It was almost dark, when they set off in a small rowboat for Duck Island, and twenty minutes later Fernando was on his way to his farewell visit to Morgianna.

The sun had set, but it was not yet dark when Fernando reached the broad piazza.  He asked himself if she would be at home or away.  He had said nothing of his coming.  This visit was wholly on his own account.  He had walked up and down the piazza two or three times, when through the open door he caught the flutter of a garment on the stairway.  It was Morgianna’s—­to whom else could it belong?  No dress but hers had such a flow as that.  He gathered up courage and followed it into the hallway.

His darkening the door, into which the sombre shadows of twilight were already creeping, caused her to look around.  “Oh that face!  If it hadn’t been for that,” thought Fernando, “I could never have faced the Briton.  She is twenty times handsomer than ever.  She might marry a Lord!”

He didn’t say this.  He only thought it—­perhaps looked it also.  Morgianna was glad to see him and was so sorry her father was away from home.  Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account.

Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was nearly dark.  At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the hall, which was tolerably light from the open door.  They still stood in the hall in an embarrassing position, Fernando holding her hand in his (which he had no right to do, for Morgianna had only given it to him to shake), and yet both hesitated to go or stay anywhere.

“I have come,” said Fernando, “to say good-bye—­to say good-bye, for I don’t know how many years; perhaps forever.  I am going away.”

Now this was exactly what he should not have said.  Here he was, talking like a gentleman at large, who was free to come and go and roam about the world at his pleasure, when he had expressed both in actions and words that Miss Lane held him in adamantine chains.

Morgianna released her hand and said: 

“Indeed!”

She remarked in the same breath that it was a fine night and, in short, betrayed not the least emotion.  With despair still settling over his heart, Fernando said: 

“I couldn’t go without coming to see you.  I hadn’t the heart to.”

Morgianna was more sorry than she could tell that he had taken the trouble.  It was a long walk up the hill, and as he was to sail next day, he must have a deal to do; as if she did not know that he had not brought even a trunk with him.  Then she wanted to know how Mr. Winners was and Mr. Malone.  She thought the Irishman a capital good fellow, and was sure no one could help liking him.

“Is this all you have to say?” Fernando asked.

All!  Good gracious, what did the man expect?  She was obliged to take her apron in her hand and run her eyes along the hem from corner to corner, to keep herself from laughing in his face;—­not because his gaze confused her—­not at all.