CHAPTER V
THE RETURN OF THE "MASTER"
The "Isola Sacra" mentioned by Paul as an inducement for Barbara toprolong her stay, was a small, uninhabited island facing Castel Nuovoat the distance of about three miles.
The island had often attracted the curiosity of Barbara, and Paul hadpromised that he would row her over to it whenever she felt disposed.
The day named by her for the excursion had come, and accordingly afterbreakfast Paul and Barbara descended to the beach, where they foundLambro getting his sailing-boat ready for their use. Jacintha followedwith a luncheon-basket on her arm.
"It's no use putting up the sail," remarked the old Greek. "There'snot a breath of wind stirring. You'll have to row."
Barbara sat by the tiller, where a silken cushion had been placed forher accommodation. Paul taking the oars pushed off, giving a smile toJacintha and a nod to Lambro.
"At what hour must we expect you back?" asked Jacintha.
"Not till evening," replied Paul, who set out with the intention ofspending the day upon the island, and of returning in romantic stylebeneath the light of the stars.
It was a morning of soft sunlight, lovely and still,--"the very bridalof the earth and sky." The heaven was one deep, living blue, and thesea so smooth that the mountain peaks, the cliffs, and the towers ofthe castle were reflected on the azure surface of the water as in amirror.
"It seems," sighed Barbara to herself, "that my last day here is to bethe fairest."
In happy, dreamy silence she leaned back in her seat, holding thecords of the tiller, and watching Paul as he manipulated the oars.Each sweep of his arm lifted the boat half out of the water, for hewas no novice at rowing, being the captain of the Britannic AquaticClub at Corfu.
Barbara had never known any pleasure equal to that of Paul'scompanionship; and now this pleasure was about to end--unless--unless.And then the questions that had robbed her of sleep during the nightbegan again their work of torture. Why had he called her "dearestBarbara"? Was it a mere transitory outburst of affection on his part,evoked by her helpless state? Would he place her on shipboard at Zara,and, leaving her to go on her way alone, return to Corfu? The thoughtalarmed her; she grew faint at the idea of a future without Paul.
She contrived to mask her emotion beneath a calm exterior, and as Paulcaught her smiles, he little thought how her heart was pulsating tothe very tune of love. She even volunteered to take one of the oars.
"What? and but just recovered from a fever! Besides, you will blisteryour fingers."
But Barbara was not to be dissuaded. She took the oar, and, neverhaving held one before, behaved like a true novice. She failed to keeptime with her partner, and her oar either did not strike the water, orstriking, deluged the boat with spray, till Paul began to considerwhether it would not be wise to suspend the luncheon-basket from themasthead. Strange how man will tolerate in woman blundering such as hewould not tolerate for a moment in his fellowman! Barbara'sincompetence at the oar was delightful in Paul's eyes.
"I'd better give it up," she cried laughingly. "Our boat isperforming such extraordinary gyrations that the steamer from Zara,which I can see in the distance, will be coming up to ascertain thecause."
So Paul resumed possession of the oar, and rowing onward in gallantstyle, reached the island, and ran the boat in upon the sands of alittle bay.
Isola Sacra was not more than two miles in length, and about one inbreadth; nevertheless, within its limited space there was considerablediversity. There were cliffs rising vertically from the water; therewere strips of yellow sand by the sea; there were woods, and asilver-flashing stream. And most attractive sight of all, the remainsof a Grecian temple crowning the summit of a small eminence, themarble columns glowing brilliantly white against a background of darkcypresses.
Towards this edifice they slowly made their way.
"To whom was this temple raised?" asked Barbara, as they stood withinthe ruin.
"It was the shrine of Eros."
The Temple of Love! What more appropriate place could there be for anavowal?
"The god of love," she murmured softly. "And his altar and shrine arefallen!"
"But not his worship," replied Paul. "That is eternal."
Barbara averted her eyes, and trembled with a sweet feeling.
They sat down on a fallen column beneath the shadow cast by a gracefulpalm. Before them lay the bay they had just crossed,--a bluesemicircular mirror, the Illyrian mountains forming a picturesquebackground.
Paul and Barbara sat drinking in the deep beauty of the scene. In theboat their conversation had been lively and unrestrained, but now asilence lay on both.
Barbara was the first to speak.
"I think," she murmured dreamily, gazing at the sky, "that theloveliest part of heaven must be above this isle."
Paul glanced at her inquiringly, not quite comprehending her remark.
