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Marion Crawford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Casa Braccio, Volumes 1 and 2 (of 2), by +F. Marion Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Casa Braccio, Volumes 1 and 2 (of 2) + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Illustrator: A. Castaigne + +Release Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #26327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CASA BRACCIO, VOLUMES 1 AND 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;"> +<img src="images/cover01.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> +<h1>CASA BRACCIO</h1> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="150" height="41" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;"> +<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="369" height="500" alt=""He looked at her long and sadly."—Vol. I., p. 239." title=""He looked at her long and sadly."—Vol. I., p. 239." /> +<span class="caption">"He looked at her long and sadly."—Vol. I., <a href="#Page_239">p. 239.</a></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>CASA BRACCIO</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD</h2> + +<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Author of "Saracinesca," "Pietro Ghisleri," etc.</span><br /> +<br /><br /> +<br />IN TWO VOLUMES<br /> + +<br />VOL. I.<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. CASTAIGNE</i><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<b>New York</b><br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +<small>AND LONDON</small><br /> +<br /> +1895<br /> +<br /> +<small><i>All rights reserved</i></small><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + +<div class='copyright'> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1894,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By F. MARION CRAWFORD.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Norwood Press</b><br /> +J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith<br /> +Norwood Mass. U.S.A.<br /> +</div><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> +THIS STORY, BEING MY TWENTY-FIFTH NOVEL,<br /> +IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO<br /> +MY WIFE<br /></div> +<div class='blockquot'> +<span class="smcap">Sorrento, 1895</span><br /></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>PART I.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sister Maria Addolorata </span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART II.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gloria Dalrymple</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span></h3> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Nanna and Annetta</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Maria Addolorata</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Sor Tommaso was lying motionless"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"She had covered her face with the veil"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"An evil death on you!"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"He looked at her long and sadly"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Fire and sleet and candle-light;<br /><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Christ receive thy soul"</span></td><td align='right' valign='bottom'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Part I.</span></h2> + +<h3><i>SISTER MARIA ADDOLORATA.</i></h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CASA BRACCIO.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><span class="smcap">Part I.</span></h2> + +<h3><i>SISTER MARIA ADDOLORATA.</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Subiaco</span> lies beyond Tivoli, southeast from +Rome, at the upper end of a wild gorge in the +Samnite mountains. It is an archbishopric, and +gives a title to a cardinal, which alone would make +it a town of importance. It shares with Monte +Cassino the honour of having been chosen by Saint +Benedict and Saint Scholastica, his sister, as the +site of a monastery and a convent; and in a cell in +the rock a portrait of the holy man is still well +preserved, which is believed, not without reason, to +have been painted from life, although Saint Benedict +died early in the fifth century. The town +itself rises abruptly to a great height upon a mass +of rock, almost conical in shape, crowned by the +cardinal's palace, and surrounded on three sides by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +rugged mountains. On the third, it looks down +the rapidly widening valley in the direction of +Vicovaro, near which the Licenza runs into the +Anio, in the neighbourhood of Horace's farm. It +is a very ancient town, and in its general appearance +it does not differ very much from many similar +ones amongst the Italian mountains; but its +position is exceptionally good, and its importance +has been stamped upon it by the hands of those +who have thought it worth holding since the days of +ancient Rome. Of late it has, of course, acquired +a certain modernness of aspect; it has planted +acacia trees in its little piazza, and it has a gorgeously +arrayed municipal band. But from a little +distance one neither hears the band nor sees the +trees, the grim mediæval fortifications frown upon +the valley, and the time-stained dwellings, great +and small, rise in rugged irregularity against the +lighter brown of the rocky background and the +green of scattered olive groves and chestnuts. +Those features, at least, have not changed, and +show no disposition to change during generations +to come.</p> + +<p>In the year 1844, modern civilization had not +yet set in, and Subiaco was, within, what it still +appears to be from without, a somewhat gloomy +stronghold of the Middle Ages, rearing its battlements +and towers in a shadowy gorge, above a +mountain torrent, inhabited by primitive and passionate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +people, dominated by ecclesiastical institutions, +and, though distinctly Roman, a couple of +hundred years behind Rome itself in all matters +ethic and æsthetic. It was still the scene of the +Santacroce murder, which really decided Beatrice +Cenci's fate; it was still the gathering place of +highwaymen and outlaws, whose activity found +an admirable field through all the region of hill +and plain between the Samnite range and the +sea, while the almost inaccessible fortresses of the +higher mountains, towards Trevi and the Serra di +Sant' Antonio, offered a safe refuge from the halfhearted +pursuit of Pope Gregory's lazy soldiers.</p> + +<p>Something of what one may call the life-and-death +earnestness of earlier times, when passion +was motive and prejudice was law, survived at +that time and even much later; the ferocity of +practical love and hatred dominated the theory +and practice of justice in the public life of the +smaller towns, while the patriarchal system subjected +the family in almost absolute servitude to +its head.</p> + +<p>There was nothing very surprising in the fact +that the head of the house of Braccio should have +obliged one of his daughters to take the veil in the +Convent of Carmelite nuns, just within the gate of +Subiaco, as his sister had taken it many years +earlier. Indeed, it was customary in the family +of the Princes of Gerano that one of the women<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +should be a Carmelite, and it was a tradition not +unattended with worldly advantages to the sisterhood, +that the Braccio nun, whenever there was +one, should be the abbess of that particular convent.</p> + +<p>Maria Teresa Braccio had therefore yielded, +though very unwillingly, to her father's insistence, +and having passed through her novitiate, had finally +taken the veil as a Carmelite of Subiaco, in the +year 1841, on the distinct understanding that when +her aunt died she was to be abbess in the elder +lady's stead. The abbess herself was, indeed, in +excellent health and not yet fifty years old, so +that Maria Teresa—in religion Maria Addolorata—might +have a long time to wait before she was +promoted to an honour which she regarded as +hereditary; but the prospect of such promotion was +almost her only compensation for all she had left +behind her, and she lived upon it and concentrated +her character upon it, and practised the part she +was to play, when she was quite sure that she was +not observed.</p> + +<p>Nature had not made her for a recluse, least of +all for a nun of such a rigid Order as the Carmelites. +The short taste of a brilliant social life +which she had been allowed to enjoy, in accordance +with an ancient tradition, before finally taking the +veil, had shown her clearly enough the value of +what she was to abandon, and at the same time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +had altogether confirmed her father in his decision. +Compared with the freedom of the present day, the +restrictions imposed upon a young girl in the +Roman society of those times were, of course, +tyrannical in the extreme, and the average modern +young lady would almost as willingly go into a +convent as submit to them. But Maria Teresa had +received an impression which nothing could efface. +Her intuitive nature had divined the possible semi-emancipation +of marriage, and her temperament +had felt in a certain degree the extremes of joyous +exaltation and of that entrancing sadness which is +love's premonition, and which tells maidens what +love is before they know him, by making them +conscious of the breadth and depth of his yet +vacant dwelling.</p> + +<p>She had learned in that brief time that she was +beautiful, and she had felt that she could love and +that she should be loved in return. She had seen +the world as a princess and had felt it as a woman, +and she had understood all that she must give up +in taking the veil. But she had been offered no +choice, and though she had contemplated opposition, +she had not dared to revolt. Being absolutely +in the power of her parents, so far as she was aware, +she had accepted the fatality of their will, and bent +her fair head to be shorn of its glory and her +broad forehead to be covered forever from the gaze +of men. And having submitted, she had gone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +through it all bravely and proudly, as perhaps she +would have gone through other things, even to +death itself, being a daughter of an old race, accustomed +to deify honour and to make its divinities +of tradition. For the rest of her natural life she +was to live on the memories of one short, magnificent +year, forever to be contented with the grim +rigidity of conventual life in an ancient cloister +surrounded by gloomy mountains. She was to be +a veiled shadow amongst veiled shades, a priestess +of sorrow amongst sad virgins; and though, if she +lived long enough, she was to be the chief of them +and their ruler, her very superiority could only +make her desolation more complete, until her own +shadow, like the others, should be gathered into +eternal darkness.</p> + +<p>Sister Maria Addolorata had certain privileges +for which her companions would have given much, +but which were traditionally the right of such +ladies of the Braccio family as took the veil. For +instance, she had a cell which, though not larger +than the other cells, was better situated, for it had +a little balcony looking over the convent garden, +and high enough to afford a view of the distant +valley and of the hills which bounded it, beyond +the garden wall. It was entered by the last door +in the corridor within, and was near the abbess's +apartment, which was entered from the corridor, +through a small antechamber which also gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +access to the vast linen-presses. The balcony, too, +had a little staircase leading down into the garden. +It had always been the custom to carry the +linen to and from the laundry through Maria +Addolorata's cell, and through a postern gate in +the garden wall, the washing being done in the +town. By this plan, the annoyance was avoided +of carrying the huge baskets through the whole +length of the convent, to and from the main entrance, +which was also much further removed from +the house of Sora Nanna, the chief laundress. +Moreover, Maria Addolorata had charge of all the +convent linen, and the employment thus afforded +her was an undoubted privilege in itself, for occupation +of any kind not devotional was excessively +scarce in such an existence.</p> + +<p>In the eyes of the other nuns, the constant +society of the abbess herself was also a privilege, +and one not by any means to be despised. After +all, the abbess and her niece were nearly related, +they could talk of the affairs of their family, and +the abbess doubtless received many letters from +Rome containing all the interesting news of the +day, and all the social gossip—perfectly innocent, +of course—which was the chronicle of Roman +life. These were valuable compensations, and the +nuns envied them. The abbess, too, saw her +brother, the archbishop and titular cardinal of +Subiaco, when the princely prelate came out from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +Rome for the coolness of the mountains in August +and September, and his conversation was said to +be not only edifying, but fascinating. The cardinal +was a very good man, like many of the Braccio +family, but he was also a man of the world, who +had been sent upon foreign missions of importance, +and had acquired some worldly fame as well as +much ecclesiastical dignity in the course of his +long life. It must be delightful, the nuns thought, +to be his own sister, to receive long visits from +him, and to hear all he had to say about the busy +world of Rome. To most of them, everything +beyond Rome was outer darkness.</p> + +<p>But though the nuns envied the abbess and +Maria Addolorata, they did not venture to say so, +and they hardly dared to think so, even when they +were all alone, each in her cell; for the concentration +of conventual life magnifies small spiritual +sins in the absence of anything really sinful, and +to admit that she even faintly wishes she might +be some one else is to tarnish the brightness of +the nun's scrupulously polished conscience. It +would be as great a misdeed, perhaps, as to allow +the attention to wander to worldly matters during +times of especial devotion. Nevertheless, the envy +showed itself, very perceptibly and much against +the will of the sisters themselves, in a certain cold +deference of manner towards the young and beautiful +nun who was one day to be the superior of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +them all by force of circumstances for which she +deserved no credit. She had the position among +them, and something of the isolation, of a young +royal princess amongst the ladies of her queen +mother's court.</p> + +<p>There was about her, too, an undefinable something, +like the shadow of future fate, a something +almost impossible to describe, and yet distinctly +appreciable to all who saw her and lived with her. +It came upon her especially when she was silent +and abstracted, when she was kneeling in her +place in the choir, or was alone upon her little balcony +over the garden. At such times a luminous +pallor gradually took the place of her fresh and +healthy complexion, her eyes grew unnaturally +dark, with a deep, fixed fire in them, and the +regular features took upon them the white, set +straightness of a death mask. Sometimes, at such +moments, a shiver ran through her, even in summer, +and she drew her breath sharply once or twice, as +though she were hurt. The expression was not +one of suffering or pain, but was rather that of a +person conscious of some great danger which must +be met without fear or flinching.</p> + +<p>She would have found it very hard to explain +what she felt just then. She might have said that +it was a consciousness of something unknown. +She could not have said more than that. It +brought no vision with it, beatific or horrifying;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +it was not the consequence of methodical contemplation, +as the trance state is; and it was followed +by no reaction nor sense of uneasiness. It simply +came and went as the dark shadow of a thundercloud +passing between her and the sun, and leaving +no trace behind.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to account for it, unless it +could be explained by heredity, and no one had +ever suggested any such explanation to Maria. +It was true that there had been more than one +tragedy in the Braccio family since they had first +lifted their heads above the level of their contemporaries +to become Roman Barons, in the old +days before such titles as prince and duke had +come into use. But then, most of the old families +could tell of deeds as cruel and lives as passionate +as any remembered by Maria's race, and Italians, +though superstitious in unexpected ways, have +little of that belief in hereditary fate which is +common enough in the gloomy north.</p> + +<p>"Was Sister Maria Addolorata a great sinner, +before she became a nun?" asked Annetta, Sora +Nanna's daughter, of her mother, one day, as they +came away from the convent.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying!" exclaimed the washerwoman, +in a tone of rebuke. "She is a great lady, +and the niece of the abbess and of the cardinal. +Sometimes certain ideas pass through your head, +my daughter!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Sora Nanna gesticulated, unable to express +herself.</p> + +<p>"Then she sins in her throat," observed Annetta, +calmly. "But you do not even look at her—so +many sheets—so many pillow-cases—and good +day! But while you count, I look."</p> + +<p>"Why should I look at her?" inquired Nanna, +shifting the big empty basket she carried on her +head, hitching her broad shoulders and wrinkling +her leathery forehead, as her small eyes turned +upward. "Do you take me for a man, that I +should make eyes at a nun?"</p> + +<p>"And I? Am I a man? And yet I look at +her. I see nothing but her face when we are +there, and afterwards I think about it. What +harm is there? She sins in her throat. I know +it."</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna hitched her shoulders impatiently +again, and said nothing. The two women descended +through the steep and narrow street, +slippery and wet with slimy, coal black mud that +glittered on the rough cobble-stones. Nanna +walked first, and Annetta followed close behind +her, keeping step, and setting her feet exactly +where her mother had trod, with the instinctive +certainty of the born mountaineer. With heads +erect and shoulders square, each with one hand on +her hip and the other hanging down, they carried +their burdens swiftly and safely, with a swinging,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +undulating gait as though it were a pleasure to +them to move, and would require an effort to stop +rather than to walk on forever. They wore shoes +because they were well-to-do people, and chose to +show that they were when they went up to the +convent. But for the rest they were clad in the +costume of the neighbourhood,—the coarse white +shift, close at the throat, the scarlet bodice, the +short, dark, gathered skirt, and the dark blue +carpet apron, with flowers woven on a white stripe +across the lower end. Both wore heavy gold earrings, +and Sora Nanna had eight or ten strings of +large coral beads around her throat.</p> + +<p>Annetta was barely fifteen years old, brown, +slim, and active as a lizard. She was one of those +utterly unruly and untamable girls of whom there +are two or three in every Italian village, in mountain +or plain, a creature in whom a living consciousness +of living nature took the place of thought, and +with whom to be conscious was to speak, without +reason or hesitation. The small, keen, black eyes +were set under immense and arched black eyebrows +which made the eyes themselves seem larger +than they were, and the projecting temples cast +shadows to the cheek which hid the rudimentary +modelling of the coarse lower lids. The ears were +flat and ill-developed, but close to the head and +not large; the teeth very short, though perfectly +regular and exceedingly white; the lips long, mobile,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +brown rather than red, and generally parted +like those of a wild animal. The girl's smoothly +sinewy throat moved with every step, showing the +quick play of the elastic cords and muscles. Her +blue-black hair was plaited, though far from neatly, +and the braids were twisted into an irregular flat +coil, generally hidden by the flap of the white embroidered +cloth cross-folded upon her head and +hanging down behind.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 249px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="249" height="500" alt="Nanna and Annetta.—Vol. I., p. 15." title="Nanna and Annetta.—Vol. I., p. 15." /> +<span class="caption">Nanna and Annetta.—Vol. I., p. 15.</span> +</div> + +<p>For some minutes the mother and daughter continued +to pick their way down the winding lanes +between the dark houses of the upper village. Then +Sora Nanna put out her right hand as a signal to +Annetta that she meant to stop, and she stood still +on the steep descent and turned deliberately till +she could see the girl.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying?" she began, as though +there had been no pause in the conversation. +"That Sister Maria Addolorata sins in her throat! +But how can she sin in her throat, since she sees +no man but the gardener and the priest? Indeed, +you say foolish things!"</p> + +<p>"And what has that to do with it?" inquired +Annetta. "She must have seen enough of men in +Rome, every one of them a great lord. And who +tells you that she did not love one of them and +does not wish that she were married to him? And +if that is not a sin in the throat, I do not know +what to say. There is my answer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You say foolish things," repeated Sora Nanna.</p> + +<p>Then she turned deliberately away and began to +descend once more, with an occasional dissatisfied +movement of the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"For the rest," observed Annetta, "it is not my +business. I would rather look at the Englishman +when he is eating meat than at Sister Maria when +she is counting clothes! I do not know whether +he is a wolf or a man."</p> + +<p>"Eh! The Englishman!" exclaimed Sora Nanna. +"You will look so much at the Englishman that +you will make blood with Gigetto, who wishes you +well, and when Gigetto has waited for the Englishman +at the corner of the forest, what shall we all +have? The galleys. What do you see in the +Englishman? He has red hair and long, long +teeth. Yes—just like a wolf. You are right. +And if he pays for meat, why should he not eat +it? If he did not pay, it would be different. It +would soon be finished. Heaven send us a little +money without any Englishman! Besides, Gigetto +said the other day that he would wait for him at +the corner of the forest. And Gigetto, when he +says a thing, he does it."</p> + +<p>"And why should we go to the galleys if Gigetto +waits for the Englishman?" inquired Annetta.</p> + +<p>"Silly!" cried the older woman. "Because +Gigetto would take your father's gun, since he has +none of his own. That would be enough. We +should have done it!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>Annetta shrugged her shoulders and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"But take care," continued Sora Nanna. "Your +father sleeps with one eye open. He sees you, and +he sees also the Englishman every day. He says +nothing, because he is good. But he has a fist like +a paving-stone. I tell you nothing more."</p> + +<p>They reached Sora Nanna's house and disappeared +under the dark archway. For Sora Nanna +and Stefanone, her husband, were rich people for +their station, and their house was large and was +built with an arch wide enough and high enough +for a loaded beast of burden to pass through with +a man on its back. And, within, everything was +clean and well kept, excepting all that belonged to +Annetta. There were airy upper rooms, with well-swept +floors of red brick or of beaten cement, furnished +with high beds on iron trestles, and wooden +stools of well-worn brown oak, and tables painted +a vivid green, and primitive lithographs of Saint +Benedict and Santa Scholastica and the Addolorata. +And there were lofts in which the rich autumn +grapes were hung up to dry on strings, and where +chestnuts lay in heaps, and figs were spread in +symmetrical order on great sheets of the coarse +grey paper made in Subiaco. There were apples, +too, though poor ones, and there were bins of maize +and wheat, waiting to be picked over before being +ground in the primeval household mill. And there +were hams and sides of bacon, and red peppers, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +bundles of dried herbs, and great mountain cheeses +on shelves. There was also a guest room, better +than the rest, which Stefanone and his wife occasionally +let to respectable travellers or to the merchants +who came from Rome on business to stay +a few days in Subiaco. At the present time the +room was rented by the Englishman concerning +whom the discussion had arisen between Annetta +and her mother.</p> + +<p>Angus Dalrymple, M.D., was not an Englishman, +as he had tried to explain to Sora Nanna, though +without the least success. He was, as his name +proclaimed, a Scotchman of the Scotch, and a +doctor of medicine. It was true that he had red +hair, and an abundance of it, and long white teeth, +but Sora Nanna's description was otherwise libellously +incomplete and wholly omitted all mention +of the good points in his appearance. In the first +place, he possessed the characteristic national build +in a superior degree of development, with all the +lean, bony energy which has done so much hard +work in the world. He was broad-shouldered, +long-armed, long-legged, deep-chested, and straight, +with sinewy hands and singularly well-shaped fingers. +His healthy skin had that mottled look +produced by countless freckles upon an almost +childlike complexion. The large, grave mouth +generally concealed the long teeth objected to by +Sora Nanna, and the lips, though even and narrow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +were strong rather than thin, and their rare smile +was both genial and gentle. There were lines—as +yet very faint—about the corners of the mouth, +which told of a nervous and passionate disposition +and of the strong Scotch temper, as well as of a +certain sensitiveness which belongs especially to +northern races. The pale but very bright blue eyes +under shaggy auburn brows were fiery with courage +and keen with shrewd enterprise. Dalrymple was +assuredly not a man to be despised under any circumstances, +intellectually or physically.</p> + +<p>His presence in such a place as Subiaco, at a +time when hardly any foreigners except painters +visited the place, requires some explanation; for +he was not an artist, but a doctor, and had never +been even tempted to amuse himself with sketching. +In the first place, he was a younger son of +a good family, and received a moderate allowance, +quite sufficient in those days to allow him considerable +latitude of expenditure in old-fashioned +Italy. Secondly, he had entirely refused to follow +any of the professions known as 'liberal.' He +had no taste for the law, and he had not the +companionable character which alone can make +life in the army pleasant in time of peace. His +beliefs, or his lack of belief, together with an +honourable conscience, made him naturally opposed +to all churches. On the other hand, he had been +attracted almost from his childhood by scientific<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +subjects, at a period when the discoveries of the +last fifty years appeared as misty but beatific +visions to men of science. To the disappointment +and, to some extent, to the humiliation of his +family, he insisted upon studying medicine, at the +University of St. Andrew's, as soon as he had +obtained his ordinary degree at Cambridge. And +having once insisted, nothing could turn him from +his purpose, for he possessed English tenacity +grafted upon Scotch originality, with a good deal +of the strength of both races.</p> + +<p>While still a student he had once made a tour +in Italy, and like many northerners had fallen +under the mysterious spell of the South from the +very first. Having a sufficient allowance for all +his needs, as has been said, and being attracted by +the purely scientific side of his profession rather +than by any desire to become a successful practitioner, +it was natural enough that on finding +himself free to go whither he pleased in pursuit +of knowledge, he should have visited Italy again. +A third visit had convinced him that he should do +well to spend some years in the country; for by +that time he had become deeply interested in the +study of malarious fevers, which in those days +were completely misunderstood. It would be far +too much to say that young Dalrymple had at that +time formed any complete theory in regard to +malaria; but his naturally lonely and concentrated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +intellect had contemptuously discarded all explanations +of malarious phenomena, and, communicating +his own ideas to no one, until he +should be in possession of proofs for his opinions, +he had in reality got hold of the beginning of +the truth about germs which has since then revolutionized +medicine.</p> + +<p>The only object of this short digression has been +to show that Angus Dalrymple was not a careless +idler and tourist in Italy, only half responsible +for what he did, and not at all for what he +thought. On the contrary, he was a man of very +unusual gifts, of superior education, and of rare +enterprise; a strong, silent, thoughtful man, about +eight-and-twenty years of age, and just beginning +to feel his power as something greater than he +had suspected, when he came to spend the autumn +months in Subiaco, and hired Sora Nanna's guest +room, with a little room leading off it, which he +kept locked, and in which he had a table, a chair, +a microscope, some books, a few chemicals and +some simple apparatus.</p> + +<p>His presence had at first roused certain jealous +misgivings in the heart of the town physician, Sor +Tommaso Taddei, commonly spoken of simply as +'the Doctor,' because there was no other. But +Dalrymple was not without tact and knowledge +of human nature. He explained that he came as +a foreigner to learn from native physicians how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +malarious fevers were treated in Italy; and he +listened with patient intelligence to Sor Tommaso's +antiquated theories, and silently watched his +still more antiquated practice. And Sor Tommaso, +like all people who think that they know a vast +deal, highly approved of Dalrymple's submissive +silence, and said that the young man was a +marvel of modesty, and that if he could stay +about ten years in Subiaco and learn something +from Sor Tommaso himself, he might really some +day be a fairly good doctor,—which were extraordinarily +liberal admissions on the part of the +old practitioner, and contributed largely towards +reassuring Stefanone concerning his lodger's +character.</p> + +<p>For Stefanone and his wife had their doubts and +suspicions. Of course they knew that all foreigners +except Frenchmen and Austrians were Protestants, +and ate meat on fast days, and were under the most +especial protection of the devil, who fattened them +in this world that they might burn the better in the +next. But Stefanone had never seen the real foreigner +at close quarters, and had not conceived it possible +that any living human being could devour so +much half-cooked flesh in a day as Dalrymple desired +for his daily portion, paid for, and consumed. +Moreover, there was no man in Subiaco who could +and did swallow such portentous draughts of the +strong mountain wine, without suffering any apparent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +effects from his potations. Furthermore, +also, Dalrymple did strange things by day and +night in the small laboratory he had arranged +next to his bedroom, and unholy and evil smells +issued at times through the cracks of the door, and +penetrated from the bedroom to the stairs outside, +and were distinctly perceptible all over the house. +Therefore Stefanone maintained for a long time +that his lodger was in league with the powers of +darkness, and that it was not safe to keep him +in the house, though he paid his bill so very +regularly, every Saturday, and never quarrelled +about the price of his food and drink. On the +whole, however, Stefanone abstained from interfering, +as he had at first been inclined to do, and +entering the laboratory, with the support of the +parish priest, a basin of holy water, and a loaded +gun—all three of which he considered necessary +for an exorcism; and little by little, Sor Tommaso, +the doctor, persuaded him that Dalrymple was a +worthy young man, deeply engaged in profound +studies, and should be respected rather than +exorcised.</p> + +<p>"Of course," admitted the doctor, "he is a +Protestant. But then he has a passport. Let us +therefore let him alone."</p> + +<p>The existence of the passport—indispensable +in those days—was a strong argument in the +eyes of the simple Stefanone. He could not conceive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +that a magician whose soul was sold to +the devil could possibly have a passport and be +under the protection of the law. So the matter +was settled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 435px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="435" height="500" alt="Maria Addolorata.—Vol. I., p. 25." title="Maria Addolorata.—Vol. I., p. 25." /> +<span class="caption">Maria Addolorata.—Vol. I., p. 25.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sister Maria Addolorata</span> sat by the open door +of her cell, looking across the stone parapet of her +little balcony, and watching the changing richness +of the western sky, as the sun went down far out +of sight behind the mountains. Though the month +was October, the afternoon was warm; it was very +still, and the air had been close in the choir during +the Benediction service, which was just over. She +leaned back in her chair, and her lips parted as +she breathed, with a perceptible desire for refreshment +in the breath. She held a piece of needlework +in her heavy white hands; the needle had +been thrust through the linen, but the stitch had +remained unfinished, and one pointed finger pressed +the doubled edge against the other, lest the material +should slip before she made up her mind to +draw the needle through. Deep in the garden +under the balcony the late flowers were taking +strangely vivid colours out of the bright sky above, +and some bits of broken glass, stuck in the mortar +on the top of the opposite wall as a protection +against thieving boys, glowed like a line of rough +rubies against the misty distance. Even the white<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +walls of the bare cell and the coarse grey blanket +lying across the foot of the small bed drank in a +little of the colour, and looked less grey and less +grim.</p> + +<p>From the eaves, high above the open door, the +swallows shot down into the golden light, striking +great circles and reflecting the red gold of the sky +from their breasts as they wheeled just beyond the +wall, with steady wings wide-stretched, up and +down; and each one, turning at full speed, struck +upwards again and was out of sight in an instant, +above the lintel. The nun watched them, her +eyes trying to follow each of them in turn and to +recognize them separately as they flashed into +sight again and again.</p> + +<p>Her lips were parted, and as she sat there she +began to sing very softly and quite unconsciously. +She could not have told what the song was. The +words were strange and oddly divided, and there +was a deadly sadness in a certain interval that +came back almost with every stave. But the voice +itself was beautiful beyond all comparison with +ordinary voices, full of deep and touching vibrations +and far harmonics, though she sang so softly, +all to herself. Notes like hers haunt the ears—and +sometimes the heart—when she who sang +them has been long dead, and many would give +much to hear but a breath of them again.</p> + +<p>It was hard for Maria Addolorata not to sing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +sometimes, when she was all alone in her cell, +though it was so strictly forbidden. Singing is +a gift of expression, when it is a really natural +gift, as much as speech and gesture and the smile +on the lips, with the one difference that it is a +keener pleasure to him or her that sings than +gesture or speech can possibly be. Music, and +especially singing, are a physical as well as an +intellectual expression, a pleasure of the body as +well as a 'delectation' of the soul. To sing naturally +and spontaneously is most generally an +endowment of natures physically strong and rich +by the senses, independently of the mind, though +melody may sometimes be the audible translation +of a silent thought as well as the unconscious +speech of wordless passion.</p> + +<p>And in Maria's song there was a strain of that +something unknown and fatal, which the nuns +sometimes saw in her face and which was in her +eyes now, as she sang; for they no longer followed +the circling of the swallows, but grew fixed and +dark, with fiery reflexions from the sunset sky, +and the regular features grew white and straight +and square against the deepening shadows within +the narrow room. The deep voice trembled a +little, and the shoulders had a short, shivering +movement under the heavy folds of the dark veil, +as the sensation of a presence ran through her and +made her shudder. But the voice did not break,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +and she sang on, louder, now, than she realized, +the full notes swelling in her throat, and vibrating +between the narrow walls, and floating out through +the open door to join the flight of the swallows.</p> + +<p>The door of the cell opened gently, but she did +not hear, and sang on, leaning back in her chair +and gazing still at the pink clouds above the +mountains.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Death is my love, dark-eyed death—"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>she sang.</div> + +<p>"Maria!"</p> + +<p>The abbess was standing in the doorway and +speaking to her, but she did not hear.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"His hands are sweetly cold and gentle—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Flowers of leek, and firefly—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Holy Saint John!