Part 6 (1/2)
”Are we going away?” she inquired, hoping it might be true.
”We are. We're going a long way, my girl. Do you care?”
”Of course,” said she, amazed at the question, for he had never considered her in the least. ”I'm glad. I don't like your studio.”
He laughed, and the laugh shocked her. She could not remember ever to have heard Jason Jones laugh before.
”I don't like the place, either, girl, and that's why I'm leaving it.
For good, this time. I was a fool to return here. In trying to economise, I proved extravagant.”
Alora did not reply to that. She was eager to begin packing and hurried through her breakfast. All the things she might need on a journey she put into one trunk. She was not quite sure what she ought to take, and her father was still more ignorant concerning a little girl's wardrobe, but finally both trunks were packed and locked and then Mr. Jones called a wagon and carted away the extra trunk of Alora's and several boxes of his own to be deposited in a storage warehouse.
She sat in the bare studio and waited for his return. The monotony of the past weeks, which had grown oppressive, was about to end and for this she was very grateful. For from a life of luxury the child had been dumped into a gloomy studio in the heart of a big, bustling city that was all unknown to her and where she had not a single friend or acquaintance. Her only companion had been a strange man who happened to be her father but displayed no affection for her, no spark of interest in her happiness or even comforts. For the first time in her life she lacked a maid to dress her and keep her clothes in order; there was no one to attend to her education, no one to amuse her, no one with whom to counsel in any difficulty. She had been somewhat afraid of her peculiar father and her natural reserve, derived from her mother, had deepened in his society. Yesterday and this morning he had seemed more human, more companionable, yet Alora felt that it was due to a selfish elation and recognized a gulf between them that might never be bridged.
Her father differed utterly from her mother in breeding, in intelligence, in sympathy. He was not of the same world; even the child could realize that. And yet, he was her father--all she had left to depend upon, to cling to. She wondered if he really possessed the good qualities her mother had attributed to him. If so, when she knew him better, she might learn to like him.
He was gone a long time, it seemed, but as soon as he returned the remaining baggage was loaded on the wagon and sent away and then they left the flat and boarded a street car for down town. On lower Broadway Mr. Jones entered a bank and seemed to transact considerable business.
Lory saw him receive several papers and a lot of money. Then they went to a steams.h.i.+p office near by, where her father purchased tickets.
Afterward they had lunch, and Jason Jones was still in high spirits and seemed more eager and excited than Alora had ever before known him.
”We're going across the big water--to Europe,” he told her at luncheon, ”so if there is anything you positively need for the trip, tell me what it is and I'll buy it. No frivolities, though,” qualifying his generosity, ”but just stern necessities. And you must think quick, for our boat leaves at four o'clock and we've no time to waste.”
But Alora shook her head. Once she had been taken by her mother to London, Paris and Rome, but all her wants had been attended to and it was so long ago--four or five years--that that voyage was now but a dim remembrance.
No one noticed them when they went aboard. There was no one to see them off or to wish them ”bon voyage.” It saddened the child to hear the fervent good-byes of others, for it emphasized her own loneliness.
Yes, quite friendless was little Alora. She was going to a foreign land with no companion but a strange and uncongenial man whom fate had imposed upon her in the guise of a parent. As they steamed out to sea and Alora sat on deck and watched the receding sh.o.r.es of America, she turned to her father with the first question she had ventured to ask:
”Where are we going? To London?”
”Not now,” he replied. ”This s.h.i.+p is bound for the port of Naples. I didn't pick Naples, you know, but took the first s.h.i.+p sailing to-day.
Having made up my mind to travel, I couldn't wait,” he added, with a chuckle of glee. ”You're not particular as to where we go, are you?”
”No,” said Alora.
”That's lucky,” he rejoined, ”for it wouldn't have made any difference, anyhow.”
CHAPTER VII MARY LOUISE INTRUDES
It was four years later when on a sunny afternoon in April a carriage broke down on the Amalfi Road, between Positano and Sorrento, in Italy.
A wheel crumpled up and the driver stopped his horses and explained to his pa.s.sengers in a jumble of mixed Italian and English that he could go no farther. The pa.s.sengers, an old gentleman of distinguished appearance and a young girl as fresh and lovely as a breath of spring, clambered out of the rickety vehicle and after examining the wheel admitted that their driver spoke truly. On one side the road was a steep descent to the sea; opposite, the hillside was masked by a trellis thick with grapevines. The road curved around the mountain, so there was no other vista.
”Here's a nice fix, Gran'pa Jim!” exclaimed the girl, with an amused laugh. ”Where are we and what's going to become of us?”
”That is somewhat of a complicated problem, Mary Louise, and I can't guess it offhand, without due reflection,” replied ”Gran'pa Jim,” whom others called Colonel Hathaway. ”I imagine, however, that we are about three miles from Positano and five or six from Sorrento, and it's a stiff walk, for old legs or young, in either direction. Besides, there's our luggage, which I am loth to abandon and disinclined to carry.”
The driver interposed.
”Give-a me the moment, Signore--perhaps the hour--an' I return to Positano for more carriage-wheel--some other. My Cousin L'uigi, he leeve in Positano, an' L'uigi have a-many carriage-wheel in he's shed.