Everything was wet, grey, and dreary, as only the Roman shore can be at such times, with that unnatural dreariness of the south which comes down on nature suddenly like a bad dream, and is a thousand times more oppressive than the stern desolation of any northern sea-coast.
Marcello and Aurora watched the storm from a break in the bank which made a little lee.

The girl was wrapped in a grey military cloak, of which she had drawn the hood over her loose hair.

Her delicate nostrils dilated with pleasure to breathe the salt wind, and her eyelids drooped as she watched the poor little vessel in the distance.
"You like it, don't you ?" asked Marcello, as he looked at her.
"I love it!" she answered enthusiastically.

"And I may never see it all again," she added after a little pause.
"Never ?" Marcello started a little.

"Are you going away ?" "We are going to Rome to-day.