As he re-entered the inn-precincts, he heard voices still uproarious in the dining-room; but he had no intention of going among them again. His bedroom was one of a row which opened immediately upon the garden. He locked himself in, went to bed, but did not sleep for a long time. A wind was rising, and a branch of a tree constantly tapped against the pane. It might have been some centuries-dead inhabitant of Pompeii trying to deliver a message from the silent world. The breakfast-party next morning lacked vivacity. Clifford Marsh was mute and dolorous of aspect; no doubt his personal embarrassments were occupying him. Yesterday's wine had become his foe, instead of an ally urging him to dare all in the cause of "art." He consumed his coffee and roll in the manner of ordinary mortals, not once flourishing his dainty hand or shaking his ambrosial hair. Elgar was very stiff from his ascent of Vesuvius, and he too found that "the foam of life" had an unpleasant after-taste, suggestive of wrecked fortunes and a dubious future. Mallard was only a little gruffer than his wonted self. "I am going on at once to Sorrento," he said, meeting Elgar afterwards in the garden. "To-morrow I shall cross over the hills to Positano and Amalfi. Suppose you come with me?" The other hesitated. "You mean you are going to walk?" "No. I have traps to carry on from the station. We should have a carriage to Sorrento, and to-morrow a donkey for the baggage." They paced about, hands in pockets. It was a keen morning; the tramontana blew blusterously, causing the smoke of Vesuvius to lie all down its long slope, a dense white cloud, or a vast turbid torrent, breaking at the foot into foam and spray. The clearness of the air was marvellous. Distance seemed to have no power to dim the details of the landscape. The Apennines glistened with new-fallen snow. "I hadn't thought of going any further just now," said Elgar, who seemed to have a difficulty in simply declining the invitation, as he wished to do. "What should you do, then?" "Spend another day here, I think,--I've only had a few hours among the ruins, you know,--and then go back to Naples." "What to do there?" asked Mallard, bluntly. "Give a little more time to the museum, and see more of the surroundings." "Better come on with me. I shall be glad of your company." It was said with decision, but scarcely with heartiness. Elgar looked about him vaguely. "To tell you the truth," he said at last, "I don't care to incur much expense." "The expenses of what I propose are trivial." "My traps are at Naples, and I have kept the room there. No, I don't see my way to it, Mallard." "All right."