It was a calm southern night, with a silver moon shining serenely in a cloudless sky, and over the glittering expanse of ocean steamed the P. and O.'s vessel "Neptune" on her way from Brindisi to Malta. Every revolution of her powerful engines sent her plunging through the blue waters, with the waves breaking in tumbling masses of white foam from her towering sides. The passengers, numbering about three hundred, were all in high spirits, having had a most delightful voyage from Australia, and were looking forward, with pleasure, to their arrival at Valletta on the morrow.
Can there be anything in the world more pleasant than sea life on a steamship with jolly people? Anyone, who is a good sailor, will answer "No," though perhaps Ulysses, who travelled over these same waters, might not agree, but then the wandering Greek had not a P. and O. steamer at his command.
On this charming night a dance was in progress on the hurricane deck, and the immense area had been draped with brilliantly coloured flags, thus turning it into an admirable ball-room. Miss Kate Lester, the belle of the ship,--a position she knew she occupied, and, by the way took full advantage of all benefits to be derived therefrom,--was the pianist, and was playing the "Venetia Valse," to which a number of young people were dancing. The white dresses of the ladies, the darker costumes of the men, and the vivid tints of the flags, all seen under the powerful radiance of the electric lights, made up a very pretty picture.
Ronald Monteith thought so, at all events--and Mr. Monteith was a very good judge of beauty, especially if it were feminine. He leaned lazily against the bulwarks and surveyed the festive scene with a smile on his handsome face, but--Joseph like--took no notice of the many glances he received from bright eyes. Tall and sinewy, with fair hair and mustaches, blue eyes, and a skin bronzed by exposure to the hot southern sun, Monteith was decidedly good-looking, and by no means undervalued his personal appearance. His father was a wealthy Australian squatter, who owned large stations in the Riverina District, and, being a liberal-minded and liberal-handed man, had sent his son forth to see the world. Master Ronald, nothing loth, departed with a goodly supply of money, several letters of introduction, and a huge capacity of enjoyment; so, as can easily be seen, this lucky young man's lines were cast in pleasant places. There were lots of pretty girls on board who would have liked to marry him, nevertheless, his highness threw his handkerchief to none of them, yet flirted with all. He was not a clever man by any means, but he could ride, shoot, swim and box to perfection, all of which athletic accomplishments found favour in the eyes of women; he was, moreover, an honourable gentleman, with a kind heart and a generous spirit.
As he stood there in a meditative attitude, wondering if he could summon up sufficient courage to dance with the thermometer at somewhere about eighty, a young fellow who rejoiced in the name of Patrick Ryan, came up and took him by the arm.
"Come and have a drink, me boy," said Mr. Ryan, with a slight touch of the brogue. "I'm half dead with dancin', not to mention the way I've to talk to the girls, and tell 'em enough lies to make me recordin' angel take to shorthand."
"Then why the deuce don't you stop it?" retorted Ronald, as he accepted this bacchanalian invitation, and they went down to the bar.
"Oh, begad, think how the girls would tear their hair, and mine too, if I didn't look after them," replied Pat; "it's purely ornamental ye are, but 'tis better to be good than beautiful, and a mighty poor consolation anyhow."
Pat Ryan was certainly not beautiful, being short and dark, but his lack of good looks was more than made up by the possession of a clever tongue, which was generally going from morning till night, and as he could sing, play, write verses, and flatter a woman to perfection he was a great favourite on board.
"Well, I'm off to the halls of dazzlin' light," he observed when they had finished their drinks and were once more on deck; "come along, ye lazy divil, and I'll get you a partner."
"I'm too hot," objected Ronald, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Oh, jist hear him," said Pat in disgust. "Why, I've seen ye all day in the saddle under a burnin' sun, and divil a growl from ye, and yet when I offer ye a pretty girl to dance with, ye refuse; and as for the girl, begad, her beauty would tempt St. Anthony himself and small blame to him."
"Who is she?" asked the Australian, with some show of interest.
"Miss Lester, no less."
"I thought you were sweet there yourself Pat."
