"I was about to tell your father, Miss Lind, when you came in, that if I
could not translate for you, or carry a message across the Atlantic for
him, he might at least find something else that I can do. At all events,
may I say that I am willing to join you, if I can be of any help at
all?"
Ferdinand Lind regarded him for a second, and said, quite calmly,
"It is unnecessary. You have already joined us."
CHAPTER IX.
A NIGHT IN VENICE.
The solitary occupant of this railway-carriage was apparently reading;
but all the same he looked oftener at his watch than at his book. At
length he definitely shut the volume and placed it in his
travelling-bag. Then he let down the carriage-window, and looked out
into the night.
The heavens were clear and calm; the newly-risen moon was but a thin
crescent of silver; in the south a large planet was shining. All around
him, as it seemed, stretched a vast plain of water, as dark and silent
and serene as the overarching sky. Then, far ahead, he could catch a
glimpse of a pale line stretching across the watery plain--a curve of
the many-arched viaduct along which the train was thundering; and beyond
that again, and low down at the horizon, two or three minute and dusky
points of orange.
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