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Maria!" cried the abbess, impatiently. "What +follies are you singing? I could hear you in my +room!"</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata started and rose from her +seat, still holding her needlework, and turning +half round towards her superior, with suddenly +downcast eyes. The elder lady came forward with +slow dignity and walked as far as the door of the +balcony, where she stood still for a moment, gazing +at the beautiful sky. She was not a stately woman, +for she was too short and stout, but she had that +calm air of assured superiority which takes the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +place of stateliness, and which seems to belong +especially to those who occupy important positions +in the Church. Her large features, though +too heavy, were imposing in their excessive pallor, +while the broad, dark brown shadows all around +and beneath the large black eyes gave the face a +depth of expression which did not, perhaps, wholly +correspond with the original character. It was +a striking face, and considering the wide interval +between the ages of the abbess and her niece, and +the natural difference of colouring, there was a +strong family resemblance in the two women.</p> + +<p>The abbess sat down upon the only chair, and +Maria remained standing before her, her sewing +in her hands.</p> + +<p>"I have often told you that you must not sing +in your cell," said the abbess, in a coldly severe +tone.</p> + +<p>Maria's shoulders shook her veil a little, but she +still looked at the floor.</p> + +<p>"I cannot help it," she answered in a constrained +voice. "I did not know that I was singing—"</p> + +<p>"That is ridiculous! How can one sing, and +not know it? You are not deaf. At least, you +do not sing as though you were. I will not have +it. I could hear you as far away as my own room—a +love-song, too!"</p> + +<p>"The love of death," suggested Maria.</p> + +<p>"It makes no difference," answered the elder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +lady. "You disturb the peace of the sisters with +your singing. You know the rule, and you must +obey it, like the rest. If you must sing, then sing +in church."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Very well, that ought to be enough. Must +you sing all the time? Suppose that the Cardinal +had been visiting me, as was quite possible, what +impression would he have had of our discipline?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Uncle Cardinal has often heard me sing."</p> + +<p>"You must not call him 'Uncle Cardinal.' It is +like the common people who say 'Uncle Priest.' I +have told you that a hundred times at least. And +if the Cardinal has heard you singing, so much the +worse."</p> + +<p>"He once told me that I had a good voice," +observed Maria, still standing before her aunt.</p> + +<p>"A good voice is a gift of God and to be used +in church, but not in such a way as to attract +attention or admiration. The devil is everywhere, +my daughter, and makes use of our best gifts as a +means of temptation. The Cardinal certainly did +not hear you singing that witch's love-song which +I heard just now. He would have rebuked you as +I do."</p> + +<p>"It was not a love-song. It is about death—and +Saint John's eve."</p> + +<p>"Well, then it is about witches. Do not argue +with me. There is a rule, and you must not +break it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata said nothing, but moved a +step and leaned against the door-post, looking out +into the evening light. The stout abbess sat motionless +in her straight chair, looking past her +niece at the distant hills. She had evidently said +all she meant to say about the singing, and it did +not occur to her to talk of anything else. A long +silence followed. Maria was not timid, but she +had been accustomed from her childhood to look +upon her aunt as an immensely superior person, +moving in a higher sphere, and five years spent in +the convent as novice and nun had rather increased +than diminished the feeling of awe which the abbess +inspired in the young girl. There was, indeed, no +other sister in the community who would have +dared to answer the abbess's rebuke at all, and +Maria's very humble protest really represented an +extraordinary degree of individuality and courage. +Conventual institutions can only exist on a basis of +absolute submission.</p> + +<p>The abbess was neither harsh nor unkind, and +was certainly not a very terrifying figure, but she +possessed undeniable force of character, strengthened +by the inborn sense of hereditary right and +power, and her kindness was as imposing as her +displeasure was lofty and solemn. She had very +little sympathy for any weakness in others, but +she was always ready to dispense the mercy of +Heaven, vicariously, so to say, and with a certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +royally suppressed surprise that Heaven should be +merciful. On the whole, considering the circumstances, +she admitted that Maria Addolorata had +accepted the veil with sufficient outward grace, +though without any vocation, and she took it for +granted that with such opportunities the girl must +slowly develop into an abbess not unlike her predecessors. +She prayed regularly, of course, and with +especial intention, for her niece, as for the welfare +of the order, and assumed as an unquestionable +result that her prayers were answered with perfect +regularity, since her own conscience did not reproach +her with negligence of her young relative's +spiritual education.</p> + +<p>To the abbess, religion, the order and its duties, +presented themselves as a vast machine controlled +for the glory of God by the Pope. She and her +nuns were parts of the great engine which must +work with perfect regularity in order that God +might be glorified. Her mind was naturally religious, +but was at the same time essentially of the +material order. There is a material imagination, +and there is a spiritual imagination. There are +very good and devout men and women who take the +world, present and to come, quite literally, as a +mere fulfilment of their own limitations; who look +upon what they know as being all that need be +known, and upon what they believe of God and +Heaven as the mechanical consequence of what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +they know rather than as the cause and goal, respectively, +of existence and action; to whom the +letter of the law is the arbitrary expression of a +despotic power, which, somehow, must be looked +upon as merciful; who answer all questions concerning +God's logic with the tremendous assertion +of God's will; whose God is a magnified man, and +whose devil is a malignant animal, second only to +God in understanding, while extreme from God +in disposition. There are good men and women +who, to use a natural but not flippant simile, take +it for granted that the soul is cast into the troubled +waters of life without the power to swim, or even +the possibility of learning to float, dependent upon +the bare chance that some one may throw it the +life-buoy of ritual religion as its only conceivable +means of salvation. And the opponents of each +particular form of faith invariably take just such +good men and women, with all their limitations, as +the only true exponents of that especial creed, +which they then proceed to tear in pieces with all +the ease such an undue advantage of false premise +gives them. None of them have thought of intellectual +mercy as being, perhaps, an integral part of +Christian charity. Faith they have in abundance, +and hope also not a little; but charity, though it +be for men's earthly ills and, theoretically, if not +always practically, for men's spiritual shortcomings, +is rigidly forbidden for the errors of men's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +minds. Why? No thinking man can help asking +the little question which grows great in the unanswering +silence that follows it.</p> + +<p>All this is not intended as an apology for what +the young nun, Maria Addolorata, afterwards did, +though much of it is necessary in explanation of +her deeds, which, however they may be regarded, +brought upon her and others their inevitable logical +consequences. Still less is it meant, in any sense, +as an attack upon the conventual system of the cloistered +orders, which system was itself a consequence +of spiritual, intellectual and political history, and +has a prime right to be judged upon the evidence of +its causes, and not by the shortcomings of its results +in changed times. What has been said merely +makes clear the fact that the characters, minds, +and dispositions of Maria Addolorata and of her +aunt, the abbess, were wholly unsuited to one another. +And this one fact became a source of life +and death, of happiness and misery, of comedy and +tragedy, to many individuals, even to the present +day.</p> + +<p>The nun remained motionless, pressing her cheek +against the door-post and looking out. Her aunt +had not quite shut the door by which she had +entered, and a cool stream of air blew outward from +the corridor and through the cell, bringing with it +that peculiar odour which belongs to all large and +old buildings inhabited by religious communities.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +It is made up of the cold exhalations from stone +walls and paved floors in which there is always +some dampness, of the acrid smell of the heavy, +leathern, wadded curtains which shut off the main +drafts of air, as the swinging doors do in a mine, +of a faint but perceptible suggestion of incense +which penetrates the whole building from the +church or the chapel, and, not least, of the fumes +from the cookery of the great quantities of vegetables +which are the staple food of the brethren or +the sisters. It is as imperceptible to the monks and +nuns themselves as the smell of tobacco to the +smoker.</p> + +<p>It had been very close in the little cell, and +Maria was glad of the coolness that came in +through the open door. Her eyes were fixed on +the sky with a longing look. Again the words of +her song rose to her lips, but she checked them, +remembering her aunt's presence, and with the +effort to be silent came the strong wish to be free, +to be over there upon those purple hills at evening, +to look beyond and watch the sun sinking into the +distant sea, to breathe her fill of the mountain air, +to run along the crests of the hills till she should +be tired, to sleep under the open sky, to see, in +dreams, to-morrow's sun rising through the trees, +to be waked by the song of birds and to find that +the dream was true.</p> + +<p>Instead of that, and instead of all it meant to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +her, there was to be the silent evening meal, the +close, lighted chapel, the wearily nasal chant of +the sisters, her lonely cell, with its close darkness, +the unrefreshing sleep, broken by the bell +calling her to another office in the chapel; then, +at last, the dawn, and the day that would seem as +much a prisoner as herself within the convent +walls, and the praying and nasal chanting, and +the counting of sheets and pillow-cases, and doing +a little sewing, and singing to herself, perhaps, +and then the being reproved for it—the whole +varied by meals of coarse food, and periodical +stations in her seat in the choir. The day! The +very sun seemed imprisoned in his corner of the +garden wall, dragging slowly at his chain, in a +short half-circle, from morning till evening, like +a watch-dog tied up in a yard beside his kennel. +The night was better. Sometimes she could see +the moon-rays through the cracks of the balcony +door, as she lay in her bed. She could see them +against the darkness, and the ends of them were +straight white lines and round white spots on the +floor and on the walls. Her thoughts played in +them, and her maiden fancies caught them and +followed them lightly out into the white night and +far away to the third world, which is dreamland. +And in her dreams she sang to the midnight stars, +and clasped her bare arms round the moon's white +throat, kissing the moon-lady's pale and passionate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +cheek, till she lost herself in the mysterious eyes, +and found herself once more, bathed in cool star-showers, +the queen of a tender dream.</p> + +<p>There sat the abbess, in the only chair, stolid, +righteous, imposing. The incarnation and representative +of the ninety and nine who need no +forgiveness, exasperatingly and mathematically +virtuous as a dogma, a woman against whom no +sort of reproach could be brought, and at the mere +sight of whom false witnesses would shrivel up +and die, like jelly-fish in the sun. She not only +approved of the convent life, but she liked it. +She was at liberty to do a thousand things which +were not permitted to the nuns, but she had not +the slightest inclination to do any of them, any +more than she was inclined to admit that any of +them could possibly be unhappy if they would +only pray, sing, sleep, and eat boiled cabbage at +the appointed hours. What had she in common +with Maria Addolorata, except that she was born +a princess and a Braccio?</p> + +<p>Of what use was it to be a princess by birth, +like a dozen or more of the sisters, or even a noble, +like all the others? Of what use or advantage +could anything be, where liberty was not? An +even plainer and more desperate question rose in +the young nun's heart, as she leaned her cheek +against the door-post, still warm with the afternoon +sun. Of what use was life, if it was to be lived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +in the tomb with the accompaniment of a lifelong +funeral service? Why should not God be as well +pleased with suicide as with self-burial? Why +should not death all at once, by the sudden dash +of cleanly steel, be as noble and acceptable a +sacrifice as death by sordid degrees of orderly +suffering, systematic starvation, and rigidly regulated +misery? Was not life, life—and blood, +blood—whether drawn by drops, or shed from a +quick wound in the splendid redness of one heroic +instant? Surely it would be as grand a thing, if +a mere sacrifice were the object, to be laid down +stark dead, with the death-thrust in the heart, at +the foot of the altar, in all her radiant youth and +full young beauty, untempted and unsullied, as to +fast and pray through forty querulous years of +misery in prison.</p> + +<p>But then, there was the virtue of patience. +Therein, doubtless, lay the difference. It was not +the death alone that was to please God, but the +long manner of it, the summed-up account of suffering, +the interest paid on the capital of life after +it was invested in death. God was to be pleased +with items, and the sum of them. Item, a sleepless +night. Item, a bad cold, caught by kneeling on +the damp stones. Item, a dish of sweets refused +on a feast-day. Item, the resolution not to laugh +when a fly settled on the abbess's nose. Item, the +resolution not to wish that her hair had never been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +cut off. Item, being stifled in summer and frozen +in winter, in her cell. Item, appreciating that it +was the best cell, and that she was better off than +the other sisters.</p> + +<p>Repeat the items for half a century, sum them +up, and offer them to God as a meet and fitting +sacrifice—the destruction, by fine degrees of petty +suffering, of one woman's whole life, almost from +the beginning, and quite to the end, with the total +annihilation of all its human possibilities, of love, +of motherhood, of reasonable enjoyment and legitimate +happiness. That was the formula for salvation +which Maria Addolorata had received with +the veil.</p> + +<p>And not only had she received it. It had been +thrust upon her, because she chanced to be the +only available daughter of the ancient house of +Braccio, to fill the hereditary seat beneath the +wooden canopy, as abbess of the Subiaco Carmelites. +If there had been another sister, less +fair, more religiously disposed, that sister would +have been chosen in Maria's stead. But there was +no other; and there must be a young Braccio nun, +to take the place of the elder one, when the latter +should have filled her account to overflowing with +little items to be paid for with the gold of certain +salvation.</p> + +<p>That a sinful woman, full of sorrows, and weary +of the world, might silently bow her head under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +the nun's veil, and wear out with prayerful austerity +the deep-cut letters of her sin's story, that, +at least, was a thing Maria could understand. +There were faces amongst the sisters that haunted +her in her solitude, lips that could have told much, +but which said only 'Miserere'; eyes that had +looked on love, and that fixed themselves now +only on the Cross; cheeks blanched with grief and +hollowed as the marble of an ancient fountain by +often flowing tears; hearts that had given all, +and had been beaten and bruised and rejected. +The convent was for them; the life was a life for +them; for them there was no freedom beyond +these walls, in the living world, nor anywhere on +this side of death. They had done right in coming, +and they did right in staying; they were +reasonable when they prayed that they might have +time, before they died, to be sorry for their sins +and to touch again the hem of the garment of +innocence.</p> + +<p>But even they, if they were told that it would +be right, would they not rather shorten their time +to a day, even to one instant, of aggregated pain, +and offer up their sacrifice all at once? And why +should it not be right? Did God delight in pain +and suffering for its own sake? The passionate +girl's heart revolted angrily against a Being that +could enjoy the sufferings of helpless creatures.</p> + +<p>But then, there was that virtue of patience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +again, which was beyond her comprehension. At +last she spoke, her face still to the sunset.</p> + +<p>"What difference can it make to God how we +die?" she asked, scarcely conscious that she was +speaking.</p> + +<p>The abbess must have started a little, for the +chair creaked suddenly, several seconds before she +answered. Her face did not relax, however, nor +were her hands unclasped from one another as +they lay folded on her knees.</p> + +<p>"That is a foolish question, my daughter," she +said at last. "Do you think that God was not +pleased by the sufferings of the holy martyrs, and +did not reward them for what they bore?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not mean that," answered Maria, +quickly. "But why should we not all be martyrs? +It would be much quicker."</p> + +<p>"Heaven preserve us!" exclaimed the abbess. +"What are you thinking of, child?"</p> + +<p>"It would be so much quicker," repeated Maria. +"What are we here for? To sacrifice our lives to +God. We wish to make this sacrifice, and God +promises to accept it. Why would it be less complete +if we were led to the altar as soon as we +have finished our novitiate and quickly killed? It +would be the same, and it would be much quicker. +What difference can it make how we die, since we +are to die in the end, without accomplishing anything +except dying?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>By this time the abbess's pale hands were unclasped, +and one of them pressed each knee, as +she leaned far forward in her seat, with an expression +of surprise and horror, her dark lips parted +and all the lines of her colourless face drawn +down.</p> + +<p>"Are you mad, Maria?" she asked in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Mad? No. Why should you think me mad?" +The nun turned and looked down at her aunt. +"After all, it is the great question. Our lives are +but a preparation for death. Why need the preparation +be so long? Why should the death be so +slow? Why should it be right to kill ourselves +for the glory of God by degrees, and wrong to do +it all at once, if one has the courage? I think it +is a very reasonable question."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, you are beside yourself! The devil +suggests such things to you and blinds you to the +truth, my child. Penance and prayer, prayer and +penance—by the grace of Heaven it will pass."</p> + +<p>"Penance and prayer!" exclaimed Maria, sadly. +"That is it—a slow death, but a sure one!"</p> + +<p>"I am more than sixty years old," replied the +abbess. "I have done penance and prayed prayers +all my life, and you see—I am well. I am stout."</p> + +<p>"For charity's sake, do not say so!" cried Maria, +making the sign of the horns with her fingers, to +ward off the evil eye. "You will certainly fall ill."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Our lives are of God. It is our own eyes that +are evil. You must not make horns with your +fingers. It is a heathen superstition, as I have +often told you. But many of you do it. Maria, I +wish to speak to you seriously."</p> + +<p>"Speak, mother," answered the young nun, the +strong habit of submission returning instantly +with the other's grave tone.</p> + +<p>"These thoughts of yours are very wicked. +We are placed in the world, and we must continue +to live in it, as long as God wills that we should. +When God is pleased to deliver us, He will take us +in good time. You and I and the sisters should be +thankful that during our brief stay on earth this +sanctuary has fallen to our lot, and this possibility +of a holy life. We must take every advantage of +it, thanking Heaven if our stay be long enough for +us to repent of our sins and obtain indulgence for +our venial shortcomings. It is wicked to desire to +shorten our lives. It is wicked to desire anything +which is not the will of God. We are here to live, +to watch and to pray—not to complain and to rebel."</p> + +<p>The abbess was stout, as she herself admitted, +and between her sudden surprise at her niece's +wholly unorthodox, not to say blasphemous, suggestion +of suicide as a means of grace, and her own +attempt at eloquence, she grew rapidly warm, in +spite of the comparatively cool draft which was +passing out from the interior of the building. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +caught the end of her loose over-sleeve and fanned +herself slowly when she had finished speaking.</p> + +<p>But Maria Addolorata did not consider that she +was answered. There in the cell of a Carmelite +convent, in the heart of a young girl who had perhaps +never heard of Shakespeare and who certainly +knew nothing of Hamlet, the question of +all questions found itself, and she found for it such +speech as she could command. It broke out passionately +and impatiently.</p> + +<p>"What are we? And why are we what we are? +Yes, mother—I know that you are good, and that +all you say is true. But it is not all. There is all +the world beyond it. To live, or not to live—but +you know that this is not living! It is not meant +to be living, as the people outside understand what +living means. What does it all signify but death, +when we take the veil, and lie before the altar, and +are covered with a funeral pall? It means dying—then +why not altogether dying? Has not God +angels, in thousands, to praise Him and worship +Him, and pray for sinners on earth? And they +sing and pray gladly, because they are blessed and +do not suffer, as we do. Why should God want us, +poor little nuns, to live half dead, and to praise Him +with voices that crack with the cold in winter, and +to kneel till we faint with the heat in summer, +and to wear out our bodies with fasting and prayer +and penance, till it is all we can do to crawl to our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +places in the choir? Not I—I am young and +strong still—nor you, perhaps, for you are strong +still, though you are not young. But many of the +sisters—yes, they are the best ones, I know—they +are killing themselves by inches before our +eyes. You know it—I know it—they know it +themselves. Why should they not find some +shorter way of death for God's glory? Or if not, +why should they not live happily, since many of +them could? Why should God, who made us, wish +us to destroy ourselves—or if He does, then why +may we not do it in our own way? Ah—it would +be so short—a knife-thrust, and then the great +peace forever!"</p> + +<p>The abbess had risen and was standing before +Maria, one hand resting on the back of the rush-bottomed +chair.</p> + +<p>"Blasphemy!" she cried, finding breath at last. +"It is blasphemy, or madness, or both! It is the +evil one's own doing! Forgive her, good God! +She does not know what she is saying! Almighty +and most merciful God, forgive her!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Maria Addolorata was silent, +realizing how far she had forgotten herself, and +startled by the abbess's terrified eyes and excited +tone. But she was naturally a far more daring +woman than she herself knew. Though her +face was pale, her lips smiled at her good aunt's +fright.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But that is not an answer—just to cry 'blasphemy!'" +she said. "The question is clear—"</p> + +<p>She did not finish the sentence. The abbess was +really beside herself with religious terror. With +almost violent hands she dragged and thrust her +niece down till Maria fell upon her knees.</p> + +<p>"Pray, child! Pray, before it is too late!" she +cried. "Pray on your knees that this possession +may pass, before your soul is lost forever!"</p> + +<p>She herself knelt beside the girl upon the +stones, still clasping her and pressing her down. +And she prayed aloud, long, fervently, almost +wildly, appealing to God for protection against a +bodily tempting devil, who by his will, and with +evil strength, was luring and driving a human soul +to utter damnation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">It</span> is well," said Stefanone. "The world is +come to an end. I will not say anything more."</p> + +<p>He finished his tumbler of wine, leaned back on +the wooden bench against the brown wall, played +with the broad silver buttons of his dark blue +jacket, and stared hard at Sor Tommaso, the +doctor, who sat opposite to him. The doctor returned +his glance rather unsteadily and betook +himself to his snuffbox. It was of worn black +ebony, adorned in the middle of the lid with a +small view of Saint Peter's and the colonnades in +mosaic, with a very blue sky. From long use, each +tiny fragment of the mosaic was surrounded by a +minute black line, which indeed lent some tone +to the intensely clear atmosphere of the little +picture, but gave the architecture represented +therein a dirty and neglected appearance. The +snuff itself, however, was of the superior quality +known as Sicilian in those days, and was of a +beautiful light brown colour.</p> + +<p>"And why?" asked the doctor very slowly, between +the operations of pinching, stuffing, snuffing, +and dusting. "Why is the world come to an end?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stefanone's eyes grew sullen, with a sort of dull +glare in their unwinking gaze. He looked dangerous +just then, but the doctor did not seem to +be in the least afraid of him.</p> + +<p>"You, who have made it end, should know why," +answered the peasant, after a short pause.</p> + +<p>Stefanone was a man of the Roman type, of +medium height, thick set and naturally melancholic, +with thin, straight lips that were clean +shaven, straight black hair, a small but aggressively +aquiline nose and heavy hands, hairy on +the backs of the fingers, between the knuckles. +His wife, Sora Nanna, said that he had a fist like +a paving-stone. He also looked as though he might +have the constitution of a mule. He was at that +time about five-and-thirty years of age, and there +were a few strong lines in his face, notably those +curved ones drawn from the beginning of the +nostrils to the corners of the mouth, which are +said to denote an uncertain temper.</p> + +<p>He wore the dress of the richer peasants of that +day, a coarse but spotless white shirt, very open +at the throat, a jacket and waistcoat of stout dark +blue cloth, with large and smooth silver buttons, +knee-breeches, white stockings, and heavy low shoes +with steel buckles. He combined the occupations +of farmer, wine-seller, and carrier. When he was +on the road between Subiaco and Rome, Gigetto, +already mentioned, was supposed to represent him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +It was understood that Gigetto was to marry +Annetta—if he could be prevailed upon to do so, +for he was the younger son of a peasant family +which held its head even higher than Stefanone, +and the young man as well as his people looked +upon Annetta's wild ways with disapproval, though +her fortune, as the only child of Stefanone and +Sora Nanna, was a very strong attraction. In the +meantime, Gigetto acted as though he were the +older man's partner in the wine-shop, and as he +was a particularly honest, but also a particularly +idle, young man with a taste for singing and playing +on the guitar, the position suited him admirably.</p> + +<p>As for Sor Tommaso, with whom Stefanone +seemed inclined to quarrel on this particular evening, +he was a highly respectable personage in a +narrow-shouldered, high-collared black coat with +broad skirts, and a snuff-coloured waistcoat. He +wore a stock which was decidedly shabby, but +decent, and the thin cuffs of his shirt were turned +back over the tight sleeves of his coat, in the old +fashion. He also wore amazingly tight black +trousers, strapped closely over his well-blacked +boots. To tell the truth, these nether garments, +though of great natural resistance, had lived so +long at a high tension, so to say, that they were +no longer equally tight at all points, and there +were, undoubtedly, certain perceptible spots on +them; but, on the whole, the general effect of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +the doctor's appearance was fashionable, in the +fashion of several years earlier and judged by the +standard of Subiaco. He wore his hair rather +long, in a handsome iron-grey confusion, his face +was close-shaven, and, though he was thin, his +complexion was somewhat apoplectic.</p> + +<p>Having duly and solemnly finished the operation +of taking snuff, the doctor looked at the peasant.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to have said anything," he observed, +by way of a general <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'retractation'">retraction</ins>. "These +are probably follies."</p> + +<p>"And for not having meant to say anything, you +have planted this knife in my heart!" retorted +Stefanone, the veins swelling at his temples. +"Thank you. I wish to die, if I forget it. You +tell me that this daughter of mine is making love +with the Englishman. And then you say that you +do not wish to have said anything! May he die, +the Englishman, he, and whoever made him, with +the whole family! An evil death on him and all +his house!"</p> + +<p>"So long as you do not make me die, too!" exclaimed +Sor Tommaso, with rather a pitying smile.</p> + +<p>"Eh! To die—it is soon said! And yet, +people do die. You, who are a doctor, should +know that. And you do not wish to have said +anything! Bravo, doctor! Words are words. And +yet they can sting. And after a thousand years, +they still sting. You—what can you understand?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +Are you perhaps a father? You have not even +a wife. Oh, blessed be God! You do not even +know what you are saying. You know nothing. +You think, perhaps, because you are a doctor, that +you know more than I do. I will tell you that you +are an ignorant!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, beautiful!" cried the doctor, angrily, stung +by what is still almost a mortal insult. "You—to +me—ignorant! Oh, beautiful, most beautiful, +this! From a peasant to a man of science! Perhaps +you too have a diploma from the University +of the Sapienza—"</p> + +<p>"If I had, I should wrap half a pound of sliced +ham—fat ham, you know—in it, for the first +customer. What should I do with your diplomas! +I ask you, what do you know? Do you know at +all what a daughter is? Blood of my blood, heart +of my heart, hand of this hand. But I am a +peasant, and you are a doctor. Therefore, I know +nothing."</p> + +<p>"And meanwhile you give me 'ignorant' in my +face!" retorted Sor Tommaso.</p> + +<p>"Yes—and I repeat it!" cried Stefanone, leaning +forwards, his clenched hand on the table. "I +say it twice, three times—ignorant, ignorant, ignorant! +Have you understood?"</p> + +<p>"Say it louder! In that way every one can hear +you! Beast of a sheep-grazer!"</p> + +<p>"And you—crow-feeder! Furnisher of grave-diggers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +And then—ignorant! Oh—this time +I have said it clearly!"</p> + +<p>"And it seems to me that it is enough!" roared +the doctor, across the table. "Ciociaro! Take +that!"</p> + +<p>"Ciociaro? I? Oh, your soul! If I get hold +of you with my hands!"</p> + +<p>A 'ciociaro' is a hill-man who wears 'cioce,' or +rags, bound upon his feet with leathern sandals and +thongs. He is generally a shepherd, and is held +in contempt by the more respectable people of the +larger mountain towns. To call a man a 'ciociaro' +is a bitter insult.</p> + +<p>Stefanone in his anger had half risen from his +seat. But the wooden bench on which he had been +sitting was close to the wall behind him, and the +heavy oak table was pushed up within a few inches +of his chest, so that his movements were considerably +hampered as he stretched out his hands rather +wildly towards his adversary. The latter, who possessed +more moral than physical courage, moved +his chair back and prepared to make his escape, +if Stefanone showed signs of coming round the +table.</p> + +<p>At that moment a tall figure darkened the door +that opened upon the street, and a quiet, dry voice +spoke with a strong foreign accent. It was Angus +Dalrymple, returning from a botanizing expedition +in the hills, after being absent all day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is a very uncomfortable way of fighting," +he observed, as he stood still in the doorway. +"You cannot hit a man across a table broader than +your arm is long, Signor Stefano."</p> + +<p>The effect of his words was instantaneous. Stefanone +fell back into his seat. The doctor's anxious +and excited expression resolved itself instantly into +a polite smile.</p> + +<p>"We were only playing," he said suavely. "A +little discussion—a mere jest. Our friend Stefanone +was explaining something."</p> + +<p>"If the table had been narrower, he would have +explained you away altogether," observed Dalrymple, +coming forward.</p> + +<p>He laid a tin box which he had with him upon +the table, and shook hands with Sor Tommaso. +Then he slipped behind the table and sat down +close to his host, as a precautionary measure in +case the play should be resumed. Stefanone would +have had a bad chance of being dangerous, if the +powerful Scotchman chose to hold him down. But +the peasant seemed to have become as suddenly +peaceful as the doctor.</p> + +<p>"It was nothing," said Stefanone, quietly enough, +though his eyes were bloodshot and glanced about +the room in an unsettled way.</p> + +<p>At that moment Annetta entered from a door +leading to the staircase. Her eyes were fixed on +Dalrymple's face as she came forward, carrying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +a polished brass lamp, with three burning wicks, +which she placed upon the table. Dalrymple looked +up at her, and seeing her expression of inquiry, +slowly nodded. With a laugh which drew her long +red-brown lips back from her short white teeth, the +girl produced a small flask and a glass, which she +had carried behind her and out of sight when she +came in. She set them before Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>"I saw you coming," she said, and laughed again. +"And then—it is always the same. Half a 'foglietta' +of the old, just for the appetite."</p> + +<p>Sor Tommaso glanced at Stefanone in a meaning +way, but the girl's father affected not to see him. +Dalrymple nodded his thanks, poured a few drops +of wine into the glass and scattered them upon the +brick floor according to the ancient custom, both +for rinsing the glass and as a libation, and then +offered to fill the glasses of each of the two men, +who smiled, shook their heads, and covered their +tumblers with their right hands. At last Dalrymple +helped himself, nodded politely to his companions, +and slowly emptied the glass which held +almost all the contents of the little flask. The +'foglietta,' or 'leaflet' of wine, is said to have +been so called from the twisted and rolled vine +leaf which generally serves it for a stopper. A +whole 'foglietta' contained a scant pint.</p> + +<p>"Will you eat now?" asked Annetta, still +smiling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Presently," answered Dalrymple. "What is +there to eat? I am hungry."</p> + +<p>"It seems that you have to say so!" laughed +the girl. "It is a new thing. There is beefsteak +or mutton, if you wish to know. And ham—a +fresh ham cut to-day. It is one of the Grape-eater's, +and it seems good. You remember, Sor +Tommaso, the—speaking with respect to your +face—the pig we called the Grape-eater last year? +Speaking with respect, he was a good pig. It is +one of his hams that we have cut. There is also +salad, and fresh bread, which you like. And wine, +I will not speak of it. Eh, he likes wine, the Englishman! +He comes in with a long, long face—and +when he goes to bed, his face is wide, wide. +That is the wine. But then, it does nothing else +to him. It only changes his face. When I look +at him, I seem to see the moon waxing."</p> + +<p>"You talk too much," said Stefanone.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, papa! Words are not pennies. +The more one wastes, the more one has!"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple said nothing; but he smiled as she +turned lightly with a toss of her small dark head +and left the room.</p> + +<p>"Fine blood," observed the doctor, with a conciliatory +glance at the girl's father.</p> + +<p>"You will be wanted before long, Sor Tommaso," +said Dalrymple, gravely. "I hear that the abbess +is very ill."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>The doctor looked up with sudden interest, and +put on his professional expression.</p> + +<p>"The abbess, you say? Dear me! She is not +young! What has she? Who told you, Sor +Angoscia?"</p> + +<p>Now, 'Sor Angoscia' signifies in English 'Sir +Anguish,' but the doctor in spite of really conscientious +efforts could not get nearer to the pronunciation +of Angus. Nevertheless, with northern +persistency, Dalrymple corrected him for the hundredth +time. The doctor's first attempt had +resulted in his calling the Scotchman 'Sor Langusta,' +which means 'Sir Crayfish'—and it must +be admitted that 'Anguish' was an improvement.