"I'm sweet on all the girls me boy--there's safety in numbers, and I believe in quantity as well as quality."
"You're getting too deep for me," said Ronald, pulling a very black pipe from his pocket, "so I'll go and have a smoke."
"A pipe too!" echoed Pat; "faith, it's woman's greatest enemy."
"And man's greatest friend," retorted Monteith, as he strolled off.
Pat, laughing, went away to arrange another dance, and to this end asked Mrs. Pellypop to play the Lancers. Mrs. Pellypop, tall, majestic and aggressively virtuous, was the mother-in-law of a Bishop, and was on her way home to pay her daughter a visit, an event regarded by the worthy prelate with anything but unmixed joy. She had an eye-glass--very effective to crush presuming people--a chilling smile and very strong opinions about her own position; in short she was a type of all that was virtuous and--disagreeable.
While the dancing was thus going on Ronald, having lighted his pipe, strolled up and down the long deck for a few minutes, then leaned meditatively over the side and watched the glittering waters sweeping past. While thus engaged he felt a light touch on his arm, and, on turning round, saw a man he knew standing near him.
"Hullo, Ventin," said Ronald, removing his beloved pipe for a moment, "why aren't you dancing?"
"Because I hate dancing," retorted Mr. Ventin irritably; "I'm sick of the perpetual jangle of that d--d piano, of Miss Lester's flirtations, and of Mother Pellypop's virtues--I'm sick of the whole thing and I wish the voyage were over."
"I don't," replied Ronald taking a seat on one of the deck chairs; "it's very jolly I think."
"Yes, I daresay," said Ventin gloomily; "you are young and rich, with all the world before you. I, on the contrary, am old."
"Rubbish!"
"If not in years, at least in experience. I have lost all my illusions, and have discovered the gold of fancy to be only the tinsel of reality. You stand on the threshold of a happy career; I can only look back on a ruined life."
Ronald looked at him curiously as he spoke. A handsome face certainly, but with innumerable wrinkles and hollow cheeks; dark, piercing, restless eyes; black, smooth hair touched with white at the temples; and a thin-lipped mouth, with a heavy, dark mustache. Yes, Lionel Ventin was handsome, but one whom a woman would rather fear than admire. For the rest, a slender figure, high-bred manner, and in general a cool, nonchalant demeanour, which but ill accorded with the restless glances of his eyes on this particular night.
Ronald had been introduced to him in Melbourne a year previously, and then lost sight of him, never expecting to set eyes on him again. But the first person he met on board the "Neptune" was Ventin, and a strong friendship soon sprung up between them, which seemed quite unaccountable, considering the difference in their dispositions. But the fact was Ventin liked Ronald's happy, pleasant manner, and, on his part, Monteith felt for the other that strong admiration which a young man always has for one who is older and knows more about the world than himself. Ventin had been everywhere, and seen everything. He had shot big game in the Rocky Mountains, hunted elephants in Africa and tigers in India, knew London, Paris, and Vienna thoroughly, and, when he chose to exert himself, could be a most delightful companion. To-night however, he seemed restless and ill at ease, which rather surprised Ronald accustomed, as he was, to the cool, careless manner of his friend.
"I don't know why the deuce I should trust you," said Ventin, sitting down near Ronald and eyeing him keenly; "we are only fellow-travellers, and I am not usually given to confidences, but occasionally it does a man good to open his heart to someone."
"Fire away old boy," said Ronald, puffing out a big cloud of smoke, and settling himself comfortably in his chair; "you look like a man with a history."
"Happy the nation that has no history," quoted Ventin, cynically. "I suppose the same remark applies to a man's life. My history begins in that accursed Malta, for it was there I met her."
"Oh! a woman?"
"Of course; most men's histories commence and end with a woman, that is why confidences are so monotonous. Well," turning restlessly in his seat, "I may as well say Ventin is not my real name. No--it is--well I need not tell you my real name, as it is quite unnecessary. I didn't do much credit to it when I had it, and I daresay my present name is not quite blameless. Bah! Why do I sentimentalize? Forty years of life ought to have knocked all that out of me."
