Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:http://books.google.com/books?id=bN0BAAAAQAAJ
2. Compare this to the American edition: "Vineta, The Phantom City,"by E. Werner and translated by Frances A. Shaw.
The hot summer day was drawing to its close. The sun had already set;but the rosy flush of evening still lingered on the horizon, casting aradiant glow over the sea, which lay calm, scarce moved by a ripple,reflecting the last splendour of the departing day.
Close to the shore on the outskirts of C----, the fashionablewatering-place, but at some little distance from the promenade, whichat this hour was thronged by a brilliant, many-coloured crowd ofvisitors, stood a plain country house. Unpretending in appearance,compared with the other, for the most part, far larger and granderhouses and villas of the place, it was remarkable for nothing save onlyfor the beauty of its situation, its windows commanding a limitlessview over the sea. Otherwise it stood there secluded, almost solitary,and could certainly only be preferred by such guests as wished ratherto avoid, than to court, the noisy, busy life of C---- during thebathing season.
At the open glass-door, which led out on to the balcony, stood a ladydressed in deep mourning. She was tall and imposing of stature, andmight still pass for beautiful, although she had more than reachedlife's meridian. That face, with its clear regular lines, had, it istrue, never possessed the charms of grace and loveliness; but, for thatvery reason, years had taken nothing from the cold severe beauty itstill triumphantly retained. The black attire, the crape veil shadingher brow, seemed to point to some heavy, and probably recent, loss; butone looked in vain for the trace of past tears in those eyes, for atouch of softness in those features so indicative of energy. If sorrowhad really drawn nigh this woman, she had either not felt it verydeeply, or had already overcome its pangs.
At her side stood a gentleman, like herself, of distinguished and noblecarriage. He might, in reality, be only a few years older than his fairneighbour; but he looked as though more than a decade lay between them,for time had not passed by him with so light a hand. His grave face,very full of character, with its sharp, deeply marked features, hadplainly weathered many a storm in life's journey; his thick dark hairwas here and there streaked with grey; line upon line furrowed hisbrow, and there was a sombre melancholy in his eyes which communicateditself to the man's whole countenance.
"Still nothing to be seen! They will hardly return before sunset."
"You should have sent us word of your arrival," said the lady. "We onlyexpected you in a few days. Besides, the boat does not come in