</p> + +<p>"Angus," said Dalrymple. "My name is Angus. +The abbess has caught a severe cold from sitting +in a draught when she was overheated. It has +immediately settled on her lungs, and you may be +sent for at any moment. I passed by the back +of the convent on my way down, and the gardener +was just coming out of the postern. He told me."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed Sor Tommaso, +shaking his head. "Cold—bronchitis, pleurisy, +pneumonia—it is soon done! One would be enough! +Those nuns, what do they eat? A little grass, a +little boiled paste, a little broth of meat on Sundays. +What strength should they have? And then pray, +pray, sing, sing! It needs a chest! Poor lungs! +I will go to my home and get ready—blisters—mustard—a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +lancet—they will not allow a barber +in the convent to bleed them. Well—I make myself +the barber! What a life, what a life! If you +wish to die young, be a doctor at Subiaco, Sor +Angoscia. Good night, dear friend. Good night, +Stefanone. I wish not to have said anything—you +know—that little affair. Let us speak no +more about it. I am more beast than you, because +I said anything. Good night."</p> + +<p>Sor Tommaso got his stick from a dark corner, +pressed his broad catskin hat upon his head, and +took his respectability away on its tightly encased +black legs.</p> + +<p>"And may the devil go with you," said Stefanone, +under his breath, as the doctor disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Why?" inquired Dalrymple, who had caught +the words.</p> + +<p>"I said nothing," answered the peasant, thoughtfully +trimming one wick of the lamp with the bent +brass wire which, with the snuffers, hung by a +chain from the ring by which the lamp was carried.</p> + +<p>"I thought you spoke," said the Scotchman. +"Well—the abbess is very ill, and Sor Tommaso +has a job."</p> + +<p>"May he do it well! So that it need not be +begun again."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Dalrymple slowly +sipped the remains of his little measure of wine.</p> + +<p>"Those nuns!" exclaimed Stefanone, instead of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +answering the question. "What are they here to +do, in this world? Better make saints of them—and +good night! There would be one misery less. +Do you know what they do? They make wine. +Good! But they do not drink it. They sell it +for a farthing less by the foglietta than other people. +The devil take them and their wine!"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple glanced at the angry peasant with +some amusement, but did not make any answer.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Signore!" cried Stefanone. "You who +are a foreigner and a Protestant, can you not say +something, since it would be no sin for you?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of something to say, Signor +Stefanone. But as for that, who does the business +for the convent? They cannot do it themselves, +I suppose. Who determines the price of their +wine for them? Or the price of their corn?"</p> + +<p>"They are not so stupid as you think. Oh, no! +They are not stupid, the nuns. They know the +price of this, and the cost of that, just as well as +you and I do. But Gigetto's father, Sor Agostino, +is their steward, if that is what you wish to +know. And his father was before him, and Gigetto +will be after him, with his pumpkin-head. And +the rest is sung by the organ, as we say when +mass is over. For you know about Gigetto and +Annetta."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And as you cannot quarrel with Sor +Agostino on that account, I do not see but that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +you will either have to bear it, or sell your wine +a farthing cheaper than that of the nuns."</p> + +<p>"Eh—that is soon said. A farthing cheaper +than theirs! That means half a baiocco cheaper +than I sell it now. And the best is only five +baiocchi the foglietta, and the cheapest is two and +a half. Good bye profit—a pleasant journey to +Stefanone. But it is those nuns. They are to +blame, and the devil will pay them."</p> + +<p>"In that case you need not," observed Dalrymple, +rising. "I am going to wash my hands before +supper."</p> + +<p>"At your pleasure, Signore," answered Stefanone, +politely.</p> + +<p>As Dalrymple went out, Annetta passed him at +the door, bringing in plates and napkins, and +knives and forks. The girl glanced at his face as +he went by.</p> + +<p>"Be quick, Signore," she said with a laugh. +"The beefsteak of mutton is grilling."</p> + +<p>He nodded, and went up the dark stairs, his +heavy shoes sending back echoes as he trod. +Stefanone still sat at the table, turning the glass +wine measure upside down over his tumbler, to +let the last drops run out. He watched them as +they fell, one by one, without looking up at his +daughter, who began to arrange the plates for +Dalrymple's meal.</p> + +<p>"I will teach you to make love with the Englishman,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +he said slowly, still watching the dropping +wine.</p> + +<p>"Me!" cried Annetta, with real or feigned +astonishment, and she tossed a knife and fork +angrily into a plate, with a loud, clattering noise.</p> + +<p>"I am speaking with you," answered her father, +without raising his eyes. "Do you know? You +will come to a bad end."</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" replied the girl, contemptuously. +"If you say so, it must be true! Now, who has +told you that the Englishman is making love to +me? An apoplexy on him, whoever he may be!"</p> + +<p>"Pretty words for a girl! Sor Tommaso told +me. A little more, and I would have torn his +tongue out. Just then, the Englishman came in. +Sor Tommaso got off easily."</p> + +<p>The girl's tone changed very much when she +spoke again, and there was a dull and angry light +in her eyes. Her long lips were still parted, and +showed her gleaming teeth, but the smile was +altogether gone.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Too easily," she said, almost in a whisper, +and there was a low hiss in the words.</p> + +<p>"In the meanwhile, it is true—what he said," +continued Stefanone. "You make eyes at him. +You wait for him and watch for him when he +comes back from the mountains—"</p> + +<p>"Well? Is it not my place to serve him with +his supper? If you are not satisfied, hire a servant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +to wait on him. You are rich. What do I +care for the Englishman? Perhaps it is a pleasure +to roast my face over the charcoal, cooking +his meat for him. As for Sor Tommaso—"</p> + +<p>She stopped short in her speech. Her father +knew what the tone meant, and looked up for the +first time.</p> + +<p>"O-è!" he exclaimed, as one suddenly aware of +a danger, and warning some one else.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," answered Annetta, looking down and +arranging the knives and forks symmetrically on +the clean cloth she had laid.</p> + +<p>"I might have killed him just now in hot blood, +when the Englishman came in," said Stefanone, +reflectively. "But now my blood has grown cold. +I shall do nothing to him."</p> + +<p>"So much the better for him." She still spoke +in a low voice, as she turned away from the table.</p> + +<p>"But I will kill you," said Stefanone, "if I see +you making eyes at the Englishman."</p> + +<p>He rose, and taking up his hat, which lay beside +him, he edged his way out along the wooden bench, +moving cautiously lest he should shake the table +and upset the lamp or the bottles. Annetta had +turned again, at the threat he had uttered, and +stood still, waiting for him to get out into the +room, her hands on her hips, and her eyes on fire.</p> + +<p>"You will kill me?" she asked, just as he was +opposite to her. "Well—kill me, then! Here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +I am. What are you waiting for? For the Englishman +to interfere? He is washing his hands. +He always takes a long time."</p> + +<p>"Then it is true that you have fallen in love +with him?" asked Stefanone, his anger returning.</p> + +<p>"Him, or another. What does it matter to +you? You remind me of the old woman who beat +her cat, and then cried when it ran away. If you +want me to stay at home, you had better find me +a husband."</p> + +<p>"Do you want anything better than Gigetto? +Apoplexy! But you have ideas!"</p> + +<p>"You are making a good business of it with +Gigetto, in truth!" cried the girl, scornfully. "He +eats, he drinks, and then he sings. But he does +not marry. He will not even make love to me—not +even with an eye. And then, because I love +the Englishman, who is a great lord, though he +says he is a doctor, I must die. Well, kill me!" +She stared insolently at her father for a moment. +"Oh, well," she added scornfully, "if you have +not time now, it must be for to-morrow. I am +busy."</p> + +<p>She turned on her heel with a disdainful fling +of her short, dark skirt. Stefanone was exasperated, +and his anger had returned. Before she +was out of reach, he struck her with his open +hand. Instead of striking her cheek, the blow fell +upon the back of her head and neck, and sent her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +stumbling forwards. She caught the back of a +chair, steadied herself, and turned again instantly, +at her full height, not deigning to raise her hand +to the place that hurt her.</p> + +<p>"Coward!" she exclaimed. "But I will pay +you—and Sor Tommaso—for that blow."</p> + +<p>"Whenever you like," answered her father +gruffly, but already sorry for what he had done.</p> + +<p>He turned his back, and went out into the night. +It was now almost quite dark, and Annetta stood +still by the chair, listening to his retreating footsteps. +Then she slowly turned and gazed at the +flaring wicks of the lamp. With a gesture that +suggested the movement of a young animal, she +rubbed the back of her neck with one hand and +leisurely turned her head first to one side and then +to the other. Her brown skin was unusually pale, +but there was no moisture in her eyes as she stared +at the lamp.</p> + +<p>"But I will pay you, Sor Tommaso," she said +thoughtfully and softly.</p> + +<p>Then turning her eyes from the lamp at last, she +took up one of the knives from the table, looked at +it, felt the edge, and laid it down contemptuously. +In those days all the respectable peasants in the +Roman villages had solid silver forks and spoons, +which have long since gone to the melting-pot to +pay taxes. But they used the same blunt, pointless +knives with wooden handles, which they use to-day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>Annetta started, as she heard Dalrymple's tread +upon the stone steps of the staircase, but she recovered +herself instantly, gave a finishing touch +to the table, rubbed the back of her head quickly +once more, and met him with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Is the beefsteak of mutton ready?" inquired +the Scotchman, cheerfully, with his extraordinary +accent.</p> + +<p>Annetta ran past him, and returned almost +before he was seated, bringing the food. The girl +sat down at the end of the table, opposite the +street door, and watched him as he swallowed +one mouthful of meat after another, now and then +stopping to drink a tumbler of wine at a draught.</p> + +<p>"You must be very strong, Signore," said Annetta, +at last, her chin resting on her doubled hand.</p> + +<p>"Why?" inquired Dalrymple, carelessly, between +two mouthfuls.</p> + +<p>"Because you eat so much. It must be a fine +thing to eat so much meat. We eat very little +of it."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked the Scotchman, again between +his mouthfuls.</p> + +<p>"Oh, who knows? It costs much. That must +be the reason. Besides, it does not go down. I +should not care for it."</p> + +<p>"It is a habit." Dalrymple drank. "In my +country most of the people eat oats," he said, as +he set down his glass.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oats!" laughed the girl. "Like horses! But +horses will eat meat, too, like you. As for me—good +bread, fresh cheese, a little salad, a drink of +wine and water—that is enough."</p> + +<p>"Like the nuns," observed Dalrymple, attacking +the ham of the 'Grape-eater.'</p> + +<p>"Oh, the nuns! They live on boiled cabbage! +You can smell it a mile away. But they make +good cakes."</p> + +<p>"You often go to the convent, do you not?" +asked the Scotchman, filling his glass, for the first +mouthful of ham made him thirsty again. "You +take the linen up with your mother, I know."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, when I feel like going," answered +the girl, willing to show that it was not her duty +to carry baskets. "I only go when we have the +small baskets that one can carry on one's head. I +will tell you. They use the small baskets for the +finer things, the abbess's linen, and the altar cloths, +and the chaplain's lace, which belongs to the nuns. +But the sheets and the table linen are taken up in +baskets as long as a man. It takes four women to +carry one of them."</p> + +<p>"That must be very inconvenient," said Dalrymple. +"I should think that smaller ones would +always be better."</p> + +<p>"Who knows? It has always been so. And +when it has always been so, it will always be so—one +knows that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>Annetta nodded her head rhythmically to convey +an impression of the immutability of all ancient +customs and of this one in particular.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple, however, was not much interested +in the question of the baskets.</p> + +<p>"What do the nuns do all day?" he asked. "I +suppose you see them, sometimes. There must be +young ones amongst them."</p> + +<p>Annetta glanced more keenly at the Scotchman's +quiet face, and then laughed.</p> + +<p>"There is one, if you could see her! The +abbess's niece. Oh, that one is beautiful. She +seems to me a painted angel!"</p> + +<p>"The abbess's niece? What is she like? Let +me see, the abbess is a princess, is she not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a great princess of the Princes of Gerano, +of Casa Braccio, you know. They are always +abbesses. And the young one will be the next, +when this one dies. She is Maria Addolorata, in +religion, but I do not know her real name. She +has a beautiful face and dark eyes. Once I saw +her hair for a moment. It is fair, but not like +yours. Yours is red as a tomato."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Dalrymple, with something +like a laugh. "Tell me more about the nun."</p> + +<p>"If I tell you, you will fall in love with her," +objected Annetta. "They say that men with red +hair fall in love easily. Is it true? If it is, I +will not tell you any more about the nun. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +I think you are in love with the poor old Grape-eater. +It is good ham, is it not? By Bacchus, +I fed him on chestnuts with my own hands, and +he was always stealing the grapes. Chestnuts fattened +him and the grapes made him sweet. Speaking +with respect, he was a pig for a pope."</p> + +<p>"He will do for a Scotch doctor then," answered +Dalrymple. "Tell me, what does this beautiful +nun do all day long?"</p> + +<p>"What does she do? What can a nun do? She +eats cabbage and prays like the others. But she +has charge of all the convent linen, so I see her +when I go with my mother. That is because +the Princes of Gerano first gave the linen to the +convent after it was all stolen by the Turks in +1798. So, as they gave it, their abbesses take care +of it."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple laughed at the extraordinary historical +allusion compounded of the very ancient +traditions of the Saracens in the south, and of the +more recent wars of Napoleon.</p> + +<p>"So she takes care of the linen," he said. "That +cannot be very amusing, I should think."</p> + +<p>"They are nuns," answered the girl. "Do you +suppose they go about seeking to amuse themselves? +It is an ugly life. But Sister Maria +Addolorata sings to herself, and that makes the +abbess angry, because it is against the rules to sing +except in church. I would not live in that convent—not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +if they would fill my apron with gold +pieces."</p> + +<p>"But why did this beautiful girl become a nun, +then? Was she unhappy, or crossed in love?"</p> + +<p>"She? They did not give her time! Before +she could shut an eye and say, 'Little youth, you +please me, and I wish you well,' they put her in. +And that door, when it is shut, who shall open it? +The Madonna, perhaps? But she was of the +Princes of Gerano, and there must be one of them +for an abbess, and the lot fell upon her. There +is the whole history. You may hear her singing +sometimes, if you stand under the garden wall, +on the narrow path after the Benediction hour and +before Ave Maria. But I am a fool to tell you, +for you will go and listen, and when you have +heard her voice you will be like a madman. You +will fall in love with her. I was a fool to tell +you."</p> + +<p>"Well? And if I do fall in love with her, who +cares?" Dalrymple slowly filled a glass of wine.</p> + +<p>"If you do?" The young girl's eyes shot a +quick, sharp glance at him. Then her face suddenly +grew grave as she saw that some one was at +the street door, looking in cautiously. "Come in, +Sor Tommaso!" she called, down the table. "Papa +is out, but we are here. Come in and drink a glass +of wine!"</p> + +<p>The doctor, wrapped in a long broadcloth cloak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +with a velvet collar, and having a case of instruments +and medicines under his arm, glanced round +the room and came in.</p> + +<p>"Just a half-foglietta, my daughter," he said. +"They have sent for me. The abbess is very ill, +and I may be there a long time. If you think they +would remember to offer a Christian a glass up +there, you are very much mistaken."</p> + +<p>"They are nuns," laughed Annetta. "What can +they know?"</p> + +<p>She rose to get the wine for the doctor. There +had not been a trace of displeasure in her voice +nor in her manner as she spoke.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Sor Tommaso</span> was rarely called to the convent. +In fact, he could not remember that he had been +wanted more than half a dozen times in the long +course of his practice in Subiaco. Either the nuns +were hardly ever ill, or else they must have doctored +themselves with such simple remedies as +had been handed down to them from former ages. +Possibly they had been as well off on the whole as +though they had systematically submitted to the +heroic treatment which passed for medicine in +those days. As a matter of fact, they suffered +chiefly from bad colds; and when they had bad +colds, they either got well, or died, according to +their several destinies. Sor Tommaso might have +saved some of them; but on the other hand, he +might have helped some others rather precipitately +from their cells to that deep crypt, closed, in the +middle of the little church, by a single square flag +of marble, having two brass studs in it, and bearing +the simple inscription: 'Here lie the bones of +the Reverend Sisters of the order of the Blessed +Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel.' On the whole, it +is doubtful whether the practice of not calling in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +the doctor on ordinary occasions had much influence +upon the convent's statistics of mortality.</p> + +<p>But though the abbess had more than once had a +cold in her life, she had never suffered so seriously +as this time, and she had made little objection to +her niece's strong representations as to the necessity +of medical aid. Therefore Sor Tommaso had +been sent for in the evening and in great haste, and +had taken with him a supply of appropriate material +sufficient to kill, if not to cure, half the nuns +in the convent. All the circumstances which he +remembered from former occasions were accurately +repeated. He rang at the main gate, waited long +in the darkness, and heard at last the slapping and +shuffling of shoes along the pavement within, as +the portress and another nun came to let him in. +Then there were faint rays of light from their +little lamp, quivering through the cracks of the +old weather-beaten door upon the cracked marble +steps on which Sor Tommaso was standing. A +thin voice asked who was there, and Sor Tommaso +answered that he was the doctor. Then he heard +a little colloquy in suppressed tones between the +two nuns. The one said that the doctor was +expected and must be let in without question. +The other observed that it might be a thief. +The first said that in that case they must look +through the loophole. The second said that she +did not know the doctor by sight. The first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +speaker remarked with some truth that one could +tell a respectable person from a highwayman, and +suddenly a small square porthole in the door was +opened inwards, and a stream of light fell upon Sor +Tommaso's face, as the nuns held up their little flaring +lamp behind the grating. Behind the lamp he +could distinguish a pair of shadowy eyes under an +overhanging veil, which was also drawn across the +lower part of the face.</p> + +<p>"Are you really the doctor?" asked one of the +voices, in a doubtful tone.</p> + +<p>"He himself," answered the physician. "I am +the Doctor Tommaso Taddei of the University of +the Sapienza, and I have been called to render +assistance to the very reverend the Mother Abbess."</p> + +<p>The light disappeared, and the porthole was +shut, while a second colloquy began. On the +whole, the two nuns decided to let him in, and +then there was a jingling of keys and a clanking +of iron bars and a grinding of locks, and presently +a small door, cut and hung in one leaf of the +great, iron-studded, wooden gate, was swung back. +Sor Tommaso stooped and held his case before +him, for the entrance was low and narrow.</p> + +<p>"God be praised!" he exclaimed, when he was +fairly inside.</p> + +<p>"And praised be His holy name," answered both +the sisters, promptly.</p> + +<p>Both had dropped their veils, and proceeded to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +bolt and bar the little door again, having set down +the lamp upon the pavement. The rays made the +unctuous dampness of the stone flags glisten, and +Sor Tommaso shivered in his broadcloth cloak. +Then, as before, he was conducted in silence +through arched ways, and up many steps, and +along labyrinthine corridors, his strong shoes rousing +sharp, metallic echoes, while the nuns' slippers +slapped and shuffled as one walked on each side of +him, the one on the left carrying the lamp, according +to the ancient rules of politeness. At last +they reached the door of the antechamber at the +end of the corridor, through which the way led to +the abbess's private apartment, consisting of three +rooms. The last door on the left, as Sor Tommaso +faced that which opened into the antechamber, was +that of Maria Addolorata's cell. The linen presses +were entered from within the anteroom by a door +on the right, so that they were actually in the +abbess's apartment, an old-fashioned and somewhat +inconvenient arrangement. Maria Addolorata, +her veil drawn down, so that she could not +see the doctor, but only his feet, and the folds of +it drawn across her chin and mouth, received him +at the door, which she closed behind him. The +other two nuns set down their lamp on the floor of +the corridor, slipped their hands up their sleeves, +and stood waiting outside.</p> + +<p>The abbess was very ill, but had insisted upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +sitting up in her parlour to receive the doctor, +dressed and veiled, being propped up in her great +easy-chair with a pillow which was of green silk, +but was covered with a white pillow-case finely +embroidered with open work at each end, through +which the vivid colour was visible—that high +green which cannot look blue even by lamplight. +Both in the anteroom and in the parlour there +were polished silver lamps of precisely the same +pattern as the brass ones used by the richer +peasants, excepting that each had a fan-like shield +of silver to be used as a shade on one side, bearing +the arms of the Braccio family in high boss, and +attached to the oil vessel by a movable curved arm. +The furniture of the room was very simple, but +there was nevertheless a certain ecclesiastical +solemnity about the high-backed, carved, and gilt +chairs, the black and white marble pavement, the +great portrait of his Holiness, Gregory the Sixteenth, +in its massive gilt frame, the superb silver +crucifix which stood on the writing-table, and, +altogether, in the solidity of everything which met +the eye.</p> + +<p>It was no easy matter to ascertain the good +lady's condition, muffled up and veiled as she was. +It was only as an enormous concession to necessity +that Sor Tommaso was allowed to feel her pulse, +and it needed all Maria Addolorata's eloquent persuasion +and sensible argument to induce her to lift +her veil a little, and open her mouth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your most reverend excellency must be cured by +proxy," said Sor Tommaso, at his wit's end. "If +this reverend mother," he added, turning to the +young nun, "will carry out my directions, something +may be done. Your most reverend excellency's +life is in danger. Your most reverend +excellency ought to be in bed."</p> + +<p>"It is the will of Heaven," said the abbess, in a +very weak and hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what to do," said Maria Addolorata. +"It shall be done as though you yourself did it."</p> + +<p>Sor Tommaso was encouraged by the tone of assurance +in which the words were spoken, and proceeded +to give his directions, which were many, and +his recommendations, which were almost endless.</p> + +<p>"But if your most reverend excellency would +allow me to assist you in person, the remedies +would be more efficacious," he suggested, as he +laid out the greater part of the contents of his +case upon the huge writing-table.</p> + +<p>"You seem to forget that this is a religious +house," replied the abbess, and she might have said +more, but was interrupted by a violent attack of +coughing, during which Maria Addolorata supported +her and tried to ease her.</p> + +<p>"It will be better if you go away," said the nun, +at last. "I will do all you have ordered, and your +presence irritates her. Come back to-morrow morning, +and I will tell you how she is progressing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>The abbess nodded slowly, confirming her niece's +words. Sor Tommaso very reluctantly closed his +case, placed it under his arm, gathered up his broadcloth +cloak with his hat, and made a low obeisance +before the sick lady.</p> + +<p>"I wish your most reverend excellency a good +rest and speedy recovery," he said. "I am your +most reverend excellency's most humble servant."</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata led him out into the antechamber. +There she paused, and they were alone +together for a moment, all the doors being closed. +The doctor stood still beside her, waiting for her +to speak.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to say anything," he answered.</p> + +<p>"What do you wish me to say? A stroke of +air, a cold, a bronchitis, a pleurisy, a pneumonia. +Thanks be to Heaven, there is little fever. What +do you wish me to say? For the stroke of air, a +little good wine; for the cold, warm covering; for +the bronchitis, the tea of marshmallows; for the +pleurisy, severe blistering; for the pneumonia, a +good mustard plaster; for the general system, the +black draught; above all, nothing to eat. Frictions +with hot oil will also do good. It is the practice +of medicine by proxy, my lady mother. What do +you wish me to say? I am disposed. I am her +most reverend excellency's very humble servant. +But I cannot perform miracles. Pray to the Madonna<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +to perform them. I have not even seen the +tip of her most reverend excellency's most wise +tongue. What can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, come back to-morrow morning, and +I will see you here," said Maria Addolorata.</p> + +<p>Sor Tommaso found the nuns waiting for him +with their little lamp in the corridor, and they led +him back through the vaulted passages and staircases +and let him out into the night without a word.</p> + +<p>The night was dark and cloudy. It had grown +much darker since he had come up, as the last +lingering light of evening had faded altogether +from the sky. The October wind drew down in +gusts from the mountains above Subiaco, and blew +the doctor's long cloak about so that it flapped +softly now and then like the wings of a night bird. +After descending some distance, he carefully set +down his case upon the stones and fumbled in his +pockets for his snuffbox, which he found with +some difficulty. A gust blew up a grain of snuff +into his right eye, and he stamped angrily with the +pain, hurting his foot against a rolling stone as he +did so. But he succeeded in getting his snuff to +his nose at last. Then he bent down in the dark +to take up his case, which was close to his feet, +though he could hardly see it. The gusty south +wind blew the long skirts of his cloak over his +head and made them flap about his ears. He +groped for the box.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 370px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="370" height="500" alt=""Sor Tommaso was lying motionless."—Vol. I., p. 78." title=""Sor Tommaso was lying motionless."—Vol. I., p. 78." /> +<span class="caption">"Sor Tommaso was lying motionless."—Vol. I., p. 78.</span> +</div> + +<p>Just then the doctor heard light footsteps coming +down the path behind him. He called out, +warning that he was in the way.</p> + +<p>"O-è, gently, you know!" he cried. "An apoplexy +on the wind!" he added vehemently, as +his head and hands became entangled more and +more in the folds of his cloak.</p> + +<p>"And another on you!" answered a woman's +voice, speaking low through clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>In the darkness a hand rose and fell with something +in it, three times in quick succession. A +man's low cry of pain was stifled in folds of broadcloth. +The same light footsteps were heard for a +moment again in the narrow, winding way, and +Sor Tommaso was lying motionless on his face +across his box, with his cloak over his head. The +gusty south wind blew up and down between the +dark walls, bearing now and then a few withered +vine leaves and wisps of straw with it; and the +night grew darker still, and no one passed that +way for a long time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Angus Dalrymple had finished his supper, +he produced a book and sat reading by the light +of the wicks of the three brass lamps. Annetta +had taken away the things and had not come back +again. Gigetto strolled in and took his guitar +from the peg on the wall, and idled about the room, +tuning it and humming to himself. He was a tall +young fellow with a woman's face and beautiful +velvet-like eyes, as handsome and idle a youth as +you might meet in Subiaco on a summer's feast-day. +He exchanged a word of greeting with +Dalrymple, and, seeing that the place was otherwise +deserted, he at last slung his guitar over +his shoulder, pulled his broad black felt hat +over his eyes, and strolled out through the half-open +door, presumably in search of amusement. +Gigetto's chief virtue was his perfectly childlike +and unaffected taste for amusing himself, on the +whole very innocently, whenever he got a chance. +It was natural that he and the Scotchman should +not care for one another's society. Dalrymple +looked after him for a moment and then went back +to his book. A big glass measure of wine stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +beside him not half empty, and his glass was +full.</p> + +<p>He was making a strong effort to concentrate his +attention upon the learned treatise, which formed +a part of the little library he had brought with +him. But Annetta's idle talk about the nuns, and +especially about Maria Addolorata and her singing, +kept running through his head in spite of his determination +to be serious. He had been living the +life of a hermit for months, and had almost forgotten +the sound of an educated woman's voice. +To him Annetta was nothing more than a rather +pretty wild animal. It did not enter his head that +she might be in love with him. Sora Nanna was +simply an older and uglier animal of the same +species. To a man of Dalrymple's temperament, +and really devoted to the pursuit of a serious +object, a woman quite incapable of even understanding +what that object is can hardly seem to be +a woman at all.</p> + +<p>But the young Scotchman was not wanting in +that passionate and fantastic imagination which so +often underlies and even directs the hardy northern +nature, and the young girl's carelessly spoken words +had roused it to sudden activity. In spite of himself, +he was already forming plans for listening +under the convent wall, if perchance he might +catch the sound of the nun's wonderful voice, and +from that to the wildest schemes for catching a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +momentary glimpse of the singer was only a step. +At the same time, he was quite aware that such +schemes were dangerous if not impracticable, and +his reasonable self laughed down his unreasoning +romance, only to be confronted by it again as soon +as he tried to turn his attention to his book.</p> + +<p>He looked up and saw that he had not finished +his wine, though at that hour the measure was +usually empty, and he wondered why he was less +thirsty than usual. By force of habit he emptied +the full glass and poured more into it,—by force +of that old northern habit of drinking a certain +allowance as a sort of duty, more common in those +days than it is now. Then he began to read again, +never dreaming that his strong head and solid +nerves could be in any way affected by his potations. +But his imagination this evening worked faster +and faster, and his sober reason was recalcitrant +and abhorred work.</p> + +<p>The nun had fair hair and dark eyes and a beautiful +face. Those were much more interesting facts +than he could find in his work. She had a wonderful +voice. He tried to recall all the extraordinary +voices he had heard in his life, but none of them +had ever affected him very much, though he had a +good ear and some taste for music. He wondered +what sort of voice this could be, and he longed to +hear it. He shut up his book impatiently, drank +more wine, rose and went to the open door. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +gusty south wind fanned his face pleasantly, and +he wished he were to sleep out of doors.</p> + +<p>The Sora Nanna, who had been spending the +evening with a friend in the neighbourhood, came +in, her thin black overskirt drawn over her head to +keep the embroidered head-cloth in its place. By +and by, as Dalrymple still stood by the door, +Stefanone appeared, having been to play a game +of cards at a friendly wine-shop. He sat down by +Sora Nanna at the table. She was mixing some +salad in a big earthenware bowl adorned with green +and brown stripes. They talked together in low +tones. Dalrymple had nodded to each in turn, but +the gusty air pleased him, and he remained standing +by the door, letting it blow into his face.</p> + +<p>It was growing late. Italian peasants are not +great sleepers, and it is their custom to have +supper at a late hour, just before going to bed. +By this time it was nearly ten o'clock as we reckon +the hours, or about 'four of the night' in October, +according to old Italian custom, which reckons +from a theoretical moment of darkness, supposed +to begin at Ave Maria, half an hour after sunset.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Dalrymple heard Annetta's voice in +the room behind him, speaking to her mother. +He had no particular reason for supposing that +she had been out of the house since she had +cleared the table and left him, but unconsciously +he had the impression that she had been away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +and was surprised to hear her in the room, after +expecting that she should pass him, coming in from +the street, as the others had done. He turned and +walked slowly towards his place at the table.</p> + +<p>"I thought you had gone out," he said carelessly, +to Annetta.</p> + +<p>The girl turned her head quickly.</p> + +<p>"I?" she cried. "And alone? Without even +Gigetto? When do I ever go out alone at night? +Will you have some supper, Signore?"</p> + +<p>"I have just eaten, thank you," answered Dalrymple, +seating himself.</p> + +<p>"Three hours ago. It was not yet an hour of +the night when you ate. Well—at your pleasure. +Do not complain afterwards that we make you die +of hunger."</p> + +<p>"Bread, Annetta!" said Stefanone, gruffly but +good-naturedly. "And cheese, and salt—wine, too! +A thousand things! Quickly, my daughter."</p> + +<p>"Quicker than this?" inquired the girl, who +had already placed most of the things he asked for +upon the table.</p> + +<p>"I say it to say it," answered her father. +"'Hunger makes long jumps,' and I am hungry."</p> + +<p>"Did you win anything?" asked Sora Nanna, +with both her elbows on the table.</p> + +<p>"Five baiocchi."</p> + +<p>"It was worth while to pay ten <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'baiscchi'">baiocchi</ins> for +another man's bad wine, for the sake of winning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +so much!" replied Sora Nanna, who was a careful +soul. "Of course you paid for the wine?"</p> + +<p>"Eh—of course. They pay for wine when +they come here. One takes a little and one gives +a little. This is life."</p> + +<p>Annetta busied herself with the simple preparations +for supper, while they talked. Dalrymple +watched her idly, and he thought she was pale, +and that her eyes were very bright. She had set +a plate for herself, but had forgotten her glass.</p> + +<p>"And you? Do you not drink?" asked Stefanone. +"You have no glass."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter?" She sat down between +her father and mother.</p> + +<p>"Drink out of mine, my little daughter," said +Stefanone, holding his glass to her lips with a +laugh, as though she had been a little child.</p> + +<p>She looked quietly into his eyes for a moment, +before she touched the wine with her lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, with a little emphasis. +"I will drink out of your glass now."</p> + +<p>"Better so," laughed Stefanone, who was glad +to be reconciled, for he loved the girl, in spite of +his occasional violence of temper.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" asked Sora Nanna, her +cunning peasant's eyes looking from one to the +other, and seeming to belie her stupid face.