"You're not forty!" said Ronald looking curiously at him.
"Why?" asked Ventin quickly turning his haggard face towards the Australian; "do you think these wrinkles due to age or dissipation?--To both I'm afraid, though I suspect the latter has had more to do with them than the former. God made man in His own image. He can't be very delighted when He sees how hard we strive to mar His handiwork."
There was silence for a few minutes, and the two men could hear the regular beating of the screw, the fitful sound of music mellowed by distance, and the gay laughter of the dancers. The voices of the whist players, disputing over some point in their game, came from the smoking-room, and in the semi-darkness extending along the deck could be heard the soft notes of a woman's voice, or the deeper tones from a man.
Then Ventin began to speak in slow, measured tones, quite different from his former vehement style.
"I was never a good young man," he said cynically; "but I don't think I was worse than the generality of fellows. Give a boy money and place him amid the temptations of London, and, in nine cases out of ten, he'll go to the devil, or, if he doesn't go, it is because some lucky accident prevents him. Perhaps he has a man-of-the-world friend who advises him--or he loses his money, and has to leave the primrose path--or, he may marry a good woman, and her influence may save him from his worst enemy, himself. Ah! if we only knew the value of a good woman's love--how she can be our guardian angel, and keep us pure and honourable in the midst of temptation! But we never find out the value of such treasures till it's too late,--but there,"--with a weary sigh,--"I am sentimentalizing again! Let me go on with my story.
"I lost both parents at the age of twenty, and I went to London with plenty of money and no experience whatever. Unluckily, I had no one to play the part of Mentor to my Telemachus, so I had to gain wisdom by experience, and pretty dearly I paid for it. I became a hard, cynical man of the world, for a thirteen years' residence in London was a liberal education to me in the nil admirari philosophy of to-day, and then--well my money lasted longer than my health, and I became seriously ill--so bad indeed that my doctors ordered me to Malta to be cured. Oh, heavens how ironical is Fate--it was merely a case of out of the frying-pan into the fire--for my part I prefer the frying-pan. It was true the balmy air and bright skies of Malta cured me of one disease, but unfortunately I contracted another not so easily dealt with,--that of love.
"I became acquainted with two charmingly pretty girls of the ages of twenty-three and nineteen, and--forgive my apparent egotism--both fell in love with me. It was the choice of Hercules over again, but unluckily I chose the wrong lady, and married the elder. 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,' so the younger soon hated me like poison, and left Malta for England. I married the woman of my choice and then my punishment commenced. She was a perfect devil, with nothing but her beauty to recommend her. Her father boasted they had Arab blood in their veins, and my belief is that the ancestor of the family must have been Eblis himself. Often and often she threatened to kill me for some petty thing, and I believe she would had not some instinct of danger restrained her. If I looked at another woman, there was a storm of reproaches--if I were away for a day, her jealous mind conjured up a hundred infidelities--in short, our married life was a hell upon earth. At last, after a year of this cat-and-dog existence, I determined to leave her, and to this course she assented, after a good deal of persuasion. A deed of separation was drawn up, by which I allowed her a handsome income on condition that she resided in Valletta. She agreed to this and, after a stormy parting, I went to England, and lived there a moody, discontented man."
"You did not see the other sister?" asked Ronald.
"No," he replied; "I never set eyes on her again. She was a nice girl, and I dare say I did treat her badly by leading her to believe I cared for her.
"Well, I wandered all over the United Kingdom and, while staying with some friends in the Highlands, I met the woman who made a better man of me--for a time. She was an orphan was Elsie Macgregor. Her father had been a soldier who died of consumption contracted in the trenches of Sebastopol, during the Crimean War. Fair and slender, with quiet, blue eyes and hair like yellow corn--I loved her devotedly--yes, too well to wrong her innocence, and would have gone away in silence, but she, with a woman's keen instinct, saw there was something wrong, and begged me to tell her all. I did so, and she--oh, Monteith, what do you think she did?--left her home and her friends--defied the sneers of the world and the scornful looks of her own sex and became my mistress. Yes--she saw that hers alone was the hand that could arrest me in my downward course; so to save me she ruined herself. I lived with her for one happy year, and always looked back to that time as the brightest era in my life.