"The Arabian poets," she continued, "assert that the fairest spot onearth is situated beneath the fairest spot in heaven, the earthly, asit were, being a reflex of the heavenly."
"A pretty idea!" said Paul. "With me, however, the fairest place onearth is not a fixed, but a moveable point."
"Yes?" said Barbara inquiringly.
"To me the fairest place is wherever you happen to be. Do I makemyself clear, dearest Barbara, or shall I say more?"
Barbara tried to speak, but the words would not come. There was noneed for speech, however. A light that would have made the plainestfeatures beautiful stole over her face. She placed her little handwithin his, and by that act Paul knew that she was his for ever.
He drew her to his embrace, where she reclined supremely happy and yetafraid to raise her eyes to his.
"Barbara," he whispered, "you have never yet told me the story of yourlife. Will you not do so now?"
There was nothing Barbara would not have done to please Paul. She wassilent for a few moments, as if collecting her thoughts, and then,still within the circle of his arms, she began in a voice as low andsilvery as if coming from dreamland.
"If I have been truly told, I was born at Warsaw in 1826, and shalltherefore be nineteen years of age next month.
"My parents I never knew; indeed I am even ignorant of their names andstation in life. I had been adopted in infancy by a noble Polish lady,the Countess Lorenska,--a youthful widow, who, although kindnessitself, was always mute to any remark relative to my parentage,though, as you may guess, the question as to my origin troubled me butlittle in those early days.
"The Countess Lorenska was very rich, her mansion at Warsaw a palace,and the ladies and gentlemen who attended her salons vied with eachother in caressing and spoiling me. I had all that wealth couldsupply, including learned masters, under whose tuition I began thatcourse of instruction which you have characterized as peculiar for awoman.
"My adoptive mother, herself well educated, superintended my studies,but the lesson she seemed chiefly desirous of inculcating is containedin almost the first sentence I was taught to utter,--'I will alwayslove Poland and the Catholic Church. I will never cease to opposeRussia and the Greek Faith.' This vow was part of my prayers morningand evening, and such is the force of habit that I still continue tosay it.
"As you may suppose, Polish history formed part, and a very importantpart, of my curriculum. My blood glowed as I listened to the story ofmy country's wrongs. But indeed I did not require the voice of pasthistory to teach me patriotism. What was happening all round wassufficient. I was between five and six years of age when the uprisingat Warsaw took place, and the unjust and terrible reprisals exacted bythe conquering Russians have left an impression upon my mind which nolength of time can ever efface.
"The war passed, and an era of tranquillity, or rather of torpor,followed.
"Among those who frequented the assemblies held by the CountessLorenska--assemblies that partook more of a political than of a socialcharacter--was a young priest of Italian origin, named PasqualRavenna, who exercised considera
ble influence over the mind of myadoptive mother, inasmuch as he was her father-confessor.
"One night during a brilliant entertainment I stole out of the _sallede danse_ into the moonlit gardens without, in order to avoid waltzingwith a silly fellow who was my special aversion. I secreted myself ina quiet arbor. On the other side of the shrubbery two persons wereslowly pacing to and fro, and earnestly conversing. I recognized thevoices of Countess Lorenska and Father Ravenna. I had no wish to hearwhat they were saying; indeed, I was too much pre-occupied with mywould-be partner, whom I could see through the leaves vainly trying tofind me, to pay much attention to them, but still fragments of theirdialogue reached my ears.
"'She must be removed,' Ravenna was saying; 'she is too near'--I didnot catch the word--'to be safe. He often visits Warsaw. If she shouldbe seen and recognized by him, our plan would be frustrated. Besides,she is growing. We must take care that she forms no love-attachment.'
"The countess laughed.
"'How absurd! She is too young for such notions.'
"'She is only twelve, 'tis true, but she is more advanced physicallyand mentally than most girls of fifteen. She will be safer in aconvent till--till--her restoration,' he added, as if hesitating forthe choice of a word.
"'If you say so, it must be so,' said the countess with a sigh,'though it will almost break my heart to part with her. Yourinstructions have been carried out to the very letter. She will alwaysbe a devout Catholic, and patriotically Polish.'
"'So far--good,' replied Ravenna.
"They both moved off at this point, and not till then did it dawn uponme that they were speaking of myself.
"Next morning I was summoned by the countess, whom I found seated withFather Ravenna.
