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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13932 ***
+
+WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND
+
+by
+
+F. MARION CRAWFORD
+
+Author of _Saracinesca_, _The Heart Of Rome_, etc, etc.
+
+With Eight Illustrations Drawn in Rome with the Author's Suggestions
+
+by Horace T. Carpenter
+
+1905
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones which believe in Me,
+it were better for him that a mill stone were hanged about his neck, and
+that he were drowned in the depth of the sea"
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "SUDDENLY HE HEARD AN ITALIAN VOICE VERY NEAR TO HIM,
+CALLING HIM BY NAME, IN A TONE OF SURPRISE"]
+
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+"Suddenly he heard an Italian voice very near to him, calling him by
+name, in a tone of surprise"
+
+"'I call it the sleeping death,' answered the Professor"
+
+"He flushed again, very angry this time, and he moved away to leave her,
+without another word"
+
+" ... the door was darkened, and the girl stood there with a large copper
+'conca' ..."
+
+"He moved a step towards the bed, and then another, forcing himself to
+go on"
+
+"Ercole left his home after sunset that evening"
+
+"Regina made a steady effort, lifting fully half Aurora's weight with
+her"
+
+"She sat there like a figure of grief outlined in black against the
+moonlight on the great wall"
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+When the widow of Martino Consalvi married young Corbario, people shook
+their heads and said that she was making a great mistake. Consalvi had
+been dead a good many years, but as yet no one had thought it was time
+to say that his widow was no longer young and beautiful, as she had
+always been. Many rich widows remain young and beautiful as much as a
+quarter of a century, or even longer, and the Signora Consalvi was very
+rich indeed. As soon as she was married to Folco Corbario every one knew
+that she was thirty-five years old and he was barely twenty-six, and
+that such a difference of ages on the wrong side was ridiculous if it
+was not positively immoral. No well-regulated young man had a right to
+marry a rich widow nine years older than himself, and who had a son only
+eleven years younger than he.
+
+A few philosophers who said that if the widow was satisfied the matter
+was nobody's business were treated with the contempt they deserved.
+Those who, on the contrary, observed that young Corbario had married for
+money and nothing else were heard with favour, until the man who knew
+everything pointed out that as the greater part of the fortune would be
+handed over to Marcello when he came of age, six years hence, Corbario
+had not made a good bargain and might have done better. It was true that
+Marcello Consalvi had inherited a delicate constitution of body, it had
+even been hinted that he was consumptive. Corbario would have done
+better to wait another year or two to see what happened, said a cynic,
+for young people often died of consumption between fifteen and twenty.
+The cynic was answered by a practical woman of the world, who said that
+Corbario had six years of luxury and extravagance before him, and that
+many men would have sold themselves to the devil for less. After the six
+years the deluge might come if it must; it was much pleasanter to drown
+in the end than never to have had the chance of swimming in the big
+stream at all, and bumping sides with the really big fish, and feeling
+oneself as good as any of them. Besides, Marcello was pale and thin, and
+had been heard to cough; he might die before he came of age. The only
+objection to this theory was that it was based on a fiction; for the
+whole fortune had been left to the Signora by a childless relation.
+
+These amiable and interesting views were expressed with variations by
+people who knew the three persons concerned, and with such a keen sense
+of appropriate time and place as made it quite sure that none of the
+three should ever know what was said of them. The caution of an old fox
+is rash temerity compared with the circumspection of a first-rate
+gossip; and when the gossips were tired of discussing Folco Corbario and
+his wife and her son, they talked about other matters, but they had a
+vague suspicion that they had been cheated out of something. A cat that
+has clawed all the feathers off a stuffed canary might feel just what
+they did.
+
+For nothing happened. Corbario did not launch into wild extravagance
+after all, but behaved himself with the faultless dulness of a model
+middle-aged husband. His wife loved him and was perfectly happy, and
+happiness finally stole her superfluous years away, and they evaporated
+in the sunshine, and she forgot all about them. Marcello Consalvi, who
+had lost his father when he was a mere child, found a friend in his
+mother's husband, and became very fond of him, and thought him a good
+man to imitate; and in return Corbario made a companion of the
+fair-haired boy, and taught him to ride and shoot in his holidays, and
+all went well.
+
+Moreover, Marcello's mother, who was a good woman, told him that the
+world was very wicked; and with the blind desire for her son's lasting
+innocence, which is the most touching instinct of loving motherhood, she
+entreated him to lead a spotless life. When Marcello, in the excusable
+curiosity of budding youth, asked his stepfather what that awful
+wickedness was against which he was so often warned, Corbario told him
+true stories of men who had betrayed their country and their friends,
+and of all sorts of treachery and meanness, to which misdeeds the boy
+did not feel himself at all inclined; so that he wondered why his mother
+seemed so very anxious lest he should go astray. Then he repeated to her
+what Corbario had told him, and she smiled sweetly and said nothing, and
+trusted her husband all the more. She felt that he understood her, and
+was doing his best to help her in making Marcello what she wished him to
+be.
+
+The boy was brought up at home; in Rome in the winter, and in summer on
+the great estate in the south, which his father had bought and which was
+to be a part of his inheritance.
+
+He was taught by masters who came to the house to give their lessons and
+went away as soon as the task was over. He had no tutor, for his mother
+had not found a layman whom she could trust in that capacity, and yet
+she understood that it was not good for a boy to be followed everywhere
+by a priest. Besides, Corbario gave so much of his time to his stepson
+that a tutor was hardly needed; he walked with him and rode with him, or
+spent hours with him at home when the weather was bad. There had never
+been a cross word between the two since they had met. It was an ideal
+existence. Even the gossips stopped talking at last, and there was not
+one, not even the most ingeniously evil-tongued of all, that prophesied
+evil.
+
+They raised their eyebrows, and the more primitive among them shrugged
+their shoulders a little, and smiled. If Providence really insisted upon
+making people so perfect, what was to be done? It was distressing, but
+there was nothing to be said; they must just lead their lives, and the
+gossips must bear it. No doubt Corbario had married for money, since he
+had nothing in particular and his wife had millions, but if ever a man
+had married for money and then behaved like an angel, that man was Folco
+Corbario and no other. He was everything to his wife, and all things to
+his stepson--husband, father, man of business, tutor, companion, and
+nurse; for when either his wife or Marcello was ill, he rarely left the
+sick-room, and no one could smooth a pillow as he could, or hold a glass
+so coaxingly to the feverish lips, or read aloud so untiringly in such a
+gentle and soothing voice.
+
+No ascendency of one human being over another is more complete than that
+of a full-grown man over a boy of sixteen, who venerates his elder as an
+ideal. To find a model, to believe it perfection, and to copy it
+energetically, is either a great piece of good fortune, or a misfortune
+even greater; in whatever follows in life, there is the same difference
+between such development and the normally slow growth of a boy's mind as
+that which lies between enthusiasm and indifference. It is true that
+where there has been no enthusiastic belief there can be no despairing
+disillusionment when the light goes out; but it is truer still that hope
+and happiness are the children of faith by the ideal.
+
+A boy's admiration for his hero is not always well founded; sometimes it
+is little short of ridiculous, and it is by no means always harmless.
+But no one found fault with Marcello for admiring his stepfather, and
+the attachment was a source of constant satisfaction to his mother. In
+her opinion Corbario was the handsomest, bravest, cleverest, and best of
+men, and after watching him for some time even the disappointed gossips
+were obliged to admit, though without superlatives, that he was a
+good-looking fellow, a good sportsman, sufficiently well gifted, and of
+excellent behaviour. There was the more merit in the admission, they
+maintained, because they had been inclined to doubt the man, and had
+accused him of marrying out of pure love of money. A keen judge of men
+might have thought that his handsome features were almost too still and
+too much like a mask, that his manner was so quiet as to be almost
+expressionless, and that the soft intonation of his speech was almost
+too monotonous to be natural. But all this was just what his wife
+admired, and she encouraged her son to imitate it. His father had been a
+man of quick impulses, weak to-day, strong to-morrow, restless, of
+uncertain temper, easily enthusiastic and easily cast down, capable of
+sudden emotions, and never able to conceal what he felt if he had cared
+to do so. Marcello had inherited his father's character and his mother's
+face, as often happens; but his unquiet disposition was tempered as yet
+by a certain almost girlish docility, which had clung to him from
+childhood as the result of being brought up almost entirely by the
+mother he worshipped. And now, for the first time, comparing him with
+her second husband, she realised the boy's girlishness, and wished him
+to outgrow it. Her own ideal of what even a young man should be was as
+unpractical as that of many thoroughly good and thoroughly unworldly
+mothers. She wished her son to be a man at all points, and yet she
+dreamed that he might remain a sort of glorified young girl; she desired
+him to be well prepared to face the world when he grew up, and yet it
+was her dearest wish that he might never know anything of the world's
+wickedness. Corbario seemed to understand her better in this than she
+understood herself, and devoted his excellent gifts and his almost
+superhuman patience to the task of forming a modern Galahad. Her
+confidence in her husband increased month by month, and year by year.
+
+"I wish to make a new will," she said to her lawyer in the third year of
+her marriage. "I shall leave my husband a life-interest in a part of my
+fortune, and the reversion of the whole in case anything should happen
+to my son."
+
+The lawyer was a middle-aged man, with hard black eyes. While he was
+listening to a client, he had a habit of folding his arms tightly across
+his chest and crossing one leg over the other. When the Signora Corbario
+had finished speaking he sat quite still for a moment, and then
+noiselessly reversed the crossing of his legs and the folding of his
+arms, and looked into her face. It was very gentle, fair, and
+thoughtful.
+
+"I presume," answered the lawyer, "that the clause providing for a
+reversion is only intended as an expression of your confidence in your
+husband?"
+
+"Affection," answered the Signora, "includes confidence."
+
+The lawyer raised one eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and changed his
+position a little.
+
+"Heaven forbid," he said, "that any accident should befall your son!"
+
+"Heaven forbid it!" replied the Signora. "He is very strong," she
+continued, in the tone people use who are anxious to convince themselves
+of something doubtful. "Yet I wish my husband to know that, after my
+son, he should have the first right."
+
+"Shall you inform him of the nature of your will, Signora?" inquired the
+lawyer.
+
+"I have already informed him of what I mean to do," replied Signora
+Corbario.
+
+Again the lawyer's eyebrow moved a little nervously, but he said
+nothing. It was not his place to express any doubt as to the wisdom of
+the disposition. He was not an old family adviser, who might have taken
+such a liberty. There had been such a man, indeed, but he was dead. It
+was the duty of the rich woman's legal adviser to hinder her from
+committing any positive legal mistake, but it was not his place to
+criticise her judgment of the man she had chosen to marry. The lawyer
+made a few notes without offering any comment, and on the following day
+he brought the will for the Signora to sign. By it, at her death,
+Marcello, her son, was to inherit her great fortune. Her husband, Folco
+Corbario, was constituted Marcello's sole guardian, and was to enjoy a
+life-interest in one-third of the inheritance. If Marcello died, the
+whole fortune was to go to Corbario, without any condition or
+reservation whatsoever.
+
+When the will was executed, the Signora told her husband that she had
+done what she intended.
+
+"My dear," said Corbario, gently, "I thank you for the true meaning of
+it. But as for the will itself, shall we talk of it thirty years hence,
+when Marcello's children's children are at your knee?"
+
+He kissed her hand tenderly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Marcello stood at an open window listening to the musical spring rain
+and watching the changing lights on the city below him, as the
+dove-coloured cloud that floated over Rome like thin gauze was drawn up
+into the sunshine. Then there were sudden reflections from distant
+windows and wet domes, that blazed like white fires for a little while,
+till the raindrops dried and the waves of changing hues that had surged
+up under the rain, rising, breaking, falling, and spreading, subsided
+into a restful sea of harmonious colour.
+
+After that, the sweet smell of the wet earth came up to Marcello's
+nostrils. A light breeze stirred the dripping emerald leaves, and the
+little birds fluttered down and hopped along the garden walks and over
+the leaves, picking up the small unwary worms that had been enjoying a
+bath while their enemies tried to keep dry under the ilex boughs.
+
+Marcello half closed his eyes and drank the fragrant air with parted
+lips, his slim white hands resting on the marble sill. The sunshine made
+his pale face luminous, and gilded his short fair hair, casting the
+shadow of the brown lashes upon his delicate cheeks. There was something
+angel-like in his expression--the look of the frescoed angels of Melozzo
+da Forli in the Sacristy of St. Peter's. They are all that is left of
+something very beautiful, brought thither broken from the Church of the
+Holy Apostles; and so, too, one might have fancied that Marcello,
+standing at the window in the morning sunshine, belonged to a world that
+had long passed away--fit for a life that was, fit for a life to come
+hereafter, perhaps, but not fit for the life that is. There are rare and
+beautiful beings in the world who belong to it so little that it seems
+cruelty and injustice to require of them what is demanded of us all.
+They are born ages too late, or ages too soon; they should not have been
+born now. Their very existence calls forth our tenderest sympathy, as we
+should pity a fawn facing its death among wolves.
+
+But Marcello Consalvi had no idea that he could deserve pity, and life
+looked very bright to him, very easy, and very peaceful. He could hardly
+have thought of anything at all likely to happen which could darken the
+future, or even give him reasonable cause for anxiety. There was no
+imaginative sadness in his nature, no morbid dread of undefined evil, no
+melancholy to dye the days black; for melancholy is more often an
+affliction of the very strong in body or mind than of the weak, or of
+average men and women. Marcello was delicate, but not degenerate; he
+seemed gentle, cheerful, and ready to believe the world a very good
+place, as indeed it is for people who are not too unlike their
+neighbours to enjoy it, or too unlucky to get some of its good things,
+or too weak to work, fight, and love, or too clever to be as satisfied
+with themselves as most men are. For plain, common, everyday happiness
+and contentment belong to plain, average people, who do what others do
+and have a cheerfully good opinion of themselves. Can a man make a good
+fight of it if he does not believe himself to be about as good as his
+adversary?
+
+It had never occurred to Marcello that he might have to fight for
+anything, and if some one had told him on that spring morning that he
+was on the very verge of a desperate struggle for existence against
+overwhelming odds, he would have turned his bright eyes wonderingly to
+the prophet of evil, asking whence danger could come, and trying to
+think what it might be like.
+
+At the first appearance of it he would have been startled into fear,
+too, as many a grown man has been before now, when suddenly brought face
+to face with an unknown peril, being quite untried: and small shame to
+him. He who has been waked from a peaceful sleep and pleasant dreams to
+find death at his throat, for the first time in his life, knows the
+meaning of that. Samson was a tried warrior when Delilah first roused
+him with her cry, "The Philistines are upon thee!"
+
+Marcello was no youthful Samson, yet he was not an unmanly boy, for all
+his bringing up. So far as his strength would allow he had been
+accustomed to the exercises and sports of men: he could ride fearlessly,
+if not untiringly; he was a fair shot; he had hunted wild boar with his
+stepfather in the marshy lands by the sea; he had been taught to fence
+and was not clumsy with weapons, though he had not yet any great skill.
+He had always been told that he was delicate and must be careful, and he
+knew that he was not strong; but there was one good sign in that his
+weakness irritated him and bred at least the desire for strength,
+instead of the poor-spirited indolence that bears bodily infirmity as
+something inevitable, and is ready to accept pity if not to ask for it.
+
+The smell of the damp earth was gone, and as the sun shone out the air
+was filled with the scent of warm roses and the faintly sweet odour of
+wistaria. Marcello heard a light footstep close to him, and met his
+mother's eyes as he turned.
+
+Even to him, she looked very young just then, as she stood in the light,
+smiling at him. A piece of lace was drawn half over her fair hair, and
+the ends went round her throat like a scarf and fell behind her. Its
+creamy tints heightened the rare transparency of her complexion by faint
+contrast. She was a slight woman and very graceful.
+
+"I have looked for you everywhere," she said, and she still smiled, as
+if with real pleasure at having found him.
+
+"I have been watching the shower" Marcello answered, drawing her to the
+window. "And then the earth and the roses smelt so sweet that I stayed
+here. Did you want me, mother?"
+
+"I always like to know where you are."
+
+She passed her arm through his with a loving pressure, and looked out
+of the window with him. The villa stood on the slope of the Janiculum,
+close to the Corsini gardens.
+
+"Do I run after you too much?" the mother asked presently, as if she
+knew the answer. "Now that you are growing up, do I make you feel as if
+you were still a little boy? You are nearly nineteen, you know! I
+suppose I ought to treat you like a man."
+
+Marcello laughed, and his hand slipped into hers with an almost childish
+and nestling movement.
+
+"You have made a man of me," he answered.
+
+Had she? A shadow of doubt crossed her thoughtful face as she glanced at
+his. He was so different from other young men of his age, so delicately
+nurtured, so very gentle; there was the radiance of maidenly innocence
+in his look, and she was afraid that he might be more like a girl than a
+man almost grown.
+
+"I have done my best," she said. "I hope I have done right."
+
+He scarcely understood what she meant, and his expression did not
+change.
+
+"You could not do anything that was not right," he answered.
+
+Perhaps such a being as Marcello would be an impossibility anywhere but
+in Italy. Modern life tears privacy to tatters, and privacy is the veil
+of the temple of home, within which every extreme of human development
+is possible, good and bad. Take privacy away and all the strangely
+compound fractions of humanity are soon reduced to a common
+denomination. In Italy life has more privacy than anywhere else west of
+Asia. The Englishman is fond of calling his home his castle, but it is a
+thoroughfare, a market-place, a club, a hotel, a glass house, compared
+with that of an average Italian. An Englishman goes home to escape
+restraint: an Italian goes out. But the northern man, who lives much in
+public, learns as a child to conceal what he feels, to be silent, to
+wear an indifferent look; whereas the man of the south, who hides
+nothing when the doors of his house are shut, can hide but little when
+he meets his enemy in the way. He laughs when he is pleased, and scowls
+when he is not, threatens when he is angry, and sheds tears when he is
+hurt, with a simplicity that too often excites the contempt of men
+accustomed to suffer or enjoy without moving a muscle.
+
+Privacy favours the growth of individual types, differing widely from
+each other; the destruction of it makes people very much alike.
+Marcello's mother asked herself whether she had done well in rearing him
+as a being apart from those amongst whom he must spend his life.
+
+And yet, as she looked at him, he seemed to be so nearly the ideal of
+which she had dreamt throughout long years of loving care that she was
+comforted, and the shadow passed away from her sweet face. He had
+answered that she could do nothing that was not right; she prayed that
+his words might be near the truth, and in her heart she was willing to
+believe that they were almost true. Had she not followed every good
+impulse of her own good heart? Had she not tried to realize literally
+for him the most beautiful possibilities of the Christian faith? That,
+at least, was true, and she could tell herself so without any mistaken
+pride. How, then, had she made any mistake? The boy had the face of a
+young saint.
+
+"Are you ready, my dear?" she asked suddenly, as a far-off clock struck.
+
+"Yes, mother, quite ready."
+
+"I am not," she answered with a little laugh. "And Folco is waiting, and
+I hear the carriage driving up."
+
+She slipped from Marcello's side and left the room quickly, for they
+were going to drive down to the sea, to a little shooting-lodge that
+belonged to them near Nettuno, a mere cottage among the trees by the
+Roman shore, habitable only in April and May, and useful only then, when
+the quail migrate along the coast and the malarious fever is not yet to
+be feared. It was there that Marcello had first learned to handle a gun,
+spending a week at a time there with his stepfather; and his mother used
+to come down now and then for a day or two on a visit, sometimes
+bringing her friend the Contessa dell' Armi. The latter had been very
+unhappy in her youth, and had been left a widow with one beautiful girl
+and a rather exiguous fortune. Some people thought that it was odd that
+the Signora Corbario, who was a saint if ever there was one, should have
+grown so fond of the Contessa, for the latter had seen stormy days in
+years gone by; and of course the ill-disposed gossips made up their
+minds that the Contessa was trying to catch Marcello for her daughter
+Aurora, though the child was barely seventeen.
+
+This was mere gossip, for she was quite incapable of any such scheme.
+What the gossips did not know was something which would have interested
+them much more, namely, that the Contessa was the only person in Rome
+who distrusted Folco Corbario, and that she was in constant fear lest
+she should turn out to be right, and lest her friend's paradise should
+be suddenly changed into a purgatory. But she held her tongue, and her
+quiet face never betrayed her thoughts. She only watched, and noted from
+month to month certain small signs which seemed to prove her right; and
+she should be ready, whenever the time should come, by day or night, to
+help her friend, or comfort her, or fight for her.
+
+If Corbario guessed that the Contessa did not trust him, he never showed
+it. He had found her installed as his wife's friend, and had accepted
+her, treating her with much courtesy and a sort of vicarious affection;
+but though he tried his best he could not succeed in reaching anything
+like intimacy with her, and while she seemed to conceal nothing, he felt
+that she was hiding her real self from him. Whether she did so out of
+pride, or distrust, or jealousy, he could never be sure. He was secretly
+irritated and humiliated by her power to oppose him and keep him at a
+distance without ever seeming to do so; but, on the other hand, he was
+very patient, very tenacious of his purpose, and very skilful. He knew
+something of the Contessa's past, but he recognised in her the nature
+that has known the world's worst side and has done with it for ever, and
+is lifted above it, and he knew the immense influence which the
+spectacle of a blameless life exercises upon the opinion of a good woman
+who has not always been blameless herself. Whatever he had been before
+he met his wife, whatever strange plans had been maturing in his brain
+since he had married her, his life had seemed as spotless from that day
+as the existence of the best man living. His wife believed in him, and
+the Contessa did not; but even she must in time accept the evidence of
+her senses. Then she, too, would trust him. Why it was essential that
+she should, he alone knew, unless he was merely piqued by her quiet
+reserve, as a child is when it cannot fix the attention of a grown-up
+person.
+
+The Contessa and her daughter were to be of the party that day, and the
+carriage stopped where they lived, near the Forum of Trajan. They
+appeared almost directly, the Contessa in grey with a grey veil and
+Aurora dressed in a lighter shade, the thick plaits of her auburn hair
+tied up short below her round straw hat, on the theory that she was
+still a school-girl, whose skirt must not quite touch the ground, who
+ought not to wear a veil, and whose mind was supposed to be a sensitive
+blank, particularly apt to receive bad impressions rather than good
+ones. In less than a year she would be dancing all night with men she
+had scarcely heard of before, listening to compliments of which she had
+never dreamt--of course not--and to declarations which no right-minded
+girl one day under eighteen could under any circumstances be thought to
+expect. Such miracles as these are wrought by the eighteenth birthday.
+
+Corbario's eyes looked from the mother to the daughter, as he and
+Marcello stood on the pavement to let them get in. The Contessa touched
+his outstretched hand without restraint but without cordiality, smiling
+just as much as was civil, and less readily than would have been
+friendly. Aurora glanced at him and laughed prettily without any
+apparent reason, which is the privilege of very young girls, because
+their minds are supposed to be a blank. Also because her skirt must not
+quite touch the ground, one very perfect black silk ankle was distinctly
+visible for a moment as she stepped into the carriage. Note that from
+the eve of her eighteenth birthday till she is old enough to be really
+wicked no well-regulated young woman shows her ankles. This also is one
+of the miracles of time.
+
+Marcello blushed faintly as he sat down beside Aurora. There were now
+five in the big carriage, so that she was between the two men; and
+though there was enough room Marcello felt the slight pressure of her
+arm against his. His mother saw his colour change, and looked away and
+smiled. The idea of marrying the two in a few years had often crossed
+her mind, and she was pleased whenever she saw that Marcello felt a
+little thrill of emotion in the girl's presence. As for Aurora, she
+looked straight before her, between the heads of the two elder women,
+and for a long time after they had started she seemed absorbed in
+watching the receding walls of the city and the long straight road that
+led back to it. The Contessa and her friend talked quietly, happy to be
+together for a whole day. Corbario now and then looked from one to the
+other, as if to assure himself that they were quite comfortable, and his
+still face wore an unchanging look of contented calm as his eyes turned
+again to the sunlit sweep of the low Campagna. Marcello looked steadily
+away from Aurora, happily and yet almost painfully aware that her arm
+could not help pressing against his. The horses' hoofs beat rhythmically
+on the hard high road, with the steady, cheerful energy which would tell
+a blind man that a team is well fed, fresh from rest, and altogether fit
+for a long day's work. The grey-haired coachman sat on his box like an
+old dragoon in the saddle; the young groom sat bolt upright beside him
+with folded arms, as if he could never tire of sitting straight. The
+whole party looked prosperous, harmonious, healthy, and perfectly happy,
+as if nothing in the least unpleasant could possibly happen to them,
+still less anything terrible, that could suddenly change all their
+lives.
+
+One of fate's favourite tricks is to make life look particularly gay and
+enjoyable, and full of sunshine and flowers, at the very moment when
+terror wakes from sleep and steps out of the shadow to stalk abroad.
+
+The cottage where the party were going to spend the next few days
+together was built like an Indian bungalow, consisting of a single story
+surrounded by a broad, covered verandah, and having a bit of lawn in
+front. It was sheltered by trees, and between it and the beach a bank
+of sand from ten to fifteen feet high ran along the shore, the work of
+the southwest gales during many ages. In many places this bank was
+covered with scrub and brushwood on the landward side.
+
+A little stream meandered down to the sea on the north side of the
+cottage, ending in a pool full of tall reeds, amongst which one could
+get about in a punt. The seashore itself is very shelving at that place,
+and there is a bar about a cable's length out, over which the sea breaks
+with a tremendous roar during westerly storms. Two hundred yards from
+the cottage, a large hut had been built for the men-servants and for the
+kitchen; near by it there was a rough coach-house and a stable with room
+for a dozen horses. The carriage usually went back to Rome on the day
+after every one had arrived, and was sent for when wanted; but there
+were a number of rough Campagna horses in the stable, such as are ridden
+by the cattle herders about Rome, tough little beasts of fairly good
+temper and up to a much heavier weight than might be guessed by a
+stranger in the country. In the morning the men of the party usually
+went shooting, if the wind was fair, for where quail are concerned much
+depends on that. Dinner was in the middle of the day, and every one was
+supposed to go to sleep after it. In the late afternoon the horses were
+saddled, and the whole party went for a gallop on the sands, or up to
+classic Ardea, or across the half-cultivated country, coming back to
+supper when it was dark. A particularly fat and quiet pony was kept for
+Marcello's mother, who was no great rider, but the Contessa and Aurora
+rode anything that was brought them, as the men did. To tell the truth,
+the Campagna horse is rarely vicious, and, even when only half broken,
+can be ridden by a lady if she be an average horsewoman.
+
+Everything happened as usual. The party reached the cottage in time for
+a late luncheon, rested afterwards, and then rode out. But the Signora
+Corbario would not go.
+
+"Your pony looks fatter and quieter than ever," said Maddalena dell'
+Armi with a smile. "If you do not ride him, he will turn into a
+fixture."
+
+"He is already a very solid piece of furniture," observed Folco, looking
+at the sleek animal.
+
+"He is very like the square piano I practise on," said Aurora. "He has
+such a flat back and such straight thick legs."
+
+"More like an organ," put in Marcello, gravely. "He has a curious,
+half-musical wheeze when he tries to move, like the organ in the church
+at San Domenico, when the bellows begin to work."
+
+"It is a shame to make fun of my horse," answered the Signora, smiling.
+"But really I am not afraid of him. I have a little headache from the
+drive, that is all."
+
+"Take some phenacetine," said Corbario with concern. "Let me make you
+quite comfortable before we start."
+
+He arranged a long straw chair for her in a sheltered corner of the
+verandah, with cushions and a rug and a small table beside it, on which
+Marcello placed a couple of new books that had been brought down. Then
+Folco went in and got a little glass bottle of tablets from his wife's
+travelling-bag and gave her one. She was subject to headaches and always
+had the medicine with her. It was the only remedy she ever carried or
+needed, and she had such confidence in it that she felt better almost as
+soon as she had swallowed the tablet her husband gave her.
+
+"Let me stay and read to you," he said. "Perhaps you would go to sleep."
+
+"You are not vain of your reading, my dear," she answered with a smile.
+"No, please go with the others."
+
+Then the Contessa offered to stay, and the good Signora had to use a
+good deal of persuasion to make them all understand that she would much
+rather be left alone. They mounted and rode away through the trees
+towards the beach, whence the sound of the small waves, breaking gently
+under the afternoon breeze, came echoing softly up to the cottage.
+
+The two young people rode in front, in silence; Corbario and the
+Contessa followed at a little distance.
+
+"How good you are to my wife!" Folco exclaimed presently, as they
+emerged upon the sand. "You are like a sister to her!"
+
+Maddalena glanced at him through her veil. She had small and classic
+features, rather hard and proud, and her eyes were of a dark violet
+colour, which is very unusual, especially in Italy. But she came from
+the north. Corbario could not see her expression, and she knew it.
+
+"You are good to her, too," she said presently, being anxious to be
+just. "You are very thoughtful and kind."
+
+Corbario thought it wiser to say nothing, and merely bent his head a
+little in acknowledgment of what he instinctively felt to be an
+admission on the part of a secret adversary. Maddalena had never said so
+much before.
+
+"If you were not, I should never forgive you," she added, thinking
+aloud.
+
+"I don't think you have quite forgiven me as it is," Folco answered more
+lightly.
+
+"For what?"
+
+"For marrying your best friend."
+
+The little speech was well spoken, so utterly without complaint, or
+rancour, or suggestion of earnestness, that the Contessa could only
+smile.
+
+"And yet you admit that I am not a bad husband," continued Folco.
+"Should you accept me, or, say, my exact counterpart, for Aurora, in a
+year or two?"
+
+"I doubt whether you have any exact counterpart," Maddalena answered,
+checking the sharp denial that rose to her lips.
+
+"Myself, then, just for the sake of argument?"
+
+"What an absurd question! Do you mind tightening the girth for me a
+little? My saddle is slipping."
+
+She drew rein, and he was obliged to submit to the check. As he
+dismounted he glanced at Aurora's graceful figure, a hundred yards
+ahead, and for one instant he drew his eyelids together with a very
+strange expression. He knew that the Contessa could not see his face.
+
+Marcello and Aurora had been companions since they were children, and
+just now they were talking familiarly of the place, which they had not
+seen since the previous year. All sorts of details struck them. Here,
+there was more sand than usual; there, a large piece of timber had been
+washed ashore in the winter gales; at another place there was a new
+sand-drift that had quite buried the scrub on the top of the bank; the
+keeper of the San Lorenzo tower had painted his shutters brown, though
+they had always been green; here was the spot where Aurora had tumbled
+off her pony when she was only twelve years old--so long ago! And
+here--they looked at each other and then quickly at the sea, for it was
+here that Marcello, in a fit of boyish admiration, had once suddenly
+kissed her cheek, telling her that she was perfectly beautiful. Even
+now, he blushed when he thought of it, and yet he longed to do it again,
+and wondered inwardly what would happen if he did.
+
+As for Aurora, though she looked at the sea for a moment, she seemed
+quite self-possessed. It is a strange thing that if a boy and a girl are
+brought up in just the same way, by women, and without many companions,
+the boy should generally be by far the more shy of the two when
+childhood is just past.
+
+"You are very fond of your stepfather, are you not?" asked Aurora, so
+suddenly that Marcello started a little and hesitated slightly before he
+answered.
+
+"Yes," he said, almost directly, "of course I am! Don't you like him,
+too?"
+
+"I used to," answered Aurora in a low voice, "but now his eyes frighten
+me--sometimes. For instance, though he is a good way behind, I am sure
+he is looking at me now, just in that way."
+
+Marcello turned his head instinctively, and saw that Folco had just
+dismounted to tighten the girth of the Contessa's saddle. It was exactly
+while Aurora was speaking that he had drawn his eyelids together with
+such a strange expression--a mere coincidence, no doubt, but one that
+would have startled the girl if she could have suddenly seen his face.
+
+They rode on without waiting for the others, at an even canter over the
+sand.
+
+"I never saw anything in Folco's eyes that could frighten anybody,"
+Marcello said presently.
+
+"No," answered Aurora. "Very likely not."
+
+Marcello had always called Corbario by his first name, and as he grew up
+it seemed more and more natural to do so. Folco was so young, and he
+looked even younger than he was.
+
+"It must be your imagination," Marcello said.
+
+"Women," said Aurora, as if she were as near thirty as any young woman
+would acknowledge herself, "women have no imagination. That is why we
+have so much sense," she added thoughtfully.
+
+Marcello was so completely puzzled by this extraordinary statement that
+he could find nothing to say for a few moments. Then he felt that she
+had attacked his idol, and that Folco must be defended.
+
+"If you could find a single thing, however small, to bring against him,
+it would not be so silly to say that his eyes frighten you."
+
+"There!" laughed Aurora. "You might as well say that because at this
+moment there is only that one little cloud near the sun, there is no
+cloud at all!"
+
+"How ridiculous!" Marcello expressed his contempt of such girlish
+reasoning by putting his rough little horse to a gallop.
+
+"Men always say that," retorted Aurora, with exasperating calm. "I'll
+race you to the tower for the first choice of oranges at dessert. They
+are not very good this year, you know, and you like them."
+
+"Don't be silly!" Marcello immediately reined his horse back to a walk,
+and looked very dignified.
+
+"It is impossible to please you," observed Aurora, slackening her pace
+at once.
+
+"It is impossible, if you abuse Folco."
+
+"I am sure I did not mean to abuse him," Aurora answered meekly. "I
+never abuse anybody."
+
+"Women never do, I suppose," retorted Marcello, with a little snort of
+dissatisfaction.
+
+They were little more than children yet, and for pretty nearly five
+minutes neither spoke a word, as their horses walked side by side.
+
+"The keeper of the tower has more chickens this year," observed Aurora.
+"I can see them running about."
+
+This remark was evidently intended as an overture of reconciliation. It
+acted like magic upon Marcello, who hated quarrelling, and was moreover
+much more in love with the girl than he knew. Instinctively he put out
+his left hand to take her right. They always made peace by taking hands.
+
+But Aurora's did not move, and she did not even turn her head towards
+him.
+
+"Take care!" she said quickly, in a low tone. "They are watching us."
+
+Marcello looked round and saw that the others were nearer than he had
+supposed, and he blushed foolishly.
+
+"Well, what harm would there be if you gave me your hand?" he asked. "I
+only meant--"
+
+"Yes, I understand," Aurora answered, in the same tone as before. "And I
+am glad you like me, Marcello--if you really do."
+
+"If I do!" His tone was full of youthful and righteous indignation.
+
+"I did not mean to doubt it," she said quickly. "But it is getting to be
+different now, you know. We are older, and somehow everything means
+more, even the little things."
+
+"Oh!" ejaculated Marcello. "I begin to see. I suppose," he added, with
+what seemed to him reckless brutality, "that if I kissed you now you
+would be furious."
+
+He glanced uneasily at Aurora's face to note the effect of this
+terrible speech. The result was not exactly what he had expected. A
+faint colour rose in her cheeks, and then she laughed.
+
+"When you do," she said, "I would rather it should not be before
+people."
+
+"I shall try to remember that," answered Marcello, considerably
+emboldened.
+
+"Yes, do! It would be so humiliating if I boxed your ears in the
+presence of witnesses."
+
+"You would not dare," laughed Marcello.
+
+From a distance, as Aurora had guessed, Folco was watching them while he
+quietly talked to the Contessa; and as he watched, he understood what a
+change had taken place since last year, when he had seen Marcello and
+Aurora riding over the same stretch of sand on the same little horses.
+He ventured a reflection, to see what his companion would answer.
+
+"I daresay many people would say that those two young people were made
+for each other."
+
+Maddalena looked at him inquiringly and then glanced at her daughter.
+
+"And what do you say?" she asked, with some curiosity.
+
+"I say 'no.' And you?"
+
+"I agree with you. Aurora is like me--like what I was. Marcello would
+bore her to death in six months, and Aurora would drive him quite mad."
+
+Corbario smiled.
+
+"I had hoped," he said, "that women with marriageable daughters would
+think Marcello a model husband. But of course I am prejudiced. I have
+had a good deal to do with his bringing up during the last four years."
+
+"No one can say that you have not done your duty by him," Maddalena
+answered. "I wish I could feel that I had done as well by Aurora--indeed
+I do!"
+
+"You have, but you had quite a different nature to deal with."
+
+"I should think so! It is my own."
+
+Corbario heard the little sigh as she turned her head away, and being a
+wise man he said nothing in answer. He was not a Roman, if indeed he
+were really an Italian at all, but he had vaguely heard the Contessa's
+story. She had been married very young to a parliamentary high-light,
+who had made much noise in his day, had spent more than half of her
+fortune after getting rid of his own, and had been forgotten on the
+morrow of his premature death. It was said that she had loved another
+man with all her heart, but Corbario had never known who it was.
+
+The sun was almost setting when they turned homeward, and it was dark
+when they reached the cottage. They found an unexpected arrival
+installed beside the Signora in the doorway of the sitting-room.
+
+"Professor Kalmon is here," said the Signora's voice out of the gloom.
+"I have asked him to stay till to-morrow."
+
+The Professor rose up in the shadow and came forward, just as a servant
+brought a lamp. He was celebrated as a traveller, and occupied the chair
+of comparative physiology in the University of Milan. He belonged to
+the modern type of scientific man, which has replaced the one of fifty
+years ago, who lived in a dressing-gown and slippers, smoked a long
+pipe, and was always losing his belongings through absence of mind. The
+modern professor is very like other human beings in dress and
+appearance, and has even been known to pride himself on the fit of his
+coat, just like the common people.
+
+There were mutual greetings, for the Professor knew all the party, and
+everybody liked him. He was a big man, with a well-kept brown beard, a
+very clear complexion, and bright brown eyes that looked as if they
+would never need spectacles.
+
+"And where have you been since we last saw you?" asked Corbario.
+
+"Are your pockets full of snakes this time?" asked Aurora.
+
+The Professor looked at her and smiled, realising that she was no longer
+the child she had been when he had seen her last, and that she was very
+good to look at. His brown eyes beamed upon her benevolently.
+
+"Ah, my dear young lady, I see it is all over," he said. "You will never
+pull my beard again and turn my pockets inside out for specimens when I
+come back from my walks on the beach."
+
+"Do you think I am afraid of you or your specimens?" laughed Aurora.
+
+"I have got a terrible thing in my waistcoat pocket," the Professor
+answered. "Something you might very well be afraid of."
+
+"What is it? It must be very small to be in your waistcoat pocket."
+
+"It is a new form of death."
+
+He beamed on everybody with increasing benevolence; but somehow nobody
+smiled, and the Signora Corbario shivered and drew her light cloak more
+closely round her, as the first gust of the night breeze came up from
+the rustling reeds that grew in the pool below.
+
+"It is time to get ready for supper," said Folco. "I hope you are not
+hungry, Kalmon, for you will not get anything very elaborate to eat!"
+
+"Bread and cheese will do, my dear fellow."
+
+When Italians go to the country they take nothing of the city with them.
+They like the contrast to be complete; they love the total absence of
+restraint; they think it delightful to dine in their shooting-coats and
+to eat coarse fare. If they had to dress for dinner it would not be the
+country at all, nor if dinner had to begin with soup and end with sweets
+just as it does in town. They eat extraordinary messes that would make a
+Frenchman turn pale and a German look grave. They make portentous
+pasties, rich with everything under the sun; they eat fat boiled beef,
+and raw fennel, and green almonds, and vast quantities of cream cheese,
+and they drink sour wine like water; and it all agrees with them
+perfectly, so that they come back to the city refreshed and rested after
+a gastronomic treatment which would bring any other European to death's
+door.
+
+The table was set out on the verandah that evening, as usual in spring,
+and little by little the Professor absorbed the conversation, for they
+all asked him questions, few of which could be answered shortly. He was
+one of those profoundly cultivated Italians who are often to be met
+nowadays, but whose gifts it is not easy to appreciate except in a
+certain degree of intimacy. They are singularly modest men as a rule,
+and are by no means those about whom there is the most talk in the
+world.
+
+The party sat in their places when supper was over, with cloaks and
+coats thrown over them against the night air, while Kalmon talked of all
+sorts of things that seemed to have the least possible connection with
+each other, but which somehow came up quite naturally. He went from the
+last book on Dante to a new discovery in chemistry, thence to Japanese
+monks and their beliefs, and came back smiling to the latest development
+of politics, which led him quite naturally to the newest play, labour
+and capital, the German Emperor, and the immortality of the soul.
+
+"I believe you know everything!" exclaimed Marcello, with an admiring
+look. "Or else I know nothing, which is really more probable!" The boy
+laughed.
+
+"You have not told us about the new form of death yet," said Aurora,
+leaning on her elbows and burying her young hands in her auburn hair as
+she looked across the table at Kalmon.
+
+"You will never sleep again if I tell you about it," answered the
+Professor, opening his brown eyes very wide and trying to look terrible,
+which was quite impossible, because he had such a kindly face. "You do
+not look frightened at all," he added, pretending to be disappointed.
+
+"Let me see the thing," Aurora said. "Perhaps we shall all be
+frightened."
+
+"It looks very innocent," Kalmon answered. "Here it is."
+
+He took a small leather case from his pocket, opened it, and drew out a
+short blue glass tube, with a screw top. It contained half a dozen white
+tablets, apparently just like those in common use for five-grain doses
+of quinine.
+
+A little murmur of disappointment went around the table. The new form of
+death looked very commonplace. Corbario was the only one who showed any
+interest.
+
+"May I see?" he asked, holding out his hand to take the tube.
+
+Kalmon would not give it to him, but held the tube before his eyes under
+the bright light of the lamp.
+
+"Excuse me," he said, "but I make it a rule never to let it go out of my
+hands. You understand, don't you? If it were passed round, some one
+might lay it down, it might be forgotten, somebody might take it for
+something else."
+
+"Of course," said Folco, looking intently at the tube, as though he
+could understand something about the contents by mere inspection. "You
+are quite right. You should take no risks with such things--especially
+as they look so innocent!"
+
+He leaned back in his chair again, as if satisfied, and his eyes met the
+Contessa's at the same moment. There was no reason why she should not
+have looked at him just then, but he rested one elbow on the table and
+shaded his eyes from the light.
+
+"It is strange to reflect," said Kalmon, looking at the tube
+thoughtfully, "that one of those little things would be enough to put a
+Hercules out of misery, without leaving the slightest trace which
+science could discover."
+
+Corbario was still shading his eyes from the light.
+
+"How would one die if one took it?" asked Aurora. "Very suddenly?"
+
+"I call it the sleeping death," answered the Professor. "The poisoned
+person sinks into a sweet sleep in a few minutes, smiling as if enjoying
+the most delightful dreams."
+
+"And one never wakes up?" inquired Marcello.
+
+"Never. It is impossible, I believe. I have made experiments on animals,
+and have not succeeded in waking them by any known means."
+
+"I suppose it congests the brain, like opium," observed Corbario,
+quietly.
+
+"Not at all, not at all!" answered Kalmon, looking benevolently at the
+little tube which contained his discovery. "I tell you it leaves no
+trace whatever, not even as much as is left by death from an electric
+current. And it has no taste, no smell,--it seems the most innocent
+stuff in the world."
+
+Corbario's hand again lay on the table and he was gazing out into the
+night, as if he were curious about the weather. The moon was just
+rising, being past the full.
+
+"Is that all you have of the poison?" he asked in an idle tone.
+
+"Oh, no! This is only a small supply which I carry with me for
+experiments. I have made enough to send all our thirty-three millions of
+Italians to sleep for ever!"
+
+Kalmon laughed pleasantly.
+
+"If this could be properly used, civilisation would make a gigantic
+stride," he added. "In war, for instance, how infinitely pleasanter and
+more Êsthetic it would be to send the enemy to sleep, with the most
+delightful dreams, never to wake again, than to tear people to pieces
+with artillery and rifle bullets, and to blow up ships with hundreds of
+poor devils on board, who are torn limb from limb by the explosion."
+
+"The difficulty," observed the Contessa, "would be to induce the enemy
+to take your poison quietly. What if the enemy objected?"
+
+"I should put it into their water supply," said Kalmon.
+
+"Poison the water!" cried the Signora Corbario. "How barbarous!"
+
+"Much less barbarous than shedding oceans of blood. Only think--they
+would all go to sleep. That would be all."
+
+[Illustration: "'I CALL IT THE SLEEPING DEATH,' ANSWERED THE PROFESSOR"]
+
+"I thought," said Corbario, almost carelessly, "that there was no longer
+any such thing as a poison that left no traces or signs. Can you not
+generally detect vegetable poisons by the mode of death?"
+
+"Yes," answered the Professor, returning the glass tube to its case and
+the latter to his pocket. "But please to remember that although we can
+prove to our own satisfaction that some things really exist, we cannot
+prove that any imaginable thing outside our experience cannot possibly
+exist. Imagine the wildest impossibility you can think of; you will not
+induce a modern man of science to admit the impossibility of it as
+absolute. Impossibility is now a merely relative term, my dear Corbario,
+and only means great improbability. Now, to illustrate what I mean, it
+is altogether improbable that a devil with horns and hoofs and a fiery
+tail should suddenly appear, pick me up out of this delightful circle,
+and fly away with me. But you cannot induce me to deny the possibility
+of such a thing."
+
+"I am so glad to hear you say that," said the Signora, who was a
+religious woman.
+
+Kalmon looked at her a moment and then broke into a peal of laughter
+that was taken up by the rest, and in which the good lady joined.
+
+"You brought it on yourself," she said at last.
+
+"Yes," Kalmon answered. "I did. From your point of view it is better to
+admit the possibility of a mediÊval devil with horns than to have no
+religion at all. Half a loaf is better than no bread."
+
+"Is that stuff of yours animal, vegetable, or mineral?" asked Corbario
+as the laughter subsided.
+
+"I don't know," replied the Professor. "Animal, vegetable, mineral?
+Those are antiquated distinctions, like the four elements of the
+alchemists."
+
+"Well--but what is the thing, then?" asked Corbario, almost impatiently.
+"What should you call it in scientific language?"
+
+Kalmon closed his eyes for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts.
+
+"In scientific language," he began, "it is probably H three C seven,
+parenthesis, H two C plus C four O five, close parenthesis, HC three O."
+
+Corbario laughed carelessly.
+
+"I am no wiser than before," he said.
+
+"Nor I," answered the Professor. "Not a bit."
+
+"It is much simpler to call it 'the sleeping death,' is it not?"
+suggested the Contessa.
+
+"Much simpler, for that is precisely what it is."
+
+It was growing late, according to country ideas, and the party rose from
+the table and began to move about a little before going to bed. The moon
+had risen high by this time.
+
+Marcello and Aurora, unheeded by the rest, went round the verandah to
+the other side of the house and stood still a moment, looking out at the
+trees and listening to the sounds of the night. Down by the pool a frog
+croaked now and then; from a distance came the plaintive, often
+repeated cry of a solitary owlet; the night breeze sighed through the
+long grass and the low shrubbery.
+
+The boy and girl turned to each other, put out their hands and then
+their arms, and clasped each other silently, and kissed. Then they
+walked demurely back to their elders, without exchanging a word.
+
+"We have had to give you the little room at the end of the cottage,"
+Corbario was saying to Kalmon. "It is the only one left while the
+Contessa is here."
+
+"I should sleep soundly on bare boards to-night," Kalmon answered. "I
+have been walking all day."
+
+Corbario went with him, carrying a candle, and shielding the flame from
+the breeze with his hand. The room was furnished with the barest
+necessities, like most country rooms in Italy. There were wooden pegs on
+which to hang clothes instead of a wardrobe, an iron bedstead, a deal
+wash-stand, a small deal table, a rush-bottomed chair. The room had only
+one window, which was also the only door, opening to the floor upon the
+verandah.
+
+"You can bolt the window, if you like," said Corbario when he had bidden
+the Professor good-night, "but there are no thieves about."
+
+"I always sleep with my windows open," Kalmon answered, "and I have no
+valuables."
+
+"No? Good-night again."
+
+"Good-night."
+
+Corbario went out, leaving him the candle, and turned the corner of the
+verandah. Then he stood still a long time, leaning against one of the
+wooden pillars and looking out. Perhaps the moonlight falling through
+the stiff little trees upon the long grass and shrubbery reminded him of
+some scene familiar long ago. He smiled quietly to himself as he stood
+there.
+
+Three hours later he was there again, in almost exactly the same
+attitude. He must have been cold, for the night breeze was stronger, and
+he wore only his light sleeping clothes and his feet were bare. He
+shivered a little from time to time, and his face looked very white, for
+the moon was now high in the heavens and the light fell full upon him.
+His right hand was tightly closed, as if it held some small object fast,
+and he was listening intently, first to the right, whence he had come,
+then to the left, and then he turned his ear towards the trees, through
+which the path led away towards the hut where the men slept. But there
+was no sound except the sighing of the wind. The frog by the pool had
+stopped croaking, and the melancholy cry of the owlet had ceased.
+
+Corbario went softly on, trying the floor of the verandah with his bare
+feet at each step, lest the boards should creak a little under his
+weight. He reached the window door of his own room, and slipped into the
+darkness without noise.
+
+Kalmon cared little for quail-shooting, and as the carriage was going
+back to Rome he took advantage of it to reach the city, and took his
+departure about nine o'clock in the morning.
+
+"By the way, how did you sleep?" asked Corbario as he shook hands at
+parting. "I forgot to ask you."
+
+"Soundly, thank you," answered the Professor.
+
+And he drove away, waving his felt hat to his hosts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Marcello coughed a little as he and Corbario trudged home through the
+sand under the hot May sun. It was sultry, though there were few clouds,
+and everything that grew looked suddenly languid; each flower and shrub
+gave out its own peculiar scent abundantly, the smell of last year's
+rotting leaves and twigs all at once returned and mingled with the
+odours of green things and of the earth itself, and the heavy air was
+over-rich with it all, and hard to breathe. By and by the clouds would
+pile themselves up into vast grey and black fortresses, far away beyond
+Rome, between the Alban and the Samnite hills, and the lightning would
+dart at them and tear them to pieces in spite, while the thunder roared
+out at each home-thrust that it was well done; and then the spring rain
+would sweep the Campagna, by its length and breadth, from the mountains
+to the sea, and the world would be refreshed. But now it was near noon
+and a heavy weariness lay upon the earth.
+
+"You are tired," said Corbario, as they reached the shade of some trees,
+less than half a mile from the cottage. "Let us sit down for a while."
+
+They sat down, where they could see the sea. It was dull and glassy
+under the high sun; here and there, far out, the sluggish currents made
+dark, irregular streaks.
+
+Corbario produced cigarettes and offered one to Marcello, but the boy
+would not smoke; he said that it made him cough.
+
+"I should smoke all the time, if I were quite well," he said, with a
+smile.
+
+"And do many other things that young men do, I daresay," laughed
+Corbario. "Ride steeplechases, play cards all night, and drink champagne
+at breakfast."
+
+"Perhaps." Marcello was amused at the picture. "I wonder whether I ever
+shall," he added.
+
+Corbario glanced at him curiously. There was the faintest accent of
+longing in the tone, which was quite new.
+
+"Why not?" Folco asked, still smiling. "It is merely a question of
+health, my dear boy. There is no harm in steeplechases if you do not
+break your neck, nor in playing cards if you do not play high, nor in
+drinking a glass of champagne now and then--no harm at all, that I can
+see. But, of course, so long as your lungs are delicate, you must be
+careful."
+
+"Confound my lungs!" exclaimed Marcello with unusual energy. "I believe
+that I am much stronger than any of you think."
+
+"I am sometimes inclined to believe it too," Corbario answered
+encouragingly.
+
+"And I am quite sure that it would do me good to forget all about them
+and live as if there were nothing the matter with me. Don't you think so
+yourself?"
+
+Corbario made a gesture of doubt, as if it were possible after all.
+
+"Of course I don't mean dissipation," Marcello went on to say, suddenly
+assuming the manner of an elderly censor of morals, simply because he
+did not know what he was talking about. "I don't mean reckless
+dissipation."
+
+"Of course not," Folco answered gravely. "You see, there are two sorts
+of dissipation. You must not forget that. The one kind means dissipating
+your fortune and your health; the other merely means dissipating
+melancholy, getting rid of care now and then, and of everything that
+bores one. That is the harmless sort."
+
+"What they call 'harmless excitement'--yes, that is what I should like
+sometimes. There are days when I feel that I must have it. It is as if
+the blood went to my head, and my nerves are all on edge, and I wish
+something would happen, I don't know what, but something, something!"
+
+"I know exactly what you mean, my dear boy," said Corbario in a tone of
+sympathy. "You see I am not very old myself, after all--barely
+thirty--not quite, in fact. I could call myself twenty-nine if it were
+not so much more respectable to be older."
+
+"Yes. But do you mean to say that you feel just what I do now and then?"
+Marcello asked the question in considerable surprise. "Do you really
+know that sensation? That burning restlessness--that something like what
+the earth must feel before a thunderstorm--like the air at this moment?"
+
+Not a muscle of Folco's still face moved.
+
+"Yes," he answered quietly. "I know it very well. It is nothing but the
+sudden wish for a little harmless excitement, nothing else in the world,
+my dear boy, and it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. It does not
+follow that it is at all convenient to yield to it, but we feel it
+because we lead such a very quiet life."
+
+"But surely, we are perfectly happy," observed Marcello.
+
+"Perfectly, absolutely happy. I do not believe that there are any
+happier people in the world than we three, your mother, you, and I. We
+have not a wish unfulfilled."
+
+"No, except that one, when it comes."
+
+"And that does not count in my case," answered Folco. "You see I have
+had a good deal of--'harmless excitement' in my life, and I know just
+what it is like, and that it is quite possible to be perfectly happy
+without it. In fact, I am. But you have never had any at all, and it is
+as absurd to suppose that young birds will not try to fly as that young
+men will not want amusement, now and then."
+
+"I suppose that women cannot always understand that," said Marcello,
+after a moment.
+
+"Women," replied Folco, unmoved, "do not always distinguish quite
+closely between excitement that is harmless for a man and excitement
+which is not. To tell the truth," he added, with a laugh, "they hardly
+ever distinguish at all, and it is quite useless to talk to them about
+it."
+
+"But surely, there are exceptions?"
+
+"Not many. That is the reason why there is a sort of freemasonry among
+men of the world, a kind of tacit agreement that women need not be told
+what goes on at the clubs, and at men's dinners, and late at night when
+old friends have spent an evening together. Not that there is any harm
+in it all; but women would not understand. They have their innocent
+little mysteries which they keep from us, and we have harmless little
+secrets which we do not let them know."
+
+Folco laughed softly at his own way of putting it, and perhaps because
+Marcello so easily accepted his point of view.
+
+"I see," said the boy. "I wonder whether my mother would not understand
+that. It seems so simple!"
+
+"She will, when the time comes, no doubt," answered Corbario. "Your
+mother is a great exception, my dear boy. On the other hand, she is so
+anxious about your health just now, that, if I were you, I would not say
+anything about feeling the want of a little excitement. Of course your
+life is monotonous. I know it. But there is nothing more monotonous than
+getting well, is there? The best part of it is the looking forward to
+what one will do when one is quite strong. You and I can talk of that,
+sometimes, and build castles in the air; but it is of no use to give
+your mother the idea that you are beating your wings against the bars of
+your cage, is it?"
+
+Folco was quite lyric that day, but the words made exactly the
+impression he wished.
+
+"You are right," Marcello said. "You always are. There is nobody like
+you, Folco. You are an elder brother to me, and yet you don't preach. I
+often tell my mother so."
+
+This was true, and what Marcello told her added to her happiness, if
+anything could do that, and she encouraged the two to go off together as
+much as possible. She even suggested that they should go down to San
+Domenico for a fortnight, to look after the great Calabrian estate.
+
+They rose and began to walk toward the cottage. The shooting had been
+good that morning, as quail-shooting goes, and the man who acted as
+keeper, loader, gardener, and general factotum, and who went out with
+any one who wanted to shoot, had gone on to the cottage with the bag,
+the two guns, and the animal which he called his dog. The man's name was
+Ercole, that is to say, Hercules; and though he was not a giant, he
+certainly bore a closer resemblance to the hero than his dog did to dogs
+in general.
+
+"He was born in my house," Ercole said, when any one asked questions.
+"Find a better one if you can. His name? I call him Nino, short for
+John, because he barks so well at night. You don't understand? It is the
+'voice of one crying in the wilderness.' Did you never go to Sunday
+school? Or do you call this place a garden, a park, a public promenade?
+I call it a desert. There are not even cats."
+
+When an Italian countryman says of a place that even cats will not stay
+in it, he considers that he has evoked a picture of ultimate desolation
+that cannot be surpassed. It had always been Ercole's dream to live in
+the city, though he did not look like a man naturally intended for town
+life. He was short and skinny, though he was as wiry as a monkey; his
+face was slightly pitted with the smallpox, and the malaria of many
+summers had left him with a complexion of the colour of cheap leather;
+he had eyes like a hawk, matted black hair, and jagged white teeth. He
+and his fustian clothes smelt of earth, burnt gunpowder, goat's cheese,
+garlic, and bad tobacco. He was no great talker, but his language was
+picturesque and to the point; and he feared neither man nor beast,
+neither tramp nor horned cattle, nor yet wild boar. He was no respecter
+of persons at all. The land where the cottage was had belonged to a
+great Roman family, now ruined, and when, the land had been sold, he had
+apparently been part of the bargain, and had come into the possession of
+the Signora Corbario with it. In his lonely conversations with Nino, he
+had expressed his opinion of each member of the family with frankness.
