Along the Strada San Giovanni, a street of stairs, shut in by high
stone walls, with doors opening on either side, they went not as fast
as Albinia's quivering limbs would fain have moved, yet too fast when
her breath came thick with anxiety--down again by the stone stairs
called 'Nix Mangiare' (nothing to eat), from the incessant cry of the
beggars that haunt them--then again in a boat, which carried them
amid a strange world of shipping to the bottom of the dockyard creek,
where, again landing, she was told she had but to ascend, and she
would be at Bormola.
She could have paused, in dread; and she leant heavily on her
brother's arm when they presently turned up a lane, no broader than a
passage, with low stone steps at irregular intervals. They were
come!
The summons at the door was answered by a dark-visaged Maltese, and
while Maurice was putting the question whether Colonel Ferrars and
Captain Kendal lived here, a figure appeared on the stairs, and
beckoned, ascending noiselessly with languid steps and slippered
feet, and leading the way into a slightly furnished room, with green
balcony and striped blind. There he turned and held out his hand;
but Albinia hardly recognised him till he said, 'I thought I heard
your voice, Maurice;' and then the low subdued tone, together with
the gaunt wasted form, haggard aged face, the long beard, and worn
undress uniform, with the armless sleeve, made her so realize his
sufferings, that, clasping his remaining hand in both her own, she
could utter nothing but, 'Oh! Fred! Fred!'
He looked at her brother with such inquiry, perplexity, and
compassion, that almost in despair Maurice exclaimed, 'We are not too
late!'
'No, thank God!' said Frederick.
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