"Then my devil of a wife found me out and instituted proceedings in the Divorce Court against me. I did not object, as I thought I would then be free to marry Elsie. The decree was pronounced, and as soon as I was able I married Elsie and took my passage with her to Australia--there intending to start a new life in a new land. We built castles in the air of a happy future, but it was not to be; for, just as the ship was leaving, that Maltese devil came on board, and then a fearful scene took place. I cannot describe to you the terrible way she went on, and Elsie, being in delicate health, clung to my arm nearly fainting. At last the climax came, for my former wife sprang forward and struck Elsie on the face--the poor girl fell in a faint on the deck, and after considerable difficulty that Maltese fiend was removed by force from the ship. We sailed, and I thought Elsie would soon recover, but the iron had entered into her soul, and before we rounded the Cape she was buried at sea."
Here Ventin covered his face with his hands, and Ronald, respecting his emotion, said nothing.
After a few moments of silence, Ventin resumed in an unsteady voice:
"I landed in Australia, a broken-hearted man--heedless of my life, and with no hope of happiness in the future. I went from Australia to New Zealand, thence to America, and travelled all over the new world trying to drown my bitter thoughts in dissipation, but without success. I went in for gambling, drinking, racing, threw away money on women, kept a theatre; in fact did everything I could to ruin myself. Then, wearied of the reckless life I was leading, I went back to Australia and tried to settle down, but it was no use. Like Orestes, pursued by the Furies, I had to fly, so I took my passage on board the 'Neptune,' and thus, here you find me a ruined cynic at the age of forty, and all through a woman."
"And what do you intend to do when you reach England?" asked Ronald, who had been listening with the deepest interest.
"England!" murmured Ventin dreamily; "perhaps I may never see England."
"What do you mean?" asked the Australian, a little startled as the thought of suicide flashed across his mind.
"No not that," replied Ventin, guessing his thoughts, "but when I was in Australia I received a letter from my first wife saying she would kill me the first time we met."
"She would never dare----"
"Oh yes she would--she has Arab blood in her veins remember; and when she is mad with rage, she would put a knife in me and take the consequences."
"But are you sure the letter was from her?"
"Who else could it be from?" said Ventin, shrugging his shoulders; "it was not signed, and the handwriting was slightly different from her usual style, but then she often threatened to kill me, and I've no doubt puts into writing what she often said."
"You have no enemies?"
"None that would go so far as to desire my death. No my friend, the letter was from the charming Maltese, and she'll carry out her purpose if she can."
"Is she in Valletta?"
"I don't know; if she is, and find me out, well--I may reach England alive, but I doubt it; and after all I don't think I'd care much: I'm sick of life, and if one could be only certain that death is an eternal sleep--well," with a sneer, "I think I'd be inclined for the nap; but come," rising to his feet, "I've bored you enough for one night, let us go into the smoking-room and have one pipe before turning in."
Ronald assented, and walked slowly after Ventin, wondering at the strange story he had heard, and at the strange man who told it to him.
"He's had a queer life," mused Monteith as they stepped into the smoking-room. "I wonder if his end will be as queer."
The dance being over all the ladies had gone below, the electric lights were out in the saloon and on deck, and only the smoking-room was lighted up for the benefit of the night-birds. Here they all came flushed and excited with their exercise, and soon all the marble-topped tables were covered with glasses containing different beverages from whisky-and-soda down to a modest squash, while the atmosphere resembled nothing so much as a London fog. Ventin had recovered his spirits, and told stories, made epigrams, and sang songs, until Ronald could hardly believe he saw before him the same man who had told him such a pitiful story.
Ventin saw his friend's eyes directed curiously at him once or twice, and guessing the meaning of his looks, came up to him to say "Good-night."
"I've put on the cap and bells, you see," he said, cynically; "broken hearts are not in favour with the world, and life is only a masquerade after all."
