And for such a woeful reason! That she might repent her
sins in a convent on the edge of Wimbledon Common, whereas Dido was
deserted for--
Again his infernal skipper hanging about. This time he had come with
news that the _Medusa_ was running short of provisions. Would Sir
Owen prefer that they should put in at Palermo or Tunis?
"Tunis, Tunis."
The steerman put down the helm, and the fore and aft sails went over.
Three days later the _Medusa_ dropped her anchor in the Bay of
Tunis, and his skipper was again asking Owen for orders.
"Just take her round to Alexandria and wait for me there," he
answered, feeling he would not be free from England till she was
gone. It was his wish to get away from civilisation for a while, to
hear Arabic, to learn it if he could, to wear a bournous, to ride
Arab horses, live in a tent, to disappear in the desert, yes, and to
be remembered as the last lover of the Mediterranean--that would be
_une belle fin de vie, apres tout_.
Then he laughed at his dreams, but they amused him; he liked to look
upon his story as one of the love stories of the world. Rome had
robbed Dido of her lover and him of his mistress. So far as he could
see, the better story was the last, and his thoughts turned
willingly to the Virgil who would arise centuries hence to tell it.
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