The other day, when it was rainy and sunless, he had seemed all at once to find his freedom.  In a moment of mental languor, he was able to view his position clearly, as though some other man were concerned, and to cry out that he had triumphed; but within the same hour an event befell which revived all the old trouble and added new.  Reuben Elgar entered his room, coming directly from Villa Sannazaro, in a state of excitement, talking at once of Cecily Doran as though his acquaintance with her had been unbroken from the time when she was in his mother’s care to now.  Irritation immediately scattered the thoughts Mallard had been ranging; he could barely make a show of amicable behaviour; a cold fear began to creep about his heart.  The next morning he woke to a new phase of his conflict, the end further off than ever.  Unable to command thought and feeling, he preserved at least the control of his action, and could persevere in the resolve not to see Cecily; to avoid casual meetings he kept away even from the Spences.  He shunned all places likely to be visited by Cecily, and either sat at home in dull idleness or strayed about the swarming quarters of the town, trying to entertain himself with the spectacle of Neapolitan life.  To-day the delicious weather had drawn him forth in a heedless mood.  And, indeed, it did not much matter now whether he met his friends or not; he had spoken the word—­to-morrow he would go his way.

At the very moment of thinking this thought, when his cigar was nearly finished and he had begun to stretch his limbs, wearied by remaining in one position. shadows and footsteps approached him.  He looked up, and—­

“Mr. Mallard!  So we have caught you at last!  It only needed this to complete our enjoyment.  Now you will go across to Raise with us.”

Cecily, with Mrs. Baske and Spence.  She had run eagerly forward, and her companions were advancing at a more sober pace.  Mallard rose with his grim smile, and of course forgot that it is customary to doff one’s beaver when ladies approach; he took the offered hand, said “How do you do?” and turned to the others.

“A fair capture!” exclaimed Spence.  “Just now, at lunch, we were speculating on such a chance.  The cigar argues a broken fast, I take it.”

“Yes, I have had my maccheroni.”

“We are going to take a boat over to Bale.  Suppose you come with us.”

“Of course Mr. Mallard will come,” said Cecily, her face radiant.  “He can make no pretence of work interrupted.”

Already the group was surrounded by boatmen offering their services.  Spence led the way down to the quay, and after much tumult a boat was selected and a bargain struck, the original demand made by the artless sailors being of course five times as much as was ever paid for the transit.  They rowed out through the cluster of little craft, then hoisted a sail, and glided smoothly over the blue water.

“Where is Mrs. Lessingham?” Mallard inquired of Cecily.