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," answered Stefanone. "We were +playing together. Signor Englishman," he said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +turning to Dalrymple, "you must sometimes wish +that you were married, and had a wife like Nanna, +and a daughter like Annetta."</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," said Dalrymple, with a +smile.</p> + +<p>Before very long, he took his book and went +upstairs to bed, being tired and sleepy after a +long day spent on the hillside in a fruitless search +for certain plants which, according to his books, +were to be found in that part of Italy, but which +he had not yet seen. He fell asleep, thinking +of Maria Addolorata's lovely face and fair hair, on +which he had never laid eyes. In his dreams he +heard a rare voice ringing true, that touched him +strangely. The gusty wind made the panes of his +bedroom window rattle, and in the dream he was +tapping on Maria Addolorata's casement and calling +softly to her, to open it and speak to him, or +calling her by name, with his extraordinary foreign +accent. And he thought he was tapping louder +and louder, upon the glass and upon the wooden +frame, louder and louder still. Then he heard his +name called out, and his heart jumped as though +it would have turned upside down in its place, and +then seemed to sink again like a heavy stone falling +into deep water; for he was awake, and the voice +that was calling him was certainly not that of +the beautiful nun, but gruff and manly; also the +tapping was not tapping any more upon a casement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +but was a vigorous pounding against his +own bolted door.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple sat up suddenly and listened, wide +awake at once. The square of his window was +faintly visible in the darkness, as though the dawn +were breaking. He called out, asking who was +outside.</p> + +<p>"Get up, Signore! Get up! You are wanted +quickly!" It was Stefanone.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple struck a light, for he had a supply +of matches with him, a convenience of modern life +not at that time known in Subiaco, except as an +expensive toy, though already in use in Rome. +As he was, he opened the door. Stefanone came +in, dressed in his shirt and breeches, pale with +excitement.</p> + +<p>"You must dress yourself, Signore," he said +briefly, as he glanced at the Scotchman, and then +set down the small tin and glass lantern he +carried.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" inquired Dalrymple, +yawning, and stretching his great white arms over +his head, till his knuckles struck the low ceiling; +for he was a tall man.</p> + +<p>"The matter is that they have killed Sor Tommaso," +answered the peasant.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple uttered an exclamation of surprise +and incredulity.</p> + +<p>"It is as I say," continued Stefanone. "They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +found him lying across the way, in the street, with +knife-wounds in him, as many as you please."</p> + +<p>"That is horrible!" exclaimed Dalrymple, turning, +and calmly trimming his lamp, which burned +badly at first.</p> + +<p>"Then dress yourself, Signore!" said Stefanone, +impatiently. "You must come!"</p> + +<p>"Why? If he is dead, what can I do?" asked +the northern man, coolly. "I am sorry. What +more can I say?"</p> + +<p>"But he is not dead yet!" Stefanone was +growing excited. "They have taken him—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! he is alive, is he?" interrupted the +Scotchman, dashing at his clothes, as though he +were suddenly galvanized into life himself. "Then +why did you tell me they had killed him?" he +asked, with a curious, dry calmness of voice, as +he instantly began to dress himself. "Get some +clean linen, Signor Stefano. Tear it up into strips +as broad as your hand, for bandages, and set the +women to make a little lint of old linen—cotton +is not good. Where have they taken Sor +Tommaso?"</p> + +<p>"To his own house," answered the peasant.</p> + +<p>"So much the better. Go and make the bandages."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple pushed Stefanone towards the door +with one hand, while he continued to fasten his +clothes with the other.</p> + +<p>Stefanone was not without some experience of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +similar cases, so he picked up his lantern and went +off. In less than a quarter of an hour, he and +Dalrymple were on their way to Sor Tommaso's +house, which was in the piazza of Subiaco, not far +from the principal church. Half a dozen peasants, +who had met the muleteers bringing the wounded +doctor home from the spot where he had been +found, followed the two men, talking excitedly in +low voices and broken sentences. The dawn was +grey above the houses, and the autumn mists had +floated up to the parapet on the side where the +little piazza looked down to the valley, and hung +motionless in the still air, like a stage sea in a +theatre. In the distance was heard the clattering +of mules' shoes, and occasionally the deep clanking +of the goats' bells. Just as the little party +reached the small, dark green door of the doctor's +house the distant convent bells tolled one, then +two quick strokes, then three again, and then +five, and then rang out the peal for the morning +Angelus. The door of the dirty little coffee shop +in the piazza was already open, and a faint light +burned within. The air was damp, quiet and +strangely resonant, as it often is in mountain towns +at early dawn. The gusty October wind had gone +down, after blowing almost all night.</p> + +<p>The case was far from being as serious as Dalrymple +had expected, and he soon convinced himself +that Sor Tommaso was not in any great danger.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +He had fainted from fright and some loss of blood, +but neither of the two thrusts which had wounded +him had penetrated to his lungs, and the third was +little more than a scratch. Doubtless he owed his +safety in part to the fact that the wind had blown +his cloak in folds over his shoulders and head. +But it was also clear that his assailant had possessed +no experience in the use of the knife as a +weapon. When the group of men at the door were +told that Sor Tommaso was not mortally wounded, +they went away somewhat disappointed at the insignificant +ending of the affair, though the doctor +was not an unpopular man in the town.</p> + +<p>"It is some woman," said one of them, contemptuously. +"What can a woman do with a knife? +Worse than a cat—she scratches, and runs away."</p> + +<p>"Some little jealousy," observed another. "Eh! +Sor Tommaso—who knows where he makes love? +But meanwhile he is growing old, to be so gay."</p> + +<p>"The old are the worst," replied the first +speaker. "Since it is nothing, let us have a +baiocco's worth of acquavita, and let us go away."</p> + +<p>So they turned into the dirty little coffee shop +to get their pennyworth of spirits. Meanwhile +Dalrymple was washing and binding up his +friend's wounds. Sor Tommaso groaned and +winced under every touch, and the Scotchman, +with dry gentleness, did his best to reassure him. +Stefanone looked on in silence for some time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +helping Dalrymple when he was needed. The +doctor's servant-woman, a somewhat grimy peasant, +was sitting on the stairs, sobbing loudly.</p> + +<p>"It is useless," moaned Sor Tommaso. "I am +dead."</p> + +<p>"I may be mistaken," answered Dalrymple, +"but I think not."</p> + +<p>And he continued his operations with a sure +hand, greatly to the admiration of Stefanone, +who had often seen knife-wounds dressed. Gradually +Sor Tommaso became more calm. His face, +from having been normally of a bright red, was +now very pale, and his watery blue eyes blinked at +the light helplessly like a kitten's, as he lay still +on his pillow. Stefanone went away to his occupations +at last, and Dalrymple, having cleared +away the litter of unused bandages and lint, and +set things in order, sat down by the bedside to +keep his patient company for a while. He was +really somewhat anxious lest the wounds should +have taken cold.</p> + +<p>"If I get well, it will be a miracle," said Sor +Tommaso, feebly. "I must think of my soul."</p> + +<p>"By all means," answered the Scotchman. "It +can do your soul no harm, and contemplation +rests the body."</p> + +<p>"You Protestants have not human sentiment," +observed the Italian, moving his head slowly on +the pillow. "But I also think of the abbess. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +was to have gone there early this morning. She +will also die. We shall both die."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple crossed one leg over the other, and +looked quietly at the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Sor Tommaso," he said, "there is no other +physician in Subiaco. I am a doctor, properly +licensed to practise. It is evidently my duty to +take care of your patients while you are ill."</p> + +<p>"Mercy!" cried Sor Tommaso, with sudden +energy, and opening his eyes very wide.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid that I shall kill them," asked +Dalrymple, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Who knows? A foreigner! And the people +say that you have converse with the devil. But +the common people are ignorant."</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"And as for the convent—a Protestant—for +the abbess! They would rather die. Figure to +yourself what sort of a scandal there would be! +A Protestant in a convent, and then, in that convent, +too! The abbess would much rather die +in peace."</p> + +<p>"At all events, I will go and offer my services. +If the abbess prefers to die in peace, she can +answer to that effect. I will ask her what she +thinks about it."</p> + +<p>"Ask her!" repeated Sor Tommaso. "Do you +imagine that you could see her? But what can +you know? I tell you that last night she was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +muffled up in her chair, and her face covered. +It needed the grace of Heaven, that I might feel +her pulse! As for her tongue, God knows what +it is like! I have not seen it. Not so much as +the tip of it! Not even her eyes did I see. And +to-day I was not to be admitted at all, because the +abbess would be in bed. Imagine to yourself, with +blisters and sinapisms, and a hundred things. I +was only to speak with Sister Maria Addolorata, +who is her niece, you know, in the anteroom of the +abbess's apartment. They would not let you in. +They would give you a bath of holy water +through the loophole of the convent door and +say, 'Go away, sinner; this is a religious house!' +You know them very little."</p> + +<p>"You are talking too much," observed Dalrymple, +who had listened attentively. "It is not +good for you. Besides, since you are able to +speak, it would be better if you told me who +stabbed you last night, that I may go to the +police, and have the person arrested, if possible."</p> + +<p>"You do not know what you are saying," answered +Sor Tommaso, with sudden gravity. "The +woman has relations—who could handle a knife +better than she."</p> + +<p>And he turned his face away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sun was high when Dalrymple left Sor +Tommaso in charge of the old woman-servant and +went back to Stefanone's house to dress himself +with more care than he had bestowed upon his +hasty toilet at dawn. And now that he had plenty +of time, he was even more careful of his appearance +than usual; for he had fully determined to +attempt to take Sor Tommaso's place in attendance +upon the abbess. He therefore put on a coat of +a sober colour and brushed his straight red hair +smoothly back from his forehead, giving himself +easily that extremely grave and trust-inspiring air +which distinguishes many Scotchmen, and supports +their solid qualities, while it seems to deny the +possibility of any adventurous and romantic tendency.</p> + +<p>At that hour nobody was about the house, and +Dalrymple, stick in hand, sallied forth upon his +expedition, looking for all the world as though he +were going to church in Edinburgh instead of meditating +an entrance into an Italian convent. He +had said nothing more to the doctor on the subject. +The people in the streets had most of them seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +him often and knew him by name, and it did not +occur to any one to wonder why a foreigner should +wear one sort of coat rather than another, when he +took his walks abroad. He walked leisurely; for +the sky had cleared, and the sun was hot. Moreover, +he followed the longer road in order to keep +his shoes clean, instead of climbing up the narrow +and muddy lane in which Sor Tommaso had been +attacked. He reached the convent door at last, +brushed a few specks of dust from his coat, settled +his high collar and the broad black cravat which +was then taking the place of the stock, and rang +the bell with one steady pull. There was, perhaps, +no occasion for nervousness. At all events, +Dalrymple was as deliberate in his movements and +as calm in all respects as he had ever been in his +life. Only, just after he had pulled the weather-beaten +bell-chain, a half-humorous smile bent his +even lips and was gone again in a moment.</p> + +<p>There was the usual slapping and shuffling of +slippers in the vaulted archway within, but as it +was now day, the loophole was opened immediately, +and the portress came alone. Dalrymple explained +in strangely accented but good Italian that Sor +Tommaso had met with an accident in the night; +that he, Angus Dalrymple, was a friend of the +doctor's and a doctor himself, and had undertaken +all of Sor Tommaso's duties, and, finally, that he +begged the portress to find Sister Maria Addolorata,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +to repeat his story, and to offer his humble +services in the cause of the abbess's recovery. All +of which the veiled nun within heard patiently to +the end.</p> + +<p>"I will speak to Sister Maria Addolorata," she +said. "Have the goodness to wait."</p> + +<p>"Outside?" inquired Dalrymple, as the little +shutter of the loophole was almost closed.</p> + +<p>"Of course," answered the nun, opening it again, +and shutting it as soon as she had spoken.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple waited a long time in the blazing +sun. The main entrance of the convent faced to +the southeast, and it was not yet midday. He +grew hot, after his walk, and softly wiped his forehead, +and carefully folded his handkerchief again +before returning it to his pocket. At last he heard +the sound of steps again, and in a few seconds the +loophole was once more opened.</p> + +<p>"Sister Maria Addolorata will speak with you," +said the portress's voice, as he approached his face +to the little grating.</p> + +<p>He felt an odd little thrill of pleasant surprise. +But so far as seeing anything was concerned, he +was disappointed. Instead of one veiled nun, there +were now two veiled nuns.</p> + +<p>"Madam," he began, "my friend Doctor Tommaso +Taddei has met with an accident which prevents +him from leaving his bed." And he went on +to repeat all that he had told the portress, with such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +further explanations as he deemed necessary and +persuasive.</p> + +<p>While he spoke, Maria Addolorata drew back a +little into the deeper shadow away from the loophole. +Her veil hung over her eyes, and the folds +were drawn across her mouth, but she gradually +raised her head, throwing it back until she could +see Dalrymple's face from beneath the edge of the +black material. In so doing she unconsciously uncovered +her mouth. The Scotchman saw a good +part of her features, and gazed intently at what he +saw, rightly judging that as the sun was behind +him, she could hardly be sure whether he were +looking at her or not.</p> + +<p>As for her, she was doubtless inspired by a natural +curiosity, but at the same time she understood +the gravity of the case and wished to form an +opinion as to the advisability of admitting the +stranger. A glance told her that Dalrymple was +a gentleman, and she was reassured by the gravity +of his voice and by the fact that he was evidently +acquainted with the abbess's condition, and must, +therefore, be a friend of Sor Tommaso. When he +had finished speaking, she immediately looked +down again, and seemed to be hesitating.</p> + +<p>"Open the door, Sister Filomena," she said at +last.</p> + +<p>The portress shook her head almost imperceptibly +as she obeyed, but she said nothing. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +whole affair was in her eyes exceedingly irregular. +Maria Addolorata should have retired to the little +room adjoining the convent parlour, and separated +from it by a double grating, and Dalrymple +should have been admitted to the parlour itself, +and they should have said what they had to say +to one another through the bars, in the presence +of the portress. But Maria Addolorata was the +abbess's niece. The abbess was too ill to give +orders—too ill even to speak, it was rumoured. +In a few days Maria Addolorata might be 'Her +most Reverend Excellency.' Meanwhile she was +mistress of the situation, and it was safer to obey +her. Moreover, the portress was only a lay sister, +an old and ignorant creature, accustomed to do +what she was told to do by the ladies of the +convent.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple took off his hat and stooped low to +enter through the small side-door. As soon as he +had passed the threshold, he stood up to his +height and then made a low bow to Maria Addolorata, +whose veil now quite covered her eyes and +prevented her from seeing him,—a fact which he +realized immediately.</p> + +<p>"Give warning to the sisters, Sister Filomena," +said Maria Addolorata to the portress, who nodded +respectfully and walked away into the gloom under +the arches, leaving the nun and Dalrymple together +by the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is necessary to give warning," she explained, +"lest you should meet any of the sisters unveiled +in the corridors, and they should be scandalized."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple again bowed gravely and stood still, +his eyes fixed upon Maria Addolorata's veiled head, +but wandering now and then to her heavy but +beautifully shaped white hands, which she held +carelessly clasped before her and holding the end +of the great rosary of brown beads which hung +from her side. He thought he had never seen +such hands before. They were high-bred, and yet +at the same time there was a strongly material +attraction about them.</p> + +<p>He did not know what to say, and as nothing +seemed to be expected of him, he kept silence for +some time. At last Maria Addolorata, as though +impatient at the long absence of the portress, +tapped the pavement softly with her sandal +slipper, and turned her head in the direction of +the arches as though to listen for approaching footsteps.</p> + +<p>"I hope that the abbess is no worse than when +Doctor Taddei saw her last night," observed Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>"Her most reverend excellency," answered Maria +Addolorata, with a little emphasis, as though to +teach him the proper mode of addressing the abbess, +"is suffering. She has had a bad night."</p> + +<p>"I shall hope to be allowed to give some advice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +to her most reverend excellency," said Dalrymple, +to show that he had understood the hint.</p> + +<p>"She will not allow you to see her. But you +shall come with me to the antechamber, and I will +speak with her and tell you what she says."</p> + +<p>"I shall be greatly obliged, and will do my best +to give good advice without seeing the patient."</p> + +<p>Another pause followed, during which neither +moved. Then Maria Addolorata spoke again, further +reassured, perhaps, by Dalrymple's quiet and +professional tone. She had too lately left the +world to have lost the habit of making conversation +to break an awkward silence. Years of seclusion, +too, instead of making her shy and silent, had +given her something of the ease and coolness of +a married woman. This was natural enough, considering +that she was born of worldly people and +had acquired the manners of the world in her own +home, in childhood.</p> + +<p>"You are an Englishman, I presume, Signor +Doctor?" she observed, in a tone of interrogation.</p> + +<p>"A Scotchman, Madam," answered Dalrymple, +correcting her and drawing himself up a little. +"My name is Angus Dalrymple."</p> + +<p>"It is the same—an Englishman or a Scotchman," +said the nun.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Madam, we consider that there is +a great difference. The Scotch are chiefly Celts. +Englishmen are Anglo-Saxons."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you are all Protestants. It is therefore +the same for us."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple feared a discussion of the question +of religion. He did not answer the nun's last +remark, but bowed politely. She, of course, could +not see the inclination he made.</p> + +<p>"You say nothing," she said presently. "Are +you a Protestant?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madam."</p> + +<p>"It is a pity!" said Maria Addolorata. "May +God send you light."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Madam."</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata smiled under her veil at the +polite simplicity of the reply. She had met Englishmen +in Rome.</p> + +<p>"It is no longer customary to address us as +'Madam,'" she answered, a moment later. "It is +more usual to speak to us as 'Sister' or 'Reverend +Sister'—or 'Sister Maria.' I am Sister Maria +Addolorata. But you know it, for you sent your +message to me."</p> + +<p>"Doctor Taddei told me."</p> + +<p>At this point the portress appeared in the distance, +and Maria Addolorata, hearing footsteps, +turned her head from Dalrymple, raising her veil +a little, so that she could recognize the lay sister +without showing her face to the young man.</p> + +<p>"Let us go," she said, dropping her veil again, +and beginning to walk on. "The sisters are +warned."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dalrymple followed her in silence and at a +respectful distance, congratulating himself upon +his extraordinary good fortune in having got so +far on the first attempt, and inwardly praying that +Sor Tommaso's wounds might take a considerable +time in healing. It had all come about so naturally +that he had lost the sensation of doing +something adventurous which had at first taken +possession of him, and he now regarded everything +as possible, even to being invited to a friendly cup +of tea in Sister Maria Addolorata's sitting-room; +for he imagined her as having a sitting-room and +as drinking tea there in a semi-luxurious privacy. +The idea would have amused an Italian of those +days, when tea was looked upon as medicine.</p> + +<p>They reached the end of the last corridor. Dalrymple, +like Sor Tommaso, was admitted to the +antechamber, while the portress waited outside +to conduct him back again. But Maria did not +take him into the abbess's parlour, into which she +went at once, closing the door behind her. Dalrymple +sat down upon a carved wooden box-bench, +and waited. The nun was gone a long time.</p> + +<p>"I have kept you waiting," she said, as she +entered the little room again.</p> + +<p>"My time is altogether at your service, Sister +Maria Addolorata," he answered, rising quickly. +"How is her most reverend excellency?"</p> + +<p>"Very ill. I do not know what to say. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +will not hear of seeing you. I fear she will not +live long, for she can hardly breathe."</p> + +<p>"Does she cough?"</p> + +<p>"Not much. Not so much as last night. She +complains that she cannot draw her breath and +that her lungs feel full of something."</p> + +<p>The case was evidently serious, and Dalrymple, +who was a physician by nature, proceeded to extract +as much information as he could from the +nun, who did her best to answer all his questions +clearly. The long conversation, with its little +restraints and its many attempts at a mutual +understanding, did more to accustom Maria Addolorata +to Dalrymple's presence and personality +than any number of polite speeches on his part +could have done. There is an unavoidable tendency +to intimacy between any two people who +are together engaged in taking care of a sick +person.</p> + +<p>"I can give you directions and good advice," +said Dalrymple, at last. "But it can never be the +same as though I could see the patient myself. Is +there no possible means of obtaining her consent? +She may die for the want of just such advice as +I can only give after seeing her. Would not her +brother, his Eminence the Cardinal, perhaps recommend +her to let me visit her once?"</p> + +<p>"That is an idea," answered the nun, quickly. +"My uncle is a man of broad views. I have heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +it said in Rome. I could write to him that Doctor +Taddei is unable to come, and that a celebrated +foreign physician is here—"</p> + +<p>"Not celebrated," interrupted Dalrymple, with +his literal Scotch veracity.</p> + +<p>"What difference can it make?" uttered Maria +Addolorata, moving her shoulders a little impatiently. +"He will be the more ready to use his +influence, for he is much attached to my aunt. +Then, if he can persuade her, I can send down the +gardener to the town for you this afternoon. It +may not be too late."</p> + +<p>"I see that you have some confidence in me," +said Dalrymple. "I am of a newer school than +Doctor Taddei. If you will follow my directions, +I will almost promise that her most reverend excellency +shall not die before to-morrow."</p> + +<p>He smiled now, as he gave the abbess her full +title, for he began to feel as though he had known +Maria Addolorata for a long time, though he had +only had one glimpse of her eyes, just when she +had raised her head to get a look at him through +the loophole of the gate. But he had not forgotten +them, and he felt that he knew them.</p> + +<p>"I will do all you tell me," she answered quietly.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple had some English medicines with him +on his travels, and not knowing what might be +required of him at the convent, he had brought +with him a couple of tiny bottles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This when she coughs—ten drops," he said, +handing the bottles to the nun. "And five drops +of this once an hour, until her chest feels freer."</p> + +<p>He gave her minute directions, as far as he +could, about the general treatment of the patient, +which Maria repeated and got by heart.</p> + +<p>"I will let you know before twenty-three o'clock +what the cardinal says to the plan," she said. "In +this way you will be able to come up by daylight."</p> + +<p>As Dalrymple took his leave, he held out his +hand, forgetting that he was in Italy.</p> + +<p>"It is not our custom," said Maria Addolorata, +thrusting each of her own hands into the opposite +sleeve.</p> + +<p>But there was nothing cold in her tone. On the +contrary, Dalrymple fancied that she was almost +on the point of laughing at that moment, and he +blushed at his awkwardness. But she could not +see his face.</p> + +<p>"Your most humble servant," he said, bowing +to her.</p> + +<p>"Good day, Signor Doctor," she answered, +through the open door, as the portress jingled +her keys and prepared to follow Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>So he took his departure, not without much +satisfaction at the result of his first attempt.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Sor Tommaso</span> recovered but slowly, though his +injuries were of themselves not dangerous. His +complexion was apoplectic and gouty, he was no +longer young, and before forty-eight hours had +gone by his wounds were decidedly inflamed and +he had a little fever. At the same time he was by +no means a courageous man, and he was ready to +cry out that he was dead, whenever he felt himself +worse. Besides this, he lost his temper several +times daily with Dalrymple, who resolutely refused +to bleed him, and he insisted upon eating and +drinking more than was good for him, at a time +when if he had been his own patient he would +have enforced starvation as necessary to recovery.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the cardinal had exerted his influence +with his sister, the abbess, and had so far succeeded +that Dalrymple, who went every day to the convent, +was now made to stand with his back to the +abbess's open door, in order that he might at least +ask her questions and hear her own answers. +Many an old Italian doctor can tell of even +stranger and more absurd precautions observed by +the nuns of those days. As soon as the oral<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +examination was over, Maria Addolorata shut the +door and came out into the parlour, where Dalrymple +finished his visit, prolonging it in conversation +with her by every means he could devise.</p> + +<p>Though encumbered with a little of the northern +shyness, Dalrymple was not diffident. There is +a great difference between shyness and diffidence. +Diffidence distrusts itself; shyness distrusts the +mere outward impression made on others. At this +time Dalrymple had no object beyond enjoying the +pleasure of talking with Maria Addolorata, and no +hope beyond that of some day seeing her face without +the veil. As for her voice, his present position +as doctor to the convent made it foolish for him to +run the risk of being caught listening for her songs +behind the garden wall. But he had not forgotten +what Annetta had told him, and Maria Addolorata's +soft intonations and liquid depths of tone in speaking +led him to believe that the peasant girl had +not exaggerated the nun's gift of singing.</p> + +<p>One day, after he had seen her and talked with +her more than half a dozen times, he approached +the subject, merely for the sake of conversation, +saying that he had been told of her beautiful +voice by people who had heard her across the +garden.</p> + +<p>"It is true," she answered simply. "I have a +good voice. But it is forbidden here to sing except +in church," she added with a sigh. "And now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +that my aunt is ill, I would not displease her for +anything."</p> + +<p>"That is natural," said Dalrymple. "But I +would give anything in the world to hear you."</p> + +<p>"In church you can hear me. The church is +open on Sundays at the Benediction service. We +are behind the altar in the choir, of course. But +perhaps you would know my voice from the rest +because it is deeper."</p> + +<p>"I should know it in a hundred thousand," +asseverated the Scotchman, with warmth.</p> + +<p>"That would be a great many—a whole choir +of angels!" And the nun laughed softly, as she +sometimes did, now that she knew him so much +better.</p> + +<p>There was something warm and caressing in her +laughter, short and low as it was, that made Dalrymple +look at those full white hands of hers and +wonder whether they might not be warm and +caressing too.</p> + +<p>"Will you sing a little louder than the rest next +Sunday afternoon, Sister Maria?" he asked. "I +will be in the church."</p> + +<p>"That would be a great sin," she answered, but +not very gravely.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I should have to be thinking about +you instead of about the holy service. Do you +not know that? But nothing is sinful according<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +to you Protestants, I suppose. At all events, come +to the church."</p> + +<p>"Do you think we are all devils, Sister Maria?" +asked Dalrymple, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"More or less." She laughed again. "They +say in the town that you have a compact with +the devil."</p> + +<p>"Do you hear what is said in the town?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes. The gardener brings the gossip and +tells it to the cook. Or Sora Nanna tells it to me +when she brings the linen. There are a thousand +ways. The people think we know nothing because +they never see us. But we hear all that goes on."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple said nothing in answer for some time. +Then he spoke suddenly and rather hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Shall I never see you, Sister Maria?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Me? But you see me every day—"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—but your face, without the veil."</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata shook her head.</p> + +<p>"It is against all rules," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Is it not against all rules that we should sit here +and make conversation every day for half an hour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I suppose it is. But you are here as a +doctor to take care of my aunt," she added quickly. +"That makes it right. You are not a man. You +are a doctor."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—I understand." Dalrymple laughed a +little. "Then I am never to see your beautiful +face?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How do you know it is beautiful, since you +have never seen it?"</p> + +<p>"From your beautiful hands," answered the +young man, promptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Maria Addolorata glanced at her hands +and then, with a movement which might have been +quicker, concealed them in her sleeves.</p> + +<p>"It is a sin to hide what God has made beautiful," +said Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>"If I have anything about me that is beautiful, +it is for God's glory that I hide it," answered +Maria, with real gravity this time.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple understood that he had gone a little +too far, though he did not exactly regret it, for the +next words she spoke showed him that she was not +really offended. Nevertheless, in order to exhibit +a proper amount of contrition he took his leave +with a little more formality than usual on this particular +occasion. Possibly she was willing to show +that she forgave him, for she hesitated a moment +just before opening the door, and then, to his great +surprise, held out her hand to him.</p> + +<p>"It is your custom," she said, just touching his +eagerly outstretched fingers. "But you must not +look at it," she added, drawing it back quickly and +hiding it in her sleeve with another low laugh. +And she began to shut the door almost before he +had quite gone through.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple walked more slowly on that day, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +he descended through the steep and narrow streets, +and though he was surefooted by nature and habit, +he almost stumbled once or twice on his way down, +because, somehow, though his eyes looked towards +his feet, he did not see exactly where he was +going.</p> + +<p>There is no necessity for analyzing his sensations. +It is enough to say at once that he was +beginning to be really in love with Maria Addolorata, +and that he denied the fact to himself stoutly, +though it forced itself upon him with every step +which took him further from the convent. He felt +on that day a strong premonitory symptom in the +shape of a logical objection, as it were, to his +returning again to see the nun. The objection was +the evident and total futility of the almost intimate +intercourse into which the two were gliding. The +day must soon come when the abbess would no +longer need his assistance. In all probability she +would recover, for the more alarming symptoms +had disappeared, and she showed signs of regaining +her strength by slow degrees. It was quite clear +to Dalrymple that, after her ultimate recovery, his +chance of seeing and talking with Maria Addolorata +would be gone forever. Sor Tommaso, indeed, +recovered but slowly. Of the two his case was the +worse, for fever had set in on the third day and +had not left him yet, so that he assured Dalrymple +almost hourly that his last moment was at hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +But he also was sure to get well, in the Scotchman's +opinion, and the latter knew well enough +that his own temporary privileges as physician +to the convent would be withdrawn from him as +soon as the Subiaco doctor should be able to climb +the hill.</p> + +<p>It was all, therefore, but a brief incident in his +life, which could not possibly have any continuation +hereafter. He tried in vain to form plans +and create reasons for seeing Maria Addolorata +even once a month for some time to come, but his +ingenuity failed him altogether, and he grew angry +with himself for desiring what was manifestly +impossible.</p> + +<p>With true masculine inconsequence, so soon as +he was displeased with himself he visited his displeasure +upon the object that attracted him, and +on the earliest possible occasion, on their very +next meeting. He assumed an air of coldness and +reserve such as he had certainly not thought necessary +to put on at his first visit. Almost without +any preliminary words of courtesy, and without any +attempt to prolong the short conversation which +always took place before he was made to stand +with his back to the abbess's open door, he coldly +inquired about the good lady's condition during +the past night, and made one or two observations +thereon with a brevity almost amounting to curtness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata was surprised; but as her face +was covered, and her hands were quietly folded +before her, Dalrymple could not see that his behaviour +had any effect upon her. She did not +answer his last remark at all, but quietly bowed +her head.</p> + +<p>Then followed the usual serio-comic scene, +during which Dalrymple stood turned away from +the open door, asking questions of the sick woman, +and listening attentively for her low-spoken answers. +To tell the truth, he judged of her condition +more from the sound of her voice than from +anything else. He had also taught Maria Addolorata +how to feel the pulse; and she counted the +beats while he looked at his watch. His chief +anxiety was now for the action of the heart, which +had been weakened by a lifetime of unhealthy +living, by food inadequate in quality, even when +sufficient in quantity, by confinement within doors, +and lack of life-giving sunshine, and by all those +many causes which tend to reduce the vitality of +a cloistered nun.