‘The household are all up, my lady,’ said that important personage entering; ’’tis a beautiful morning.  Vicenzo has run down to the bay, my lady; I sent him off immediately.  Vicenzo says he is certain sure they are at Leghorn, my lady; and, this time three years, the very same thing happened.  They were fishing for anchovies, my lady, close by, my lady, near Sarzana; two young men, or rather one about the same age as master, and one like my lord; cousins, my lady, and just in the same sort of boat, my lady; and there came on a squall, just the same sort of squall, my lady; and they did not return home; and everyone was frightened out of their wits, my lady, and their wives and families quite distracted; and after all they were at Leghorn; for this sort of wind always takes your open boats to Leghorn, Vicenzo says.’

The sun rose, the household were all stirring, and many of them abroad; the common routine of domestic duty seemed, by some general yet not expressed understanding, to have ceased.  The ladies descended below at a very early hour, and went forth into the valley, once the happy valley.  What was to be its future denomination?  Vicenzo returned from the bay, and he contrived to return with cheering intelligence.  The master of a felucca who, in consequence of the squall had put in at Lerici, and in the evening dropped down to Spezzia, had met an open boat an hour before he reached Sarzana, and was quite confident that, if it had put into port, it must have been, from the speed at which it was going, a great distance down the coast.  No wrecks had been heard of in the neighbourhood.  This intelligence, the gladsome time of day, and the non-arrival of Captain Cadurcis, which according to their mood was always a circumstance that counted either for good or for evil, and the sanguine feelings which make us always cling to hope, altogether reassured our friends.  Venetia dismissed from her mind the dark thought which for a moment had haunted her in the noon of night; and still it was a suspense, a painful, agitating suspense, but only suspense that yet influenced them.

’Time! said Lady Annabel.  ‘Time! we must wait.’

Venetia consoled her mother; she affected even a gaiety of spirit; she was sure that Vicenzo would turn out to be right, after all; Pauncefort said he always was right, and that they were at Leghorn.

The day wore apace; the noon arrived and passed; it was even approaching sunset.  Lady Annabel was almost afraid to counterorder the usual meals, lest Venetia should comprehend her secret terror; the very same sentiment influenced Venetia.  Thus they both had submitted to the ceremony of breakfast, but when the hour of dinner approached they could neither endure the mockery.  They looked at each other, and almost at the same time they proposed that, instead of dining, they should walk down to the bay.

‘I trust we shall at least hear something before the night,’ said Lady Annabel.  ’I confess I dread the coming night.  I do not think I could endure it.’