Sketches | Page 9

and
again repaired to the pavilion. Here they examined the contents of the
portfolio:--they were very rich, for it contained drawings of all kinds,
and almost of every celebrated place in the vicinity of the
Mediterranean shores; Saracenic palaces, Egyptian temples, mosques of
Damascus, and fountains of Stamboul. Here was a Bedouin
encampment, shaded by a grove of palms; and there a Spanish Señorita,
shrouded in her mantilla, glided along the Alameda. There was one
circumstance, however, about these drawings, which struck Miss

Ponsonby as at least remarkable. It was obvious that some pencil-mark
in the corner of each drawing, in all probability containing the name
and initials of the artist, had been carefully obliterated.
Among the drawings were several sketches of a yacht, which Mr.
Ferrers passed over quickly, and without notice. The Consul, however,
who was an honorary member of the yacht club, and interested in every
vessel of the squadron that visited the Mediterranean, very naturally
inquired of Mr. Ferrers, to whom the schooner in question belonged.
Mr. Ferrers seemed rather confused; but at length he said: 'Oh, they are
stupid things: I did not know they were here. The yacht is a yacht of a
friend of mine, who was at Cadiz.'
'Oh, I see the name,' said the major; '"The Kraken." Why, that is Lord
Bohun's yacht!'
'The same,' said Mr. Ferrers, but perfectly composed.
'Ah! do you know Lord Bohun?' said Miss Ponsonby. 'We have often
expected him here. I wonder he has never paid us a visit, papa. They
say he is the most eccentric person in the world. Is he so?'
'I never heard much in his favour,' said Mr. Ferrers. 'I believe he has
made himself a great fool, as most young nobles do.'
'Well, I have heard very extraordinary things of him,' said the Consul.
'He is a great traveller, at all events, which I think a circumstance in
every man's favour.'
'And then he has been a guerilla chieftain,' said Miss Ponsonby; 'and a
Bedouin robber, and--I hardly know what else; but Colonel Garth, who
was here last summer, told us the most miraculous tales of his lordship.'
'Affectations!' said Mr. Ferrers, with a sneer. 'Bohun, however, has
some excuses for his folly: for he was an orphan, I believe, in his
cradle.'
'Is he clever?' inquired Miss Ponsonby.

'Colonel Garth is a much better judge than I am,' replied Mr. Ferrers. 'I
confess I have no taste for guerilla chieftains, or Bedouin robbers. I am
not at all romantic.'
And here he attracted her attention to what he called an attempt at a
bull-fight; the conversation dropped, and Lord Bohun was forgotten.
A fortnight passed away, and Mr. Ferrers was still a visitant of our
Mediterranean isle. His intimacy with the Consul and his daughter
remained on the same footing. Every evening he paid them a visit; and
every evening, when he had retired, the major and his daughter agreed
that he was a most agreeable person, though rather odd; the worthy
Consul always adding his regret that he would not dine with him, and
his wonder as to what Ferrers he was.
Now, it so happened that it was a royal birthday; and the bishop, and
several of the leading persons of the town, had agreed to partake of the
hospitality of the British Consul. The major was anxious that Mr.
Ferrers should meet them. He discussed this important point with his
daughter.
'My darling, I don't like to ask him: he really is such a very odd man.
The moment you ask him to dinner, he looks as if you had offered him
an insult. Shall we send him a formal invitation? I wonder what Ferrers
he is? I should be gratified if he would dine with us. Besides, he would
see something of our native society here, which is amusing. What shall
we do?'
'I will ask him,' replied Miss Ponsonby. 'I don't think he could refuse
me.'
'I am sure I could not,' replied the major, smiling.
And so Miss Ponsonby seized an opportunity of telling Mr. Ferrers that
she had a favour to ask him. He was more fortunate than he imagined,
was his courteous reply.
'Then you must dine with papa, to-morrow.'

Mr. Ferrers' brow immediately clouded.
'Now, do not look so suspicious,' said Miss Ponsonby. 'Do you think
that ours is an Italian banquet? Is there poison in the dish? Or do you
live only on fruit and flowers?' continued Miss Ponsonby. 'Do you
know,' she added, with an arch smile, 'I think you must be a ghoul.'
A sort of smile struggled with a scowl over the haughty countenance of
the Englishman.
'You will come!' said Miss Ponsonby, most winningly.
'I have already trespassed too much upon Major Ponsonby's
hospitality,' muttered Mr. Ferrers;