</p> + +<p>When the comedy was over, Maria Addolorata +shut the door as usual; and she and Dalrymple +were alone together in the abbess's parlour, as +they were every day. The abbess herself could +hear that they were talking, but she naturally +supposed that they were discussing the details of +her condition; and as she felt that she was really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +recovering, so far as she could judge, and as almost +every day, after Dalrymple had gone, Maria Addolorata +had some new direction of his to carry out, +the elder lady's suspicions were not aroused. On +the contrary, her confidence in the Scotch doctor +grew from day to day; and in the long hours +during which she lay thinking over her state and +its circumstances, she made plans for his conversion, +in which her brother, the cardinal, bore a +principal part. She was grateful to Dalrymple, +and it seemed to her that the most proper way +of showing her gratitude would be to save his +soul, a point of view unusual in the ordinary +relations of life.</p> + +<p>On this particular day, Maria Addolorata shut +the door, and came forward into the parlour as +usual. As usual, too, she sat down in the abbess's +own big easy-chair, expecting that Dalrymple +would seat himself opposite to her. But he remained +standing, with the evident intention of +going away in a few moments. He said a few +words about the patient, gave one or two directions, +and then stood still in silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata lifted her head a little, but +not enough to show him more than an inch of her +face.</p> + +<p>"Have I displeased you, Signor Doctor?" she +asked, in her deep, warm voice. "Have I not +carried out your orders?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On the contrary," answered Dalrymple, with +a stiffness which he resented in himself. "It is +impossible to be more conscientious than you +always are."</p> + +<p>Seeing that he still remained standing, the nun +rose to her feet, and waited for him to go. She +believed that she was far too proud to detain him, +if he wished to shorten the meeting. But something +hurt her, which she could not understand.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple hesitated a moment, and his lips +parted as though he were about to speak. The +silence was prolonged only for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Sister Maria Addolorata," he +said suddenly, and bowed.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Signor Doctor," answered the +nun.</p> + +<p>She bent her head very slightly, but a keener +observer than Dalrymple was, just then, would have +noticed that as she did so, her shoulders moved +forward a little, as though her breast were contracted +by some sudden little pain. Dalrymple +did not see it. He bowed again, let himself out, +and closed the door softly behind him.</p> + +<p>When he was gone, Maria Addolorata sat down +in the big easy-chair again, and uncovered her +face, doubling her veil back upon her head, and +withdrawing the thick folds from her chin and +mouth. Her features were very pale, as she sat +staring at the sky through the window, and her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +eyes fixed themselves in that look which was +peculiar to her. Her full white hands strained +upon each other a little, bringing the colour to the +tips of her fingers. During some minutes she did +not move. Then she heard her aunt's voice calling +to her hoarsely. She rose at once, and went into +the bedroom. The abbess's pale face was very +thin and yellow now, as it lay upon the white +pillow; the coverlet was drawn up to her chin, +and a grimly carved black crucifix hung directly +above her head.</p> + +<p>"The doctor did not stay long to-day," she said, +in a hollow tone.</p> + +<p>"No, mother," answered the young nun. "He +thinks you are doing very well. He wishes you +to eat a wing of roast chicken."</p> + +<p>"If I could have a little salad," said the abbess. +"Maria," she added suddenly, "you are careful to +keep your face covered when you are in the next +room, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Always."</p> + +<p>"You generally do not raise your veil until you +come into this room, after the doctor is gone," said +the elder lady.</p> + +<p>"He went so soon, to-day," answered Maria +Addolorata, with perfectly innocent truth. "I +stayed a moment in the parlour, thinking over his +directions, and I lifted my veil when I was alone. +It is close to-day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go into the garden, and walk a little," said the +abbess. "It will do you good. You are pale."</p> + +<p>If she had felt even a faint uneasiness about her +niece's conduct, it was removed by the latter's +manner.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> more Dalrymple was sitting over his supper +at the table in the vaulted room on the ground +floor which Stefanone used as a wine shop. To +tell the truth, it was very superior to the ordinary +wine shops of Subiaco and had an exceptional +reputation. The common people never came there, +because Stefanone did not sell his cheap wine at +retail, but sent it all to Rome, or took it thither +himself for the sake of getting a higher price for +it. He always said that he did not keep an inn, +and perhaps as much on account of his relations +with Gigetto's family, he assumed as far as possible +the position of a wine-dealer rather than that of a +wine-seller. The distinction, in Italian mountain +towns, is very marked.</p> + +<p>"They can have a measure of the best, if they +care to pay for it," he said. "If they wish a mouthful +of food, there is what there is. But I am not +the village host, and Nanna is not a wine-shop cook, +to fry tripe and peel onions for Titius and Caius."</p> + +<p>The old Roman expression, denoting generally +the average public, survives still in polite society, +and Stefanone had caught it from Sor Tommaso.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dalrymple was sitting as usual over his supper, +by the light of the triple-beaked brass lamp, his +measure of wine beside him, and a beefsteak, which +on this occasion was really of beef, before him. +Stefanone was absent in Rome, with a load of wine. +Sora Nanna sat on Dalrymple's right, industriously +knitting in Italian fashion, one of the needles +stuck into and supported by a wooden sheath +thrust into her waist-band, while she worked off +the stitches with the others. Annetta sat opposite +the Scotchman, but a little on one side of the lamp, +so that she could see his face.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said suddenly, without lifting her +chin from the hand in which it rested, "you do +not know anything! This Signor Englishman is +making love with a nun in the convent! Eh—what +do you think of it? Only this was wanting. +A little more and the lightning will fall upon the +convent! These Protestants! Oh, these blessed +Protestants! They respect nothing, not even the +saints!"</p> + +<p>"My daughter! what are you saying?"</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna's fingers did not pause in their +work, nor did her eyes look up, but the deep +furrow showed itself in her thick peasant's forehead, +and her coarse, hard lips twitched clumsily +with the beginning of a smile.</p> + +<p>"What am I saying? The truth. Ask rather +of the Signore whether it is not true."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is silly," said Dalrymple, growing unnaturally +red, and looking up sharply at Annetta, before +he took his next mouthful.</p> + +<p>"Look at him, mother!" laughed the girl. "He +is red, red—he seems to me a boiled shrimp. Eh, +this time I have guessed it! And as for Sister +Maria Addolorata, she no longer sees with her +eyes! To-day, when you were carrying in the +baskets, you and the other women who went with +us, I asked her whether the abbess was satisfied +with the new doctor, and she answered that he was +a very wise man, much wiser than Sor Tommaso. +So I told her that it was a pity, because Sor Tommaso +was getting well and would not allow the +English doctor to come instead of him much longer. +Then she looked at me. By Bacchus, I was afraid. +Certain eyes! Not even a cat when you take away +her kittens! A little more and she would have +eaten me. And then her face made itself of marble—like +that face of a woman that is built into +the fountain in the piazza. Arch-priest! What a +face!"</p> + +<p>The girl stared hard at Dalrymple, and her +mouth laughed wickedly at his evident embarrassment, +while there was something very different +from laughter in her eyes. During the long speech, +Sora Nanna had stopped knitting, and she looked +from her daughter to the Scotchman with a sort +of half-stupid, half-cunning curiosity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But these are sins!" she exclaimed at last.</p> + +<p>"And what does it matter?" asked the girl. +"Does he go to confession? So what does it +matter? He keeps the account himself, of his +sins. I should not like to have them on my +shoulders. But as for Sister Maria Addolorata—oh, +she! I told you that she sinned in her throat. +Well, the sin is ready, now. What is she waiting +for? For the abbess to die? Or for Sor Tommaso +to get well? Then she will not see the Signor +Englishman any more. It would be better for her. +When she does not see him any more, she will +knead her pillow with tears, and make her bread of +it, to bite and eat. Good appetite, Sister Maria!"</p> + +<p>"You talk, you talk, and you conclude nothing," +observed Sora Nanna. "You have certain thoughts +in your head! And you do not let the Signore say +even a word."</p> + +<p>"What can he say? He will say that it is not +true. But then, who will believe him? I should +like to see them a little together. I am sure that +she shows him her face, and that it is 'Signor +Doctor' here, and 'Dear Signor Doctor' there, and +a thousand gentlenesses. Tell the truth, Signore. +She shows you her face."</p> + +<p>"No," said Dalrymple, who had regained his self-possession. +"She never shows me her face."</p> + +<p>"What a shame for a Carmelite nun to show her +face to a man!" cried the girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I tell you she is always veiled to her chin," +insisted Dalrymple, with perfect truth.</p> + +<p>"Eh! It is you who say so!" retorted Annetta. +"But then, what can it matter to me? Make love +with a nun, if it goes, Signore. Youth is a flower—when +it is withered, it is hay, and the beasts eat +it."</p> + +<p>"This is true," said Sora Nanna, returning to +her knitting. "But do not pay attention to her, +Signore. She is stupid. She does not know what +she says. Eat, drink, and manage your own affairs. +It is better. What can a child understand? It is +like a little dog that sees and barks, without +understanding. But you are a much instructed man and +have been round the whole world. Therefore you +know many things. It seems natural."</p> + +<p>Though Dalrymple was not diffident, as has been +said, he was far from vain, on the whole, and in +particular he had none of that contemptible vanity +which makes a man readily believe that every +woman he meets is in love with him. He had not +the slightest idea at that time that Annetta, the +peasant girl, looked upon him with anything more +than the curiosity and vague interest usually +bestowed on a foreigner in Italy.</p> + +<p>He was annoyed, however, by what she said this +evening, though he was also secretly surprised and +delighted. The contradiction is a common one. +The miser is half mad with joy on discovering that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +he has much more than he supposed, and bitterly +resents, at the same time, any notice which may be +taken of the fact by others.</p> + +<p>Annetta did not enjoy his discomfiture and evident +embarrassment, for she was far more deeply +hurt herself than she realized, and every word she +had spoken about Maria Addolorata had hurt her, +though she had taken a sort of vague delight in +teasing Dalrymple. She relapsed into silence now, +alternately wishing that he loved her, and then, +that she might kill him. If she could not have +his heart, she would be satisfied with his blood. +There was a passionate animal longing in the +instinct to have him for herself, even dead, rather +than that any other woman should get his love.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple was aware only that the girl's words +had annoyed him, while inwardly conscious that if +what she said were true, the truth would make a +difference in his life. He showed no inclination to +talk any more, and finished his supper in a rather +morose silence, turning to his book as soon as he +had done. Then Gigetto came in with his guitar +and sang and talked with the two women.</p> + +<p>But he was restless that night, and did not fall +asleep until the moon had set and his window grew +dark. And even in his dreams he was restless still, +so that when he awoke in the morning he said to +himself that he had been foolish in his behaviour +towards Maria Addolorata on the previous day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +He felt tired, too, and his colour was less brilliant +than usual. It was Sunday, and he remembered +that if he chose he could go in the afternoon to +the Benediction in the convent church and hear +Maria's voice perhaps. But at the usual hour, +just before noon, he went to make his visit to the +abbess.</p> + +<p>It was his intention to forget his stiff manner, +and to behave as he had always behaved until +yesterday. Strange to say, however, he felt a +constraint coming upon him as soon as he was in the +nun's presence. She received him as usual, there +was the usual comic scene at the abbess's door, +and, as every day, the two were alone together after +her door was shut.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?" asked Maria Addolorata, after a +moment's silence which, short as it was, both felt +to be awkward.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple was taken by surprise. The tone in +which she had spoken was cold and distant rather +than expressive of any concern for his welfare, but +he did not think of that. He only realized that +his manner must seem to her very unusual, since +she asked such a question. An Italian would have +observed that his own face was pale, and would +have told her that he was dying of love.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not ill," answered the Scotchman, +simply, and in his most natural tone of voice.</p> + +<p>"Then what is the matter with you since yesterday?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +asked Maria Addolorata, less coldly, and as +though she were secretly amused.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing the matter—at least, nothing +that I could explain to you."</p> + +<p>She sat down in the big easy-chair and, as formerly, +he took his seat opposite to her.</p> + +<p>"There is something," she insisted, speaking +thoughtfully. "You cannot deceive a woman, +Signor Doctor."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple smiled and looked at her veiled head.</p> + +<p>"You said the other day that I was not a man, +but a doctor," he answered. "I suppose I might +answer that you are not a woman, but a nun."</p> + +<p>"And is not a nun a woman?" asked Maria +Addolorata, and he knew that she was smiling, too.</p> + +<p>"You would not forgive me if I answered you," +he said.</p> + +<p>"Who knows? I might be obliged to, since I am +obliged to meet you every day. It may be a sin, +but I am curious."</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you?"</p> + +<p>As though instinctively, Maria was silent for a +moment, and turned her veiled face towards the +abbess's door. But Dalrymple needed no such +warning to lower his voice.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, and under her veil she +could feel that her eyes were growing deep and the +pupils wide and dark, and she knew that she had +done wrong.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How should I know whether you are a saint or +only a woman, since I have never seen your face?" +he asked. "I shall never know—for in a few days +Doctor Taddei will be well again, and you will not +need my services."</p> + +<p>He saw the quick tightening of one hand upon +the other, and the slight start of the head, and in +a flash he knew that all Annetta had told him was +true. The silence that followed seemed longer than +the awkward pause which had preceded the conversation.</p> + +<p>"It cannot be so soon," she said in a very low +tone.</p> + +<p>"It may be to-morrow," he answered, and to his +own astonishment his voice almost broke in his +throat, and he felt that his own hands were twisting +each other, as though he were in pain. "I +shall die without seeing you," he added almost +roughly.</p> + +<p>Again there was a short silence in the still room.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with quick movements of both hands +at once, Maria Addolorata threw back the veil from +her face, and drew away the folds that covered her +mouth.</p> + +<p>"There, see me!" she exclaimed. "Look at me +well this once!"</p> + +<p>Her face was as white as marble, and her dark +eyes had a wild and startled look in them, as +though she saw the world for the first time. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +ringlet of red-gold hair had escaped from the bands +of white that crossed her forehead in an even line +and were drawn down straight on either side, for +in the quick movement she had made she had loosened +the pin that held them together under her +chin, and had freed the dazzling throat down to +the high collar.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 397px;"> +<img src="images/gs05.jpg" width="397" height="500" alt=""She had covered her face with the veil."—Vol. I., p. 126." title=""She had covered her face with the veil."—Vol. I., p. 126." /> +<span class="caption">"She had covered her face with the veil."—Vol. I., p. 126.</span> +</div> + +<p>Dalrymple's pale, bright blue eyes caught fire, +and he looked at her with all his being, at her face, +her throat, her eyes, the ringlet of her hair. He +breathed audibly, with parted lips, between his +clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>Gradually, as he looked, he saw the red blush +rise from the throat to the cheeks, from the cheeks +to the forehead, and the marble grew more beautiful +with womanly life. Then, all at once, he +saw the hot tears welling up in her eyes, and in an +instant the vision was gone. With a passionate +movement she had covered her face with the veil, +and throwing herself sideways against the high +back of the chair, she pressed the dark stuff still +closer to her eyes and mouth and cheeks. Her +whole body shook convulsively, and a moment later +she was sobbing, not audibly, but visibly, as though +her heart were breaking.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple was again taken by surprise. He had +been so completely lost in the utterly selfish contemplation +of her beauty that he had been very far +from realizing what she herself must have felt as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +soon as she appreciated what she had done. He at +once accused himself of having looked too rudely +at her, but at the same time he was himself too +much disturbed to argue the matter. Quite instinctively +he rose to his feet and tried to take one +of her hands from her veil, touching it comfortingly. +But she made a wild gesture, as though to +drive him away.</p> + +<p>"Go!" she cried in a low and broken voice, between +her sobs. "Go! Go quickly!"</p> + +<p>She could not say more for her sobbing, but he +did not obey her. He only drew back a little and +watched her, all his blood on fire from the touch +of her soft white hand.</p> + +<p>She stifled her sobs in her veil, and gradually +grew more calm. She even arranged the veil itself +a little better, her face still turned away towards +the back of the chair.</p> + +<p>"Maria! Maria!" The abbess's voice was calling +her, hoarsely and almost desperately, from the +next room.</p> + +<p>She started and sat up straight, listening. Then +the cry was heard again, more desperate, less loud. +With a quick skill which seemed marvellous in +Dalrymple's eyes, Maria adjusted her veil almost +before she had sprung to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" she said. "Something is the matter!"</p> + +<p>She was at the bedroom door in an instant, and +in an instant more she was at her aunt's bedside.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Maria—I am dying," said the abbess's voice +faintly, as she felt the nun's arm under her head.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple heard the words, and did not hesitate +as he hastily felt for something in his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Come!" cried Maria Addolorata.</p> + +<p>But he was already there, on the other side of +the bed, pouring something between the sick lady's +lips.</p> + +<p>It was fortunate that he was there at that moment. +He had indeed anticipated the possibility +of a sudden failure in the action of the heart, and +he never came to the convent without a small supply +of a powerful stimulant of his own invention. +The liquid, however, was of such a nature that he +did not like to leave the use of it to Maria Addolorata's +discretion, for he was aware that she might +easily be mistaken in the symptoms of the collapse +which would really require its use.</p> + +<p>The abbess swallowed a sufficient quantity of it, +and Dalrymple allowed her head to lie again upon +the pillow. She looked almost as though she were +dead. Her eyes were turned up, and her jaw had +dropped. Maria Addolorata believed that all was +over.</p> + +<p>"She is dead," she said. "Let us leave her in +peace."</p> + +<p>It is a very ancient custom among Italians to +withdraw as soon as a dying person is unconscious, +if not even before the supreme moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She will probably live through this," answered +Dalrymple, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>Neither he nor the nun spoke again for a long +time. Little by little, the abbess revived under +the influence of the stimulant, the heart beat less +faintly, and the mouth slowly closed, while the +eyelids shut themselves tightly over the upturned +eyes. The normal regular breathing began again, +and the crisis was over.</p> + +<p>"It is passed," said Dalrymple. "It will not +come again to-day. We can leave her now, for she +will sleep."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the abbess herself. "Let me sleep." +Her voice was faint, but the words were distinctly +articulated.</p> + +<p>Then she opened her eyes and looked about her +quite naturally. Her glance rested on Dalrymple's +face. Suddenly realizing that she was not veiled, +she drew the coverlet up over her face. It is a +peculiarity of such cases, that the patient returns +almost immediately to ordinary consciousness when +the moment of danger is past.</p> + +<p>"Go!" she said, with more energy than might +have been expected. "This is a religious house. +You must not be here."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple retired into the parlour again, shutting +the door behind him, and waited for Maria +Addolorata, for it was now indispensable that he +should give her directions for the night. During<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +the few minutes which passed while he was alone, +he stood looking out of the window. The excitement +of the last half-hour had cut off from his +present state of mind the emotion he had felt +before the abbess's cry for help, but had not +decreased the impression it had left. While he +was helping the sick lady there had not been +one instant in which he had not felt that there +was more than the life of a half-saintly old woman +in the balance, and that her death meant the end +of his meetings with Maria Addolorata. Annetta's +words came back to him, 'she will knead her +pillow with tears and make her bread of it.'</p> + +<p>Several minutes passed, and the door opened +softly and closed again. Maria Addolorata came +up to him, where he stood by the window. She +did not speak for a moment, but he saw that her +hand was pressed to her side.</p> + +<p>"I have spent a bad half-hour," she said at last, +with something like a gasp.</p> + +<p>"It is the worst half-hour I ever spent in my +life," answered Dalrymple. "I thought it was all +over," he added.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I thought it was all over."</p> + +<p>He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He +could almost hear hers. His hand went out toward +her, cold and unsteady, but it fell to his side again +almost instantly. But for the heart-beats, it seemed +to him that there was an appalling stillness in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +air of the quiet room. His manly face grew very +pale. He slowly bit his lip and looked out of the +window. An enormous temptation was upon him. +He knew that if she moved to leave his side he +should take her and hold her. There was a tiny +drop of blood on his lip now. Something in him +made him hope against himself that she would +speak, that she would say some insignificant dry +words. But every inch of his strong fibre and +every ounce of his hot blood hoped that she would +move, instead of speaking.</p> + +<p>She sighed, and the sigh was broken by a quick-drawn +breath. Slowly Dalrymple turned his white +face and gleaming eyes to her veiled head. Still +she neither spoke nor moved. He, in memory, saw +her face, her mouth, and her eyes through the thick +stuff that hid them. The silence became awful to +him. His hands opened and shut convulsively.</p> + +<p>She heard his breath and she saw the uncertain +shadow of his hand, moving on the black and white +squares of the pavement. She made a slight, short +movement towards him and then stepped suddenly +back, overcoming the temptation to go to him.</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>He uttered the single word with a low, fierce cry. +In an instant his arms were around her, pressing +her, lifting her, straining her, almost bruising her. +In an instant his lips were kissing a face whiter +than his own, eyes that flamed like summer lightning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +between his kisses, lips crushed and hurt by +his, but still not kissed enough, hands that were +raised to resist, but lingered to be kissed in turn, +lest anything should be lost.</p> + +<p>A little splintering crash, the sound of a glass +falling upon a stone floor in the next room, broke +the stillness. Dalrymple's arms relaxed, and the +two stood for one moment facing one another, pale, +with fire in their eyes and hearts beating more +loudly than before. Dalrymple raised his hand to +his forehead, as though he were dazed, and made +an uncertain step in the direction of the door. +Maria raised her white hands towards him, and her +eyelids drooped, even while she looked into his +face.</p> + +<p>He kissed her once more with a kiss in which +all other kisses seemed to meet and live and die a +lingering, sweet death. She sank into the deep +old easy-chair, and when she looked up, he was +gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> rained during the afternoon, and Dalrymple +sat in his small laboratory, among his books and +the simple apparatus he used for his experiments. +His little window was closed, and the southwest +wind drove the shower against the clouded panes +of glass, so that the rain came through the ill-fitted +strips of lead which joined them, and ran down in +small streams to the channel in the stone sill, +whence the water found its way out through a hole +running through the wall. He sat in his rush-bottomed +chair, sideways by the deal table, one long +leg crossed over the other. His hand lay on an +open book, and his fingers occasionally tapped the +page impatiently, while his eyes were fixed on the +window, watching the driving rain.</p> + +<p>He was not thinking, for he could not think. +Over and over again the scene of the morning came +back to him and sent the hot blood rushing to his +throat. He tried to reflect, indeed, and to see +whether what he had done was to have any consequences +for him, or was to be left behind in his +life, like a lovely view seen from a carriage window +on a swift journey, gone before it is half seen, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +never to be seen again, except in dreams. But he +was utterly unable to look forward and reason +about the future. Everything dragged him back, +up the steep ascent to the convent, through the +arched ways and vaulted corridors, to the room in +which he had passed the supreme moments of his +life. The only distinct impression of the future +was the strong desire to feel again what he had +felt that day; to feel it again and again, and +always, as long as feeling could last; to stretch +out his hands and take, to close them and hold, to +make his, indubitably, what had been but questionably +his for an instant, to get the one thing worth +having, for himself, and only for himself. For the +passion of a strong man is loving and taking, and +the passion of a good woman is loving and giving. +Dalrymple reasoned well enough, later,—too well, +perhaps,—but during those hours he spent alone on +that day, there was no power of reasoning in him. +The world was the woman he loved, and the world's +orbit was but the circle of his clasping arms. Beyond +them was chaos, without form and void, +clouded as the rain-streaked panes of his little +window.</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch more than once. At last +he rose, threw a cloak over his shoulders and went +out, locking the door of the little laboratory behind +him as he always did, and thrusting the unwieldy +key into his pocket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>He climbed the hill to the convent, taking the +short cut through the narrow lanes. The rain had +almost ceased, and the wet mist that blew round +the corners of the dark houses was pleasant in his +face. But he scarcely knew what he saw and felt +on his way. He reached the convent church and +went in, and stood by one of the pillars near the +door.</p> + +<p>It was a small church, built with a great choir +for the nuns behind the high altar; from each side +of the latter a high wooden screen extended to the +walls, completely cutting off the space. It was +dark, too, especially in such weather, and almost +deserted, save for a number of old women who +knelt on the damp marble pavement, some leaning +against the backs of chairs, some resting one arm +upon the plastered bases of the yellow marble +columns. There were many lights on the high +altar. Two acolytes, rough-headed boys of Subiaco, +knelt within the altar rail, dressed in +black cassocks and clean linen cottas. Two priests +and a young deacon sat side by side on the right +of the altar, with small black books in their hands. +The nuns were chanting, unseen in the choir. No +one noticed Dalrymple, wrapped in his cloak, as +he leaned against the pillar near the door. His +head was a little inclined, involuntarily respectful +to ceremonies he neither believed in nor understood, +but which had in them the imposing element<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +of devout earnestness. Yet his eyes were raised +and looked up from under his brows, steadily and +watchfully, for he knew that Maria Addolorata +was behind the screen, and from the first moment +of entering the church it seemed to him that he +could distinguish her voice from the rest.</p> + +<p>He knew that it was hers, though he had never +heard her sing. There was in all those sweet, +colourless tones one tone that made ringing harmonies +in his strong heart. Amongst all those +mingling accents, there was one accent that +touched his soul. Amidst the echoes that died +softly away under the dim arches, there was one +echo that died not, but rang on and on in his ears. +There was a voice not like other voices there, +nor like any he had ever heard. Many were +strong and sweet; this one was not sweet and +strong only, but alive with a divine life, winged +with divine wings, essential of immortality, touching +beyond tears, passionate as the living, breathing, +sighing, dying world, grand as a flood of +light, sad as the twilight of gods, full as a great +water swinging to the tide of the summer's moon, +fine-drawn as star-rays—a voice of gold.</p> + +<p>As Dalrymple stood there in the shadow, he +heard it singing to him and telling him all that +he had not been told in words, all that he felt, +and more also. For there was in it the passion +of the woman, and the passionate remorse of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +nun, the towering love of Maria Braccio, woman +and princess, and the deep despair of Maria +Addolorata, nun and sinner, unfaithful spouse of +the Lord Christ, accused and self-accusing, self-wronged, +self-judged, but condemned of God and +foretasting the ultimate tragedy that is eternal—the +tragedy of supreme hell.</p> + +<p>The man who stood there knew that it was his +doing, and the burden of his deeds bowed him +bodily as he stood. But still he listened, and, as +she sung, he watched her lips in the dark, inner +mirror of sin's memory, and they drew him on.</p> + +<p>Little by little, he heard only her voice, and the +others chanted but faintly as from an infinite distance. +And then, not in his thought, but in deed, +she was singing alone, and the words of 'O Salutaris +Hostia,' sounded in the dim church as they had +never sounded before, nor could ever sound again, +the appeal of a lost soul's agony to God, the glory +of golden voice, the accent of transcendent genius, +the passion, the strength, the despair, of an ancient +race.</p> + +<p>In the dark church the coarse, sad peasant +women bowed themselves upon the pavement. +One of them sobbed aloud and beat her breast. +Angus Dalrymple kneeled upon one knee and +pressed his brow against the foot of the pillar, +kneeling neither to God, nor to the Sacred Host, +nor to man's belief in Heaven or Hell, neither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +praying nor blaspheming, neither hoping nor +dreading, but spell-bound upon a wrack of torture +that was heart-breaking delight, his senses torn +and strained to the utmost of his strong endurance, +to the very scream of passion, his soul crucified +upon the exquisite loveliness of his sin.</p> + +<p>Then all was still for an instant. Again there +was a sound of voices, as the nuns sang in chorus +the 'Tantum Ergo.' But the voice of voices was +silent among them. The solemn Benediction +blessed the just and the unjust alike. The short +verses and responses of the priests broke the air +that still seemed alive and trembling.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple rose slowly, and wrapped his cloak +about him. Above the footsteps of the women +going out of the church, he could hear the soft +sound of all the nuns moving together as they +left the choir. He knew that she was with them, +and he stood motionless in his place till silence +descended as a curtain between him and what had +been. Then, with bent head, he went out into the +rain that poured through the dim twilight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> were together on the following day. The +abbess was better, and as yet there had been no +return of the syncope which Dalrymple dreaded.</p> + +<p>Contrary to her habit, Maria Addolorata sat on a +high chair by the table, her head veiled and turned +away, her chin supported in her hand. Dalrymple +was seated not far from her, leaning forward, and +trying to see her face, silent, and in a dangerous +mood. She had refused to let him come near her, +and even to raise her veil. When she spoke, her +voice was full of a profound sadness that irritated +him instead of touching him, for his nerves were +strung to passion and out of tune with regret.</p> + +<p>"The sin of it; the deadly sin!" she said.</p> + +<p>"There is no sin in it," he answered; but she +shook her veiled head.</p> + +<p>And there was silence again, as on the day +before, but the stillness was of another kind. It +was not the awful lull which goes before the bursting +of the storm, when the very air seems to start +at the fall of a leaf for fear lest it be already the +thunder-clap. It was more like the noiseless rising +of the hungry flood that creeps up round the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +doomed house, wherein is desperate, starving life, +higher and higher, inch by inch—the flood of rising +fate.</p> + +<p>"You say that there is no sin in it," she said, +after a time. "You say it, but you do not think +it. You are a man—you have honour to lose—you +understand that, at least—"</p> + +<p>"You are a woman, and you have humanity's +right to be free. It is an honourable right. You +gave it up when you took that veil, not knowing +what it was that you gave up. You have done no +wrong. You have done nothing that any loving +maiden need be ashamed of. I kissed you, for you +could not help yourself. That is the monstrous +crime which you say is to be punished with eternal +damnation. It is monstrous that you should think +so. It is blasphemy to say that God made woman +to lead a life of suffering and daily misery, chained +to a cross which it is agony to look at, and shame +to break from."</p> + +<p>"Go—leave me. You are tempting me again." +She spoke away from him, not changing her position.</p> + +<p>"If truth is temptation, I am tempting you, for +I am showing you the truth. The truth is this. +When you were almost a child they began to bend +you and break you in the way they meant you to +grow. You bent, but you were not broken. Your +nature is too strong. There is a life of your own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +in you. It was against your will, and when you +were just grown up, they buried you, your beauty, +your youth, your fresh young heart, your voice and +your genius—for it is nothing less. It was all done +with deliberate intention for the glory of your +family, blasphemously asserted to be the glory of +God. It was pressed upon you, before you knew +what you were doing, and made pleasant to you +before you knew what it all meant. Your cross +was cushioned for you and your crown of thorns +was gilded. They made the seat under the canopy +seem a seat in heaven. They even made you +believe that the management of two or three score +suffering women was government and power. It +seemed a great thing to be abbess, did it not?"</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata bent her veiled head slowly +twice or three times, in a heavy-hearted way.</p> + +<p>"They made you believe all that," continued +Dalrymple, with cold earnestness, "and much more +besides—a great deal of which I know little, I +suppose—the life to come, and saintship, and the +glories of heaven. You have found out what it is +all worth. We have found it out together. And +they frightened you with hell. Do you know what +hell is? A life without love, when one knows +what love can mean. I am not eloquent; I wish I +were. But I am plain, and I can tell you the +truth."