Kenelm Chillingly Book VIII by Edward Bulwer-lytton

NEARLY a year and a half has elapsed since the date of my last chapter. Two Englishmen were -- the one seated, the other reclined at length -- on one of the mounds that furrow the ascent of Posilippo. Before them spread the noiseless sea, basking in the sunshine, without visible ripple; to the left there was a distant glimpse through gaps of brushwood of the public gardens and white water of the Chiaja. They were friends who had chanced to meet abroad unexpectedly, joined company, and travelled together for many months, chiefly in the East. They had been but a few days in Naples. The elder of the two had important affairs in England which ought to have summoned him back long since. But he did not let his friend know this; his affairs seemed to him less important than the duties he owed to one for whom he entertained that deep and noble love which is something stronger than brotherly, for with brotherly affection it combines gratitude and reverence.

He knew, too, that his friend was oppressed by a haunting sorrow, of which the cause was divined by one, not revealed by the other.