Circling around the cliff beyond Positano the sun greeted them, shining
from out a blue sky, and they wondered what had become of the bad
weather they had so lately experienced.
From now on, past Prajano and into Amalfi, the day was brilliant and the
temperature delightful. It was full noon by the time they alighted at
the little gate-house of the ancient Cappuccini-Convento, now a hotel
much favored by the tourist. Count Ferralti promised to join them later
and rode on to the town to find a surgeon to look after his injured
hand, while the others slowly mounted the long inclines leading in a
zigzag fashion up to the old monastery, which was founded in the year
1212.
From the arbored veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the
finest views in Europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it Uncle John
arranged with a pleasant faced woman (who had once lived in America) for
their luncheon.
An hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, Count
Ferralti rejoined them. His hand was bandaged and supported by a sling,
and in answer to Louise's gentle inquiries he said, simply:
"It was as I had feared: a small bone snapped. But my surgeon is
skillful, and says time will mend the wrist as good as new."
In spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon, but merely sipped a
glass of wine; so Uncle John, alarmed at his pallor, insisted that he
take a seat in the carriage on the return journey.
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