"Appears to have been almost worth while," Sir Charles added, "from what I
gather--and, confound it, Grig, we'd have done the same in our day."

But Captain Grigsby only repeated: "D--d kittle cattle!"

And so they weighed anchor, and sailed along the Italian shores of the
sun-lit Adriatic.

These were better days for Paul. Each hour brought him back some health and
vigour. Youth and strength were asserting their own again, and the absence
of familiar objects, and the glory of the air and the blue sea helped
sometimes to deaden the poignant agony of his aching heart. But there it
was underneath, an ever-present, dull anguish. And only when he became
sufficiently strong to help the sailors with the ropes, and exert physical
force, did he get one moment's respite. The two elder men watched him with
kind, furtive eyes, but they never questioned him, or made the slightest
allusion to his travels.

And the first day they heard him laugh Sir Charles looked down at the white
foam because a mist was in his eyes.

They had coasted round Italy and Sicily, and not among the Ionian Isles, as
had been Captain Grigsby's intention.

"I fancy the lady came from some of those Balkan countries," Sir Charles
had said. "Don't let us get in touch with even the outside of one of them."

And Mark Grigsby had grunted an assent.

"The boy is a fine fellow," he said one morning as they looked at Paul