, ‘forget all my follies, and remember that I was your child, once as dutiful as you were affectionate.’

Who could resist this appeal? Lady Annabel, not without agitation, yielded him her hand, which he pressed to his lips. ‘Now I am again happy,’ said Cadurcis; ‘now we are all happy. Sweetest of friends, you have removed in a moment the bitterness of years.’

Although lights were in the saloon, the windows opening on the portico were not closed. The evening air was soft and balmy, and though the moon had not risen, the distant hills were clear in the starlight. Venetia was standing in the portico conversing with George Cadurcis.

‘I suppose you are too much of a Turk to drink our coffee, Lord Cadurcis,’ said Herbert. Cadurcis turned and joined him, together with Lady Annabel.

‘Nay,’ said Lord Cadurcis, in a joyous tone, ‘Lady Annabel will answer for me that I always find everything perfect under her roof.’

Captain Cadurcis and Venetia now reentered the villa; they clustered round the table, and seated themselves.

‘Why, Venetia,’ said Cadurcis, ‘George met me in Sicily and quite frightened me about you. Is it the air of the Apennines that has worked these marvels? for, really, you appear to me exactly the same as when we learnt the French vocabulary together ten years ago.’

‘“The French vocabulary together, ten years ago!”’ thought Herbert; ‘not a mere London acquaintance, then. This is very strange.’

‘Why, indeed, Plantagenet,’ replied Venetia, ‘I was very unwell when George visited us; but I really have quite forgotten that I ever was an invalid, and I never mean to be again.’

‘“Plantagenet!”’ soliloquised Herbert. ‘And this is the great poet of whom I have heard so much! My daughter is tolerably familiar with him.’

‘I have brought you all sorts of buffooneries from Stamboul,’ continued Cadurcis; ‘sweetmeats, and slippers, and shawls, and daggers worn only by sultanas, and with which, if necessary, they can keep “the harem’s lord” in order. I meant to have sent them with George to England, for really I did not anticipate our meeting here.’

‘“Sweetmeats and slippers,”’ said Herbert to himself, ‘“shawls and daggers!” What next?’

‘And has George been with you all the time?’ inquired Venetia.

‘Oh! we quarrelled now and then, of course. He found Athens dull, and would stay at Constantinople, chained by the charms of a fair Perote, to whom he wanted me to write sonnets in his name. I would not, because I thought it immoral. But, on the whole, we got on very well; a sort of Pylades and Orestes, I assure you; we never absolutely fought.’

‘Come, come,’ said George, ‘Cadurcis is always ashamed of being amiable. We were together much more than I ever intended or anticipated. You know mine was a sporting tour; and therefore, of course, we were sometimes separated. But he was exceedingly popular with all parties, especially the Turks, whom he rewarded for their courtesy by writing odes to the Greeks to stir them up to revolt.’

‘Well, they never read them,’ said Cadurcis. ‘All we, poor fellows, can do,’ he added, turning to Herbert, ‘is to wake the Hellenistic raptures of May Fair; and that they call fame; as much like fame as a toadstool is like a truffle.’

‘Nevertheless, I hope the muse has not slumbered,’ said Herbert; ‘for you have had the happiest inspiration in the climes in which you have resided; not only are they essentially poetic, but they offer a virgin vein.’

‘I have written a little,’ replied Cadurcis; ‘I will give it you, if you like, some day to turn over. Yours is the only opinion that I really care for. I have no great idea of the poetry; but I am very strong in my costume. I feel very confident about that. I fancy I know how to hit off a pasha, or touch in a Greek pirate now. As for all the things I wrote in England, I really am ashamed ............