"Your lordship always is," replied Stefano, who, having an answer always ready, always answered.
Leoni jumped into the boat, whose celerity shewed that the wax taper her pious rowers offered to Santa Catherina yearly on the day of her fête, was not thrown away; though, perhaps, the activity of the brothers who rowed did as much as their piety towards sending the little vessel swiftly through the waters.
"You want to land," said Michele, "at San Marco's steps?" turning the head of the boat to the accustomed landing-place.
The steps to which San Marco lent his name had been worth many a sequin to them; for the winding path to the left led to Lolah's villa.
"No, no," replied Leoni; "to the Nymph’s Cove."
"Signor," returned Michele, "those steps lead only to Count Manfredi's garden."
"And it is thither I am going."
The boatmen exchanged looks of astonishment bordering on dismay, which was not diminished by the silence of the usually gay cavalier. Montefiore leant back in the boat: as the interview drew nigh, a feeling of fear—not fear, that was what none of his house had ever yet known—but of awe, stole over him. Many a mood had that morning passed through his mind; disbelief—but surely the sad seriousness of such a one as Donna Medora could never stoop to mockery!—then hope, like a sweet summer-
