She went to the window and looked over towards Capri.  A slight mist softened its outlines this morning; it seemed very far away, on the dim borders of sea and sky.  For a long time she had felt the luring charm of that island, always before her eyes, yet never more than a blue mountainous shape.  Lately she had been reading of it, and her fancy, new to such picturings, was possessed by the mysterious dread of its history in old time, the grandeur of its cliffs, the loveliness of its green hollows, and the wonder of its sea-caves.  Her childhood had known nothing of fairyland, and now, in this tardy awakening of the imaginative part of her nature, she thought sometimes of Capri much as a child is wont to think of the enchanted countries, nameless, regionless, in books of fable.

What thoughts for Sunday!  But Miriam was far on the way of those who recognize themselves as overmastered by temptation, and grow almost reckless in the sins they cannot resist.  So long it was since she had been able to attend the accustomed public worship, and now its substitute in the privacy of her room had become irksome.  She blushed to be practising hypocrisy; the Spences were careful to refrain from interfering with her to-day, and here, withdrawn from their sight, she passed the hours in wearisome idleness—­in worse than that.

She could not look again at Cecily’s letter.  More; she could not let her eyes turn to Raphael’s picture.  But before the mirrors she paused often and long, losing herself in self regard.

Early on the morrow, she drove down with Spence to Santa Lucia, and went on board the Capri boat.  There were few passengers, a handful of Germans and an English family—­father, mother, two daughters, and two sons Sitting apart, Miriam cast many glances at her country people, and not without envy.  They were comely folk, in the best English health, refined in bearing, full of enjoyment.  Now and then a few words of their talk fell upon her ears, and it was merry, kindly, intimate talk, the fruit of a lifetime of domestic happiness.  It made her think again of what her own home-life had been.  Such companionship of parents and children was inconceivable in her experience.  The girls observed her, and, she believed, spoke of her.  Must she not look strange in their eyes?  Probably they felt sorry for her, as an invalid whose countenance was darkened by recent pain.

The boat made first of all for Sorrento, where a few more persons came on board.  Miriam was by this time enjoying the view of the coast.  From this point she kept her gaze fixed on Capri.  One more delay on the voyage; the steamer stopped near the Blue Grotto, that such of the passengers as wished might visit it before landing.  Miriam kept her place, and for the present was content to watch the little boats, as they rocked for a few moments at the foot of the huge cliff and then suddenly disappeared through the entrance to the cavern.  When the English family returned, she listened to their eager, wondering conversation.  A few minutes more, and she was landing at the Marina, where Reuben awaited her.