</p> + +<p>"It is not the truth," answered the nun, slowly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +"You tell me it is, to tempt me. I cannot drive +you away by force. Will you not go? I cannot +cry out for help—it would ruin me and you. +Will you not leave me? But for God's grace, I +am at your mercy, and there is little grace for me, +a sinner."</p> + +<p>"No, I will not go away," said Dalrymple, and +it seemed to Maria that his voice was the voice of +her fate.</p> + +<p>"Then God have mercy!" she cried, in a low +tone, and as her head sank forward, it was her +forehead that rested in her right hand, instead of +her chin.</p> + +<p>"Love is more merciful than God," he answered.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden softness in his voice which +she had never heard, not even yesterday. Rising, +he stole near to her, and standing, bent down and +leaned upon the table by her side and spoke close +to her ear. But he did not touch her. She could +feel his breath through her veil when he spoke +again. It was vital and fierce, and softly hot, like +the breathing of a powerful wild beast.</p> + +<p>"You are my God," he said. "I worship you, +and adore you. But I must have you for mine +always. I would rather kill you, and have no God, +than lose you alive. Come with me. You are +free. You can get through the garden at night—with +good horses we can reach the sea to-morrow. +There is an English ship of war at anchor in Civita<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +Vecchia. The officers are my friends. Before to-morrow +night we can be safe—married—happy. +No one will know—no one will follow us. Maria—come—come—come!"</p> + +<p>His voice sank to a vibrating whisper as he +repeated the word again and again, closer and +closer to her ear. Her hands had dropped from +her forehead and lay upon the table. With bent +head she listened.</p> + +<p>"Come, my darling," he continued, fast and low. +"I have a beautiful home, my father's home, my +mother's—your laws and vows are nothing to +them. You shall be honoured, loved—ah, dear! +adored, worshipped—you do not know what we +will do for you, to fill your life with sweet things. +All your life, Maria, from to-morrow. Instead of +pain and penance and everlasting suffering and +weariness, you shall have all that the world holds +of love and peace and flowers. And you shall sing +your whole heart out when you will, and have +music to play with from year's beginning to year's +end and year's end again. Sweet, let me tell you +how I love you—how you are alive in every drop +of my blood, beating through me like living fire, +through heart and soul and head and hand—"</p> + +<p>With a quick movement she pressed her palms +against her veil upon her ears to shut out the +sound of his words. She rocked herself a little, as +though the pain were almost greater than she could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +bear. But his hands moved too, stealthily, strongly, +as a tiger's velvet feet, with a vibration all through +them, to the very ends of his fingers. For he was +in earnest. And the arm went softly round her, +and closed gently upon her as her figure swayed in +her chair; and the other sought hers, and found it +cold as ice and trembling, and not strong to stop +her hearing. And again she listened.</p> + +<p>Wild and incoherent words fell from his lips, hot +and low, with no reason in them but the overwhelming +reason of love itself. For he was not an eloquent +man, and now he took no thought of what he +said. He was far too natural to be eloquent, and +far too deeply stirred to care for the shape his love +took in speech. There was in his words the strong +rush of out-bursting truth which even the worst +passion has when it is real to the roots. Words +terrible and gentle, blasphemous and devout, wove +themselves into a new language such as Maria +Addolorata had never heard, nor dared to think of +hearing. But he dared everything, to tell her, to hold +her, against God and devil, heaven and earth, and all +mankind. And he promised all he had, and all +that was not his to promise nor to give, rending +her beliefs to shreds, trampling on the broken +fragments of all she had worshipped, tearing her +chains link from link and scattering them like +straw down the storm of passionate contempt. And +then, again, pouring out love, and more love, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +love again, as a stream of liquid fire let loose to +flood all it meets with dazzling destruction and hot +death.</p> + +<p>It is not every woman that knows what it is to +be so loved and to listen to such words, so spoken. +Those who have heard and felt can understand, but +not the rest. Gradually as he spoke, her veiled +face was drawn toward his; gradually her hand +raised the thick veil and drew it back; and again a +little, and the hand that had struggled long and +silently against his, lay still at last, and the face +that had appealed in vain to Heaven, hid itself +against the heart of the strong man.</p> + +<p>"The Lord have mercy upon my sinful soul!" +she softly prayed.</p> + +<p>"I love you!" whispered Dalrymple, folding her +to him with both his arms, and pressing his lips to +her head. "That is all the world holds. That is +all the Heaven there is, and we have it for our +own."</p> + +<p>But presently she drew back from him, clinging +to him with her hands as though to hold him, and +yet separating from him and looking up into his +face.</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow?" she said, with a despairing +question in her tone.</p> + +<p>"We will go away to-night," he answered, "and +to-morrow will be ours, too, and all the to-morrows +after that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>But she shook her head, and her hands loosened +their hold upon his arms, still lingering on his +sleeves.</p> + +<p>"And leave her to die?" she asked, with a quick +glance at the abbess's door.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at him, with something of +sudden fear as she met his eyes again. And +almost instantly she turned from him, and threw +herself forward upon the table as she sat.</p> + +<p>"The sin, the deadly sin!" she moaned. "Oh, +the horror of it all—the sin, the shame, the disgrace! +That is the worst to bear—the shame! +The undying shame of it!"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple's brows bent themselves in a heavy +frown, for he was in no temper to be thwarted, +desperate as the risk might be. For himself, he +knew that he was setting his life on the chances, +if she consented, and that life would not be worth +having if she refused. He knew well enough that +they must almost certainly be pursued, and that +there would be little hesitation about shooting him +or cutting his throat if they were caught and if he +resisted, as he knew that he should. He had been +in love with her for days. The last twenty-four +hours had made him desperate. And a desperate +man is not to be played with, more especially if +he chance to have any Highland blood in his veins.</p> + +<p>"What do you believe in most?" he asked suddenly +and almost brutally.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned, startled, and looked him in the face.</p> + +<p>"Because, if you believe in God, as I suppose +you do, I take God to witness that I shall be a +dead man this night, unless you promise to go with +me."</p> + +<p>She stared, and turned white to the lips, as he +had never seen her turn pale before. She leaned +forward, gazing into his eyes and breathing hard.</p> + +<p>"You do not mean that," she said, as though +trying hard to convince herself.</p> + +<p>"I mean it," he answered slowly, pale himself, +and knowing what he said.</p> + +<p>She leaned nearer to him and took his arms with +her hands, for she could not speak. The terrible +question was in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You would kill yourself, if I refused—if I +would not go with you?" Still she could not +believe him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered.</p> + +<p>Once more the room was very still, as the two +looked into one another's eyes. But Maria Addolorata +said nothing. The frown deepened on Dalrymple's +face, and his strong mouth was drawn, as +a man draws in his lips at the moment of meeting +death.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said, gently loosening himself +from her hold.</p> + +<p>Her hands dropped and she turned half round, +following him as he went towards the door. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +hand was almost on the latch. He did not turn. +But as he heard her swift feet behind him, he bent +his head a little. Her arms went round his throat, +reaching up to his great height.</p> + +<p>"No! No!" she cried, drawing his head down +to her.</p> + +<p>But he took her by the wrists and held her +away from him at his arms' length.</p> + +<p>"Are you in earnest?" he asked fiercely. "If +you play with me any more, you shall die, too."</p> + +<p>"But not to-day!" she answered imploringly. +"Not to-night! Give me time—a day—a little +while—"</p> + +<p>"To lose you? No. I have been near losing +you. I know what it means. Make up your mind. +Yes, or no."</p> + +<p>"To-night? But how? There is not time—these +clothes I wear—"</p> + +<p>She turned her head distractedly to one side and +the other as she spoke, while he held her wrists. +Dalrymple saw that there was reason in the objections +she made. So dangerous a flight could not be +undertaken without some preparation. He loosed +her hands and began to pace the room, concentrating +his mind upon the details. She watched him +in silence, leaning against the back of the easy-chair. +Then he stopped just before her.</p> + +<p>"My cloak would come down to your feet," he +said, measuring her height with his eyes. "I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +a plaid which would cover your head. Once on +horseback, no one would notice anything. Can +you ride?"</p> + +<p>"No. I never learned."</p> + +<p>"That is unlucky. But we can manage it. +The main thing would be to get a long start if +possible—that you should not be missed—to +get away just at the beginning of the longest +time during which the nuns would not expect +to see you. Where is your own room? Is it +near this?"</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata told him, and explained the +position of the balcony with the steps leading +down into the garden. He asked her who kept +the key of the postern. It was in the possession +of the gardener, who took it away with him at +night, but the lock was on the inside, and uncovered, +as old Italian locks are. By raising the +curved spring one could push back the bolt. There +was a handle on the latter, for that purpose. +There would be no difficulty about getting out, +nor about letting Dalrymple in, provided that the +night were dark.</p> + +<p>"The moon is almost full," said Dalrymple, +thoughtfully, and he began to walk up and down +again. "Never mind. It must be to-morrow night. +In your dark dress, when the sisters are asleep, if +you keep in the shadow along the wall, there is not +the slightest risk. I will be waiting for you on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +other side of the gate with my cloak and plaid. +I will have the horses ready, a little higher up. +There is a good mule path which goes down into +the valley on that side. You have only to reach +the gate and let yourself out. It is very easy. +Tell me at what time to be waiting."</p> + +<p>Maria leaned heavily upon the chair, with bent +head.</p> + +<p>"I cannot do it—oh, I cannot!" she said despairingly. +"The shame of it! To be the talk +of Rome—the scandal of the day—a disgrace to +my father and mother!"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple frowned, and biting his lip, he struck +his clenched fist softly with the palm of his hand, +making a few quick steps backward and forward. +He stopped suddenly and looked at her with dangerous +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have told you," he said. "I will not repeat +it. You must choose."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you cannot be in earnest—"</p> + +<p>"You shall see. It is plain enough," he added, +with an accent of scorn. "You are more afraid of +a little talk and gossip in Rome, than of being told +to-morrow morning that I died in the night. That +is Italian courage, I suppose."</p> + +<p>She hung her head for a moment. Then, as she +heard his footsteps, she threw her veil back and +saw that he was going towards the door without +a word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are cruel," she said, half catching her +breath. "You know that you make me suffer—that +I cannot live without you."</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly not live without you," he +answered. "I mean to have you at any price, or +I will die in the attempt to get you."</p> + +<p>The words have a melodramatic look on paper. +But he spoke them not only with his lips, but with +his whole self. They were not out of keeping with +his nature. There is no more desperate blood in +the world's veins than that of the Celt when he is +driven to bay or exasperated by passion. In him +the reckless fatalism of the Asiatic is blended with +the cool daring of the northerner.</p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata had little experience of the +world or of men, but she had the hereditary instincts +of her sex, and as she looked at Dalrymple +she recognized in him the man who would do what +he said, or forfeit his life in trying to do it. There +is no mistaking the truth about such men, at such +moments.</p> + +<p>"I believe you would," she said, and she felt +pride in saying it.</p> + +<p>Her own life was in the balance. She bent her +head again. Her temples were throbbing, and it +was hard to think at all connectedly.</p> + +<p>"I want your answer," he said, still standing +near the door. "Yes or no—for to-morrow +night?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I cannot live without you," she answered +slowly, and still looking down. "I must go."</p> + +<p>But she did not meet his eyes, for she knew that +she was wavering still, and almost as uncertain as +before. All at once Dalrymple's manner changed. +He came quietly to her side and took one of her +hands, which hung idly over the back of the chair, +in both of his.</p> + +<p>"You must be in earnest, as I am, my dear," he +said, very calmly and gently. "You must not play +with a man's life and heart, as though they were +worth nothing but play. You called me cruel, +dear, a moment ago. But you are more cruel than +I, for I do not hesitate."</p> + +<p>"I must go," she repeated, still avoiding his +look. "Yes, I must go. I should die without +you."</p> + +<p>"But to-morrow when I come, you will hesitate +again," he said, still speaking very quietly. "I +must be sure. You must give me some promise, +something more than you have given me yet."</p> + +<p>She looked up with startled eyes.</p> + +<p>"You do not believe me?" she asked. "What +shall I do? I—I promise! You yourself have +never said that you promised."</p> + +<p>"Does it need that?" He pressed the hand he +held, with softly increasing strength, between his +palms.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, looking at him. "I can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +see it. You will do what you say. I have promised, +too."</p> + +<p>He gazed incredulously into her face.</p> + +<p>"Do you doubt me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Have I not reason to doubt? You change your +mind easily. I do not blame you. But how am I +to believe?"</p> + +<p>She grew impatient of his unbelief. Yet as he +pressed her hand, the power he had over her increased +with every second.</p> + +<p>"But I will, I will!" she cried, in a low voice. +"And still you doubt—I see it in your eyes. +Have I not promised? What more can I do?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered. "But you must +make me believe you." The strength of his eyes +seemed to be forcing something from her.</p> + +<p>"I say it—I promise it—I swear it! Do I not +love you? Am I not giving my soul for you? +Have I not given it already? What more can I +do or say?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered a second time, +holding her with his eyes. "I must believe you +before I go."</p> + +<p>He spoke honestly and earnestly, not meaning +to exasperate her, searching in her look for what +was unmistakably in his own. His hands shook, +not weakly, as they held hers. His piercing eyes +seemed to see through and through her. She +trembled all over, and the colour rose to her face,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +more in despair of convincing him than in a blush +of shame.</p> + +<p>"Believe me!" she said, imperiously, and her +eyelids contracted with the effort of her will.</p> + +<p>But he said nothing. She felt that he was +immeasurably stronger than she. But just then, +he was not more desperate. There was a short, +intense silence. Her face grew pale and was set +with the fatal look she sometimes had.</p> + +<p>"I pledge you with my blood!" she said suddenly.</p> + +<p>Her eyes did not waver from his, but she +wrenched her right hand from him, and before +he could take it again, her even teeth had met in +the flesh. The bright scarlet drops rose high and +broke, and trickled in vivid stripes across her +hand as she held it before his face. Her own was +very white, but without a trace of pain. Something +in the fierce action appealed strongly to +the fiery Celtic nature of the man. His features +relaxed instantly.</p> + +<p>"I believe you," he said, and she knew it as his +arms went round her; and the pain of the wound +made his kisses sweeter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Dalrymple left Maria on that day, he +returned as usual to Stefanone's house. Sora +Nanna was alone, for Stefanone was still absent +in Rome, and Annetta had gone on the previous +day with a number of women to the fair at Civitella +San Sisto, which took place on Sunday. She +was expected to return on Monday afternoon. It +is usual enough for a party of women, with two +or three men, to go to the fairs in neighbouring +towns and to spend the night with the friends of +some one of the company. It was more common +still, in those days.</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna gave Dalrymple his dinner and kept +him company for a while. But he was gloomy and +preoccupied, and before long she retired to the +regions of the laundry, which was installed in a +long low building that ran out into the vegetable +garden at the back of the house. Monday was +generally the day for ironing the heavy linen of +the convent, which was taken up on Tuesdays in +the huge baskets carried by four women, slung to +a pole which rested on their shoulders in the old +primitive fashion, just as litters are still carried in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +many parts of Asia. It had occurred more than +once to Dalrymple, during the last two days, that +he could hide almost anything he chose in one of +these baskets, which were always delivered directly +to Maria Addolorata and which she was at liberty +to unpack in the privacy of the linen room if she +chose.</p> + +<p>He thought of this again as he sat over his dinner, +and heard the endless song of the women, far +off, at their work. He knew the habits of the house +thoroughly and all the customs regarding the carrying +up of the baskets, and he remembered that +several of them would surely be taken to the convent +on the morrow. He thought that if he could +procure some more suitable clothes for Maria to +wear, this would be a safe means of conveying +them to her. She could put them on in her cell, +just before the hour at which she was to expect +him, so that there would be no time lost and +the danger of detection during their flight would +be greatly diminished. But there were all sorts of +difficulties in the way, and he realized them one +by one, until he almost abandoned the scheme in +favour of the cloak and plaid which he had first +proposed.</p> + +<p>He pushed back his chair and went upstairs to +his own room. The impression made upon him +by Maria Addolorata, when she had bitten her +hand, had been a strong one, but the man's nature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +though not exactly distrustful, was melancholic +and pessimistic. Two hours and more had passed +since they had been together, and things had a different +look. He realized more clearly the strength +of the ties which bound Maria to her convent life, +and the effort it must be to her to break them. +He remembered the arguments he had used, and +he saw that they had been those of passion rather +than of reason. Their effect could not be lasting, +when he himself was not there to lend them his +words and the persuasion of his strength. Maria +would repent of her promise, and there was +nothing to bind her to it. Hitherto there had +been no risk, no common danger. By a chain of +natural circumstances he had made his way into +a most extraordinary position, but it was in her +power, in a moment of repentance, to force him +from it. While the abbess was ill, Maria was +virtually mistress of the convent. At a word from +her the doors might be shut in his face. She might +promise again, and bite her hand again, but when +it came to his waiting outside the garden gate, +she might be seized by a fit of repentance, and +he might wait till morning.</p> + +<p>As he sat in his room he realized all this, and +more, for he knew that on calm reflexion he meant +to do what he had that morning threatened in his +haste. He had never been attached to life for its +own sake. Melancholic men often are not. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +had many times thought over the subject of suicide +with a sort of grim interest in it, which indicated +the direction his temper would take if he were ever +absolutely defeated in a matter which he had at +heart.</p> + +<p>Nothing he had ever felt in his life had taken +hold of him as his love for Maria Addolorata, for +he had never really been in love before and he +had completely abandoned himself to it, as such a +man was sure to do in such surroundings. She +was beautiful, but that was not all. Since he had +heard her sing, he knew that her voice and her +rare talent together were genius and nothing less. +But that was far from being all. She was of his +own class, and he had been seeing her daily, when +the peasant women amongst whom he lived were +little more than good-natured animals; but even that +was not all. He was at that time of life when a +man's character is apt to take a violent and sudden +turn in its ultimate direction, when the forces that +have been growing show themselves all at once, +when passion, having appealed as yet but to the man, +has climbed and is within reach of his soul, to take +hold of it and twist it, or to be finally conquered, +perhaps, in a holy life. But Dalrymple was very +far from being the kind of man who could have +taken refuge against himself in higher things. At +a time when materialism was beginning to seem a +great thing, he was a strong materialist in scientific<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +questions. He grasped what he could see and held +it, but what he could not see had no existence for +him. Nothing transcendental attracted him beyond +the sphere of mathematics. Yet he had not the +materialist's temperament, for the Highland blood +in his veins brought strong fancies and sudden passions +to his head and heart, such as his chemistry +could not explain; and when the brain burned and the +heart beat fast, it meant doing or dying with him, +as with many a Scotchman before and since. Life +had never seemed to be worth much in his eyes, +compared with a thing he wanted.</p> + +<p>He sat still and thought the matter over, and +considered the question of death, for a few short +minutes. There was not a trace of philosophical +speculation in his reflexions, or they would have +lasted longer. He merely desired to be sure, with +that curious Scotch caution, of his own intentions, +in order not to be obliged to think the matter over +again at the last minute.</p> + +<p>He had drunk a measure of strong wine with his +dinner, as usual. To-day it increased the gloom of +his temper, and the pessimistic view he took. In +less than a quarter of an hour he had made up his +mind that if Maria Addolorata repented at a late +hour and refused to leave the convent, he would +make an attempt to carry her away by force. If +he failed, and found himself shut off from all possibility +of intercourse with her, life would not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +worth living, and he would throw it away. When +strong men are in that frame of mind, they generally +accomplish what they have in view. Moreover, +it is a great mistake to think that the people +who think and talk of suicide will not take their +own lives. On the contrary, statistics show that +it is more often those who speak of it the most +frequently, who ultimately make away with themselves. +The mere fact of contemplating and discussing +death familiarizes man with it till he +does not even attribute to it its true value, which +is little enough, as most of us know. Dalrymple +was in earnest, and he knew it.</p> + +<p>He rose from his chair and unlocked his little +laboratory. Among many other things upon the long +table there was a plain English oak box, filled with +small stoppered bottles, each having a label upon it +with the name of the contents written in his own +hand. Some were merely medicines, which he carried +with him in case his services should ever be +required, as had happened at the present time. +Others were chemicals which he used in his experiments, +such as he could not easily have procured in +Italy, outside of the great cities. One even contained +the common spirits of camphor, of which he +had once given Annetta a teaspoonful when she +had complained of a chill and sickness. One, however, +was more than half full of a solution of hydrocyanide +of potassium, a liquid little less suddenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +and surely fatal than the prussic acid which enters +into its composition.</p> + +<p>He took out this bottle and held it up to the +light. The liquid was clear and transparent as +water. He watched it curiously as he made it run +up to the neck and back again. It might have been +taken for pure alcohol, being absolutely colourless.</p> + +<p>"It would not take much of that," he said to himself, +with a grim smile.</p> + +<p>His meditations were interrupted by the voice of +Sora Nanna, who had opened his bedroom door +without ceremony and stood calling to him. He +came forward hastily from the laboratory and went +up to her.</p> + +<p>"You do not know!" she cried, laughing and +holding up a letter. "Stefanone has written to +me from Rome! To me! Who the devil knows +what he says? I do not understand anything of +it. Who should teach me to read? He takes me +for a priest, that I should know how to read!"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple laughed a little as he took the letter. +He picked up his hat from a chair, for he meant to +go out and spend the afternoon alone upon the hillside.</p> + +<p>"We will read it downstairs," he said. "I am +going for a walk."</p> + +<p>He read it to her in the common room on the +ground floor. It was a letter dictated by Stefanone +to a public scribe, instructing his wife to tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +Gigetto that she must send another load of wine to +Rome as soon as possible, as the price was good in +the market. Stefanone would remain in the city +till it came, and sell it before returning.</p> + +<p>"These husbands!" exclaimed Sora Nanna, with +a grin. "What they will not do! They go, riding, +riding, and they come back when it seems good +to them. Who tells me what he does in Rome? +Rome is great."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple laughed, put on his hat and went off, +leaving Sora Nanna to find Gigetto and give the +necessary directions.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Gigetto</span> had refused to accompany Annetta and +her party to the fair at Civitella San Sisto. He +had been to Rome several times, and was far too +fine a young gentleman to divert himself in such a +very primitive place. He preferred to spend his +leisure hours, which were very many, in elegant +idleness, according to his lights, between the tobacconist's, +the chemist's shop, which was the resort +of all the superior men of the place after four +o'clock in the afternoon, and the abundant, though +not very refined table which was spread twice daily +in his father's house. Civitella wine, Civitella fireworks, +and especially Civitella girls, were quite +beneath his notice. As for Annetta, he looked upon +her with something like contempt, though he had +a high respect for the fortune which must one day +be hers. She was to be a necessary encumbrance +of his future life, and for the present he meant to +see as little of her as was conveniently possible +without relinquishing his claims to her hand. She +had admired him, in a way, until the arrival of Dalrymple, +and he felt a little irritation at the Scotchman's +presence in the house, so that he occasionally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +frightened Sora Nanna by talking of waiting for +him with a gun at the corner of the forest. It +produced a good impression, he thought, to show +from time to time that he was not without jealousy. +But as for going with her on such an expedition +as a visit to a country fair, it was not +to be expected of him.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Annetta had enjoyed herself thoroughly +with her companions, and was very glad +that Gigetto had not been at her elbow with his +city notions of propriety, which he applied to her, +but made as elastic as he pleased for himself. She +had been to high mass in the village church, +crowded to suffocation, she had walked up and +down the main street half the afternoon, arm in +arm with the other girls, giggling and showing off +her handsome costume to the poorer natives of +the little place, and smiling wickedly at the handsome +youths who stood idly in groups at the corners +of the streets. She had dined sumptuously, +and had made her eyes sparkle like rather vulgar +little stars by drinking a glass of strong old white +wine to the health and speedy marriage of all the +other girls. She had gone out with them at dusk, +and had watched the pretty fireworks in the small +piazza, and had wandered on with them afterwards +in the moonlight to the ruin of the Cyclopean +fortress which overlooks the two valleys. Then +back to the house of her friends, who kept the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +principal inn, and more tough chicken and tender +salad and red wine for supper. And on the next +day they had all gone down to the meagre vineyards, +half way to San Vito and just below the +thick chestnut woods which belong to the Marchese +and feudal lord of that ancient town. And there +amongst the showers of reddening vine leaves, she +had helped to gather the last grapes of the year, +with song and jest and laughter. At noon they +climbed the hill again in the October sun, and +dined upon the remains of the previous day's feast; +then, singing still, they had started on their homeward +downward way, happy and not half tired yet +when they reached Subiaco in the evening glow.</p> + +<p>They came trooping through the town to the +little piazza in which the doctor's house was situated. +They separated here, some to go up to the +higher part, while others were to go down in the +same direction as Annetta. The girl looked up +at the doctor's windows, and her small eyes flashed +viciously. It would be a pleasant ending to the +two days' holiday to have a look at her work. +Now that he was getting well, as Dalrymple told +her, she was glad that she had not killed him. It +was an even greater satisfaction to have almost +frightened the old coward to death. She had been +uneasy about the question of confession.</p> + +<p>"By Bacchus," she laughed, "I will go and see +Sor Tommaso. They say he is better."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>So she took leave of her companions and entered +the narrow door, and climbed the short flight of +dark steps and knocked. The doctor's sleeping-room +opened directly upon the staircase. He used +the room on the ground floor as an office and +dining-room, his old peasant woman-servant slept in +the attic, and the other two rooms were let by the +year. It was a very small house.</p> + +<p>The old woman, whose name was Serafina, opened +the bedroom door and thrust out her head, covered +with a dark and threadbare shawl. There was a +sibylline gloom about her withered face, as though +she had lived a lifetime in the face of a horror to +come.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" she croaked roughly, and +not opening the door any wider.</p> + +<p>"Eh! What do I want? I am the Annetta of +Stefanone, and I have come to pay a visit to this +dear doctor, because they say that he is better, God +bless him."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I did not recognize you," said the old +woman. "I will ask."</p> + +<p>Still holding the door almost closed, she drew in +her head and spoke with Sor Tommaso. Annetta +could hear his answer.</p> + +<p>"Of course!" he said, in a voice still weak, but +singularly oily with the politeness of his intention. +"Let her favour us!"</p> + +<p>The door was opened, and Annetta went in. Sor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +Tommaso was sitting up near the window, in a deep +easy-chair covered with ragged green damask. The +girl was surprised by his pallor, as compared with +his formerly rubicund complexion. Peasant-like, +she glanced about the room to judge of its contents +before she spoke.</p> + +<p>"How are you, dear Sor Tommaso?" she asked +after the short pause. "Eh, what we have suffered +for you, all of us! Who was this barbarian +who wished to send you to Paradise?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" returned Sor Tommaso, with +amazing blandness. "I trust that he may be forgiven +as I forgive him."</p> + +<p>"What it is to be a wise man!" exclaimed Annetta, +with affected admiration. "To have such +sentiments! It is a beautiful thing. And how do +you feel now, dear Sor Tommaso? Are you getting +your strength again? They took your blood, +those cowardly murderers! You must make it +again."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met, and each knew that the other +knew and understood. Sor Tommaso smiled gently. +The savage girl's mouth twitched as though she +should have liked to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Little by little; who goes slowly goes safely," +answered the doctor. "I am an old man, you must +know."</p> + +<p>"Old!" Annetta was glad of the opportunity +to laugh at last. "Old? Eh, on Sunday, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +you have on those new black trousers of yours that +are tight, tight—you seem to me a boy as young +as Gigetto. For my part, I should prefer you. +You are more serious. Gigetto! What must I +say? He is handsome, he may be good, but he has +not a head. There is nothing in that pumpkin."</p> + +<p>"Blood of youth," answered Sor Tommaso. "It +must boil. It must fling its chains about. Afterwards +it begins to know the chains. Little by little +it accustoms itself to them. Then it is quiet, quiet, +as we old ones are. Sit down, my daughter. Serafina! +A chair—the one that is not lame. These +chairs remember the blessed soul of mamma," added +Sor Tommaso, in explanation of their weakness.</p> + +<p>"Requiesca'!" exclaimed Annetta, sitting down.</p> + +<p>"Amen," responded Sor Tommaso. "You are +so beautiful to-day," he continued, looking at her +flowered bodice and new apron; "where have you +been?"</p> + +<p>"Where should I go? To Civitella. There was +the fair. We ate certain chickens—tough! But +the air of the mountain consumes. There were +also fireworks."</p> + +<p>"What? Have you walked?" asked Sor Tommaso.</p> + +<p>"Even with two legs one can walk," laughed the +girl. "But of course a beast is better with four. +The beasts had all gone to Tivoli with wine for +Rome. They had not come back yesterday morning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +Therefore with these two feet I walked. +I and many others, girls like me. It is true that +I am half dead."</p> + +<p>"You are fresher than lettuce," observed Sor +Tommaso. "And then you have climbed up my +stairs. This is a true Christian act. God return it +to you. I am alone all day."</p> + +<p>"But the Englishman comes to see you," said +Annetta, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"The Englishman, yes. He comes. More or +less, he has almost cured me. But then, for his +conversation, I say nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile he is also curing the abbess. He +has a fortunate hand. There death, here death—he +makes them all alive. Where is death, now? +Here, perhaps? Hidden in some corner, or under +the bed? He has certain medicines, that Englishman! +Medicines that you do not even dream of. +Strong! It is I that tell you. Sometimes, the +whole house smells of them. Death could not resist +them a moment. They drive even the flies out +of the windows. The Englishman gave me some +once. I had been in the sun and had drunk a gallon +of cold water, foolish as I was. I was thirsty, +as I am now. Well, he gave me a spoonful of +something like water, mixed in water. I do not +tell you anything. At first it burned me. Arch-priest, +it burned! Then, not even a minute, and +I had Paradise in my body. And so it passed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who knows? A cordial, perhaps," observed +Sor Tommaso, thoughtfully. "I have such cordials, +too."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it," answered the girl, suspiciously. +"But I would rather not taste them. +I feel quite well."</p> + +<p>It crossed her mind that in return for three +knife-thrusts, Sor Tommaso would probably not +miss so good a chance of paying her with a glass +of poison. She would certainly have done as much +herself, had she been in his place.</p> + +<p>"Who thought of offering you cordials!" replied +the doctor, with a polite laugh. "I said it to say +it. But if you are thirsty, command me. There +is water and good wine. They are the best cordials."</p> + +<p>"Eh, a little water. I do not refuse. As for +the wine, no. I thank you the same. I am fasting +and have walked. After supper, at home, I will +drink."</p> + +<p>"Serafina!" cried Sor Tommaso, and the old +sibyl immediately appeared from the stairs, whither +she had discreetly retired to wait during Annetta's +visit. "Bring water, and that bottle of my wine +from downstairs. You know, the bottle of old +wine of Stefanone's that was opened."