Tunisians, Maltese, English, Italians! Was there ever such a motley crowd as that collected in the principal street of Valletta? Bare-kneed Highlanders, in their picturesque tartans, elbowed wide-trousered Mahomedans from Tunis and Fez; swarthy, black-eyed Italians from Naples jostled against red-coated Tommy Atkins as he swaggered along, and the ascetic face of a priest, looking severely from under his long shovel hat, was seen close to the piquant countenance of a Maltese damsel, blushing under her ugly, black silk hood as she tripped gaily onward attended by her watchful duenna. Here and there parties of tourists came laughing and joking along the crowded pavement. English ladies, lithe and bright-looking in their neat-fitting yachting costumes, accompanied by smart young gentlemen, who had left their clubs and offices for a breath of the invigorating Mediterranean air, and crowds of ragged beggars were shrieking for money, and never satisfied with what they got. Such a mass of colour, such a diversity of costumes, such a confusion of tongues, and over all the clear blue sky, with the hot sun blazing down on the tall white houses and steep narrow streets.
The "Neptune" cast anchor about two o'clock in the afternoon and, according to the notice posted at the top of the saloon stairs, would not leave till nine o'clock at night, so all the passengers--the men in flannels and straw hats and the ladies in white dresses with sunshades--went on shore to enjoy themselves. The great ship steamed majestically into the still, blue waters of the Grand Harbour, and cast anchor under the massive walls which rose in towering heights from the precipitous rocks, and still bore on their weather-beaten fronts, which had withstood so many rude assaults, the proud crests of the famous Order of St. John of Jerusalem. On each side stood the cities of Valletta and The Borgo with their square, flat-roofed houses showing white and clear as they arose in serrated masses against the vivid, blue sky, and all round the big steamer innumerable boats, with canopies erected in the stern to keep off the sun, were darting about impelled by screaming, vociferating boatmen who had more conversation than clothes. Down the side of the ship the passengers went in a never-ending stream, and as boat after boat was filled with a laughing crowd and sheered off, there was soon quite a procession to the shore. It appeared as if the ship would be quite empty, save for the crew; but one, at least of the passengers, remained behind. This was Lionel Ventin, who preferred a lazy day on board with a pipe and novel to the discomfort of exploring the steep streets and picturesque buildings of Valletta.
"I'm sick of Malta," he said, in reply to Ronald's persuasions; "I know every hole and corner of that confounded Valletta, and agree with Byron about it; besides," with a significant glance, "I might meet my wife."
Against this last argument Ronald had nothing to urge, so went down to join his party, which consisted of Mrs. Pellypop, tall and majestic, in black silk, Kate Lester, and the irrepressible Pat Ryan. As they moved off, Ventin, who was arrayed in a suit of spotless white, waved his straw hat to them.
"How sulky that Mr. Ventin is," said Miss Lester, as they were pulled rapidly towards the shore; "he never speaks to anyone.
"Shows his bad taste," replied Mr. Ryan, "considerin' the pretty girls on board."
Mrs. Pellypop froze him.
"Your remark is flippant," she rejoined, putting up her glasses.
"It's true for all that," answered Pat bravely; "and ye'll see how these foreign chaps will stare at ye to-day, mam."
No woman is too old for flattery, and though Mrs. Pellypop was rigorously virtuous she was also a woman, so she received Pat's compliment very graciously.
"I know all about Valletta," she began. "I----"
"The deuce ye do," murmured Pat, "ye must know some nice things anyhow."
"And," continued she "will be your guide."
The other three looked at one another in dismay, and, with a strong effort, Pat gasped out a word of thanks.
"I say," whispered Ronald to Miss Lester, "she'll be as bad as Murray's guide book."
"Yes but not so accurate!"
"Never mind," said Pat, in a low tone, answering the last remark; "she'll make up for her mistakes by her obstinacy in stickin' to 'em; and perhaps," consolingly, "if we've luck we'll lose her."