+
+"You are a good dog, Nino," he would say. "You are the consolation of my
+soul. But you do not understand these things. Corbario is an assassin.
+Money, money, money! That is all he thinks of from morning till night. I
+know it, because he never speaks of it, and yet he never gives away
+anything. It is all for himself, the Signora's millions, the boy's
+millions, everything. When I look at his face, a chill seizes me, and I
+tremble as when I have the fever. You never had the malaria fever,
+Nino. Dogs don't have it, do they?"
+
+At the question Nino turned his monstrous head to one side and looked
+along his muzzle at his master. If he had possessed a tail he would have
+wagged it, or thumped the hard ground with it a few times; but he had
+none. He had probably lost it in some wild battle of his stormy youth,
+fought almost to death against the huge Campagna sheep-dogs; or perhaps
+a wolf had got it, or perhaps he had never had a tail at all. Ercole had
+probably forgotten, and it did not really matter much.
+
+"Corbario is an assassin," he said. "Remember that, Nino. As for his
+poor lady, she is a little lacking, or she would never have married him.
+But she is a saint, and what do saints want with cleverness? They go to
+paradise. Does that need much sense? We should all go if we could. Why
+do you cock your head on one side and look at me like a Christian? Are
+you trying to make me think you have a soul? You are made of nothing but
+corn meal and water, and a little wool, poor beast! But you have more
+sense than the Signora, and you are not an assassin, like her husband."
+
+At this, Nino threw himself upon his back with his four legs in the air
+and squirmed with sheer delight, showing his jagged teeth and the roof
+of a very terrible mouth, and emitting a series of wolfish snorts; after
+which he suddenly rolled over upon his feet again, shook himself till
+his shaggy coat bristled all over his body, walked sedately to the open
+door of the hut, and sat down to look at the weather.
+
+"He is almost a Christian," Ercole remarked under his breath, as if he
+were afraid the dog might hear the compliment and grow too vain.
+
+For Ercole was a reticent man, and though he told Nino what he thought
+about people, he never told any one else. Marcello was the only person
+to whom he ever showed any inclination to attach himself. He regarded
+even the Contessa with suspicion, perhaps merely because she was a
+woman; and as for Aurora, girls did not count at all in his cosmogony.
+
+"God made all the other animals before making women," he observed
+contemptuously one day, when he had gone out alone with Marcello.
+
+"I like them," laughed the boy.
+
+"So did Adam," retorted Ercole, "and you see what came of it."
+
+No answer to this argument occurred to Marcello just then, so he said
+nothing; and he thought of Aurora, and his mother, and the sad-eyed
+Contessa, and wondered vaguely whether they were very unlike other
+women, as Ercole implied.
+
+"When you know women," the man vouchsafed to add presently, "you will
+wish you were dead. The Lord sent them into the world for an affliction
+and for the punishment of our sins."
+
+"You were never married, were you?" asked Marcello, still smiling.
+
+Ercole stopped short in the sand, amongst the sea-thistles that grew
+there, and Nino trotted up and looked at him, to be ready if anything
+happened. Marcello knew the man's queer ways, and waited for him to
+speak.
+
+"Married?" he snorted. "Married? You have said it!"
+
+This seemed enigmatical, but Marcello understood the words to convey an
+affirmation.
+
+"Well?" he asked, expecting more.
+
+"Well? Well, what?" growled Ercole. "This is a bad world. A man falls in
+love with a pretty little caterpillar; he wakes up and finds himself
+married to a butterfly. Oh, this is a very bad world!"
+
+Marcello was struck by the simile, but he reflected that Aurora looked
+much more like a butterfly than a caterpillar, a fact which, if it meant
+anything, should signify that he knew the worst beforehand. Ercole
+declined to enter into any account of his conjugal experiences, and
+merely shrugged his shoulders and went on through the sand.
+
+With such fitting and warning as this to keep him out of trouble,
+Marcello was to face life: with his saintly mother's timid allusions to
+its wickedness, with Corbario's tempting suggestions of harmless
+dissipation, with an unlettered peasant's sour reflections on the world
+in general and women in particular.
+
+In the other scale of the balance fate set his delicate and high-strung
+nature, his burning desire for the great unknown something, the stinging
+impatience of bodily weakness, and the large element of recklessness he
+inherited from his father, besides a fine admixture of latent boyish
+vanity for women to play upon, and all the ordinary weaknesses of human
+nature in about the same proportion as every one has them.
+
+Given a large fortune and ordinary liberty, it might be foreseen that
+the boy would not reach the haven of maturity without meeting a storm,
+even if the outward circumstances of chance were all in his favour, even
+if no one had an interest in ruining him, even if Folco Corbario did not
+want all for himself, as poor Ercole told his dog that he did in the
+solitude of his hut.
+
+Marcello had a bad chance at the start, and Maddalena dell' Armi, who
+knew the world well in all its moods, and had suffered by it and sinned
+for it, and had shed many tears in secret before becoming what she was
+now, foresaw danger, and hoped that her daughter's fate might not be
+bound up with that of her friend's son, much as she herself liked the
+gentle-hearted boy. She wondered how long any one would call him gentle
+after he got his first taste of pleasure and pain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+
+It was very early morning, and there was no shooting, for a
+southwesterly gale had been blowing all night, and the birds passed far
+inland. All along the beach, for twenty-five miles in an unbroken line,
+the surf thundered in, with a double roar, breaking on the bar, then
+gathering strength again, rising grey and curling green and crashing
+down upon the sand. Then the water opened out in vast sheets of crawling
+foam that ran up to the very foot of the bank where the scrub began to
+grow, and ran regretfully back again, tracing myriads of tiny channels
+where the sand was loose; but just as it had almost subsided, another
+wave curled and uncurled itself, and trembled a moment, and flung its
+whole volume forwards through a cloud of unresisting spray.
+
+It had rained a little, too, and it would rain again. The sky was of an
+even leaden grey, and as the sun rose unseen, a wicked glare came into
+it, as if the lead were melting; and the wind howled unceasingly, the
+soft, wet, southwest wind of the great spring storms.
+
+Less than a mile from the shore a small brigantine, stripped to a lower
+topsail, storm-jib, and balance-reefed mainsail, was trying to claw off
+shore. She had small chance, unless the gale shifted or moderated, for
+she evidently could not carry enough sail to make any way against the
+huge sea, and to heave to would be sure destruction within two hours.
+
+The scrub and brushwood were dripping with raindrops, and the salt spray
+was blown up the bank with the loose sand. 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. But that is not what I mean. We have
+always come down every year for ever so long. How long is it, Marcello?
+We were quite small the first time."
+
+"It must be five years. Four or five--ever since my mother bought the
+land here."
+
+"We were mere children," said Aurora, with the dignity of a grown
+person. "That is all over."
+
+"I wish it were not!" Marcello sighed.
+
+"How silly you are!" observed Aurora, throwing back her beautiful head.
+"But then, I am sure I am much more grown up than you are, though you
+are nineteen, and I am not quite eighteen."
+
+"You are seventeen," said Marcello firmly.
+
+"I shall be eighteen on my next birthday!" retorted Aurora with warmth.
+"Then we shall see who is the more grown up. I shall be in society, and
+you--why, you will not even be out of the University."
+
+She said this with the contempt which Marcello's extreme youth deserved.
+
+"I am not going to the University."
+
+"Then you will be a boy all your life. I always tell you so. Unless you
+do what other people do, you will never grow up at all. You ought to be
+among men by this time, instead of everlastingly at home, clinging to
+your mother's skirts!"
+
+A bright flush rose in Marcello's cheeks. He felt that he wanted to box
+her ears, and for an instant he wished himself small again that he might
+do it, though he remembered what a terrible fighter Aurora had been
+when she was a little girl, and had preserved a vivid recollection of
+her well-aimed slaps.
+
+"Don't talk about my mother in that way," he said angrily.
+
+"I'm not talking of her at all. She is a saint, and I love her very
+much. But that is no reason why you should always be with her, as if
+you were a girl! I don't suppose you mean to begin life as a saint
+yourself, do you? You are rather young for that, you know."
+
+"No," Marcello answered, feeling that he was not saying just the right
+thing, but not knowing what to say. "And I am sure my mother does not
+expect it of me, either," he added. "But that is no reason why you
+should be so disagreeable."
+
+He felt that he had been weak, and that he ought to say something sharp.
+He knew very well that his mother believed it quite possible for a boy
+to develop into saintship without passing through the intermediate state
+of sinning manhood; and though his nature told him that he was not of
+the temper that attains sanctity all at once, he felt that he owed to
+his mother's hopes for him a sort of loyalty in which Aurora had made
+him fail. The reasonings of innocent sentiment are more tortuous than
+the wiles of the devil himself, and have amazing power to torment the
+unfledged conscience of a boy brought up like Marcello.
+
+Aurora's way of thinking was much more direct.
+
+"If you think I am disagreeable, you can go away," she said, with a
+scornful laugh.
+
+"Thank you. You are very kind." He tried to speak sarcastically, but it
+was a decided failure.
+
+To his surprise, Aurora turned and looked at him very quietly.
+
+"I wonder whether I shall like you, when you are a man," she said in a
+tone of profound reflection. "I am rather ashamed of liking you now,
+because you are such a baby."
+
+He flushed again, very angry this time, and he moved away to leave her,
+without another word.
+
+She turned her face to the storm and took no notice of him. She thought
+that he would come back, but there was just the least doubt about it,
+which introduced an element of chance and was perfectly delightful while
+it lasted. Was there ever a woman, since the world began, who did not
+know that sensation, either by experience or by wishing she might try
+it? What pleasure would there be in angling if the fish did not try to
+get off the hook, but stupidly swallowed it, fly and all? It might as
+well crawl out of the stream at once and lay itself meekly down in the
+basket.
+
+And Marcello came back, before he had taken four steps.
+
+"Is that what you meant when you said that you might never come here
+again?" he asked, and there was something rough in his tone that pleased
+her.
+
+"No," she answered, as if nothing had happened. "Mamma talked to me a
+long time last night."
+
+"What did she say?"
+
+"Do you want to know?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"There is no reason why I should not tell you. She says that we must not
+come here after I go into society, because people will think that she is
+trying to marry me to you."
+
+She looked at him boldly for a moment, and then turned her eyes to the
+sea.
+
+"Why should she care what people think?" he asked.
+
+"Because it would prevent me from marrying any one else," answered
+Aurora, with the awful cynicism of youth. "If every one thought I was
+engaged to you, or going to be, no other man could ask for me. It's
+simple enough, I'm sure!"
+
+"And you wish other men to ask you to marry them, I suppose?"
+
+Marcello was a little pale, but he tried to throw all the contempt he
+could command into his tone. Aurora smiled sweetly.
+
+"Naturally," she said. "I'm only a woman."
+
+"Which means that I'm a fool to care for you!"
+
+"You are, if you think I'm not worth caring for." The girl laughed.
+
+This was so very hard to understand that Marcello knit his smooth young
+brow and looked very angry, but could find nothing to say on the spur of
+the moment. All women are born with the power to put a man into such a
+position that he must either contradict himself, hold his tongue, or fly
+into a senseless rage. They do this so easily, that even after the
+experience of a life-time we never suspect the trap until they pull the
+string and we are caught. Then, if we contradict ourselves, woman utters
+an inhuman cry of triumph and jeers at our unstable purpose; if we lose
+our tempers instead, she bursts into tears and calls us brutes; and
+finally, if we say nothing, she declares, with a show of reason, that we
+have nothing to say.
+
+[Illustration: "HE FLUSHED AGAIN, VERY ANGRY THIS TIME, AND HE MOVED
+AWAY TO LEAVE HER, WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD."]
+
+
+Marcello lost his temper.
+
+"You are quite right," he said angrily. "You are not worth caring for.
+You are a mere child, and you are a miserable little flirt already, and
+you will be a detestable woman when you grow up! You will lead men on,
+and play with them, and then laugh at them. But you shall not laugh at
+me again. You shall not have that satisfaction! You shall wish me back,
+but I will not come, not if you break your silly little heart!"
+
+With this terrific threat the boy strode away, leaving her to watch the
+storm alone in the lee of the sandbank. Aurora knew that he really meant
+to go this time, and at first she was rather glad of it, since he was in
+such a very bad temper. She felt that he had insulted her, and if he had
+stayed any longer she would doubtless have called him a brute, that
+being the woman's retort under the circumstances. She had not the
+slightest doubt of being quite reconciled with him before luncheon, of
+course, but in her heart she wished that she had not made him angry. It
+had been very pleasant to watch the storm together, and when they had
+come to the place, she had felt a strong presentiment that he would kiss
+her, and that the contrast between the kiss and the howling gale would
+be very delightful.
+
+The presentiment had certainly not come true, and now that Marcello was
+gone it was not very amusing to feel the spray and the sand on her
+face, or to watch the tumbling breakers and listen to the wind. Besides,
+she had been there some time, and she had not even had her little
+breakfast of coffee and rolls before coming down to the shore. She
+suddenly felt hungry and cold and absurdly inclined to cry, and she
+became aware that the sand had got into her russet shoes, and that it
+would be very uncomfortable to sit down in such a place to take them off
+and shake it out; and that, altogether, misfortunes never come singly.
+
+After standing still three or four minutes longer, she turned away with
+a discontented look in her face, all rosy with the wind and spray. She
+started as she saw Corbario standing before her, for she had not heard
+his footsteps in the gale. He wore his shooting-coat and heavy leathern
+gaiters, but he had no gun. She thought he looked pale, and that there
+was a shade of anxiety in his usually expressionless face.
+
+"We wondered where you were," he said. "There is coffee in the verandah,
+and your mother is out already."
+
+"I came down to look at the storm," Aurora answered. "I forgot all about
+breakfast."
+
+They made a few steps in the direction of the cottage. Aurora felt that
+Corbario was looking sideways at her as they walked.
+
+"Have you seen Marcello?" he asked presently.
+
+"Did you not meet him?" Aurora was surprised. "It is not five minutes
+since he left me."
+
+"No. I did not meet him."
+
+"That is strange."
+
+They went on in silence for a few moments.
+
+"I cannot understand why you did not meet Marcello," Aurora said
+suddenly, as if she had thought it over. "Did you come this way?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps he got back before you started. He walks very fast."
+
+"Perhaps," Corbario said, "but I did not see him. I came to look for you
+both."
+
+"Expecting to find us together, of course!" Aurora threw up her head a
+little disdainfully, for Marcello had offended her.
+
+"He is generally somewhere near you, poor boy," answered Corbario in a
+tone of pity.
+
+"Why do you say 'poor boy' in that tone? Do you think he is so much to
+be pitied?"
+
+"A little, certainly." Corbario smiled.
+
+"I don't see why."
+
+"Women never do, when a man is in love!"
+
+"Women"--the flattery was subtle and Aurora's face cleared. Corbario was
+a man of the world, without doubt, and he had called her a woman, in a
+most natural way, as if she had been at least twenty years old. It did
+not occur to her to ask herself whether Folco had any object in wishing
+to please her just then, but she knew well enough that he did wish to do
+so. Even a girl's instinct is unerring in that; and Corbario further
+pleased her by not pursuing the subject, for what he had said seemed all
+the more spontaneous because it led to nothing.
+
+"If Marcello is not in the cottage," he observed, as they came near,
+"he must have gone off for a walk after he left you. Did you not see
+which way he turned?"
+
+"How could I from the place where I stood?" asked Aurora in reply. "As
+soon as he had turned behind the bank it was impossible to say which way
+he had gone."
+
+"Of course," assented Folco. "I understand that."
+
+Marcello had not come home, and Aurora was sorry that she had teased him
+into a temper and had then allowed him to go away. It was not good for
+him, delicate as he was, to go for a long walk in such weather without
+any breakfast, and she felt distinctly contrite as she ate her roll in
+silence and drank her coffee, on the sheltered side of the cottage,
+under the verandah. The Signora Corbario had not appeared yet, but the
+Contessa was already out. As a rule the Signora preferred to have her
+coffee in her room, as if she were in town. For some time no one spoke.
+
+"Had we not better send Ercole to find Marcello?" the Contessa asked at
+last.
+
+"I had to send Ercole to Porto d'Anzio this morning," Corbario answered.
+"I took the opportunity, because I knew there would be no quail with
+this wind."
+
+"Marcello will come in when he is hungry," said Aurora, rather sharply,
+because she really felt sorry.
+
+But Marcello did not come in.
+
+Soon after eight o'clock his mother appeared on the verandah. Folco
+dropped his newspaper and hastened to make her comfortable in her
+favourite chair. Though she was not strong, she was not an invalid, but
+she was one of those women whom it seems natural to help, to whom men
+bring cushions, and with whom other women are always ready to
+sympathise. If one of Fra Angelico's saints should walk into a modern
+drawing-room all the men would fall over each other in the scramble to
+make her comfortable, and all the women would offer her tea and ask her
+if she felt the draught.
+
+The Signora looked about, expecting to see her son.
+
+"Marcello has not come in," said Folco, understanding. "He seems to have
+gone for a long walk."
+
+"I hope he has put on his thick boots," answered the Signora, in a
+thoughtful tone. "It is very wet."
+
+She asked why Folco was not with him shooting, and was told that there
+were no birds in such weather. She had never understood the winds, nor
+the points of the compass, nor why one should see the new moon in the
+west instead of in the east. Very few women do, but those who live much
+with men generally end by picking up a few useful expressions, a little
+phrase-book of jargon terms with which men are quite satisfied. They
+find out that a fox has no tail, a wild boar no teeth, a boat no prow,
+and a yacht no staircase; and this knowledge is better than none.
+
+The Signora accepted the fact that there were no birds that morning, and
+began to talk to Maddalena. Aurora got a book and pretended to read, but
+she was really listening for Marcello's footsteps, and wondering
+whether he would smile at her, or would still be cross when he came in.
+Corbario finished his paper and went off to look at the weather from the
+other side of the house, and the two women talked in broken sentences as
+old friends do, with long intervals of silence.
+
+The wind had moderated a good deal, but as the sun rose higher the glare
+in the sky grew more yellow, the air was much warmer, and the trees and
+shrubs and long grass began to steam as if they had been half boiled.
+All manner of tiny flies and gnats chased each other in the lurid light.
+
+"It feels as if there were going to be an earthquake," said Maddalena,
+throwing back the lace from her grey hair as if even its light weight
+oppressed her.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The women sat in silence, uneasy, their lips a little parted. Not that
+an earthquake would have disturbed them much, for slight ones are common
+enough in Italy, and could do no harm at all to a wooden cottage; it was
+a mere physical breathlessness that they felt, as the gale suddenly
+dropped and the heavy air became quite still on the sheltered side of
+the cottage.
+
+Aurora threw aside her book impatiently and rose from her chair.
+
+"I am going to look for Marcello," she said, and she went off without
+turning her head.
+
+On the other side of the cottage, as she went round, she found Folco
+sitting on the steps of the verandah, his elbows on his knees and his
+chin resting on his folded hands, apparently in deep thought. He had a
+cigar between his teeth, but it had gone out.
+
+"I am going to look for Marcello," said Aurora, as she passed close
+beside him.
+
+He said nothing, and hardly moved his head. Aurora turned and looked at
+him as she stepped upon the path.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked, as she saw his face. "Is anything
+wrong?"
+
+Corbario looked up quickly, as if he had been in a reverie.
+
+"Anything the matter? No. Where did you say you were going?"
+
+"To find Marcello. He has not come in yet."
+
+"He has gone for a walk, I suppose. He often walks alone on off days. He
+will be back before luncheon, and you are not going to town till the
+afternoon."
+
+"Will you come with me?" Aurora asked, for she was in a good humour with
+Folco.
+
+He rose at once.
+
+"I'll go with you for a stroll," he said, "but I don't think it is of
+any use to look for Marcello near the house."
+
+"It can do no harm."
+
+"And it will do us good to walk a bit."
+
+They went down the path and through the trees towards the break in the
+bank.
+
+"The sand was very wet this morning, even inside the bank," Aurora
+said. "I daresay we shall find his footsteps and be able to guess which
+way he went."
+
+"Very likely," Folco answered.
+
+He pushed back his tweed cap a little and passed his handkerchief across
+his smooth brow. Aurora noticed the action, because he did not usually
+get warm so easily.
+
+"Are you hot?" she asked carelessly.
+
+"A little," he answered. "The air is so heavy this morning."
+
+"Perhaps you are not quite well," said Aurora. "You are a little pale."
+
+Apparently something in her youthfully patronising tone came as near
+irritating him as anything ever could.
+
+"What does it matter, whether I am hot or not?" he asked, almost
+impatiently, and again he passed his handkerchief over his forehead.
+
+"I did not mean to annoy you," Aurora answered with uncommon meekness.
+
+They came near the break in the bank, and she looked at the sand on each
+side of her. She thought it seemed smoother than usual, and that there
+were not so many little depressions in it, where there had been
+footsteps on previous days, half obliterated by wind and rain.
+
+"I cannot see where you and I passed an hour ago," she said, in some
+surprise.
+
+"The wind draws through the gap with tremendous strength," Folco
+explained. "Just before the gale moderated there was a heavy squall with
+rain."
+
+"Was there? I did not notice that--but I was on the lee side of the
+house. The wind must have smoothed the sand, just like a flat-iron!"
+
+"Yes." Corbario answered indifferently and gazed out to sea.
+
+Aurora left his side and looked about, going to a little distance from
+the gap, first on one side and then on the other.
+
+"It is as if the wind had done it on purpose!" she cried impatiently.
+"It is as smooth as if it had all been swept with a gardener's broom."
+
+Corbario turned, lighted his extinguished cigar, and watched her, as she
+moved about, stooping now and then to examine the sand.
+
+"I don't believe it is of any use to look here," he said. "Besides, he
+will be back in time for luncheon."
+
+"I suppose so," answered Aurora. "Why do you look at me in that way?"
+she asked, standing upright and meeting his eyes suddenly.
+
+He laughed softly and took his cigar from his mouth.
+
+"I was watching you. You are very graceful when you move."
+
+She did not like his expression.
+
+"I wish you would think less about me and more about finding Marcello,"
+she said rather sharply.
+
+"You talk as if he were lost. I tell you he will surely come back before
+long."
+
+"I hope so."
+
+But Marcello did not come back, and after Aurora had returned to the
+cottage and was seated in her chair again, with her book, she grew
+restless, and went over in her memory what had passed in the morning. It
+was not possible that Marcello should really mean to carry out his
+threat, to go away without a word, to leave her, to leave his mother;
+and yet, he was gone. A settled conviction came over her that he was
+really gone, just as he was, most probably back to Rome. She had teased
+him, and he had been very angry, absurdly angry; and yet she was perhaps
+responsible, in a way, for his disappearance. Presently his mother would
+grow anxious and would ask questions, and then it would all come out. It
+would be better to be brave and to say at once that he had been angry
+with her; she could confess the truth to her mother, to the Signora, if
+necessary, or even to both together, for they were women and would
+understand. But she could not tell the story before Corbario. That would
+be out of the question; and yet, anything would be better than to let
+them all think that something dreadful had happened to Marcello. He had
+gone to Rome, of course; or perhaps only to Porto d'Anzio, in which case
+he would meet Ercole coming back.
+
+The hours wore on to midday, and Signora Corbario's uneasiness grew into
+real anxiety. The Contessa did her best to soothe her, but was anxious
+herself, and still Aurora said nothing. Folco was grave, but assured
+every one that the boy would soon return, though the Signora would not
+believe it.
+
+"He will never come back! Something dreadful has happened to him!" And
+therewith she broke down completely and burst into tears.
+
+"You must go and look for him," said Maddalena quietly to Corbario.
+
+"I think you are right," he answered. "I am going to find him," he said
+softly, bending down to his wife as she lay in her chair, trying to
+control her sobs. "I will send some of the men towards Porto d'Anzio and
+will go towards Nettuno myself."
+
+She loved him and believed in him, and she was comforted when she saw
+him go away and heard him calling the men from their hut.
+
+Aurora was left alone with the two women.
+
+"I am afraid Marcello is gone to Rome," she said, with an effort.
+
+The Signora raised herself in her long chair and stared hard at the
+girl. The Contessa looked at her in surprise.
+
+"What do you know about it?" cried the Signora. "Why have you not
+spoken, if you know anything? Don't you see that I am half mad with
+anxiety?"
+
+Aurora had never seen the good lady in such a state, and was almost
+frightened; but there was nothing to be done now, except to go on. She
+told her little story timidly, but truthfully, looking from her mother
+to the Signora while she spoke, and wondering what would happen when she
+had finished.
+
+"He said, 'You shall wish me back, but I will not come.' I think those
+were his last words."
+
+"You have broken my boy's heart!" cried the Signora Corbario, turning
+her face away.
+
+Maddalena, whose heart had really been broken long ago, could not help
+smiling.
+
+"I am sure I did not mean to," cried Aurora, contritely. "And after all,
+though I daresay it was my fault, he called me a miserable little flirt,
+and I only called him a baby."
+
+Maddalena would have laughed if her friend had not been in such real
+distress. As for Aurora, she did not know whether she would have laughed
+or cried if she had not felt that her girl's dignity was at stake. As it
+was, she grew preternaturally calm.
+
+"You have driven him away," moaned the Signora piteously. "You have
+driven away my boy! Was he not good enough for you?"
+
+She asked the question suddenly and vehemently, turning upon poor Aurora
+with something like fury. She was quite beside herself, and the Contessa
+motioned the girl away. Aurora rose and disappeared round the corner of
+the house.
+
+Alone with her friend, Maddalena did her best to comfort her. There were
+arguments enough: it was barely noon, and Marcello had not been gone
+four hours; he was used to taking long walks, he had probably gone as
+far as the tower, and had rested there before coming back; or he had
+gone to meet Ercole on the road to Porto d'Anzio; or he had gone off
+towards the Nettuno woods to get over his anger in solitude; it was
+natural enough; and after all, if he had gone to Rome as Aurora
+thought, no harm could come to him, for he would go home, and would
+surely send a telegram before evening. It was unlike him, yes; but just
+at his age boys often did foolish things.
+
+"Marcello is not foolish!" objected the Signora indignantly.
+
+She could by no means listen to reason, and was angry because her friend
+tried to argue with her. She rose with an energy she seldom displayed,
+and began to walk up and down the verandah. Her face was very pale, her
+lip quivered when she spoke, and there was an unnatural light in her
+eyes. There was room for much moderate affection in her gentle nature;
+she had loved her first husband; she loved Corbario dearly; but the
+passion of her life was her son, and at the first presentiment of real
+danger to him the dominant preoccupation of her heart took violent
+possession of everything else in her, regardless of reason, friendship,
+consideration for others, or common sense.
+
+Maddalena walked up and down beside her, putting one arm affectionately
+round her waist, and doing the best she could to allay the tempest.
+
+It subsided suddenly, and was followed by a stony silence that
+frightened the Contessa. It was time for luncheon, and Aurora came back,
+hoping to find that she had been forgiven during her absence, but the
+Signora only looked at her coldly once or twice and would not speak.
+None of the three even pretended to have an appetite.
+
+"I shall not go back to Rome to-day," said the Contessa. "I cannot
+leave you in such anxiety."
+
+"Folco will take care of me," answered the Signora in a dull tone. "Do
+not change your plans on my account. The carriage is ordered at three
+o'clock."
+
+She spoke so coldly that Maddalena felt a little pardonable resentment,
+though she knew that her friend was not at all herself.
+
+"Very well," she answered quietly. "If you had rather that I should not
+stay with you we will go back this afternoon."
+
+"It will be much better."
+
+When the carriage appeared neither Folco nor any of the men had
+returned. The Signora made an evident attempt to show a little of her
+habitual cordiality at parting, and she even kissed Aurora coldly on the
+forehead, and embraced Maddalena with something like her usual
+affection. The two looked back as they drove away, calling out a last
+good-bye, but they saw that the Signora was not even looking after them;
+she was leaning against one of the wooden supports of the verandah,
+gazing towards the trees, and pressing one hand to her forehead.
+
+"Do you think it was my fault, mamma?" asked Aurora, when they were out
+of sight of the cottage.
+
+"No, dear," answered Maddalena. "Something has happened, I wish I knew
+what!"
+
+"I only told him he was a baby," said Aurora, settling herself in the
+corner of the carriage, and arranging her parasol behind her so that it
+rested on the open hood; for the weather had cleared and the sun was
+shining brightly after the storm.
+
+So she and her mother went back to Rome that afternoon. But when the
+Signora was alone, she was sorry that her friend was gone, and was all
+at once aware that her head was aching terribly. Every movement she made
+sent an agonizing thrill through her brain, and her hand trembled from
+the pain, as she pressed her palm to her forehead.
+
+She meant to go down to the beach alone, for she was sure that she could
+find Marcello, and at least she would meet the men who were searching
+for him, and have news sooner than if she stayed in the cottage. But she
+could not have walked fifty steps without fainting while her headache
+lasted. She would take five grains of phenacetine, and in a little while
+she would be better.
+
+She found the glass tube with the screw cap, and swallowed one of the
+tablets with a little water. Then she sat down on the edge of her long
+chair in the verandah to wait for the pain to pass. She was very tired,
+and presently, she scarcely knew how it was, she was lying at full
+length in her chair, her head resting comfortably against the cushion.
+
+The sunlight fell slanting across her feet. Amongst the trees two or
+three birds were twittering softly; it was warm, it was dreamy, she was
+forgetting Marcello. She tried to rouse herself as the thought of him
+crossed her mind, and she fancied that she almost rose from the chair;
+but she had hardly lifted one hand. Then she saw his face close before
+her, her lips relaxed, the pain was gone, she smiled happily, and she
+was asleep.
+
+Half an hour later her maid came quietly out to ask whether she needed
+anything, and seeing that she was sleeping peacefully spread a light
+shawl over her feet, placed the silver handbell within easy reach on the
+table, and went away again.
+
+Towards evening Folco came back and then the men, straggling in on their
+tired little horses, for they had ridden far and fast. Marcello was not
+with them.
+
+Corbario came in alone, and saw his wife lying in her chair in the
+evening light. He stood still a moment, and then came over and bent near
+her, looking earnestly into her quiet face.
+
+"Already," he said aloud, but in a very low voice.
+
+His hand shook as he laid it on her heart, bending low. Then he started
+violently and stood bolt upright, as an unearthly howl rent the air.
+
+Nino, Ercole's queer dog, was close beside him, his forepaws planted on
+the upper step of the verandah, his head thrown up, his half-open jaws
+showing his jagged teeth, his rough coat bristling like spikes of
+bearded barley.
+
+And Ercole, still a hundred yards away amongst the trees, shook his head
+and hurried forward as he heard the long-drawn note of brute terror.
+
+"Somebody is dead," he said to himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+For a few weeks all Italy was profoundly interested in the story of
+Marcello Corbario's disappearance and of his mother's almost
+unaccountable death. It was spoken of as the "double tragedy of the
+Campagna," and the newspapers were full of it.
+
+The gates of the beautiful villa on the Janiculum were constantly
+assailed by reporters; the servants who came out from time to time were
+bribed, flattered, and tempted away to eat sumptuous meals and drink the
+oldest wine in quiet gardens behind old inns in Trastevere, in the hope
+that they might have some information to sell. But no one gained
+admittance to the villa except the agents of the police, who came daily
+to report the fruitless search; and the servants had nothing to tell
+beyond the bare truth. The young gentleman had gone for a walk near the
+sea, down at the cottage by the Roman shore, and he had never been heard
+of again. His mother had been suffering from a bad headache, had lain
+down to rest in a cane chair on the verandah, and had been found dead,
+with a smile on her face, by her husband, when he came back from his
+first attempt to find Marcello. The groom who always went down with the
+carriage could describe with greatest accuracy the spot where the
+Signorina Aurora had last seen him; the house servants gave the most
+minute details about the cane chair, the verandah, and the position in
+which the poor lady had been found; but that was all, and it was not at
+all what the reporters wanted. They had all been down to the cottage,
+each with his camera and note-book, and had photographed everything in
+sight, including Nino, Ercole's dog. What they wanted was a clue, a
+story, a scandal if possible, and they found nothing of the sort.
+
+Folco Corbario's mourning was unostentatious and quiet, but none of the
+few persons who saw him, whether detectives or servants, could doubt
+that he was profoundly affected. He grew paler and thinner every day,
+until his own man even began to fear that his health was failing. He had
+done, and continued to do, everything that was humanly possible. He had
+brought his wife's body to Rome, and had summoned the very highest
+authorities in the medical profession to discover, if possible, the
+cause of her death. They had come, old men of science, full of the
+experience of years, young men of the future, brimming with theories,
+experts in chemistry, experts in snake poisons; for Folco had even
+suggested that she might have been bitten by a viper or stung by a
+venomous spider, or accidentally poisoned by some medicine or something
+she had eaten.
+
+But the scientific gentlemen were soon agreed that no such thing had
+happened. Considerably disappointed, and with an unanimity which is so
+unusual in the confraternity as to be thought absolutely conclusive when
+it is observed, they decided that the Signora Corbario had died of
+collapse after intense excitement caused by the disappearance of her
+son. Thereafter she was buried out at San Lorenzo, with the secret, if
+there were any; masses were said, the verdict of the doctors was
+published, with the signatures of the most eminent practitioners and
+specialists in Italy; and the interest of the public concentrated itself
+upon the problem of Marcello's mysterious removal, or abduction, or
+subduction, or recession, or flight, from the very bosom of his family.
+
+This problem had the merit of defying solution. In a comparatively open
+country, within a space of time which could certainly be limited to five
+minutes, at a place whence he should have been clearly seen by Folco
+Corbario as soon as Aurora dell' Armi could no longer see him, the boy
+had been spirited away, leaving not even the trace of his footsteps in
+the sand. It was one of the most unaccountable disappearances on record,
+as Folco insisted in his conversations with the Chief of Police, who
+went down with him to the cottage and examined the spot most carefully,
+with several expert detectives. Folco showed him exactly where Aurora
+had stood, and precisely the direction he himself had followed in
+approaching the gap, and he declared it to be almost a physical
+impossibility that Marcello should have become suddenly invisible just
+then.
+
+The official thought so too, and shook his head. He looked at the
+detectives, and they shook their heads, also. And then they all looked
+at Corbario and expressed the opinion that there was some mistake about
+the length of time supposed by Aurora to have elapsed between the
+moment when Marcello left her and the instant of Folco's appearance
+before her. She had not looked at her watch; in fact, she had not
+carried a watch. The whole story therefore depended upon her more or
+less accurate judgment of time. It might have been a quarter of an hour
+instead of five minutes, in which case Corbario had not yet left the
+cottage, and Marcello would have had ample leisure to disappear in any
+direction he pleased. Ercole had been away at Porto d'Anzio, the men had
+been all at the hut; if Folco had not been on the path precisely at the
+time guessed by Aurora, everything could be accounted for.
+
+"Very well," Corbario answered. "Let us suppose that my stepson had time
+to get away. In that case he can be found, alive or dead. Italy is not
+China, nor Siberia, and I can place unlimited funds at your disposal.
+Find him for me; that is all I ask."
+
+"We shall find him, never fear!" answered the Chief of Police with a
+confidence he did not feel.
+
+"We shall find him!" echoed the three detectives in chorus.
+
+Ercole watched the proceedings and listened to what was said, for he
+considered it his duty to attend on such an occasion, his dog at his
+heels, his gun slung over his shoulder. He listened and looked from one
+to the other with his deep eyes and inscrutable parchment face,
+shrivelled by the malarious fever. But he said nothing. The Chief of
+Police turned to him at last.
+
+"Now what do you think about it?" asked the official. "You know the
+country. Had there been any suspicious characters about, fellows who
+could have carried off the boy?"
+
+"Such people would ask a ransom," answered Ercole. "You would soon hear
+from them. But I saw no one. There have been no brigands about Rome for
+more than twenty years. Do you dream that you are in Sicily? Praise be
+to Heaven, this is the Roman Campagna; we are Christians and we live
+under King Victor! Where are the brigands? They have melted. Or else
+they are making straw hats in the galleys. Do I know where they are?
+They are not here. That is enough."
+
+"Quite right, my friend," answered the Chief of Police. "There are no
+brigands. But I am sorry to say that there are thieves in the Campagna,
+as there are near every great city."
+
+Ercole shrugged his angular shoulders contemptuously.
+
+"Thieves would not carry a man away," he answered. "You know that, you
+who are of the profession, as they say. Such ruffians would have knocked
+the young gentleman on the head to keep him quiet, and would have made
+off. And besides, we should have found their tracks in the sand, and
+Nino would have smelt them."
+
+Nino pricked up one ragged ear at the sound of his name.
+
+"He does not look very intelligent," observed the official. "A clever
+dog might have been used to track the boy."
+
+"How?" inquired Ercole with scorn. "The footsteps of the young gentleman
+were everywhere, with those of all the family, who were always coming
+and going about here. How could he track them, or any of us? But he
+would have smelt a stranger, even if it had rained. I know this dog. He
+is the head dog on the Roman shore. There is no other dog like him."
+
+"I daresay not," assented the Chief of Police, looking at Nino. "In
+fact, he is not like any animal I ever saw."
+
+The detectives laughed at this.
+
+"There is no other," said Ercole without a smile. "He is the only son of
+a widowed mother. I am his family, and he is my family, and we live in
+good understanding in this desert. If there were no fever we should be
+like the saints in paradise--eating our corn meal together. And I will
+tell you another thing. If the young gentleman had been wounded anywhere
+near here, Nino would have found the blood even after three days. As for
+a dead man, he would make a point for him and howl half a mile off,
+unless the wind was the wrong way."
+
+"Would he really?" asked Corbario with a little interest.
+
+Ercole looked at him and nodded, but said no more, and presently the
+whole party of men went back to Rome, leaving him to the loneliness of
+the sand-banks and the sea.
+
+Then Ercole came back to the gap and stood still a little while, and
+his dog sat bolt upright beside him.
+
+"Nino," he said at last, in a rather regretful tone, "I gave you a good
+character. What could I say before those gentlemen? But I tell you this,
+you are growing old. And don't answer that I am getting old too, for
+that is my business. If your nose were what it was once, we should know
+the truth by this time. Smell that!"
+
+Ercole produced a small green morocco pocket-book, of the sort made to
+hold a few visiting cards and a little paper money, and held it to
+Nino's muzzle.
+
+Nino smelt it, looked up to his master's face inquiringly, smelt it
+again, and then, as if to explain that it did not interest him, lay down
+in the sand with his head on his forepaws.
+
+"You see!" growled Ercole. "You cannot even tell whether it belonged to
+the boy or to Corbario. An apoplexy on you! You understand nothing! Ill
+befall the souls of your dead, you ignorant beast!"
+
+Nino growled, but did not lift his head.
+
+"You understand that," said Ercole, discontentedly. "If you were a
+Christian you would stick a knife into me for insulting your dead! Yet
+you cannot tell whose pocket-book this is! And if I knew, I should know
+something worth knowing."
+
+The pocket-book disappeared in the interior recesses of Ercole's
+waistcoat. It was empty and bore no initial, and he could not remember
+to have seen it in Corbario's or Marcello's hands, but he was quite
+sure that it belonged to one of them. He was equally sure that if he
+showed it to Corbario the latter would at once say that it was
+Marcello's, and would take it away from him, so he said nothing about
+it. He had found it in the sand, a little way up the bank, during his
+first search after Marcello's disappearance.
+
+Ercole's confidence in the good intentions of his fellow-men was not
+great; he was quite lacking in the sort of charity which believeth all
+things, and had a large capacity for suspicion of everybody and
+everything; he held all men to be liars and most women to be something
+worse.
+
+"Men are at least Christians," he would say to Nino, "but a female is
+always a female."
+
+If he took a liking for any one, as for Marcello, he excused himself for
+the weakness on the ground that he was only human after all, and in his
+heart he respected his dog for snarling at everybody without
+discrimination. There was no doubt, however, that he felt a sort of
+attachment for the boy, and he admitted the failing while he deplored
+it. Besides, he detested Corbario, and had felt that his own common
+sense was insulted by the fact that Folco seemed devoted to Marcello.
+The suspicion that Folco had got rid of his stepson in order to get his
+fortune was therefore positively delightful, accompanied as it was by
+the conviction that he should one day prove his enemy a murderer.
+Perhaps if he could have known what Folco Corbario was suffering, he
+might have been almost satisfied, but he had no means of guessing that.
+In his opinion the man knew what had become of Marcello, and could be
+made to tell if proper means were used. At night Ercole put himself to
+sleep by devising the most horrible tortures for his master, such as no
+fortitude could resist, and by trying to guess what the wretched man
+would say when his agony forced him to confess the truth.
+
+He was almost sure by this time that Marcello was dead, though how Folco
+could have killed him, carried off his body to a great distance and
+buried him, without ever absenting himself from the cottage, was more
+than Ercole could imagine. He paid Corbario's skill the compliment of
+believing that he had not employed any accomplice, but had done the deed
+alone.
+
+How? That was the question. Ercole knew his dog well enough, and was
+perfectly sure that if the body had been concealed anywhere within a
+mile of the cottage Nino would have found it out, for the dog and his
+master had quartered every foot of the ground within three days after
+Marcello had been lost. It was utterly, entirely impossible that Folco,
+without help, could have dragged the dead boy farther. When he had gone
+on his pretended search he had not been alone; one of the men had ridden
+with him, and had never lost sight of him, as Ercole easily ascertained
+without seeming to ask questions. Ercole had obtained a pretty fair
+knowledge of Corbario's movements on that day, and it appeared that he
+had not been absent from the cottage more than half an hour at any time
+before he went to look for Marcello.
+
+"If Corbario himself had disappeared in that way," said Ercole to
+himself and Nino, "it would be easy to understand. We should know that
+the devil had carried him off."
+
+But no such supernatural intervention of the infernal powers could be
+supposed in Marcello's case, and Ercole racked his brains to no purpose,
+and pondered mad schemes for carrying Corbario off out of Rome to a
+quiet place where he would extract the truth from him, and he growled at
+the impossibility of such a thing, and fell to guessing again.
+
+In the magnificent library of the villa on the Janiculum, Folco was
+guessing, too, and with no better result. But because he could not guess
+right, and could get no news of Marcello, his eyes were growing hollow
+and his cheeks wan.
+
+The lawyers came and talked about the will, and explained to him that
+all the great property was his, unless Marcello came back, and that in
+any case he was to administer it. They said that if no news of the boy
+were obtained within a limited time, the law must take it for granted
+that he had perished in some unaccountable way. Folco shook his head.
+
+"He must be found," he said. "I have good nerves, but if I do not find
+out what has become of him I shall go mad."
+
+The lawyers spoke of courage and patience, but a sickly smile twisted
+Folco's lips.
+
+"Put yourself in my place, if you can," he answered.
+
+The lawyers, who knew the value of the property to a farthing, wished
+they could, though if they had known also what was passing in his mind
+they might have hesitated to exchange their lot for his.
+
+"He was like your own son," they said sympathetically. "A wife and a son
+gone on the same day! It is a tragedy. It is more than a man can bear."
+
+"It is indeed!" answered Corbario in a low voice and looking away.
+
+Almost the same phrases were exchanged each time that the two men came
+to the villa about the business, and when they left they never failed to
+look at each other gravely and to remark that Folco was a person of the
+deepest feeling, to whom such an awful trial was almost worse than
+death; and the elder lawyer, who was of a religious turn of mind, said
+that if such a calamity befell him he would retire from the world, but
+the younger answered that, for his part, he would travel and see the
+world and try to divert his thoughts. In their different ways they were
+hard-headed, experienced men; yet neither of them suspected for a moment
+that there was anything wrong. Both were honestly convinced that Folco
+had been a model husband to his dead wife, and a model father to her
+lost son. What they could not understand was that he should not find
+consolation in possessing their millions, and they could only account
+for the fact by calling him a person of the deepest feeling--a feeling,
+indeed, quite past their comprehension.
+
+Even the Contessa dell' Armi was impressed by the unmistakable signs of
+suffering in his face. She went twice to see him within three weeks
+after her friend's death, and she came away convinced that she had
+misjudged him. Aurora did not go with her, and Corbario barely asked
+after her. He led Maddalena to his dead wife's room and begged her to
+take some object that had belonged to the Signora, in memory of their
+long friendship. He pressed her to accept a necklace, or a bracelet, or
+some other valuable ornament, but Maddalena would only take a simple
+little gold chain which she herself had given long ago.
+
+Her own sorrow for her friend was profound but undemonstrative, as her
+nature had grown to be. Aurora saw it, and never referred to it,
+speaking only now and then of Marcello, to ask if there were any news of
+him.
+
+"He is not dead," the girl said one day. "I know he will come back. He
+went away because I called him a baby."
+
+Her mother smiled sadly and shook her head.
+
+"Did you love him, dear?" she asked softly.
+
+"We were children then," Aurora answered. "How do I know? I shall know
+when he comes back."
+
+It was true that the girl had changed within a few weeks, and her mother
+saw it. Her smile was not the same, and her eyes were deeper. She had
+begun to gather her hair in a knot, closer to her head, and that altered
+her expression a little and made her look much older; but there was more
+than that, there was something very hard to describe, something one
+might call conviction--the conviction that the world is real, which
+comes upon girlhood as suddenly as waking on sleep, or sleep on waking.
+She had crossed the narrow borderland between play and earnest, and she
+had crossed it very soon.
+
+"He will come back," she said. "He went away on that little ship that
+was tossing in the storm. I know it, though I cannot tell how he got out
+to it through the breaking waves."
+
+"That is perfectly impossible, child," said Maddalena with certainty.
+
+"Never mind. If we knew what ship that was, and where she is now, we
+could find Marcello. I am as sure of it as I am sure of seeing you at
+this moment. You know you often say that my presentiments come true. As
+soon as we knew he was gone I thought of the little ship."
+
+It was natural, perhaps. The picture of the small brigantine, fighting
+for existence, had graved itself in her memory. With its crew so near
+death, it had been the only thing within sight that suggested human life
+after Marcello was gone. The utter impossibility of a man's swimming out
+through the raging sea that broke upon the bar was nothing compared with
+Aurora's inward conviction that the little vessel had borne away the
+secret of his disappearance. And she had not been wrecked: Aurora knew
+that, for a wreck anywhere on the Roman shore would have been spoken of
+at once. They are unfortunately common enough, and since her childhood
+Aurora had more than once seen a schooner's masts sticking up out of
+the treacherous water a cable's length from the shore. The brigantine
+had got away, for the gale had moderated very suddenly, as spring gales
+do in the Mediterranean, just when the captain was making up his mind to
+let go both anchors and make a desperate attempt to save his vessel by
+riding out the storm--a forlorn hope with such ground tackle as he had
+in his chain lockers. And then he had stood out, and had sailed away,
+one danger more behind him in his hard life, and one less ahead. He had
+sailed away--whither? No one could tell. Those little vessels, built in
+the south of Italy, often enough take salt to South America, and are
+sold there, cargo and all; and some of the crew stay there, and some get
+other ships, but almost all are dispersed. The keeper of the San Lorenzo
+tower, who had been a deep-water man, had told Aurora about it. He
+himself had once gone out in a Sicilian brigantine from Trapani, and had
+stayed away three years, knocking about the world in all sorts of craft.
+
+Yet this one might have been on a coastwise trip to Genoa and
+Marseilles. That was quite possible. If one could only find out her
+name. And yet, if she had put into a near port Marcello would have come
+back; for Aurora was quite sure that he had got on board her somehow. It
+was all a mystery, all but the certainty she felt that he was still
+alive, and which nothing could shake, even when every one else had given
+him up. Aurora begged her mother to speak to Corbario about it. With his
+experience and knowledge of things he would know what to do; he could
+find some way of tracing the vessel, wherever she might be.
+
+The Contessa was convinced that the girl's theory was utterly untenable,
+and it was only to please her that she promised to speak of it if she
+saw Corbario again. Soon afterward she decided to leave Rome for the
+summer, and before going away she went once more to the villa. It was
+now late in June, and she found Folco in the garden late in the
+afternoon.
+
+He looked ill and tired, but she thought him a little less thin than
+when she had seen him last. He said that he, too, meant to leave Rome
+within a few days, that he intended to go northward first to see an old
+friend of his who had recently returned from South America, and that he
+should afterwards go down to Calabria, to San Domenico, and spend the
+autumn there. He had no news of Marcello. He looked thoughtfully down at
+his hands as he said this in a tone of profound sorrow.
+
+"Aurora has a fixed idea," said Maddalena. "While she was talking with
+Marcello at the gap in the bank there was a small ship tossing about not
+far from the shore."
+
+"Well?" asked Corbario. "What of it?"
+
+As he looked up from the contemplation of his hands Maddalena was struck
+by his extreme pallor and the terrible hollowness of his eyes.
+
+"How ill you look!" she exclaimed, almost involuntarily. "The sooner you
+go away the better."
+
+"What did Aurora say about the brigantine?" he asked earnestly, by way
+of answer.
+
+Maddalena knew too little about the sea to understand that he must have
+noticed the vessel's rig to name it correctly, as he did, and without
+hesitation.
+
+"She is convinced that Marcello got on board of her," she answered.
+
+Corbario's face relaxed a little, and he laughed harshly.
+
+"That is utterly absurd!" he answered. "No swimmer that ever lived could
+have got to her, nor any boat either! There was a terrific surf on the
+bar."
+
+"Of course not," assented Maddalena. "But you saw the ship, too?"
+
+"Yes. Aurora was looking at her when I reached the gap. That is why I
+noticed the vessel," Corbario added, as if by an afterthought. "She was
+a Sicilian brigantine, and was carrying hardly any sail. If the gale had
+lasted she would probably have been driven ashore. Her only chance would
+have been to drop anchor."
+
+"You know all about ships and the sea, don't you?" asked Maddalena, with
+a very little curiosity, but without any particular intention.
+
+"Oh, no!" cried Corbario, as if he were protesting against something. "I
+have made several long voyages, and I have a knack of remembering the
+names of things, nothing more."
+
+"I did not mean to suggest that you had been a sailor," Maddalena
+answered.
+
+"What an idea! I, a sailor!"
+
+He seemed vaguely amused at the idea. The Contessa took leave of him,
+after giving him her address in the north of Italy, and begging him to
+write if he found any clue to Marcello's disappearance. He promised
+this, and they parted, not expecting to meet again until the autumn.
+
+In a few days they had left Rome for different destinations. The little
+apartment near the Forum of Trajan where the Contessa and her daughter
+lived was shut up, and at the great villa on the Janiculum the solemn
+porter put off his mourning livery and dressed himself in brown linen,
+and smoked endless pipes within the closed gates when it was not too hot
+to be out of doors. The horses were turned out to grass, and the
+coachman and grooms departed to the country. The servants opened the
+windows in the early morning, shut them at ten o'clock against the heat,
+and dozed the rest of the time, or went down into the city to gossip
+with their friends in the afternoon. It was high summer, and Rome went
+to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+"What do we eat to-day?" asked Paoluccio, the innkeeper on the Frascati
+road, as he came in from the glare and the dust and sat down in his own
+black kitchen.
+
+"Beans and oil," answered his wife.
+
+"An apoplexy take you!" observed the man, by way of mild comment.
+
+"It is Friday," said the woman, unmoved, though she was of a distinctly
+apoplectic habit.
+
+The kitchen was also the eating-room where meals were served to the
+wine-carters on their way to Rome and back. The beams and walls were
+black with the smoke of thirty years, for no whitewash had come near
+them since the innkeeper had married Nanna. It was a rich, crusty black,
+lightened here and there to chocolate brown, and shaded off again to the
+tint of strong coffee. High overhead three hams and half a dozen huge
+sausages hung slowly curing in the acrid wood smoke. There was an open
+hearth, waist high, for roasting, and having three square holes sunk in
+it for cooking with charcoal. An enormous bunch of green ferns had been
+hung by a long string from the highest beam to attract the flies, which
+swarmed on it like bees on a branch. The floor was of beaten cement,
+well swept and watered. Along three of the walls there were heavy
+tables of rough-hewn oak, with benches, polished by long and constant
+use. A trap-door covered the steps that led down to the deep cellar,
+which was nothing but a branch of those unexplored catacombs that
+undermine the Campagna in all directions. The place was dim, smoky, and
+old, but it was not really dirty, for in his primitive way the Roman
+wine-carter is fastidious. It is not long since he used to bring his own
+solid silver spoon and fork with him, and he will generally rinse a
+glass out two or three times before he will drink out of it.
+
+The kitchen of the inn was cool compared with the road outside, and
+though it smelt chiefly of the stale smoke of green wood, this was
+pervaded and tempered by odours of fern, fresh cabbages, goats'-milk
+cheese, and sour red wine. The brown earthen pot simmered over one of
+the holes in the hearth, emitting little clouds of steam; but boiling
+beans have no particular smell, as everybody knows.
+
+Paoluccio had pushed his weather-beaten soft hat back on his head, and
+sat drumming on the oak table with his knotty fingers. He was a strong
+man, thickset and healthy, with grizzled hair and an intensely black
+beard. His wife was fat, and purple about the jaws and under the ears.
+She stood with her back to the hearth, looking at him, with a wooden
+spoon in her hand.
+
+"Beans," she said slowly, and she looked up at the rafters and down
+again at her husband.
+
+"You have told me so," he growled, "and may the devil fly away with
+you!"
+
+"Beans are not good for people who have the fever," observed Nanna.
+
+"Beans are rather heavy food," assented the innkeeper, apparently
+understanding. "Bread and water are better. Pour a little oil on the
+bread."
+
+"A man who has the fever may die of eating beans," said Nanna
+thoughtfully. "This is also to be considered."
+
+"It is true." Paoluccio looked at his wife in silence for a moment. "But
+a person who is dead must be buried," he continued, as if he had
+discovered something. "When a person is dead, he is dead, whether he
+dies of eating beans or--"
+
+He broke off significantly, and his right hand, as it lay before him,
+straightened itself and made a very slight vibrating motion, with the
+fingers all close together. It is the gesture that means the knife among
+the southern people. Nanna instantly looked round, to be sure that no
+one else was in the room.
+
+"When you have given that medicine, you cannot send for the doctor," she
+observed, lowering her voice. "But if he eats, and dies, what can any
+one say? We have fed him for charity; it is Friday and we have given him
+beans. What can we know? Are not beans good food? We have nothing else,
+and it is for charity, and we give what we have. I don't think they
+could expect us to give him chickens and French wine, could they?"
+
+Paoluccio growled approval.
+
+"It is forty-seven days," continued Nanna. "You can make the account.
+Chickens and milk and fresh meat for forty-seven days! Even the bread
+comes to something in that time, at least two soldi a day--two forties
+eighty, two sevens fourteen, ninety-four--nearly five francs. Who will
+give us the five francs? Are we princes?"
+
+"There is the cow," observed Paoluccio with a grin.
+
+"Imbecile," retorted his wife. "It has been a good year; we bought the
+wine cheap, we sell it dear, without counting what we get for nothing
+from the carters; we buy a cow with our earnings, and where is the
+miracle?"
+
+The innkeeper looked towards the door and the small window suspiciously
+before he answered in a low voice.
+
+"If I had not been sure that he would die, I would not have sold the
+watch and chain," he said. "In the house of my father we have always
+been honest people."
+
+"He will die," answered Nanna, confidently and with emphasis. "The girl
+says he is hungry to-day. He shall eat beans. They are white beans, too,
+and the white are much heavier than the brown."
+
+She lifted the tin cover off the earthen pot and stirred the contents.
+
+"White beans!" grumbled Paoluccio. "And the weather is hot. Do you wish
+to kill me?"
+
+"No," answered Nanna quietly. "Not you."
+
+"Do you know what I say?" Paoluccio planted a huge finger on the oaken
+board. "That sick butterfly upstairs is tougher than I am. Forty-seven
+days of fever, and nothing but bread and water! Think of that, my Nanna!
+Think of it! You or I would be consumed, one would not even see our
+shadows on the floor! But he lives."
+
+"If he eats the white beans he has finished living," remarked Nanna.
+
+A short silence followed, during which Paoluccio seemed to be
+meditating, and Nanna began to ladle the beans out into four deep
+earthenware bowls, roughly glazed and decorated with green and brown
+stripes.
+
+"You are a jewel; you are the joy of my heart," he observed
+thoughtfully, as Nanna placed his portion before him, covered it with
+oil, and scattered some chopped basil on the surface.
+
+"Eat, my love," she said, and she cut a huge piece from a coarse loaf
+and placed it beside him on a folded napkin that looked remarkably clean
+in such surroundings, and emitted a pleasant odour of dried lavender
+blossoms.
+
+"Where is the girl?" asked Paoluccio, stirring the mess and blowing upon
+it.
+
+As he spoke, the door was darkened, and the girl stood there with a
+large copper "conca," the water-jar of the Roman province, balanced on
+her head--one of the most magnificent human beings on whom the sun of
+the Campagna ever shone. She was tall, and she bent her knees without
+moving her neck, in order to enter the door without first setting down
+the heavy vessel.
+
+[Illustration: " ... THE DOOR WAS DARKENED, AND THE GIRL STOOD THERE
+WITH A LARGE COPPER 'CONCA' ..."]
