212 THE EMANCIPATED.
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."
