CHAPTER XXXVI MR. BURTON LEIGH

Soon after four o'clock Lord Parkhurst suddenly woke up, and remembered that the convent of San Martino was still unvisited. We were recalled from the garden, and after a hasty afternoon tea—à l'Anglaise—the mules were brought round, and we prepared to make a start. At the last moment Mr. Leigh, whose conversation with my father had never flagged, begged to be left behind and called for on our return, a proposition to which Lord Parkhurst at once good-humouredly assented.

"I'm sure we have to thank you heartily for your hospitality, Mr. Arbuthnot," his lordship remarked, as he bade my father farewell. "We came to call on you for a few minutes, and have quartered ourselves upon you for the day. I do hope you'll return our visit. I've taken the Palazzo Pericilo, in Palermo, for a month. Your son'll soon be able to show you where it is, I hope," he added, turning to me.

My father made some courteous but indefinite reply as he walked down the hall with his departing guests. To have looked at the two men, any one would certainly have supposed the positions reversed, and that my father had been the distinguished diplomatist and peer, whose visit was an honour, and Lord Parkhurst the man without a name.

"Your father is a veritable grand seigneur," Lady Olive said to me as we stood at the gate prepared to start. "I never saw a more distinguished-looking man." And, though I only laughed at her, I was pleased.

The ride to San Martino was a delightful one. We entered at once, after leaving the villa, into a narrow, rugged glen, which led us higher and higher, until at last Palermo, with its marvellously beautiful plain, and the blue water of the Mediterranean sweeping into its bay, lay stretched out behind us like a beautiful panorama. Though we were high up in the mountains, we were still surrounded by the most luxuriant vegetation, and a sudden turn in the road showed us, thousands of feet below, a beautifully-cultivated valley, in the bed of which were dense groves of orange-trees, while its sides were laid out as vineyards and wheatfields. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of all was the huge façade of the convent of San Martino, which we came upon unexpectedly, and which seemed to be heaved out of the earth by some caprice of nature.

More than an hour we spent wandering about its vast open corridors and magnificent staircases, and, melancholy and silent though it was, its grandeur and solemnity, and, above all, the silence which reigned throughout the enormous building, made a strong impression upon us. Even Lady Olive forbore to chatter, and we none of us felt inclined to speak above a whisper. For my part I was not sorry when our tour of inspection was over, for the place seemed to me depressing in its vast emptiness, and I think the others were of the same opinion, for we all gave a simultaneous gesture of relief when we stood again in the open air.

"We'll go back now, I think," said Lord Parkhurst, yawning. "What do you say, Olive? Had enough sight-seeing?"

Lady Olive was content to do anything, so I handed her into the carriage, and we started homewards, with the fresh breeze from the Mediterranean blowing in our faces, and the glorious prospect of Palermo at the edge of the most luxurious plain of Southern Europe before our eyes.

In about an hour we reached the villa, and found my father and Mr. Leigh, with a pile of books before them, still eagerly conversing. I had promised Lady Olive in a weak moment to return and dine with them, but when Lord Parkhurst cordially extended the invitation to my father, I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard him, after a moment's indecision, accept. But he did so, and after a few very minutes' delay we all set out together for Palermo.

That was a very pleasant day—so pleasant that I felt almost inclined to echo Lady Olive's words whispered to me as we lounged about on the Marina, pretending to listen to the band, and call it one of the happiest of my life. I had never seen my father so thoroughly interested as he was with Mr. Leigh, and as we rode home together in the moonlight I asked him about it.

"I never met a man to whom I took such a liking, or in whom I was more interested," my father declared. "He has lived for a long time amongst the Arabs, and seems to have been much impressed by them. He is a disciple of a very curious Calvinistic doctrine of fatalism, which has a good deal of resemblance to the creed of the nomad Arabs. I don't think it ever struck him till I pointed it out."

"He is going back to Egypt, isn't he?" I asked.

"He is. There is a storm brewing there, and he is going to try and see what he can do to prevent mischief. He has asked me to go with him, Hugh," my father added, quietly.

"But you won't go?" I cried.

He looked at me with one of his old sweet smiles, which it filled me with joy to see again, and he rested his arm for a moment on my shoulder.

"Hugh, I have promised to think it over. Before I decide, we will have a talk about it; but not to-night."