“No, Excellency,” he answered in a low voice that was far from steady, while the shadow of a despairing smile flickered over his features.

He put up his hand to help Teresina, the maid.  She pressed it hard as she jumped down, and smiled with much intention at the handsome sailor.  But she got no answer for her look, and he turned away and shoved the boat off the little stone pier.  Bastianello was watching them both, and wishing himself in Ruggiero’s place.  But Ruggiero, as he believed, had loved the pretty Teresina first, and Ruggiero had the first right to win her if he could.

So the boat shot out upon the crisping water into the light afternoon breeze, and up went foresail and mainsail and jib, and away she went on the port tack, San Miniato steering and talking to Beatrice—­which things are not to be done together with advantage—­the Marchesa lying back in a cane rocking-chair and thinking of nothing, while Teresina held the parasol over her mistress’s head and shot bright glances at the sailors forward.  And Ruggiero and Bastianello sat side by side amidships looking out at the gleaming sea to windward.

“What hast thou?” asked Bastianello in a low voice.

“The pain,” answered his brother.

“Why let thyself be consumed by it?  Ask her in marriage.  The Marchesa will give her to thee.”

“Better to die!  Thou dost not know all.”

“That may be,” said Bastianello with a sigh.

And he slowly began to fake down the slack of the main halyard on the thwart, twisting the coil slowly and thoughtfully as it grew under his broad hands, till the rope lay in a perfectly smooth disk beside him.  But Ruggiero changed his position and gazed steadily at Beatrice’s changing face while San Miniato talked to her.

So the boat sped on and many of those on board misunderstood each other, and some did not understand themselves.  But what was most clear to all before long was that San Miniato could not make love and steer his trick at the same time.

“Are we going to Castellamare?” asked Bastianello in a low voice as the boat fell off more and more under the Count’s careless steering.

Ruggiero started.  For the first time in his life he had forgotten that he was at sea.

CHAPTER V.

San Miniato did not possess that peculiar and common form of vanity which makes a man sensitive about doing badly what he has never learned to do at all.  He laughed when Ruggiero advised him to luff a little, and he did as he was told.  But Ruggiero came aft and perched himself on the stern in order to be at hand in case his master committed another flagrant breach of seamanship.

“You will certainly take us to the bottom of the bay instead of to Tragara,” observed the Marchesa languidly.  “But then at least my discomforts will be over for ever.  Of course there is no lemonade on board.  Teresina, I want lemonade.”