They arrived on the rocky shore of Mount Sceberras, whereon Valletta stands, and admired the massive walls and the broad gateway, at which several red-coated sentries were keeping guard. Numerous guides offered their services but Mrs. Pellypop, in the purest of English--of which they did not understand one word, though her gestures were eloquent enough--sent them all away, and marched into Valletta, at the head of her party of three, like a victorious general into a conquered city. Then they began to climb the steep street leading to the Strada Reale, and under a burning sun the exercise was not pleasant. Oh! those interminable steps, how many oaths have they not been answerable for since Lord Byron abused them so heartily! Both Pat and Ronald cursed under their breaths, and if Miss Lester had not been very strictly brought up she also might have been tempted to use a word beginning with "D." Mrs. Pellypop, however, clad in her black silk--which must have been awfully hot, but extorted no remark from that excellent woman--toiled steadily upward, and not a word did this indomitable female say, though, like the celebrated parrot, she no doubt thought a lot.
"Capital exercise isn't it," observed Miss Lester as they paused for breath.
"I dare say, if we were training for a circus," retorted Pat dryly, taking off his straw hat. "I'm like Arethusa, and will melt into a stream of water if this goes on. I believe old Pellypop will swear shortly."
Kate laughed and looked at Mrs. Pellypop who, unassisted, was climbing slowly up the endless stairs.
"I don't think you gentlemen are very gallant," observed Kate, demurely glancing at Pat and Ronald walking on either side of her, "or you'd offer to help the old lady."
"We prefer to help the young lady," they cried in chorus, and Miss Lester blushed, not ill-pleased at this tribute to her charms.
On reaching the Strada Reale they found the place already crowded with their fellow-passengers, and after a few recognitions and salutations, Mrs. Pellypop's party went into one of the shops, where the ladies bought lace and the young men cigarettes. Ronald also purchased some lace handkerchiefs in order to pay off certain debts incurred by playing phillipine after dinner with sundry ladies on board, and, judging from the cost of his forfeits, he must have found the game somewhat expensive.
The next thing to be done was to see the celebrated Church of St. John, the glory of Valletta, so thither they went, and beheld a depressing-looking building not by any means remarkable for architectural beauty. But they were amply repaid for their disappointment by the magnificent sight which met their eyes on stepping out of the hot sunlight into the semi-gloom of the great building.
The arched roof covered with paintings of scenes from the life of St. John the Baptist, the exquisite tapestries hanging low down on either side, the vividly tesselated pavement under which so many valiant knights lay buried, and, to crown all, the wonderful appearance of the grand altar, glittering with gold--all this made up a marvellous picture, which for brilliancy of colour and harmony of effect, has not its equal in the world.
After admiring the splendour of the central nave for some time, they went into all the side chapels--each of which was dedicated to a special language--and saw the tombs of dead and gone Grand Masters, and also the famous silver gates, one of the few things on the island that Napoleon did not carry away.
"Fancy how grand and inspiring it must have been," observed Mrs. Pellypop seizing the occasion to moralize, as befitted the mother-in-law of a Bishop. "When this place was thronged by noble knights, all in the different dresses of their orders, when----"
"Yes, rather jolly being a knight," interrupted Ronald, "shouldn't mind it myself."
"I should," said Pat, flippantly; "they weren't allowed to marry, and what is home without a mother?"
Miss Lester laughed, but Mrs. Pellypop was so disgusted by the giddy way in which the young man spoke, that she hastily left the church, having first reflected however, that there was nothing more to be seen.
"That young man would joke at his father's funeral," she said to Kate when they were once more in the hot sunshine.
"Well there's nothing like making the best of things," retorted Pat, who was just behind and overheard the remark.
"But really the church was grand," cried Ronald quickly in order to prevent a storm.
"Lots of show and very little religion I fancy," said the irrepressible Pat.
"I don't agree with you Mr. Ryan," observed Mrs. Pellypop, severely; "the solemn grandeur of that church would have an effect even on the most frivolous mind," with a significant glance at the Irishman.
"I daresay the effect wouldn't endure long," said Ronald, lightly. "Religion, which appeals purely to the senses, is never so strong as that which comes straight to the mind."