+
+Her thick dark hair grew low on her forehead, almost black, save for
+the reddish chestnut lights where a few tiny ringlets curled themselves
+about her small and classic ears. Straight black eyebrows outlined the
+snow-white forehead, and long brown lashes shaded the fearless eyes,
+that looked black too. She smiled a little, quite unconsciously, as she
+lowered herself with the weight and gracefully rose to her height again
+after she had entered. One shapely brown hand steadied the conca above,
+the other gathered her coarse skirt; then she stood still, lifted the
+load from her head with both hands and without any apparent effort, and
+set it down in its place on a stone slab near the hearth. Most women
+need a little help to do that.
+
+She laid aside the twisted cloth on which the conca had rested while she
+carried it, and she smoothed her hair carelessly.
+
+"There are beans," said Nanna, giving the girl one of the bowls. "There
+is the bread. While they are cooling take the other portion upstairs."
+
+The girl looked at the bowl, and at Nanna, and then at Paoluccio, and
+stood stock still.
+
+"Hey, there!" the man cried, with a rough laugh. "Hey! Reginella! Are
+you going to sleep, or are you turning into a statue?"
+
+"Am I to give him the beans to eat?" asked Regina, looking hard at the
+innkeeper.
+
+"You said he was hungry. That is what there is for dinner. We give him
+what we have."
+
+Regina's dark eyes lightened; her upper lip rose in a curve and showed
+her closed teeth, strong and white as those of a young animal.
+
+"Do as you are told," added Paoluccio. "This is charity. When you
+examine your conscience at Easter you can say, 'I have fed the hungry
+and cared for the sick.' The beans are mine, of course, but that makes
+no difference. I make you a present of them."
+
+"Thank you!"
+
+"Welcome," answered Paoluccio, with his mouth, full.
+
+Regina took the fourth bowl and a piece of bread and went out. The steps
+to the upper part of the house were on the outside, as is common in the
+houses of the Campagna.
+
+"How old is she?" Paoluccio asked when she was gone.
+
+"She must be twenty," answered Nanna. "It must be ten years since her
+mother died, and her mother said she was ten years old. She has eaten
+many loaves in this house."
+
+"She has worked for her food," said the innkeeper. "And she is an honest
+girl."
+
+"What did you expect? That I should let her be idle, or make eyes at the
+carters? But you always defend her, because she is pretty, you ugly
+scamp!"
+
+Nanna uttered her taunt in a good-natured tone, but she glanced
+furtively at her husband to see the effect of her words, for it was not
+always safe to joke with Paoluccio.
+
+"If I did not defend her," he answered, "you would beat the life out of
+her."
+
+"I daresay," replied Nanna, and filled her mouth with beans.
+
+"But now," said Paoluccio, swallowing, "if you are not careful she will
+break all your bones. She has the health of a horse."
+
+So the couple discussed matters amiably, while Regina was out of the
+way.
+
+In a garret that had a small unglazed window looking to the north, the
+girl was bending over a wretched trestle-bed, which was literally the
+only piece of furniture in the room; and on the coarse mattress, stuffed
+with the husks and leaves of maize, lay all that the fever had left of
+Marcello Consalvi, shivering under a tattered brown blanket. There was
+little more than the shadow of the boy, and his blue eyes stared dully
+up at the girl's face. But there was life in him still, thanks to her,
+and though there was no expression in his gaze, his lips smiled faintly,
+and faint words came from them.
+
+"Thank you," he said, "I am better to-day. Yes, I could eat something."
+
+Regina bent lower, smiling happily, and she kissed the boy's face three
+times; she kissed his eyes and dry lips. And he, too, smiled again.
+
+Then she left the bedside and went to a dark corner, where she
+cautiously moved aside a loose board. From the recess she took a common
+tumbler and a bottle of old wine and a battered iron spoon. She crouched
+upon the floor, because there was no table; she took two fresh eggs out
+of the folds of the big red and yellow cotton handkerchief that covered
+her shoulders and was crossed over her bosom, and she broke them into
+the glass, and hid the empty shells carefully in the folds again, so
+that they should not be found in the room. For she had stolen these for
+Marcello, as usual, as well as the old wine. She poured a little of the
+latter into the glass and stirred the eggs quickly and softly, making
+hardly any noise. From the recess in the wall she got a little sugar,
+which was wrapped up in a bit of newspaper brown with age and smoke, and
+she sweetened the eggs and wine and stirred again; and at last she came
+and fed Marcello with the battered spoon. She had put off her coarse
+slippers and walked about in her thick brown woollen stockings, lest she
+should be heard below. She was very quiet and skilful, and she had
+strangely small and gentle hands for a peasant girl. Marcello's head was
+propped up by her left arm while she fed him.
+
+She had kept him alive six weeks, and she had saved his life. She had
+found him lying against the door of the inn at dawn, convulsed with ague
+and almost unconscious, and had carried him into the house like a child,
+though he had been much heavier then. Of course the innkeeper had taken
+his watch and chain, and his jacket and sleeve-links and studs, to keep
+them safe, he said. Regina knew what that meant, but Paoluccio had
+ordered her to take care of him, and she had done her best. Paoluccio
+felt that if the boy died it would be the will of heaven, and that he
+probably would not live long with such care and such nourishment as he
+would get up there in the attic. When he was dead, it would be time
+enough to tell the carabineers who passed the house twice every
+twenty-four hours on their beat; they would see that a sick boy had been
+taken in, and that he had died of the fever, and as they need never know
+how long he had been in the inn, the whole affair would redound to
+Paoluccio's credit with them and with customers. But as long as he was
+alive it was quite unnecessary that any one should know of his
+existence, especially as the watch and chain had been converted into
+money, and the money into a fine young cow. That Marcello could get well
+on bread and water never entered Paoluccio's head.
+
+But he had counted without Regina; that is to say that he had overlooked
+the love and devotion of an intensely vital creature, younger, quicker,
+and far cleverer that he, who would watch the sick boy day and night,
+steal food and wine for him, lose sleep for him, risk blows for him, and
+breathe her strong life into his weak body; to whom the joy of saving
+him from death would be so much greater than all fatigue, that there
+would be no shadow under her eyes, no pallor in her cheek, no weariness
+in her elastic gait to tell of sleepless nights spent by his bedside in
+soothing his ravings, or in listening for the beat of his heart when he
+lay still and exhausted, his tired head resting on her strong white arm.
+And when he seemed better and at ease she often fell asleep beside him,
+half sitting, half lying, on the pallet bed, her cheek on the straw
+pillow, her breath mingling with his in the dark.
+
+He was better now, and she felt the returning life in him, almost before
+he was sure of it himself; and while her heart was almost bursting with
+happiness, so that she smiled to herself throughout her rough work all
+day long, she knew that he could not stay where he was. Paoluccio
+expected him to die, and was beginning to be tired of waiting, and so
+was Nanna. If he recovered, he would ask for his watch and other things;
+he was evidently a fine young gentleman to whom some strange accident
+had happened, and he must have friends somewhere. Half delirious, he had
+spoken of them and of his mother, and of some one called Aurora, whom
+Regina already hated with all her heart and soul. The innkeeper and his
+wife had never come near him since the former had helped the girl to
+carry him upstairs, but if they suspected that he was recovering she
+would not be able to prevent them from seeing him; and if they did, she
+knew what would happen. They would send her on an errand, and when she
+came back Marcello would be dead. She might refuse to go, but they were
+strong people and would be two to one. Brave as Regina was, she did not
+dare to wait for the carabineers when they came by on their beat and to
+tell them the truth, for she had the Italian peasant's horror and dread
+of the law and its visible authority; and moreover she was quite sure
+that Paoluccio would murder her if she told the secret.
+
+"If I could only take you to Rome!" she whispered, bending over him
+when he had swallowed the contents of the glass. "You could tell me
+where your friends are."
+
+"Rome?" he repeated, with a vacant questioning.
+
+She nodded and smiled, and then sighed. She had long been sure that the
+fever had affected his memory, and she had tried many times to awaken
+it.
+
+She loved him because he had the face of an angel, and was fair-haired,
+and seemed so gentle and patient, and smiled so sweetly when she kissed
+him. That was all. He could thank her; he could tell her that he was
+better or worse; he could speak of what he saw; he could even tell her
+that she was beautiful, and that was much. He was Marcello, he had told
+her that, but when she asked what other name he had, he looked at her
+blankly at first, and then an expression of painful effort came over his
+face, and she would not disturb him any more. He could not remember. He
+did not know how he had come to the inn door; he had been walking in the
+Campagna alone and had felt tired. He knew no more.
+
+If only she could get him to Rome. It was not more than seven or eight
+miles to the city, and Regina had often been there with Nanna. She had
+been to Saint John Lateran's at midsummer for the great festival, and
+she knew where the hospital was, in which famous professors cured every
+ill under the sun. If she could bring Marcello to them, he would get
+well; if he stayed much longer at the inn, Paoluccio would kill him;
+being a woman, and a loving one, Regina only regarded as possible what
+she wished, where the man she loved was concerned.
+
+She made up her mind that if it could not be done by any other means she
+would carry Marcello all the way. During his illness she had often
+lifted him from his bed like a little child, for he was slightly built
+by nature and was worn to a shadow by the fever. Even Aurora could have
+raised him, and he was a featherweight in the arms of such a creature as
+Regina. But it would be another matter to carry such an awkward burden
+for miles along the highroad; and besides, she would meet the
+carabineers, and as she would have to go at night, they would probably
+arrest her and put her in prison, and Marcello would die. She must find
+some other way.
+
+She laid his head tenderly on the pillow and left him, promising to come
+back as soon as she could. For safety she had brought the dish of beans
+with her, lest Nanna should follow her, and she took it with her, just
+as it was; but at the foot of the outer stairs she ran along the back of
+the house to the pig-sty, and emptied the mess into the trough,
+carefully scraping the bowl with the spoon so that it looked as if some
+one had eaten the contents. Then she went back to the kitchen.
+
+"Has he eaten?" inquired Nanna, and Paoluccio looked up, too.
+
+"You see," answered Regina, showing the empty bowl.
+
+"Health to him!" answered Paoluccio. "He has a good appetite."
+
+"Eat your own," said Nanna to the girl.
+
+She suspected that Regina might have eaten the beans meant for Marcello,
+but her doubt vanished as she saw how the hungry young thing devoured
+her own portion.
+
+"Are there any more left?" Regina asked when she had finished, for she
+understood perfectly what was going on in the minds of the other two.
+
+She looked into the earthen cooking-pot which now stood on the corner of
+the hearth.
+
+"Not even the smell of any more," answered Nanna. "There is bread."
+
+Regina's white teeth crushed the hard brown crust as if she had not
+eaten for a week. There could be no doubt but that the sick boy had
+eaten the beans; and beans, especially white ones, are not good for
+people who have the fever, as Nanna had justly observed.
+
+"On Sunday he shall have a dish of liver and cabbage," she said, in a
+cheerful tone. "There is much strength in liver, and cabbage is good for
+the blood. I shall take it to him myself, for it will be a pleasure to
+see him eat."
+
+"The beans were soon finished," said Regina, with perfect truth.
+
+"I told you how it would be," Paoluccio answered.
+
+But Regina knew that the time had come to get Marcello away from the inn
+if he ever was to leave it alive, and in the afternoon, when Nanna was
+dozing in her chair in the kitchen and Paoluccio was snoring upstairs,
+and when she had smoothed Marcello's pillow, she went out and sat down
+in front of the house, where there was shade at that hour, though the
+glare from the dusty road would have blinded weaker eyes than hers. She
+sat on the stone seat that ran along the house, and leaned against the
+rough wall, thinking and scheming, and quite sure that she should find a
+way.
+
+At first she looked about, while she thought, from the well-known
+mountains that bounded her world to the familiar arches of the distant
+aqueduct, from the dry ditch opposite to the burning sky above and the
+greyish green hillocks below Tivoli. But by and by she looked straight
+before her, with a steady, concentrated stare, as if she saw something
+happening and was watching to see how it would end.
+
+She had found what she wanted, and was quite sure of it; only a few
+details remained to be settled, such as what was to become of her after
+she left the inn where she had grown up. But that did not trouble her
+much.
+
+She was not delicately nurtured that she should dread the great world of
+which she knew nothing, nor had Nanna's conversation during ten years
+done much to strengthen her in the paths of virtue. Her pride had done
+much more and might save her wherever she went, but she was very well
+aware of life's evil truths. And what would her pride be compared with
+Marcello, the first and only being she had ever loved? To begin with,
+she knew that the handsome people from the country earned money by
+serving as models for painters and sculptors, and she had not the
+slightest illusion about her own looks. Since she had been a child
+people who came to the inn had told her that she was beautiful; and not
+the rough wine-carters only, for the fox-hunters sometimes came that
+way, riding slowly homeward after a long run, and many a fine gentleman
+in pink had said things to her which she had answered sharply, but which
+she remembered well. She had not the slightest doubt but that she was
+one of the handsomest girls in Italy, and the absolute certainty of the
+conviction saved her from having any small vanity about her looks. She
+knew that she had only to show herself and that every one would stand
+and look at her, only to beckon and she would be followed. She did not
+crave admiration; a great beauty rarely does. She simply defied
+competition, and was ready to laugh at it in a rather good-natured way,
+for she knew what she had, and was satisfied.
+
+As for the rest, she was merely clever and fearless, and her moral
+inheritance was not all that might be desired; for her father had left
+her mother in a fit of pardonable jealousy, after nearly killing her and
+quite killing his rival, and her mother had not redeemed her character
+after his abrupt departure. On the contrary, if an accident had not
+carried her off suddenly, Regina's virtuous parent would probably have
+sold the girl into slavery. Poor people are not all honest, any more
+than other kinds of people are. Regina did not mourn her mother, and
+hardly remembered her father at all, and she never thought of either.
+
+She owed Paoluccio and Nanna nothing, in her opinion. They had fed her
+sufficiently, and clothed her decently for the good of the house; she
+had done the work of two women in return, because she was strong, and
+she had been honest, because she was proud. Even the innkeeper and his
+wife would not have pretended that she owed them much gratitude; they
+were much too natural for that, and besides, the girl was too handsome,
+and there might be some scandal about her any day which would injure the
+credit of the inn. Nanna thought Paoluccio much too fond of watching
+her, as it was, and reflected that if she went to the city she would be
+well out of the way, and might go to the devil if she pleased.
+
+Regina's plan for taking Marcello was simple, like most plans which
+succeed, and only depended for its success on being carried out
+fearlessly.
+
+The wine-carters usually came to the inn from the hills between nine and
+eleven o'clock at night, and the carts, heavy-laden with wine casks,
+stood in a line along the road, while the men went into the kitchen to
+eat and drink. They generally paid for what they consumed by giving a
+measure or two of wine from the casks they were bringing, and which they
+filled up with water, a very simple plan which seems to have been in use
+for ages. It has several advantages; the owner of the wine does not
+suffer by it, since he gets his full price in town; the man who buys the
+wine in Rome does not suffer, because he adds so much water to the wine
+before selling it that a little more or less makes no difference; the
+public does not suffer, as it is well known that wine is much better for
+the health when drunk with plenty of water; and the carters do not
+suffer, because nobody would think of interfering with them. Moreover,
+they get food and drink for nothing.
+
+While the men were having supper in the inn, their carts were guarded by
+their little woolly dogs, black, white, or brown, and always terribly
+wide-awake and uncommonly fierce in spite of their small size.
+
+Now, just at this time, there was one carter who had none, and Regina
+knew it, for he was one of her chief admirers. He was the
+hardest-drinking ruffian of all the men who came and went on the
+Frascati road, and he had been quite willing to sell his dog in the
+street to a gentleman who admired it and offered him fifty francs for
+it, though that is a small price for a handsome "lupetto." But Mommo
+happened to be deeper in debt than usual, took the money, and cast about
+to steal another dog that might serve him. So far he had not seen one to
+his liking.
+
+It is the custom of the wine-carters, when they have had plenty to eat
+and drink, to climb to their seats under the fan-like goat-skin hoods of
+their carts, and to go to sleep, wrapped in their huge cloaks. Their
+mules plod along and keep out of the way of other vehicles without any
+guidance, and their dogs protect them from thieves, who might steal
+their money; for they always carry the sum necessary to pay the octroi
+duty at the city gates, where every cart is stopped. As they are on the
+road most of their lives, winter and summer, they would not get much
+sleep if they tried to keep awake all night; and they drink a good deal,
+partly because wine is really a protection against the dangerous fever,
+and partly because their drink costs them nothing. Some of them drank
+their employers' wine at supper, others exchanged what they brought for
+Paoluccio's, which they liked better.
+
+They usually got away about midnight, and Mommo was often the last to
+go. It was a part of Regina's work to go down to the cellar and draw the
+wine that was wanted from the hogsheads when the host was too lazy to go
+down himself, and being quite unwatched she could draw a measure from
+the oldest and strongest if she chose. Mommo could easily be made a
+little sleepier than usual, after being tempted to outstay the others.
+
+And so it turned out that night. After the necessary operation of
+tapping one of his casks and filling it up with water, he lingered on
+before a measure of the best, while Nanna and Paoluccio dozed in their
+chairs; and at last all three were asleep.
+
+Then Regina went out softly into the dark summer night, and climbed the
+stairs to the attic.
+
+"I am going to take you to Rome to-night," she whispered in Marcello's
+ear.
+
+"Rome?" he repeated vaguely, half asleep.
+
+She wrapped him in the tattered blanket as he was, and lifted him
+lightly in her arms. Down the stairs she bore him, and then lifted him
+upon the tail of the cart, propping him up as best she could, and
+passing round him the end of one of the ropes that held the casks in
+place. He breathed more freely in the open air, and she had fed him
+again before the carters came to supper.
+
+"And you?" he asked faintly.
+
+"I shall walk," she whispered. "Now wait, and make no noise, or they
+will kill you. Are you comfortable?"
+
+She could see that he nodded his head.
+
+"We shall start presently," she said.
+
+She went into the kitchen, waked Mommo, and made him swallow the rest of
+his wine. He was easily persuaded that he had slept too long, and must
+be on the road. The innkeeper and Nanna grumbled a good-night as he went
+out rather unsteadily, followed by Regina. A moment later the mules'
+bells jingled, the cart creaked, and Mommo was off.
+
+Paoluccio and his wife made their way to the outer stairs and to bed,
+leaving Regina to put out the lights and lock up the kitchen. She lost
+no time in doing this, ran up the steps in the dark, hung the key on its
+nail in the entry, and went to her attic, making a loud noise with her
+loose slippers, so that the couple might hear her. She came down again
+in her stockings almost at once, carrying the slippers and a small
+bundle containing her belongings. She made no noise now, though it was
+almost quite dark, and in another instant she was out on the road to
+Rome. It had all been done so quickly that she could still hear the
+jingling of Mommo's mule bells in the distance. She had only a few
+hundred yards to run, and she was walking at the tail of the cart with
+one hand resting on Marcello's knee as he lay there wrapped up in the
+ragged blanket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+It was clear dawn, and there was confusion at the Porta San Giovanni.
+Mommo had wakened, red-eyed and cross as usual, a little while before
+reaching the gate, and had uttered several strange noises to quicken the
+pace of his mules. After that, everything had happened as usual, for a
+little while; he had stopped inside the walls before the guard-house of
+the city customs, had nodded to the octroi inspectors, and had got his
+money ready while the printed receipt was being filled out. Then the
+excitement had begun.
+
+"You have a passenger," said one, and Mommo stared at him, not
+understanding.
+
+"You have a dead man on behind!" yelled a small boy, standing at safe
+distance.
+
+Mommo began to swear, but one of the inspectors stopped him.
+
+"Get down," said the man. "The carabineers are coming."
+
+Mommo finished his swearing internally, but with increased fervour. The
+small boy was joined by others, and they began to jeer in chorus, and
+perform war-dances.
+
+"There is a tax on dead men!" they screamed. "You must pay!"
+
+"May you all be butchered!" shouted Mommo, in a voice of thunder. "May
+your insides be fried!"
+
+"Brute beast, without education!" hooted the biggest boy,
+contemptuously.
+
+"I'll give you the education, and the instruction too," retorted the
+carter, making at them with his long whip.
+
+They scattered in all directions, like a flock of cawing jackdaws that
+fly a little way in tremendous haste, and then settle again at a
+distance and caw louder than before.
+
+"Animal!" they yelled. "Animal! Animal and beast!"
+
+By this time a crowd had collected round the cart, and two carabineers
+had come up to see what was the matter, quiet, sensible men in
+extraordinary cocked hats and well-fitting swallow-tailed uniforms of
+the fashion of 1810. The carabineers are quite the finest corps in the
+Italian service, and there are a good many valid reasons why their
+antiquated dress should not be changed. Their presence means law and
+order without unnecessary violence.
+
+Mommo was surly, but respectful enough. Yes, it was his cart, and he was
+a regular carter on the Frascati road. Yes, this was undoubtedly a sick
+man, who had climbed upon the cart while Mommo was asleep. Of course he
+had slept on the road, all carters did, and he had no dog, else no one
+would have dared to take liberties with his cart. No, he had never seen
+the sick man. The carabineers might send him to penal servitude for
+life, tear out his tongue, cut off his ears and nose, load him with
+chains, and otherwise annoy him, but he had never seen the sick man. If
+he had seen him, he would have pulled him off, and kicked him all the
+way to the hospital, where he ought to be. What right had such brigands
+as sick men to tamper with the carts of honest people? If the fellow had
+legs to jump upon the cart, he had legs to walk. Had Mommo ever done
+anything wrong in his life, that this should be done to him? Had he
+stolen, or killed anybody, or tried to evade the octroi duty? No. Then
+why should an ugly thief of a sick man climb upon his cart? The wretch
+had hardly clothes enough to cover him decently--a torn shirt and a pair
+of old trousers that he must have stolen, for they were much too short
+for him! And so on, and so forth, to the crowd, for the carabineers paid
+no more attention to him after he had answered their first questions;
+but the crowd listened with interest, the small boys drew near again,
+the octroi inspectors looked on, and Mommo had a sympathetic audience.
+It was the general opinion that he had been outrageously put upon, and
+that some one had murdered the sick man, and had tied the body to the
+cart in order that Mommo should be accused of the crime, it being highly
+likely that a murderer should take so much unnecessary trouble to carry
+his victim and the evidence of his crime about with him in such a very
+public manner.
+
+"If he were dead, now," observed an old peasant, who had trudged in with
+a bundle on his back, "you would immediately be sent to the galleys."
+
+This was so evident that the crowd felt very sorry for Mommo.
+
+"Of course I should," he answered. "By this time to-morrow I should have
+chains on my legs, and be breaking stones! What is the law for, I should
+like to know?"
+
+Meanwhile, the carabineers had lifted Marcello very gently from the cart
+and had carried him into the octroi guard-house, where they set him in a
+chair, wrapped the ragged blanket round his knees and waist, and poured
+a little wine down his throat. Seeing that he was very weak, and having
+ascertained that he had nothing whatever about him by which he could be
+identified, they sent for the municipal doctor of that quarter of the
+city.
+
+While they were busy within, one of the inspectors chanced to look at
+the closed window, and saw the face of a handsome girl pressed against
+the pane outside, and a pair of dark eyes anxiously watching what was
+going on. The girl was so very uncommonly handsome that the inspector
+went out to look at her, but she saw him coming and moved away, drawing
+her cotton kerchief half across her face. Regina's only fear was that
+Mommo might recognise her, in which case she would inevitably be
+questioned by the carabineers. It was characteristic of the class in
+which she had been brought up, that while she entertained a holy dread
+of being cross-questioned by them, she felt the most complete conviction
+that Marcello was safe in their hands. She had meant that he should
+somehow be taken off the cart at the gate, probably by the inspectors,
+and conveyed at once to the great hospital near by. She knew nothing
+about hospitals, and supposed that when he was once there, she might be
+allowed to come and take care of him. It would be easy, she thought, to
+invent some story to account for her interest in him. But she could do
+nothing until Mommo was gone, and he might recognise her figure even if
+he could not see her face.
+
+Finding that nothing more was wanted of him, and that he was in no
+immediate danger of penal servitude for having been found with a sick
+man on his cart, Mommo started his mules up the paved hill towards the
+church, walking beside them, as the carters mostly do within the city.
+The crowd dispersed, the small boys went off in search of fresh matter
+for contemptuous comment, and Regina went boldly to the door of the
+guard-house.
+
+"Can I be of any use with the sick man?" she asked of the inspector who
+had seen her through the window.
+
+The inspector prided himself on his gallantry and good education.
+
+"Signorina," he said, lifting his round hat with a magnificent gesture,
+"if you were to look only once at a dying man, he would revive and live
+a thousand years."
+
+He made eyes at her in a manner he considered irresistible, and replaced
+his hat on his head, a little on one side. Regina had never been called
+"Signorina" before, and she was well aware that no woman who wears a
+kerchief out of doors, instead of a hat, is entitled to be addressed as
+a lady in Rome; but she was not at all offended by the rank flattery of
+the speech, and she saw that the inspector was a good-natured young
+coxcomb.
+
+"You are too kind," she answered politely. "Do you think I can be of any
+use?"
+
+"There are the carabineers," objected the inspector, as if that were a
+sufficient answer. "But you may look in through the door and see the
+sick man."
+
+"I have seen him through the window. He looks very ill."
+
+"Ah, Signorina," sighed the youth, "if I were ill, I should pray the
+saints to send you--"
+
+He was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, who asked him what was
+the matter, and was at once led in by him. Regina withdrew to a little
+distance in the direction of the church and waited. The doctor had come
+in a cab, and in a few moments she saw Marcello carried out and placed
+in it. Then she walked as fast as she could towards the church, quite
+sure that the cab would stop at the door of the hospital, and anxious to
+be within sight of it. Everything had turned out well, even beyond her
+expectations. The cab passed her at a brisk pace before she reached the
+top of the hill, and though she walked as fast as she could, it was no
+longer there when she had gone far enough to see the door. The doctor,
+who was a busy man, had handed Marcello over to the men on duty at the
+entrance, with an order he had pencilled on his card while driving up,
+and had gone on at once. But Regina was convinced that Marcello was
+there, as she hurried forward.
+
+A man in blue linen clothes and a laced cap stopped her on the steps and
+asked what she wanted.
+
+"A young man has just been brought here, very ill," she explained, "and
+I want to see him."
+
+"A very young man? Fair? Thin? From the Campagna? In rags?"
+
+"Yes. I want to see him."
+
+"You can see him to-morrow, if he is alive," answered the orderly in a
+business-like tone.
+
+"To-morrow?" repeated Regina, in a tone of profound disappointment.
+
+"To-morrow is Sunday. Friends and relatives can visit patients on
+Sundays between nine and four."
+
+"But he has no other friends," pleaded Regina. "Please, please let me go
+to him!"
+
+"To-morrow between nine and four."
+
+"No, no--to-day--now--he knows me--my name is Regina."
+
+"Not if you were the Queen of the world," answered the orderly, jesting
+with perfect calm. "You must have a written order from the
+Superintendent."
+
+"Yes, yes! Let me see him!"
+
+"You can see him on Mondays between ten and twelve."
+
+"The day after to-morrow?" cried Regina in despair.
+
+"Yes, between ten and twelve, the day after to-morrow."
+
+"But I may come to-morrow without an order?"
+
+"Yes. Friends and relatives can visit patients on Sundays between nine
+and four."
+
+The man's imperturbability was exasperating, and Regina, who was not
+patient, felt that if she stayed any longer she should try to take him
+by the collar, shake him, and force her way in. But she was much too
+sensible to do anything so rash. There was no choice but to go away.
+
+"Thank you," she said, as she turned to go down the steps.
+
+"You are welcome," the man answered very civilly, for he was watching
+her and was reflecting that he had never seen such a face and figure
+before.
+
+Some hours later, when the police communicated with the Superintendent,
+and when he found that a woman had come to the door who said that she
+knew the waif, and had been sent away, he called the orderly who had
+been on duty several hard names in his heart for having followed the
+rule of the hospital so scrupulously. He was an antediluvian, he was a
+case of arrested mental development, he was an ichthyosaurus, he was a
+new kind of idiot, he was a monumental fool, he was the mammoth ass
+reported to have been seen by a mediÊval traveller in the desert, that
+was forty cubits high, and whose braying was like the blast of ten
+thousand trumpets. The Superintendent wished he had time to select more
+choice epithets for that excellent orderly, but the police seemed so
+particularly curious about the new patient that he had no leisure for
+thinking out what he wanted.
+
+Nevertheless, the man had done his duty and nothing more nor less
+according to the rules, and Regina was forced to go away discomfited.
+
+She walked a hundred yards or more down the hill, towards San Clemente,
+and then stood still to think. The sun had risen, and Marcello was safe,
+though she could not see him. That was something. She stood there,
+young, strong, beautiful, and absolutely penniless; and Rome was before
+her.
+
+For the first time since the previous evening she asked herself what was
+to become of her, and how she was to find bread for that day and for the
+next, and for all the days afterwards. She would have robbed a church to
+feed Marcello, but she would sooner have lost her right hand than steal
+so much as a crust for herself. As for begging, she was too proud, and
+besides, no one would have given her anything, for she was the picture
+of health, her rough clothes were whole and clean, she had tiny gold
+earrings in her ears, and the red and yellow cotton kerchief on her head
+was as good as new. Nobody would believe that she was hungry.
+
+Meanwhile Marcello was made comfortable in one of the narrow white beds
+of an airy ward in the San Giovanni hospital. The institution is
+intended for women only, but there is now a ward for male patients, who
+are admitted when too ill to be taken farther. The doctor on duty had
+written him down as much reduced by malarious fever and wandering in his
+mind, but added that he might live and get well. It was wonderful, the
+doctor reflected for the thousandth time in his short experience, that
+humanity should bear so much as it daily did.
+
+The visiting physician, who was a man of learning and reputation, came
+three hours later and examined Marcello with interest. The boy had not
+suffered much by sleeping on the tail of the cart in the warm summer's
+night, and was now greatly refreshed by the cleanliness and comparative
+luxury of his new surroundings. He had no fever now and had slept
+quietly for two hours, but when he tried to remember what had happened
+to him, where he had been, and how he had come to the place where he
+was, it all grew vague and intricate by turns, and his memories faded
+away like the dreams we try to recall when we can only just recollect
+that we have had a dream of some sort. He knew that he was called
+Marcello, but the rest was gone; he knew that a beautiful creature had
+taken care of him, and that her name was Regina. How long? How many days
+and nights had he lain in the attic, hot by day and cold at night? He
+could not guess, and it tired him to try.
+
+The doctor asked two or three questions while he examined him, and then
+stood quite still for a few seconds, watching him intently. The two
+young house surgeons who accompanied the great man kept a respectful
+silence, waiting for his opinion. When he found an interesting case he
+sometimes delivered a little lecture on it, in a quiet monotonous tone
+that did not disturb the other patients. But to-day he did not seem
+inclined to talk.
+
+"Convalescent," he said, "at least of the fever. He needs good food
+more than anything else. In two days he will be walking about."
+
+He passed on, but in his own mind he was wondering what was the matter
+with the young man, why he had lost his memory, and what accident had
+brought him alone and friendless to one of the city hospitals. For the
+present it would be better to let him alone rather than tire him by a
+thorough examination of his head. There was probably a small fracture
+somewhere at the back of the skull, the doctor thought, and it would be
+easy enough to find it when the patient was strong enough to sit up.
+
+The doctor had not been long gone when an elderly man with a grizzled
+moustache and thoughtful eyes was led to Marcello's bedside by the
+Superintendent himself. The appearance of the latter at an unusual hour
+was always an event in the ward, and the nurses watched him with
+curiosity. They would have been still more curious had they known that
+the elderly gentleman was the Chief of the Police himself. The
+Superintendent raised his hand to motion them away.
+
+"What is your name, sir?" asked the Chief, bending down and speaking in
+a low voice.
+
+"Marcello."
+
+"Yes," replied the other, almost in a whisper, "you are Marcello. But
+what else? What is your family name? It is very important. Will you tell
+me?"
+
+The vague look came into Marcello's eyes, and then the look of pain, and
+he shook his head rather feebly.
+
+"I cannot remember," he answered at last. "It hurts me to remember."
+
+"Is it Consalvi?" asked the officer, smiling encouragement.
+
+"Consalvi?" Marcello's eyes wandered, as he tried to think. "I cannot
+remember," he said again after an interval.
+
+The Chief of Police was not discouraged yet.
+
+"You were knocked down and robbed by thieves, just after you had been
+talking with Aurora," he said, inventing what he believed to have
+happened.
+
+A faint light came into Marcello's eyes.
+
+"Aurora?" He repeated the name almost eagerly.
+
+"Yes. You had been talking to Signorina Aurora dell' Armi. You remember
+that?"
+
+The light faded suddenly.
+
+"I thought I remembered something," answered Marcello. "Aurora? Aurora?
+No, it is gone. I was dreaming again. I want to sleep now."
+
+The Chief stood upright and looked at the Superintendent, who looked at
+him, and both shook their heads. Then they asked what the visiting
+doctor had said, and what directions he had given about Marcello's
+treatment.
+
+"I am sure it is he," said the Chief of Police when they were closeted
+in the Superintendent's office, five minutes later. "I have studied his
+photograph every day for nearly three months. Look at it."
+
+He produced a good-sized photograph of Marcello which had been taken
+about a year earlier, but was the most recent. The Superintendent
+looked at it critically, and said it was not much like the patient. The
+official objected that a man who was half dead of fever and had lain
+starving for weeks, heaven only knew where, could hardly be quite
+himself in appearance. The Superintendent pointed out that this was
+precisely the difficulty; the photograph was not like the sick man. But
+the Chief politely insisted that it was. They differed altogether on
+this point, but quarrelled over it in the most urbane manner possible.
+
+The Superintendent suggested that it would be easy to identify Marcello
+Consalvi, by bringing people who knew him to his bedside, servants and
+others. The official answered that he should prefer to be sure of
+everything before calling in any one else. The patient had evidently
+lost his memory by some accident, and if he could not recall his own
+name it was not likely that he could recognise a face. Servants would
+swear that it was he, or not he, just as their interest suggested. Most
+of the people of his own class who knew him were out of town at the
+present season; and besides, the upper classes were not, in the Chief's
+opinion, a whit more intelligent or trustworthy than those that served
+them. The world, said the Chief, was an exceedingly bad place. That this
+was true, the Superintendent could not doubt, and he admitted the fact;
+but he was not sure how the Chief was applying the statement of it in
+his own reasoning. Perhaps he thought that some persons might have an
+interest in recognising Marcello.
+
+"In the meantime," said the Chief, rising to go away, "we will put him
+in a private room, where we shall not be watched by everybody when we
+come to see him. I have funds from Corbario to pay any possible expenses
+in the case."
+
+"Who is that man?" asked the Superintendent. "There has been a great
+deal of talk about him in the papers since his stepson was lost. What
+was he before he married the rich widow?"
+
+The Chief of Police did not reply at once, but lit a cigarette
+preparatory to going away, smoothed his hat on his arm, and flicked a
+tiny speck of dust from the lapel of his well-made coat. Then he smiled
+pleasantly and gave his answer.
+
+"I suppose that before he married Consalvi's widow he was a gentleman of
+small means, like many others. Why should you think that he was ever
+anything else?"
+
+To this direct question the Superintendent had no answer ready, nor, in
+fact, had the man who asked it, though he had looked so very wise. Then
+they glanced at each other and both laughed a little, and they parted.
+
+Half an hour later, Marcello was carried to an airy room with green
+blinds, and was made even more comfortable than he had been before. He
+slept, and awoke, and ate and slept again. Twice during the afternoon
+people were brought to see him. They were servants from the villa on the
+Janiculum, but he looked at them dully and said that he could not
+remember them.
+
+"We do not think it is he," they said, when questioned. "Why does he
+not know us, if it is he? We are old servants in the house. We carried
+the young gentleman in our arms when he was small. But this youth does
+not know us, nor our names. It is not he."
+
+They were dismissed, and afterwards they met and talked up at the villa.
+
+"The master has been sent for by telegraph," they said one to another.
+"We shall do what he says. If he tells us that it is the young gentleman
+we will also say that it is; but if he says it is not he, we will also
+deny it. This is the only way."
+
+Having decided upon this diplomatic course as the one most likely to
+prove advantageous to them, they went back to their several occupations
+and amusements. But at the very first they said what they really
+thought; none of them really believed the sick youth at the hospital to
+be Marcello. An illness of nearly seven weeks and a long course of
+privation can make a terrible difference in the looks of a very young
+person, and when the memory is gone, too, the chances of his being
+recognised are slight.
+
+But the Chief of Police was not disturbed in his belief, and after he
+had smoked several cigarettes very thoughtfully in his private office,
+he wrote a telegram to Corbario, advising him to come back to Rome at
+once. He was surprised to receive an answer from Folco late that night,
+inquiring why he was wanted. To this he replied in a second telegram of
+more length, which explained matters clearly. The next morning Corbario
+telegraphed that he was starting.
+
+The visiting physician came early and examined Marcello's head with the
+greatest minuteness. After much trouble he found what he was looking
+for--a very slight depression in the skull. There was no sign of a wound
+that had healed, and it was clear that the injury must have been either
+the result of a fall, in which case the scalp had been protected by a
+stiff hat, or else of a blow dealt with something like a sandbag, which
+had fractured the bone without leaving any mark beyond a bruise, now no
+longer visible.
+
+"It is my opinion," said the doctor, "that as soon as the pressure is
+removed the man's memory will come back exactly as it was before. We
+will operate next week, when he has gained a little more strength. Feed
+him and give him plenty of air, for he is very weak."
+
+So he went away for the day. But presently Regina came and demanded
+admittance according to the promise she had received, and she was
+immediately brought to the Superintendent's office, for he had given
+very clear instructions to this effect in case the girl came again. He
+had not told the Chief of Police about her, for he thought it would be
+amusing to do a little detective work on his own account, and he
+anticipated the triumph of finding out Marcello's story alone, and of
+then laying the facts before the authorities, just to show what ordinary
+common sense could do without the intervention of the law.
+
+Regina was ushered into the high cool room where the Superintendent sat
+alone, and the heavy door closed behind her. He was a large man with
+close-cropped hair and a short brown beard, and he had kind brown eyes.
+Regina came forward a few steps and then stood still, looking at him,
+and waiting for him to speak. He was astonished at her beauty, and at
+once decided that she had a romantic attachment for Marcello, and
+probably knew all about him. He leaned back in his chair, and pointed to
+a seat near him.
+
+"Pray sit down," he said. "I wish to have a little talk with you before
+you go upstairs to see Marcello."
+
+"How is he?" asked Regina, eagerly. "Is he worse?"
+
+"He is much better. But sit down, if you please. You shall stay with him
+as long as you like, or as long as it is good for him. You may come
+every day if you wish it."
+
+"Every day?" cried Regina in delight. "They told me that I could only
+come on Sunday."
+
+"Yes. That is the rule, my dear child. But I can give you permission to
+come every day, and as the poor young man seems to have no friends, it
+is very fortunate for him that you can be with him. You will cheer him
+and help him to get well."
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" answered the girl fervently, as she sat down.
+
+A great lady of Rome had been to see the Superintendent about a patient
+on the previous afternoon; he did not remember that she moved with more
+dignity than this peasant girl, or with nearly as much grace. Regina
+swept the folds of her short coarse skirt forward and sideways a little,
+so that they hid her brown woollen ankles as she took her seat, and with
+the other hand she threw back the end of the kerchief from her face.
+
+"You do not mind telling me your name?" said the Superintendent in a
+questioning tone.
+
+"Spalletta Regina," answered the girl promptly, putting her family name
+first, according to Italian custom. "I am of Rocca di Papa."
+
+"Thank you. I shall remember that. And you say that you know this poor
+young man. Now, what is his name, if you please? He does not seem able
+to remember anything about himself."
+
+"I have always called him Marcello," answered Regina.
+
+"Indeed? You call him Marcello? Yes, yes. Thank you. But, you know, we
+like to write down the full name of each patient in our books. Marcello,
+and then? What else?"
+
+By this time Regina felt quite at her ease with the pleasant-spoken
+gentleman, but in a flash it occurred to her that he would think it very
+strange if she could not answer such a simple question about a young man
+she professed to know very well.
+
+"His name is Botti," she said, with no apparent hesitation, and giving
+the first name that occurred to her.
+
+"Thank you. I shall enter him in the books as 'Botti Marcello.'"
+
+"Yes. That is the name." She watched the Superintendent's pen, though
+she could not read writing very well.
+
+"Thank you," he said, as he stuck the pen into a little pot of
+small-shot before him, and then looked at his watch. "The nurse is
+probably just making him comfortable after the doctor's morning visit,
+so you had better wait five minutes, if you do not mind. Besides, it
+will help us a good deal if you will tell me something about his
+illness. I suppose you have taken care of him."
+
+"As well as I could," Regina answered.
+
+"Where? At Rocca di Papa? The air is good there."
+
+"No, it was not in the village." The girl hesitated a moment, quickly
+making up her mind how much of the truth to tell. "You see," she
+continued presently, "I was only the servant girl there, and I saw that
+the people meant to let him die, because he was a burden on them. So I
+wrapped him in a blanket and carried him downstairs in the night."
+
+"You carried him down?" The Superintendent look at her in admiration.
+
+"Oh, yes," answered Regina quietly. "I could carry you up and down
+stairs easily. Do you wish to see?"
+
+The Superintendent laughed, for she actually made a movement as if she
+were going to leave her seat and pick him up.
+
+"Thank you," he said. "I quite believe you. What a nurse you would make!
+You say that you carried him down in the night--and then? What did you
+do?"
+
+"I laid him on the tail of a cart. The carter was asleep. I walked
+behind to the gate, for I was sure that when he was found he would be
+brought here, and that he would have care, and would get well."
+
+"Was it far to walk?" inquired the Superintendent, delighted with the
+result of his efforts as a detective. "You must have been very tired!"
+
+"What is it to walk all night, if one carries no load on one's head?"
+asked Regina with some scorn. "I walk as I breathe."
+
+"You walked all night, then? That was Friday night. I do not wish to
+keep you, my dear child, but if you would tell me how long Botti has
+been ill--" he waited.
+
+"This is the forty-ninth day," Regina answered at once.
+
+"Dear me! Poor boy! That is a long time!"
+
+"I stole eggs and wine to keep him alive," the girl explained. "They
+tried to make me give him white beans and oil. They wanted him to die,
+because he was an expense to them."
+
+"Who were those people?" asked the Superintendent, putting the question
+suddenly.
+
+But Regina had gained time to prepare her story.
+
+"Why should I tell you who they are?" she asked. "They did no harm,
+after all, and they let him lie in their house. At first they hoped he
+would get well, but you know how it is in the country. When sick people
+linger on, every one wishes them to die, because they are in the way,
+and cost money. That is how it is."
+
+"But you wished him to live," said the Superintendent in an encouraging
+tone.
+
+Regina shrugged her shoulders and smiled, without the slightest
+affectation or shyness.
+
+"What could I do?" she asked. "A passion for him had taken me, the first
+time that I saw him. So I stole for him, and sat up with him, and did
+what was possible. He lay in an attic with only one blanket, and my
+heart spoke. What could I do? If he had died I should have thrown myself
+into the water below the mill."
+
+Now there had been no mill within many miles of the inn on the Frascati
+road, in which there could be water in summer. Regina was perfectly
+sincere in describing her love for Marcello, but as she was a clever
+woman she knew that it was precisely when she was speaking with the
+greatest sincerity about one thing, that she could most easily throw a
+man off the scent with regard to another. The Superintendent mentally
+noted the allusion to the mill for future use; it had created an image
+in his mind; it meant that the place where Marcello had lain ill had
+been in the hills and probably near Tivoli, where there is much water
+and mills are plentiful.
+
+"I suppose he was a poor relation of the people," said the
+Superintendent thoughtfully, after a little pause. "That is why they
+wished to get rid of him."
+
+Regina made a gesture of indifferent assent, and told something like
+the truth.
+
+"He had not been there since I had been servant to them," she answered.
+"It must have been a long time since they had seen him. We found him
+early in the morning, lying unconscious against the door of the house,
+and we took him in. That is the whole story. Why should I tell you who
+the people are? I have eaten their bread, I have left them, I wish them
+no harm. They knew their business."
+
+"Certainly, my dear, certainly. I suppose I may say that Marcello Botti
+comes from Rocca di Papa?"
+
+"Oh, yes," answered Regina readily. "You may say that, if you like."
+
+As a matter of fact she did not care what he wrote in his big book, and
+he might as well write one name as another, so far as she was concerned.
+
+"But I never saw him there," she added by an afterthought. "There are
+many people of that name in our village, but I never saw him. Perhaps
+you had better say that he came from Albano."
+
+"Why from Albano?" asked the Superintendent, surprised.
+
+"It is a bigger place," explained Regina quite naturally.
+
+"Then I might as well write 'Rome' at once?"
+
+"Yes. Why not? If you must put down the name of a town in the book, you
+had better write a big one. You will be less likely to be found out if
+you have made a mistake."
+
+"I see," said the Superintendent, smiling. "I am much obliged for your
+advice. And now, if you will come with me, you shall see Botti. He has a
+room by himself and is very well cared for."
+
+The orderlies and nurses who came and went about the hospital glanced
+with a little discreet surprise at the handsome peasant girl who
+followed the Superintendent, but she paid no attention to them and
+looked straight before her, at the back of his head; for her heart was
+beating faster than if she had run a mile uphill.
+
+Marcello put out his arms when he saw her enter, and returning life sent
+a faint colour to his emaciated cheeks.
+
+"Regina--at last!" he cried in a stronger and clearer tone than she had
+ever heard him use.
+
+A splendid blush of pleasure glowed in her own face as she ran forward
+and leaned over him, smoothing the smooth pillow unconsciously, and
+looking down into his eyes.
+
+The Superintendent observed that Marcello certainly had no difficulty in
+recalling the girl's name, whatever might have become of his own during
+his illness. What Regina answered was not audible, but she kissed
+Marcello's eyes, and then stood upright beside the bed, and laughed a
+little.
+
+"What can I do?" she asked. "It is a passion! When I see him, I see
+nothing else. And then, I saved his life. Are you glad that Regina saved
+your life?" She bent down again, and her gentle hand played with
+Marcello's waving fair hair. "What should you have done without Regina?"
+
+"I should have died," Marcello answered happily.
+
+With much more strength than she had been used to find in him, he threw
+his arms round her neck and drew her face down to his.
+
+The Superintendent spoke to the nurse in a low tone, by the door, and
+both went out, leaving the two together. He was a sensible man, and a
+kind-hearted one; and though he was no doctor, he guessed that the
+peasant girl's glorious vitality would do as much for the sick man as
+any medicine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Corbario reached Rome in the afternoon, and the footman who stood
+waiting for him on the platform was struck by the change in his
+appearance. His eyes were hollow and bright, his cheeks were sunken, his
+lips looked dry; moreover, he moved a little nervously and his foot
+slipped as he got out of the carriage, so that he nearly fell. In the
+crowd, the footman asked his valet questions. Was he ill? What had
+happened to him? Was he consuming himself with grief? No, the valet
+thought not. He had been much better in Paris and had seen some old
+friends there. What harm was there in that? A bereaved man needed
+diversion. The change had come suddenly, when he had decided to return
+to Rome, and he had eaten nothing for thirty-six hours. The valet asked
+if the youth at the hospital, of whom Corbario had told him, were really
+Marcello. The footman answered that none of the servants thought so,
+after they had all been taken to see him.
+
+Having exchanged these confidences in the half-dumb language which
+servants command, they reached the gate. The footman rushed out to call
+the carriage, the valet delivered the tickets and followed the footman
+more slowly, carrying Corbario's bag and coat, and Corbario lighted a
+cigar and followed his man at a leisurely pace, absorbed in thought.
+
+Until the moment of passing the gate he had meant to drive directly to
+the hospital, which is at some distance from the station in a direction
+almost opposite to that of the Janiculum. He could have driven there in
+ten minutes, whereas he must lose more than an hour by going home first
+and then coming back. But his courage failed him, he felt faint and
+sick, and quite unable to bear any great emotion until he had rested and
+refreshed himself a little. A long railway journey stupefies some men,
+but makes others nervous and inclined to exaggerate danger or trouble.
+During the last twelve hours Corbario had been forcing himself to decide
+that he would go to the hospital and know the worst at once, but now
+that the moment was come he could not do it.
+
+He was walking slowly through the outer hall of the station when a large
+man came up with him and greeted him quietly. It was Professor Kalmon.
+Corbario started at the sound of his voice. They had not met since
+Kalmon had been at the cottage.
+
+"I wish I had known that you were in the train," the Professor said.
+
+"So do I," answered Corbario without enthusiasm. "Not that I am very
+good company," he added, looking sideways at the other's face and
+meeting a scrutinising glance.
+
+"You look ill," Kalmon replied. "I don't wonder."
+
+"I sometimes wish I had one of those tablets of yours that send people
+to sleep for ever," said Corbario, making a great effort to speak
+steadily.
+
+But his voice shook, and a sudden terror seized him, the abject fright
+that takes hold of a man who has been accustomed to do something very
+dangerous and who suddenly finds that his nerve is gone at the very
+moment of doing it again.
+
+The cold sweat stood on Folco's forehead under his hat; he stopped where
+he was and tried to draw a long breath, but something choked him.
+Kalmon's voice seemed to reach him from a great distance. Then he felt
+the Professor's strong arm under his own, supporting him and making him
+move forward.
+
+"The weather is hot," Kalmon said, "and you are ill and tired. Come
+outside."
+
+"It is nothing," Corbario tried to say. "I was dizzy for a moment."
+
+Kalmon and the footman helped him into his low carriage, and raised the
+hood, for the afternoon sun was still very hot.
+
+"Shall I go home with you?" Kalmon asked.
+
+"No, no!" cried Corbario nervously. "You are very kind. I am quite well
+now. Good-bye. Home!" he added to the footman, as he settled himself
+back under the hood, quite out of sight.
+
+The Professor stood still in the glaring heat, looking after the
+carriage, his travelling-bag in his hand, while the crowd poured out of
+the station, making for the cabs and omnibuses that were drawn up in
+rows, or crossing the burning pavement on foot to take the tram.
+
+When the carriage was out of sight, Kalmon looked up at the hot sky and
+down at the flagstones, and then made up his mind what to do.
+
+"To the hospital of San Giovanni," he said, as he got into a cab.
+
+He seemed to be well informed, for he inquired at the door about a
+certain Marcello Botti, who was in a private room; and when he gave his
+name he was admitted without even asking permission of the
+Superintendent, and was at once led upstairs.
+
+"Are you a friend of his, sir?" asked Regina, when he had looked a long
+time at the patient, who did not recognise him in the least.
+
+"Are you?" Kalmon looked at her quietly across the bed.
+
+"You see," she answered. "If I were not, why should I be here?"
+
+"She has saved my life," said Marcello suddenly, and he caught her hand
+in his and held it fast. "As soon as I am quite well we shall be
+married."
+
+"Certainly, my dear boy, certainly," replied Kalmon, as if it were quite
+a matter of course. "You must make haste and get well as soon as
+possible."
+
+He glanced at Regina's face, and as her eyes met his she shook her head
+almost imperceptibly, and smiled. Kalmon was not quite sure what she
+meant. He made a sign to her to go with him to the window, which was at
+some distance from the bed.
+
+"It may be long before he is well," he whispered. "There must be an
+operation."
+
+She nodded, for she knew that.
+
+"And do you expect to marry him when he is recovered?"
+
+She shook her head and laughed, glancing at Marcello.
+
+"He is a gentleman," she whispered, close to Kalmon's ear. "How could he
+marry me?"
+
+"You love him," Kalmon answered.
+
+Again she nodded, and laughed too.
+
+"What would you do for him?" asked Kalmon, looking at her keenly.
+
+"Die for him!"
+
+She meant it, and he saw that she did. Her eyes shone as she spoke, and
+then the lids drooped a little and she looked at him almost fiercely. He
+turned from her and his fingers softly tapped the marble window-sill. He
+was asking himself whether he could swear to Marcello's identity, in
+case he should be called upon to give evidence. On what could he base
+his certainty? Was he himself certain, or was he merely moved by the
+strong resemblance he saw, in spite of long illness and consequent
+emaciation? Was the visiting surgeon right in believing that the little
+depression in the skull had caused a suspension of memory? Such things
+happened, no doubt, but it also happened that doctors were mistaken and
+that nothing came of such operations. Who could prove the truth? The boy
+and girl might have a secret to keep; she might have arranged to get him
+into the hospital because it was his only chance, but the rest of the
+story, such as it was, might be a pure invention; and when Marcello was
+discharged cured, they would disappear together. There was the
+coincidence of the baptismal name, but men of science know how deceptive
+coincidences can be. Besides, the girl was very intelligent. She might
+easily have heard about the real Marcello's disappearance, and she was
+clever enough to have given her lover the name in the hope that he might
+be taken for the lost boy at least long enough to ensure him a great
+deal more comfort and consideration in the hospital than he otherwise
+would have got; she was clever enough to have seen that it would be a
+mistake to say outright that he was Marcello Consalvi, if she was
+practising a deception. Kalmon did not know what to think, and he wished
+the operation could be performed before Corbario came; but that was
+impossible.
+
+Regina stood beside him, waiting for him to speak again.
+
+"Do you need money?" he asked abruptly, with a sharp look at her face.
+
+"No, thank you, sir," she answered. "He has everything here."
+
+"But for yourself?" He kept his eyes on her.
+
+"I thank you, sir, I want nothing." Her look met his almost coldly as
+she spoke.
+
+"But when he is well again, how shall you live?"
+
+"I shall work for him, if it turns out that he has no friends. We shall
+soon know, for his memory will come back after the operation. The
+doctors say so. They know."
+
+"And if he has friends after all? If he is really the man I think he
+is, what then? What will become of you?"
+
+"I do not know. I am his. He can do what he likes with me."
+
+The Professor did not remember to have met any one who took quite such
+an elementary view of life, but he could not help feeling a sort of
+sympathy for the girl's total indifference to consequences.
+
+"I shall come to see him again," he said presently, turning back towards
+the bed and approaching Marcello. "Are you quite sure that you never saw
+me before?" he asked, taking the young man's hand.
+
+"I don't remember," answered Marcello, wearily. "They all want me to
+remember," he added almost peevishly. "I would if I could, if it were
+only to please them!"
+
+Kalmon went away, for he saw that his presence tired the patient. When
+he was gone Regina sat down beside the bed and stroked Marcello's hand,
+and talked soothingly to him, promising that no one should tease him to
+remember things. By and by, as she sat, she laid her head on the pillow
+beside him, and her sweet breath fanned his face, while a strange light
+played in her half-closed eyes.
+
+"Heart of my heart," she sighed happily. "Love of my soul! Do you know
+that I am all yours, soul and body, and earrings too?" And she laughed
+low.
+
+"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," Marcello answered. "I
+love you!"
+
+She laughed again, and kissed him.
+
+"You love me better than Aurora," she said suddenly.
+
+"Aurora?"
+
+"Yes, for you have forgotten her. But you will not forget Regina now,
+not even when you are very, very old, and your golden hair is all grey.
+You will never forget Regina, now!"
+
+"Never!" echoed Marcello, like a child. "Never, never, never!"
+
+"Not even when your friends try to take me away from you, love, not even
+if they try to kill me, because they want you to marry Aurora, who is a
+rich girl, all dressed with silk and covered with jewels, like the image
+of the Madonna at Genazzano. I am sure Aurora has yellow hair and blue
+eyes!"
+
+"I don't want any one but you," answered Marcello, drawing her face
+nearer.
+
+So the time passed, and it was to them as if there were no time. Then
+the door opened again, and a very pale man in deep mourning was brought
+in by the Superintendent himself. Regina rose and drew back a little, so
+that the shadow should not fall across Marcello's face, and she fixed
+her eyes on the gentleman in black.
+
+"This is the patient," said the Superintendent in a low voice.
+
+Corbario laid his hand nervously on his companion's arm, and stood still
+for a moment, holding his breath and leaning forward a little, his gaze
+riveted on Marcello's face. Regina had never before seen a man
+transfixed with fear.
+
+He moved a step towards the bed, and then another, forcing himself to go
+on. Then Marcello turned his head and looked at him vacantly. Regina
+heard the long breath Corbario drew, and saw his body straighten, as if
+relieved from a great burden. He stood beside the bed, and put out his
+hand to take Marcello's.
+
+"Do you know me?" he asked; but even then his voice was unsteady.
+
+Instead of answering, Marcello turned away to Regina.
+
+"You promised that they should not tease me any more," he said
+querulously. "Make them go away! I want to sleep."
+
+Regina came to his side at once, and faced the two men across the bed.
+
+"What is all this for?" she asked, with a little indignation. "You know
+that he cannot remember you, even if he ever saw you before. Cannot you
+leave him in peace? Come back after the operation. Then he will remember
+you, if you really know him."
+
+"Who is this girl?" asked Corbario of the Superintendent.
+
+"She took care of him when he had the fever, and she managed to get him
+here. She has undoubtedly saved his life."