"'Barbara,' she said, 'you are going to live in a convent for the nextsix years, where you will continue the studies you have begun here.Father Ravenna will conduct you to the convent. And do not forgetthat if I should die he will be your guardian, and you must obey hiscommandments, however strange they may appear.'
"I cried very much on parting from my adoptive mother.
"'Courage! It is for the good of Poland,' said the countess, as shefolded me in a last embrace.
"I failed to understand how Poland could be benefited by poor simpleme, still less how my six years' residence in a convent was toaccomplish that end.
"Under the conduct of Ravenna I travelled southward by easy stages. Ibegan to forget my grief in the novelty of the scenes that succeededeach other. We entered Dalmatia, the country growing in grandeur andwildness with every mile of our journey.
"At last we reached our destination,--the Convent of the HolySacrament, situated in an isolated valley amid the loftiest peaks ofthe Dinaric Alps,--and here Ravenna left me after a long conferencewith the abbess.
"My life in the convent was a very pleasant one. Being the youngestperson in the establishment, I became a sort of pet with the nuns.Though I took part in the devotional services of the convent, I didnot wear the religious habit, nor did I partake of the food of theother inmates. My fare was more delicate than theirs; I wore costlydresses; I had my own dining-chamber with a nun to wait upon me. Inshort, if I had been a princess they could not have paid me moredeference and attention.
"My studies were mainly directed by three monks from a neighboringestablishment, one of whom, so the nuns asserted, had been a leadingstatesman of Austria, who, for some offence, had been ordered by theKaiser to retire to a monastery; be that as it may, his was a mindwell stored with political knowledge, and Metternich himself could nothave taught me more of the secrets of contemporary history.
"My second year's residence in the convent was saddened by the tidingsof the Countess Lorenska's death,--to me a calamity in more ways thanone, for it made Father Ravenna my guardian, and him I had alwaysviewed with secret dislike, if not with fear.
"Now that I was growing older and more thoughtful, the question as tomy parentage began to trouble me. Who was I? why kept ignorant of myorigin? why put to this course of study? The abbess Teresa averredthat all would ultimately be made clear by my guardian Ravenna, whowould remove me from the convent as soon as I was eighteen.
"On the eve of my eighteenth birthday Ravenna appeared, no longer asimple priest. His scarlet robes and the title 'Your Eminence,'addressed to him by the abbess, showed that he had risen to thedignity of a cardinal.
"He held an interview with me in the quietude of my own apartment. Hehad not seen me for six years, remember, and of course during thattime I had grown from girlhood into womanhood.
"I noticed that as soon as he had set eyes on me he gave a start. I amcertain that he murmured 'How like'! During the whole of the interviewhe walked to and fro, seemingly intent on studying my face and figure,now in one light, now in another, conduct which very much embarrassedme.
"'Know, my daughter,' he began, 'that your father, supposed by you tobe dead, is really living.'
"You can imagine my surprise at this statement.
"'Then why does he not acknowledge me?'
"'He has lived under the belief that you died as soon as born.'
"'He knows differently now?'
"'I have informed him of his error.'
"'And he has sent you to bring me to him?' I cried joyfully.
"'Alas! there's a difficulty at present in the way of your meetingeach other. Accustomed for eighteen years to regard you as dead, helistens with scepticism to the story that you are living. Nay, more,he avers the statement to be a conspiracy on my part."
"'A conspiracy!' I repeated wonderingly.
"'He has another daughter by a second wife, your half-sister, of whomhe has grown passionately fond. You, as the elder, stand in the lightof her interests; whatever she thought herself entitled to nowdevolves upon you. For this reason he seeks to deny your relationshipto him.'
"'They wrong me by such thoughts,' I cried. 'I ask not for wealth, butfor affection.'
"'Tut, tut,' returned the cardinal. 'We have clear proofs of yourfiliation and legitimacy. We shall compel him to acknowledge you. Youshall not be deprived of your rights.'
"'How came my father to think me dead?'
"'I believe I am responsible for that error,' he said, with a smilethat told me some interested motive lay at the root of his deception.
"I was unable to control my indignation.
"'You!' I cried. 'A holy cardinal the author of a falsehood that hasseparated a father from his daughter for eighteen years, and that willperhaps keep them apart forever! I honor my father for his presentdistrust of you. If you lied to him in my infancy, what wonder that heshould deem you to be lying now?'
"The cardinal waved his hand deprecatingly. 'The end sanctifies themeans, and my end is a noble one.'
