Erceldoune saw none of it, yet he felt it vaguely—felt, as his vessel steered through that flood of sunlight, coming from the rich mezzo giorno of the Amalfi coast into the golden riot of this lavish loveliness, as though he floated to a paradise. So had they thought before him, who, sailing through those caressing seas towards the same isles where the Syrens sang, had listened to the enchanted song to find their grave, in tumult and in storm.
The sun sank behind Ischia as he went ashore, and the sudden twilight fell, quenching all the blaze of fire, and bringing in its stead the tender night, with the chime of the Ave María ringing out from church bells over the sea.
He was known in Capri, and the men showed their white teeth with a bright smile, and the girls laughed all over their handsome brown faces, as they welcomed him.
He had little doubt of soon learning what he sought: a few brief questions brought him loquacious answers.
"’Niursi, signore!" cried a marinaro, in the barbarous Capriote patois. "L'illustrissima Contessa! she knows me well. Chiara, my wife, helped the African carry the luggage up to her villa the day before yesterday"