+
+At the words a beautiful blush coloured Regina's cheeks, and her eyes
+were full of triumphant light; but at the same words Corbario's still
+face darkened, and as if it had been a mask that suddenly became
+transparent, the girl saw another face through it, drawn into an
+expression of malignant and devilish hatred.
+
+[Illustration: "HE MOVED A STEP TOWARDS THE BED, AND THEN ANOTHER,
+FORCING HIMSELF TO GO ON."]
+
+The vision only lasted a moment, and the impenetrable pale features were
+there once more, showing neither hate nor fear, nor any feeling or
+emotion whatever. Corbario was himself again, and turned quietly to the
+Superintendent.
+
+"She is quite right," he said. "His memory is gone, and we shall only
+disturb him. You tell me that the doctors have found a very slight
+depression in his head, as if from a blow. Do you think--but it will
+annoy him--I had better not."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked the other, as he hesitated.
+
+"It is such a strange case that I should like to see just where it is,
+out of pure curiosity."
+
+"It is here," said Regina, answering, and setting the tip of one
+straight finger against her own head to point out the place.
+
+"Oh, at the back, on the right side? I see--yes--thank you. A little on
+one side, you say?"
+
+"Here," repeated Regina, turning so that Corbario could see exactly
+where the end of her finger touched her hair.
+
+"To think that so slight an injury may have permanently affected the
+young man's memory!" Corbario appeared much impressed. "Well," he
+continued, speaking to Regina, "if we ever find out who he is, his
+relations owe you a debt of gratitude quite beyond all payment."
+
+"Do you think I want to be paid?" asked Regina, and in her indignation
+she turned away and walked to the window.
+
+But Marcello called her back.
+
+"Please, Regina--please tell them to go away!" he pleaded.
+
+Corbario nodded to the Superintendent, and they left the room.
+
+"There is certainly a strong resemblance," said Folco, when they were
+outside, "but it really cannot be my poor Marcello. I was almost too
+much affected by the thought of seeing him again to control myself when
+we first entered, but when I came near I felt nothing. It is not he, I
+am sure. I loved him as if he were my own son; I brought him up; we were
+always together. It is not possible that I should be mistaken."
+
+"No," replied the Superintendent, "I should hardly think it possible.
+Besides, from what the girl has told me, I am quite sure that he lay ill
+near Tivoli. How is it possible that he should have got there, all the
+way from the Roman shore?"
+
+"And with a fractured skull! It is absurd!" Corbario was glad to find
+that the Superintendent held such a strong opinion. "It is not Marcello.
+The nose is not the same, and the expression of the mouth is quite
+different."
+
+He said these things with conviction, but he was not deceived. He knew
+that Marcello Consalvi was living and that he had seen him, risen from
+the dead, and apparently likely to remain among the living for some
+time. The first awful moment of anxiety was past, it was true, and
+Folco was able to think more connectedly than he had since he had
+received the telegram recalling him from Paris; but there was to be
+another. The doctors said that his memory would return--what would he
+remember? It would come back, beginning, most probably, at the very
+moment in which it had been interrupted. For one instant he would fancy
+that he saw again what he had seen then. What had he seen? That was the
+question. Had he seen anything but the sand, the scrubby bushes, and the
+trees round the cottage in the distance? Had he heard anything but the
+howling of the southwest gale and the thundering of the big surf over
+the bar and up the beach? The injury was at the back of his head, but it
+was a little on one side. Had he been in the act of turning? Had he
+turned far enough to see before the blow had extinguished memory? How
+far was the sudden going out of thought really instantaneous? What
+fraction of a second intervened between full life and what was so like
+death? How long did it take a man to look round quickly? Much less than
+a second, surely! Without effort or hurry a man could turn his head all
+the way from left to right, so as to look over each shoulder
+alternately, while a second pendulum swung once. A second was a much
+longer time than most people realised. Instruments made for scientific
+photography could be made to expose the plate not more than
+one-thousandth of a second. Corbario knew that, and wondered whether a
+man's eye could receive any impression in so short a time. He shuddered
+when he thought that it might be possible.
+
+The question was to be answered sooner than he expected. The doctors had
+reported that a week must pass before Marcello would be strong enough to
+undergo the operation, but he improved so quickly after he reached the
+hospital that it seemed useless to wait. It was not considered to be a
+very dangerous operation, nor one which weakened the patient much.
+
+Regina was not allowed to be present, and when Marcello had been wheeled
+out of his room, already under ether, she went and stood before the
+window, pressing down her clasped hands upon the marble sill with all
+her might, and resting her forehead against the green slats of the
+blind. She did not move from this position while the nurse made
+Marcello's bed ready to receive him on his return. It was long to wait.
+The great clock in the square struck eleven some time after he had been
+taken away, then the quarter, then half-past.
+
+Regina felt the blood slowly sinking to her heart. She would have given
+anything to move now, but she could not stir hand or foot; she was cold,
+yet somehow she could not even shiver; that would have been a relief;
+any motion, any shock, any violent pain would have been a thousand times
+better than the marble stillness that was like a spell.
+
+Far away on the Janiculum Folco Corbario sat in his splendid library
+alone, with strained eyes, waiting for the call of the telephone that
+stood on the polished table at his elbow. He, too, was motionless, and
+longed for release as he had never thought he could long for anything. A
+still unlighted cigar was almost bitten through by his sharp front
+teeth; every faculty was tense; and yet it was as if his brain had
+stopped thinking at the point where expectation had begun. He could not
+think now, he could only suffer. If the operation were successful there
+would be more suffering, doubt still more torturing, suspense more
+agonising still.
+
+The great clock over the stables struck eleven, then the quarter, then
+half-past. The familiar chimes floated in through the open windows.
+
+A wild hope came with the sound. Marcello, weak as he was, had died
+under ether, and that was the end. Corbario trembled from head to foot.
+The clock struck the third quarter, but no other sound broke the
+stillness of the near noon-tide. Yes, Marcello must be dead.
+
+Suddenly, in the silence, came the sharp buzz of the instrument. He
+leapt in his seat as if something had struck him unawares, and then,
+instantly controlling himself, he grasped the receiver and held it to
+his ear.
+
+"Signor Corbario?" came the question.
+
+"Yes, himself."
+
+"The hospital. The operation has been successful. Do you hear?"
+
+"Yes. Go on."
+
+"The patient has come to himself. He remembers everything."
+
+"Everything!" Corbario's voice shook.
+
+"He is Marcello Consalvi. He asks for his mother, and for you."
+
+"How--in what way does he ask for me? Will my presence do him good--or
+excite him?"
+
+The moment had come, and Folco's nerve was restored with the sense of
+danger. His face grew cold and expressionless as he waited for the
+answer.
+
+"He speaks most affectionately of you. But you had better not come until
+this afternoon, and then you must not stay long. The doctors say he must
+rest quietly."
+
+"I will come at four o'clock. Thank you. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye."
+
+The click of the instrument, as Folco hung the receiver on the hook, and
+it was over. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his arms
+hanging by his sides as if there were no strength in them, and his head
+falling forward till his chin rested on his chest. He remained so for a
+long time without moving.
+
+But in the room at the hospital Marcello lay in bed with his head bound
+up, his cheek on the pillow, and his eyes fixed on Regina's face, as she
+knelt beside him and fanned him slowly, for it was hot.
+
+"Sleep, heart of my heart," she said softly. "Sleep and rest!"
+
+There was a sort of peaceful wonder in his look now. Nothing vacant,
+nothing that lacked meaning or understanding. But he did not answer her,
+he only gazed into her face, and gazed and gazed till his eyelids
+drooped and he fell asleep with a smile on his lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Two years had passed since Marcello had been brought home from the
+hospital, very feeble still, but himself again and master of his memory
+and thoughts.
+
+In his recollection, however, there was a blank. He had left Aurora
+standing in the gap, where the storm swept inland from the sea; then the
+light had gone out suddenly, in something violent which he could not
+understand, and after that he could remember nothing except that he had
+wandered in lonely places, trying to find out which way he was going,
+and terrified by the certainty that he had lost all sense of direction;
+so he had wandered on by day and night, as in a dark dream, and had at
+last fallen asleep, to wake in the wretched garret of the inn on the
+Frascati road, with Regina kneeling beside him and moistening his lips
+from a glass of water.
+
+He remembered that and other things, which came back to him uncertainly,
+like the little incidents of his early childhood, like the first words
+he could remember hearing and answering, like the sensation of being on
+his mother's knee and resting his head upon her shoulder, like the smell
+of the roses and the bitter-orange blossoms in the villa, like the first
+sensation of being set upon a pony's back in San Domenico, while
+Corbario held him up in the saddle, and tried to make his little hands
+hold the bridle. The inn was quite as far away as all that, and but for
+Regina he might have forgotten it altogether.
+
+She was "Consalvi's Regina" now; half Rome called her that, and she was
+famous. Naples and Florence and Milan had heard of her; she had been
+seen at Monte Carlo, and even in Paris and London her name was not
+unknown in places where young men congregate to discuss the wicked
+world, and where young women meet to compare husbands, over the secret
+and sacrificial teapot which represents virtue, or the less sacred
+bridge-table which represents vice. Smart young dandies who had never
+exchanged a word with her spoke of her familiarly as "Regina "; smarter
+and older men, who knew her a little, talked of her as "the Spalletta,"
+not without a certain respect; their mothers branded her as "that
+creature," and their wives, who envied her, called her "Consalvi's
+Regina."
+
+When people remonstrated with Folco Corbario for allowing his stepson
+too much liberty, he shook his head gravely and answered that he did
+what he could to keep Marcello in the right way, but that the boy's
+intellect had been shaken by the terrible accident, and that he had
+undoubtedly developed vicious tendencies--probably atavistic, Folco
+added. Why did Folco allow him to have so much money? The answer was
+that he was of age and the fortune was his. But why had Folco let him
+have it before he was twenty-one, ever since he was found and brought
+home? He had not had much, was the reply; at least it had not been much
+compared with the whole income he now enjoyed one could not bring up the
+heir of a great estate like a pauper, could one? So the questioners
+desisted from questioning, but they said among themselves that, although
+Folco had been an admirable husband and stepfather while his wife had
+lived, he had not shown as much good sense after her death as they had
+been led to expect. Meanwhile, no one had any right to interfere, and
+Marcello did as he pleased.
+
+Children instinctively attach themselves to whichever of their parents
+gives them the most liberty. It is sheer nonsense to deny it. Marcello
+had loved his mother dearly, but she had always been the one to hinder
+him from doing what he wished to do, because she had been excessively
+anxious about his bodily health, and over-desirous of bringing him up to
+manhood in a state of ideal moral perfection. Folco, on the other hand,
+had been associated with all the boy's sports and pleasures, and had
+always encouraged him to amuse himself, giving as a reason that there
+was no medicine like healthy happiness for a boy of delicate
+constitution. Corbario, like Satan, knew the uses of truth, which are
+numerous and not all good. Though Marcello would not have acknowledged
+it to himself, his stepfather had been nearer to him, and more necessary
+to him, than his mother, during several years; and besides, it was less
+hard to bear the loss of which he learned when he recovered, because it
+had befallen him during that dark and uncertain period of his illness
+that now seemed as if it had lasted for years, and whereby everything
+that had been before it belonged to a remote past.
+
+Moreover, there was Regina, and there was youth, and there was liberty;
+and Corbario was at hand, always ready to encourage and satisfy his
+slightest whim, on the plea that a convalescent must be humoured at any
+cost, and that there would be time enough to consider what should be
+done with Regina after Marcello was completely recovered. After all,
+Corbario told him, the girl had saved his life, and it was only right to
+be grateful, and she should be amply rewarded for all the trouble she
+had taken. It would have been sheer cruelty to have sent her away to the
+country; and what was the cost of a quiet lodging for her in Trastevere,
+and of a few decent clothes, and of a respectable middle-aged
+woman-servant to take care of her? Nothing at all; only a few francs,
+and Marcello was so rich! Regina, also, was so very unusually
+well-behaved, and so perfectly docile, so long as she was allowed to see
+Marcello every day! She did not care for dress at all, and was quite
+contented to wear black, with just a touch of some tender colour.
+Corbario made it all very easy, and saw to everything, and he seemed to
+know just how such things were arranged. He was so fortunate as to find
+a little house that had a quiet garden with an entrance on another
+street, all in very good condition because it had lately been used by a
+famous foreign painter who preferred to live in Trastevere, away from
+the interruptions and distractions of the growing city; and by a very
+simple transaction the house became the property of the minor, Marcello
+Consalvi, to do with as he thought fit. This was much more convenient
+than paying rent to a tiresome landlord who might at any time turn his
+tenant out. Corbario thought of everything. Twice a week a gardener
+came, early in the morning, and soon the garden was really pretty; and
+the respectable woman-servant watered the flowers every evening just
+before sunset. There was a comfortable Calcutta chair for Marcello in a
+shady corner, the very first time he came there, and Regina had learned
+how to make tea for him; for the respectable woman-servant knew how to
+do all sorts of things belonging to civilised life. She was so intensely
+respectable and quiet that Marcello was almost afraid of her, until it
+occurred to him that as she took so much trouble, he ought to give her a
+present of money; and when he had done this twice, he somehow became
+aware that she was his devoted slave--middle-aged and excessively
+respectable. Folco was really a very good judge of character, Marcello
+thought, since he could at once pick out such a person from the great
+horde of the unemployed.
+
+Her name was Settimia, and it was wonderful to see how she quietly
+transformed Regina into a civilised creature, who must attract attention
+by her beauty and carriage, but who might have belonged to a
+middle-class Roman family so far as manners and dress were concerned. It
+is true that the girl possessed by nature the innate dignity of the
+Roman peasant, with such a figure and such grace as any aristocrat might
+have envied, and that she spoke with the Roman accent which almost all
+other Italians admire; but though her manners had a certain repose, they
+were often of an extremely unexpected nature, and she had an
+astonishingly simple way of calling things by their names which
+sometimes disconcerted Marcello and sometimes amused him. Settimia
+civilised her, almost without letting her know it, for she was quick to
+learn, like all naturally clever people who have had no education, and
+she was imitative, as all womanly women are when they are obliged to
+adapt themselves quickly to new surroundings. She was stimulated, too,
+by the wish to appear well before Marcello, lest he should ever be
+ashamed of her. That was all. She never had the least illusion about
+herself, nor any hope of raising herself to his social level. She was
+far too much the real peasant girl for that, the descendant of thirty or
+more generations of serfs, the offspring of men and women who had felt
+that they belonged body and soul to the feudal lord of the land on which
+they were born, and had never been disturbed by tempting dreams of
+liberty, equality, fraternity, and the violent destruction of ladies and
+gentlemen.
+
+So she lived, and so she learned many things of Settimia, and looked
+upon herself as the absolute property of the man she loved and had
+saved; and she was perfectly happy, if not perfectly good.
+
+"When I am of age," Marcello used to say, "I shall buy a beautiful
+little palace near the Tiber, and you shall live in it."
+
+"Why?" she always asked. "Are we not happy here? Is it not cool in
+summer, and sunny in winter? Have we not all we want? When you marry,
+your wife will live in the splendid villa on the Janiculum, and when you
+are tired of her, you will come and see Regina here. I hope you will
+always be tired of her. Then I shall be happy."
+
+Marcello would laugh a little, and then he would look grave and
+thoughtful, for he had not forgotten Aurora, and sometimes wondered what
+she was doing, as a young man does who is losing his hold upon himself,
+and on the things in which he has always believed. He who has never
+lived through such times and outlived them, knows neither the world nor
+himself.
+
+Marcello wondered whether Aurora would ever meet Regina face to face,
+and what would happen if he were called upon to choose between the two.
+He would choose Regina, he said to himself, when he was going down the
+steep way from the villa to the little house, eager for her touch, her
+voice, her breath, and feeling in his pocket the key that opened the
+garden gate. But when the hours had passed, and he slowly walked up the
+road under the great plane-trees, in the cool of the late evening,
+glancing at the distant lights of Rome beyond the Tiber, and dimly
+conscious that something was still unsatisfied, then he hesitated and he
+remembered his boyish love, and fancied that if he met Aurora in the way
+they would stand still, each finding the other in the other's eyes, and
+silently kiss, as they had kissed long ago. Yet, with the thought, he
+felt shame, and he blushed, alone there under the plane-trees.
+
+But Aurora had never come back to Rome, and the small apartment that
+overlooked the Forum of Trajan had other tenants. It was strange that
+the Contessa and her daughter should not have returned, and sometimes
+Marcello felt a great longing to see them. He said "them" to himself at
+such times, but he knew what he meant.
+
+So time went on. Corbario said that he himself must really go to San
+Domenico, to look after the Calabrian property, but added that it would
+be quite useless for Marcello to go with him. Marcello could stay in
+Rome and amuse himself as he pleased, or he might make a little journey
+to the north, to Switzerland, to the Tyrol--there were so many places.
+Settimia would take care of Regina, and perhaps Regina herself had
+better make a little trip for a change. Yes, Settimia had travelled a
+good deal; she even knew enough French to travel in a foreign country,
+if necessary. Corbario said that he did not know where she had learned
+French, but he was quite sure she knew it tolerably well. Regina would
+be safe under her care, in some quiet place where the air would do her
+good.
+
+Thereupon Corbario went off to the south, leaving Marcello plentifully
+supplied with money and promising to write to him. They parted
+affectionately.
+
+"If you wish to go away," Corbario said, as he was leaving, "it might be
+as well to leave your next address, so that you may get letters. But
+please don't fancy that I want to know everything you do, my dear boy.
+You are quite old enough to take care of yourself, and quite sensible
+enough, too. The only thing you had better avoid for a few years is
+marriage!"
+
+Folco laughed softly as he delivered this piece of advice, and lit a
+cigar. Then he looked critically at Marcello.
+
+"You are still very pale," he observed thoughtfully. "You have not got
+back all your strength yet. Drink plenty of champagne at luncheon and
+dinner. There is nothing like it when a man is run down. And don't sit
+up all night smoking cigarettes more than three times a week!"
+
+He laughed again as he shook hands and got into the carriage, and
+Marcello was glad when he was gone, though he was so fond of him. It was
+a bore to be told that he was not strong, because it certainly was true,
+and, besides, even Folco was sometimes a little in the way.
+
+In a week Marcello and Regina were in Venice; a month later they were in
+Paris. The invaluable Settimia knew her way about, and spoke French with
+a fluency that amazed Marcello; she even taught Regina a few of those
+phrases which are particularly useful at a dressmaker's and quite
+incomprehensible anywhere else. Marcello told her to see that Regina was
+perfectly dressed, and Settimia carried out his instructions with taste
+and wisdom. Regina had arrived in Paris with one box of modest
+dimensions; she left with four more, of a size that made the railway
+porters stagger.
+
+One day Marcello brought home a string of pearls in his pocket, and
+tried to fasten it round her throat; but she would not let him do it.
+She was angry.
+
+"Keep those things for your wife!" she said, with flashing eyes and
+standing back from him. "I will wear the clothes you buy for me, because
+you like me to be pretty and I don't want you to be ashamed of me. But I
+will not take jewels, for jewels are money, just as gold is! You can buy
+a wife with that stuff, not a woman who loves you!"
+
+Her brows were level and stern, her face grew whiter as she spoke, and
+Marcello was suddenly aware, for the first time in his life, that he did
+not understand women. That knowledge comes sooner or later to almost
+every man, but many are spared it until they are much older than he was.
+
+"I did not mean to offend you," he said, in a rather injured tone, as he
+slipped the pearls into his pocket.
+
+"Of course not," she answered. "But you do not understand. If I thought
+you did, I would go back to the inn and never see you again. I should
+die, but it would not matter, for I should still respect myself!"
+
+"I only wished to please you," said Marcello apologetically.
+
+"You wish to please me? Love me! That is what I want. Love me as much as
+you can, it will always be less than I love you, and as long as you can,
+it will always be less long than I shall love you, for that will be
+always. And when you are tired of me, tell me so, heart of my heart, and
+I will go away, for that is better than to hang like a chain on a young
+man's neck. I will go away, and God will forgive me, for to love you is
+all I know."
+
+His kisses closed her flashing eyes, and her lips parted in a faint,
+expectant smile, that was not disappointed.
+
+So time passed, and Marcello heard occasionally from Corbario, and wrote
+to him once or twice, when he needed money. Folco never alluded to
+Regina, and Marcello wondered whether he guessed that she had left Rome.
+He was never quite sure how much Folco knew of his life, and Folco was
+careful never to ask questions.
+
+But the existence Marcello was leading was not calculated to restore his
+strength, which had never been great, even before his illness. Though
+Regina did not understand the language, she grew very fond of the
+theatre, for Marcello translated and explained everything; and it was
+such a pleasure to give her pleasure, that he forgot the stifling air
+and the late hours. Moreover, he met in Paris a couple of acquaintances
+a little older than himself, who were only too glad to see something of
+the beautiful Regina, so that there were often supper-parties after the
+play, and trips in motorcars in the morning, horse races in the
+afternoon, and all manner of amusements, with a general tendency to look
+upon sleep as a disease to be avoided and the wish to rest as a foolish
+weakness. It was true that Marcello never coughed, but he was very thin,
+and his delicate face had grown perfectly colourless, though he
+followed Corbario's advice and drank a good deal of champagne, not to
+mention other less harmless things, because the quick stimulant was as
+pleasant as a nap and did not involve such a waste of time.
+
+As for Regina, the life suited her, at least for a while, and her beauty
+was refined rather than marred by a little bodily weariness. The
+splendid blush of pleasure rarely rose in her cheeks now, but the clear
+pallor of her matchless complexion was quite as lovely. The constitution
+of a healthy Roman peasant girl does not break down easily under a
+course of pleasure and amusement, and it might never have occurred to
+Regina that Marcello was almost exhausted already, if her eyes had not
+been opened to his condition by some one else.
+
+They were leaving the ThÈ‚tre FranÁais one evening, intending to go home
+on foot as the night was fine and warm. They had seen _Hernani_, and
+Regina had naturally found it hard to understand the story, even with
+Marcello's explanations; the more so as he himself had never seen the
+play before, and had come to the theatre quite sure that it must be
+easily comprehensible from the opera founded on it, which he had heard.
+Regina's arm was passed through his, and as they made their way through
+the crowd, under the not very brilliant lights in the portico, Marcello
+was doing his best to make the plot of the piece clear, and Regina was
+looking earnestly into his face, trying to follow what he said. Suddenly
+he heard an Italian voice very near to him, calling him by name, in a
+tone of surprise.
+
+"Marcello!"
+
+He started, straightened himself, turned his head, and faced the
+Contessa dell' Armi. Close beside her was Aurora, leaning forward a
+little, with an expression of cold curiosity; she had already seen
+Regina, who did not withdraw her hand from Marcello's arm.
+
+"You here?" he cried, recovering himself quickly.
+
+As he spoke, the Contessa realised the situation, and at the same moment
+Marcello met Aurora's eyes. Regina felt his arm drop by his side, as if
+he were disowning her in the presence of these two smart women who were
+friends of his. She forgave him, for she was strangely humble in some
+ways, but she hated them forthwith.
+
+The Contessa, who was a woman of the world, nodded quietly and smiled as
+if she had seen nothing, but she at once began to steer her daughter in
+a divergent direction.
+
+"You are looking very ill," she said, turning her head back as she moved
+away. "Come and see us."
+
+"Where?" asked Marcello, making half a step to follow, and looking at
+the back of Aurora's head and at the pretty hat she wore.
+
+The Contessa named a quiet hotel in the Rue Saint HonorÈ, and was gone
+in the crowd. Marcello stood quite still for a moment, staring after the
+two. Then he felt Regina's hand slipping through his arm.
+
+"Come," she said softly, and she led him away to the left.
+
+He did not speak for a long time. They turned under the arches into the
+Palais Royal, and followed the long portico in silence, out to the Rue
+Vivienne and the narrow Rue des Petits Champs. Still Marcello did not
+speak, and without a word they reached the Avenue de l'OpÈra. The light
+was very bright there, and Regina looked long at Marcello's face, and
+saw how white it was.
+
+"She said you were looking very ill," said she, in a voice that shook a
+little.
+
+"Nonsense!" cried Marcello, rousing himself. "Shall we have supper at
+Henry's or at the CafÈ de Paris? We are near both."
+
+"We will go home," Regina answered. "I do not want any supper to-night."
+
+They reached their hotel. Regina tossed her hat upon a chair in the
+sitting-room and drew Marcello to the light, holding him before her, and
+scrutinising his face with extraordinary intensity. Suddenly her hands
+dropped from his shoulders.
+
+"She was right; you are ill. Who is this lady that knows your face
+better than I?"
+
+She asked the question in a tone of bitterness and self-reproach.
+
+"The Contessa dell' Armi," Marcello answered, with a shade of
+reluctance.
+
+"And the girl?" asked Regina, in a flash of intuition.
+
+"Her daughter Aurora." He turned away, lit a cigarette, and rang the
+bell.
+
+Regina bit her lip until it hurt her, for she remembered how often he
+had pronounced that name in his delirium, many months ago. She could
+not speak for a moment. A waiter came in answer to the bell, and
+Marcello ordered something, and then sat down. Regina went to her room
+and did not return until the servant had come back and was gone again,
+leaving a tray on the table.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked Marcello in surprise, as he caught sight of
+her face.
+
+She sat down at a little distance, her eyes fixed on him.
+
+"I am a very wicked woman," she said, in a dull voice.
+
+"You?" Marcello laughed and filled the glasses.
+
+"I am letting you kill yourself to amuse me," Regina said. "I am a very,
+very wicked woman. But you shall not do it any more. We will go away at
+once."
+
+"I am perfectly well," Marcello answered, holding out a glass to her;
+but she would not take it.
+
+"I do not want wine to-night," she said. "It is good when one has a
+light heart, but my heart is as heavy as a stone. What am I good for?
+Kill me. It will be better. Then you will live."
+
+"I should have died without you long ago. You saved my life."
+
+"To take it again! To let you consume yourself, so that I may see the
+world! What do I care for the world, if you are not well? Let us go away
+quickly."
+
+"Next week, if you like."
+
+"No! To-morrow!"
+
+"Without waiting to hear Melba?"
+
+"Yes--to-morrow!"
+
+"Or Sarah Bernhardt in Sardou's new play?"
+
+"To-morrow! To-morrow morning, early! What is anything compared with
+your getting well?"
+
+"And your new summer costume that Doucet has not finished? How about
+that?"
+
+Marcello laughed gaily and emptied his glass. But Regina rose and knelt
+down beside him, laying her hands on his.
+
+"We must go to-morrow," she said. "You shall say where, for you know
+what countries are near Paris, and where there are hills, and trees, and
+waterfalls, and birds that sing, where the earth smells sweet when it
+rains, and it is quiet when the sun is high. We will go there, but you
+know where it is, and how far."
+
+"I have no doubt Settimia knows," laughed Marcello. "She knows
+everything."
+
+But Regina's face was grave, and she shook her head slowly.
+
+"What is the use of laughing?" she asked. "You cannot deceive me, you
+know you cannot! I deceived myself and was blind, but my eyes are open
+now, and I can only see the truth. Do you love me, Marcello?"
+
+His eyes looked tired a moment ago, even when he laughed, but the light
+came into them now. He breathed a little faster and bent forward to kiss
+her. She could feel the rising pulse in his thin hands. But she leaned
+back as she knelt, and pressed her lips together tightly.
+
+"Not that," she said, after they had both been motionless ten seconds.
+"I don't mean that! Love is not all kisses. There is more. There are
+tears, but there is more too. There is pain, there is doubting, there is
+jealousy, and more than that! There is avarice also, for a woman who
+loves is a miser, counting her treasure when others sleep. And she would
+kill any one who robbed her, and that is murder. Yet there is more,
+there are all the mortal sins in love, and even then there is worse. For
+there is this. She will not count her own soul for him she loves, no,
+not if the saints in Paradise came down weeping and begging her to think
+of her salvation. And that is a great sin, I suppose."
+
+Marcello looked at her, thinking that she was beautiful, and he said
+nothing.
+
+"But perhaps a man cannot love like that," she added presently. "So what
+is the use of my asking you whether you love me? You love Aurora too, I
+daresay! Such as your man's love is, and of its kind, you have enough
+for two!"
+
+Marcello smiled.
+
+"I do not love Aurora now," he said.
+
+"But you have, for you talked to her in your fever, and perhaps you will
+again, or perhaps you wish to marry her. How can I tell what you think?
+She is prettier than I, for she has fair hair. I knew she had. I hate
+fair women, but they are prettier than we dark things ever are. All men
+think so. What does it matter? It was I that saved your life when you
+were dying, and the people meant you to die. I shall always have that
+satisfaction, even when you are tired of me."
+
+"Say never, then!"
+
+"Never? Yes, if I let you stay here, you will not have time to be tired
+of me, for you will grow thinner and whiter, and one day you will be
+breathing, and not breathing, and breathing a little again, and then not
+breathing at all, and you will be lying dead with your head on my arm. I
+can see how it will be, for I thought more than once that you were dead,
+just like that, when you had the fever. No! If I let that happen you
+will never be tired of me while you are alive, and when you are dead
+Aurora cannot have you. Perhaps that would be better. I would almost
+rather have it so."
+
+"Then why should we go away?" asked Marcello, smiling a little.
+
+"Because to let you die would be a great sin, much worse than losing my
+soul for you, or killing some one to keep you. Don't you see that?"
+
+"Why would it be worse?"
+
+"I do not know, but I am sure it would. Perhaps because it would be
+losing your soul instead of mine. Who knows? It is not in the catechism.
+The catechism has nothing about love, and I never learned anything else.
+But I know things that I never learned. Every woman does. How? The heart
+says them, and they are true. Where shall we go to-morrow?"
+
+"Do you really want to leave Paris?"
+
+To impress upon him that she was in earnest Regina squeezed his hands
+together in hers with such energy that she really hurt him.
+
+"What else have I been saying for half an hour?" she asked impatiently.
+"Do you think I am playing a comedy?" She laughed. "Remember that I
+have carried you up and down stairs in my arms," she added, "and I could
+do it again!"
+
+"If you insist on going away, I will walk," Marcello answered with a
+laugh.
+
+She laughed too, as she rose to her feet. He put out his hand to fill
+his glass again, but she stopped him.
+
+"No," she said, "the wine keeps you awake, and makes you think you are
+stronger than you are. You shall sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will
+go. I am so glad it is settled!"
+
+She could do what she would with him, and so it turned out that Marcello
+left Paris without going to see the Contessa and Aurora; and when he was
+fairly away he felt that it was a relief not to be able to see them,
+since it would have been his duty to do so if he had stayed another day.
+Maddalena dell' Armi had not believed that he would come, but she
+stopped at home that afternoon on the bare possibility. Aurora made up
+her mind that if he came she would shut herself up in her own room. She
+expected that he would certainly call before the evening, and was
+strangely disappointed because he did not.
+
+"Who was that lady with him last night?" she asked of her mother.
+
+"I do not know that--lady," answered the Contessa, with a very slight
+hesitation before pronouncing the last word.
+
+But they had both heard of Regina already.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The Contessa wrote to Corbario two days later, addressing her letter to
+Rome, as she did not know where he was. It was not like her to meddle in
+the affairs of other people, or to give advice, but this was a special
+case, and she felt that something must be done to save Marcello; for she
+was a woman of the world, with much experience and few illusions, and
+she understood at a glance what was happening to her dead friend's son.
+She wrote to Folco, telling him of the accidental meeting in the portico
+of the ThÈ‚tre FranÁais, describing Marcello's looks, and saying pretty
+clearly what she thought of the extremely handsome young woman who was
+with him.
+
+Now Paris is a big city, and it chanced that Corbario himself was there
+at that very time. Possibly he had kept out of Marcello's way for some
+reason of his own, but he had really not known that the Contessa was
+there. Her letter was forwarded from Rome and reached him four days
+after it was written. He read it carefully, tore it into several dozen
+little bits, looked at his watch, and went at once to the quiet hotel in
+the Rue Saint HonorÈ. The Contessa was alone, Aurora having gone out
+with her mother's maid.
+
+Maddalena was glad to see him, not because she liked him, for she did
+not, but because it would be so much easier to talk of what was on her
+mind than to write about it.
+
+"I suppose you are surprised to see me," said Folco, after the first
+conventional greeting.
+
+"No, for one may meet any one in Paris, at any time of the year. When I
+wrote, I thought Marcello must be alone here--I mean, without you," she
+added.
+
+"I did not know he had been here, until I heard that he was gone. He
+left three or four days ago. I fancy that when you wrote your letter he
+was already gone."
+
+"Do you let him wander about Europe as he pleases?" asked the Contessa.
+
+"He is old enough to take care of himself," answered Corbario. "There is
+nothing worse for young men than running after them and prying into
+their affairs. I say, give a young fellow his independence as soon as
+possible. If he has been brought up in a manly way, with a feeling of
+self-respect, it can only do him good to travel alone. That is the
+English way, you know, and always succeeds."
+
+"Not always, and besides, we are not English. It is not 'succeeding,' as
+you call it, in Marcello's case. He will not live long, if you let him
+lead such a life."
+
+"Oh, he is stronger than he looks! He is no more threatened with
+consumption than I am, and a boy who can live through what happened to
+him two years ago can live through anything."
+
+Not a muscle of his face quivered as he looked quietly into the
+Contessa's eyes. He was quite sure that she did not suspect him of
+having been in any way concerned in Marcello's temporary disappearance.
+
+"Suppose him to be as strong as the strongest," Maddalena answered. "Put
+aside the question of his health. There is something else that seems to
+me quite as important."
+
+"The moral side?" Corbario smiled gravely. "My dear lady, you and I know
+the world, don't we? We do not expect young men to be saints!"
+
+Maddalena, who had not always been a saint, returned his look coldly.
+
+"Let us leave the saints out of the discussion," she said, "unless we
+speak of Marcello's mother. She was one, if any one ever was. I believe
+you loved her, and I know that I did, and I do still, for she is very
+real to me, even now. Don't you owe something to her memory? Don't you
+know how she would have felt if she could have met her son the other
+night, as I met him, looking as he looked? Don't you know that it would
+have hurt her as nothing else could? Think a moment!"
+
+She paused, waiting for his answer and watching his impenetrable face,
+that did not change even when he laughed, that could not change, she
+thought; but she had not seen him by Marcello's bedside at the hospital,
+when the mask had been gone for a few seconds. It was there now, in all
+its calm stillness.
+
+"You may be right," he answered, almost meekly, after a little pause.
+"I had not looked at it in that light. You see, I am not a very
+sensitive man, and I was brought up rather roughly. My dear wife went to
+the other extreme, of course. No one could really be what she wished to
+make Marcello. He felt that himself, though I honestly did all I could
+to make him act according to his mother's wishes. But now that she is
+gone--" he broke off, and was silent a moment. "You may be right," he
+repeated, shaking his head thoughtfully. "You are a very good woman, and
+you ought to know."
+
+She leaned back in her chair, and looked at him in silence, wondering
+whether she was not perhaps doing him a great injustice; yet his voice
+rang false to her ear, and the old conviction that he had never loved
+his wife came back with increased force and with the certainty that he
+had been playing a part for years without once breaking down.
+
+"I will join Marcello, and see what I can do," he said.
+
+"Do you know where he is?"
+
+"Oh, yes! He keeps me informed of his movements; he is very good about
+writing. You know how fond of each other we are, too, and I am sure he
+will be glad to see me. He is back in Italy by this time. He was going
+to Siena. We were to have met in Rome in about a month, to go down to
+San Domenico together, but I will join him at once."
+
+"If you find that--that young person with him, what shall you do?"
+
+"Send her about her business, of course," answered Folco promptly.
+
+"Suppose that she will not go, what then?"
+
+"It can only be a question of money, my dear lady. Leave that to me.
+Marcello is not the first young fellow who has been in a scrape!"
+
+Still Maddalena did not trust him, and she merely nodded with an air of
+doubt.
+
+"Shall I not see Aurora?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"She is out," answered the Contessa. "I will tell her that you asked
+after her."
+
+"Is she as beautiful as ever?" inquired Folco.
+
+"She is a very pretty girl."
+
+"She is beautiful," Folco said, with conviction. "I have never seen such
+a beautiful girl as she was, even when she was not quite grown up. No
+one ever had such hair and such eyes, and such a complexion!"
+
+"Dear me!" exclaimed Maddalena with a little surprise. "I had no idea
+that you thought her so good-looking!"
+
+"I always did. As for Marcello, we used to think he would never have
+eyes for any one else."
+
+"Young people who have known each other well as children rarely fall in
+love when they grow up," answered Maddalena.
+
+"So much the better," Folco said. "Aurora and Marcello are not at all
+suited to one another."
+
+"That is true," answered the Contessa.
+
+"And besides, he is much too young for her. They are nearly of the same
+age."
+
+"I never thought of their marrying," replied Maddalena, with a little
+emphasis, "and I should certainly not choose this time to think of it!"
+
+"I fancy few men can look at your daughter without wishing that they
+might marry her, my dear lady," said Corbario, rising to go away. "Pray
+present my homage to her, and tell her how very sorry I am not to have
+seen her."
+
+He smiled as if he were only half in earnest, and he took his leave. He
+was scarcely gone when Aurora entered the sitting-room by another door.
+
+"Was it Marcello?" she asked quietly enough, though her voice sounded a
+little dull.
+
+"No, dear," answered her mother. "It was Folco Corbario. I wrote to him
+some days ago and he came to see me. Marcello has left Paris. I did not
+know you had come home."
+
+Aurora sat down rather wearily, pulled out her hatpins, and laid her hat
+on her knee. Then she slowly turned it round and round, examining every
+inch of it with profound attention, as women do. They see things in hats
+which we do not.
+
+"Mamma--" Aurora got no further, and went on turning the hat round.
+
+"Yes? What were you going to say?"
+
+"Nothing--I have forgotten." The hat revolved steadily. "Are we going to
+stay here long?"
+
+"No. Paris is too expensive. When we have got the few things we want we
+will go back to Italy--next week, I should think."
+
+"I wish we were rich," observed Aurora.
+
+"I never heard you say that before," answered her mother. "But after
+all, wishing does no harm, and I am silly enough to wish we were rich
+too."
+
+"If I married Marcello, I should be very rich," said Aurora, ceasing to
+turn the hat, but still contemplating it critically.
+
+Maddalena looked at her daughter in some surprise. The girl's face was
+quite grave.
+
+"You had better think of getting rich in some other way, my dear," said
+the Contessa presently, with an asperity that did not escape Aurora, but
+produced no impression on her.
+
+"I was only supposing," she said. "But if it comes to that, it would be
+much better for him to marry me than that good-looking peasant girl he
+has picked up."
+
+The Contessa sat up straight and stared at her in astonishment. There
+was a coolness in the speech that positively horrified her.
+
+"My dear child!" she cried. "What in the world are you talking about?"
+
+"Regina," answered Aurora, looking up, and throwing the hat upon the
+table. "I am talking about Marcello's Regina. Did you suppose I had
+never heard of her, and that I did not guess that it was she, the other
+night? I had a good look at her. I hate her, but she is handsome. You
+cannot deny that."
+
+"I do not deny it, I'm sure!" The Contessa hardly knew what to say.
+
+"Very well. Would it not be much better for Marcello if he married me
+than if he let Regina marry him, as she will!"
+
+"I--possibly--you put it so strangely! But I am sure Marcello will never
+think of marrying her."
+
+"Then why does he go about with her, and what is it all for?" Aurora
+gazed innocently at her mother, waiting for an answer which did not
+come. "Besides," she added, "the girl will marry him, of course."
+
+"Perhaps. I daresay you are right, and after all, she may be in love
+with him. Why should you care, child?"
+
+"Because he used to be my best friend," Aurora answered demurely. "Is it
+wrong to take an interest in one's friends? And I still think of him as
+my friend, though I have never had a chance to speak to him since that
+day by the Roman shore, when he went off in a rage because I laughed at
+him. I wonder whether he has forgotten that! They say he lost his memory
+during his illness."
+
+"What a strange girl you are! You have hardly ever spoken of him in all
+this time, and now"--the Contessa laughed as if she thought the idea
+absurd--"and now you talk of marrying him!"
+
+"I have seen Regina," Aurora replied, as if that explained everything.
+
+The Contessa returned no answer, and she was rather unusually silent and
+preoccupied during the rest of that day. She was reflecting that if
+Aurora had not chanced to meet Marcello just when Regina was with him
+the girl might never have thought of him again, except with a
+half-amused recollection of the little romantic tenderness she had once
+felt for the friend and playfellow of her childhood. Maddalena was a
+wise woman now, and did not underestimate the influence of little things
+when great ones were not far off. That is a very important part of
+worldly wisdom, which is the science of estimating chances in a game of
+which love, hate, marriage, fortune, and social life and death may be
+the stakes.
+
+Her impulse was to prevent Aurora from seeing Marcello for a long time,
+for the thought of a possible marriage had never attracted her, and
+since the appearance of Regina on the scene every instinct of her nature
+was against it. Her pride revolted at the idea that her daughter might
+be the rival of a peasant girl, quite as much as at the possibility of
+its being said that she had captured her old friend's son for the sake
+of his money. But she remembered her own younger years and she judged
+Aurora by herself. There had been more in that little romantic
+tenderness for Marcello than any one had guessed, much of it had
+remained, it had perhaps grown instead of dying out, and the sight of
+Regina had awakened it to something much stronger than a girlish fancy.
+
+Maddalena remembered little incidents now, of which the importance had
+escaped her the more easily because the loss of her dearest friend had
+made her dull and listless at the time. Aurora had scarcely asked about
+Marcello during the weeks that followed his disappearance, but she had
+often looked pale and almost ill just then. She had been better after
+the news had come that he had been found, though she had barely said
+that she was glad to hear of him. Then she had grown more restless than
+she used to be, and there had sometimes been a dash of hardness in the
+things she said; and her mother was now quite sure that Aurora had
+intentionally avoided all mention of Marcello. To-day, she had suddenly
+made that rather startling remark about marrying him. All this proved
+clearly enough that he had been continually in her thoughts. When very
+young people take unusual pains to ignore a certain subject, and then
+unexpectedly blurt out some very rough observation about it, the chances
+are that they have been thinking of nothing else for a long time.
+
+A good deal had happened on that afternoon, for what Corbario had said
+about Aurora, half playfully and half in earnest, had left Maddalena
+under the impression that he had been trying a little experiment on his
+own account, to feel his way. Aurora had more than once said in the
+preceding years that she did not like his eyes and a certain way he had
+of looking at her. He had admired her, even then, and now that he was a
+widower it was not at all unlikely that he should think of marrying her.
+He was not much more than thirty years old, and he had a singularly
+youthful face. There was no objection on the score of his age. He was
+rich, at least for his life-time. He had always been called a model
+husband while his wife had been alive, and was said to have behaved
+with propriety since. Maddalena tried to look at the matter coolly and
+dispassionately, as if she did not instinctively dislike him. Why should
+he not wish to marry Aurora? No one of the Contessa's acquaintances
+would be at all surprised if he did, and most people would say that it
+was a very good match, and that Aurora was fortunate to get such a
+husband.
+
+This was precisely what Folco thought; and as it was his nature to think
+slowly and act quickly, it is not impossible that he may have revolved
+the plan in his mind for a year or two while Aurora was growing up. The
+final decision had perhaps been reached on that evening down by the
+Roman shore, when Professor Kalmon had held up to his eyes the sure
+means of taking the first step towards its accomplishment; and it had
+been before him late on the same night when he had stood still in the
+verandah holding the precious and terrible little tablet in the hollow
+of his hand; and the next morning when he had suddenly seen Marcello
+close before him, unconscious of his presence and defenceless. He had
+run a great risk in vain that day, since Marcello was still alive, a
+risk more awful than he cared to remember now; but it had been safely
+passed, and he must never do anything so dangerous again. There was a
+far safer and surer way of gaining his end than clumsy murder, and from
+what the Contessa had told him of the impression she had received the
+accomplishment was not far off. She had said that Marcello had looked
+half dead; his delicate constitution could not bear such a life much
+longer, and he would soon be dead in earnest.
+
+Marcello did not write as regularly as Folco pretended, but the latter
+had trustworthy and regular news of him from some one else. Twice a
+week, wherever he might be, a square envelope came by the post addressed
+in a rather cramped feminine hand, the almost unmistakable writing of a
+woman who had seen better days and had been put to many shifts in order
+to keep up some sort of outward respectability. The information conveyed
+was tolerably well expressed, in grammatical Italian; the only names
+contained in the letters were those of towns, and hotels, and the like,
+and Marcello was invariably spoken of as "our dear patient," and Regina
+as "that admirable woman" or "that ideal companion." The writer usually
+said that the dear patient seemed less strong than a month ago, or a
+week ago, and expressed a fear that he was slowly losing ground.
+Sometimes he was better, and the news was accompanied by a conventional
+word or two of satisfaction. Again, there would be a detailed account of
+his doings, showing that he had slept uncommonly little and had no
+appetite, and mentioning with a show of regret the sad fact that he
+lived principally on cigarettes, black coffee, and dry champagne. The
+ideal companion seemed to be always perfectly well, showed no tendency
+to be extravagant, and gave proof of the most constant devotion. The
+writer always concluded by promising that Corbario's instructions with
+regard to the dear patient should be faithfully carried out in future as
+they had been in the past.
+
+This was very reassuring, and Folco often congratulated himself on the
+wisdom he had shown in the selection of Settimia as a maid for Regina.
+The woman not only did what was required of her with the utmost
+exactitude; she took an evident pleasure in her work, and looked forward
+to the fatal result at no very distant time with all the satisfaction
+which Corbario could desire. So far everything had gone smoothly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+It was high summer again, and the Roman shore was feverish. In the hot
+afternoon Ercole had tramped along the shore with his dog at his heels
+as far as Torre San Lorenzo to have a chat with the watchman. They sat
+in the shade of the tower, smoking little red clay pipes with long
+wooden stems. The chickens walked about slowly, evidently oppressed by
+the heat and by a general lack of interest in life, since not a single
+grain of maize from the morning feed remained to be discovered on the
+disused brick threshing-floor or in the sand that surrounded it. From
+some dark recess came the occasional grunt of the pig, attending in
+solitude to the business of getting fat before October. Now and then the
+watchman's wife moved a chair in the lower room of the tower, or made a
+little clatter with some kitchen utensils, and the sounds came out to
+the solitude sharply and distinctly.
+
+There had been a flat calm for several days. Forty yards below the tower
+the sea lay along the sandy beach like a strip of glistening white
+glass, beyond which was a broader band of greenish blue that did not
+glitter; and beyond that, the oily water stretched out to westward in an
+unending expanse of neutral tints, arabesqued with current streaks and
+struck right across by the dazzling dirty-white blaze of the August sun.
+
+Swarms of flies chased each other where the two men sat, settled on
+their backs and dusty black hats, tried to settle on their faces and
+were brushed away, crawled on the ground, on the walls, even on the
+chickens, and on the rough coat of Nino, the dog. He followed the
+motions of those he saw before him with one bloodshot eye; the other
+seemed to be fast asleep.
+
+From time to time the men exchanged a few words. Ercole had apparently
+come over to enjoy the novelty of seeing a human being, and Padre
+Francesco, the watchman, was glad to talk with some one besides his
+wife. He enjoyed the title of "Padre," because he had once been master
+of a small martingane that traded between Civit‡ Vecchia and the south.
+In still earlier days he had been in deep water and had been boatswain
+of a square-rigger, yet there was nothing about his appearance now to
+show that he had been a sailor man. It was ten years since he had left
+the sea, and he had turned into a peasant.
+
+Ercole had told Padre Francesco that the second hay crop had been half
+spoilt by thunderstorms; also that the price of wine in Ardea had gone
+up, while the price of polenta had remained the same; also that a wild
+boar had broken out of the king's preserves near Nettuno and was
+supposed to be wandering in the brush not far away; also that if Ercole
+and Nino found him they would kill him, and that there would be a feast.
+Padre Francesco observed that his wife understood the cooking of wild
+boar with vinegar, sugar, pine-nuts, and sweet herbs, and that he
+himself knew how to salt the hams; he had also salted the flesh of
+porpoises at sea, more than once, and had eaten pickled dog-fish, which
+he considered to be nothing but young sharks, in the West Indies. This
+did not interest Ercole much, as he had heard it before, and he smoked
+in silence for a while. So did Padre Francesco; and both brushed away
+the flies. Nino rolled one bloodshot eye at his master, every time the
+latter moved; and it grew excessively hot, and the air smelt of
+chickens, rotten seaweed, and the pig. Yet both men were enjoying
+themselves after a fashion, though Ercole distrusted Padre Francesco, as
+he distrusted all human beings, and Padre Francesco looked upon Ercole
+as a person having no knowledge of the world, because he had never eaten
+pickled dog-fish in the West Indies.
+
+After a time, Padre Francesco remembered a piece of news which he had
+not yet told, cleared his throat, stirred the contents of his pipe with
+the point of a dangerous-looking knife, and looked at his companion for
+a full minute.
+
+"Speak," said Ercole, who understood these premonitory signs.
+
+"There has been one here who asked after you," Padre Francesco began.
+
+"What species of Christian?" inquired Ercole.
+
+"He was at the cottage when the blessed soul of the Signora departed, or
+just before that. It is a big gentleman with a brown beard and bright
+eyes. He looks for things in the sand and in the bushes and amongst the
+seaweed. Who knows what he looks for? Perhaps he looks for gold."
+
+"Or the souls of his dead," suggested Ercole with fine irony. "But I
+know this Signore who was at the cottage, with the brown beard and the
+bright eyes. He sometimes came to shoot quail. He also killed some. He
+is a professor of wisdom."
+
+"He asked if I knew you, but of course I said I did not. Why should he
+ask? How could I know what he wanted of you. I said that I had never
+heard of you."
+
+"You did well. Those who have business with me know where to find me.
+What else did he say?"
+
+"He asked if I had seen the young gentleman this year, and he told me
+that he had not seen him since the night before he was lost. So then I
+knew that he was a gentleman of some kind, since he had been at the
+cottage. I also asked if your masters were never coming to the Roman
+shore again."
+
+"What did he answer?" inquired Ercole, with an air of utter
+indifference.
+
+"He said an evil thing. He said that your young gentleman had gone off
+to foreign countries with a pretty peasant from Frascati, whose name was
+Regina; that it was she who had nursed him when he was ill, in some inn,
+and that out of gratitude, and because she was very pretty, he had
+given her much money, and silk dresses and earrings. That is what he
+said."
+
+Ercole gazed down at Nino's bloodshot eye, which was turned to him just
+then.
+
+"A girl called Regina," Ercole grumbled, in a tone even harsher than
+usual.
+
+"That is what he said. Why should he tell me one thing for another? He
+said that your young gentleman would perhaps come back when he was tired
+of Regina. And he laughed. That is all."
+
+A low growl from Nino interrupted the conversation. It was very low and
+long and then rose quickly and ended in a short bark, as the dog
+gathered his powerful hindquarters suddenly and raised himself,
+bristling all over and thrusting his sinewy forepaws out before him.
+Then the growl began again, but Ercole touched him lightly with the toe
+of his hob-nailed boot, and the dog was instantly silent. Both men
+looked about, but no one was to be seen.
+
+"There is a boat on the beach," said Padre Francesco, who had caught the
+faint soft sound of the keel running upon the sand.
+
+They both rose, Ercole picking up his gun as he did so; Nino, seeing
+that his master was on the alert, slunk to his heels without growling
+any more. A moment later a man's voice was heard calling on the other
+side of the tower.
+
+"Hi! Watchman of the tower! A favour! Watchman of the tower! Hi!"
+
+Padre Francesco turned the corner, followed by Ercole. A sailor in
+scanty ragged clothes and the remains of a rush hat was standing
+barefoot in the burning sand, with an earthen jug in his hand. A
+battered boat, from which all traces of paint had long since
+disappeared, was lying with her nose buried in the sand, not moving in
+the oily water. Another man was in her, very much like the first in
+looks.
+
+On seeing Nino at Ercole's heels, the man who was ashore drew back with
+an exclamation, as if he were going to run away, but Ercole spoke in a
+reassuring tone.
+
+"Be not afraid," he said. "This dog does not eat Christians. He gets
+enough to eat at home. He is not a dog, he is a lamb, and most
+affectionate."
+
+"It is an evil beast," observed the sailor, looking at Nino. "I am
+afraid."
+
+"What do you desire?" inquired Padre Francesco politely. "Is it water
+that you wish?"
+
+"As a favour," answered the man, seeing that the dog did not fly at him.
+"A little water to drink. We have been pulling all day; it is hot, and
+we have drunk what we had."
+
+"Come with me," said Padre Francesco. "Where is your vessel?"
+
+"At Fiumicino. The master sent us on an errand to Porto d'Anzio last
+night and we are going back."
+
+"It is a long pull," observed the watchman. "Tell the other man to come
+ashore and rest in the shade. I also have been to sea. The water is not
+very good here, but what there is you shall have."
+
+"Thank you," said the man gratefully, and giving Nino a very wide berth
+as he followed Padre Francesco. "We could have got some water at the
+Incastro creek, but it would have been the same as drinking the fever."
+
+"May the Madonna never will that you drink of it," said Padre Francesco,
+as they reached the shady side of the tower. "I see that you know the
+Roman shore."
+
+"It is our business," replied the man, taking off his ragged rush hat,
+and rubbing his still more ragged blue cotton sleeve over his wet
+forehead. "We are people of the sea, bringing wine and lemons to Civit‡
+Vecchia and taking charcoal back. Evil befall this calm weather."
+
+"And when it blows from the west-southwest we say, evil befall this time
+of storm," said Padre Francesco, nodding wisely. "Be seated in the
+shade. I will fetch water."
+
+"And also let us drink here, so that we may take the jug away full."
+
+"You shall also drink here." The old watchman went into the tower.
+
+"The last time I passed this way, it was in a west-southwest gale," said
+the man, addressing Ercole, who had sat down in his old place with his
+dog at his feet.
+
+"It is an evil shore," Ercole answered. "Many vessels have been lost
+here."
+
+"We were saved by a miracle that time," said the sailor, who seemed
+inclined to talk. "I was with a brigantine with wine for Marseilles.
+That vessel was like a rock in the sea, she would not move with less
+than seven points of the wind in fair weather. We afterwards went to Rio
+Janeiro, and it was two years before we got back."
+
+"So it was two years ago that you passed?" inquired Ercole.
+
+"Two years ago May or the beginning of June. She was so low in the water
+that she would have swamped if we had tried to carry on sail, and with
+the sail she could carry she could make no headway; so there we were,
+hove to under lower topsail and balance-reefed mainsail and storm-jib,
+with a lee shore less than a mile away. We recommended ourselves to the
+saints and the souls of purgatory, and our captain said to us, 'My fine
+sons, unless the wind shifts in half an hour we must run her ashore and
+save the cargo!' That is what he said. But I said that I knew this Roman
+shore from a boy, and that sometimes there was no bar at the mouth of
+the Incastro, so that a vessel might just slip into the pool where the
+reeds grow. You certainly know the place."
+
+"I know it well," said Ercole.
+
+"Yes. So I pointed out the spot to our captain, standing beside him, and
+he took his glasses and looked to see whether the sea was breaking on
+the bar."
+
+"The bar has not been open since I came here," said Padre Francesco,
+returning with water. "And that is ten years."
+
+The men drank eagerly, one after the other, and there was silence. The
+one who had been speaking wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
+drew a long breath of satisfaction.
+
+"No, I daresay not," he said at last. "The captain looked all along the
+shore for a better place. Then he saw a bad thing with his glasses; for
+they were fine glasses, and though he was old, he had good sight. And I
+stood beside him, and he told me what he saw while he was looking."
+
+"What did he see?" asked Ercole, watching the man.
+
+"What did he see? I tell you it was a bad sight! Health to us all, as
+many as are here, he saw one man kill another and drag his body into
+some bushes."
+
+"Apoplexy!" observed Ercole, glancing at Padre Francesco. "Are there
+brigands here?"
+
+"I tell you what the captain said. 'There are two men,' said he, 'and
+they are like gentlemen by their dress.' 'They shoot quail,' said I,
+knowing the shore. 'They have no guns,' said he. Then he cried out,
+keeping his glasses to his eyes and steadying himself by the weather
+vang. 'God be blessed,' he cried--for he never said an evil word, that
+captain,--'one of those gentlemen has struck the other on the back of
+the head and killed him! And now he drags his body away towards the
+bushes.' And he saw nothing more, but he showed me the place, where
+there is a gap in the high bank. Afterwards he said he thought he had
+seen a woman too, and that it must have been an affair of jealousy."
+
+Ercole and Padre Francesco looked at each other in silence for a moment.
+
+"Did you hear of no murder at that time?" asked the sailor, taking up
+the earthen jar full of water.
+
+"We heard nothing," said Ercole promptly.
+
+"Nothing," echoed Padre Francesco. "The captain was dreaming. He saw
+trees moving in the wind."
+
+"Don Antonino had good eyes," answered the sailor incredulously.
+
+"What was the name of your vessel?" asked Padre Francesco.
+
+"The _Papa_" replied the sailor without a smile. "She was called
+_Papa_."
+
+Ercole stared at him a moment and then laughed; and he laughed so rarely
+that it distorted the yellow parchment of his face as if it must crack
+it. The sound of his laughter was something like the creaking of a cart
+imitated by a ventriloquist. But Padre Francesco knit his bushy brows,
+for he thought the sailor was making game of him, who had been boatswain
+on a square-rigger.