"Curiosity overcame my anger. Despite my aversion to the cardinal, Icould not refrain from plying him with questions; the names of myfather and my sister; their station in life; their abode, and thelike.
"But Cardinal Ravenna remained inflexibly uncommunicative. It was invain that I knelt before him, and with tears entreated that he wouldlet me see my father and sister face to face.
"'My presence may move them,' I said.
"'Your presence, my daughter, would create confusion,' he said coldly.'Leave to me the task of winning for you a splendid heritage. Tillthen you must remain in this convent.'
"And with that Ravenna took his departure.
"The new knowledge imparted by the cardinal contributed rather toembitter than to cheer my life. It was not a pleasant reflection thatsomewhere in the world I had both father and sister who had never seenme, and who, apparently, had no desire to see me.
"For this state of affairs the cardinal, according to his ownstatement, was responsible, and I hated him for it. He cared nothingfor the feelings of parent and child; his only object in bringing thetwo together was to advance his own interests; he would exact a priceboth from the father and from the new daughter.
"I resolved to cast off the self-constituted guardianship
of CardinalRavenna. I would quit the convent, and, making my way to Warsaw,endeavor to discover the friends of my girlhood.
"But when I conferred with Abbess Teresa she told me kindly, yetfirmly, that this could not be; the cardinal had left strict ordersthat I must be detained till his return.
"From that time my freedom ceased. The walks which I had beenaccustomed to take outside the convent in the company of two attendantnuns were stopped. The cloister gardens were open to me; once I haddeemed them spacious, now they seemed very narrow. Though treatedkindly in other ways I knew myself to be a prisoner watched byinnumerable eyes.
"The cardinal came not to release me. And thus eight monthspassed,--the most melancholy time I had ever known.
"At last the porter, Bulgar, with whom I had always been a favorite,listened to my pleading, and one dark night, by preconcertedarrangement with me, he left the convent-gate unlocked, and I stoleforth.
"But my flight might soon be intercepted. A few miles to the north ofthe convent, on the Bosnian frontier, is a fortress garrisoned byAustrian troops. I remembered that once when a poor nun longing forher freedom again, had run away, the Abbess had obtained aid from thisfortress. The commandant sent out a troop, which, scouring the countryaround, returned with the fugitive after a three days' search. Devotedto the cardinal's interests, Abbess Teresa would certainly make asimilar requisition in my case.
"Still I had the advantage of several hours' start, and, trusting toheaven for aid, I fled onward through the darkness. Zara, sixty milesto the northwest, was the haven of my desires. For two days Ijourneyed on foot, sleeping the first night in the woods.
"At the end of the second day--but you know the rest.
"O Paul," she murmured, with a soft pressure of her arms, "whom have Iin the world but you? And to think that I at first repulsed you whenyou met me that night in the wood!"
And here Barbara, having finished her story, looked up at Paul.
"Why so grave?" she asked, with a smile that masked a certainmisgiving on her part.
"In the very act of asking you to be my wife, Barbara, I feelcompelled to pause. Your story is so suggestive. Supposing you shouldprove to be a rich heiress, or a peeress, or," he continued, his mindreverting to the portrait of the lady with the diadem, "shall weascend higher, and say a princess?--you will make a mesalliance bymarrying one who has nothing but a cloak and a sword."
"Dreams, Paul, dreams."
"Nay, the interest taken in you by the cardinal proves that you are aperson either of rank or wealth, or possibly both."
"I place no faith in the cardinal's story. Doubtless, there does existsomewhere a rich Polish noble, whose infant daughter was lost orstolen away eighteen or nineteen years ago, but I do not believe thatI am she, though Ravenna would have me play the role of the missingheiress. But even if I were an empress--"
Here Barbara paused in her utterance.
"Yes; if you were an empress--?"
"Cannot you guess the rest?"
"You would be my wife. Is that so, Barbara?"
"Yes, Paul," she replied, simply. "None but you."
Paul raised her beautiful face upward to his own, and looked down intothe light of her dark eyes.
"Barbara, I have loved you from the first moment of seeing you."
Barbara could not truthfully say that her love had begun so early. Theknowledge of it had come upon her perhaps a month ago.
"I wish I had known it. A month ago!" he added ruefully. "Just thinkof the kisses I have missed!"
"Nothing prevents you, Paul, from repairing lost opportunities."
Who could have resisted the witchery of those lips raised sotemptingly at that moment? Not Paul, certainly.