"Of course not," replied Pat who knew nothing about what he was talking, and only spoke to irritate the old lady, "I'd back Presbyterianism against Catholicism any day for fanaticism: it's a fight between Calvin and Peter--two to one on the winner."
Mrs. Pellypop made no reply, being struck with horror at the light way in which the young man treated religion, and walked hastily away with Miss Lester so as to close the discussion.
"Hang it Pat!" said Ronald, as they walked slowly behind, "why can't you leave the old girl alone?"
"Because she won't leave us alone," retorted Pat. "Why the deuce should she come with us to spoil sport?"
"Two young men and only one girl isn't sport!"
"Oh begad! we'd have tossed for her, and the loser could have made himself scarce."
They then went to the Capuchin Convent and saw the dried monks, looking grim and ghastly enough in the dim light of candles carried by their living brethren. Pat's comment on their appearance was original.
"They look like Bombay duck," he said, alluding to the dried fish usually eaten with curry. "I don't think I'll touch any more of it."
Kate Lester laughed.
"You are amusing, but irreligious," she said, turning away.
"Irreligious, certainly," observed Virtue, in the person of Mrs. Pellypop; "but amusing, no."
"I don't think the old thing's got much sense of humour," whispered Pat to Ronald as they went up again into the light of day.
"Well, if no one else laughs at your jokes, Pat, you always do yourself," retorted the Australian consolingly. "But come along, we'll go to the Barraca and see the view."
They strolled slowly along, inhaling the fresh air, and going through the ruined Barraca, which was unroofed by one of the Grand Masters, they stepped out on to the terrace, and saw that wonderful panorama, which is one of the finest things in Valletta. A magnificent view of the open sea, the blue waters of the Quarantine Harbour, while immediately below are the Sultan's garden, the huge walls of Fort Lascaris, and the Fish Market. Away in the distance can be seen Fort Sant Elmo protecting the entrance to the port, Fort St. Angelo, which is one of the oldest in Malta, and the angular lines of fortification standing sharp and clear against the vividly blue sky. It was a gorgeous panorama, and even Mrs. Pellypop was impressed.
"This place is impregnable," she said, surveying it through her glasses.
"I don't think so," said Pat, in a contradictory tone; "a few of our new guns would knock it to pieces in no time."
Mrs. Pellypop deigned no reply to this flippant remark, but walked off indignantly, wishing that the fate he intended for Valletta would befall this intrusive young man.
Suddenly Ronald uttered an exclamation:--
"By Jove! what pretty girls!"
Valletta, its traditions, its views, its pleasures, all vanished to nothing as he saw before him feminine beauty. Mrs. Pellypop was disgusted, as she considered no man had a right to admire a woman when another was beside him. This however was merely the Pellypop code, and not generally adopted.
But the two ladies who had caused Ronald's exclamation fully justified his remark. One was tall and slender, with a dark, oval face, and coils of jet-black hair wreathed round her small head. Wonderfully dark eyes which had a sleepy look, a straight, delicately chiselled nose, and a full red mouth. She was dressed in a loose, white gown, with a crimson sash round her waist, and instead of the ugly hoods generally worn by the Maltese ladies, had a saucy sailor hat on her head, long Suède gloves, and a tall pompadour umbrella of red silk, completed her costume.
The other was somewhat similar in appearance, but evidently older, and had rather a repelling expression of countenance. She was dressed in black, and did not show to such advantage as her companion, so, after a careless glance at her, Ronald--who, like all fair men, admired dark women--turned his attention to the younger of the two. They appeared to have been quarrelling, and the younger girl was walking quickly a little in advance of her friend with an indignant expression on her face, while the other followed more slowly with a frown on her strongly marked features. When they disappeared, Ronald turned to his companion with a sigh.
"Yes awfully pretty."
"I confess," observed Mrs. Pellypop, slowly, "I do not think so."
Ronald was discreet, and surrendered.
"I dare say not," he observed hastily, "but you see one is so often deceived by a passing glance."