+
+"I went to sea for thirty years," he said, "but I never heard of a
+vessel called the _Papa_. You have said a silly thing. I have given you
+water to drink, and filled your jar. It is not courtesy to jest at men
+older than you."
+
+"Excuse me," answered the man politely. "May it never be that I should
+jest at such a respectable man as you seem to be; and, moreover, you
+have filled the jar with your own hands. The brigantine was called as I
+say. And if you wish to know why, I will tell you. She was built by two
+rich brothers of Torre Annunziata, who wished much good to their papa
+when he was old and no longer went to sea. Therefore, to honour him,
+they called the vessel the _Papa_. This is the truth."
+
+Lest this should seem extravagantly unlikely to the readers of this
+tale, I shall interrupt the conversation to say that I knew the _Papa_
+well, that "she" was built and christened as the sailor said, and that
+her name still stood on the register of Italian shipping a few years
+ago. She was not a brigantine, however, but a larger vessel, and she was
+bark-rigged; and she was ultimately lost in port, during a hurricane.
+
+"We have learned something to-day," observed Ercole, when the man had
+finished speaking.
+
+"It is true," the man said. "And the name of the captain was Don
+Antonino Maresca. He was of Vico."
+
+"Where is Vico?" inquired Ercole, idly scratching his dog's back with
+the stock of his gun.
+
+"Near Castellamare," answered Padre Francesco, willing to show his
+knowledge.
+
+"One sees that you are a man of the sea," said the sailor, meaning to
+please him. "And so we thank you, and we go."
+
+Ercole and the old watchman saw the two ragged sailors put off in the
+battered boat and pull away over the bar; then they went back to the
+shade of the tower and sat down again and refilled their pipes, and were
+silent for a long time. Padre Francesco's old wife, who had not shown
+herself yet, came and stood in the doorway, nodded to Ercole, fanned
+herself with her apron, counted the chickens in sight, and observed that
+the weather was hot. Then she went in again.
+
+"It is easy to remember the name of that ship," said Ercole at last,
+without glancing at his companion.
+
+"And the master was Antonino Maresca of Vico," said Padre Francesco.
+
+"But the truth is that it is none of our business," said Ercole.
+
+"The captain was mistaken," said Padre Francesco.
+
+"He saw trees moving in the wind," said Ercole.
+
+Then they looked at each other and nodded.
+
+"Perhaps the Professor was mistaken about the girl, and the silk dress
+and the gold earrings," suggested Padre Francesco, turning his eyes
+away.
+
+"He was certainly mistaken," asserted Ercole, watching him closely. "And
+moreover it is none of our business."
+
+"None whatever."
+
+They talked of other things, making remarks at longer and longer
+intervals, till the sun sank near the oily sea, and Ercole took his
+departure, much wiser in regard to Marcello's disappearance than when he
+had come. He followed the long beach for an hour till he came to the gap
+in the bank. There he stopped, and proceeded to examine the place
+carefully, going well inside it, and then turning to ascertain exactly
+where Marcello must have been when he was struck, since at that moment
+he must have been distinctly visible from the brigantine. The gap was so
+narrow that it was not hard to fix upon the spot where the deed had been
+done, especially as the captain had seen Marcello dragged quickly away
+towards the bushes. Every word of the sailor's story was stamped with
+truth; and so it came about that when Corbario believed himself at last
+quite safe, a man in his own pay suddenly discovered the whole truth
+about the attempted crime, even to the name of the principal witness.
+
+It was only in the quail season, when there were poachers about, during
+April, May, and early June, that Ercole lived in his straw hut, a little
+way from the cottage. He spent the rest of the year in a small stone
+house that stood on a knoll in sight of Ardea, high enough to be
+tolerably safe from the deadly Campagna fever. Every other day an old
+woman from the village brought him a copper conca full of water; once a
+month she came and washed for him. When he needed supplies he went to
+Ardea for them himself. His dwelling was of elementary simplicity,
+consisting of two rooms, one above the other, with grated windows and
+heavy shutters. In the lower one he cooked and ate, in the upper chamber
+he slept and kept his few belongings, which included a plentiful supply
+of ammunition, his Sunday clothes, his linen, and his papers. The latter
+consisted of a copy of his certificate of birth, his old military
+pass-book, showing that he had served his time in an infantry regiment,
+had been called in for six weeks' drill in the reserve, had been a
+number of years in the second reserve, and had finally been discharged
+from all military service. This booklet serves an Italian throughout
+life as a certificate of identity, and is necessary in order to obtain a
+passport to leave the country. Ercole kept his, with two or three other
+yellow papers, tied up in an old red cotton handkerchief in the bottom
+of the chest that held his clothes.
+
+When he got home after his visit to Padre Francesco he took the package
+out, untied the handkerchief, and looked through all the papers, one by
+one, sitting by the grated window in the twilight. He could read, and
+had once been able to write more or less intelligibly, and he knew by
+heart the contents of the paper he wanted, though he had not unfolded it
+for years. He now read it carefully, and held it some time open in his
+hand before he put it back with the rest. He held it so long, while he
+looked out of his grated window, that at last he could see the little
+lights twinkling here and there in the windows of Ardea, and it was
+almost dark in the room. Nino grew restless, and laid his grim head on
+Ercole's knee, and his bloodshot eyes began to glow in the dark like
+coals. Then Ercole moved at last.
+
+"Ugly animal, do you wish me well?" he asked, rubbing the dog's head
+with his knotty hand. "If you are good, you shall go on a journey with
+me."
+
+Nino's body moved in a way which showed that he would have wagged his
+tail if he had possessed one, and he uttered a strange gurgling growl of
+satisfaction.
+
+The next morning, the old woman came before sunrise with water.
+
+"You need not bring any more, till I let you know," Ercole said. "I am
+going away on business for a few days, and I shall shut up the house."
+
+"For anything that is in it, you might leave the door open," grumbled
+the hag, who was of a sour temper. "Give me my pay before you go."
+
+"You fear that I am going to America," retorted Ercole, producing an old
+sheepskin purse from the inside of his waistcoat. "Here is your money.
+Four trips, four pennies. Count them and go in peace."
+
+He gave her the coppers, and she carefully tied them up in a corner of
+her ragged kerchief.
+
+"And the bread?" she asked anxiously.
+
+Ercole went to the blackened cupboard, took out the remains of a stale
+loaf, drew a big clasp-knife from his pocket, and cut off a moderate
+slice.
+
+"Eat," he said, as he gave it to her.
+
+She went away grumbling, and Nino growled after her, standing on the
+door-step. When she was a hundred yards from the house, he lay down with
+his jaw on his forepaws and continued to watch her till she was out of
+sight; then he gave a snort of satisfaction and immediately went to
+sleep.
+
+Ercole left his home after sunset that evening. He locked both the upper
+and lower doors and immediately dropped the huge key into a crevice in
+the stone steps, from which one might have supposed that it would not
+be easy to recover it; but he doubtless knew what he was about. He might
+have had one of the little horses from the farm if he had wanted one,
+for he was a privileged person, but he preferred to walk. To a man of
+his wiry frame thirty or forty miles on foot were nothing, and he could
+easily have covered the distance in a night; but he was not going so
+far, by any means, and a horse would only have been in the way. He
+carried his gun, from force of habit, and he had his gun-licence in his
+pocket, with his other papers, tied up in the old red handkerchief.
+There was all that was left of the stale loaf, with the remains of some
+cheese, in a canvas bag, he had slung over his shoulder, and he had
+plenty of money; for his wages were good, and he never spent more than
+half of what he received, merely because he had no wants, and no
+friends.
+
+Under the starlight he walked at a steady pace by familiar paths and
+byways, so as to avoid the village and strike the highroad at some
+distance beyond it. Nino followed close at his heels and perfectly
+silent, and the pair might have been dangerous to any one inclined to
+quarrel with them.
+
+When Ercole was in sight of Porta San Sebastiano it was past midnight,
+and he stood still to fill and light his little clay pipe. Then he went
+on; but instead of entering the gate he took the road to the right
+again, along the Via Appia Nuova. Any one might have supposed that he
+would have struck across to that highroad some time before reaching the
+city, but it was very long since Ercole had gone in that direction;
+many new roads had been opened and some old ones had been closed, and he
+was simply afraid of losing his way in a part of the Campagna no longer
+familiar to him.
+
+[Illustration: "ERCOLE LEFT HIS HOME AFTER SUNSET THAT EVENING"]
+
+A short distance from the gate, where the inn stands that goes by the
+name of Baldinotti, he took the turning to the left, which is the
+Frascati road; and after that he walked more slowly, often stopping and
+peering into the gloom to right and left, as if he were trying to
+recognise objects in the Campagna.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Corbario was not pleased with the account given by Settimia in the
+letter she wrote him after reaching Pontresina with Regina and Marcello,
+who had chosen the Engadine as the coolest place he could think of in
+which to spend the hot months, and had preferred Pontresina to Saint
+Moritz as being quieter and less fashionable. Settimia wrote that the
+dear patient had looked better the very day after arriving; that the
+admirable companion was making him drink milk and go to bed at ten
+o'clock; that the two spent most of the day in the pine-woods, and that
+Marcello already talked of an excursion up the glacier and of climbing
+some of the smaller peaks. If the improvement continued, Settimia wrote,
+it was extremely likely that the dear patient would soon be better than
+he had ever been in his life.
+
+Folco destroyed the letter, lit a cigarette, and thought the matter
+over. He had deemed it wise to pretend assent when the Contessa had
+urged him to join Marcello at once, but he had not had the least
+intention of doing so, and had come back to Paris as soon as he was sure
+that the Contessa was gone. But he had made a mistake in his
+calculations. He had counted on Regina for the love of excitement,
+display, and inane dissipation which women in her position very often
+develop when they find that a man will give them anything they like; and
+he had counted very little on her love for Marcello. Folco was still
+young enough to fall into one of the most common errors of youth, which
+is to believe most people worse than they are. Villains, as they grow
+older, learn that unselfish devotion is more common than they had
+thought, and that many persons habitually speak the truth, for
+conscience' sake; finding this out, villains have been known to turn
+into good men in their riper years, and have sometimes been almost
+saints in their old age. Corbario smoked his cigarette and mentally
+registered his mistake, and it is to be feared that the humiliation he
+felt at having made it was much more painful than the recollection of
+having dropped one deadly tablet into a little bottle that contained
+many harmless ones. He compared it in his mind to the keen
+disappointment he had felt when he had gone down to hide Marcello's
+body, and had discovered that he had failed to kill him. It is true that
+what he had felt then had been accompanied by the most awful terror he
+could imagine, but he distinguished clearly between the one sensation
+and the other. There was nothing to fear now; he had simply lost time,
+but that was bad enough, since it was due to his own stupidity.
+
+He thought over the situation carefully and considered how much it would
+be wise to risk. Another year of the life Marcello had been leading in
+Paris would have killed him to a certainty; perhaps six months would
+have done it. But a summer spent at Pontresina, living as it was clear
+that Regina meant him to live, would give the boy strength enough to
+last much longer, and might perhaps bring him out of all danger.
+
+Corbario considered what might be done, went over many plans in his
+mind, compared many schemes, for the execution of some of which he might
+have paid dearly; and in the end he was dissatisfied with all, and began
+over again. Still he reached no conclusion, and he attributed the fault
+to his own dulness, and his dulness to the life he had been leading of
+late, which was very much that which he wished Marcello to lead. But he
+had always trusted his nerves, his ingenuity, and his constitution; if
+one of the three were to fail him, now that he was rich, it was better
+that it should be his ingenuity.
+
+He made up his mind to go to the Engadine and see for himself how
+matters looked. He could stay at Saint Moritz, or even Samaden, so as
+not to disturb Marcello's idyl, and Marcello could come down alone to
+see him. He should probably meet acquaintances, and would give them to
+understand that he had come in order to get rid of Regina and save his
+stepson from certain destruction. Society was very lenient to young men
+as rich as Marcello, he reflected, but was inclined to lay all the blame
+of their doings on their natural guardians. There was no reason why
+Corbario should expose himself to such criticism, and he was sure that
+the Contessa had only said what many people clearly thought, namely,
+that he was allowing Marcello far too much liberty. The world should see
+that he was doing his duty by the boy.
+
+He left Paris with regret, as he always did, after writing to Marcello
+twenty-four hours beforehand. He wrote at the same time to Settimia.
+
+"Folco will be here to-morrow," Marcello said, as he and Regina sat
+under the pine-trees beyond the stream, a little way above the town.
+
+Regina sat leaning against the trunk of a tree, and Marcello lay on his
+side, resting on his elbow and looking up to her. He saw her face
+change.
+
+"Why should he come here?" she asked. "We are so happy!"
+
+"He will not disturb us," Marcello answered. "He will stop at Saint
+Moritz. I shall go down to see him there. I am very fond of him, you
+know, and we have not seen each other for at least two months. I shall
+be very glad to see him."
+
+The colour was sinking in Regina's face, and her eyelids were almost
+closed.
+
+"You are the master," she said quietly enough. "You will do as you
+will."
+
+He was surprised, and he felt a little resentment at her tone. He liked
+her better when she dominated him, as on that night in Paris when she
+had made him promise to come away, and had refused to let him drink more
+wine, and had sent him to bed like a child. Now she spoke as her
+forefathers, serfs born to the plough and bound to the soil, must have
+spoken to their lords and owners. There was no ancient aristocratic
+blood in his own veins; he was simply a middle-class Italian gentleman
+who chanced to be counted with the higher class because he had been born
+very rich, had been brought up by a lady, and had been more or less well
+educated. That was all. It did not seem natural to him that she should
+call him "the master" in that tone. He knew that she was not his equal,
+but somehow it was a little humiliating to have to own it, and he often
+wished that she were. Often, not always; for he had never been sure that
+he should have cared to make her his wife, had she been ever so well
+born. He scarcely knew what he really wanted now, for he had lost his
+hold on himself, and was content with mere enjoyment from day to day. He
+could no longer imagine living without her, and while he was conscious
+that the present state of things could not last very long, he could not
+face the problem of the future.
+
+He did not answer at once, and she sat quite still, almost closing her
+eyes.
+
+"Why should you be displeased because I am going to see Folco?" he asked
+after a while.
+
+"He comes to take you away from me," she answered, without moving.
+
+"That is absurd!" cried Marcello, annoyed by her tone.
+
+"No. It is true. I know it."
+
+"You are unreasonable. He is the best friend I have in the world. Do you
+expect me to promise that I will never see him again?"
+
+"You are the master."
+
+She repeated the words in the same dull tone, and her expression did not
+change in the least. Marcello moved and sat up opposite to her, clasping
+his hands round his knees. He was very thin, but the colour was already
+coming back to his face, and his eyes did not look tired.
+
+"Listen to me," he said. "You must put this idea out of your head. It
+was Folco who found the little house in Trastevere for you. He arranged
+everything. It was he who got you Settimia. He did everything to make
+you comfortable, and he has never disturbed us once when we have been
+together. He never so much as asked where I was going when I used to go
+down to see you every afternoon. No friend could have done more."
+
+"I know it," Regina answered; but still there was something in her tone
+which he could not understand.
+
+"Then why do you say that he means to separate us?"
+
+Regina did not reply, but she opened her eyes and looked into Marcello's
+long and lovingly. She knew something that he did not know, and which
+had haunted her long. When Folco had come to the bedside in the
+hospital, she had seen the abject terror in his face, the paralysing
+fear in his attitude, the trembling limbs and the cramped fingers. It
+had only lasted a moment, but she could never forget it. A child would
+have remembered how Folco looked then, and Regina knew that there was a
+mystery there which she could not understand, but which frightened her
+when she thought of it. Folco had not looked as men do who see one they
+love called back from almost certain death.
+
+"What are you thinking?" Marcello asked, for her deep look stirred his
+blood, and he forgot Folco and everything in the world except the
+beautiful creature that sat there, within his reach, in the lonely
+pine-woods.
+
+She understood, and turned her eyes to the distance; and she saw the
+quiet room in the hospital, the iron bedstead painted white, the smooth
+pillow, Marcello's emaciated head, and Corbario's face.
+
+"I was thinking how you looked when you were ill," she answered simply.
+
+The words and the tone broke the soft little spell that had been weaving
+itself out of her dark eyes. Marcello drew a short, impatient breath and
+threw himself on his side again, supporting his head on his hand and
+looking down at the brown pine-needles.
+
+"You do not know Folco," he said discontentedly. "I don't know why you
+should dislike him."
+
+"I will tell you something," Regina answered. "When you are tired of me,
+you shall send me away. You shall throw me away like an old coat."
+
+"You are always saying that!" returned Marcello, displeased. "You know
+very well that I shall never be tired of you. Why do you say it?"
+
+"Because I shall not complain. I shall not cry, and throw myself on my
+knees, and say, 'For the love of heaven, take me back!' I am not made
+like that. I shall go, without any noise, and what must be will be.
+That is all. Because I want nothing of you but love, I shall go when you
+have no more love. Why should I ask you for what you have not? That
+would be like asking charity of the poor. It would be foolish. But I
+shall tell you something else."
+
+"What?" asked Marcello, looking up to her face again, when she had
+finished her long speech.
+
+"If any one tries to make me go before you are tired of me, it shall be
+an evil day for him. He shall wish that he had not been born into this
+world."
+
+"You need not fear," Marcello said. "No one shall come between us."
+
+"Well, I have spoken. It does not matter whether I fear Signor Corbario
+or not, but if you like I will tell him what I have told you, when he
+comes. In that way he will know."
+
+She spoke quietly, and there was no murderous light in her eyes, nor any
+dramatic gesture with the words; but she was a little paler than before,
+and there was an odd fixedness in her expression, and Marcello knew that
+she was deeply moved, by the way she fell back into her primitive
+peasant's speech, not ungrammatical, but oddly rough and forcible
+compared with the language of educated society which she had now learned
+tolerably well from him.
+
+After that she was silent for a while, and then they talked as usual,
+and the day went by as other days had gone.
+
+On the next afternoon Folco Corbario reached Saint Moritz and sent a
+note up to Marcello asking him to come down on the following morning.
+
+Regina was left alone for a few hours, and she went out with the idea of
+taking a long walk by herself. It would be a relief and almost a
+pleasure to walk ten miles in the clear air, breathing the perfume of
+the pines and listening to the roar of the torrent. Marcello could not
+walk far without being tired, and she never thought of herself when he
+was with her; but when she was alone a great longing sometimes came over
+her to feel the weight of a conca full of water on her head, to roll up
+her sleeves and scrub the floors, to carry burdens and work with her
+hands all day long, as she had done ever since she was a child, with the
+certainty of being tired and hungry and sleepy afterwards. Her hands had
+grown smooth and white in a year, and her feet were tender, and she had
+almost forgotten what bodily weariness meant.
+
+But she was alone this morning, and she was full of gloomy
+presentiments. To stay indoors, or even to go and sit in the accustomed
+place under the pine-trees, would be unbearable. She felt quite sure
+that when Marcello came back he would be changed, that his expression
+would be less frank and natural, that he would avoid her eyes, and that
+by and by he would tell her something that would hurt her very much.
+Folco had come to take him away, she was quite sure, and it would be
+intolerable to sit still and think of it.
+
+She walked fast along the road that leads to the Rosegg glacier, not
+even glancing at the few people she met, though most of them stared at
+her, for almost every one in Pontresina knew who she was. The reputation
+of a great beauty is soon made, and Regina had been seen often enough in
+Paris alone with Marcello in a box at the theatre, or dining with him
+and two or three other young men at Ritz's or the CafÈ Anglais, to be an
+object of interest to the clever Parisian "chroniclers." The papers had
+duly announced the fact that the beauty had arrived at Pontresina, and
+the dwellers in the hotel were delighted to catch a glimpse of her,
+while those at Saint Moritz wished that she and Marcello had taken up
+their quarters there instead of in the higher village. Old maids with
+shawls and camp-stools glared at her round the edge of their parasols.
+English girls looked at her in frank admiration, till they were reproved
+by their mothers, who looked at her with furtive interest. Young
+Englishmen pretended not to see her at all, as they strode along with
+their pipes in their mouths; but they had an odd habit of being about
+when she passed. An occasional party of German students, who are the
+only real Bohemians left to the world in these days of progress, went
+sentimentally mad about her for twenty-four hours, and planned serenades
+in her honour which did not come off. A fashionable Italian composer
+dedicated a song to her, and Marcello asked him to dinner, for which he
+was more envied by the summer colony than for his undeniable talent. The
+Anglican clergyman declared that he would preach a sermon against her
+wickedness, but the hotel-keepers heard of his intention and
+unanimously requested him to let her alone, which, he did, reluctantly
+yielding to arguments which shall remain a secret. A certain Archduchess
+who was at Saint Moritz and was curious to see her adopted the simple
+plan of asking her to tea without knowing her, at which Marcello was
+furious; a semi-imperial Russian personage unblushingly scraped
+acquaintance with Marcello and was extremely bland for a few days, in
+the hope of being introduced to Regina. When he found that this was
+impossible, he went away, not in the least disconcerted, and he was
+heard to say that the girl "would go far."
+
+Regina would have been blind if she had not been aware that she
+attracted all this attention, and as she was probably not intended by
+nature for a saint, she would have been pleased by it if there had been
+room in her thoughts for any one but Marcello--even for herself.
+
+She walked far up the road, and after the first mile or two she met no
+one. At that hour the people who made excursions were already far away,
+and those who meant to do nothing stayed nearer to Pontresina. She grew
+tired of the road after a time. It led straight to the foot of the
+glacier, and she was not attracted by snow and ice as northern people
+are; there was something repellent to her in the thought of the
+bleakness and cold, and the sunshine itself looked as hard as the
+distant peaks on which it fell. But on the right there were rocky spurs
+of the mountains, half covered with short trees and brilliant with wild
+flowers that grew in little natural gardens here and there, not far
+below the level of perpetual snow. She left the road, and began to climb
+where there was no path. The air was delicious with the scent of flowers
+and shrubs; there were alp-roses everywhere, and purple gentian, and the
+little iva blossom that has an aromatic smell, and on tiny moss ledges
+the cold white stars of the edelweiss seemed to be keeping themselves as
+far above reach as they could. But she climbed as lightly as a savage
+woman, and picked them and sat down to look at them in the sunshine.
+Just beyond where she rested, the rock narrowed suddenly to a steep
+pass, within which were dark shadows. People who do not attempt anything
+in the way of ascending peaks often wander in that direction in search
+of edelweiss, but Regina fancied that she was sure to be alone as long
+as she pleased to stay.
+
+If she had not been sure of that she would not have taken off her left
+shoe to shake out some tiny thing that had got into it and that annoyed
+her. It turned out to be a bit of pine-needle. It was pleasant to feel
+her foot freed from the hot leather and resting on the thick moss, and
+so the other shoe came off too, and was turned upside down and shaken,
+as an excuse, for there was nothing in it, and both feet rested in the
+moss, side by side. She wished she could take off her stockings, and if
+there had been a stream she would have done it, so sure was she that no
+one would disturb her, up there amongst the rocks and ever so far from
+Pontresina. It would have been delightful to paddle in the cold running
+water, for it was much hotter than she had ever supposed that it could
+be in such a place.
+
+She took off her straw hat, and fanned herself gently with it, letting
+the sunshine fall full upon her thick black hair. She had never owned a
+hat in her life till she had been installed in the little house in
+Trastevere, and she hated the inconvenient things. What was her hair
+for, if it could not protect her head? But a straw hat made a very good
+fan. The air was hot and still, and there were none of those thousand
+little sounds which she would have heard in the chestnut woods above
+Frascati.
+
+A little cry broke the silence, and she turned her head in the direction
+whence it came. Then she dropped her hat, sprang to her feet, and ran
+forwards, forgetting that she had no shoes on. She saw a figure clinging
+to the rocks, where they suddenly narrowed, and she heard the cry again,
+desperate with fear and weak with effort. A young girl had evidently
+been trying to climb down, when she had lost her footing, and had only
+been saved from a bad fall because her grey woollen frock had caught her
+upon a projecting point of granite, giving her time to snatch at the
+strong twigs of some alp-roses, and to find a very slight projection on
+which she could rest the toe of one shoe. She was hanging there with her
+face to the rock, eight or ten feet from the ground, which was strewn
+with big stones, and she was in such a position that she seemed unable
+to turn her head in order to look down.
+
+In ten seconds Regina was standing directly below the terrified girl,
+raising herself on tiptoe, and trying to reach her feet with her hands,
+to guide them to a hold; but she could not.
+
+"Don't be frightened," Regina said in Italian, which was the only
+language she knew.
+
+"I cannot hold on!" answered the girl, trying to look down, but feeling
+that her foot would slip if she turned her head far enough.
+
+"Yes, you can," Regina replied, too much roused to be surprised that the
+answer had come in her own language. "Your dress will hold you, even if
+you let go with your hands. It is new and it is strong, and it is fairly
+caught on the rock. I can see that."
+
+"But I can't hang here until you go and get help," cried the girl, not
+much reassured.
+
+"I am going to climb to the top by an easier way and pull you up again,"
+Regina answered. "Then we can get down together."
+
+While Regina was speaking she had already begun the ascent, which was
+easy enough for her, at the point she had chosen, though many an Alpine
+climber might have envied the quickness and sureness of her hold with
+feet and hands. She realised that she had forgotten her shoes now, and
+was glad that she had taken them off.
+
+"One minute more!" she cried in an encouraging tone, when she had almost
+reached the top.
+
+"Quick!" came the imploring answer.
+
+Then Regina was lying flat on the ledge above the girl, stretching both
+hands down and catching the slender white wrists with a hold like
+steel. And then, feeling herself held and safe to move, the girl looked
+up, and Regina was looking into Aurora's face below her. For one instant
+the two did not recognise each other, for they had only seen each other
+once, by night, under the portico of the ThÈ‚tre FranÁais. But an
+instant later a flush of anger rose to Aurora's forehead, and the dark
+woman turned pale, and her brows were suddenly level and stern. They
+hated each other, as the one hung there held by the other's hands, and
+the black eyes gazed savagely into the angry blue ones. Aurora was not
+frightened any longer; she was angry because she was in Regina's power.
+The strong woman could save her if she would, and Aurora would despise
+herself ever afterwards for having been saved by her. Or the strong
+woman could let her fall, and she would probably be maimed for life if
+she were not killed outright. That seemed almost better. She had never
+understood before what it could mean to be altogether in the power of an
+enemy.
+
+Regina meant to save her; that was clear. With quick, commanding words
+she told her what to do.
+
+"Set your knees against the rock and pull yourself up a little by my
+hands. So! I can pull you higher now. Get one knee well on that ledge.
+Now I will hold your left hand with both mine while you disentangle your
+frock from the point. Now put your right hand round my neck while I
+raise myself a little. Yes, that way. Now, hold on tight!"
+
+Regina made a steady effort, lifting fully half Aurora's weight with
+her, as she got first upon one knee and then upon both.
+
+[Illustration: "REGINA MADE A STEADY EFFORT, LIFTING FULLY HALF AURORA'S
+WEIGHT WITH HER."]
+
+"There! Take breath and then scramble over the edge," she said.
+
+A few seconds, another effort, and Aurora sank exhausted beside Regina,
+half sitting, half lying, and resting on one hand.
+
+She looked up sideways at the dark woman's face; for Regina stood
+upright, gazing down into the valley. Aurora turned her eyes away, and
+then looked up again; she had recovered her breath now.
+
+"Thank you," she said, with an effort.
+
+"It is nothing," Regina answered in an indifferent tone, and without so
+much as moving her head; she was no more out of breath than if she had
+been sitting still.
+
+The fair girl hated her at that moment as she had never hated any one in
+her short life, nor had ever dreamed of hating. The flush of anger rose
+again and again to her forehead, to the very roots of her auburn hair,
+and lingered a second and sank again. Regina stood perfectly motionless,
+her face as unchanging as marble.
+
+Aurora rose to her feet, and leaned against the rock. She had suddenly
+felt herself at a disadvantage in remaining seated on the ground while
+her adversary was standing. It was the instinct of the animal that
+expects to be attacked. When two people who hate each other or love each
+other very much meet without warning in a very lonely place, the fierce
+old passions of the stone age may take hold of them and sway them, even
+nowadays.
+
+For a time that seemed long, there was silence; without words each knew
+that the other had recognised her. The peasant woman spoke first, though
+with an evident effort, and without turning her eyes.
+
+"When you are rested, we will go down," she said.
+
+Aurora moved a step towards the side on which Regina had climbed up.
+
+"I think I can get down alone," she answered coldly.
+
+Regina looked at her and laughed with a little contempt.
+
+"You will break your neck if you try," she said. "You cannot climb at
+all!"
+
+"I think I can get down," Aurora repeated.
+
+She went to the edge and was going to begin the attempt when Regina
+seized her by the wrist and dragged her back in spite of her resistance.
+
+"I have something to tell you first," Regina said. "Afterwards I will
+take you down, and you shall not fall. You shall reach the bottom safely
+and go home alone, or I will show you the way, as you please."
+
+"Let go of my wrist!" Aurora spoke angrily, for the strong grasp hurt
+her and humiliated her.
+
+"Listen to me," continued Regina, loosing her hold at once. "I am
+Regina. You are Aurora. We have heard of each other, and we have met.
+Let us talk. This is a good place and we are alone, and the day is
+long, and we may not meet again soon. We will say what we have to say
+now, and then we will part."
+
+"What is there to be said?" Aurora asked coldly and drawing back a
+little.
+
+"We two love the same man," Regina said. "Is that nothing? You know it
+is true. If we were not Christians we should try to kill each other
+here, where it is quiet. I could easily have killed you just now, and I
+wished to."
+
+"I wonder why you did not!" exclaimed Aurora, rather scornfully.
+
+"I thought with myself thus: 'If I kill her, I shall always have the
+satisfaction of it as long as I live. This is the truth. But I shall go
+to prison for many years and shall not see him again, therefore I will
+not do it. Besides, it will not please him. If it would make him happy I
+would kill her, even if I were to go to the galleys for it. But it would
+not. He would be very angry.' This is what I thought; and I pulled you
+up. And now, I will not let you hurt yourself in getting down, because
+he would be angry with me if he knew that it was my fault."
+
+Aurora listened to this extraordinary argument in silent surprise. She
+was not in the least frightened, but she saw at a glance that Regina was
+quite in earnest, and she knew her own people, and that the Roman
+peasants are not the gentlest of the Italians.
+
+"He would be very angry," Regina repeated. "I am sure he would!"
+
+"Why should he be angry?" Aurora asked, in a tone half contemptuous and
+yet half sad.
+
+"I know he would, because when he raved in his fever he used to call for
+you."
+
+Aurora started and fixed her eyes on Regina's.
+
+"Yes," Regina said, answering the look. "He often called you by name. He
+loved you once."
+
+She pronounced the words with an accent of pity, drawing herself up to
+her full height; and there was triumph in the light of her eyes. It is
+not every woman that has a chance of saying so much to her rival.
+
+"We were children then," Aurora said, in the very words she had used to
+her mother more than two years earlier.
+
+She was almost as pale as Regina now, for the thrust had been straight
+and sure, and right at her heart. But she was prouder than the peasant
+woman who had wounded her.
+
+"I have heard that you saved his life," she said presently. "And he
+loves you. You are happy!"
+
+"I should always be happy if he and I were alone in the world," Regina
+answered, for she was a little softened by the girl's tone. "But even
+now they are trying to part us."
+
+"To part you?" Again Aurora looked up suddenly. "Who is trying to do
+that? A woman?"
+
+Regina laughed a little.
+
+"You are jealous," she said. "That shows that you love him still. No. It
+is not a woman."
+
+"Corbario?" The name rose instinctively to Aurora's lips.
+
+"Yes," Regina answered. "That is why I am left alone this morning.
+Signor Corbario is at Saint Moritz and Marcello is gone down to see him.
+I know he is trying to separate us. You did not know that he was so
+near?"
+
+"We only came yesterday afternoon," Aurora answered. "We did not know
+that--that Signor Consalvi was here, or we should not have come at all."
+
+It had stung her to hear Regina speak of him quite naturally by his
+first name. Regina felt the rebuke.
+
+"I am truly sorry that I should have accidentally found myself in your
+path," she said, emphasising the rather grand phrase, and holding her
+handsome head very high.
+
+Aurora almost smiled at this sudden manifestation of the peasant's
+nature, and wondered whether Regina ever said such things to Marcello,
+and whether, if she did, they jarred on him very much. The speech had
+the very curious effect of restoring Aurora's sense of superiority, and
+she answered more kindly.
+
+"You need not be sorry," she said. "If you had not chanced to be here I
+should probably be lying amongst the rocks down there with several
+broken bones."
+
+"If it were not by my fault I should not care," Regina retorted, with
+elementary frankness.
+
+"But I should!" Aurora laughed, in spite of herself, and liking this
+phase of Regina's character better than any she had yet seen. "Come,"
+she said, with a sudden generous impulse, and holding out her hand,
+"let us stop quarrelling. You saved me from a bad accident, and I was
+too ungenerous to be grateful. I thank you now, with all my heart."
+
+Regina was surprised and stared hard at her for a moment, and then
+glanced at her outstretched hand.
+
+"You would not take my hand if there were any one here to see."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because they have told you that I am a wicked woman," Regina answered,
+a slight blush rising in her cheeks. "And perhaps it is true. But it was
+for him."
+
+"I would take your hand anywhere, because you saved his life," said
+Aurora, and her voice shook a little as she said the last words. "And
+besides, no one has told me that you are wicked. Come, what is the use
+of hating each other?"
+
+Regina took her hand reluctantly, but not suspiciously, and held it a
+moment.
+
+"It does not mean that I shall not hate you if he ever loves you again,"
+she said. "If I made you think that it would be treachery, and that is
+the worst sin."
+
+"It only means that I thank you now, quite honestly," Aurora answered,
+and their hands parted.
+
+"Very well." Regina seemed satisfied. "And I thank you for taking my
+hand," she added, with something oddly like real gratitude, "and because
+you said you would do it anywhere, even before other women. I know what
+I am, and what people call me. But it was for him. Let us not talk of
+it any more. I will help you down, and you shall go home alone."
+
+"My mother is waiting for me far down, towards the village," Aurora
+said.
+
+"All the better. A young lady like you should not go about without any
+one. It is not proper."
+
+Aurora suppressed a smile at the thought of being reproved concerning
+the proprieties by "Marcello's Regina," and she began the descent.
+Regina went down first, facing the rock, and planting the young girl's
+feet in the best stepping places, one after the other, with constant
+warnings and instructions as to holding on with her hands. They reached
+the bottom in safety, and came to the place where Regina had left her
+hat and shoes. She sat down where she had been sitting when she had
+first heard the cry, and began to put them on.
+
+"I had taken them off for coolness as I sat here," she explained. "You
+see, until I was fourteen I only wore them on Sundays."
+
+"And yet you have such beautiful feet," Aurora said.
+
+"Have I?" Regina asked indifferently. "I thought all feet were alike.
+But I have torn my stocking--it is hard to get the shoe on."
+
+"Let me help you." Aurora knelt down quickly, and began to loosen the
+lacing further, but Regina protested, flushing deeply and trying to draw
+her foot back.
+
+"No, no!" she cried. "You are a lady!"
+
+"What difference does that make?" asked Aurora, laughing and insisting.
+
+"This is not right!" Regina still protested, and the blush had not left
+her cheeks.
+
+But Aurora smoothed the torn stocking under the sole of each foot, and
+slipped on the shoes, which were by no means tight, and tied the lacing
+fast.
+
+"Thank you, Signorina," Regina said, much confused. "You are too good!"
+
+She picked up her hat and put it on, but she was not clever with the
+pin, for she was used to having Settimia do everything for her which she
+had not learned to do for herself before she had come to Rome.
+
+"I can never manage it without Settimia," she said, as if excusing
+herself for her awkwardness, as she again submitted to Aurora's help.
+
+"Settimia?" repeated the young girl, as she put the hat on and thrust a
+long pin through it. "Who is Settimia?"
+
+"Our--I mean my maid," Regina explained. "Thank you. You are too good!"
+
+"It is an uncommon name," Aurora said, looking critically at the hat.
+"But I think I have heard it before."
+
+"She is a wonderful woman. She knows French. She knows everything!"
+
+Aurora said nothing to this, but seemed to be trying to recall something
+she had long forgotten. Regina was very busy in her turn, pulling down
+the girl's frock all round, and brushing it with her hand as well as
+she could, and picking off bits of dry grass and thistles that clung to
+the grey woollen. Aurora thanked her.
+
+"The way down is very easy now," Regina said. "A few steps farther on we
+can see the road."
+
+"After all, why should you not come with me till we find my mother?"
+Aurora asked.
+
+"No," Regina answered with quiet decision. "I am what I am. You must not
+be seen with Regina. Do not tell your mother that you have been with me,
+and I shall not tell Marcello--I mean, Signor Consalvi."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Neither of them would be pleased. Trust me. I know the world. Good-bye,
+and the Madonna accompany you; and remember what I said when I took your
+hand."
+
+So they parted, and Regina stood up a long time, and watched the slender
+grey figure descending to the road in the valley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+"Variety, my dear Marcello, variety! There is nothing like it. If I were
+you, I would make some change, for your life must be growing monotonous,
+and besides, though I have not the least intention of reading you a
+lecture, you have really made your doings unnecessarily conspicuous of
+late. The Paris chroniclers have talked about you enough for the
+present. Don't you think so? Yes, finish the bottle. I always told you
+that champagne was good for you."
+
+Marcello filled his glass and sipped the wine before he answered. It had
+not gone to his head, but there was colour in his lean cheeks, his eyes
+were brighter than usual, and he felt the familiar exhilaration which he
+had missed of late.
+
+"I have been drinking milk for ten days," he said with a smile, as he
+set down the glass.
+
+"Good in its way, no doubt," Corbario answered genially, "but a little
+tiresome. One should often change from simple things to complicated
+ones. It is the science of enjoyment. Besides, it is bad for the
+digestion to live always on bread and milk."
+
+"I don't live on that altogether," laughed Marcello.
+
+"I mean it metaphorically, my dear boy. There is such a thing as
+simplifying one's existence too much. That sometimes ends in getting
+stuck. Now you cannot possibly allow yourself to get stuck in your
+present position. You know what I mean. Oh, I don't blame you! If I were
+your age I should probably do the same thing, especially if I had your
+luck. Blame you? No! Not in the least. The cigarettes are there. You've
+not given up smoking too? No, that's right. A man without a small vice
+is as uninteresting as a woman without a past or a landscape without
+shadows. Cigarettes never hurt anybody. Look at me! I used to smoke
+fifty a day when I was your age."
+
+Marcello blew a cloud of smoke, stirred his coffee, and leaned back. He
+had scarcely heard what Corbario said, but the elder man's careless
+chatter had put him at his ease.
+
+"Folco," he said quietly, "I want to ask you a question, and I want you
+to answer me seriously. Will you?"
+
+"As well as I can," answered Corbario, instantly changing his tone and
+growing earnest.
+
+"Don't be surprised," Marcello said, half apologetically, as if he were
+already weakening. "I shall never do anything without your advice. Of
+course you know how I feel about all this, that I am leading a
+disorderly life, and--well, you understand!"
+
+"Perfectly, my dear boy. I only wish to help you out of it as soon as
+possible, if you want to be helped. I'm quite sure that you will pull
+through in time. I have always believed in you."
+
+"Thank you. I know you have. Well, I'll ask you my question. You know
+well enough that I shall never care for society much, don't you?"
+
+"Society will care for you," answered Folco. "What is the question?"
+
+"I'm coming to it, but I want to explain, or it will not be quite clear.
+You see, it is not as if I were a personage in the world."
+
+"What sort of personage? Please explain."
+
+"I mean, if I were the head of a great house, with a great title and
+hereditary estate."
+
+"What has that to do with it?" Folco was mystified.
+
+"If I were, it would make a difference, I suppose. But I'm not. I'm
+plain Marcello Consalvi, no better than any one else."
+
+"But vastly richer," Folco suggested.
+
+"I wish I were not. I wish I were a poor clerk, working for my living."
+
+"The air of this place is not good for you, my boy." Folco laughed
+gaily.
+
+"No, don't laugh! I'm in earnest. If I were a poor man, nobody would
+think it at all strange if--" Marcello hesitated.
+
+"If what?"
+
+"If I married Regina," said Marcello rather desperately.
+
+Folco's expression changed instantly.
+
+"Was that the question you were going to ask me?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes."
+
+Marcello grew very red and smoked so fast that he choked himself.
+
+"Is there any earthly reason why you should marry her?" asked Folco very
+quietly.
+
+"It would be right," Marcello answered, gaining courage.
+
+"Yes, yes, undoubtedly," Folco hastened to admit. "In principle it would
+undoubtedly be right. But it is a very serious matter, my dear boy. It
+means your whole life and future. Have you"--he hesitated, with an
+affectation of delicacy--"have you said anything to her about it?"
+
+"I used to, at first, but she would not hear of it. You have no idea how
+simple she is, and how little she expects anything of the sort. She
+always tells me that I am to send her away when I am tired of her, to
+throw her away like an old coat, as she says herself. But I could never
+do that, you know. Could I?"
+
+Marcello blushed again, hardly knowing why. Corbario seemed deeply
+interested.
+
+"She must be a very unusual sort of girl," he observed thoughtfully.
+"There are not many like her, I fancy."
+
+"There is nobody like her," Marcello answered with conviction. "That is
+why I want to marry her. I owe it to her. You must admit that. I owe her
+my life, for I certainly should have died if she had not taken care of
+me. And then, there is the rest. She has given me all she has, and that
+is herself, and she asks nothing in return. She is very proud, too. I
+tried to make her accept a string of pearls in Paris, just because I
+thought they would be becoming to her, but she absolutely refused."
+
+"Really? I suppose you gave the pearls back to the jeweller?"
+
+"No, I kept them. Perhaps I shall get her to wear them some day."
+
+Folco smiled.
+
+"You may just as well encourage her simple tastes," he said. "Women
+always end by learning how to spend money, unless it is their own."
+
+Having delivered himself of this piece of wisdom Folco chose a cigar,
+nipped off the end of it neatly with a gold cutter, lit it and snuffed
+the rich smoke up his nose in a deliberate manner.
+
+"Regina is a very remarkable woman," he said at last. "If she had been
+well educated, she would make an admirable wife; and she loves you
+devotedly, Marcello. Now, the real question is--at least, it seems to me
+so--you don't mind my talking to you just as I would to myself, do you?
+Very well. If I were in your position, I should ask myself, as a man of
+honour, whether I really loved her as much as she loved me, or whether I
+had only been taken off my feet by her beauty. Don't misunderstand me,
+my boy! I should feel that if I were not quite sure of that, I ought not
+to marry her, because it would be much worse for her in the end than if
+we parted. Have you ever asked yourself that question, Marcello?"
+
+"Yes, I have."
+
+Marcello spoke in a low voice, and bent his head, as if he were not
+sure of the answer. Corbario, satisfied with the immediate effect of his
+satanic speech, waited a moment, sighed, looked down at his cigar, and
+then went on in gentle tones.
+
+"That is so often the way," he said. "A man marries a woman out of a
+sense of duty, and then makes her miserably unhappy, quite in spite of
+himself. Of course, in such a case as yours, you feel that you owe a
+woman amends--you cannot call it compensation, as if it were a matter of
+law! She has given everything, and you have given nothing. You owe her
+happiness, if you can bestow it upon her, don't you?"
+
+"Indeed I do!" assented Marcello.
+
+"Yes. The question is, whether the way to make her happy is to marry
+her, when you have a reasonable doubt as to whether you can be a good
+husband to her. That is the real problem, it seems to me. Do you love
+her enough to give up the life to which you were born, and for which you
+were educated? You would have to do that, you know. Our friends--your
+dear mother's friends, my boy--would never receive her, least of all
+after what has happened."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"You would have to wander about Europe, or live in San Domenico, for you
+could not bear to live in Rome, meeting women who would not bow to your
+wife. I know you. You could not possibly bear it."
+
+"I should think not!"
+
+"No. Therefore, since you have the doubt, since you are not absolutely
+sure of yourself, I think the only thing to do is to find out what you
+really feel, before taking an irreparable step."
+
+"Yes," said Marcello, who had fallen into the trap laid for him. "I know
+that. But how am I to make sure of myself?"
+
+"There is only one way," Folco answered. "I know it is not easy, and if
+I were not sure that you are perfectly sincere I should be afraid to
+propose it to you."
+
+"What is it? Tell me. You are the only friend I have in the world,
+Folco, and I want to do what is right. God knows, I am in earnest! There
+are moments when I cannot imagine living without Regina--it seemed hard
+to leave her this morning, even for these few hours, and I long to be
+back at Pontresina already! Yet you know how fond I am of you, and how I
+like to be with you, for we have always been more like brothers than
+anything else."
+
+"Indeed we have!" Folco assented fervently. "You were saying that there
+were moments--yes?"
+
+"Sometimes she jars upon me dreadfully," Marcello said in a low voice,
+as if he were ashamed of owning it. "Then I want to get away."
+
+"Exactly. You want to get away, not to leave her, but to be alone for a
+few hours, or a few days. That would be the very best thing you could
+do--to separate for a little while. You would very soon find out whether
+you could live without her or not; and believe me, if you feel that you
+can live without her, that means that you could not live with her for
+your whole life."
+
+"I should go back to her in twenty-four hours. I am sure I should."
+
+"Perhaps you would, if you went, say, from here to Paris alone, with
+nothing to distract your attention. But suppose that you and I should go
+together, to some place where we should meet our friends, all amusing
+themselves, where you could talk to other women, and meet men of your
+own age, and lead the life people expect you to lead, just for a few
+weeks. You know that society will be only too glad to see something of
+you, whenever you choose to go near it. You are what is called a good
+match, and all the mothers with marriageable daughters would run after
+you."
+
+"Disgusting!" exclaimed Marcello, with contempt.
+
+"No doubt, but it would be a wholesome change and a good test. When a
+young girl is determined to be a nun, she is generally made to spend a
+year in society, in order to make acquaintance with what she intends to
+give up. I don't see much difference between that and your case. Before
+you say good-bye for ever to your own world, find out what it is like.
+At the same time, you will settle for ever any doubts you have about
+really loving Regina."
+
+"Perhaps you are right. It would only be for a few days."
+
+"And besides," Folco continued, "if you have not yet found it dull at
+Pontresina, you certainly will before long. There is no reason why you
+should lead the life of an invalid, for you are quite strong now."
+
+"Oh, quite. I always tell Regina so, but she insists that I am too thin,
+and it amuses her to take care of me."
+
+"Naturally. That is how you first made acquaintance. A woman who has
+once taken care of a man she loves wants him to be ever afterwards an
+invalid, for ever getting better! A man gets tired of that in time. It
+was a great pity you left Paris just when I came, for there are many
+things we could have enjoyed together there."
+
+"I daresay," Marcello answered, not paying much attention to the other's
+words.
+
+"Take my advice, my dear boy," said Folco. "Come away with me for a few
+days. I will wait here till you are quite ready, for of course you
+cannot be sure of getting off at once. You will have to prepare Regina
+for this."
+
+"Of course. I am not sure that it is possible at all."
+
+Folco laughed gaily.
+
+"Anything is possible that you really wish to do," he said.
+
+"Regina may insist upon coming with me."
+
+"Nonsense. Women always submit in the end, and they never die of it.
+Assert yourself, Marcello! Be a man! You cannot be ordered about like a
+child by any woman, not even if she has saved your life, not even if
+she loves you to distraction. You have a right to a will of your own."
+
+"I know. And yet--oh, I wish I knew what I ought to do!"
+
+"Think over all I have said, and you will see that I am right," said
+Folco, rising from the table. "And if you take my advice, you will be
+doing what is fair and honest by Regina as well as by yourself. Your own
+conscience must tell you that."
+
+Poor Marcello was not very sure what had become of his own conscience
+during the past year, and Folco's arguments swayed him as he groped for
+something definite to follow, and found nothing but what Corbario chose
+to thrust into his hand.
+
+As they stood by the table, a servant brought a note on a little salver,
+holding it out to them as if he were not sure which of them was to
+receive it. Both glanced at the address; it was for Corbario, who took
+it quickly and put it into his pocket; but Marcello had recognised the
+handwriting--that rather cramped feminine hand of a woman who has seen
+better days, in which Settimia kept accounts for Regina. The latter
+insisted that an account should be kept of the money which Marcello gave
+her, and that he should see it from time to time. At the first moment,
+being absorbed with other matters, and inwardly much engaged in the
+pursuit of his own conscience, which eluded him at every turn like a
+figure in a dream, he paid no attention to what he had seen; but the
+writing had impressed itself on his memory.
+
+They had been lunching in Folco's sitting-room, and Corbario made an
+excuse to go into his bedroom for a moment, saying that he wanted
+certain cigars that his man had put away. Marcello stood at the window
+gazing down the broad valley. Scarcely a minute elapsed before Folco
+came back with a handful of Havanas which he dropped on a writing-table.
+
+"By the bye," he said carelessly, "there is another reason why you may
+not care to stay long in Pontresina. The Contessa and Aurora are there."
+
+"Are they?" Marcello turned sharply as he asked the question.
+
+He was surprised, and at the same instant it flashed upon him that Folco
+had just received the information from Settimia in the note that had
+been brought.
+
+"Yes," Folco answered with a smile. "And Pontresina is such a small
+place that you can hardly help meeting them. I thought I might as well
+tell you."
+
+"Thank you. Yes, it would be awkward, and unpleasant for them."
+
+"Precisely. The Contessa wrote me that she and Aurora had come upon you
+two unexpectedly in leaving a theatre, and that she had felt very
+uncomfortable."
+
+"Oh! I suppose she suggested that I should mend my ways?"
+
+"As a matter of fact, she did." Corbario smiled. "You know what a very
+proper person she is!"
+
+"She is quite right," answered Marcello gravely.
+
+"It certainly cannot have been pleasant for her, on account of Aurora."
+
+Folco looked at him thoughtfully, for his tone had suddenly changed.
+
+"If you don't mind," Folco said, "I think I will drive up with you and
+call on them this afternoon. You can drop me at their hotel, and I shall
+find my way back alone."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Are you sure you don't mind?" Folco affected to speak anxiously.
+
+"Why should I?"
+
+"You see," Folco said, without heeding the question, "they let me know
+that they were there, and as we are such old friends it would be strange
+if I did not go to see them."
+
+"Of course it would," answered Marcello in an absent tone.
+
+He already connected Folco's knowledge of the Contessa's arrival in
+Pontresina so closely with Settimia's note that Folco's last statement
+had taken him by surprise, and a multitude of confused questions
+presented themselves to his mind. If Settimia had not written about the
+Contessa, why had she written at all? How did she know where Corbario
+was stopping in Saint Moritz? Was she in the habit of writing to him?
+Corbario had found her for Regina; was Settimia helping Corbario to
+exercise a sort of paternal vigilance over him? Somehow Marcello did not
+like that idea at all. So far as he knew, Folco had always been
+singularly frank with him, and had never deceived him in the smallest
+thing, even "for his own good." Marcello could only attribute good
+motives to him, but the mere idea of being watched was excessively
+disagreeable. He wondered whether Settimia had influenced Regina to get
+him away from Paris, acting under directions from Corbario. Was Regina
+deceiving him too, "for his own good"? If there is anything a man cannot
+bear from those he loves best, it is that they should take counsel
+together secretly to direct him "for his own good."
+
+Marcello tried to put the thought out of his mind; but it had dawned
+upon him for the first time that Folco could tell even a pious
+falsehood. Yet he had no proof whatever that he had guessed right; it
+was a sudden impression and nothing more. He was much more silent during
+the rest of the afternoon as he drove up to Pontresina with Folco, and
+it seemed to him that he had at last touched something definite; which
+was strange enough, considering that it was all a matter of guess-work
+and doubt.
+
+And now fate awoke again and did one of those little things that decide
+men's lives. If Folco and Marcello had stopped at the door of the
+Contessa's hotel two minutes earlier, or thirty seconds later, than they
+did, they would not have chanced upon the Contessa and Aurora just
+coming in from a walk. But fate brought the four together precisely at
+that moment. As the carriage stopped, the two ladies had come from the
+opposite direction and were on the door-step.
+
+"What a surprise!" exclaimed the Contessa, giving her hand graciously
+to Folco and then to Marcello.
+
+The latter had got hold of a thread. Since the Contessa was surprised to
+see Folco, she could not possibly have already let him know that she was
+in Pontresina.
+
+"I came as soon as I knew that you were here," said Corbario quickly.
+
+Marcello heard the words, though he was at that moment shaking hands
+with Aurora, and their eyes had met. She was perfectly calm and
+collected, none the worse for her adventure in the morning, and
+considerably the wiser.
+
+"Will you come in?" asked the Contessa, leading the way, as if expecting
+both men to follow.
+
+Corbario went at once. Marcello hesitated, and flushed a little, and
+Aurora seemed to be waiting for him.
+
+"Shall I come, too?" he asked.
+
+"Just as you please," she answered. "My mother will think it strange if
+you don't."
+
+Marcello bent his head, and the two followed the others towards the
+stairs at a little distance.
+
+"Did your mother send word to Folco that you were here?" asked Marcello
+quickly, in a low tone.
+
+"Not that I know. Why?"
+
+"It is no matter. I wanted to be sure. Thank you."
+
+They went upstairs side by side, not even glancing at each other, much
+more anxious to seem perfectly indifferent than to realise what they
+felt now that they had met at last.
+
+Marcello stayed ten minutes in the small sitting-room, talking as well
+as he could. He had no wish to be alone with Aurora or her mother, and
+since the visit had been pressed upon him he was glad that Folco was
+present. But he got away as soon as he could, leaving Corbario to his
+own devices. The Contessa gave him her hand quietly, as if she had not
+expected him to stay, and she did not ask him to come again. Aurora
+merely nodded to him, and he saw that just as he went out she left the
+room by another door, after glancing at him once more with apparent
+coldness.
+
+He walked quickly through the village until he came near to his own
+hotel, and then his pace slackened by degrees. He knew that he had felt
+a strong emotion in seeing Aurora again, and he was already wishing that
+he had not come away so soon. The room had been small, and it had been
+uncomfortable to be there, feeling himself judged and condemned by the
+Contessa and distrusted by Aurora; but he had been in an atmosphere that
+recalled all his youth, with people whose mere presence together brought
+back the memory of his dead mother as nothing else had done since his
+illness. He was just in that state of mind in which he would have broken
+away and freed himself within the hour, at any cost, if he had been
+involved in a common intrigue.
+
+At the same time he had become convinced that Folco had deceived him,
+for some reason or other which he could not guess, and the knowledge was
+the first serious disillusionment of his life. The deception had been
+small, and perhaps intended in some mysterious way to be "for his own
+good"; but it had been a distinct deception and no better than a lie. He
+was sure of that.
+
+He went upstairs slowly and Regina met him at the door of their rooms,
+and took his hat and stick without a word, for she saw that something
+had happened, and she felt suddenly cold. He was quite unlike himself.
+The careless look was gone from his face, his young lips were tightly
+closed, and he looked straight before him, quite unconscious that his
+manner was hurting her desperately.
+
+"Has Settimia been out to-day?" he asked, looking at her quickly.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, surprised. "I went for a long walk this
+morning. She probably went out into the village. I cannot tell. Why do
+you ask?"
+
+"I wish to know whether she sent a note to Saint Moritz by a messenger.
+Can you find out, without asking her a direct question? I am very
+anxious to know."
+
+"I will try, but it will not be easy," said Regina, watching him.
+
+She had made up her mind that the blow was coming, and that Marcello was
+only putting off the moment when she must be told that he meant to leave
+her. She was very quiet, and waited for him to speak again, for she was
+too proud to ask him questions. His inquiry about Settimia was in some
+way connected with what was to come. He sat down by the table, and
+drummed upon it absently with his fingers for a moment. Then he looked
+up suddenly and met her eyes; his look of troubled preoccupation faded
+all at once, and he smiled and held out one hand to draw her nearer.
+
+"Forgive me," he said. "All sorts of things have happened to-day. I have
+been annoyed."
+
+She came and bent over him, turning his face up to hers with her hands,
+very gently. His eyes lightened slowly, and his lips parted a little.
+
+"You are not tired of Regina yet," she said.
+
+"No!" he laughed. "But you were right," he added, almost immediately.
+
+"I knew I was," she answered, but not as she had expected to say the
+words when she had seen him come in.
+
+She dared not hope to keep him always, but she had not lost him yet, and
+that was enough for the moment. The weight had fallen from her heart,
+and the pain was gone.
+
+"Was it what I thought?" she asked softly. "Does your stepfather wish to
+separate us?"
+
+"For a little while," Marcello answered. "He says we ought to part for a
+few weeks, so that I may find out whether I love you enough to marry
+you!"
+
+"And he almost persuaded you that he was right," said Regina. "Is that
+what happened?"
+
+"That--and something else."
+
+"Will you tell me, heart of my heart?"
+
+In the falling twilight he told her all that had passed through his
+mind, from the moment when he had seen Settimia's handwriting on the
+note. Then Regina's lips moved.