* * * * *
The dusk of twilight was stealing over the island. The stars werebeginning to glimmer through the violet air above.
"It is time to return," said Paul, leading Barbara towards the boat.
"The mantilla!" she exclaimed, suddenly stopping short in her walk. "Ileft it in the ruins. I must go back for it, since it is Jacintha's.And my diamond brooch is fastened to it."
"You are tired, Barbara. Remain here. I will fetch it."
"Do not be long."
"Can you not bear a parting of five minutes?" he asked with a smile.
"One minute is too long, Paul."
Seating Barbara upon a fragment of rock, Paul hastened over the grassyupland in the direction of the classic ruin, which was distant about aquarter of a mile from the shore.
At the edge of a small wood that intervened between himself and thetemple, he paused for a moment to listen to Barbara, who was singingin a sweet plaintive voice the hymn to the Virgin accustomed to besung in her convent at vesper hour.
"Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining. Ave Maria! day is declining: Safety and innocence fly with the light: Temptation and danger walk forth with the night: From the fall of the shade till the matin shall chime Shield us from peril, and save us from crime. _Ave Maria, audi nos!_"
She formed a pretty picture as she sat there alone by the dusky-bluesea in the faint starlight, her dainty white-robed figure clearlyoutlined against the black rock.
"I'm the luckiest mortal living," muttered Paul. "By heaven! won't thefellows be dumb with surprise and envy when I mount the jetty-stairsat Corfu with Barbara upon my arm! And as for uncle, always an admirerof the ladies, he'll fairly worship her."
He pictured Colonel Graysteel's look of admiration, and caught hiswhispered aside: "By Jove, Paul, where did you find this lovelyvestal? Lucky dog! no wonder you have stayed away so long!"
Barbara had followed Paul with her eyes, and now, on seeing him pause,she waved her hand prettily, while he, like a gallant lover, waved hisin turn. Then, eager to despatch his quest and to return to her, heplunged into the wood, and Barbara was lost to view.
On reaching the temple, Paul quickly found the mantilla, but thebrooch which should have been attached to it was missing. As theornament was a valuable one he did not like to return without it, andhe therefore began a search in the fading light.
Having spent ten minutes without success, he resolved to quit the tasklest Barbara, sitting by the lonely shore, should become nervous athis long delay.
As he rose to his feet he looked upward, and found that the stars wereinvisible. A white mist like a ghost was floating over the isle.
Snatching up the mantilla, he dashed down through the woodland, and,but for the murmur of the sea, which served to direct his course, hewould most certainly have missed his way.
As he drew near to the beach he called upon Barbara by name, butreceived no answer. This was puzzling, inasmuch as he was near theplace where he had left her. Near? He was at the exact spot. There wasthe crag upon which she had been seated a few minutes previously, butof Barbara herself not a trace was visible.
Vainly did his eyes seek to pierce the veil of mist that hung around;every object more than a few feet distant was hidden from view.
The melancholy lapping of the waves over the sand was the only soundthat broke the stillness.
Where was Barbara? Ah! alarmed perhaps by the mist and by his longabsence, she had left the shore to seek him, and had missed her way tothe ruin. He would go back at once and find her.
He had just turned to retrace his steps, when suddenly from out themist that overhung the sea there came a strange voice,--
"_All ready? Give way, then. To Castel Nuovo!_"
The words were immediately followed by the dip and roll ofoars,--sounds that sent a thrill of horror through Paul's heart. Inone swift moment he realized what was happening.
The Austrian gendarmerie sent by the convent authorities had come atlast! Come? ay, and were going with their purpose accomplished!
Barbara, silent, perhaps because in a swoon, was in the hands ofenemies who were carrying her off, and though her captors were but afew yards distant, he was unable to render her any aid. Thesuddenness,
the stillness, the mysteriousness of it all was moreappalling than the act of abduction itself.
Half-an-hour had not yet elapsed since Barbara had pressed her glowinglips to his. And now--and now--was ever lover's dream cut short soawfully and abruptly as this?
"Barbara! Barbara!" he cried in agony. "If you are there, speak."
Was he mistaken, or did he really hear his own name pronounced by avoice faintly sounding, as if the speaker's head were muffled withinthe folds of a cloak?
Following his first impulse, he dashed into the sea towards the pointwhence came the sound of the oars. Like a madman he leaped and plungedforward through mist and water with the desire of arresting theprogress of the receding boat. Vain hope! He did not even obtain aglimpse of the boat, much less come up with it.