</p> + +<p>"No, no. I want no wine," said Annetta, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Bring it all the same. Perhaps she will do us +the honour to drink it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>Serafina nodded, and her bare feet were heard +on the stone steps as she descended.</p> + +<p>"It is bad to drink pure water when one is very +thirsty," said Sor Tommaso. "It cramps the stomach. +A little wine gives the stomach strength. +But it is best to eat. If you will eat, there are +fresh jumbles. I also eat them."</p> + +<p>"I thank you the same," answered Annetta. +"I wish only water. It is a long way from Civitella, +and there is no good spring. There is the +brook that runs out of the pond at the foot of the +last hill. But it is heavy water, full of stuff."</p> + +<p>Serafina came back, bringing two heavy tumblers +of pressed glass on a little black japanned tray, +with a decanter of cold water. In her other hand +she carried two bottles, one half full of wine, the +other containing the white and sugary syrup of +peach kernels of which Italians are so fond.</p> + +<p>"I brought this also," she said, holding up the +bottle as she set down the tray. "Perhaps it is +better."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Sor Tommaso, nodding in approbation. +"It is better."</p> + +<p>"You will drink a little orgeat?" asked the old +woman, in a tone of persuasion, and mixing it in +the glass.</p> + +<p>"Water, simply water," said Annetta, who was +still suspicious. "Give me water in the other +glass."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I have mixed already in both," answered +Serafina. "Eh, you will drink it. You will not +make an old woman like me go all the way down +the stairs again. But then, it is good. It is I that +tell you. I made it myself, yesterday morning, for +the doctor, to refresh his blood a little."</p> + +<p>Annetta had risen to her feet and was watching +the glasses, as the old woman stirred the white +syrup in the water with an old-fashioned, long-handled +spoon. She did not wish to seem absurdly +suspicious, and yet she distrusted her enemy. +She took one of the glasses, went to his side, and +held it to his lips as one gives an invalid drink.</p> + +<p>"After you," he said, with a polite smile, but +raising his hand to take the glass.</p> + +<p>"Sick people first, well people afterwards," +answered Annetta, smiling too, but watching him +intently.</p> + +<p>He had satisfied himself that she really suspected +foul play, for he knew the peasants well, +and was only a degree removed from them himself. +He at once dismissed her suspicions by drinking +half the tumbler at a draught. She immediately +took the other and emptied it eagerly, as she was +really very thirsty.</p> + +<p>"A little more?" suggested Serafina, in her +croaking voice.</p> + +<p>"No," interposed Sor Tommaso. "It might +hurt her—so much at once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Annetta filled the tumbler with pure water, +and emptied it again.</p> + +<p>"At last!" she exclaimed with a sigh of satisfaction. +"What thirst! I seemed to have eaten +ashes! And now I thank you, Sor Tommaso, and +I am going home; for it is Ave Maria, and I do not +wish to make a bad meeting in the dark as happened +to you. Ugly assassins! I will never forgive +them, never! What am I to say at home? +That you will come to supper one of these +days?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, if God wills," answered the doctor. "I will +be accompanied by Serafina."</p> + +<p>"I!" exclaimed the old woman. "I am afraid +even of a cat! What could I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Company is always company," said Sor Tommaso, +wisely. "Where one would not go, two go +bravely. Good evening, my beautiful daughter," +he added, looking up at Annetta. "The Madonna +go with you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, and good evening," answered the +girl, dropping half a courtsey, with a vicious twinkle +in her little eyes.</p> + +<p>She turned, and was out of the room in a moment. +On the way home through the narrow streets in +the evening glow, she sang snatches of song to herself, +and thought of all she had said to Sor Tommaso, +and of all he had said to her, and of how +much afraid he was of her father's knife. For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +otherwise, as she knew, he would have had her +arrested.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, at the last turning she stopped and +turned very pale, clasping both hands upon her +bodice.</p> + +<p>"Assassin!" she groaned, grinding her short +white teeth. "<i>He</i> has poisoned me, after all! An +evil death to him and all his house! Assassin!"</p> + +<p>She forgot that she had experienced precisely +the same sensations once before, when she had been +overheated and had swallowed too much cold water.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">With</span> slow steps, and pressing her clasped hands +to her bodice, the girl reached the door of her +father's house at dusk. She knew that he was +away, and that as she had not come home earlier +her mother would be in the lower regions preparing +Dalrymple's supper for him. The door which gave +access to the staircase from the street was still +open, and she was almost sure of being able to +reach her own room unobserved, unless she chanced +to come upon Dalrymple himself on the stairs. +Just then she would rather have met him than her +mother. She was in great pain, and it would have +been hard to explain to Sora Nanna that she believed +herself to have been deliberately poisoned.</p> + +<p>She crept noiselessly up the stairs, which were +almost dark, and she came to Dalrymple's door +which faced the first landing. She paused and +hesitated, leaning against the wall. He was a +wise man in her opinion, and would of course understand +her symptoms at once. But then, as she +was poisoned, he could do nothing for her. If that +were true, her next thought told her that Sor Tommaso +must have poisoned himself. He would not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +do that. She had never heard of antidotes; for +though poisoning was traditionally familiar to her +and the people of her class, it was very uncommon. +Yet her sharpened wit told her that if Sor Tommaso +had swallowed the stuff, as he had done, with a +smile, he had means at his disposal for counteracting +it—some medicine which he had doubtless +taken as soon as she had left him. But if he had +medicine to save from poison, Dalrymple, who +was a far wiser man, must have such medicines, +too, and even better ones. This reflexion decided +her. She was close to his door. It was probable +that he would be in his room at that hour. She +was in fear of her life, and she knocked.</p> + +<p>But Dalrymple had not come back. He had +gone for a long walk alone in the hills, had climbed +higher as the sun sank lower, and was belated +in steep paths along which even his mountain-trained +feet trod with some caution. He was too +familiar with the country to lose his way, but he +by no means found the shortest way there was, +nor was he especially anxious to do so. The hours +would pass sooner in walking than in sitting over +his books under the flaring little flames of the three +brass beaks.</p> + +<p>Annetta saw that there was no light in the room, +for the hole through which the latch-string hung +was worn wide with use. She felt dizzy, too, and +the knife-like pain ran through her so that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +bent herself. She knew that Dalrymple kept his +medicines locked up in the laboratory, and that she +could not get at them, though she would have had +little hesitation in swallowing anything she found, +in the simple certainty that all his medicines must +be good in themselves, and therefore life-saving and +good for her. But he was out, and she was sure +that there could be nothing in the bedroom. She +had herself too often looked into every corner when +she watered and swept the brick floor each morning, +and put things in order according to her +primitive ideas.</p> + +<p>She then and there lost her hold upon life. She +was poisoned, and must die. She was as sure of +it as the Chinaman who has seen an eagle, and +who, recognizing that his hour is come, calmly lies +down and breathes his last by the mere suspension +of volition. In old countries the lower orders, as +a rule, have but a low vitality. It may be truer +to say that the vital volition is weak. Let the +learned settle the definition. The fact is easily +accounted for. During generations upon generations +the majority of European agricultural populations +live upon vegetable food, like the majority +of Eastern Asiatics, and with the same result. +Hard labour produces hard muscles, but vegetable +food yields a low vital tension, so to say. Soldiers +know it well enough. The pale-faced city clerk +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>who eats meat twice a day will out-fight and out-last +and out-starve the burly labourer whose big +thews and sinews are mostly compounded of potatoes, +corn, and water.</p> + +<p>The girl crept up the stairs stealthily to her +lonely little room, and lay down to die upon her +bed, as though that were the only thing to be done +under the circumstances. It never occurred to her +to go to her mother and tell her what had happened +and what she suspected, any more than it had suggested +itself to Sor Tommaso to lay information +against her for having stabbed him. If her father +had been at home, she might perhaps have gone to +him and told him with her dying breath that the +doctor had killed her, and that Stefanone must +avenge her. But he was away. She was stronger +than her mother and had always dominated her. +She knew also that if she complained, Sora Nanna +would raise such a scream as would bring half +Subiaco running to the house. The girl's animal +instinct was to die alone, and quietly. So she +made no sound, and lay upon her bed writhing +in pain and holding her sides with all her might, +but with close-set teeth and silent lips.</p> + +<p>Looked at from the point of view of fact, it was +all ridiculous enough. The girl had been all day +in the hot autumn sun, had eaten a quantity of +over-ripe figs and grapes, which might have upset +the digestion of an ostrich, had tired even her +strong limbs with the final walk home, and had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +then, at Sor Tommaso's house, swallowed nearly a +quart of ice-cold water. It was not surprising that +she should be very ill. It was not even strange +that the theory of poison should suggest itself. To +her it was tragedy, and meant nothing less than +death, when she lay down upon her bed.</p> + +<p>Between the spasms all sorts of things passed +through her mind, when her head lay still upon +the pillow. Chiefly and particularly her thoughts +were filled with hatred of Sor Tommaso, and a sort +of doglike longing to see Dalrymple's face before +she died. She was still fascinated by the vision +of his red hair and bright blue eyes which came +back to her vividly, with the careless smile his +hard face had for her half-childish, half-malicious +sayings. And with the thought of him came also +jealousy of Maria Addolorata, and another hatred +which was deeper and stronger and more vengeful +than any she owed Sor Tommaso. She felt, +rather than understood, that Dalrymple loved the +nun with all his heart. She had spoken of her +to him and had watched his face, and had seen the +quick, savage glare of his eyes, though his voice +had only expressed his annoyance. As the vision +of him rose before her, she saw him as he had been +when the angry blush had overspread his face to +the roots of his hair.</p> + +<p>The image fixed itself. In the dim shadow +behind it, she saw the face of Maria Addolorata<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +like a death-mask, and those strange, deep eyes of +the nun's looking scornfully at her over the man's +shoulder, though she forgot him in the woman's +deadly fascination. She stared, unable to close +her lids, as it seemed to her, though she longed +to shut out the sight. Then a dull noise seemed +to be in her ears, a noise that was not a sound, +but the stunning effect on her brain of a sound not +heard but imagined. There were great circles of +light around the nun's head, which cut through +Dalrymple's face and then hid it. They were like +glories, like the halos about the heads of saints. +Annetta was angry with them, for she was sure +that Maria Addolorata was bad, and sinned in her +throat.</p> + +<p>"An evil death on you and all your house!" cried +the angry peasant girl, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Death!" She could not tell whence the echo +came back to her, in a tone strange to her ears—for +it was her own, perhaps.</p> + +<p>She was startled. The vision vanished, and she +sat up on her bed with a quick movement, suddenly +wide awake. The pain must have passed. +No—it came again, but with far less keenness. +She felt her face with her hands, and laughed +softly, for she knew that she was alive. It was +night, and she must have lain some time there all +alone, for there was a silvery, misty something +through the darkness, the white dawn of moonrise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +which is not like the dawn of day, nor like the +departing twilight. As she sat up she saw the +outline of the hills, jagged against the crosses of +the lead-joined panes in the window. There was +the moon-dawn sending up its soft radiance to the +sky. A little longer she watched, and a single +bright point sent one level ray straight into her +face. A moment more and the room was flooded +with light so that she could see the smallest objects +distinctly.</p> + +<p>"But I am alive!" she exclaimed in a soft, glad +tone. "The brigand only did me a spite. He +was afraid to kill me."</p> + +<p>The pain seized her again, less sharp than before, +but keen enough to stir her anger. She still sat +up, but bent forward, clasping her bodice. In the +moonlight she could see her heavy shoes on her +feet sticking up before her. Realizing that it was +a disgraceful thing to lie down with them on, she +sprang off the bed, and began to dust the coverlet +with her hand. The pain passed.</p> + +<p>After all, she reflected, she had swallowed a +quantity of cold water at Sor Tommaso's, whether +the first glass had contained any poison or not. +She had not forgotten, either, that the same thing +had once happened to her before, and that Dalrymple +had made it pass with a spoonful of something +that had stung her mouth and throat, but which +had afterwards warmed her and cured her. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +felt chilly now, and she wished that she had some +of that same stinging, warming stuff.</p> + +<p>Something moved, somewhere in the house. The +girl listened intently for a moment. Probably +Dalrymple had come back and was moving about +in his room, washing his hands, as he always did +before supper, and taking off his heavy boots. His +room was immediately under hers, facing in the +same direction. She went towards the door, intending +to go down at once and ask him for some +of his medicine. By this time she was persuaded +that she was not in any danger, and her common-sense +told her that she had merely made herself +momentarily ill with too many grapes, too much +cold water, and too long exposure to the sun. She +did not care to let her mother know anything about +it, for Sora Nanna would scold her. It would be +a simple matter to catch the Scotchman at his door, +to get what she wanted from him with an easily +given promise of secrecy, and then to come downstairs +as though nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>Annetta only hesitated a moment, and then went +out into the dark staircase, and crept down, as she +had crept up, feeling her way at the turnings, by +the wall. She reached the door, and was surprised +to see that there was no light within—none of +that yellow light which a lamp makes, but only +the grey glimmer of the moonlight through the +shadow, creeping out by the hole of the latch-string.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +Her ears had deceived her, and Dalrymple was not +there. Nevertheless she believed that he was. +The moonlight would be in his room as it was in +hers, just overhead, and he might not have taken +the trouble to light his lamp. It was very probable. +She tapped softly, but there was no answer. +She was afraid that her mother might come up the +stairs and hear her speaking through the door, as +though by stealth. She put her lips close to the +hole of the latch and whistled softly. Her whistle +was broken by her own smile as she fancied that +Dalrymple might start at the unexpected sound.</p> + +<p>But there was no response. Growing bolder, +she called him gently.</p> + +<p>"Signor! Are you there?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Just then, as she stooped, +the pain ran through her once more. She was so +sure that she had heard him that she was convinced +he must be within, very probably in his little +laboratory beyond the bedroom. The pain hurt +her, and he had the medicine. Very naturally +she pulled the string and pushed the door open.</p> + +<p>He was not there. The moonlight flooded everything, +and the whitewashed walls reflected it, so +that the place was as bright as day. The first +object that met her eyes was a small bottle standing +near the edge of the table in the middle of the +room, where Dalrymple had carelessly set it down +in the afternoon when Sora Nanna had called him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +to read her letter. It was directly in the line of +the moon's rays, and the stopper gleamed like a +little star.</p> + +<p>Annetta started with joy as she saw it. It was +the very bottle from which he had given her the +camphor, less than a month ago—the same in size, +in its transparent contents, in its label. It might +have deceived a keener eye than hers.</p> + +<p>The door of the laboratory stood open, as he had +left it, being at the time preoccupied and careless. +She only stopped a moment to assure herself that +the bottle was the right one, reflecting that he had +perhaps felt ill and had taken some of it himself. +She went on and looked into the little room.</p> + +<p>"Signore!" she called softly. But there was +no answer.</p> + +<p>It was clear that Dalrymple was either still out, +or was downstairs at his supper, with her mother. +He might be out, however. It was quite possible, +on such a fine evening, for he was irregular in his +hours. He would not like it if he came in suddenly +and found her meddling with his belongings. +She crossed the room again and softly shut the +door. At least, if he came, she would not be +found with the bottle in her hand. She could +give an excuse.</p> + +<p>It was all so natural. It was the same bottle. +She knew the right quantity, for she had the peasant's +memory for such detail. There was a glass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +and a decanter of water on a white plate on the +table. She had no spoon, but that did not matter. +She took out the stopper with her strong fingers, +though it stuck a little. The pain ran through her +again as she poured some of the contents into the +tumbler, and it made her hand shake so that she +poured out a little more than necessary. But it +did not matter. She filled it up with water, held +the glass up to the moonlight, and drank it at a +draught, and set the empty tumbler upon the table +again.</p> + +<p>Instantly her features changed. She felt as +though she were struck through head and heart +and body with red-hot steel. Maria Addolorata's +death-mask rose before her in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"An evil death on you and all your house!" she +tried to say.</p> + +<p>But the words were not out of her mouth before +she shivered, caught herself by the table, sank +down, and lay stone dead upon the brick floor.</p> + +<p>There was no noise. Dying, she thought she +screamed, but only the faintest moan had passed +her lips.</p> + +<p>The door was shut, and the quiet moonlight +floated in and silvered her dark, dead face.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> moonrise on that evening, Maria Addolorata +was standing at the open door of her cell, watching +the dark clouds in the west, as they caught +the light one by one, edge by edge. The black +shadow of the convent covered all the garden still, +and one passing could hardly have seen her as she +stood there. Her veil was raised, and the cold +mountain breeze chilled her cheeks. But she did +not feel it, for she had been long by the abbess's +bedside, and then long, again, in the close choir of +the church, and her head was hot and aching.</p> + +<p>To her, as she looked towards the western mountains +and watched the piling clouds, and felt the +cool, damp wind, it seemed as though there were +something strangely tragic in the air that night. +The wind whistled now and then through the +cracks of the convent windows and over the crenellations +of the old walls, as Death's scythe might +whistle if he were mowing down men with a right +good will, heaps upon heaps of slain. The old +bell struck the hour, sullenly, with a dead thud +in the air after each stroke, as a bell tolls for +a burial. The very clouds were black and silver +in the sky, like a funeral pall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maria Addolorata leaned against the door-post +and looked out, her hand white in the shadow +against the dark wood, her face whiter still. But +on her hand there were two marks, visible even in +the dimness. They would have been red in the +day, and the place hurt her from time to time, for +she had bitten it savagely. It was her pledge, and +the pain of it reminded her of what she had +promised to do.</p> + +<p>She needed the reminder; for now that he was +not near her, the enormous crime stood out, black +and lofty as death itself. It was different when +Dalrymple was at her side. His violent vitality +dragged hers into action, dragged, drove it, and +goaded it, as unwilling soldiers have been driven +into battle in barbarous armies. Then the fatality +seemed irresistible, then the dangers seemed small, +and the burning red shame was pale and weak. +Those bony young hands of his had strength in +them for two, his gleaming eyes burnt out the +resistance in hers, and lighted them with their +own glow. The hearty recklessness of his unbelief +drove through and through her composite faith, +and riddled it with loopholes for her soul's escape. +Then the reality of her passion made her nobler +love mad to be free, and to break through the +solid walls in which it had been born and had +grown too strong. When his love was there, hers +matched itself with his, to smite fortune in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +face, to dare and out-dare heaven and hell for +love's sake, with him, the bursting blood made +iron of her hand, tingling to buffet coward fate's +pale mouth. Then she was strong above women; +then she was brave as brave men; then, having +promised, to keep was but the natural hold of +will, to die was but to dare one little adversary +more.</p> + +<p>But she was alone now, and thinking, as she +looked out into the tragic night, and watched the +blackness of the monumental clouds. She did not +return to her former self, as some women do when +the goad leaves the heart in peace for a moment. +She did not say to herself that she would order +the convent gate to be shut on Angus Dalrymple +forever, and herself go back to the close choir, to +sit in her seat amongst the rest, and sing holy +songs with the others, restfully unhappy as many +of them were. She knew far too well how strongly +her heart could beat, and how icy cold her hands +could grow when love was near her. Yet she +shuddered with horror at what she had promised +to do. She would struggle to the last, but she +must yield when she heard his voice, and felt his +hand, at the very last moment, when they should +be at the garden gate, he drawing her on, she +looking back.</p> + +<p>It was perjury and sacrilege, and earthly shame, +and eternal damnation. Nothing less. And the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +words had full and deadly meaning for her. It +mattered little that he should think differently, +being of another faith, or rather, of no faith at all. +It was all true to her. It was not risk; it was +certainty. What forgiveness had earth or heaven +for a faithless nun? He talked of marriage, and +he would marry her according to a rite that had +a meaning in his eyes. Heaven would not divorce +the sworn and plighted spouse of Christ to be the +earthly wife of Angus Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>Visions of eternal torment rose in her mind, a +tangible searing hell alive with flame and devils, +a sea of liquid fire, an ocean of boiling pitch, Satan +commanding in the midst, and a myriad of fiends +working his tormenting will.</p> + +<p>Her pale lips curled scornfully in the dark. +Those were not the terrors that frightened her, +nor the horrors from which she shrank. There +was a question which was not to be answered by +her own soul in damnation or salvation, but by the +lips of men hereafter—the question of the honour +of her name. The traditions of the good old barons +were not dead in that day, nor are they all dead +yet. Many a Braccio had done evil deeds in his +or her day, and one, at least, had evil deeds to do +after Maria Addolorata had been laid in her grave. +But sin was one thing, and dishonour was quite +another, even in the eyes of the nun of Subiaco. +For her sins she could and must answer with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +weal or woe of her own soul. But her dishonour +would be upon her father and her mother and +upon all her race. Nor was there any dishonour +deeper, more deadly, or more lasting than that +brought upon a stainless name by a faithless nun. +Maria Braccio hesitated at disgrace, while Maria +Addolorata smiled at perdition. It was not the +first time that honour had taken God's part against +the devil in the history of her family.</p> + +<p>That was the great obstacle of all, and she knew +it now. She was able to face all consequences but +that, terrible as they might be. The barrier was +there, the traditional old belief in honour as first, +and above every consideration. They had played +upon that very belief, when, at the last, she had +hesitated to take the veil. She had gone so far, +they had told her, that it would be cowardly and +dishonourable to turn back at the last minute. +The same argument existed now. Then, she would +at least have had human right and ecclesiastical +law on her side, if she had refused to become a +nun. Now, all was against her. Then, she would +have had to face but the condemning opinion of a +few who spoke of implied obligation. Now, she +must stand up and be ashamed before the whole +world. There would be a horrible publicity about +it. She was too high born not to feel that all the +world in which she should ever move was as +one great family. Dalrymple might promise her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +honour and respect, and the affection of his own +father and mother for the love of her parents, a +home, respected wifehood, and all the rest. With +his strength, he might impose her upon his family, +and they might treat her as he should dictate, for +he was a strong and dominant man. But in their +hearts, Protestants, English people, foreigners as +they were to her race, even they could not tell +themselves honestly that it was not a shameful +thing to break such vows as hers, shameful and +nothing less. And if, for a moment, he were not +there to hold them in his check, she should see it +in their faces, and she must hang her head, for she +could have nothing to answer. For him, she must +not only sacrifice her soul, wrench out her faith, +break her promise to God, and her vows to the +Church. She must give herself to public, earthly +shame, for his sake.</p> + +<p>It was too much. She could bear anything but +that. Rather than endure that, it was better to +die.</p> + +<p>The black clouds rose higher in the west, and +the gloomy air blew upon her face. Her head was +no longer hot, for a chilly horror had come upon +her, like the shadow of something unspeakably +awful, close at hand. Suddenly, she was afraid to +be alone. A bat, lured by the second twilight of +the moon's rising, whirled down from above, with +softly flapping wings, and almost brushed her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +She drew back quickly into the doorway. It was +a very tragic night, she thought. She shut the +door, and groped her way out beyond her cell to +the corridor, dimly illuminated by a single light +hanging from the vault by a running cord. She +entered the abbess's apartment. One of the sisters +had taken her place, but Maria Addolorata sent her +away by a gesture, and sat down by the bedside.</p> + +<p>The old lady was either asleep, or did not notice +her niece's coming. Her face was grey as ashes, +and upturned in the shadow. Upon the stone +floor stood the primitive Italian night-light, a wick +supported in a triangular bit of tin by three little +corks in oil floating on water in a tumbler. The +light was very clear and steady, though there was +little of it, and to Maria, who had been long in +comparative darkness, the room seemed bright +enough. There was little furniture besides the +plain bed, a little table, a couple of chairs, and +a tall, dark wardrobe. A grim crucifix hung above +the abbess's head, on the white wall, the work of an +age in which horror was familiar to the eye, and +needed exaggeration to teach hardened humanity.</p> + +<p>Maria was too much occupied with her own +thoughts to notice the sick woman's condition +at once. Besides, during the last two days there +had been no return of the syncope, and the abbess +had seemed to be improving steadily. She breathed +rather heavily and seemed to be asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gradually, however, as the nun sat motionless +beside her and as the storm of thought subsided, +she became aware that all was not right. Her +aunt's face was unnaturally grey, the breathing +was unusually slow and heavy. When the breath +was drawn in, the thin nostrils flattened themselves +strangely on each side, and the features had a +peaked look. Maria rose and felt the pulse. It +was fluttering, and not always perceptible.</p> + +<p>At first Maria's attention to these facts was +only mechanical. Then, with a sudden sinking +at her own heart, she realized what they might +mean—another crisis like the one in which the +abbess had so narrowly escaped death. It was +true that on that occasion she had called for help +more than once, showing that she had felt herself +to be sinking. At present she seemed to +be unconscious, which, if anything, was a worse +feature.</p> + +<p>Maria drew a long breath and held it, biting her +lips, as people do in moments of suspense, doubt, +and anxiety. It was as though fate had thrust +the great decision onward at the last moment. +The life that hung in the balance before her eyes +meant the possibility of waiting, with the feeble +consolation of being yet undecided.</p> + +<p>She stood as still as a statue, her face like a +mask, her hand on the unconscious woman's wrist. +The stimulant which Dalrymple had shown her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +how to use was at hand—the glass with which +to administer it. It would prolong life. It might +save it.</p> + +<p>Should she give it? The seconds ran to minutes, +and the dreadful question was unanswered. +If the abbess died, as die she almost certainly +must within half an hour, if the medicine were not +given to her—if she died, Maria would call the +sisters, the portress would be instructed, and when +Dalrymple came on the morrow, he would be told +that all was over, and that he was no longer +needed. Nothing could be more sure. He might +do his utmost. He could not enter the convent +again.</p> + +<p>In a quick vision, as she stood stone-still, Maria +saw herself alone in the chapel by night, prostrate, +repentant, washing the altar steps with tears, forgiven +of God, since God could still forgive her, +honoured on earth as before, since none but the +silent confessor could ever know what she had +done, still less what she had meant to do. Her +sorrow would be real, overwhelming, able to move +Heaven to mercy, her penance true-hearted and +severe as she deserved. Her name would be unspotted +and unblemished.</p> + +<p>It would be so easy, if she had not to see him +again. How could she resist him, if he could so +much as touch her hand? But if she were defended +from him, she could bury his love and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +pray for him in the memory of the thing dead. +All that, if she but let that heavy breathing go +on a little longer, if she did not raise her hand +and set a glass to those grey, parted lips.</p> + +<p>They were parted now. The laboured breath +was drawn through the teeth. The eyelids were +a little raised, and showed but the white of the +upturned eyes.</p> + +<p>Maria stared fixedly into the pinched face, and a +new horror came upon her.</p> + +<p>It was murder she was doing. Nothing less. +The power to save was there, and she would not +use it. No—it could not be murder—it was +not possible that she could do murder.</p> + +<p>Still with wide eyes she stared. Surely the +heavy breath had come more quickly a moment +ago. It seemed an age between each rise and +fall of the coverlet. There was a ghastly whistling +sound of it between the teeth.</p> + +<p>It was slower still. The eyelids were gradually +opening—the blind white was horrible to see. +Each breath was a convulsion that shook the +frail body.</p> + +<p>It was murder. Her hand shot out like lightning +and seized the small bottle. Let anything +come,—love, shame, heaven, damnation; it should +not be murder.</p> + +<p>She forced the unstoppered bottle into the +dying woman's mouth with a desperate hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +The next breath was drawn with a choking effort. +The whole body stirred. The thin hand appeared, +grasped the coverlet with distorting energy, and +then lay almost still, twitching convulsively second +by second. Still Maria tried wildly to pour more +of the stimulant between the set teeth. When +they parted, no breath came, and the fingers only +moved once more, for the very last time.</p> + +<p>It was not murder, but it was death. The +wasted old woman had outlived by two or three +hours the strong, young peasant girl, and fate had +laid her hand heavily upon the life of Maria +Addolorata.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Dalrymple came home that evening, he +found his supper already on the table and half +cold. Sora Nanna was busier than her daughter, +and less patient of the Scotchman's irregularities. +If he could not come home at a reasonable hour, +he must not expect her to keep everything waiting +for him.</p> + +<p>He sat down to the table without even going upstairs +as usual to wash his hands, simply because +the cooked meat would be cold and greasy if he let +it stand five minutes longer. Being once seated +in his place, he did not move for a long time. +Sora Nanna came in more than once. She was very +much preoccupied about the load of wine which +her husband had ordered to be sent, and which, +if possible, she meant to send off before morning, +for she did not wish him to be absent in +Rome with money in his pocket a day longer than +necessary.</p> + +<p>Gloomy and preoccupied, without even a book +before him, Dalrymple sat with his back to the +wall, drinking his wine in silence, and staring at +the lamp. Sora Nanna asked him whether he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +seen Annetta. He shook his head without speaking. +The woman observed that the girls were +quite capable of spending a second night at Civitella +to prolong the festivities. Dalrymple nodded, +not caring at all.</p> + +<p>Annetta being absent, Gigetto had not thought +it necessary to put in an appearance. But Sora +Nanna wished to see him again about the wine. +With a grin, she asked Dalrymple whether he +would keep house if she went out for half an hour. +Again he nodded in silence. He heard her lock +from the inside the door which opened from the +staircase upon the street, for it was already late. +Then she came through the common room again, +with her overskirt over her head, went out, and +left the door ajar. Dalrymple was alone in the +house, unaware that Annetta was lying dead on +the floor of his room upstairs.</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna had not been gone a quarter of an +hour when a boy came in from the street. Dalrymple +knew him, for he was the son of the convent +gardener.</p> + +<p>The lad said that Dalrymple was wanted immediately, +as the abbess was very ill. That was all he +knew. He was rather a dull boy, and he repeated +mechanically what he had been told. The Scotchman +started and was about to speak, when he +checked himself. He asked the boy two or three +questions, in the hope of getting more accurate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +information, but could only elicit a repetition of +the message. He was wanted immediately, as the +abbess was very ill.</p> + +<p>He covered his eyes with his hand for a few +seconds. In a flash he saw that if he were ever to +carry off Maria Addolorata, it must be to-night. +The chances were a hundred to one that if there +were another crisis, the abbess would be dead before +he could reach the convent. Once dead, there +was no knowing what might happen in the confusion +that would ensue, and during the elaborate +funeral ceremonies. The man had that daring +temper that rises at obstacles as an eagle at a crag, +without the slightest hesitation. When he dropped +his hand upon the table he had made up his mind.</p> + +<p>It was generally easy to get a good mule at any +hour of the night in Subiaco. The mules were in +their stables then. In the daytime it would have +been very doubtful, when most of them were away +in the vineyards, or carrying loads to the neighbouring +towns. The convent gardener, who was +well-to-do in the world, had a very good mule, as +Dalrymple knew, and its stable was half-way up +the ascent. The boy could saddle it with the pack-saddle +without any difficulty, and meet him anywhere +he chose. Dalrymple's reputation was excellent +as a liberal foreigner who paid well, and +the gardener would not blame the boy for saddling +the mule without leave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a few words Dalrymple explained what he +wanted, and to help the lad's understanding he gave +him some coppers which filled the little fellow +with energy and delight. The boy was to be at the +top of the mule path leading down from above the +convent to the valley in half an hour. Dalrymple +told him that he wished to go to Tivoli, and that +the boy could come with him if he chose, after the +visit to the abbess was over. The boy ran away +to saddle the mule.