+
+"He shall pay!" she was saying under her breath. "He shall pay!"
+
+"What are you saying?" Marcello asked.
+
+"An Ave Maria," she answered. "It is almost dark."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+The little house in Trastevere was shut up, but the gardener had the
+keys, and came twice a week to air the rooms and sweep the paths and
+water the shrubs. He was to be informed by Settimia of Regina's return
+in time to have everything ready, but he did not expect any news before
+the end of September; and if he came regularly, on Tuesday and Saturday,
+and did his work, it was because he was a conscientious person in his
+way, elderly, neat, and systematic, a good sort of Roman of the old
+breed. But if he came on other days, as he often did, not to air the
+rooms, but to water and tend certain plants, and to do the many
+incomprehensible things which gardeners do with flower-pots, earth, and
+seeds, that was his own affair, and would bring a little money in the
+autumn when the small florists opened their shops and stands again, and
+the tide of foreigners set once more towards Rome. Also, if he had made
+friends with the gardeners at the beautiful villa on the Janiculum, that
+was not Corbario's business; and they gave him cuttings, and odds and
+ends, such as can be spared from a great garden where money is spent
+generously, but which mean a great deal to a poor man who is anxious to
+turn an honest penny by hard work.
+
+The immediate result of this little traffic was that the gardeners at
+the villa knew all about the little house in Trastevere; and what the
+gardeners knew was known also by the porter, and by the other servants,
+and through them by the servants of other people, and the confidential
+valet told his master, and the maid told her mistress; and so everybody
+had learned where "Consalvi's Regina" lived, and it was likely that
+everybody would know when she came back to Rome, and whether Marcello
+came with her or not.
+
+He had not taken Folco's advice, much to the latter's disappointment and
+annoyance. On the contrary, he and Regina had left the Engadine very
+suddenly, without so much as letting Corbario guess that they were going
+away; and Regina had managed to keep Settimia so very busy and so
+constantly under her eye that the maid had not been able to send Folco a
+word, warning him of the anticipated move. Almost for the first time
+Marcello had made up his mind for himself, and had acted upon his
+decision; and it seemed as if the exercise of his will had made a change
+in his character.
+
+They wandered from place to place; they went to Venice in the hottest
+season, when no one was there, and they came down to Florence and drove
+up to Vallombrosa, where they stumbled upon society, and were stared at
+accordingly. They went down to Siena, they stopped in Orvieto, and drove
+across to Assisi and Perugia; but they were perpetually drawn towards
+Rome, and knew that they longed to be there again.
+
+Marcello had plenty of time to think, and there was little to disturb
+his meditations on the past and future; for Regina was not talkative,
+and was content to be silent for hours, provided that she could see his
+face. He never knew whether she felt her ignorance about all they saw,
+and his own knowledge was by no means great. He told her what he knew
+and read about places they visited, and she remembered what he said, and
+sometimes asked simple questions which he could answer easily enough.
+For instance, she wished to know whether America were a city or an
+island, and who the Jews were, and if the sun rose in the west on the
+other side of the world, since Marcello assured her that the world was
+round.
+
+He was neither shocked nor amused; Ercole had asked him similar
+questions when he had been a boy; so had the peasants in Calabria, and
+there was no reason why Regina should know more than they did. Besides,
+she possessed wonderful tact, and now spoke her own language so well
+that she could pass for a person of average education, so long as she
+avoided speaking of anything that is learned from books. She was very
+quick to understand everything connected with the people she heard of,
+and she never forgot anything that Marcello told her. She was grateful
+to him for never laughing at her, but in reality he was indifferent. If
+she had known everything within bounds of knowledge, she would not have
+been a whit more beautiful, or more loving, or more womanly.
+
+But he himself was beginning to think, now that his faith in Folco had
+been shaken, and he began to realise that he had been strangely torpid
+and morally listless during the past years. The shock his whole system
+had received, the long interval during which his memory had been quite
+gone, the physical languor that had lasted some time after his recovery
+from the fever, had all combined to make the near past seem infinitely
+remote, to cloud his judgment of reality, and to destroy the healthy
+tension of his natural will. A good deal of what Corbario had called
+"harmless dissipation" had made matters worse, and when Regina had
+persuaded him to leave Paris he had really been in that dangerous moral,
+intellectual, and physical condition in which it takes very little to
+send a man to the bad altogether, and not much more to kill him
+outright, if he be of a delicate constitution and still very young.
+Corbario had almost succeeded in his work of destruction.
+
+He would not succeed now, for the worst danger was past, and Marcello
+had found his feet after being almost lost in the quicksand through
+which he had been led.
+
+He had not at first accused Folco of anything worse than that one little
+deception about the arrival of the Contessa, and of having caused him to
+be too closely watched by Settimia. Little by little, however, other
+possibilities had shaped themselves and had grown into certainties at an
+alarming rate. He understood all at once how Folco himself had been
+spending his time, while society had supposed him to be a broken
+hearted widower. A few hints which he had let fall about the things he
+would have shown Marcello in Paris suggested a great deal; his looks and
+manner told the rest, now that Marcello had guessed the main truth. He
+had not waited three months after his wife's death to profit by his
+liberty and the wealth she had left him. Marcello remembered the
+addresses he had given from time to time--Monte Carlo, Hombourg, Pau,
+and Paris very often. He had spoken of business in his letters, as an
+excuse for moving about so much, but "business" did not always take a
+man to places of amusement, and Folco seemed to have visited no others.
+Men whom Marcello had met had seen Corbario, and what they said about
+him was by no means indefinite. He had been amusing himself, and not
+alone, and the young men had laughed at his attempts to cloak his doings
+under an appearance of sorrowing respectability.
+
+As all this became clear to Marcello he suffered acutely at times, and
+he reproached himself bitterly for having been so long blind and
+indifferent. It was bad enough that he should have been leading a wild
+life with Regina in Paris within a few months of his mother's death, but
+even in the depths of his self-reproach he saw how much worse it was
+that Folco should have forgotten her so soon. It was worse than a slight
+upon his mother's memory, it was an insult. The good woman who was gone
+would have shed hot tears if she could have come to life and seen how
+her son was living; but she would have died again, could she have seen
+the husband she adored in the places where many had seen him since her
+death. It was no wonder that Marcello's anger rose at the mere thought.
+
+Moreover, as Marcello's understanding awoke, he realised that Folco had
+encouraged him in all he had done, and had not seemed pleased when he
+had begun to live more quietly. Folco would have made him his companion
+in pleasure, if he could, and the idea was horrible to Marcello as soon
+as it presented itself.
+
+It was the discovery that he had been mistaken in Corbario that most
+directly helped him to regain his foothold in life and his free will.
+There was more in the Spartan method than we are always ready to admit,
+for it is easier to disgust most men by the sight of human degradation
+than to strengthen them against temptation by preaching, or by the
+lessons of example which are so very peculiarly disagreeable to the
+normal man.
+
+"I am virtuous, I am sober, I resist temptation, imitate me!" cries the
+preacher. You say that you are virtuous, and you are apparently sober,
+my friend; and perhaps you are a very good man, though you need not
+scream out the statement at the top of your voice. But how are we to
+know that you have any temptations to resist? Or that your temptations
+are the same as ours, even supposing that you have any? Or that you are
+speaking the truth about yourself, since what you say is so extremely
+flattering to your vanity? Wherever there is preaching, those who are
+preached at are expected to accept a good deal on the mere word of the
+preacher, quite aside from anything they have been brought to believe
+elsewhere.
+
+"Temptation?" said a certain great lady who was not strong in theology.
+"That is what one yields to, isn't it?"
+
+She probably knew what she was talking about, for she had lived in the
+world a good while, as we have. But the preacher is not very often one
+of us, and he knows little of our ways and next to nothing of our real
+feelings; yet he exhorts us to be like him. It would be very odd if we
+succeeded. The world would probably stand still if we did, and most of
+us are so well aware of the fact that we do not even try; and the sermon
+simply has no effect at all, which need not prevent the preacher from
+being richly remunerated for delivering it.
+
+"Vice is very attractive, of course," he says, "but you must avoid it
+because it is sinful."
+
+And every time vice is mentioned we think how attractive it must be,
+since it is necessary to preach against it so much; and the more
+attractive it seems, the greater the temptation.
+
+"Should you like to try a vice or two?" said the Spartan, "Very well.
+Come with me, my boy, and you shall see what vice is; and after that, if
+you care to try it, please yourself, for I shall have nothing more to
+say!"
+
+And forthwith he played upon the string of disgust, which is the most
+sensitive of all the strings that vibrate in the great human instrument;
+and the boy's stomach rose, and he sickened and turned away, and
+remembered for ever, though he might try ever so hard to forget.
+
+Marcello at last saw Folco as he was, though still without understanding
+the worst, and with no suspicion that Folco wished him out of the world,
+and had deliberately set to work to kill him by dissipation; and the
+disgust he felt was the most horrible sensation that he could remember.
+At the same time he saw himself and his whole life, and the perplexity
+of his position frightened him.
+
+It seemed impossible to go back and live under the same roof with
+Corbario now. He flushed with shame when he remembered the luncheon at
+Saint Moritz, and how he had been almost persuaded to leave poor Regina
+suddenly, and to go back to Paris with his stepfather. He saw through
+the devilish cleverness of the man's arguments, and when he remembered
+that his dead mother's name had been spoken, a thrill of real pain ran
+through his body and he clenched his teeth and his hands.
+
+He asked himself how he could meet Folco after that, and the only answer
+was that if they met they must quarrel and part, not to meet again.
+
+He told Regina that he would not go back to the villa after they reached
+Rome, but would live in the little house in Trastevere. To his surprise,
+she looked grave and shook her head. She had never asked him what was
+making him so silent and thoughtful, but she had guessed much of the
+truth from little things; she herself had never trusted Corbario since
+she had first seen his face at the hospital, and she had long foreseen
+the coming struggle.
+
+"Why do you shake your head?" he asked. "Do you not want me at the
+little house?"
+
+"The villa is yours, not his," she said. "He will be glad if you will
+leave him there, for he will be the master. Then he will marry again,
+and live there, and it will be hard to turn him out."
+
+"What makes you think he wishes to marry again?"
+
+"He would be married already, if the girl would have him," answered
+Regina.
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"You told me to watch, to find out. I have obeyed you. I know
+everything."
+
+Marcello was surprised, and did not quite understand. He only remembered
+that he had asked her to ascertain whether Settimia had sent a note to
+Folco at Saint Moritz. After a day or two she told him that she was
+quite sure of it. That was all, and Regina had scarcely ever spoken of
+Folco since then. Marcello reminded her of this, and asked her what she
+had done.
+
+"I can read," she said. "I can read writing, and that is very hard, you
+know. I made Settimia teach me. I said with myself, if he should be away
+and should write to me, what should I do? I could not let Settimia read
+his letters, and I am too well dressed to go to a public letter-writer
+in the street, as the peasants do. He would think me an ignorant person,
+and the people in the street would laugh. That would not help me. I
+should have to go to the priest, to my confessor."
+
+"Your confessor? Do you go to confession?"
+
+"Do you take me for a Turk?" Regina asked, laughing. "I go to confession
+at Christmas and Easter. I tell the priest that I am very bad, and am
+sorry, but that it is for you and that I cannot help it. Then he asks me
+if I will promise to leave you and be good. And I say no, that I will
+not promise that. And he tells me to go away and come back when I am
+ready to promise, and that he will give me absolution then. It is always
+the same. He shakes his head and frowns when he sees me coming, and I
+smile. We know each other quite well now. I have told him that when you
+are tired of me, then I will be good. Is not that enough? What can I do?
+I should like to be good, of course, but I like still better to be with
+you. So it is."
+
+"You are better than the priest knows," said Marcello thoughtfully, "and
+I am worse."
+
+"It is not true. But if I had a letter from you, I would not take it to
+the priest to read for me. He would be angry, and tear it up, and send
+me away. I understood this at the beginning, so I made Settimia teach me
+how to read the writing, and I also learned to write myself, not very
+well, but one can understand it."
+
+"I know. I have seen you writing copies. But how has that helped you to
+find out what Folco is doing?"
+
+"I read all Settimia's letters," Regina answered, with perfect
+simplicity.
+
+"Eh?" Marcello thought he had misunderstood her.
+
+"I read all the letters she gets," Regina replied, unmoved. "When she
+was teaching me to read I saw where she kept all her letters. It is
+always the same place. There is a pocket inside a little black bag she
+has, which opens easily, though she locks it. She puts the letters
+there, and when she has read them over she burns them. You see, she has
+no idea that I read them. But I always do, ever since you asked me about
+that note. When I know that she has had a letter, I send her out on an
+errand. Then I read. It is so easy!"
+
+Regina laughed, but Marcello looked displeased.
+
+"It is not honest to do such things," he said.
+
+"Not honest?" Regina stared at him in amazement. "How does honesty enter
+into the question? Is Settimia honest? Then honest people should all be
+in the galleys! And if you knew how he writes to her! Oh, yes! You are
+the 'dear patient,' and I am the 'admirable companion.' They have known
+each other long, those two. They have a language between them, but I
+have learned it. They have no more secrets that I do not know.
+Everything the admirable companion does that makes the dear patient
+better is wrong, and everything that used to make him worse was right.
+They were killing you in Paris, they wanted you to stay there until you
+were dead. Do you know who saved your life? It was the Contessa, when I
+heard her say that you were looking ill! If you ever see her again,
+thank her, for I was blind and she opened my eyes. The devil had blinded
+me, and the pleasure, and I could not see. I see now, thanks to heaven,
+and I know all, and they shall not hurt you. But they shall pay!"
+
+She was not laughing now, as she said the last words under her breath,
+and her beautiful lips just showed her white teeth, set savagely tight
+as though they had bitten through something that could be killed. Folco
+Corbario was not timid, but if he had seen her then, and known that the
+imaginary bite was meant for his life, he would have taken special care
+of his bodily safety whenever she was in his neighbourhood.
+
+Marcello had listened in profound surprise, for what she said threw new
+light on all he had thought out for himself of late.
+
+"And you say that Folco is thinking of marrying again," he said, almost
+ashamed to profit by information obtained as Regina had got it.
+
+"Yes, he is in love with a young girl, and wishes to marry her."
+
+Marcello said nothing.
+
+"Should you like to know her name?" asked Regina.
+
+Still Marcello was silent, as if refusing to answer, and yet wishing
+that she should go on.
+
+"I will tell you," Regina said. "Her name is Aurora dell' Armi."
+
+Marcello started, and looked into her face, doubting her word for the
+first time. He changed colour, too, flushing and then turning pale.
+
+"It is not true!" he cried, rather hoarsely. "It cannot be true!"
+
+"It is true," Regina answered, "but she will not have him. She would not
+marry him, even if her mother would allow it."
+
+"Thank God!" exclaimed Marcello fervently.
+
+Regina sighed, and turned away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Ercole sat on the stone seat that ran along the wall of the inn, facing
+the dusty road. He was waiting in the cool dawn until it should please
+the innkeeper to open the door, and Nino crouched beside him, his head
+resting on his forepaws.
+
+A great many years had passed since Ercole had sat there the last time,
+but nothing had changed, so far as he could see. He had been young, and
+the women had called him handsome; his face had not been shrivelled to
+parchment by the fever, and there had been no grey threads in his thick
+black hair. Nino had not been born then, and now Nino seemed to be a
+part of himself. Nino's grandam had lain in almost the same spot then,
+wolfish and hungry as her descendant was now, and only a trifle less
+uncannily hideous. It was all very much the same, but between that time
+and this there lay all Ercole's life by the Roman shore.
+
+When he had heard, as every one had, how Marcello had been brought to
+Rome on the tail of a wine-cart, he had been sure that the boy had been
+laid upon it while the cart was standing before Paoluccio's inn in the
+night. He knew the road well, and the ways of the carters, and that they
+rarely stopped anywhere else between Frascati and Rome. Again and again
+he had been on the point of tramping up from the seashore to the place,
+to see whether he could not find some clue to Marcello's accident there,
+but something had prevented him, some old dislike of returning to the
+neighbourhood after such a long absence. He knew why he had not gone,
+but he had not confided the reason even to Nino, who was told most
+things. He had, moreover, been tolerably sure that nothing short of
+thumb-screws would extract any information from Paoluccio or his wife,
+for he knew his own people. The only thing that surprised him was that
+the boy should ever have left the inn alive after being robbed of
+everything he had about him that was worth taking.
+
+Moreover, since Marcello had been found, and was alive and well, it was
+of very little use to try and discover exactly what had happened to him
+after he had been last seen by the shore. But the aspect of things had
+changed since Ercole had heard the sailor's story, and his wish to see
+the place where the boy had been hidden so long overcame any repugnance
+he felt to visiting a neighbourhood which had unpleasant associations
+with his younger years.
+
+He sat and waited at the door, and before the sun rose a young woman
+came round the house with the big key and opened the place, just as
+Regina had done in old days. She looked at Ercole, and he looked at her,
+and neither said anything as she went about her work, sprinkling the
+floor with water and then sweeping it, and noisily pulling the heavy
+benches about. When this operation was finished, Ercole rose and went
+in, and sat down at the end of a table. He took some bread and cheese
+from his canvas bag and began to eat, using his clasp-knife.
+
+"If you wish wine," said the woman, "you will have to wait till the
+master comes down."
+
+Ercole only answered by raising his head and throwing out his chin,
+which means "no" in gesture language. He threw pieces of the bread and
+the rind of the cheese to his dog. Nino caught each fragment in the air
+with a snap that would have lamed a horse for a month. The woman glanced
+nervously at the animal, each time she heard his jagged teeth close.
+
+Paoluccio appeared in due time, without coat or waistcoat, and with his
+sleeves rolled up above the elbows, as if he had been washing. If he
+had, the operation had succeeded very imperfectly. He glanced at Ercole
+as he passed in.
+
+"Good-morning," he said, for he made it a point to be polite to
+customers, even when they brought their own food.
+
+"Good-morning," answered Ercole, looking at him curiously.
+
+Possibly there was something unusual in the tone of Ercole's voice, for
+Nino suddenly sat up beside his master's knee, forgetting all about the
+bread, and watched Paoluccio too, as if he expected something. But
+nothing happened. Paoluccio opened a cupboard in the wall with a key he
+carried, took out a bottle of the coarse aniseed spirits which the Roman
+peasants drink, and filled himself a small glass of the stuff, which he
+tossed off with evident pleasure. Then he filled his pipe, lit it
+carefully, and went to the door again. By this time, though he had
+apparently not bestowed the least attention on Ercole, he had made up
+his mind about him, and was not mistaken. Ercole belonged to the better
+class of customers.
+
+"You come from the Roman shore?" he said, with an interrogation.
+
+"To serve you," Ercole assented, with evident willingness to enter into
+conversation. "I am a keeper and watchman on the lands of Signor
+Corbario."
+
+Paoluccio took his pipe from his mouth and nodded twice.
+
+"That is a very rich gentleman, I have heard," he observed. "He owns
+much land."
+
+"It all belongs to his stepson, now that the young gentleman is of age,"
+Ercole answered. "But as it was his mother's, and she married Signor
+Corbario, we have the habit of the name."
+
+"What is the name of the stepson?" asked Paoluccio.
+
+"Consalvi," Ercole replied.
+
+Paoluccio said nothing to this, but lit his pipe again with a sulphur
+match.
+
+"Evil befall the soul of our government!" he grumbled presently, with
+insufficient logic, but meaning that the government sold bad tobacco.
+
+"You must have heard of the young gentleman," Ercole said. "His name is
+Marcello Consalvi. They say that he lay ill for a long time at an inn on
+this road--"
+
+"For the love of heaven, don't talk to me about Marcello Consalvi!"
+cried Paoluccio, suddenly in a fury. "Blood of a dog! If you had not the
+face of an honest man I should think you were another of those newspaper
+men in disguise, pigs and animals that they are and sons of evil
+mothers, and ill befall their wicked dead, and their little dead ones,
+and those that shall be born to them!"
+
+Paoluccio's eyes were bloodshot and he spat furiously, half across the
+road. Nino watched him and hitched the side of his upper lip on one of
+his lower fangs, which produced the effect of a terrific smile. Ercole
+was unmoved.
+
+"I suppose," he observed, "that they said it happened in your inn."
+
+"And why should it happen in my inn, rather than in any other inn?"
+inquired Paoluccio angrily.
+
+"Indeed," said Ercole, "I cannot imagine why they should say that it
+did! Some one must have put the story about. A servant, perhaps, whom
+you sent away."
+
+"We did not send Regina away," answered Paoluccio, still furious. "She
+ran away in the night, about that time. But, as you say, she may have
+invented the story and sent the newspaper men here to worry our lives
+with their questions, out of mere spite."
+
+"Who was this Regina?" Ercole asked. "What has she to do with it?"
+
+"Regina? She was the servant girl we had before this one. We took her
+out of charity."
+
+"The daughter of some relation, no doubt," Ercole suggested.
+
+"May that never be, if it please the Madonna!" cried Paoluccio. "A
+relation? Thank God we have always been honest people in my father's
+house! No, it was not a relation. She came of a crooked race. Her mother
+took a lover, and her father killed him, here on the Frascati road, and
+almost killed her too; but the law gave him the right and he went free."
+
+"And then, what did he do?" asked Ercole, slowly putting the remains of
+his bread into his canvas bag.
+
+"What did he do? He went away and never came back. What should he do?"
+
+"Quite right. And the woman, what became of her?"
+
+"She took other men, for she had no shame. And at last one of them was
+jealous, and struck her on the head with a paving stone, not meaning to
+kill her; but she died."
+
+"Oh, she died, did she?"
+
+"She died. For she was always spiteful. And so that poor man went to the
+galleys, merely for hitting her on the head, and not meaning to kill
+her."
+
+"And you took the girl for your servant?"
+
+"Yes. She was old enough to work, and very strong, so we took her for
+charity. But for my part, I was glad when she ran away, for she grew up
+handsome, and with that blood there surely would have been a scandal
+some day."
+
+"One sees that you are a very charitable person," Ercole observed
+thoughtfully. "The girl must have been very ungrateful if she told
+untrue stories about your inn, after all you had done for her. You had
+nourished a viper in your house."
+
+"That is what my wife says," Paoluccio answered, now quite calm. "Those
+are my wife's very words. As for believing that the young man was ever
+in this house, I tell you that the story is a wicked lie. Where should
+we have put him? In the cellar with the hogsheads, or in the attic with
+the maid? or in our own room? Tell me where we could have put him! Or
+perhaps they will say that he slept on the ceiling, like the flies? They
+will say anything, chattering, chattering, and coming here with their
+questions and their photographing machines, and their bicycles, and the
+souls of their dead! If you do not believe me, you can see the place
+where they say that he lay! I tell you there is not room for a cat in
+this house. Believe me if you like!"
+
+"How can I not believe such a respectable person as you seem to be?"
+inquired Ercole gravely.
+
+"I thank you. And since it happens that you are in the service of the
+young gentleman himself, I hope you will tell him that if he fancies he
+was in my house, he is mistaken."
+
+"Surely," said Ercole.
+
+"Besides," exclaimed Paoluccio, "how could he know where he was? Are not
+all inns on these roads alike? He was in another, that is all. And what
+had I to do with that?"
+
+"Nothing," assented Ercole. "I thank you for your conversation. I will
+take a glass of the aniseed before I go, if you please."
+
+"Are you going already?" asked Paoluccio, as he went to fetch the bottle
+and the little cast glass from which he himself had drunk.
+
+"Yes," Ercole answered. "I go to Rome. I stopped to refresh myself."
+
+"It will be hot on the road," said Paoluccio, setting the full glass
+down on the table. "Two sous," he added, as Ercole produced his old
+sheepskin purse. "Thank you."
+
+"Thank you," Ercole answered, and tipped the spirits down his throat.
+"Yes, it will be hot, but what can one do? We are used to it, my dog and
+I. We are not of wax to melt in the sun."
+
+"It is true that this dog does not look as if he were wax," Paoluccio
+remarked, for the qualities of Nino had not escaped him.
+
+"No. He is not of wax. He is of sugar, all sugar! He has a very sweet
+nature."
+
+"One would not say so," answered Paoluccio doubtfully. "If you go to the
+city you must muzzle him, or they will make you pay a fine. Otherwise
+they will kill him for you."
+
+"Do you think any one would try to catch him if I let him run loose?"
+asked Ercole, as if in doubt. "He killed a full-grown wolf before he was
+two years old, and not long ago he worried a sheepdog of the Campagna as
+if it had been nothing but a lamb. Do you think any one would try to
+catch him?"
+
+"If it fell to me, I should go to confession first," said Paoluccio.
+
+So Ercole left the inn and trudged along the road to Rome with Nino at
+his heels, without once looking behind him; past the Baldinotti houses
+and into the Via Appia Nuova, and on into the city through the gate of
+San Giovanni, where the octroi men stopped him and made him show them
+what he had in his canvas bag. When they saw that there was no cheese
+left and but little bread, they let him go by without paying anything.
+
+He went up to the left and sat down on the ground under the trees that
+are there, and he filled his little clay pipe and smoked a while,
+without even speaking to his dog. It was quiet, for it was long past the
+hour when the carts come in, and the small boys were all gone to school,
+and the great paved slope between the steps of the basilica and the gate
+was quite deserted, and very white and hot.
+
+Ercole was not very tired, though he had walked all night and a good
+part of the morning. He could have gone on walking till sunset if he had
+chosen, all the way to his little stone house near Ardea, stopping by
+the way to get a meal; and then he would not have slept much longer than
+usual. A Roman peasant in his native Campagna, with enough to eat and a
+little wine, is hard to beat at walking. Ercole had not stopped to rest,
+but to think.
+
+When he had thought some time, he looked about to see if any one were
+looking at him, and he saw that the only people in sight were a long way
+off. He took his big clasp-knife out of his pocket and opened it. As the
+clasp clicked at the back of the blade Nino woke and sat up, for the
+noise generally meant food.
+
+The blade was straight and clean, and tolerably sharp. Ercole looked at
+it critically, drew the edge over his coarse thumb-nail to find if there
+were any nick in the steel, and then scratched the same thumb-nail with
+it, as one erases ink with a knife, to see how sharp it was. The point
+was like a needle, but he considered that the edge was dull, and he drew
+it up and down one of the brown barrels of his gun, as carefully as he
+would have sharpened a razor on a whetstone. After that he stropped it
+on the tough leathern strap by which he slung the gun over his shoulder
+when he walked; when he was quite satisfied, he shut the knife again and
+put it back into his pocket, and fell to thinking once more.
+
+Nino watched the whole operation with bloodshot eyes, his tongue hanging
+out and quivering rhythmically as he panted in the heat to cool himself.
+When the knife disappeared, and the chance of a crust with it, the dog
+got up, deliberately turned his back to his master, and sat down again
+to look at the view.
+
+"You see," said Ercole to himself and Nino, "this is an affair which
+needs thought. One must be just. It is one thing to kill a person's
+body, but it is quite another thing to kill a person's soul. That would
+be a great sin, and besides, it is not necessary. Do I wish harm to any
+one? No. It is justice. Perhaps I shall go to the galleys. Well, I shall
+always have the satisfaction, and it will be greater if I can say that
+this person is in Paradise. For I do not wish harm to any one."
+
+Having said this in a tone which Nino could hear, Ercole sat thinking
+for some time longer, and then he rose and slung his gun over his
+shoulder, and went out from under the trees into the glaring heat, as if
+he were going into the city. But instead of turning to the left, up the
+hill, he went on by the broad road that follows the walls, till he came
+to the ancient church of Santa Croce. He went up the low steps to the
+deep porch and on to the entrance at the left. Nino followed him very
+quietly.
+
+Ercole dipped his finger into the holy water and crossed himself, and
+then went up the nave, making as little noise as he could with his
+hob-nailed boots. An old monk in white was kneeling at a broad
+praying-stool before an altar on the left. Ercole stood still near him,
+waiting for him to rise, and slowly turning his soft hat in his hands,
+as if it were a rosary. He kept his eyes on the monk's face, studying
+the aged features. Presently the old man had finished his prayer and got
+upon his feet slowly, and looked at Ercole and then at Nino. Ercole
+moved forward a step, and stood still in an attitude of respect.
+
+"What do you desire, my son?" asked the monk, very quietly. "Do you wish
+to confess?"
+
+"No, father, not to-day," answered Ercole. "I come to pray you to say
+three masses for the soul of a person who died suddenly. I have also
+brought the money. Only tell me how much it will be, and I will pay."
+
+"You shall give what you will, my son," the monk said, "and I will say
+the masses myself."
+
+Ercole got out his sheepskin purse, untied the strings, and looked into
+it, weighing it in his hand. Then he seemed to hesitate. The monk looked
+on quietly.
+
+"It is of your own free will," he said. "What you choose to give is for
+the community, and for this church, and for the chapel of Saint Helen.
+It is better that you know."
+
+Ercole drew the mouth of the purse together again and returned it to the
+inside of his waistcoat, from which he produced a large old leathern
+pocket-book.
+
+"I will give five francs," he said, "for I know that if you say the
+masses yourself, they will be all good ones."
+
+A very faint and gentle smile flitted over the aged face. Ercole held
+out the small note, and the monk took it.
+
+"Thank you," he said. "Shall I say the masses for a man or a woman?"
+
+"As it pleases you, father," Ercole answered.
+
+"Eh?" The old monk looked surprised.
+
+"It does not matter," Ercole explained. "Is not a mass for a man good
+for a woman also?"
+
+"We say 'his' soul or 'her' soul, as the case may be, my son."
+
+"Is that written in the book of the mass?" inquired Ercole
+distrustfully.
+
+"Yes. Also, most people tell us the baptismal name of the dead person."
+
+"Must I do that too?" Ercole asked, by no means pleased.
+
+"Not unless you like," the monk answered, looking at him with some
+curiosity.
+
+"But it is in the book of the mass that you must say 'his' or 'her'
+soul?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then the masses will not be good unless you say the right word." Ercole
+paused a moment in deep thought, and looked down at his hat. "It will be
+better to say the masses for a female," he said at length, without
+meeting the monk's eyes.
+
+"Very well," the latter answered. "I will say the first mass to-morrow."
+
+"Thank you," said Ercole. "My respects!"
+
+He made a sort of bow and hurried away, followed by Nino. The old monk
+watched him thoughtfully, and shook his head once or twice, for he
+guessed something of the truth, though by no means all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+"One might almost think that you wished to marry Aurora yourself," said
+Corbario, with a sneer.
+
+He was standing with his back to the fire in the great library of the
+villa, for it was late autumn again; it was raining hard and the air was
+raw and chilly.
+
+"You may think what you please," Marcello answered, leaning back in his
+deep leathern chair and taking up a book. "I am not going to argue with
+you."
+
+"Insufferable puppy," growled Folco, almost under his teeth; but
+Marcello heard.
+
+He rose instantly and faced the elder man without the slightest fear or
+hesitation.
+
+"If this were not my house, and you my guest, I would have you put out
+of doors by the servants," he said, in a tone Corbario had never heard
+before. "As it is, I only advise you to go before I lose my temper
+altogether."
+
+Corbario backed till his heels were against the fender, and tried to
+smile.
+
+"My dear Marcello!" he protested. "What nonsense is this? You know I am
+not in earnest!"
+
+"I am," said Marcello quietly enough, but not moving.
+
+The half-invalid boy was not a boy any longer, nor an invalid either,
+and he had found his hold on things, since the days when Folco had been
+used to lead him as easily as if he had no will of his own. No one would
+have judged him to be a weak man now, physically or mentally. His frame
+was spare and graceful still, but there was energy and directness in his
+movements, his shoulders were square and he held his head high; yet it
+was his face that had changed most, though in a way very hard to define.
+A strong manhood sometimes follows a weak boyhood, very much to the
+surprise of those who have long been used to find feebleness where
+strength has suddenly developed. Marcello Consalvi had never been
+cowardly, or even timid; he had only been weak in will as in body, an
+easy prey to the man who had tried to ruin him, body and soul, in the
+hope of sending him to his grave.
+
+"I really cannot understand you, my dear boy," Corbario said very
+sweetly. "You used to be so gentle! But now you fly into a passion for
+the merest thing."
+
+"I told you that I would not argue with you," Marcello said, keeping his
+temper. "This is my house, and I choose that you should leave it at
+once. Go your way, and leave me to go mine. You are amply provided for,
+as long as you live, and you do not need my hospitality any longer,
+since you are no longer my guardian. Live where you please. You shall
+not stay here."
+
+"I certainly don't care to stay here if you don't want me," Folco
+answered. "But this is really too absurd! You must be going mad, to take
+such a tone with me!"
+
+"It is the only one which any honourable man who knows you would be
+inclined to take."
+
+"Take care! You are going too far."
+
+"Because you are under my roof? Yes, perhaps. As my guest, if I have
+been hasty, I apologise for expressing my opinion of you. I am going out
+now. I hope you will find it convenient to have left before I come in."
+
+Thereupon Marcello turned his back on Corbario, crossed the great
+library deliberately, and went out without looking round.
+
+Folco was left alone, and his still face did not even express surprise
+or annoyance. He had indeed foreseen the coming break, ever since he had
+returned to the villa three weeks earlier, when Marcello had received
+him with evident coldness, not even explaining where he had been since
+they had last parted. But Folco had not expected that the rupture would
+come so suddenly, still less that he was literally to be turned out of
+the house which he still regarded as his own, and in which he had spent
+so many prosperous years. There had, indeed, been some coldly angry
+words between the two men. Marcello had told Folco quite plainly that he
+meant to be the master, and that he was of age, and should regulate his
+own life as he pleased, and he had expressed considerable disgust at the
+existence Folco had been leading in Paris and elsewhere; and Folco had
+always tried to laugh it off, calling Marcello prudish and
+hypersensitive in matters of morality, which he certainly was not. Once
+he had attempted an appeal to Marcello's former affection, recalling
+his mother's love for them both, but a look had come into the young
+man's eyes just then which even Corbario did not care to face again, and
+the relations between the two had become more strained from that time
+on.
+
+It might seem almost incredible that a man capable of the crimes
+Corbario had committed in cold blood, for a settled purpose, should show
+so little power of following the purpose to its accomplishment after
+clearing the way to it by a murder; but every one who has had to do with
+criminals is aware that after any great exertion of destructive energy
+they are peculiarly subject to a long reaction of weakness which very
+often leads to their own destruction. If this were not a natural law, if
+criminals could exert continually the same energy and command the same
+superhuman cunning which momentarily helped them to perpetrate a crime,
+the world would be in danger of being possessed and ruled by them,
+instead of being mercifully, and perhaps too much, inclined to treat
+them as degenerates and madmen. Their conduct after committing a murder,
+for instance, seems to depend much more on their nerves than on their
+intelligence, and the time almost invariably comes when their nerves
+break down. It is upon the moment when this collapse of the will sets in
+that the really experienced detective counts, knowing that it may be
+hastened or retarded by circumstances quite beyond the murderer's
+control. The life of a murderer, after the deed, is one long fight with
+such circumstances, and if he once loses his coolness he is himself
+almost as surely lost as a man who is carried away by his temper in a
+duel with swords.
+
+After Folco had killed his wife and had just failed to kill Marcello, he
+had behaved with wonderful calm and propriety for a little while; but
+before long the old wild longing for excitement and dissipation, so long
+kept down during his married life, had come upon him with irresistible
+force, and he had yielded to it. Then, in hours of reaction, in the
+awful depression that comes with the grey dawn after a night of wine and
+pleasure and play, terrible little incidents had come back to his
+memory. He had recalled Kalmon's face and quiet words, and his own
+weakness when he had first come to see Marcello in the hospital--that
+abject terror which both Regina and the doctor must have noticed--and
+his first impression that Marcello no longer trusted him as formerly,
+and many other things; and each time he had been thus disturbed, he had
+plunged deeper into the dissipation which alone could cloud such
+memories and keep them out of sight for a time; till at last he had come
+to live in a continual transition from recklessness to fear and from
+fear to recklessness, and he had grown to detest the very sight of
+Marcello so heartily that an open quarrel was almost a relief.
+
+If he had been his former self, he would undoubtedly have returned to
+his original purpose of killing Marcello outright, since he had not
+succeeded in killing him by dissipation. But his nerve was not what it
+had been, and the circumstances were not in his favour. Moreover,
+Marcello was now of age, and had probably made a will, unknown to
+Corbario, in which case the fortune would no longer revert to the
+latter. The risk was too great, since it would no longer be undertaken
+for a certainty amounting to millions. It was better to be satisfied
+with the life-interest in one-third of the property, which he already
+enjoyed, and which supplied him with abundant means for amusing himself.
+
+It was humiliating to be turned out of the house by a mere boy, as he
+still called Marcello, but he was not excessively sensitive to
+humiliation, and he promised himself some sort of satisfactory vengeance
+before long. What surprised him most was that the first quarrel should
+have been about Aurora. He had more than once said in conversation that
+he meant to marry the girl, and Marcello had chosen to say nothing in
+answer to the statement; but when Folco had gone so far as to hint that
+Aurora was in love with him and was about to accept him, Marcello had as
+good as given him the lie direct, and a few more words had led to the
+outbreak recorded at the beginning of this chapter.
+
+As a matter of fact Corbario understood what had led to it better than
+Marcello himself, who had no very positive reason for entirely
+disbelieving his stepfather's words. The Contessa and her daughter had
+returned to Rome, and Corbario often went to see them, whereas Marcello
+had not been even once. When Marcello had last seen Folco in the
+Engadine, he had left him sitting in their little room at the hotel.
+Folco was not at all too old to marry Aurora; he was rich, at least for
+life, and Aurora was poor; he was good-looking, accomplished, and ready
+with his tongue. It was by no means impossible that he might make an
+impression on the girl and ultimately win her. Besides, Marcello felt
+that odd little resentment against Aurora which very young men sometimes
+feel against young girls, whom they have thought they loved, or are
+really about to love, or are afraid of loving, which makes them rude, or
+unjust, or both, towards those perhaps quite unconscious maidens, and
+which no woman can ever understand.
+
+"My dear Harry, why will you be so disagreeable to Mary?" asks the
+wondering mother. "She is such a charming girl, and only the other day
+she was saying that you are such a nice boy!"
+
+"Humph!" snorts Harry rudely, and forthwith lights his pipe and goes off
+to the stables to growl in peace, or across country, or to his boat, or
+to any other heavenly place not infested by women.
+
+There had been moments when, in his heart, Marcello had almost said that
+it would serve Aurora right to be married to Corbario; yet at the first
+hint from the latter that she was at all in danger of such a fate,
+Marcello had broken out as if the girl's good name had been attacked,
+and had turned his stepfather out of the house in a very summary
+fashion.
+
+Having done so, he left the villa on foot, though it was raining hard,
+and walked quickly past San Pietro in Montorio and down the hill towards
+Trastevere. The southwest wind blew the rain under his umbrella; it was
+chilly as well as wet, and a few big leaves were beginning to fall from
+the plane-trees.
+
+He was not going to the little house, where Regina sat by the window
+looking at the rain and wishing that he would come soon. When he was
+down in the streets he hailed the first cab he saw, gave the man an
+address in the Forum of Trajan, and climbed in under the hood, behind
+the dripping leathern apron, taking his umbrella with him and getting
+thoroughly wet, as is inevitable when one takes a Roman cab in the rain.
+
+The Contessa was out, in spite of the weather, but Marcello asked if
+Aurora would see him, and presently he was admitted to the drawing-room,
+where she was sitting beside a rather dreary little fire, cutting a new
+book. She threw it down and rose to meet him, as little outwardly
+disturbed as if they had seen each other constantly during the past two
+years. She gave him her hand quietly, and they sat down and looked at
+the fire.
+
+"It won't burn," Aurora said, rather disconsolately. "It never did burn
+very well, but those horrid people who have had the apartment for two
+years have spoilt the fireplace altogether."
+
+"I remember that it used to smoke," Marcello answered, going down on his
+knees and beginning to move the little logs into a better position.
+
+"Thank you," Aurora said, watching him. "You won't succeed, but it's
+good of you to try."
+
+Marcello said nothing, and presently he took the queer little Roman
+bellows, and set to work to blow upon the smouldering spots where the
+logs touched each other. In a few seconds a small flame appeared, and
+soon the fire was burning tolerably.
+
+"How clever you are!" Aurora laughed quietly.
+
+Marcello rose and sat upon a low chair, instead of on the sofa beside
+her. For a while neither spoke, and he looked about him rather
+awkwardly, while Aurora watched the flames. It was long since he had
+been in the room, and it looked shabby after the rather excessive
+magnificence of the villa on the Janiculum, for which Corbario's taste
+had been largely responsible. It was just a little shabby, too, compared
+with the dainty simplicity of the small house in Trastevere. The
+furniture, the carpets, and the curtains were two years older than when
+he had seen them last, and had been unkindly used by the tenants to whom
+the Contessa had sub-let the apartment in order to save the rent.
+Marcello missed certain pretty things that he had been used to see
+formerly, some bits of old Saxe, a little panel by an early master, a
+chiselled silver cup in which there always used to be flowers. He
+wondered where these things were, and felt that the room looked rather
+bare without them.
+
+"It burns very well now," said Aurora, still watching the fire.
+
+"What has become of the old silver cup," Marcello asked, "and all the
+little things that used to be about?"
+
+"We took them away with us when we let the apartment, and they are not
+unpacked yet, though we have been here two months."
+
+"Two months?"
+
+"Yes. I was wondering whether you were ever coming to see us again!"
+
+"Were you? I fancied that you would not care very much to see me now."
+
+Aurora said nothing to this, and they both looked at the fire for some
+time. The gentle sound of the little flames was cheerful, and gave them
+both the impression of a third person, talking quietly.
+
+"I should not have come to-day," Marcello said at last, "except that
+something has happened."
+
+"Nothing bad, I hope!" Aurora looked up with a sudden anxiety that
+surprised him.
+
+"Bad? No. At least, I think not. Why are you startled?"
+
+"I have had a headache," Aurora explained. "I am a little nervous, I
+fancy. What is it that has happened?"
+
+Marcello glanced at her doubtfully before he answered. Her quick
+interest in whatever chanced to him took him back to the old times in an
+instant. The place was familiar and quiet; her voice was like forgotten
+music, once delightful, and now suddenly recalled; her face had only
+changed to grow more womanly.
+
+"You never thought of marrying Folco, did you?" he asked, all at once,
+and a little surprised at the sound of his own words.
+
+"I?" Aurora started again, but not with anxiety. "How can you think such
+a thing?"
+
+"I don't think it; but an hour ago, at the villa, he told me in almost
+so many words that you loved him and meant to accept him."
+
+A blush of honest anger rose in the girl's fair face, and subsided
+instantly.
+
+"And what did you say?" she asked, with a scarcely perceptible tremor in
+her tone.
+
+"I turned him out of the house," Marcello answered quietly.
+
+"Turned him out?" Aurora seemed amazed. "You turned him out because he
+told you that?"
+
+"That and other things. But that was the beginning of it. I told him
+that he was lying, and he called me names, and then I told him to go. He
+will be gone when I reach home."
+
+To Marcello's surprise, Aurora got up suddenly, crossed the room and
+went to one of the windows. Marcello rose, too, and stood still. She
+seemed to be looking out at the rain, but she had grasped one of the
+curtains tightly, and it looked as if she were pressing the other hand
+to her left side. For a second her head bent forward a little and her
+graceful shoulders moved nervously, as though she were trying to swallow
+something hard. Marcello watched her a moment, and then crossed the room
+and stood beside her.
+
+"What is it?" he asked in a low voice, and laying his hand gently on
+hers that held the curtain.
+
+She drew her own away quietly and turned her head. Her eyes were dry and
+bright, but there were deep bistre shadows under them that had not been
+there before, and the lower lids were swollen.
+
+"It is nothing," she answered, and then laughed nervously. "I am glad
+you have made your stepfather go away. It was time! I was afraid you
+were as good friends as ever."
+
+"We have not been on good terms since we parted in Pontresina. Do you
+remember when I left him in your sitting-room at the hotel? He had been
+trying to persuade me to go back to Paris with him at once. In fact--"
+he hesitated.
+
+"You intended to go," Aurora said, completing the sentence. "And then
+you changed your mind."
+
+"Yes. I could not do it. I cannot explain everything."
+
+"I understand without any explanation. I think you did right."
+
+She went back to the fireplace and sat down in the corner of the sofa,
+leaning far back and stretching out one foot to the fender in an
+unconscious attitude of perfect grace. In the grey afternoon the
+firelight began to play in her auburn hair. Now and then she glanced at
+Marcello with half-closed lids, and there was a suggestion of a smile on
+her lips. Marcello saw that in her way she was as beautiful as Regina,
+and he remembered how they had kissed, without a word, when the moon's
+rays quivered through the trees by the Roman shore, more than two years
+ago. They had been children then. All at once he felt a great longing to
+kneel down beside the sofa and throw his arms round her waist and kiss
+her once again; but at almost the same instant he thought of Regina,
+waiting for him by the window over there in Trastevere, and he felt the
+shame rising to his face; and he leaned back in his low chair, clasping
+his hands tightly over one knee, as if to keep himself from moving.
+
+"Marcello," Aurora began presently, but she got no further.
+
+"Yes?" Still he did not move.
+
+"I have something on my conscience." She laughed low. "No, it is
+serious!" she went on, as if reproving herself. "I have always felt that
+everything that has happened to you since we parted that morning by the
+shore has been my fault."
+
+"Why?" Marcello seemed surprised.
+
+"Because I called you a baby," she said. "If you had not been angry at
+that, if you had not turned away and left me suddenly--you were quite
+right, you know--you would not have been knocked down, you would not
+have wandered away and lost yourself. You would not have lost your
+memory, or been ill in a strange place, or--or all the rest! So it is
+all my fault, you see, from beginning to end."
+
+"How absurd!" Marcello looked at her and smiled.
+
+"No. I think it is true. But you have changed very much, Marcello. You
+are not a boy any longer. You have a will of your own now; you are a
+man. Do you mind my telling you that?"
+
+"Certainly not!" He smiled again.
+
+"I remember very well what you answered. You said that I should not
+laugh at you again. And that has come true. You said a good many other
+things. Do you remember?"
+
+"No. I was angry. What did I say? Everything that happened before I was
+hurt seems very far off."
+
+"It does not matter," Aurora answered softly. "I am glad you have
+forgotten, for though I was angry too, and did not care at the time, the
+things you said have hurt me since."
+
+"I am sorry," Marcello said gently, "very, very sorry. Forgive me."
+
+"It was all my fault, for I was teasing you for the mere fun of the
+thing. I was nothing but a silly school-girl then."
+
+"Yes. You have changed, too."
+
+"Am I at all what you expected I should be?" Aurora asked, after a
+moment's silence.
+
+Marcello glanced at her, and clasped his hands over his knee more
+tightly than ever.
+
+"I wish you were not," he answered in a low voice.
+
+"Don't wish that." Her tone was even lower than his.
+
+Neither spoke again for some time, and they did not look at each other.
+But the flames flickering in the small fireplace seemed to be talking,
+like a third person in the room. Aurora moved at last, and changed her
+position.
+
+"I am glad that you have quarrelled with your stepfather," she said. "He
+meant to do you all the harm he could. He meant you to die of the life
+you were leading."
+
+"You know that?" Marcello looked up quickly.
+
+"Yes. I have heard my mother and Professor Kalmon talking about it when
+they thought I was not listening. I always pretend that I am not
+listening when anybody talks about you." She laughed a little. "It is so
+much simpler," she added, as if to explain. "The Professor said that
+your stepfather was killing you by inches. Those were his words."
+
+"The Professor never liked him. But he was right. Have you seen him
+often?"
+
+"Yes." Aurora laughed again. "He always turns up wherever we are,
+pretending that it is the most unexpected meeting in the world. He is
+just like a boy!"
+
+"What do you mean? Is he in love with you?"
+
+"With me? No! He is madly in love with my mother! Fancy such a thing!
+When he found that we were coming back to Rome he gave up his
+professorship in Milan, and he has come to live here so as to be able to
+see her. So I hear them talking a great deal, and he seems to have found
+out a great many things about your stepfather which nobody ever knew. He
+takes an extraordinary interest in him for some reason or other."
+
+"What has he found out?" asked Marcello.
+
+"Enough to hang him, if people could be hanged in Italy," Aurora
+answered.
+
+"I should have thought Folco too clever to do anything really against
+the law," said Marcello, who did not seem much surprised at what she
+said.
+
+"The Professor believes that it was he that tried to kill you."
+
+"How is that possible?" Marcello asked, in great astonishment. "You
+would have seen him!"
+
+"I did. You had not been gone three minutes when he came round to the
+gap in the bank where I was standing. He came from the side towards
+which I had seen you go. It was perfectly impossible that he should not
+have met you. The Professor says he must have known that you were there,
+looking at the storm, but that he did not know that I was with you, and
+that he was lying in wait for you to strike you from behind. If we had
+gone back together he would not have shown himself, that's all, and he
+would have waited for a better chance. If I had only followed you I
+should have seen what happened."
+
+"That is the trouble," said Marcello thoughtfully. "No one ever saw what
+happened, and I remember nothing but that I fell forward, feeling that I
+had been struck on the back of the head. Did you not hear any sound?"
+
+"How could I, in such a gale as was blowing? It all looks dreadfully
+likely and quite possible, and the Professor is convinced that your
+stepfather has done some worse things."
+
+"Worse?"
+
+"Yes, because he did not fail in doing them, as he did when he tried to
+kill you."
+
+"But what must such a man be?" cried Marcello, suddenly breaking out in
+anger. "What must his life have been in all the years before my mother
+married him?"
+
+"He was a kind of adventurer in South America. I don't quite know what
+he did there, but Professor Kalmon has found out a great deal about him
+from the Argentine Republic, where he lived until he killed somebody and
+had to escape to Europe. If I were you I would go and see the Professor,
+since he is in Rome. He lives at No. 16, Via Sicilia. He will tell you a
+great deal about that man when he knows that you have parted for good."
+
+"I'll go and see him. Thank you. I cannot imagine that he could tell me
+anything worse than I have already heard."
+
+"Perhaps he may," Aurora answered very gravely.
+
+Then she was silent, and Marcello could not help looking at her as she
+leaned back in the corner of the sofa. Of all things, at that moment, he
+dreaded lest he should lose command of himself under the unexpected
+influence of her beauty, of old memories, of the failing light, of the
+tender shadows that still lingered under her eyes, of that exquisite
+small hand that lay idly on the sofa beside her, just within his reach.
+He rose abruptly, no longer trusting himself.
+
+"I must be going," he said.
+
+"Already? Why?" She looked up at him and their eyes met.
+
+"Because I cannot be alone with you any longer. I do not trust myself."
+
+"Yes, you do. You are a man now, and I trust you."
+
+He had spoken roughly and harshly in his momentary self-contempt, but
+her words were clear and quiet, and rang true. He stood still in silence
+for a moment.
+
+"And besides," she added softly, "she trusts you too."
+
+There was a little emphasis on the word "she" and in her tone that was a
+reproach, and he looked at her in wonder.
+
+"We cannot talk of her, you and I," she said, turning her eyes to the
+fire, "but you know what I mean, Marcello. It is not enough to be kind.
+We women do not think so much of that as you men fancy. You must be true
+as well."
+
+"I know it," Marcello answered, bending his head a little. "Good-bye,
+Aurora."
+
+"No. Not good-bye, for you will come again soon, and then again, and
+often."
+
+"Shall I?"
+
+"Yes, because we can trust each other, though we are fond of each other.
+We are not children any longer, as we used to be."
+
+"Then I will come sometimes."
+
+He took her hand, trying not to feel that it was in his, and he left her
+sitting by the rather dreary little fire, in the rather shabby room, in
+the grey twilight.
+
+As he drove through the wet streets, he went over all she had said, went
+over it again and again, till he knew her words by heart. But he did not
+try, or dare to try, to examine what he felt, and was going to feel. The
+manliness that had at last come to its full growth in him clung to the
+word "true" as she had meant it.
+
+But she, being left alone, leaned forward, resting her elbows on her
+knees and clasping her hands as she gazed at the smouldering remains of
+the fire. She had known well enough that she had loved him before he had
+come; she had known it too well when he had told her how he had driven
+Folco out of his house for having spoken of her too carelessly. Then the
+blood had rushed to her throat, beating hard, and if she had not gone
+quickly to the window she felt that she must have cried for joy. She was
+far too proud to let him guess that, but she was not too proud to love
+him, in spite of everything, though it meant that she compared herself
+with the peasant girl, and envied her, and in all maiden innocence would
+have changed places with her if she could.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+It was late in the evening when Marcello reached the villa, and was told
+that his stepfather had left suddenly with his valet, before sunset,
+taking a good deal of luggage with him. The coachman had driven him to
+the station and had seen no more of him. He had not left any message or
+note for Marcello. This was as it should be, and Marcello did not care
+to know whither he had gone, since he was out of the house. He was glad,
+however, that he had left Rome at once instead of going to an hotel,
+which would have made an interesting topic of conversation for gossips.
+
+Marcello vaguely wondered why Folco had told a perfectly gratuitous
+falsehood about Aurora, and whether he could possibly have lied merely
+for the sake of hurting him. If so, he had got his deserts. It mattered
+very little now, and it was a waste of thought to think of him at all.
+
+The young man had a big fire built in the library, and sat down in his
+favourite leathern chair under the shaded light. He was tired, but not
+sleepy, and he was glad to be alone at last, for he had felt Corbario's
+evil presence in the house, though they had met little of late, and it
+was a great relief to know that he would never return.
+
+He was glad to be alone, and yet he felt lonely, for the one condition
+did not make the other impossible. He was glad to be able to think in
+peace, but when he did think, he longed for some companionship in his
+thoughts, and he found that he was wishing himself back in the room that
+looked down upon the Forum of Trajan, with Aurora, and that she was
+telling him again that she could trust him; and yet the very thought
+seemed to mean that he was not to be trusted.
+
+Psychological problems are only interesting when they concern other
+people than ourselves, for there can be no problem where there is not a
+difficulty, and where the inner self is concerned there can be no
+difficulty that does not demand immediate solution if we are to find
+peace. Some men of very strong and thoughtful character are conscious of
+a sort of second self within themselves, to which they appeal in trouble
+as Socrates to his DÊmon; but most men, in trouble and alone, would turn
+to a friend if there were one at hand.
+
+Marcello had none, and he felt horribly lonely in his great house, as
+the faces of two women rose before him, on the right and left.
+
+But he was a man now, and as he sat there he determined to face the
+problem bravely and to solve it once and for ever by doing what was
+right, wheresoever he could convince himself that right lay, and without
+any regard for his own inclinations.
+
+He told himself that this must be possible, because where right and
+wrong were concerned it was never possible to hesitate long. A man is
+never so convinced that right is easy to distinguish and to do as when
+he has lately made up his mind to reform. Indeed, the weakness as well
+as the strength of all reformers lies in their blind conviction that
+whatever strikes them as right must be done immediately, with a haste
+that strongly resembles hurry, and with no regard for consequences. You
+might as well try, when an express train is running at full speed on the
+wrong track, to heave it over to the right one without stopping it and
+without killing the passengers. Yet most reformers of themselves and
+others, from the smallest to the greatest, seem to believe that this can
+be done, ought to be done, and must be done at once.
+
+Marcello was just then a reformer of this sort. He had become aware in
+the course of that afternoon that something was seriously wrong, and as
+his own will and character had served him well of late, he trusted both
+beforehand and set to work to find out the right track, with the
+distinct intention of violently transferring the train of his existence
+to it as soon as it had been discovered. He was very sure of the result.
+
+Besides, he had been brought up by a very religious woman, and a strong
+foundation of belief remained in him, and was really the basis of all
+his thinking about himself. He had been careless, thoughtless, reckless,
+since his mother had died, but he had never lost that something to which
+a man may best go back in trouble. Sometimes it hurt him, sometimes it
+comforted him vaguely, but he was always conscious that it was there,
+and had been there through all his wildest days. It was not a very
+reasoning belief, for he was not an intellectual man, but it was
+unchangeable and solid still in spite of all his past weakness. It bade
+him do right, blindly, and only because right was right; but it did not
+open his eyes to the terrible truth that whereas right is right, the
+Supreme Power, which is always in the right, does not take human life
+into consideration at all, and that a man is under all circumstances
+bound to consider the value of life to others, and sometimes its value
+to himself, when others depend upon him for their happiness, or safety,
+or welfare.
+
+Animated by the most sincere wish to find the right direction and follow
+it--perhaps because Aurora had said that she trusted him--yet blind to
+the dangers that beset his path, there is no knowing how many lives
+Marcello might not have wrecked by acting on the resolutions he
+certainly would have made if he had been left to himself another hour.
+
+He was deep in thought, his feet stretched out to the fire, his head
+leaning back against the leathern cushion of his chair, his eyes half
+closed, feeling that he was quite alone and beyond the reach of every
+one, if he chose to sit there until morning wrestling with his
+psychological problem.
+
+He was roused by the sharp buzz of the telephone instrument which stood
+on the writing-table. It was very annoying, and he wished he had turned
+it off before he had sat down, but since some one was calling he got up
+reluctantly to learn who wanted him at that hour. He glanced at the
+clock, and saw that it was nearly half-past ten. The instrument buzzed
+again as he reached the table.