Not till the water surged breast-high around him did he pause, andthen he stood mechanically listening to the sound of the oar-sweep asit died away in the distance.
Recovering from his stupor he waded back to land, and sought the placewhere he had left his own boat.
It was gone!
It had either been taken in tow by Barbara's captors, or cast adriftin order to prevent him from giving trouble by following them.
The island had become his prison, inasmuch as he had no way ofcrossing to the mainland except by swimming, and though he might nothave shrunk from a three-mile course in smooth water, the samedistance across a sea-channel traversed by currents and covered by athick fog was a very different matter.
Though every moment of detention diminished his hope of effectingBarbara's rescue, yet here he was, absolutely helpless, dependent forhis release upon the chance passing of some fishing-boat.
He did not doubt--he could not doubt--that the abduction of Barbarawas the work of Cardinal Ravenna, who had probably been apprised byAbbess Teresa of the flight of his youthful _protege_. It was notlikely that he would restore her to the Convent of the Holy Sacrament;some more secure establishment would be chosen, and, when Barbara wasonce immured by the authority of a powerful ecclesiastic, it would bedifficult, if not impossible, to reach her. The only consoling featurein this dark affair was that the success of the cardinal's scheme,whatever its character, hung upon Barbara's life; so far she was safe,but the thought of the sufferings to which she might be subjected, inorder to extort submission, drove Paul's mind to the verge of frenzy.
At midnight the mist began to lift almost as suddenly as it had comeon. The whole blue arch of heaven became revealed. The moon was now atits full, and the cold, pallid light shone over the island with itsdark woods, and its ivory-white temple on the hill-top, the fallenshrine of love.
Paul mounted this hill and glanced over the sea in all directions; buthis hope of seeing some barque in the vicinity of the isle wasimmediately extinguished. Not a sail was visible.
He had brought to the island a pair of field-glasses, and these he nowdirected over the channel that separated him from the Dalmatianmainland. The light was insufficient for the taking of distantobservations; nevertheless, he came to the conclusion that a tinylight visible at a certain point on the coast marked the position ofCastel Nuovo; and, aware that Barbara's captors must long ere thishave reached their destination, this light became an object of deepinterest. Without any reason whatever to guide him, he took up thebelief that it marked the room in which she was detained for thenight, and impressed by this fancy, he kept his eyes fixed upon it aswistfully as if it were the face of Barbara herself.
Suddenly the light vanished.
A very simple occurrence, and yet Paul had no sooner noted it thanthere came over him a trembling and a horror as great as if theextinction of that light had likewise involved the extinction ofBarbara.
His mind was either playing him strange tricks, or else his hearinghad become more than ordinarily acute. Sounds on the opposite coastseemed close at hand,--sounds of an eerie character.
The deep silence of the night was first broken by the fitful ringingof church bells; immediately afterwards came a series ofreverberations which Paul could compare only with the rattling echoesproduced by the discharge of artillery among lofty hills; and nextthere floated over the sea a prolonged cry like the wild shriek ofsome captured town.
Then all was still again.
What had happened along that moonlit coast?
* * * * *
Night waned. Morning dawned with all the fair golden glory of thatsouthern clime.
On the shore of Isola Sacra stood a man, his gaze fixed eastward as ithad been fixed ever since the growing light had enabled him toperceive distant objects with any degree of distinctness.
The British regiment at Corfu would have failed to recognize theircaptain in this man with his wild air, blood-shot eyes, and haggardface staring continually over the sea.
For the twentieth time his shaking hands raised the field-glasses.
Whenever he turned the binoculars to that point of coast where CastelNuovo should have been, he found that Castel Nuovo was not there.Focus the glasses as he would, he could not detect a trace of theedifice. The blue sea seemed to be rolling over the site!
In like manner other landmarks along the coast had disappeared,notably a white lighthouse a few miles to the north of Castel Nuovo.The mountains, too, seemed to present an outline differing from thatof the previous day.
Then the truth in all its ghastliness broke upon Paul, and, strong manthough he was, he dropped upon the sands as one dead.
The explanation was simple and terrible.
During the night an earthquake had devastated the coast of Dalmatia;towns had been laid in ruins; scores of people had perished; and,among a crowd of minor catastrophes enumerated by the "Zara Times" ofthat week, was the complete submergence of a picturesque edifice,erected in the fourteenth century by the Doge Marino Faliero, andknown by the name of Castel Nuovo!
THE STORY