“Do you think that there is any chance of our recapturing it, captain?”

“Not the least in the world,” the captain replied.  “Even supposing that we could get on board, and overpower the Genoese without being heard, and get her out of the port without being seen, we should not get away.  Laden as she is with grain, she will sail very slowly, and the Genoese would overtake her in a few hours; and I needn’t tell you that then there would be very little mercy shown to any on board.”

“That is true enough,” Francis said.  “Still, I do not like the idea of losing the Lido.”

After the meal was over Francis rose, and asked Matteo to accompany him on a stroll along the cliffs, Giuseppi as usual following them.  They walked along until they rounded the head of the bay, and were able to look along the coast for some distance.  It was steep and rocky, and worn into a number of slight indentations.  In one of these rose a ledge of rocks at a very short distance from the shore.

“How much further are we going, Francis?” Matteo said when they had walked a couple of miles.

“About a quarter of a mile, Matteo.  I want to examine that ledge of rocks we saw from the first point.”

“What on earth do you want to look at them for, Francis?  You certainly are the most curious fellow I ever met.  You scoffed at me when I said I should like to go up Mount Etna, and now here you are, dragging me along this cliff, just to look at some rocks of no possible interest to any one.”

“That is the point to be inquired into, Matteo.  I think it’s possible they may prove very interesting.”

Matteo shrugged his shoulders, as he often did when he felt too lazy to combat the eccentric ideas of his English friend.

“There we are,” Francis said at last, standing on the edge of the cliff and looking down.  “Nothing could be better.”

“I am glad you think so, Francisco,” Matteo said, seating himself on the grass.  “I hope you intend to stay some little time to admire them, for I own that I should like a rest before I go back.”

Francis stood looking at the rocks.  The bay was a shallow one, and was but five or six hundred yards from point to point, the rocks rising nearly in a line between the points, and showing for about two hundred yards above water, and at about the same distance from the cliffs behind them.

“What height do you think those rocks are above the water, Giuseppi?”

“It is difficult to judge, signor, we are so high above them; but I should think in the middle they must be ten or twelve feet.”

“I should think it likely they were more than double that, Giuseppi; but we shall see better when we get down to the bottom.  I daresay we shall find a place where we can clamber down somewhere.”

“My dear Francisco,” Matteo said earnestly, “is anything the matter with you?  I begin to have doubts of your sanity.  What on earth do these rocks matter to you, one way or the other? or what can you care whether they are thirty inches or thirty feet above the water?