+
+"I want to see Signor Consalvi at once; is it too late?" asked a man's
+voice anxiously.
+
+"I am Consalvi. Who are you, please?" asked Marcello.
+
+"Kalmon. Is it true that Corbario has left the villa?"
+
+"Yes. He left this afternoon."
+
+"Where is he now?"
+
+"He drove to the railway station. I don't know where he is gone. He left
+no address."
+
+"--railway station--no address--" Marcello heard the words as Kalmon
+spoke to some other person at his elbow, wherever he was.
+
+"May I come at once?" Kalmon asked.
+
+"Yes. I am alone. I'll have the lower gate opened."
+
+"Thanks. I shall be at the gate in twenty minutes. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye."
+
+Marcello hung up the receiver, rang the bell, and gave the order for the
+gate, adding that the gentleman who came was to be shown in at once.
+Then he sat down and waited.
+
+It was clear that Kalmon had learned of Corbario's departure from
+Aurora, perhaps through her mother. He had probably dined with them, for
+he was intimate at the house, and Aurora had spoken of Marcello's visit.
+There was no reason why she should not have done so, and yet Marcello
+wished that she had kept it to herself a little longer. It had meant so
+much to him, and it suddenly seemed as if it had meant nothing at all to
+her. She had perhaps repeated to her mother everything that had been
+said, or almost everything, for she was very fond of her.
+
+Marcello told himself roughly that since he had no right to love her,
+and was determined not to, he had no claim upon such little delicacies
+of discretion and silence on her part; and his problem stuck up its head
+again out of the deep water in which it lived, and glared at him, and
+shot out all sorts of questions like the wriggling tentacles of an
+octopus, inviting him to wrestle with them, if only to see how useless
+all wrestling must be. He rose again impatiently, took a cigar from a
+big mahogany box on the table, lit it and smoked savagely, walking up
+and down.
+
+It was half finished when the door opened and Kalmon was ushered in. He
+held out his hand as he came forward, with the air of a man who has no
+time to lose.
+
+"I am glad to see you," Marcello said.
+
+"And I am exceedingly glad that you were at home when I called you up,"
+Kalmon answered. "Have you really no idea where Corbario is?"
+
+"Not the slightest. I am only too glad to get rid of him. I suppose the
+Contessa told you--"
+
+"Yes. I was dining there. But she only told me half an hour ago, just as
+I was coming away, and I rushed home to get at the telephone."
+
+It occurred to Marcello that Kalmon need not have driven all the way to
+Via Sicilia from the Forum of Trajan merely for the sake of telephoning.
+
+"But what is the hurry?" asked Marcello. "Do sit down and explain! I
+heard this afternoon that you had strong suspicions as to Folco's part
+in what happened to me."
+
+"Something more than suspicions now," Kalmon answered, settling his big
+frame in a deep chair before the tire; "but I am afraid he has escaped."
+
+"Escaped? He has not the slightest idea that he is suspected!"
+
+"How do you know? Don't you see that as he is guilty, he must have soon
+begun to think that the change in your manner toward him was due to the
+fact that you suspected him, and that you turned him out because you
+guessed the truth, though you could not prove it?"
+
+"Perhaps," Marcello admitted, in a rather preoccupied tone. "The young
+lady seems to have repeated to her mother everything I said this
+afternoon," he added with evident annoyance. "Did the Contessa tell you
+why I quarrelled with Folco to-day?"
+
+"No. She merely said that there had been angry words and that you had
+asked him to leave the house. She herself was surprised, she said, and
+wondered what could have brought matters to a crisis at last."
+
+Marcello's face cleared instantly. Aurora had not told any one that he
+had quarrelled with his stepfather about her; that was quite evident,
+for there were not two more truthful people in the world than the
+Contessa and Kalmon, whose bright brown eyes were at that moment quietly
+studying his face.
+
+"Not that the fact matters in the least," said the Professor, resting
+his feet on the fender and exposing the broad soles of his wet
+walking-boots to the flame. "The important fact is that the man has
+escaped, and we must catch him."
+
+"But how are you so sure that it was he that attacked me? You cannot
+arrest a man on suspicion, without going through a great many
+formalities. You cannot possibly have got an eye-witness to the fact,
+and so it must be a matter of suspicion after all, founded on a certain
+amount of rather weak circumstantial evidence. Now, if it was he that
+tried to kill me, he failed, for I am alive, and perfectly well. Why not
+let him alone, since I have got rid of him?"
+
+"For a very good reason, which I think I had better not tell you."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I am not sure what you would do if you were told it suddenly. Are your
+nerves pretty good? You used to be a delicate boy, though I confess that
+you look much stronger now."
+
+"You need not fear for my nerves," Marcello answered with a short laugh.
+"If they are sound after what I have been through in the last two years
+they will stand anything!"
+
+"Yes. Perhaps you had better know, though I warn you that what I am
+going to say will be a shock to you, of which you do not dream."
+
+"You must be exaggerating!" Marcello smiled incredulously. "You had
+better tell me at once, or I shall imagine it is much worse than it is."
+
+"It could not be," Kalmon answered. "It is hard even to tell, and not
+only because what happened was in a distant way my fault."
+
+"Your fault? For heaven's sake tell me what the matter is, and let us be
+done with it!"
+
+"Corbario wanted to get possession of your whole fortune. That is why he
+tried to kill you."
+
+"Yes. Is that all? You have made me understand that already."
+
+"He had conceived the plan before your mother's death," said Kalmon.
+
+"That would not surprise me either. But how do you know it?"
+
+"Do you remember that discovery of mine, that I called 'the sleeping
+death'?"
+
+"Yes. What has that to do with it?" Marcello's expression changed.
+
+"Corbario stole one of the tablets from the tube in my pocket, while I
+was asleep that night."
+
+"What?" Marcello began to grow pale.
+
+"Your mother died asleep," said Kalmon in a very low voice.
+
+Marcello was transfixed with horror, and grasped the arms of his chair.
+His face was livid. Kalmon watched him, and continued.
+
+"Yes. Corbario did it. Your mother used to take phenacetine tablets when
+she had headaches. They were very like the tablets of my poison in size
+and shape. Corbario stole into my room when I was sound asleep, took one
+of mine, and dropped in one of hers. Then he put mine amongst the
+phenacetine ones. She took it, slept, and died."
+
+Marcello gasped for breath, his eyes starting from his head.
+
+"You see," Kalmon went on, "it was long before I found that my tablets
+had been tampered with. There had been seven in the tube. I knew that,
+and when I glanced at the tube next day there were seven still. The tube
+was of rather thick blue glass, if you remember, so that the very small
+difference between the one tablet and the rest could not be seen through
+it. I went to Milan almost immediately, and when I got home I locked up
+the tube in a strong-box. It was not until long afterwards, when I
+wanted to make an experiment, that I opened the tube and emptied the
+contents into a glass dish. Then I saw that one tablet was unlike the
+rest. I saw that it had been made by a chemist and not by myself. I
+analysed it and found five grains of phenacetine."
+
+Marcello leaned back, listening intently, and still deadly pale.
+
+"You did not know that I was trying to find out how you had been hurt,
+that I was in communication with the police from the first, that I came
+to Rome and visited you in the hospital before you recovered your
+memory. The Contessa was very anxious to know the truth about her old
+friend's son, and I did what I could. That was natural. Something told
+me that Corbario had tried to kill you, and I suspected him, but it is
+only lately that I have got all the evidence we need. There is not a
+link lacking. Well, when I came to Rome that time, it chanced that I met
+Corbario at the station. He had come by the same train, and was looking
+dreadfully ill. That increased my suspicion, for I knew that his anxiety
+must be frightful, since you might have seen him when he struck you, and
+might recognise him, and accuse him. Yet he could not possibly avoid
+meeting you. Imagine what that man must have felt. He tried to smile
+when he saw me, and said he wished he had one of those sleeping tablets
+of mine. You understand. He thought I had already missed the one he had
+taken, though I had not, and that he had better disarm any possible
+suspicion by speaking of the poison carelessly. Then his face turned
+almost yellow, and he nearly fainted. He said it was the heat, and I
+helped him to his carriage. He looked like a man terrified out of his
+senses, and I remembered the fact afterwards, when I found that one
+tablet had been stolen; but at the time I attributed it all to his fear
+of facing you. Now we know the truth. He tried to murder you, and on the
+same day he poisoned your mother."
+
+Kalmon sat quite still when he had finished, and for a long time
+Marcello did not move, and made no sound. At last he spoke in a dull
+voice.
+
+"I want to kill him myself."
+
+The Professor glanced at him and nodded slowly, as if he understood the
+simple instinct of justice that moved him.
+
+"If I see him, I shall kill him," Marcello said slowly. "I am sure I
+shall."
+
+"I am afraid that he has escaped," Kalmon answered. "Of course there is
+a possibility that he may have had some object in deceiving your
+coachman by driving to the railway station, but it is not at all likely.
+He probably took the first train to the north."
+
+"But he can be stopped at the frontier!"
+
+"Do you think Corbario is the man to let himself be trapped easily if he
+knows that he is pursued?" asked Kalmon incredulously. "I do not."
+
+He rose from his chair and began to walk up and down, his hands behind
+him and his head bent.
+
+Marcello paid no attention to him and was silent for a long time,
+sitting quite motionless and scarcely seeming to breathe. What he felt
+he never could have told afterwards; he only knew that he suffered in
+every fibre of his brain and body, with every nerve of his heart and in
+every secret recess of his soul. His mother seemed to have been dead so
+long, beyond the break in his memory. The dreadful truth he had just
+heard made her die again before his eyes, by the hand of the man whom he
+and she had trusted.
+
+"Kalmon," he said at last, and the Professor stopped short in his walk.
+"Kalmon, do you think she knows?"
+
+It was like the cry of a child, but it came from a man who was already
+strong. Kalmon could only shake his head gravely; he could find nothing
+to say in answer to such a question, and yet he was too human and kind
+and simple-hearted not to understand the words that rose to Marcello's
+lips.
+
+"Then she was happy to the end--then she still believes in him."
+
+Kalmon turned his clear eyes thoughtfully towards Marcello's face.
+
+"She is gone," he answered. "She knows the great secret now. The rest is
+nothing to the dead. But we are living and it is much to us. The man
+must be brought to justice, and you must help me to bring him down, if
+we have to hunt him round the world."
+
+"By God, I will!" said Marcello, in the tone of one who takes a solemn
+obligation.
+
+He rose and stood upright, as if he were ready, and though he was still
+pale there was no look of weak horror left in his face, nor any weakness
+at all.
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Kalmon. "I would rather see you so. Now listen to me,
+and collect your thoughts, Marcello. Ercole is in Rome. You remember
+Ercole, your keeper at the cottage by the shore? Yes. I got the last
+link in the evidence about Corbario's attack on you from him to-day. He
+is a strange fellow. He has known it since last summer and has kept it
+to himself. But he is one of those diabolically clever peasants that one
+meets in the Campagna, and he must have his reasons. I told him to sleep
+at my house to-night, and when I went home he was sitting up in the
+entry with his dog. I have sent him to the station to find out whether
+Corbario really left or not. You don't think he will succeed? I tell you
+there are few detectives to be compared with one of those fellows when
+they are on the track of a man they hate. I told him to come here, no
+matter how late it might be, since he is your man. I suppose he can get
+in?"
+
+"Of course. There is a night-bell for the porter. Ercole knows that.
+Besides, the porter will not go to bed as long as you are here. While we
+are waiting for him, tell me what Ercole has found out."
+
+They sat down again, and Kalmon told Marcello the sailor's story of what
+his captain had seen from the deck of the brigantine. Marcello listened
+gravely.
+
+"I remember that there was a small vessel very far in," he said. "Aurora
+will remember it, too, for she watched it and spoke of it. We thought it
+must run aground on the bar, it was so very near."
+
+"Yes. She remembers it, too. The evidence is complete."
+
+There was silence again. Marcello threw another log upon the fire, and
+they waited. Kalmon smoked thoughtfully, but Marcello leaned back in his
+chair, covering his eyes with one hand. The pain had not begun to be
+dulled yet, and he could only sit still and bear it.
+
+At last the door opened, and a servant said that Ercole was waiting, and
+had been ordered to come, no matter how late it was. A moment later he
+appeared, and for once without his dog.
+
+He stood before the door as it closed behind him waiting to be told to
+come forward. Marcello spoke kindly to him.
+
+"Come here," he said. "It is a long time since we saw each other, and
+now we are in a hurry."
+
+Ercole's heavy boots rang on the polished floor as he obeyed and came up
+to the table. He looked gloomily and suspiciously at both men.
+
+"Well?" said Kalmon, encouraging him to speak.
+
+"He is still in Rome," Ercole answered. "How do I know it? I began to
+ask the porters and the under station-masters who wear red caps, and the
+woman who sells newspapers and cigars at the stand, and the man who
+clips the tickets at the doors of the waiting-rooms. 'Did you see a
+gentleman, so and so, with a servant, so and so, and much luggage, going
+away by the train? For I am his keeper from the Roman shore, and he told
+me to be here when he went away, to give him a certain answer.' So I
+said, going from one to another, and weeping to show that it was a very
+urgent matter. And many shook their heads and laughed at me. But at last
+a porter heard, and asked if the gentleman were so and so. And I said
+yes, that he was so and so, and his servant was so and so, and that the
+gentleman was a rich gentleman. And the porter said, 'See what a
+combination! That is the gentleman who had all his luggage brought in
+this afternoon, to be weighed; but it was not weighed, for he came back
+after a quarter of an hour, and took some small things and had them put
+upon a cab, but the other boxes were left in deposit.' Then I took out
+four sous and showed them to the porter, and he led me to a certain
+hall, and showed me the luggage, which is that of the man we seek, and
+it is marked 'F.C.' So when I had seen, I made a show of being joyful,
+and gave the porter five sous instead of four. And he was very
+contented. This is the truth. So I say, he is still in Rome."
+
+"I told you so," said Kalmon, looking at Marcello.
+
+"Excuse me, but what did you tell the young gentleman?" asked Ercole
+suspiciously.
+
+"That you would surely find out," Kalmon answered.
+
+"I have found out many things," said Ercole gloomily.
+
+His voice was very harsh just then, as if speaking so much had made him
+hoarse.
+
+"He took some of his things away because he meant to spend the night in
+Rome," Kalmon said thoughtfully. "He means to leave to-morrow, perhaps
+by an early train. If we do not find him to-night, we shall not catch
+him in Rome at all."
+
+"Surely," said Ercole, "but Rome is very big, and it is late."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+It was still raining when the three men left the villa, and the night
+was very dark, for the young moon had already set. The wind howled round
+San Pietro in Montorio and the Spanish Academy, and whistled through the
+branches of the plane-trees along the winding descent, and furiously
+tore the withering leaves. They struck Ercole's weather-beaten face as
+he sat beside the coachman with bent head, with his soft hat pulled down
+over his eyes, and the rain dripped from his coarse moustache. Kalmon
+and Marcello leaned as far back as they could, under the deep hood and
+behind the high leathern apron.
+
+"There is some animal following us," the cabman said to Ercole as they
+turned a corner.
+
+"It is my dog," Ercole answered.
+
+"It sounds like a calf," said the cabman, turning his head to listen
+through the storm.
+
+"It is not a calf," answered Ercole gruffly. "It is my dog. Or if you
+wish it to be the were-wolf, it will be the were-wolf."
+
+The cabman glanced uneasily at his companion on the box, for the
+were-wolf is a thing of terror to Romans. But he could not see the
+countryman's features in the gloom, and he hastened his horse's pace
+down the hill, for he did not like the sound of those galloping feet
+behind his cab, in that lonely road, in the dark and the rain.
+
+"Where am I to go?" he asked, as he came near the place where a turn to
+the right leads out of the Via Garibaldi down to the Via Luciano Manara.
+
+But Kalmon knew where they were, even better than Marcello, to whom the
+road was familiar by day and night, in all weathers.
+
+"We must leave that message first," said the Professor to Marcello. "We
+are coming to the turning."
+
+"To Santa Cecilia," Marcello called out to the cabman, thrusting his
+head forward into the rain, "then I will tell you where to go."
+
+"Santa Cecilia," echoed the cabman.
+
+Ercole growled something quite unintelligible, to which his companion
+paid no attention, and the cab rattled on through the rain down the long
+paved street. It made such a noise that the dog's feet could not be
+heard any more. There were more lamps, too, and it seemed less gloomy
+than up there under the plane-trees, though there were no lights in the
+windows at that late hour.
+
+"Now to the right," said Ercole, as they reached the back of Saint
+Cecilia's at the Via Anicia.
+
+"To the right!" Marcello called out a second later from under the hood.
+
+"You seem to know the way," said the cabman to Ercole. "Why don't you
+give me the address of the house at once and be done with it?"
+
+"I know the house, but not the street, nor the number."
+
+"I understand. Does your dog also know the house?"
+
+To this question Ercole made no answer, for he considered that it was
+none of the cabman's business, and, moreover, he regretted having shown
+that he knew where his master was going. Marcello now gave the final
+direction to the cabman, who drew up before a door in a wall, in a
+narrow lane, where the walls were high and the doors were few. It was
+the garden entrance to the little house in Trastevere.
+
+Marcello got out, opened the door with the key he carried, and went in.
+It was raining hard, and he disappeared into the darkness, shutting the
+door behind him. It had a small modern lock with a spring latch that
+clicked sharply as it shut. The cab had stopped with the door on the
+left, and therefore on the side on which Ercole was sitting. Nino, the
+dog, came up from behind, with his tongue hanging out, blood-red in the
+feeble light of the cab's lamp; he put his head up above the low front
+wheel to have a look at Ercole. Being satisfied, he at once lay down on
+the wet stones, with his muzzle towards the door.
+
+Two or three minutes passed thus, in total silence. The cab-horse hung
+his head patiently under the driving rain, but neither stamped on the
+paving stones nor shook himself, nor panted audibly, for he was a pretty
+good horse, as cab-horses go, and was not tired.
+
+Suddenly Nino growled without moving, the ominous low growl of a dog
+that can kill, and Ercole growled at him in turn, making a sound
+intended to impose silence. There was no reason why Nino should growl at
+Marcello. But Nino rose slowly upon his quarters, as if he were about to
+spring at the door, and his rough coat bristled along his back. Then
+Ercole distinctly heard the latch click as it had done when Marcello
+went in, and Nino put his muzzle to the crack of the closed door and
+sniffed up and down it, and then along the stone step. To Ercole it was
+clear that some person within had opened the door noiselessly a little
+way and had shut it again rather hurriedly, on hearing the dog and
+seeing the cab. Whoever it was had wished to see if there were any one
+outside, without being seen, or perhaps had meant to slip out without
+being heard by any one in the house.
+
+Kalmon, leaning back inside, had not heard the sound of the latch, and
+paid no attention to Nino's growl. It was natural that such an animal
+should growl and snarl for nothing, he thought, especially on a rainy
+night, when the lamps of a cab throw strange patches of light on the
+glistening pavement.
+
+There was some reason why Ercole, who had heard, did not get down and
+tell the Professor, who had noticed nothing. One reason, and a good
+enough one, was that whoever it was that had opened the door so
+cautiously, it certainly was not the man they were all hunting that
+night. Yet since Ercole knew the little house, and probably knew who
+lived there, and that it belonged to Marcello, it might have been
+supposed that he would have told the latter, whose footsteps were heard
+on the gravel a few moments afterwards. But though Marcello stood a
+moment by the wheel close to Ercole, and spoke across him to the cabman,
+Ercole said nothing. Nino had not growled at Marcello, even before the
+latter had appeared, for Nino had a good memory, for a dog, and
+doubtless remembered long days spent by the Roman shore, and copious
+leavings thrown to him from luxurious luncheons. Before they had left
+the villa he had sniffed at Marcello's clothes and hands in a manner
+that was meant to be uncommonly friendly, though it might not have
+seemed reassuring to a stranger; and Marcello had patted his huge head,
+and called him by name.
+
+The young man had given the cabman the address of the office of the
+Chief of Police, and when he had got in and hooked up the leathern
+apron, the cab rolled away over the stones through the dark streets,
+towards the bridge of Saint Bartholomew.
+
+Within the house Regina sat alone, as Marcello had found her, her chin
+resting on the back of her closed hand, her elbow on her knee, her eyes
+gazing at the bright little fire that blazed on the polished hearth. Her
+hair was knotted for the night, low down on her neck, and the loose
+dressing-gown of dove-coloured silk plush was unfastened at the neck,
+where a little lace fell about her strong white throat.
+
+She had sprung to her feet in happy surprise when Marcello had entered
+the room, though it was not two hours since he had left her, and she
+could still smell the smoke of his last cigarette. She had felt a
+sudden chill when she had seen his face, for she never saw him look
+grave and preoccupied without believing that he had grown suddenly tired
+of her, and that the end had come. But then she had seen his eyes
+lighten for her, and she had known that he was not tired of her, but
+only very much in earnest and very much in a hurry.
+
+He had bidden her find out from Settimia where Corbario was, if the
+woman knew it; he had told her to find out at any cost, and had put a
+great deal of emphasis on the last words. In answer to the one question
+she asked, he told her that Corbario was a murderer, and was trying to
+escape. He had not time to explain more fully, but he knew that he could
+count on her. She did not love Folco Corbario, and she came of a race
+that could hate, for it was the race of the Roman hill peasants. So he
+left her quickly and went on.
+
+But when he was gone, Regina sat quite still for some time, looking at
+the fire. Settimia was safe in her own room, and was probably asleep. It
+would be soon enough to wake her when Regina had considered what she
+should say in order to get the information Marcello wanted. Settimia
+would deny having had any communication with Corbario, or that she knew
+anything of his whereabouts. The next step would probably be to tempt
+her with money or other presents. If this failed, what was to be done?
+Somehow Regina guessed that a bribe would not have much effect on the
+woman.
+
+Marcello had wished to send her away long ago, but Regina had persuaded
+him to let her stay. It was part of her hatred of Corbario to accumulate
+proofs against him, and they were not lacking in the letters he wrote to
+Settimia. Regina could not understand the relation in which they stood
+to each other, but now and then she had found passages in the letters
+which referred neither to herself nor Marcello, but to things that had
+happened a good many years ago in another country. She was convinced
+that the two had once been companions in some nefarious business, of
+which they had escaped the consequences. It was her intention to find
+out exactly what the deed had been, and then to bring Corbario to ruin
+by exposing it. It was a simple scheme, but it seemed a sure one, and
+Regina was very patient. Corbario had tried to separate her from
+Marcello, and she had sworn that he should pay her for that; and
+besides, he had wished to kill Marcello in order to get his money. That
+was bad, undoubtedly--very bad; but to her peasant mind it was not
+unnatural. She had heard all her life of crimes committed for the sake
+of an inheritance; and so have most of us, and in countries that fondly
+believe themselves much more civilised than Italy. That was extremely
+wicked, but the attempt had failed, and it sank into insignificance in
+comparison with the heinous crime of trying to separate two lovers by
+treachery. That was what Regina would not forgive Corbario.
+
+Nor would she pardon Settimia, who had been Corbario's instrument and
+helper; and as she meant to include the woman in her vengeance, she
+would not let her go, but kept her, and treated her so generously and
+unsuspiciously that Settimia was glad to stay, since Corbario still
+wished it.
+
+Regina looked at the little travelling-clock that stood on the low table
+at her elbow, and saw that it was half-past eleven. Behind the drawn
+curtains she could hear the rain beating furiously against the shutters,
+but all was quiet within the house. Regina listened, for Settimia's room
+was overhead, and when she moved about her footsteps could be heard in
+the sitting-room. Regina had heard her just before Marcello had come in,
+but there was no sound now; she had probably gone to bed. Regina lit a
+candle and went into her own room.
+
+On a shelf near the little toilet-table there was a box, covered with
+old velvet, in which she kept the few simple pins and almost necessary
+bits of jewellery which she had been willing to accept from Marcello.
+She took it down, set it upon the toilet-table and opened it. A small
+silver-mounted revolver lay amongst the other things, for Marcello had
+insisted that she should have a weapon of some kind, because the house
+seemed lonely to him. He had shown her how to use it, but she had
+forgotten. She took it out, and turned it over and over in her hands,
+with a puzzled look. She did not even know whether it was loaded or not,
+and did not remember how to open the chamber. She wondered how the thing
+worked, and felt rather afraid of it. Besides, if she had to use it, it
+would make a dreadful noise; so she put it back carefully amongst the
+things.
+
+There were the cheap little earrings she had worn ever since she had
+been a child, till Marcello had made her take them out and wear none at
+all. There was a miserable little brooch of tarnished silver which she
+had bought with her own money at a country fair, and which had once
+seemed very fine to her. She had not the slightest sentiment about such
+trifles, for Italian peasants are altogether the least sentimental
+people in the world; the things were not even good enough to give to
+Settimia, and yet it seemed wrong to throw them away, so she had always
+kept them, with a vague idea of giving them to some poor little girl, to
+whom they would represent happiness. With them lay the long pin she used
+to stick through her hair on Sundays when she went to church.
+
+It had been her mother's, and it was the only thing she possessed which
+had belonged to the murdered woman who had given her birth. It was
+rather a fine specimen of the pins worn by the hill peasant women, and
+was made like a little cross-hilted sword, with a blade of fire-gilt
+steel about eight inches long. A little gilt ball was screwed upon the
+point, intended to keep the pin from coming out after it was thrust
+through the hair. Regina took the ball off and felt the point, which was
+as sharp as that of a pen-knife; and she tried the blade with her hands
+and found that it did not bend easily. It was strong enough for what she
+wanted of it. She stuck it through the heavy knot of her hair, rather
+low down at the back of her neck, where she could easily reach it with
+her right hand; but she did not screw on the ball. It was not likely
+that the pin would fall out. She was very deliberate in all she did; she
+even put up her hand two or three times, without looking at herself in
+the mirror, to be quite sure where to find the hilt of the pin if she
+should need it. Marcello had told her to get the information he wanted
+"at any cost."
+
+Then she went back, with her candle, through the cheerful sitting-room,
+and out through a small vestibule that was now dark, and up the narrow
+staircase to find Settimia.
+
+She knocked, and the woman opened, and Regina was a little surprised to
+see that she was still dressed. She was pale, and looked very anxious as
+she faced her mistress in the doorway.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked, rather nervously.
+
+"Nothing," Regina answered in a reassuring tone. "I had forgotten to
+tell you about a little change I want in the trimming of that hat, and
+as I heard you moving about, I came up before going to bed."
+
+Settimia had taken off her shoes more than half an hour earlier in order
+to make no noise, and her suspicions and her fears were instantly
+aroused. She drew her lids together a little and looked over Regina's
+shoulder through the open door towards the dark staircase. She was not a
+tall woman, and was slightly made, but she was energetic and could be
+quick when she chose, as Regina knew. Regina quietly shut the door
+behind her and came forward into the room, carrying her candle-stick,
+which she set down upon the table near the lamp.
+
+"Where is that hat?" she asked, so naturally that the woman began to
+think nothing was wrong after all.
+
+Settimia turned to cross the room, in order to get the hat in question
+from a pasteboard bandbox that stood on the floor. Regina followed her,
+and stood beside her as she bent down.
+
+Then without the slightest warning Regina caught her arms from behind
+and threw her to her knees, so that she was forced to crouch down, her
+head almost touching the floor. She was no more than a child in the
+peasant woman's hands as soon as she was fairly caught. But she did not
+scream, and she seemed to be keeping her senses about her.
+
+"What do you want of me?" she asked, speaking with difficulty.
+
+Policemen know that ninety-nine out of a hundred criminals ask that
+question when they are taken.
+
+"I want to know several things," Regina answered.
+
+"Let me go, and I will tell you what I can."
+
+"No, you won't," Regina replied, looking about her for something with
+which to tie the woman's hands, for she had forgotten that this might be
+necessary. "I shall not let you go until I know everything."
+
+She felt that Settimia's thin hands were cautiously trying the strength
+of her own and turning a very little in her grasp. She threw her weight
+upon the woman's shoulders to keep her down, grasped both wrists in one
+hand, and with the other tore off the long silk cord that tied her own
+dressing-gown at the waist. It was new and strong.
+
+"You had better not struggle," she said, as she got the first turn
+round Settimia's wrists and began to pull it tight. "You are in my power
+now. It is of no use to scream either, for nobody will hear you."
+
+"I know it," the woman replied. "What are you going to do with me?"
+
+"I shall ask questions. If you answer them, I shall not hurt you. If you
+do not, I shall hurt you until you do, or until you die. Now I am going
+to tie your wrists to your heels, so that you cannot move. Then I will
+put a pillow under your head, so that you can be pretty comfortable
+while we talk a little."
+
+She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, which terrified Settimia much more
+than any dramatic display of anger or hatred could have done. In a few
+moments the woman was bound hand and foot. Regina turned her upon her
+side, and arranged a pillow under her head as she had promised to do.
+Then she sat down upon the floor beside the pillow and looked at her
+calmly.
+
+"In this way we can talk," she said.
+
+Settimia's rather stony eyes were wide with fear now, as she lay on her
+side, watching Regina's face.
+
+"I have always served you faithfully," she said. "I cannot understand
+why you treat me so cruelly."
+
+"Yes," Regina answered, unmoved, "you have been an excellent maid, and I
+am sorry that I am obliged to tie you up like the calves that are taken
+to the city on carts. Now tell me, where is Signor Corbario?"
+
+"How should I know?" whined Settimia, evidently more frightened. "I
+know nothing about Signor Corbario. I swear that I have hardly ever seen
+him. How can I possibly know where he is? He is probably at his house,
+at this hour."
+
+"No. You know very well that he has left the villa. It will not serve to
+tell lies, nor to say that you know nothing about him, for I am sure you
+do. Now listen. I wish to persuade you with good words. You and Signor
+Corbario were in South America together."
+
+Settimia's face expressed abject terror.
+
+"Never!" she cried, rocking her bound body sideways in an instinctive
+attempt to emphasise her words by a gesture. "I swear before heaven, and
+the saints, and the holy--"
+
+"It is useless," Regina interrupted. "You have not forgotten what you
+and he did in Salta ten years ago. You remember how suddenly Padilla
+died, when 'Doctor' Corbario was attending him, and you were his nurse,
+don't you?"
+
+She fixed her eyes sternly on Settimia's, and the woman turned livid,
+and ground her teeth.
+
+"You are the devil!" she said hoarsely. "But it is all a lie!" she
+cried, suddenly trying denial again. "I was never in South America,
+never, never, never!"
+
+"This is a lie," observed Regina, with perfect calm. "If you do not tell
+me where Signor Corbario is to-night, I shall go to the police to-morrow
+and tell all I know about you."
+
+"You know nothing. What is all this that you are inventing? You are a
+wicked woman!"
+
+"Take care! Perhaps I am a wicked woman. Who knows! I am not a saint,
+but you are not my confessor. It is the contrary, perhaps; and perhaps
+you will have to confess to me this night, before going to the other
+world, if you confess at all. Where is Signor Corbario?"
+
+As she asked the question, she quietly took the long pin from her hair
+and began to play with the point.
+
+"Are you going to murder me?" groaned the wretched woman, watching the
+terrible little weapon.
+
+"I should not call it murder to kill you. This point is sharp. Should
+you like to feel it? You shall. In this way you will perhaps be
+persuaded to speak."
+
+She gently pressed the point against Settimia's cheek.
+
+"Don't move, or you will scratch yourself," she said, as the woman tried
+to draw back her face. "Now, will you tell me where Signor Corbario is?
+I want to know."
+
+Settimia must have feared Corbario more than she feared Regina and the
+sharp pin at that moment, for she shook her head and set her teeth.
+Perhaps she believed that Regina was only threatening her, and did not
+mean to do her any real bodily hurt; but in this she was misled by
+Regina's very quiet manner.
+
+"I shall wait a little while," said Regina, almost indifferently, "and
+then, if you do not tell me, I shall begin to kill you. It may take a
+long time, and you will scream a good deal, but nobody will hear you.
+Now think a little, and decide what you will do."
+
+Regina laid the pin upon the floor beside her, drew up her knees, and
+clasped her hands together over them, as the hill women often sit for
+hours when they are waiting for anything.
+
+Her face hardened slowly until it had an expression which Marcello had
+never seen. It was not a look of cruelty, nor of fierce anticipated
+satisfaction in what she meant to do; it was simply cold and relentless,
+and Settimia gazed with terror on the splendid marble profile, so
+fearfully distinct against the dark wall in the bright light of the
+lamp. The strength of the woman, quietly waiting to kill, seemed to fill
+the room; her figure seemed to grow gigantic in the terrified eyes of
+her prisoner; the slow, regular heave of her bosom as she breathed was
+telling the seconds and minutes of fate, that would never reach an hour.
+
+It is bad to see death very near when one is tied hand and foot and
+cannot fight for life. Most people cannot bear the sight quietly for a
+quarter of an hour; they break down altogether, or struggle furiously,
+like animals, though they know it is perfectly useless and that they
+have no chance. Anything is easier than to lie still, watching the knife
+and wondering when and where it is going to enter into the flesh.
+
+Regina sat thinking and ready. She wished that she had Corbario himself
+in her power, but it was something to have the woman who had helped
+him. She was very glad that she had insisted on keeping Settimia in
+spite of Marcello's remonstrances. It had made it possible to obtain the
+information he wanted, and which, she felt sure, was to lead to
+Corbario's destruction. She was to find out "at any cost"; those had
+been Marcello's words, and she supposed he knew that she would obey him
+to the letter. For she said to herself that he was the master, and that
+if she did not obey him in such a matter, when he seemed so much in
+earnest, he would be disappointed, and angry, and would then grow
+quickly tired of her, and so the end would come. "At any cost," as he
+had said it in his haste, meant to Regina at the cost of blood, and
+life, and limb, if need were. Corbario was the enemy of the man she
+loved; it was her lover's pleasure to find out his enemy and to be
+revenged at last; what sort of woman must she be if she did not help
+him? what was her love worth if she did not obey him? He had been always
+kind to her, and more than kind; but it would have been quite the same
+if he had treated her worse than a dog, provided he did not send her
+away from him. She belonged to him, and he was the master, to do as he
+pleased. If he sent her away, she would go; but if not, he might have
+beaten her and she would never have complained. Now that he had given a
+simple command, she was not going to disobey him. She had pride, but it
+was not for him, and in her veins the blood of sixty generations of
+slaves and serfs had come down to her through two thousand years, the
+blood of men who had killed when they were bidden to kill by their
+masters, whose masters had killed them like sheep in war and often in
+peace, of women who had been reckoned as goods and as chattels with the
+land on which their mothers had borne them--of men and women too often
+familiar with murder and sudden death from their cradles to their
+graves.
+
+The minutes passed and Settimia's terror grew till the room swam with
+her, and she lost hold upon herself, and did not know whether she
+screamed or was silent, as her parched lips opened wide upon her parted
+teeth. But she had made no sound, and Regina did not even look at her.
+Death had not come yet; there was a respite of seconds, perhaps of
+minutes.
+
+At last Regina unclasped her hands and took up the pin again. The
+miserable woman fancied that she already felt the little blade creeping
+through her flesh and blood on its way to her heart. For Regina had said
+she would take a long time to kill her. It must have been a strong
+reason that could keep her silent still, if she knew the answer to the
+question.
+
+Regina turned her head very slowly and looked coldly down at the
+agonised face.
+
+"I am tired," she said. "I cannot wait any longer."
+
+Settimia's eyes seemed to be starting from her head, and her dry lips
+were stretched till they cracked, and she thought she had screamed
+again; but she had not, for her throat was paralysed with fear. Regina
+rose upon her knees beside the pillow, with the pin in her right hand.
+
+"Where is Corbario?" she asked, looking down. "If you will not tell I
+shall hurt you."
+
+Settimia's lips moved, as if she were trying to speak, but no words came
+from them. Regina got up from the floor, went to the washstand and
+poured some water into the glass, for she thought it possible that the
+woman was really unable to utter a sound because her throat was parched
+with fear. But she could speak a little as soon as Regina left her side,
+and the last peril seemed a few seconds less near.
+
+"For the love of God, don't kill me yet," she moaned. "Let me speak
+first!"
+
+Regina came back, knelt down, and set the glass on the floor, beside the
+pin.
+
+"That is all I want," she said quietly, "that you should speak."
+
+"Water," moaned Settimia, turning her eyes to the glass.
+
+Regina held up her head a little and set the tumbler to her lips, and
+she drank eagerly. The fear of death is more parching than wound-fever
+or passion.
+
+"Now you can surely talk a little," Regina said.
+
+"Why do you wish to know where he is?" Settimia asked in a weak voice.
+"Are the police looking for him? What has he done? Why do you want me to
+betray him?"
+
+"These are too many questions," Regina answered. "I have been told to
+make you tell where he is, and I will. That is enough."
+
+"I do not know where he is."
+
+In an instant the point of the sharp little blade was pressing against
+the woman's throat, harder and harder; one second more and it would
+pierce the skin and draw blood.
+
+"Stop," she screamed, with a convulsion of her whole body. "He is in the
+house!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+With a single movement Regina was on her feet, for she had been taken by
+surprise, and her first instinct was to be ready for some new and
+unsuspected danger. In a flash it seemed to her that since Corbario was
+in the house, he might very possibly enter suddenly and take Settimia's
+defence. Regina was not afraid of him, but she was only a woman after
+all, and Corbario was not a man to stop at trifles. He was very likely
+armed, and would perhaps shoot her, in order to make good his escape
+with Settimia, unless, as was quite probable, he killed his old
+accomplice too, before leaving the room.
+
+Regina stood still a moment, reflecting on the dangerous situation. It
+certainly would not be safe to release Settimia yet; for if Corbario
+were really in the house, the two together could easily overpower one
+woman, though she was strong.
+
+"I am sorry that I cannot untie you yet," Regina said, and with a glance
+at the prostrate figure she took up her candle-stick, stuck her pin
+through her hair before the mirror, and went to the door.
+
+She took the key from the lock, put it back on the outside, and turned
+it, and put it into her pocket when she had shut the door after her.
+Then she slowly descended the stairs, stopping now and then to listen,
+and shading her candle with her hand so that she could see over it, for
+she expected to be attacked at any moment. At the slightest sound she
+would have snatched her pin from her hair again, but she heard nothing,
+and went cautiously down till she reached the vestibule outside the
+sitting-room. She entered the latter and sat down to think.
+
+Should she boldly search the house? Settimia could hardly have had any
+object in lying. If she had meant to frighten Regina, she would have
+spoken very differently. She would have made out that Corbario was
+almost within hearing, waiting in a dark corner with a loaded revolver.
+But her words had been the cry of truth, uttered to save her life at the
+moment when death was actually upon her. She would have screamed out the
+truth just as certainly if Corbario had already left Rome, or if he were
+in some hotel for the night--or even if she had really known nothing. In
+the last case Regina would have believed her, and would have let her go.
+There is no mistaking the accent of mortal terror, whether one has ever
+heard it or not.
+
+Corbario was somewhere in the house, Marcello's enemy, and the man she
+herself had long hated. A wild longing came over her to have him in her
+power, bound hand and foot like Settimia, and then to torment him at her
+pleasure until he died. She felt the strength of half a dozen men in
+her, and the courage of an army, as she rose to her feet once more. She
+had seen him. He was not a big man. If she could catch him from behind,
+as she had caught the woman, she might perhaps overpower him. With the
+thought of near revenge the last ray of caution disappeared, and from
+being fearless Regina became suddenly reckless.
+
+But as she rose, she heard a sound overhead, and it was the unmistakable
+sound of footsteps. She started in surprise. It was simply impossible
+that Settimia should have loosed the cord that bound her. Regina had
+been brought up in the low hill country and in the Campagna, and she
+could tie some of the knots used by Roman muleteers and carters, which
+hold as well as those men learn at sea. She had tied Settimia very
+firmly, and short of a miracle the woman could not have freed herself.
+Yet the footsteps had been distinctly audible for a moment. Since
+Settimia was not walking about, Corbario must have got into the room.
+Yet Regina had locked the door, and had the key in her pocket. It was
+perfectly incomprehensible. She left the sitting-room again, carrying
+her candle as before; but at the door she turned back, and set the
+candle-stick upon the table. She would be safer in the dark, and would
+have a better chance of taking Corbario by surprise.
+
+Poor Regina had not grown up amongst people who had a high standard of
+honour, and her own ideas about right and wrong were primitive, to speak
+charitably. But if she had dreamt of the deed that was being done
+upstairs, her heart would have stood still, and she would have felt sick
+at the mere thought of such villainy.
+
+She had left the room and locked the door, and while her footsteps had
+been audible on the stairs no other sound had broken the stillness. But
+a few seconds later a whispered question came from some person out of
+sight.
+
+"Is she gone?" the whisper asked.
+
+"Yes," answered Settimia in a very low voice, which she knew Regina
+could not hear.
+
+Corbario's pale face cautiously emerged from the closet in which he had
+been hidden, and he looked round the room before he stepped out.
+Settimia could not turn over to see him, but she heard him coming
+towards her.
+
+"Cut this cord," she said in an undertone. "Make haste! We can be out of
+the house in less than half a minute."
+
+Corbario knelt beside her, and took out a handsome English clasp-knife.
+But he did not cut the cord. He looked down into Settimia's face, and
+she understood.
+
+"I could not help it," she answered. "She would have killed me!"
+
+Corbario laid his left hand upon her throat.
+
+"If you try to scream I shall strangle you," he said in a whisper. "You
+have betrayed me, and I cannot afford to trust you again. Do you know
+what I am going to do?"
+
+She tried to turn her head, but his hand was heavy on her throat. She
+strained frightfully to move, and her stony eyes lit up with a dying
+glare of terror.
+
+"Do it quickly!" she gasped.
+
+"Hush!" His hand tightened on her throat. "If you were in Salta, you
+should die by tenths of inches, if it took all night! That would be too
+good for you."
+
+He spat in her face as she writhed under his grasp. He looked into her
+living eyes once more with all the cowardly hate that possessed him, he
+struck deep and sure, he saw the light break in the pupils, and heard
+the awful rattle of her last breath.
+
+In an instant he was at the window, and had thrown it wide open. He got
+out quickly, let himself down with his hands, and pushed himself away
+from the wall with his feet as he jumped down backwards, well knowing
+that there was grass below him, and that the earth was as soft as sponge
+with the long rain. He was sure that he could not hurt himself. Yet
+before his feet touched the ground he had uttered a low cry of fear.
+
+He was on his legs now and trying to run, but it was too late. There was
+the flash of a lantern in the wet garden, and between him and the light,
+and just below it, he saw two points of greenish fire coming at him; for
+he saw everything then; and he heard the rush of a heavy beast's feet,
+tearing up the earth with iron claws, and the savage breath, and the
+loud hiss of a man setting the creature on; for he heard every sound
+then; and he knew that the thing of terror would leap up with resistless
+strength and hurl its weight upon him, and bury its jagged fangs in his
+throat and tear him, in an instant that would seem like an hour of
+agony, and that the pain and the fear would be as if he were hung up by
+all the nerves of his body, drawn out and twisted; for he knew
+everything then; and in that immeasurable time which is nothing, and yet
+is infinite, he remembered his evil life, his robberies, his murders,
+and his betrayals, one by one, but he remembered with most frightful
+clearness how he had tried to kill Marcello, how he had corrupted him
+from his childhood, with bad counsels very cunningly, and prepared him
+to go astray, how he had thrust evil in his path and laughed away the
+good, and had led him on, and poisoned him, and would have brought him
+to his death and damnation surely, but for one sinning devoted woman
+that loved him; for he remembered everything then; and from very far
+away, out of memories of his youth, there came a voice that had once
+been gentle and kind, but that rang in his ears now, like the blast of
+the trumpet of the last judgment.
+
+"Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones which believe in Me, it
+were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
+that he were drowned in the depth of the sea."
+
+Far better, indeed, for it all came, when the immeasurable second's
+length was past, and he was thrown down against the wall, and torn, and
+shaken like a rat; it all came just as he had felt that it was coming,
+and it lasted long, a long, long time, while he tried to howl, and the
+blood only gurgled in his throat. And then, just as many strong hands
+dragged away the thing of terror, and the light of a lantern and of a
+lamp flashed in his eyes, he fell asleep in the wet grass.
+
+For they had caught him fairly and brought him, down. Kalmon had
+watched him long, and had told some of his suspicions to the Chief of
+Police, and the latter, unknown to Kalmon, had caused him to be watched
+from time to time. But he, who had been watched before and had once
+already escaped for his life, had sometimes seen faces near him that he
+did not trust, and when he had turned back from the station that
+afternoon he had seen one of those faces; so he had driven away quickly
+in a cab, by winding ways, so as not to be followed. Yet Kalmon and
+Marcello, talking as they drove, grew more and more sure that he would
+wish to see Settimia before he left Rome, the more certainly if he
+believed himself pursued, as seemed likely from his changing his mind at
+the station. So they had stopped their cab before they had reached their
+destination, and had sent Ercole back to Trastevere with the key of the
+garden gate, bidding him watch, as it was most probable that Corbario
+would try to get out through the garden; and before long they had come
+back to the door of the house that opened upon the street, and had let
+themselves in quietly, just in time to hear the noise of the struggle as
+the dog threw Corbario to the ground. For the other entrance to the
+little vestibule opened upon the garden within, at the very spot where
+Corbario alighted when he jumped from the window.
+
+And now they stood there in the rain round the wounded man, while
+Marcello held the lantern to his face, and Regina thrust a lamp out of
+the lower window which she had thrown open.
+
+"Is he dead?" she asked, in the silence that followed when Ercole had
+got control of the dog again.
+
+At the sound of her voice Ercole started strangely and looked up to her
+face that was not far above his own, and his eyes fixed themselves upon
+her so intently that she looked down at him, while she still held out
+her lamp. She could not remember that she had ever seen him; but he had
+seen her many times since he had made his visit to the inn on the
+Frascati road.
+
+"Is he dead?" she repeated, putting the question directly to him as he
+was nearest.
+
+Still he looked at her in silence, with his deep-set, unwinking eyes.
+Marcello and Kalmon were bending over Corbario, Marcello holding the
+lantern, while the Professor listened for the beating of the heart and
+felt the pulse. They paid no attention to Regina for the moment.
+
+"Why don't you speak?" she asked, surprised by Ercole's silent stare.
+
+"You don't know me," he said slowly, "but I know you."
+
+The rain was beating upon her lamp, and at that moment the shade cracked
+under the cold drops and fell to pieces, and the wind instantly
+extinguished the flame of the flaring wick. Regina withdrew into the
+room to get another light, and Ercole stared after her into the gloom.
+
+"He is alive," said Kalmon, looking up to see why the light had gone
+out. "We must get him inside at once, or he will die here. Come,
+Ercole! Make that dog lie down and keep quiet."
+
+Between them they carried Corbario into the house. Nino watched on the
+step in the rain, but when the door was shut behind him, he crawled down
+to the wet grass and lapped the blood and water in the dark. They
+carried Corbario upstairs to an empty room there was, and as they went
+Regina tried to tell Marcello what she had done. They opened Settimia's
+door, which was still locked, and they found her quite dead, and the
+window was wide open; then Regina understood that Corbario had been
+hidden within hearing, and had killed the woman because she had
+confessed.
+
+The men who had been sent from the central police station at Kalmon's
+request arrived a few minutes later. One was at once sent for a surgeon
+and for more men; the other remained. Soon the little house was full of
+officials, in uniform and in plain clothes. They examined everything,
+they wrote rapidly on big sheets of stamped paper; their chief took the
+first deposition of Regina, and of the three men, and of the surgeon. At
+dawn a man came with a rough pine coffin. Officials came and went, and
+were gravely busy. One man spoke of coffee when it was day, and went and
+made some in the little kitchen, for the two young women who cooked and
+did the work of the house did not sleep there, and would not come till
+past seven o'clock.
+
+During the long hours, when Regina and Marcello were not wanted, they
+were together in the sitting-room downstairs. Regina told Marcello in
+detail everything she knew about the events of the night, and much which
+she had found out earlier about Settimia but had never told him. Kalmon
+came in from time to time and told them what was going on, and that
+Corbario was still alive; but they saw no more of Ercole. He had made
+his first deposition, to the effect that he had been set to watch the
+house, that the murderer had jumped from an upper window, and that the
+dog had pulled him down. The officials looked nervously at the dog,
+produced by Ercole in evidence, and were glad when the beast was out of
+their sight. There were dark stains about the bristles on his jaws, and
+his eyes were bloodshot; but Ercole laid one hand on his uncouth head,
+and he was very quiet, and did not even snarl at the policemen.
+
+Regina and Marcello sat side by side, talking in a low voice, and
+looking at each other now and then. The little house in which they had
+been happy was turned to a place of death and horror, and both knew that
+some change was coming to themselves.
+
+"You cannot live here any more," Marcello said at dawn, "not even till
+to-night."
+
+"Where could I go?" Regina asked. "Why should I not stay here? Do you
+think I am afraid of the dead woman?"
+
+"No," Marcello answered, "but you cannot stay here."
+
+He guessed what talking and gossiping there would be when the newspapers
+told what had happened in the little house, how the reporters would
+hang about the street for a week to come, and how fashionable people
+would go out of their way to see the place where a murder had been
+committed by such a well-known person as Corbario, and where he had been
+taken almost in the very act, and himself nearly killed. Besides all
+that, there would be the public curiosity about Regina, who had been so
+intimately concerned in a part of the tragedy, and whose name was
+everywhere associated with his own.
+
+He would have taken her away from Rome at once, if he could have done
+so. But he knew that they would both be called upon during the next few
+days to repeat in court the evidence they had already given in their
+first deposition. There was sure to be the most frightful publicity
+about the whole affair, of which reports would be published not only in
+Rome but throughout Italy, and all over the world. In real life the
+consequences of events generally have the importance which fiction is
+obliged to give the events themselves; which is the reason why the
+things that happen to real people rarely come to any precise conclusion,
+like those reached by a play or a novel. The "conclusion" lies in the
+lives of the people, after the tragedy, or the drama, or the comedy has
+violently upset their existences.
+
+"You cannot stay here," Marcello repeated with conviction.
+
+"You will go on living at your villa," Regina answered. "Why should I
+not go on living in this house? For a few days I will not go out, that
+is all. Is it the end of the world because a person has been killed who
+ought to have died in the galleys? Or because the man who tried to kill
+you was caught in a place that belongs to you? Tell me that."
+
+"You cannot stay here," Marcello repeated a third time.
+
+For a while Regina was silent. They were both very white and heavy-eyed
+in the cold daylight, though they could not have slept. At last she
+looked at him thoughtfully.
+
+"If we were married, we should go on living in our own house," she said.
+"Is it true, or not? It is because there will be talking that you are
+ashamed to let me stay where I am, and would like to get me away. This
+is the truth. I know it."
+
+Marcello knew it too and did not answer at once, for it was not easy to
+decide what he ought to do. The problem that had seemed so hard to solve
+a few hours earlier was fast getting altogether beyond solution. There
+was only one thing to be done in the first present difficulty; he must
+take Regina to some other place at once. No doubt this was easy enough.
+He would take an apartment for her elsewhere, as far as possible from
+the scene of the tragedy, and in a few hours she could be installed
+there out of the way of annoyance. He could buy a house for her if he
+chose, for he was very rich. Possibly some house already belonging to
+him was vacant; his lawyer would know.
+
+But after that, what was to come? If Corbario lived, there would be a
+sensational trial in which he and Regina would be witnesses together,
+and Kalmon too, and very surely Aurora and her mother. For Aurora would
+be called upon to tell what she knew of Marcello's movements on the
+morning when he had been knocked down near the gap.
+
+Every moment of his past life would be publicly examined, to prove
+Corbario's guilt. Worse than that, there would be a long inquiry to show
+that Corbario had murdered his mother. Skilled surgeons were tending the
+man's wounds and reviving him by every means that science could suggest.
+Kalmon said that he might live. He was being kept alive in order to be
+condemned to the expiation of his crimes in penal servitude, since
+Italian law could not make him pay for them with his life. The man would
+be watched by day and night, lest he should try to commit suicide, for
+he was to suffer, if he lived. He was to suffer horribly, without doubt,
+and it was right and just that he should. But Marcello would suffer too.
+That was not just. The name of his saintly mother would be in the mouths
+of all kinds of witnesses, in the columns of all sorts of newspapers.
+Lawyers would make speeches about her to excite the pity of the jury and
+to turn the whole tide of feeling against Corbario. Marcello would
+himself be held up to public commiseration, as one of Corbario's
+victims. There would be allusions covert and open to Regina and to the
+position in which she stood to Marcello. There would be talk about
+Aurora. People would suddenly remember her mother's sad story and
+gossip about her; people would certainly say that there had been talk
+about marrying Aurora to Marcello, and that Regina had come between
+them. Yes, there would be much talk about Aurora; that was certain.
+
+All this was coming, and was not far off, if Corbario lived; and even if
+he died there would be a vast amount said and written about all the
+people concerned.
+
+And Regina was there, beside him, telling him that if they were married
+they could go on living in the little house, just as if nothing had
+happened. It was not true, but he could not find heart to tell her so.
+It was the first time that any suggestion of marriage had come from her,
+who had always told him that marriage was impossible. If she wished it
+now, could he refuse?
+
+Suddenly he knew that he had reached one of the great cross-roads in his
+life, and that fate had dragged him violently to it within the last few
+hours, to make him choose his way. The full-grown character of the man
+rebelled against being forced to a decision in spite of himself, but
+revolted at the thought of fearing to do what was right and honourable.
+He was not hesitating as he sat still in silence after Regina had
+spoken. He was thinking, with the firm determination to act as soon as
+he had reached a decision. When a man can do that, his weakness is past.
+
+Regina did not interrupt the current of his thoughts, and as she watched
+him she forgot all about the present; and they were just together, where
+they had so often been happy, and she loved him with all her heart. That
+was her strength. It had nothing to do with right or wrong, honour or
+dishonour, credit or discredit, or any choice of ways. She had no
+choice. She loved. It was a very simple thing.
+
+He looked up at last. She was still wearing the loose dressing-gown she
+had worn all night.
+
+"Could you sleep now?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you must dress," he said. "While you are dressing I will walk up
+to the villa and give some orders. Then I will come and get you in a
+closed carriage. Put together what you may need for the day, and I will
+have all your things moved before night."
+
+"Are you really going to take me away from here?" Regina asked,
+regretfully.
+
+"Yes. I must. It will be easy to find a place that will please you
+better. Will you do as I have said?"
+
+"Why do you ask? I go."
+
+She rose and stood beside him a moment while he sat still, and her hand
+caressed his short fair hair. She bent down and kissed the close waves
+of it, near his forehead.
+
+"We have been very happy here," she said quietly.
+
+She slipped away as he rose to his feet, with the sudden conviction that
+something had happened.
+
+"What is it?" he asked quickly, and making a step after her.
+
+"I am going to dress," she answered.
+
+She turned her head and smiled, but there was a touch of sadness in the
+look, as if she was saying good-bye. He partly understood, and her
+expression was reflected in his own face. They had been so happy in the
+little house in Trastevere.
+
+When the door had closed Marcello went to find Kalmon. He met him at the
+foot of the stairs.
+
+"The fellow is alive, and will probably recover," said the Professor, in
+answer to the unasked question in Marcello's eyes.
+
+"It would simplify matters if he died," said Marcello. "Will you walk up
+to the villa with me and have coffee? We cannot get a cab at this hour
+on this side of the Tiber."
+
+"Thank you," Kalmon answered, "but I must go home. The house is in
+charge of the police, and there is nothing more to be done here. They
+have already taken the woman's body to San Spirito, and they will move
+Corbario in a few hours. He is badly mauled, but no big arteries are
+torn. I must go home and write a letter. The Contessa must not hear what
+has happened through the newspapers."
+
+"No. Certainly not. As for me, I am going to take Regina away at once. I
+shall bring my own carriage down from the villa."
+
+"By the bye," Kalmon said, "I had thought of that. The house in which I
+live is divided into many small apartments. There is a very good one to
+let, decently furnished. I thought of taking it myself, and I looked at
+it yesterday. You might put the young lady there until you can find what
+you may prefer. She can move in at once."
+
+"Nothing could be better. If you are going home, will you say that I
+take the place and will be there in an hour? No. 16, Via Sicilia, is it
+not?"
+
+"Yes. I'll see to it. Shall I take the lease in your name?"
+
+"No. Any name will do better. The reporters would find her at once under
+mine."
+
+"I'll use my own," said the Professor. "I'll say that she is a lady who
+has arrived to consult me--I daresay she will--and that I'm responsible
+for her."
+
+"Thank you," answered Marcello gratefully. "And thank you for all that
+you have done to help me."
+
+"My dear Marcello," Kalmon said, smiling cheerfully, "in the first
+place, I have done nothing to help you, and secondly, through excess of
+zeal, I have got you into a very unpleasant situation, by indirectly
+causing a woman to be murdered in your house, and the murderer almost
+mauled to death by that very singular wild beast which your man calls a
+dog, and which I had often noticed in old times at the cottage. So there
+is nothing at all to thank me for, though I am most heartily at your
+service."
+
+The Professor was positively in high spirits just then, and Marcello
+envied him as they parted and took opposite directions.
+
+Though the Via Sicilia was a long way from the Janiculum, Marcello had
+been only too glad to accept Kalmon's suggestion at such a moment.
+Regina would feel that she was protected by Marcello's friend, and
+though she might rarely see him, it would be better for her than to be
+lodged in a house where she knew no one. Kalmon was a bachelor and a
+man of assured position, and it had cost him nothing to undertake to
+give Regina his protection; but Marcello was deeply grateful. He had
+already made up his mind as to what he would do next.
+
+It had stopped raining at last, and the wind had fallen to a soft breeze
+that bore the morning mist gently away towards the sea, and hardly
+stirred the wet leaves that strewed the road all the way up to San
+Pietro in Montorio. Marcello found the gate of the villa already open,
+for it was nearly eight o'clock by the time he got there.
+
+He summoned the servants to the library, told them briefly what had
+happened, and warned them that they might be summoned as witnesses at
+the coming trial, as most of them had been in his mother's service. In
+the days before Corbario had lost his head, and when he had controlled
+the household, it had been a part of his policy to have really
+respectable servants about him, and though some of them had never quite
+trusted him, they had all been devoted to the Signora and to Marcello.
+They listened in respectful silence now, and waited till he was out of
+the house before meeting to discuss the tragedy and to decide that
+Corbario had got his deserts at last.
+
+In a few hours Regina was installed in her new lodging with such
+belongings as she needed immediately. Kalmon, having finished writing
+his letter to the Contessa, left nothing undone which could contribute
+to the comfort of the "lady who had arrived to consult him." He had a
+respectable old woman servant, who had been with him for years, and who
+came from his native town. He took her into his confidence to some
+extent, and placed her in charge of Regina. As she thought that
+everything he did must be right, she accepted his statement that the
+young gentleman who would often come to see the young lady was deeply
+interested in the latter's welfare, and that, as the poor young lady had
+no relations, he, the Professor, had taken her under his protection
+while she remained in Rome.
+
+The old servant's name was Teresa, and she belonged to a certain type of
+elderly old maids who take a very kindly interest in the love affairs of
+the young. She smiled, shook her head in a very mild disapprobation, and
+did much more than Kalmon had asked of her; for she took the very first
+opportunity of informing Regina that the Professor was the greatest,
+wisest, best, and kindest of mankind; and Regina recognised in her a
+loyal soul, and forthwith liked her very much.
+
+It was late in the November afternoon when Marcello ascended the stairs
+and stopped before the door of the little apartment. He realised that he
+had no key to it, and that he must ring the bell as if he were a mere
+visitor. It was strange that such a little thing should affect him at
+all, but he was conscious of a sort of chill, as he pulled the metal
+handle and heard the tinkling of one of those cheap little bells that
+feebly imitate their electric betters by means of a rachet and a small
+weighted wheel. It was all so different from the little house in
+Trastevere with its bright varnished doors, its patent locks, its smart
+windows, and its lovely old garden. He wished he had not brought Regina
+to Via Sicilia, though Kalmon's advice had seemed so good. To Kalmon,
+who was used to no great luxury in his own life, the place doubtless
+seemed very well suited for a young person like Regina, who had been
+brought up a poor child in the hills. But the mere anticipation of the
+dark and narrow entry, and the sordid little sitting-room beyond, awoke
+in Marcello a sense of shame, whether for himself or for the woman who
+loved him he hardly knew.
+
+Old Teresa had gone out for something, and Regina opened the door
+herself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+"I have come to see if you need anything," Marcello said, when they were
+in the sitting-room. "I am sorry to have been obliged to bring you to
+such a wretched place, but it seemed a good thing that you should be so
+near Kalmon."
+
+"It is not a wretched place," Regina answered. "It is clean, and the
+things are new, and the curtains have been washed. It is not wretched.
+We have been in worse lodgings when we have travelled and stopped in
+small towns. Professor Kalmon has been very kind. It was wise to bring
+me here."
+
+He wished she had seemed discontented.
+
+"Have you rested a little?" he asked.
+
+"I have slept two or three hours. And you? You look tired."
+
+"I have had no time to sleep. I shall sleep to-night."
+
+He leaned back in the small green arm-chair and rested his head against
+a coarse netted antimacassar. His eyes caught Regina's, but she was
+looking down thoughtfully at her hands, which lay in her lap together
+but not clasped. Peasant women often do that; their hands are resting
+then, after hard work, and they are thinking of nothing.
+
+"Look at me," Marcello said after a long time.
+
+Her glance was sad and almost dull, and there was no light in her face.
+She had made up her mind that something dreadful was going to happen to
+her, and that the end was coming soon. She could not have told why she
+felt it, and that made it worse. Her eyes had the indescribable look
+that one sees in those of a beautiful sick animal, the painful
+expression of an unintelligent suffering which the creature cannot
+understand. Regina, roused to act and face to face with danger, was
+brave, clever, and quick, but under the mysterious oppression of her
+forebodings she was the Roman hill woman, apathetic, hopeless,
+unconsciously fatalistic and sleepily miserable.
+
+"What is the matter?" Marcello asked. "What has happened?"
+
+"I shall know when you have told me," Regina answered, slowly shaking
+her head; and again she looked down at her hands.
+
+"What I have come to tell you will not make you sad," Marcello replied.
+
+"Speak, heart of my heart. I listen."
+
+Marcello leaned forward and laid his hand upon hers. She looked up
+quietly, for it was a familiar action of his.
+
+"I am going to marry you," he said, watching her, and speaking
+earnestly.
+
+She kept her eyes on his, but she shook her head again, slowly, from
+side to side, and her lips were pressed together.
+
+"Yes, I am," said Marcello, with a little pressure of his hand to
+emphasise the words.
+
+But she withdrew hers, and leaned far back from him.
+
+"Never," she said. "I have told you so, many times."
+
+"Not if I tell you that nothing else will make me happy?" he asked.
+
+"If I still made you happy, you would not talk of marriage," Regina
+answered.
+
+For the first time since she had loved him he heard a ring of bitterness
+in her voice. They had reached that first node of misunderstanding in
+the love relations of men and women, which lies where the one begins to
+think and act upon a principle while the other still feels and acts from
+the heart.
+
+"That is not reasonable," Marcello said.
+
+"It is truth," she answered.
+
+"But how?"
+
+"How! I feel it, here!"
+
+Her hands sprang to life and pressed her bosom, her voice rang deep and
+her eyes flashed, as if she were impatient of his misunderstanding.
+
+He tried to laugh gently.
+
+"But if I want to marry you, it is because I mean never to part from
+you," he said.
+
+"No!" she cried. "It is because you are afraid that you will leave me,
+unless you are bound to me."
+
+"Regina!" Marcello protested, by his tone.
+
+"It is as I say. It is because you are honourable. It is because you
+wish to be faithful. It is because you want to be true. But what do I
+care for honour, or faith, or truth, if I can only have them of you
+because you are tied to me? I only want love. That is everything. I want
+it, but I have never asked it of you, and never shall. Is love money,
+that you can take it out of your purse and give it? Is love a string,
+that the priest and the mayor can tie the ends so that they can never
+come undone? I do not know what it is, but it is not that!"
+
+She laughed scornfully, as if she were angry at the thought. But
+Marcello had made up his mind, and was obstinate.
+
+"We must be married at once," he said quietly, and fully believing that
+he could impose his will upon hers. "If I had not been weak and foolish,
+we should have been married long ago. But for a long time after my
+illness I had no will of my own. I am sorry. It was my fault."
+
+"It was not your fault, it was the illness, and it was my will. If I had
+said, any day in those first two years, 'Make me your wife, for I wish
+to be a real signora,' would you not have done it?"
+
+"You know I would."
+
+"But I would not, and I will not now. I am not a real signora. I am
+beautiful--yes, I see that. Am I blind when I look into my glass? I am
+very beautiful. We have not often met any woman in our travels as
+beautiful as I am. Am I blind? I have black hair, like the common
+people, but my hair is not coarse, like a mule's tail. It is as fine as
+silk. My eyes are black, and that is common too; but my eyes are not
+like those of the buffaloes in the Campagna, as the other women's are
+where I was born. And I am not dark-skinned; I am as white as the snow
+on Monte Cavo, as white as the milk in the pan. Also I have been told
+that I have beautiful feet, though I cannot tell why. They are small,
+this is the truth, and my hands are like those of a signora. But I am
+not a real signora, though I have all this. How can you marry me? None
+of your friends would speak to me, because I have not even been an
+honest girl. That was for you, but they do not count love. Your servants
+at the villa would laugh at you behind your back, and say, 'The master
+has married one of us!' Do you think I could bear that? Tell me what you
+think! Am I of stone, to bear that people should laugh at you?"
+
+She took breath at last and leaned back again, folding her arms and
+fixing her splendid eyes on his face, and challenging him to answer her.
+
+"We will go and live in Calabria, at San Domenico, for a while," he
+said. "We need not live in Rome at all, unless we please, for we have
+the whole world before us."
+
+"We saw the world together without being married," Regina answered
+obstinately. "What difference would there be, if we were husband and
+wife? Do you wish to know what difference there would be? I will tell
+you. There would be this difference. One day I should see no light in
+your eyes, and your lips would be like stone. Then I should say, 'Heart
+of my heart, you are tired of me, and I go.' But you would answer, 'You
+cannot go, for you are my wife.' What would that be? That would be the
+difference. Do you understand, or do you not understand? If you do not
+understand, I can do nothing. But I will not marry you. Have you ever
+seen a mule go down to the ford in spring, too heavily laden, when there
+is freshet? He drowns, if he is driven in, because the burden is too
+heavy. I will not be the burden; but I should be, if I were your wife,
+because I am not a real signora. Now you know what I think."
+
+"Yes," Marcello answered, "but I do not think in the same way."
+
+He was not sure how to answer her arguments, and he lit a cigarette to
+gain time. He was quietly determined to have his own way, but in order
+to succeed he knew that he must persuade her till she agreed with him.
+He could not drag her to the altar against her will.
+
+Before he had thrown away the match, Regina had risen from her chair.
+She leaned against the little marble mantelpiece, looking down at him.
+
+"There are things that you do not know," she said. "If you knew them you
+would not want to marry me. In all the time we have been together, you
+have hardly ever spoken to me of your mother."
+
+Marcello started a little and looked up, unconsciously showing that he
+was displeased.
+
+"No," he answered. "Why should I?"
+
+"You were right. Your mother is now one of the saints in Paradise. How
+do I know it? Even Settimia knew it. I am not going to talk of her now.
+I am not fit to speak her name in your hearing. Very well. Do you know
+what my mother was?"
+
+"She is dead," Marcello replied, meaning that Regina should let her
+memory alone.
+
+"Or my father?" she asked, going on. "They were bad people. I come of a
+bad race. Perhaps that is why I do wrong easily, for you. My father
+killed a man and left us, though he was allowed to go free, and I never
+saw him again. He had reason to kill the man. I was a little girl, but I
+remember. My mother took other men. They came and went; sometimes they
+were drunk and they beat us. When I was twelve years old one of them
+looked upon me with bad eyes. Then my mother cursed him, and he took up
+a stone and struck her on the head, and she died. They sent him to the
+galleys, and me to work at the inn, because I had no friends. This is
+the family of Regina. It is a race of assassins and wicked women. If I
+were your wife, that would be the family of your wife. If God sent
+children, that would be the blood they would have of me, to mix with
+that of your mother, who is one of the saints in heaven. This is the
+truth. If you think I am telling you one thing for another, let us go to
+the inn on the Frascati road. Paoluccio and Nanna know. They would laugh
+if they could see me dressed like a real signora, and they would say,
+'This girl is her mother's daughter!' And so I am."
+
+She ceased speaking, and again waited for his answer, but he had none
+ready, and there was silence. She had put the ugly truth too plainly
+before him, and he could not shut up his understanding against it; he
+could not deny what she said, he could never teach himself to believe
+that it did not matter. And yet, he did not mean to draw back, or give
+up his purpose, even then. Men of good birth had married peasant women
+before now. They had given up the society of their old friends, they had
+lived in remote places, they had become half peasants themselves, their
+sons had grown up to be rough farmers, and had done obligatory military
+service in the ranks for years, because they could not pass an easy
+examination. But was all that so very terrible after all, in the light
+of the duty that faced him?
+
+The woman had saved his life, had carried him in her arms, had tended
+him like a child, had stolen food to keep him alive, had faced
+starvation for him when she had got him to the hospital, had nursed
+him--had loved him, had given him all she had, and she would have died
+for him, if there had been need. Now, she was giving him something more,
+for she was refusing to be his wife because she was sure that sooner or
+later she must be a burden to him, and that her birth would be a
+reproach to his children. No woman could do more for a man than she had
+done. She had been his salvation and his good angel; when she had found
+out that the life in Paris that amused her was killing him, she had
+brought him back to himself, she had made him at last fit and able to
+face those who would have destroyed him. She had loved him like a
+woman, she had obeyed him and served him like a devoted servant, she had
+watched over him like a faithful dog; and he had given her nothing in
+return for all that, not one thing that deserved to be counted. Perhaps
+he had not even really loved her; most surely his love had been far less
+large and true and devoted than hers, and he felt that it was so. The
+reparation he was determined to make was not really for her honesty's
+sake; it was to be an attempt at repaying a debt that was weighing upon
+his conscience like a debt of honour.
+
+That was it. He felt that unless he could in some way repay her for what
+she had done, his man's honour would not be satisfied. That was very
+well, in its way, but it was not love. It was as if he had said to
+himself, "I cannot love her as she loves me, but I can at least marry
+her; and that is better than nothing, and has the merit of being morally
+right."
+
+She had told him that if she still made him happy he would not talk of
+marriage. The brutal truth shamed him, now that he knew it from her own
+lips. It was not the whole truth, but it was a great part of it. If he
+was happy with her now, when there was nothing to disturb them, it was
+by force of habit, it was because her beauty appealed to him, it was
+because her touch was dearer to him than her heart's devotion. Now that
+he was a grown man, he knew well enough that he craved something else
+which poor Regina could never give him.
+
+For he felt the want of companionship. Those who have lost what is most
+worth having, whether by death or by their own fault, or by the other's,
+miss the companionship of love more than anything else, when the pain of
+the first wrench is dulled and the heart's blood is staunched, and the
+dreadful bodily loneliness comes only in dreams. Then the longing for
+the old sweet intercourse of thought and word makes itself felt and is
+very hard to bear, though it is not sharp like the first wound; and it
+comes again and again for years, and perhaps for ever.
+
+But where there is no true companionship while love lasts, there is
+something lacking, and such love cannot live long. Men seem to want it
+more than women do; and women, seeing that men want something, often
+fancy they want flattery, and natter the men they love till they disgust
+them; and then the end comes suddenly, much to the astonishment of those
+women.
+
+Regina was too womanly not to feel that Marcello was in real need of
+something which she had not, and could never have. She had known it from
+the first, and had almost told him so. She gave what was hers to give,
+as long as he wanted it; when he wanted it no more, she meant to leave
+him, and it would make no difference what became of her afterwards.
+
+When she had finished speaking, Marcello was very miserable, because he
+could find no answer to what she had said, and he felt that she had no
+right to say it at all. His head ached now, from excitement and want of
+sleep, and he almost wished that he had put off speaking to Regina about
+her marriage. He rested his head in his hand as he sat thinking, and she
+came and stood beside him as she had done in the morning in the little
+house in Trastevere. But it was not the same now. She hoped that he
+would put up his other hand to find hers, without looking at her, as he
+often did, but it gripped his knee as if he did not mean to move it, and
+he did not raise his head.
+
+She looked up from his bent figure to the window and saw that the light
+was reddening with the first tinge of sunset. It would soon be night,
+Marcello would go away, and she would be dreadfully lonely. It was not
+like being in the little house, knowing that he was near her, in the
+great villa on top of the hill, hidden from her only by trees. She was
+in a strange place now, and he would be far away, across the Tiber, and
+the great dark city would be between her and him.
+
+For an instant her lip quivered, and she thought she was going to cry,
+though she had never cried in her life, except for rage and when she had
+been a little girl. She shook her handsome head impatiently at the mere
+sensation, and held it higher than ever. Then Marcello looked up at
+last.
+
+As their eyes met they heard the tinkle of the little bell. Regina at
+once left his side to go and open the door. It was not till she had left
+the room that Marcello rose, asking himself suddenly why it had not
+occurred to him to go himself. He realised that he had always allowed
+her to wait on him without question. Yet if she were his wife, he would
+not think of letting her do what she was doing now. He would even open
+the door of the room for her to go out.
+
+He knew why he had never treated her in that way. She was a peasant
+girl, she had been a servant in an inn; it was natural that she should
+serve him too. She often brought him his shoes when he was going out,
+and she would have put them on for him and laced them if he would have
+let her do it. It seemed natural that she should answer the bell and
+open the door, as it seemed unnatural that she should ever be his wife.
+The thought stung him, and again, he was ashamed.
+
+While these things were passing in his mind, he heard a familiar voice
+in the dark entry.
+
+"Signora, you will excuse me," Ercole was saying. "I asked the Professor
+and he told me. I beg the favour of a few words."
+
+"Come in," Regina answered, and a moment later they both entered the
+sitting-room.
+
+Ercole stood still when he saw Marcello, and began to turn his hat in
+his hands, as if it were a rosary, which he generally did when he was
+embarrassed. Marcello wondered what the man wanted.
+
+"Were you looking for me?" he asked. "Come in! What is it? Has anything
+happened?"
+
+"No, sir, nothing new has happened," answered Ercole.
+
+"What is it, then? Why did you come here?"
+
+Ercole had dressed himself for the occasion in his best clothes. He had
+on a snowy shirt and a new keeper's jacket, and his boots were blacked.
+Furthermore, he had just been shaved, and his shaggy hair had been cut
+rather close. He did not carry his gun about with him in the streets of
+Rome, though he felt that it was slightly derogatory to his dignity to
+be seen without it, and Nino was not with him, having been temporarily
+chained to the wall in the court of the stables at the villa.
+
+He stood still, and looked from Marcello to Regina, and back to Marcello
+again.
+
+"It cannot be done," he said suddenly. "It is useless. It cannot be
+done."
+
+Without another word he turned abruptly and was going to leave the room,
+when Marcello stopped him authoritatively.
+
+"Come here, Ercole!" he cried, as the man was disappearing into the
+entry.
+
+"Did you speak to me, sir?" Ercole inquired, stopping in the doorway.
+
+"Yes. Shut the door and come here." Ercole obeyed with evident
+reluctance. "Now, then," Marcello continued, "come here and tell me what
+you want, and what it is that cannot be done."
+
+"I desire a few words with this lady, and I did not know that you were
+here, sir. Therefore I said, it cannot be done. I mean that while you
+are here, sir, I cannot speak alone with this lady."
+
+"That is clear," Marcello answered. "You cannot be alone with this lady
+while I am in the room. That certainly cannot be done. Why do you wish
+to be alone with her? You can speak before me."
+
+"It will not be so easy, sir. I will come at another time."
+
+"No," Marcello answered, not liking his manner. "You will say what you
+have to say now, or you will say nothing, for you will not come at
+another time. The lady will not let you in, if you come again. Now
+speak."
+
+"It will be a little difficult, sir. I would rather speak to the lady
+alone."
+
+Regina had stood listening in silence, and looking intently at Ercole's
+face.
+
+"Let me speak to him," she said to Marcello. "What is your full name?"
+she asked, turning to Ercole again.
+
+"Spalletta Ercole, to serve you," was the prompt answer.
+
+"Spalletta?" Marcello asked in surprise, for strange as it may seem to
+any but Italians, it was quite natural that he should never have known
+Ercole's family name. "Spalletta? That is your own name, Regina! What a
+strange coincidence!"
+
+"Yes," Ercole said. "I know that the young lady's name is Spalletta. It
+is for this reason that I desire the favour of a few words with her
+alone."
+
+"There is no need," Regina answered. "Since we have the same name, there
+is no doubt. I remember your face now, though until last night I had not
+seen you since I was a little child. Yes. I know what you have come to
+say, and it is quite true."
+
+"What?" asked Marcello with some anxiety.
+
+"This man is my father," Regina said, very quietly.
+
+"Your father!" Marcello made half a step backwards in his surprise.
+
+"Yes. I have told you what he did." She turned to Ercole. "What do you
+want of me? Is it money that you want, perhaps?"
+
+Ercole stiffened himself and seemed to grow taller. His black eyes
+flashed dangerously, and his heavy eyebrows were suddenly stern and
+level, as Regina's were.
+
+"You are your mother's daughter," he said slowly. "Did I take money from
+her? I took blood, and when I was tried for it, I was set free. I was
+told that it was my right under our law. I do not want money. I have
+brought you money. There it is. It will buy you some bread when your
+lover turns you into the street!"
+
+He took out his old sheepskin purse with a quick movement, and laughed
+harshly as he tossed it at her. Marcello sprang forward and caught him
+by the collar, to thrust him out of the room; but Ercole was tough and
+wiry, and resisted.
+
+"Will you hinder me from giving money to my daughter?" he asked
+fiercely. "It was yours, for you paid it to me; but when I knew, I saved
+my wages to give them back, for I will not take your money, sir! Take
+your hands from me, sir! I have a right to be here and to speak. Let me
+go, I tell you! I am not in your service any longer. I do not eat your
+cursed bread. I am this woman's father, and I shall say what I will."
+
+Marcello withdrew his hands and pointed to the door.
+
+"Go!" he said, in a voice of command.
+
+Ercole backed away a little, and then stood still again.
+
+"I have to tell you that I have spent five francs of that money," he
+said, speaking to Regina. "But it was spent for you. I found a good
+monk, and I gave him the five francs to say three masses for your soul.
+The masses were said in August, and now it is November, and you are
+still alive!"
+
+"Go!" cried Marcello, understanding, and advancing upon him once more.
+
+"I go," answered Ercole hoarsely. "Let her live, till you are tired of
+her, and she dies in a ditch! I told the monk to say the masses for a
+female. They will do for the woman who was killed last night. One female
+is worth another, and evil befall them all, as many as they are! Why did
+the Eternal Father ever create them?"
+
+He had turned before he spoke the last words, and he went out
+deliberately, shutting the door behind him. They heard him go out upon
+the landing, and they were alone again. Regina leaned back against the
+mantelpiece, but Marcello began to walk up and down the room.
+
+"You have seen," she said, in a rather unsteady voice. "Now you know of
+what blood I am, and that what I said was true. The son of your mother
+cannot marry the daughter of that man."
+
+"What have you to do with him?" Marcello asked sharply, stopping in his
+walk.
+
+But Regina only shook her head, and turned away. She knew that she was
+right, and that he knew it too, or would know it soon.
+
+"You will never see him again," he said. "Forget that you have seen him
+at all!"
+
+Again she shook her head, not looking at him.
+
+"You will not forget," she answered, "and I shall always remember. He
+should have killed me, as he meant to do. It would have been the end. It
+would have been better, and quicker."
+
+"God forbid!"
+
+"Why? Would it not have been better?"
+
+She came close to him and laid one hand upon his shoulder and gazed into
+his eyes. They were full of trouble and pain, and they did not lighten
+for her; his brow did not relax and his lips did not part. After a
+little while she turned again and went back to the fireplace.
+
+"It would have been better," she said in a low voice. "I knew it this
+morning."
+
+There was silence in the room for a while. Marcello stood beside her,
+holding her hand in his, and trying to see her face. He was very tender
+with her, but there was no thrill in his touch. Something was gone that
+would never come back.
+
+"When all this trouble is over," he said at last, "you shall go back to
+the little house in Trastevere, and it will be just as it was before."
+
+She raised her head rather proudly, as she answered.
+
+"If that could be, it would be now. You would have taken me in your arms
+when he was gone, and you would have kissed my eyes and my hair, and we
+should have been happy, just as it was before. But instead, you want to
+comfort me, you want to be kind to me, you want to be just to me,
+instead of loving me!"
+
+"Regina! I do love you! I do indeed!"
+
+He would have put his arms round her to draw her closer to him, in the
+sudden longing to make her think that there was no change in his love,
+but she quietly resisted him.
+
+"You have been very good to me, dear," she said, "and I know you will
+always be that, whatever comes. And I am always yours, dear, and you are
+the master, whenever you choose to come and see me. For I care for
+nothing that God has made, except you. But it will never be just as it
+used to be."
+
+"It shall!" Marcello tried to put conviction into the words. "It shall!
+It shall!"
+
+"It cannot, my heart," she answered. "I used to say that when this came,
+I would go away. But I will not do that, unless you bid me to, for I
+think you would be sorry, and I should be giving you more pain, and you
+have enough. Only leave me a little while alone, dear, for I am very
+tired, and it is growing late."
+
+He took her hands and kissed them one after the other, and looked into
+her face. His own was very weary.
+
+"Promise me that I shall find you here to-morrow," he said.
+
+"You shall find me," she answered softly.
+
+They parted so, and he left her alone, in the dark, for the glow of the
+sunset had faded and the early November evening was closing in.
+
+Old Teresa came and brought a lamp, and drew the curtains, and gave her
+a message from Kalmon. If she needed anything she was to send for him,
+and he would come at once. She thanked Teresa. It was very kind of the
+Professor, but she needed nothing. Not even a fire; no, she hardly ever
+felt cold. Teresa brought something to eat, and set the little table for
+her. She was not hungry, and she was glad when the good soul was gone.
+
+She could open the windows when she was alone, and look out into the
+silent street. There was moonlight now, and it fell across the walls and
+trees of the Villa Aurora upon her face. It was a young moon, that would
+set before midnight, but it was very clear and bright, and the sky was
+infinitely deep and very clear behind it. Regina fancied that if there
+were really angels in heaven, she should be able to see them on such a
+night.
+
+If she had been in Trastevere she would have gone out to walk up and
+down the old paved paths of the little garden, for she could not sleep,
+though she was so tired. The lamp disturbed her and she put it out, and
+sat down by the window again.
+
+It was very quiet now, for it was past nine o'clock. She heard a step,
+and it almost surprised her. A man with a big dog was walking in the
+shadow on the other side of the street, and when he was opposite the
+house he stood still and looked up at her window. He did not move for
+some time, but the dog came out into the moonlight in a leisurely way,
+and lay down on the paving stones. All dogs think it is warmer in the
+light than in the shadow.
+
+Regina rose, got a long black cloak and a dark veil without lighting a
+candle, and put them on. Then she went out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+Ercole walked on when he saw some one come out of No. 16, for he did not
+recognise Regina. She followed him at a distance. Even if he should pass
+where there might be many people, she would not lose sight of him easily
+because he had his dog with him. She noticed that his canvas bag was
+hung over one shoulder and that it seemed to be full, and his gun was
+slung over the other. He meant to leave Rome that night on foot. He
+walked fast through the new streets in the upper quarter, turned to the
+right when he reached the Via Venti Settembre, and went straight on,
+past the top of the hill, and along the Quirinal Palace; then down and
+on, down and on, through moonlight and shadow, winding streets and
+straight, till the Colosseum was in sight. He was going towards the
+Porta San Sebastiano to take the road to Ardea.
+
+The air was very clear, and the moonlight made the broad space as bright
+as if there were daylight. Regina walked fast, and began to overtake her
+father, and the dog turned his head and growled at the tall woman in
+black. She came up with Ercole by the ruin of the ancient fountain, and
+the dog snarled at her. Ercole stopped and looked at her sharply, and
+she raised her veil.
+
+"I have followed you," she said. "We are alone here. We can talk in
+peace."
+
+"And what am I to say to you?" Ercole asked, in a low and surly voice.
+
+"What you will, little or much, as you please. You shall speak, and I
+will listen. But we can walk on under the trees there. Then nobody can
+see us."
+
+Ercole began to go on, and Regina walked on his left side. The dog
+sniffed at the hem of her long black cloak. They came under the shade of
+the trees, and Ercole stopped again, and turned, facing the reflection
+of the moonlight on the vast curve of the Colosseum.
+
+"What do you want of me?" he asked. "Why do you follow me in the night?"
+
+"When you saw that the Signore was with me to-day, you said, 'It cannot
+be done.' He is not here now."
+
+She stood quite still, looking at him.
+
+"I understand nothing," he said, in the same surly tone as before.
+
+"You wished to kill me to-day," she answered. "I am here. This is a good
+place."
+
+Ercole looked about him instinctively, peering into the shadows under
+the trees.
+
+"There is no one," Regina said. "This is a good place."
+
+She had not lifted her veil, but she threw back the collar of her cloak,
+and with quick fingers undid the fastenings of her dress, opening it
+wide. Rays of moonlight fell through the trees upon her bosom, and it
+gleamed like fine ivory newly cut.
+
+"I wait," she said.
+
+She stood motionless before him, expecting the knife, but her father's
+hands did not move. His eyes were fixed on hers, though he could not see
+them through the veil.
+
+"So he has left you?" he said slowly.
+
+"No. I am waiting."
+
+Not a fold of her cloak stirred as she stood there to die. It seemed a
+long time, but his hands did not move. Then he heard the sound of her
+voice, very low and sweet, repeating a little prayer, but he only heard
+the last words distinctly.
+
+"--now, and in the hour of our death!"
+
+His right hand moved slowly and found something in his pocket, and then
+there was the sharp click of a strong spring, and a ray of moonlight
+fell upon steel, and her voice was heard again.
+
+"--in the hour of our death. Amen!"
+
+An unearthly sound rent the stillness. The huge dog sat upright on his
+haunches, his head thrown up and back, his terrible lower jaw trembling
+as he howled, and howled again, waking great echoes where the roar of
+wild lions had rung long ago.
+
+Regina started, though she did not move a step; but an unreasoning fear
+fell upon Ercole. He could not see her face, as the dark veil hung down.
+She was so motionless and fearless; only the dead could be as fearless
+of death and as still as she. Her breast was so white; her hands were
+like marble hands, parting a black shroud upon it. She was something
+risen from the grave to haunt him in that lonely place and drive him
+mad; and the appalling howl of the great dog robe deafeningly on the
+silence and trembled and died away, and began again.
+
+Ercole's hand relaxed, and the knife fell gleaming at his feet. One
+instant more and he turned and fled through the trees, towards San
+Gregorio, his dog galloping heavily after him.
+
+Regina's hands fell by her sides, and the folds of her cloak closed
+together and hung straight down. She stared into the shadowy distance a
+moment after her father, and saw his figure twice in the light where the
+trees were wider apart, before he disappeared altogether. She looked
+down and saw the knife at her feet, and she picked it up and felt the
+point. It was as sharp as a needle, for Ercole had whetted it often
+since he had sat by the gate in the early morning last August. It was
+wet, for the grass under the trees had not dried since the rain.
+
+She felt the point and edge with her hand, and sighed. It would have
+been better to have felt it in her breast, but she would not take her
+own life. She was not afraid to do it, and her young hand would have
+been strong enough and sure enough to do it quickly. It was not the
+thought of the pain that made her close the knife; it was the fear of
+hell. Nothing she had done in her life seemed very bad to her, because
+it had all been for Marcello. If Ercole had killed her, she thought that
+God would have forgiven her after a time. But if she killed herself she
+would instantly be seized by devils and thrust into real flames, to
+burn for ever, without the slightest chance of forgiveness. She had been
+taught that, and she believed it, and the thought of the fire made her
+shut the clasp-knife and slip it into her dress with a sigh. It would be
+a pity to throw it away, for it seemed to be a good knife, and her
+father could not have had it very long.
+
+She fastened her frock under her mantle and went a few steps down the
+little slope towards the Colosseum. To go on meant to go home, and she
+stopped again. The place was very lonely and peaceful, and the light on
+the great walls was quiet and good to see. Though she had stood so
+still, waiting to die, and had said her little prayer so calmly, her
+brave heart had been beating slow and hard as if it were counting the
+seconds before it was to stop; and now it beat fast and softly, and
+fluttered a little, so that she felt faint, as even brave people do
+after a great danger is past. I have seen hundreds of men together, just
+escaped from destruction by earthquake, moving about listlessly with
+veiled eyes, yawning as if they were dropping with sleep, and saying
+childish things when they spoke at all. Man's body is the part of
+himself which he least understands, unless he has spent half his life in
+studying its ways. Its many portions can only telegraph to the brain two
+words, 'pain' and 'pleasure,' with different degrees of energy; but that
+is all. The rest of their language belongs to science.
+
+Regina felt faint and sat down, because there was no reason for making
+any effort to go home. Perhaps a cab would pass, returning from some
+outlying part of the city, and she would take it. From the place where
+she sat she could see one far off, if any came.
+
+She sank down on the wet ground, and drew up her knees and pulled her
+cloak round her; and gradually her head bent forward and rested upon her
+hands, till she sat there like a figure of grief outlined in black
+against the moonlight on the great wall. She had forgotten where she
+was, and that there was any time in the world.
+
+Half an hour passed, and the moon sank low, and an hour, and the deadly
+white mist began to rise in the shadow round the base of the Colosseum,
+and crept up under the trees; and if any one had come upon her then, he
+would have seen its dull whiteness crawling round her feet and body, a
+hand-breadth above the wet ground. But she did not know; she had
+forgotten everything.
+
+Nothing was real any more. She could have believed that her father had
+killed her and left her corpse there, strangely sitting, though quite
+dead.
+
+Then she knew that the light had gone out; and suddenly she felt her
+teeth chatter, and a chill ran through her bones that was bad to feel.
+She raised her head and saw that the great walls were dark against the
+starry sky, and she rose with an effort, as if her limbs had suddenly
+become lead. But she could walk, though it was like walking in sleep.
+
+She did not afterwards remember how she got home, but she had a vague
+recollection of having lost her way, and of finding a cab at last, and
+then of letting herself into the little apartment in the dark.
+
+When she was next aware of anything it was broad daylight, and she was
+lying on her bed, still dressed and wearing her cloak; and Kalmon was
+bending over her, his eyes on hers and his fingers on her pulse, while
+old Teresa watched her anxiously from the foot of the bed.
+
+"I'm afraid it is a 'perniciosa,'" he said. "Put her to bed while I call
+a regular doctor."
+
+Regina looked up at him.
+
+"I have fever, have I not?" she asked quite quietly.
+
+"Yes. You have a little fever," he answered, but his big brown eyes were
+very grave.
+
+When Marcello came, an hour later, she did not know him. She stared at
+him with wide, unwinking eyes, and there were bright patches of colour
+in her cheeks. Already there were hollows in them, too, and at her
+temples, for the perniciosa fever is frightfully quick to waste the
+body. In the Campagna, where it is worst, men have died of it in less
+than four hours after first feeling it upon them. Great men have
+discovered wonderful remedies for it, but still it kills.
+
+Kalmon got one of the great men, who was his friend, and they did what
+they could. A nursing sister came and was installed. Marcello was
+summoned away soon after noon by an official person, who brought a
+carriage and said that Corbario was now conscious and able to speak, and
+that it was absolutely necessary that Marcello should be confronted
+with him, as he might not live another day. It was easier to go than it
+would have been if Regina had been conscious, but even so it was very
+hard. The nun and Teresa stayed with her.
+
+[Illustration: "SHE SAT THERE LIKE A FIGURE OF GRIEF OUTLINED IN BLACK
+AGAINST THE MOONLIGHT ON THE GREAT WALL."]
+
+She said little in her delirium, and nothing that had any meaning for
+either of the women. Twice she tried to tear away the linen and lace
+from her throat.
+
+"I wait!" she cried each time, and her eyes fixed themselves on the
+ceiling, while she held her breath.
+
+The women could not tell what she was waiting for, and they soothed her
+as best they could. She seemed to doze after that, and when Marcello
+came back she knew him, and took his hand. He sent away the nurses and
+sat by the bedside, and she spoke to him in short sentences, faintly. He
+bent forward, near the pillow, to catch the words.
+
+She was telling him what she had done last night.
+
+"But you promised that I should find you here to-day!" Marcello said,
+with gentle reproach.
+
+"Yes. I did not mean to break my word. But I thought he would do it. It
+seemed so easy."
+
+Her voice was weak with the fever, and sank almost to a whisper. He
+stroked her hand affectionately, hoping that she would go to sleep; and
+so a long time passed. Then Kalmon came in with his friend the great
+doctor. They saw that she was not yet any better; the doctor ordered
+several things to be done and went away. Kalmon drew Marcello out of the
+room.
+
+"You can do nothing," he said. "She has good care, and she is very
+strong. Go home and come back in the morning."
+
+"I must stay here," Marcello answered.
+
+"That is out of the question, on account of the Sister of Charity. But
+you can send for your things and camp in my rooms downstairs. There is a
+good sofa. You can telephone to the villa for what you want."
+
+"Thank you." Marcello's voice dropped and shook. "Will she live?" he
+asked.
+
+"I hope so. She is very strong, and it may be only fever."
+
+"What else could it be?"
+
+"Pneumonia."
+
+Marcello bit his lip and closed his eyes as if he were in bodily pain,
+and a moment later he turned away and went down to Kalmon's apartment.
+
+The Professor went back to Regina's side, and stood quietly watching
+her, with a very sad look in his eyes. She opened hers and saw him, and
+she brought one hand to her chest.
+
+"It burns," she said, almost in a whisper, but with a strange sort of
+eagerness, as if she were glad.
+
+"I wish I could bear it for you, my poor child," Kalmon answered.
+
+She shook her head, and turned uneasily on the pillow. He did not
+understand.
+
+"What is it?" he asked gently. "What can I do for you? Tell me."
+
+"I want to see some one very much. How long shall I live?"
+
+"You will get quite well," said Kalmon, in a reassuring tone. "But you
+must be very quiet." Again she moved her burning cheek on the pillow.
+
+"Do you want to see a priest?" asked the Professor, thinking he had
+guessed. "Is that it?"
+
+"Yes--there is time for that--some one else--could you? Will you?"
+
+"Yes." Kalmon bent down quickly, for he thought the delirium was coming
+again. "Who is it?" he asked.
+
+"Aurora--I mean, the Signorina--can you? Oh, do you think you could?"
+
+"I'll try," Kalmon answered in great surprise.
+
+But now the hoarseness was suddenly gone, and her sweet voice was softly
+humming an old song of the hills, forgotten many years, and the
+Professor saw that she did not know him any more. He nodded to Teresa,
+who was in the room, and went out.
+
+He wondered much at the request, but he remembered that it had been made
+in the full belief that he would say nothing of it to Marcello. If she
+had been willing that Marcello should know, she would have spoken to
+him, rather than to Kalmon. He had seen little enough of Regina, but he
+was sure that she could have no bad motive in wishing to see the young
+girl. Yet, from a social point of view, it was not exactly an easy thing
+to propose, and the Contessa would have a right to be offended at the
+mere suggestion that her daughter should speak to "Consalvi's Regina";
+and there could not be anything clandestine in the meeting, if Aurora
+consented to it. Kalmon was too deeply attached to the Contessa herself
+to be willing to risk her displeasure, or, indeed, to do anything of
+which she would not approve.
+
+He went to her house by the Forum of Trajan, and he found her at home.
+It was late in the afternoon, and the lamp was lighted in the little
+drawing-room, which did not seem at all shabby to Kalmon's accustomed
+eyes and not very exigent taste. The Contessa was reading an evening
+paper before the fire. She put out her hand to the Professor.
+
+"It is a bad business," she said, glancing at the newspaper, which had a
+long account of Corbario's arrest and of the murder of his old
+accomplice. "Poor Marcello!"
+
+"Poor Marcello! Yes, indeed! I'm sorry for him. There is something more
+than is in the papers, and more than I have written to you and told you.
+Regina has the perniciosa fever, complicated with pneumonia, and is not
+likely to live."
+
+"I am sorry," the Contessa answered. "I am very sorry for her. But after
+all, compared with what Marcello has learned about his mother's
+death--and other things Corbario did--"
+
+She stopped, implying by her tone that even if Regina died, that would
+not be the greatest of Marcello's misfortunes. Besides, she had long
+foreseen that the relations of the two could not last, and the simplest
+solution, and the happiest one for the poor devoted girl, was that she
+should die before her heart was broken. Maddalena dell' Armi had often
+wished that her own fate had been as merciful.
+
+"Yes," Kalmon answered. "You are right in that. But Regina has made a
+rather strange request. It was very unexpected, and perhaps I did wrong
+to tell her that I would do my best to satisfy her. I don't think she
+will live, and I felt sorry for her. That is why I came to you. It
+concerns Aurora."
+
+"Aurora?" The Contessa was surprised.
+
+"Yes. The girl knows she is dying, and wishes very much to see Aurora
+for a moment. I suppose it was weak of me to give her any hope."
+
+The Contessa dropped her newspaper and looked into the fire thoughtfully
+before she answered.
+
+"You and I are very good friends," she said. "You would not ask me to do
+anything you would not do yourself, would you? If you had a daughter of
+Aurora's age, should you let her go and see this poor woman, unless it
+were an act of real charity?"
+
+"No," Kalmon answered reluctantly. "I don't think I should."
+
+"Thank you for being so honest," Maddalena answered, and looked at the
+fire again.
+
+Some time passed before she spoke again, still watching the flames.
+Kalmon sighed, for he was very sorry for Regina.
+
+"On the other hand," the Contessa said at last, "it may be a real
+charity. Have you any idea why she wishes to see Aurora?"
+
+"No. I cannot guess."
+
+"I can. At least, I think I can." She paused again. "You know
+everything about me," she continued presently. "In the course of years I
+have told you all my story. Do you think I am a better woman than
+Regina?"
+
+"My dear friend!" cried Kalmon, almost angrily. "How can you suggest--"
+
+She turned her clear, sad eyes to him, and her look cut short his
+speech.
+
+"What has her sin been?" she asked gently. "She has loved Marcello. What
+was mine? That I loved one man too well. Which is the better woman? She,
+the peasant, who knew no better, who found her first love dying, and
+saved him, and loved him--knowing no better, and braving the world? Or
+I, well born, carefully brought up, a woman of the world, and
+married--no matter how--not braving the world at all, but miserably
+trying to deceive it, and my husband, and my child? Do you think I was
+so much better than poor Regina? Would my own daughter think so if she
+could know and understand?"
+
+"If you were not a very good woman now," Kalmon said earnestly, "you
+could not say what you are saying."
+
+"Never mind what I am now. I am not as good as you choose to think. If I
+were, there would not be a bitter thought left. I should have forgiven
+all. Leave out of the question what I am now. Compare me as I was with
+Regina as she is. That is how I put it, and I am right."
+
+"Even if you were," Kalmon answered doubtfully, "the situation would be
+the same, so far as Aurora is concerned."
+
+"But suppose that this poor woman cannot die in peace unless she has
+asked Aurora's pardon and obtained her forgiveness, what then?"
+
+"Her forgiveness? For what?"
+
+"For coming between her and Marcello. Say that, so far as Regina knows,
+my daughter is the only human being she has ever injured, what then?"
+
+"Does Aurora love Marcello?" asked Kalmon, instead of answering the
+question.
+
+"I think she does. I am almost sure of it."
+
+Kalmon was silent for a while.
+
+"But Marcello," he said at last, "what of him?"
+
+"He has always loved Aurora," the Contessa answered. "Do you blame him
+so much for what he has done? Why do you blame some people so easily, my
+dear friend, and others not at all? Do you realise what happened to him?
+He was virtually taken out of the life he was leading, by a blow that
+practically destroyed his memory, and of which the consequences
+altogether destroyed his will for some time. He found himself saved and
+at the same time loved--no, worshipped--by one of the most beautiful
+women in the world. Never mind her birth! She has never looked at any
+other man, before or since, and from what I have heard, she never will.
+Ah, if all women were like her! Marcello, weak from illness, allowed
+himself to be worshipped, and Corbario did the rest. I understand it
+all. Do you blame him very much? I don't. With all your strength of
+character, you would have done the same at his age! And having taken
+what she offered, what could he do, when he grew up and came to himself,
+and felt his will again? Could he cast her off, after all she had done
+for him?"
+
+"He could marry her," observed Kalmon. "I don't see why he should not,
+after all."
+
+"Marriage!" There was a little scornful sadness in Maddalena's voice.
+"Marriage is always the solution! No, no, he is right not to marry her,
+if he has ever thought of it. They would only make each other miserable
+for the rest of their lives. Miserable, and perhaps faithless too. That
+is what happens when men and women are not saints. Look at me!"
+
+"You were never in that position. Others were to blame, who made you
+marry when you were too young to have any will of your own."
+
+"Blame no one," said the Contessa gravely. "I shall give Aurora Regina's
+message, and if she is willing to go and see her, I shall bring her
+to-morrow morning--to-night, if there is no time to be lost. The world
+need never know. Go and tell Regina what I have said. It may comfort her
+a little, poor thing."
+
+"Indeed it will!"
+
+Kalmon's brown eyes beamed with pleasure at the thought of taking the
+kindly message to the dying girl. He rose to his feet at once.
+
+"There is no one like you," he said, as he took her hand.
+
+"It is nothing. It is what Marcello's mother would have done, and she
+was my best friend. All I do is to take the responsibility upon myself,
+however Aurora may choose to act. I will send you word, in either case.
+If Aurora will not go, I will come myself, if I can be of any use, if it
+would make Regina feel happier. I will come, and I will tell her what I
+have told you. Good-night, dear friend."
+
+Kalmon was not an emotional man, but as he went out he felt a little
+lump in his throat, as if he could not swallow.
+
+He had not doubted his friend's kindness, but he had doubted whether she
+would feel that she had a right to "expose her daughter," as the world
+would say, to meeting such a "person," as the world called
+Regina--"Consalvi's Regina."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+All that night and the following day Regina recognised no one; and it
+was night again, and her strength began to fail, but her understanding
+returned. Marcello saw the change, and made a sign to the nurse, who
+went out to tell Kalmon.
+
+It was about nine o'clock when he entered the room, and Regina knew him
+and looked at him anxiously. He, in turn, glanced at Marcello, and she
+understood. She begged Marcello to go and get some rest. Her voice was
+very weak, as if she were suffocating, and she coughed painfully. He did
+not like to go away, but Kalmon promised to call him at midnight; he had
+been in the room six hours, scarcely moving from his seat. He lingered
+at the door, looked back, and at last went out.
+
+"Will she come?" asked Regina, when he was gone.
+
+"In half an hour. I have sent a messenger, for they have no telephone."
+
+A bright smile lighted up the wasted face.
+
+"Heaven will reward you," she said, as the poor say in Rome when they
+receive a charity.
+
+Then she seemed to be resting, for her hands lay still, and she closed
+her eyes. But presently she opened them, looking up gratefully into the
+big man's kind face.
+
+"Shall I be alone with her a little?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, my dear. You shall be alone with her."
+
+Again she smiled, and he left the nurse with her and went and waited
+downstairs at the street door, till the Contessa and Aurora should come,
+in order to take them up to the little apartment. He knew that Marcello
+must have fallen asleep at once, for he had not rested at all for
+twenty-four hours, and very little during several days past. Kalmon was
+beginning to fear that he would break down, though he was so much
+stronger than formerly.
+
+Marcello had always been grateful to Regina, even when he had convinced
+himself that he loved her. Love is not very compatible with gratitude.
+Two people who love each other very much expect everything because they
+are always ready to give everything, not in return or by way of any
+exchange, but as if the two were one in giving and taking. A man cannot
+be grateful to himself. But Marcello had never felt that dear illusion
+with Regina, because there had been no real companionship; and so he had
+always been grateful to her, and now that she was perhaps dying, he was
+possessed by the horribly painful certainty that he could never repay
+her what he owed, and that this debt of honour must remain unpaid for
+ever, if she died. There was much more than that in what he felt, of
+course, for there was his very real affection, tormented by the
+foreboding of the coming wrench, and there was the profound sympathy of
+a very kind man for a suffering woman. But all that together was not
+love like hers for him; it was not love at all.
+
+Kalmon waited, and smoked a little, reflecting on these things, which
+he understood tolerably well. The quiet man of science had watched
+Marcello thoughtfully, and could not help asking himself what look there
+would be in his own eyes, if Maddalena dell' Armi were dying and he were
+standing by her bedside. It would not be Marcello's look.
+
+A closed cab stopped before the entrance, and almost before he could
+throw away his cigarette, the Contessa and Aurora were standing beside
+him on the pavement.
+
+"She is very weak," he said, "but she will not be delirious again for
+some time--if at all."
+
+Neither of the ladies spoke, and they followed him in silence up the
+ill-lighted staircase.
+
+"That is where I live," he said, as he passed his own door on the second
+landing. "Marcello is camping there. He is probably asleep now."
+
+"Asleep!" It was Aurora that uttered the single word, in a puzzled tone.
+
+"He did not go to bed last night," Kalmon explained, going on.
+
+"Oh!" Again the Professor was struck by the young girl's tone.
+
+They reached the third landing, and Kalmon pushed the door, which he had
+left ajar; he shut it when they had all entered, and he ushered the
+mother and daughter into the small sitting-room. There they waited a
+moment while he went to tell Regina that Aurora had come.
+
+The young girl dropped her cloak upon a chair and stood waiting, her
+eyes fixed on the door. She was a little pale, not knowing what was to
+come, yet feeling somehow that it was to make a great difference to her
+ever afterwards. She glanced at her mother, and the Contessa smiled
+gently, as much as to say that she was doing right, but neither spoke.
+
+Presently Kalmon came out with the Sister of Charity, who bent her head
+gravely to the two ladies.
+
+"She wishes to see you alone," Kalmon said, in explanation, while he
+held the door open for Aurora to pass in.
+
+He closed it after her, and the two were together.
+
+When Aurora entered, Regina's eyes were fixed upon her face as if they
+had already found her and seen her while she had been in the other room.
+She came straight to the bedside and took the hand that was stretched
+out to meet hers. It was thin and hot now, and the arm was already
+wasted. Aurora remembered how strongly it had lifted her to the edge of
+the rock, far away by Pontresina.
+
+"You are very kind, Signorina," said the faint voice. "You see how I
+am."
+
+Aurora saw indeed, and kept the hand in hers as she sat down in the
+chair that stood where Marcello had left it.
+
+"I am very, very sorry," she said, leaning forward a little and looking
+into the worn face, colourless now that the fever had subsided for a
+while.
+
+The same bright smile that Kalmon had seen lighted up Regina's features.
+
+"But I am glad!" she answered. "They do not understand that I am glad."
+
+"No, no!" cried Aurora softly. "Don't say you are glad!"
+
+The smile faded, and a very earnest look came into the hollow dark eyes.
+
+"But I have not done it on purpose," Regina said. "I did not know there
+was fever in that place, or I would not have sat down there. You believe
+me, Signorina, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed!"
+
+The smile returned very gradually, and the anxious pressure of the hand
+relaxed.
+
+"You must not think that I was looking for the fever. But since it came,
+and I am going from here, I am glad. I shall not be in the way any more.
+That hindrance will be taken out of his life."
+
+"He would not like to hear you speak like this," Aurora said, with great
+gentleness.
+
+"There is no time for anything except the truth, now. And you are good,
+so good! No, there is no time. To-morrow, I shall be gone. Signorina, if
+I could kneel at your feet, I would kneel. But you see how I am. You
+must think I am kneeling at your feet."
+
+"But why?" asked Aurora, with a little distress.
+
+"To ask you to forgive me for being a hindrance. I want pardon before I
+go. But I found him half dead on the door-step. What could I do? When I
+had seen him, I loved him. I knew that he thought of you. That was all
+he remembered--just your name, and I hated it, because he had forgotten
+all other names, even his own, and his mother, and everything. He was
+like a little child that learns, to-day this, to-morrow that, one thing
+at a time. What could I do? I taught him. I also taught him to love
+Regina. But when the memory came back, I knew how it had been before."
+
+Her voice broke and she coughed, and raised one hand to her chest.
+Aurora supported her tenderly until it was over, and when the weary head
+sank back at last it lay upon the young girl's willing arm.
+
+"You are tiring yourself," Aurora said. "If it was to ask my forgiveness
+that you wished me to come, I forgave you long ago, if there was
+anything to forgive. I forgave you when we met, and I saw what you were,
+and that you loved him for himself, just as I do."
+
+"Is it true? Really true?"
+
+"So may God help me, it is quite true. But if I had thought it was not
+for himself--"
+
+"Oh, yes, it was," Regina answered. "It was, and it is, to the end. Will
+you see? I will show you. For what the eyes see the heart believes more
+easily. Signorina, will you bring the little box covered with old
+velvet? It is there, on the table, and it is open."
+
+Aurora rose, humouring her, and brought the thing she asked for, and sat
+down again, setting it on the edge of the bed. Regina turned her head to
+see it, and raised the lid with one hand.
+
+"This is my little box," she said. "What he has given me is all in it. I
+have no other. Will you see? Here is what I have taken from him. You
+shall look everywhere, if you do not believe."
+
+"But I do believe you!" Aurora cried, feeling that tears were coming to
+her eyes.
+
+"But you must see," Regina insisted. "Or perhaps when I am gone you will
+say to yourself, 'There may have been diamonds and pearls in the little
+box, after all!' You shall know that it was all for himself."
+
+To please her Aurora took up some of the simple trinkets, simpler and
+cheaper even than what she had herself.
+
+"There are dresses, yes, many more than I wanted. But I could not let
+him be ashamed of me when we went out together, and travelled. Do you
+forgive me the dresses, Signorina? I wore them to please him. Please
+forgive me that also!"
+
+Aurora dropped the things into the open box and laid both her hands on
+Regina's, bending down her radiant head and looking very earnestly into
+the anxious eyes.
+
+"Forgiveness is not all from me to you, Regina," she said. "I want yours
+too."
+
+"Mine?" The eyes grew wide and wondering.
+
+"Don't you see that but for me he would have married you, and that I
+have been the cause of a great wrong to you?"
+
+For one instant Regina's face darkened, her brows straightened
+themselves, and her lip curled. She remembered how, only two days ago,
+in the very next room, Marcello had insisted that she should he his
+wife. But as she looked into Aurora's innocent eyes she understood, and
+the cloud passed from her own, and the bright smile came back. Aurora
+had spoken in the simplicity of her true heart, sure that it was only
+the memory of his love for her that had withheld Marcello from first to
+last; and Regina well knew that it had always been present with him, in
+spite of his brave struggle to put it away. That memory of another,
+which Regina had seen slowly reviving in him, had been for something in
+her refusal to marry him.
+
+With the mysterious sure vision of those who are near death, she felt
+that it would hurt Aurora to know the truth, except from Marcello
+himself.
+
+"If you have ever stood between us," she said, "you had the right. He
+loved you first. There is nothing to forgive in that. Afterwards he
+loved me a little. No one can take that from me, no one! It is mine, and
+it is all I have, and though I am going, and though I know that he is
+tired of me, it is still more than the world. To have it, as I have it,
+I would do again what I did, from the first."
+
+The voice was weak and muffled, but the words were distinct, and they
+were the confession of poor Regina's life.
+
+"If he were here," she said, after a moment, "I would lay your hand in
+his. Only let me take that memory with me!"
+
+The young girl rose and bent over her as she answered.
+
+"It is yours, to keep for ever."
+
+She stooped a little lower and kissed the dying woman's forehead.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Under the May moon a little brigantine came sailing up to a low island
+just within sight of Italy; when she was within half a mile of the reefs
+Don Antonino Maresca put her about, for he was a prudent man, and he
+knew that there are just a few more rocks in the sea than are in the
+charts. It was a quiet night, and he was beating up against a gentle
+northerly breeze.
+
+When the head yards were swung, and braced sharp up for the other tack,
+and the little vessel had gathered way again, the mate came aft and
+stood by the captain, watching the light on the island.
+
+"Are there still convicts on this island, Don Antonino?" the young man
+asked.
+
+"Yes, there are the convicts. And there is one among them whom I helped
+to put there. He is an assassin that killed many when he was at liberty.
+But now he sits for seven years in a little cell alone, and sees no
+Christian, and it will be thirty years before he is free."
+
+"Madonna!" ejaculated the mate. "When he has been there thirty years he
+will perhaps understand."
+
+"It is as I say," rejoined the captain. "The world is made so. There are
+the good and the bad. The Eternal Father has created things thus. Get a
+little more on the main sheet, and then flatten in those jibs."
+
+Under the May moon, in the small shaft of white light that fell through
+the narrow grated window, a man sat on the edge of his pallet bed. His
+face was ghastly, and there were strange scars on his bare throat. His
+cell was seven feet by six, and the air was hard to breathe, because the
+wind was not from the south. But the moon was kinder than the sun. He
+heard the ripple of the cool sea, and he tried to dream that a great
+stone was hung to his neck, and that he had been thrown into a deep
+place. Perhaps, some day, the gaoler would forget to take away the
+coarse towel which was brought with the water in the morning. With a
+towel he could hang himself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Under the May moon a small marble cross cast its shadow upon young roses
+and violets and growing myrtle. In the sweet earth below a very loyal
+heart was at rest for ever. But the flowers were planted and still
+tended by a woman with radiant hair; and sometimes, when she stooped to
+train the young roses, bright drops fell quietly upon their bloom. Also,
+on certain days, a man came there alone and knelt upon the marble border
+within which the flowers grew. But the man and the woman never came
+together; and he gave the gardener of that place money, praising him for
+the care of the flowers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Under the May moon the man and the woman went down from the cottage by
+the Roman shore to the break in the high bank, and stood still a while,
+looking out at the peaceful sea and the moon's broad path. Presently
+they turned to each other, put out their hands, and then their arms, and
+clasped each other silently, and kissed.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13932 ***