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple rose quickly, and shut the street door +in order to take the lamp with him to his room, +and not to leave the house open with no light in it. +The case was urgent. He went upstairs, carrying +the lamp, and opened the door of his quarters. +Instantly he recognized the faint, sickly odour of +hydrocyanide of potassium, and remembered that +he had left the bottle with the solution on his +table that afternoon in his hurry. Then he looked +down and saw a white face upon the floor, and +the flowered bodice and smart skirt of the peasant +girl.</p> + +<p>He had solid nerves, and possessed that perfect +indifference to death as a phenomenon which most +medical men acquire in the dissecting-room. But +he was shocked when, bending down, and setting +the lamp upon the floor, he saw in a few seconds +that Annetta had been dead some time. He even +shook his head a little, very slowly, which meant a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +great deal for his hard nature. Glancing at the +unstoppered bottle and at the empty glass, side by +side on the table, he understood at once that the +girl, intentionally or by mistake, had swallowed +enough of the poison to kill half-a-dozen strong +men. He remembered instantly how he had once +given her spirits of camphor when she had felt +ill, and he understood all the circumstances in a +moment, almost as though he had seen them.</p> + +<p>Scarcely thinking of what he was doing, though +with an effort which any one who has attempted +to lift a dead body from the ground will understand, +he took up the lifeless girl, stiff and stark +as she was, and laid her upon his own bed. It +was a mere instinct of humanity. Then he went +back and took the lamp and held it near her +face, and shook his head again, thoughtfully. A +word of pity escaped his lips, spoken very low.</p> + +<p>He set the lamp down on the floor by the bedside, +for there was no small table near. There +never is, in peasants' houses. He began to walk +up and down the room, thinking over the situation, +which was grave enough.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he smelt the acrid odour of burning +cotton. He turned quickly, and saw that he had +placed the three-beaked lamp so near to the bed +that the overhanging coverlet was directly above +one of the flames, and was already smouldering. +He smothered it with the stuff itself between his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +hands, brought the lamp into the laboratory, and +set it upon the table.</p> + +<p>Then, realizing that his own case was urgent, he +began to make his preparations. He took a clean +bottle and poured thirty-five drops of laudanum +into it, put in the stopper, and thrust it into his +pocket. Unlocking another box, he took out some +papers and a canvas bag of gold, such as bankers +used to give travellers in those times when it was +necessary to take a large supply of cash for a journey. +He threw on his cloak, took his plaid over +one arm and went back into his bedroom, carrying +the lamp in the other hand. Then he hesitated, +sniffing the air and the smell of the burnt +cotton. Suddenly an idea seemed to cross his +mind, for he put down the lamp and dropped his +plaid upon a chair. He stood still a moment +longer, looking at the dead girl as she lay on the +bed, biting his lip thoughtfully, and nodding his +head once or twice. He made a step towards the +bed, then hesitated once more, and then made up +his mind.</p> + +<p>He went back to the bedside, and stooping a little +lifted the body on his arms as though judging +of its weight and of his power to carry it. His +first instinct had been to lock the door of the room +behind him, and to go up to the convent, leaving +the dead girl where she was, whether he were +destined to come back that night, or never. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +moment's reflection had told him that if he did so +he must certainly be accused of having poisoned +her. He meant, if it were possible, to take Maria +Addolorata on board of the English man-of-war at +Civita Vecchia within twenty-four hours. So far +as the carrying off of a nun was concerned, he would +be safe on the ship; but if he were accused of +murder, no matter how falsely, the captain would +have a right to refuse his protection, even though +he was Dalrymple's friend. A little chain of circumstances +had led him to form a plan, in a flash, +which, if successfully carried out, would account +both for the disappearance of Annetta herself, and +of Maria Addolorata as well.</p> + +<p>His eyelids contracted slightly, and his great +jaw set itself with the determination to overcome +all obstacles. In a few seconds he had divested +the dead girl of her heavy bodice and skirt and +carpet apron and heavy shoes. He rolled the +things into a bundle, tossed them into the laboratory, +locked the door of the latter, and stuck the +key into his pocket. He carefully stopped the +bottle containing the remainder of the prussiate of +potassium, and took that also. Then he rolled the +body up carefully in his great plaid, mummy-like, +and tied the ends of the shawl with shoe-laces +which he had among his things. He drew his soft +hat firmly down upon his forehead, and threw his +cloak over his left shoulder. He lifted the body<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +off the bed. It was so stark that it stood upright +beside him. With his right arm round its waist, +he raised it so high that he could walk freely, and +he drew his wide cloak over it as well as he could, +and freed his left hand. He grasped the lamp as +he passed the table, listened at the door, though +he knew that the house was locked below, and +he cautiously and with difficulty descended the +stairs.</p> + +<p>Just inside the street door of the staircase there +was a niche, as there is in almost all old Italian +houses. He set the body in it, and went into the +common room with the lamp. Taking the bottle +with the laudanum in it from his pocket, he filled +it more than half full of aniseed cordial, of which +a decanter stood with other liquors upon a sideboard, +as usual in such places. He returned it to +his pocket, and listened again. Then he assured +himself that he had all he needed—the bottle, +money, his cloak, and a short, broad knife which +he always took with him on his walks, more for +the sake of cutting a loaf of bread if he stopped for +refreshment than for any other purpose. His +passport he had taken with his few other valuable +papers from the box.</p> + +<p>He left the lamp on the table, and unlocked the +street door, though he did not pull it open. Brave +as he was, his heart beat fast, for it was the first +decisive moment. If Sora Nanna should come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +home within the next sixty seconds, there would +be trouble. But there was no sound.</p> + +<p>In the dark he went back to the door of the +staircase, unlocked it, and opened it wide, looking +out. The heavy clouds had so darkened the moonlight +that he could hardly see. But the street was +quiet, for it was late, and there were no watchmen +in Subiaco at that time. A moment later, the door +was closed behind him, and he was disappearing +round the dark corner with Annetta's body in his +arms, all wrapped with himself in his great cloak.</p> + +<p>It was a long and terrible climb. A weaker man +would have fainted or given it up long before +Dalrymple set his foot firmly upon the narrow +beaten path which ran along between the garden +wall at the back of the convent, and the precipitous +descent on his left. The sweat ran down over his +hard, pale face in the dark, as he shook off his +cloak and laid down his ghastly burden under the +deep shadow of the low postern. He shook his big +shoulders and wiped his brow, and stretched out +his long arms, doubling them and stretching them +again, for they were benumbed and asleep with the +protracted effort. But so far it was done, and no +one had met him. There had been little chance of +that, but he was glad, all the same. And if, down +at the house, any one went to his room, nothing +would be found. He had the key of the little +laboratory in his pocket. It would be long before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +they broke down the door and found Annetta's +skirt and bodice and shoes wrapped together in a +corner.</p> + +<p>He went on up the ascent five minutes further, +walking as though on air now that he carried no +weight in his arms. At the top of the mule path +the lad was already waiting for him with the mule. +He told the little fellow that he might have to wait +half an hour longer, as he must go into the convent +to see the abbess before starting for Tivoli. He +bid him tie the mule by the halter to the low branch +of an overhanging fig-tree, and sit down to wait.</p> + +<p>"It is a cool night," said Dalrymple, though he +was hot enough himself. "Drink this, my boy."</p> + +<p>He gave him the little bottle of aniseed, opening +it as he did so. The boy smelt it and knew +that it was good, for it is a common drink in the +mountains. He drank half of it, pouring it into +his mouth with a gurgling sound.</p> + +<p>"Drink it all," said Dalrymple. "I brought it +for you."</p> + +<p>The boy did not hesitate, but drained it to the +last drop, and handed the bottle back without a +word. Dalrymple made him sit down near the +mule's head, well aside from the path, in case any +one should pass. He knew that between the unaccustomed +dose of spirits and the thirty-five drops +of opium, the lad would be sound asleep before +long. For the rest, there was nothing to be done<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +but to trust to luck. He had done the impossible +already, so far as physical effort was concerned, +but Fortune must not thwart him at the end. If +she did, he had in his other pocket enough left of +what had killed Annetta to settle his own affairs +forever, and he might need it. At that moment +he was absolutely desperate. It would be ill for +any one who crossed his path that night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Dalrymple</span> wrapped his cloak about him once +more, as he turned away, and retraced his steps by +the garden wall. He glanced at the long dark thing +that lay in the shadow of the postern, as he went by. +It was not probable that it would be noticed, even +if any one should pass that way, which was unlikely, +between ten o'clock at night and three in the +morning. He went on without stopping, and in +three or four minutes he had gone round the convent +to the main entrance, next to the church. He +rang the bell. The portress was expecting him, +and he was admitted without a word.</p> + +<p>He found Maria Addolorata in the antechamber +of the abbess's apartment, veiled, and standing with +folded hands in the middle of the little hall. She +must have heard the distant clang of the bell, for +she was evidently waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Am I in time?" he asked in a tone of anxiety.</p> + +<p>She shook her head slowly.</p> + +<p>"Is she dead?"</p> + +<p>"She was dead before I sent for you," answered +Maria Addolorata, in a low and almost solemn tone. +"No one knows it yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I feared so," said Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>He made a step towards the door of the parlour, +naturally expecting that Maria would speak with +him there, as usual. But she stepped back and +placed herself in his way.</p> + +<p>"No," she said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked in quick surprise.</p> + +<p>She raised her finger to her veiled lips, and +then pointed to the other door, to warn him that +the portress was there and was almost within hearing. +With quick suspicion he understood that she +was keeping him in the antechamber to defend herself, +that she had not been able to resist the desire +to see him once more, and that she intended this +to be their last meeting.</p> + +<p>"Maria," he began, but he only pronounced her +name, and stopped short, for a great fear took him +by the throat.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, in her calm, low voice. +"I have made up my mind. I will not go. God +will perhaps forgive me what I have done. I will +pray for forgiveness. But I will not do more evil. +I will not bring shame upon my father's house, even +for love of you."</p> + +<p>Her voice trembled a little at the last words. +Even veiled as she was, the vital magnetism of the +man was creeping upon her already. She had +resolved that she would see him once more, that +she would tell him the plain truth that was right,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +that she would bid him farewell, and promise to +pray for him, as she must pray for herself. But +she had sworn to herself that she would not speak +of love. Yet with the first words she spoke, the +word and the vibration of love had come too. Her +hands disappeared in her sleeves, and her nails +pressed the flesh in the determination to be strong. +She little guessed the tremendous argument he had +in store.</p> + +<p>"It is hard to speak here," he said. "Let us go +into the parlour."</p> + +<p>She shook her head, and again moved backwards +a step, so that her shoulders were almost against +the door.</p> + +<p>"You must say what you have to say here," she +answered after a moment's pause, and she felt +strong again. "For my part, I have spoken. May +God forget me in my utmost need if I go with +you."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple seemed little moved by the solemn +invocation. It meant little enough to him.</p> + +<p>"I must tell you a short story," he replied +quietly. "Unless I tell you, you cannot understand. +I have set my life upon your love, and I +have gone so far that I cannot save my life except +by you—my life and my honour. Will you listen +to me?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, and he heard her draw a quick +breath. Then he began his story, putting it together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +clearly, from the facts he knew, in very few +words. He told her how Annetta must have mistaken +the bottle on his table for camphor, and how +he had found her dead. Nothing would save him +from the accusation of having murdered the girl +but the absolute disappearance of her body. Maria +shuddered and turned her head quickly when he +told her that the body was lying under the postern +arch behind the garden wall. He told her, +too, that the boy was by this time asleep beside +the mule on the path beyond. Then he told +her of his plan, which was short, desperate, and +masterly.</p> + +<p>"You must tell no one that the abbess is dead," +he said. "Go out through your cell into the garden, +as soon as I am gone, and when I tap at the +postern open the door. Leave a lamp in your cell. +I will do the rest."</p> + +<p>"What will you do?" asked Maria, in a low and +wondering tone.</p> + +<p>"You must lock the door of your cell on the +inside and leave the lamp there," said Dalrymple. +"You will wait for me in the garden by the gate. +I will carry the poor girl's body in and lay it in +your bed. Then I will set fire to the bed itself. +Of course there is an under-mattress of maize leaves—there +always is. I will leave the lamp standing +on the floor by the bedside. I will shut the door +and come out to you, and I can manage to slip the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +bolt of the garden gate from the outside by propping +up the spring from within. You shall see."</p> + +<p>"It is horrible!" gasped Maria. "And I do not +see—"</p> + +<p>"It is simple, and nothing else can save my life. +Your cell is of course a mere stone vault, and the +fire cannot spread. The sisters are asleep, except +the portress, who will be far away. Long before +they break down your door, the body will be +charred by the fire beyond all recognition. They +will see the lamp standing close by, and will suppose +that you lay down to rest, leaving the lamp +close to you—too close; that the abbess died +while you were asleep, and that you had caught +fire before you waked; that you were burned to +death, in fact. The body will be buried as yours, +and you will be legally dead. Consequently there +will not be the slightest suspicion upon your good +name. As for me, it will be supposed that I have +procured other clothes for Annetta, thrown hers +into the laboratory and carried her off. In due +time I will send her father a large sum of money +without comment. If you refuse, I must either be +arrested, convicted, and sentenced to death for the +murder of a girl who killed herself without my +knowledge, or, as is probable, I shall go out now, +sit down in a quiet place, and be found dead in the +morning. It is certain death to me in either case. +It would be absolutely impossible for me to get rid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +of the dead body without arousing suspicion. If +it is wrong to save oneself by burning a dead body, +it is not a great wrong, and I take it upon myself. +It is the only wrong in the matter, unless it is +wrong to love you and to be willing to die for you. +Do you understand me?"</p> + +<p>Leaning back against the door of the parlour, +Maria Addolorata had almost unconsciously lifted +her veil and was gazing into his eyes. The plan +was horrible, but she could not help admiring the +man's strength and daring. In his voice, even +when he told her that he loved her, there was that +quiet courage which imposes itself upon men and +women alike. The whole situation was as clear as +day to her in a moment, for all his calculations +were absolutely correct,—the fire-proof vault of +the cell, the certainty that the body would be taken +for hers, above all, the assurance of her own supposed +death, with the utter freedom from suspicion +which it would mean for her ever afterwards. Was +she not to be buried with Christian burial, mourned +as dead, and freed in one hour from all the consequences +of her life? It was masterly, though +there was a horror in it.</p> + +<p>She loved him more than her own soul. It was +the fear of bringing shame upon her father and +mother that had held her, far more than any spiritual +dread. It was not strange that she should +waver again when he had unfolded his scheme.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned, opened the door, and led him into +the parlour, where the silver lamp was burning +brightly.</p> + +<p>"You must tell it all again," she said, still standing. +"I must be quite sure that I understand."</p> + +<p>He knew well enough that she had finally yielded, +since she went so far. In his mind he quickly ran +over the details of the plan once more, and mentally +settled what still remained to be decided. +But since she wished it, he went over all he had +said already. Being able to speak in his natural +voice without fear of being overheard by the portress, +and feeling sure of the result, he spoke far +more easily and more eloquently. Before he had +finished he was holding her hand in his, and she +was gazing intently into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is life or death for me," he said, when he had +told her everything. "Which shall it be?"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment. Then her strong +mouth smiled strangely.</p> + +<p>"It shall be life for you, if I lose my soul for +it," she said.</p> + +<p>She felt the quick thrill and pressure of his +hand, and all the man's tremendous energy was +alive again.</p> + +<p>"Then let us do it quickly," he answered. "I +will go out with the portress. Go to your cell before +we reach the end of the corridor, and shut the +door with some noise. She will remember it afterwards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +Wait at the garden gate till I tap softly, +and leave the rest to me. There is no danger. +Do not be afraid."</p> + +<p>"Afraid!" she exclaimed proudly. "How little +you know me! It never was fear that held me. +Besides—with you!"</p> + +<p>The two last words told him more than all she +had ever said before, and for the first time he +wholly trusted her. Besides, it was to be only for +a few minutes, while he went out by the front gate +and walked round to the back of the convent. +The plan was so well conceived that it could not +fail when put into execution.</p> + +<p>They shook hands, as two people who have agreed +to do a desperate deed, each for the other's sake. +Then as their grasp loosened, Dalrymple turned +towards the door, but turned again almost instantly +and took her in his arms, and kissed her as men +kiss women they love when their lives are in the +balance. Then he went out, passed through the +antechamber, and found the portress waiting for +him as usual. She took up her little lamp and +led the way in silence. A moment later he heard +Maria come out and enter her cell, closing the +door loudly behind her.</p> + +<p>"Her most reverend excellency is in no danger +now," he said to the portress, with Scotch veracity.</p> + +<p>"Sister Maria Addolorata may then rest a little," +answered the lay sister, who rarely spoke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Precisely so," said Dalrymple, drily.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later he was at the garden gate, +tapping softly. Immediately the door yielded to +his gentle pressure, for Maria had already unfastened +the lock within.</p> + +<p>"Stand aside a little," said Dalrymple, in a whisper. +"You need not see—it is not a pretty sight. +Keep the door shut till I come back. Where is +your cell?"</p> + +<p>She pointed to a door that was open above the +level of the garden. A little light came out. +With womanly caution she had set the lamp in the +corner behind the door when she had opened it, so +as to show as little as possible from without.</p> + +<p>She turned her head away as he passed her with +his heavy burden, treading softly upon the hard, +dry ground. But he was not half across the garden +before she looked after him. She could not help +it. The dark thing he carried in his arms attracted +her, and a shudder ran through her. She +closed the gate, and stood with her hand on the lock.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that he was gone an interminable +time. Though the moon was now high, the +clouds were so black that the garden was almost +quite dark. Suddenly she heard his step, and he +was nearer than she thought.</p> + +<p>"It is burning well," he said with grim brevity.</p> + +<p>He stooped and looked closely in the dimness at +the old-fashioned lock. It was made as he supposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +and could be easily slipped from without. +He found a pebble under his foot, raised the +spring, and placed the small stone under it, after +examining the position of the cracks in the wood, +which were many.</p> + +<p>"There is plenty of time, now," he said, and he +gently pushed her out upon the narrow walk, drawing +the door after him.</p> + +<p>With his big knife, working through the widest +crack he teazed the bolt into the socket. Then +with his shoulder he softly shook the whole door. +He heard the spring fall into its place, as the pebble +dropped upon the dry ground.</p> + +<p>"No human being can suspect that the door has +been opened," he said.</p> + +<p>He wrapped her in his long cloak, standing beside +her under the wall. Very gently he pushed +the veil and bands away from her golden hair. +She helped him, and he kissed the soft locks. +Then about her head he laid his plaid in folds and +drew it forward over her shoulders. She let him +do it, not realizing what service the shawl had but +lately done.</p> + +<p>They walked forward. The boy was fast asleep +and did not move. The mule stamped a little as +they came up. Dalrymple lifted Maria upon the +pack-saddle, sideways, and stretched the packing-cords +behind her back.</p> + +<p>"Hold on," he said. "I will lead the mule."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 391px;"> +<img src="images/gs06.jpg" width="391" height="500" alt=""An evil death on you!"—Vol. I., p. 218." title=""An evil death on you!"—Vol. I., p. 218." /> +<span class="caption">"An evil death on you!"—Vol. I., p. 218.</span> +</div> + +<p>So it was all over, and the deed was done, for +good or evil. But it was for evil, for it was a bad +deed.</p> + +<p>To the last, fortune favoured Dalrymple and +Maria, and everything took place after their flight +just as the strong man had anticipated. Not a +trace of the truth was left behind. Early in the +morning the abbess was found dead, and in the +little cell near by, upon the still smouldering remains +of the mattress, lay the charred and burned +form of a woman. In Stefanone's house, the little +bundle of clothes in the locked laboratory was all +that was left of Annetta. All Subiaco said that +the Englishman had carried off the peasant girl to +his own country.</p> + +<p>Up at the convent the nuns buried the abbess in +great state, with catafalque and canopy, with hundreds +of wax candles and endless funeral singing. +They buried also another body with less magnificence, +but with more pomp than would have been +bestowed upon any of the other sisters, and not +long afterwards a marble tablet in the wall of the +church set forth in short good Latin sentences, how +the Sister Maria Addolorata, of many virtues, had +been burned to death in her bed on the eve of the +feast of Saint Luke the Evangelist, and all good +Christians were enjoined to pray for her soul—which +indeed was in need of their prayers.</p> + +<p>Stefanone returned from Rome, but it was a sad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +home-coming when he found that his daughter was +gone, and unconsciously he repeated the very words +she had last spoken when she was dying in Dalrymple's +room all alone.</p> + +<p>"An evil death on you and all your house!" he +said, shaking his fist at the door of the room.</p> + +<p>And Stefanone swore within himself solemnly +that the Englishman should pay the price. And he +and his paid it in full, and more also, after years +had passed, even to generations then unborn.</p> + +<p>This is the first act, as it were, of all the story, +and between this one and the beginning of the next +a few years must pass quickly, if not altogether in +silence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></h2> + + +<h3><i>GLORIA DALRYMPLE.</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the year 1861 Donna Francesca Campodonico +was already a widow. Her husband, Don Girolamo +Campodonico, had died within two years of their +marriage, which had been one of interest and convenience +so far as he had been concerned, for Donna +Francesca was rich, whereas he had been but a +younger son and poor. His elder brother was the +Duca di Norba, the father of another Girolamo, +who succeeded him many years later, of Gianforte +Campodonico, and of the beautiful Bianca, in whose +short, sad life Pietro Ghisleri afterwards held so +large a part. But of these latter persons, some +were then not yet born, and others were in their +infancy, so that they play no part in this portion of +the present history.</p> + +<p>Donna Francesca was of the great Braccio family, +the last of a collateral branch. She had inherited +a very considerable estate, which, if she had no +descendants, was to revert to the Princes of Gerano. +She had married Don Girolamo in obedience to her +guardians' advice, but not at all against +her will, and she had become deeply attached to +him during the short two years of their married<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +life. He had never been strong, since his childhood, +his constitution having been permanently +injured by a violent attack of malarious fever +when he had been a mere boy. A second fever, +even more severe than the first, caught on a shooting +expedition near Fiumicino, had killed him, and +Donna Francesca was left a childless widow, in full +possession of her own fortune and of a little more +in the shape of a small jointure. It was thought +that she would marry again before very long, but +it was too soon to expect this as yet.</p> + +<p>Among her possessions as the last of her branch +of the Braccio family, of which the main line, however, +was sufficiently well represented, was the +small but beautiful palace in which she now lived +alone. It was situated between the Capitoline Hill +and the Tiber, surrounded on three sides by dark +and narrow streets, but facing a small square in +which there was an ancient church. When it is +said that the palace was a small one, its dimensions +are compared with the great Roman palaces, more +than one of which could easily lodge a thousand +persons. It was built on the same general plan as +most of them, with a ground floor having heavily +barred windows; a state apartment in the first +story, with three stone balconies on the front; a +very low second story above that, but not coextensive +with it, because two of the great state +rooms were higher than the rest and had clere-story<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +windows; and last of all, a third story consisting +of much higher rooms than the second, and +having a spacious attic under the sloping roof, which +was, of course, covered with red tiles in the old +fashion. The palace, at that time known as the +Palazzo, or 'Palazzetto,' Borgia, was externally a +very good specimen of Renascence architecture of +the period when the florid, 'barocco' style had not +yet got the upper hand in Rome. The great arched +entrance for carriages was well proportioned, the +stone carvings were severe rather than graceful, +the cornices had great nobility both of proportion +and design. The lower story was built of rough-faced +blocks of travertine stone, above which the +masonry was smooth. The whole palace was of +that warm, time-toned colour, which travertine +takes with age, and which is, therefore, peculiar +to old Roman buildings.</p> + +<p>Within, though it could not be said that any part +had exactly fallen to decay, there were many rooms +which had been long disused, in which the old frescoes +and architectural designs in grey and white, +and bits of bold perspective painted in the vaults +and embrasures, were almost obliterated by time, +and in which such furniture as there was could not +survive much longer. About one-half of the state +apartment, comprising, perhaps, fifteen or twenty +rooms, large and small, had been occupied by Donna +Francesca and her husband, and she now lived in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +them alone. In that part of the palace there was +a sort of quiet and stately luxury, the result of her +own taste, which was strongly opposed to the gaudy +fashions then introduced from Paris at the height +of the Second Empire's importance. Girolamo +Campodonico had been aware that his young wife's +judgment was far better than his own in artistic +matters, and had left all such questions entirely +to her.</p> + +<p>She had taken much pleasure in unearthing from +attics and disused rooms all such objects as possessed +any intrinsic artistic value, such as old carved +furniture, tapestries, and the like. Whatever she +found worth keeping she had caused to be restored +just so far as to be useful, and she had known how to +supply the deficiencies with modern material in such +a way as not to destroy the harmony of the whole.</p> + +<p>It should be sufficiently clear from these facts +that Donna Francesca Campodonico was a woman +of taste and culture, in the modern sense. Indeed, +the satisfaction of her tastes occupied a much more +important place in her existence than her social +obligations, and had a far greater influence upon +her subsequent life. Her favourite scheme was to +make her palace at all points as complete within +as its architect had made it outside, and she had it +in her power to succeed in doing so. She was not, +as some might think, a great exception in those +days. Within the narrow limits of a certain class,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +in which the hereditary possession of masterpieces +has established artistic intelligence as a stamp of +caste, no people, until recently, have had a better +taste than the Italians; as no people, beyond these +limits, have ever had a worse. There was nothing +very unusual in Donna Francesca's views, except her +constant and industrious energy in carrying them +out. Even this might be attributed to the fact +that she had inherited a beautiful but dilapidated +palace, which she was desirous of improving until, +on a small scale, it should be like the houses of +the great old families, such as the Saracinesca, +the Savelli, the Frangipani, and her own near +relatives, the Princes of Gerano.</p> + +<p>She had an invaluable ally in her artistic enterprises +in the person of an artist, who, in a sort of +way, was considered as belonging to Casa Braccio, +though his extraordinary talent had raised him +far above the position of a dependent of the +family, in which he had been born as the son of +the steward of the ancient castle and estate of +Gerano. As constantly happened in those days, +the clever boy had been noticed by the Prince,—or, +perhaps, thrust into notice by his father, +who was reasonably proud of him. The lad had +been taken out of his surroundings and thoroughly +educated for the priesthood in Rome, but by the +time he had attained to the age necessary for ordination, +his artistic gifts had developed to such an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +extent that in spite of his father's disappointment, +even the old Prince—the brother of Sister Maria +Addolorata—advised Angelo Reanda to give up +the Church, and to devote himself altogether to +painting.</p> + +<p>Young Reanda had been glad enough of the +change in his prospects. Many eminent Italians +have begun life in a similar way. Cardinal Antonelli +was not the only one, for there have been +Italian prime ministers as well as dignitaries of +the Church, whose origin was as humble and who +owed their subsequent distinction to the kindly +interest bestowed on them by nobles on whose +estates their parents were mere peasants, very far +inferior in station to Angelo Reanda's father, a +man of a certain education, occupying a position +of trust and importance.</p> + +<p>Nor was Reanda's priestly education anything +but an advantage to him, so far as his career was +concerned, however much it had raised him above +the class in which he had been born. So far as +latinity and rhetoric were to be counted he was +better educated than his father's master; for with +the same advantages he had greater talents, greater +originality, and greater industry. As an artist, his +mental culture made him the intellectual superior +of most of his contemporaries. As a man, ten +years of close association with the sons of gentlemen +had easily enough made a gentleman of one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +whose instincts were naturally as refined as his +character was sensitive and upright.</p> + +<p>Donna Francesca, as the last of her branch of +the family and an orphan at an early age, had of +course been brought up in the house of her relatives +of Gerano, and from her childhood had known +Reanda's father, and Angelo himself, who was fully +ten years older than she. Some of his first paintings +had been done in the great Braccio palace, and +many a time, as a mere girl, she had watched him +at his work, perched upon a scaffolding, as he +decorated the vault of the main hall. She could +not remember the time when she had not heard +him spoken of as a young genius, and she could +distinctly recall the discussion which had taken +place when his fate had been decided for him, and +when he had been at last told that he might become +an artist if he chose. At that time she had looked +upon him with a sort of wondering admiration in +which there was much real friendly feeling, and as +she grew up and saw what he could do, and learned +to appreciate it, she silently determined that he +should one day help her to restore the dilapidated +Palazzetto Borgia, where her father and mother +had died in her infancy, and which she loved with +that sort of tender attachment which children +brought up by distant relations often feel for whatever +has belonged to their own dimly remembered +parents.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a natural intimacy between the young +girl and the artist. Long ago she had played at +ball with him in the great courtyard of the Gerano +castle, when he had been at home for his holidays, +wearing a black cassock and a three-cornered hat, +like a young priest. Then, all at once, instead of +a priest he had been a painter, dressed like other +men and working in the house in which she lived. +She had played with his colours, had scrawled +with his charcoals upon the white plastered walls, +had asked him questions, and had talked with him +about the famous pictures in the Braccio gallery. +And all this had happened not once, but many +times in the course of years. Then she had unfolded +to him her schemes about her own little +palace, and he had promised to help her, by and +bye, half jesting, half in earnest. She would give +him rooms in the upper story to live in, she said, +disposing of everything beforehand. He should +be close to his work, and have it under his hand +always until it was finished. And when there was +no more to do, he might still live there and have +his studio at the top of the old house, with an +entrance of his own, leading by a narrow staircase +to one of the dark streets at the back. She had +noticed all sorts of peculiarities of the building in +her occasional visits to it with the governess,—as, +for instance, that there was a convenient interior +staircase leading from the great hall to the upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +story, by a door once painted like the wall, and +hard to find, but now hanging on its hinges and +hideously apparent. The great hall must all be +painted again, and Angelo could live overhead and +come down to his work by those steps. With +childish pleasure she praised her own ingenuity in +so arranging matters beforehand. Angelo was to +help her in all she did, until the Palazzetto Borgia +should be as beautiful as the Palazzo Braccio +itself, though of course it was much smaller. +Then she scrawled on the walls again, trying to +explain to him, in childishly futile sketches, her +ideas of decoration, and he would come down from +his scaffold and do his best with a few broad lines +to show her what she had really imagined, till she +clapped her small, dusty hands with delight and +was ultimately carried off by her governess to be +made presentable for her daily drive in the Villa +Borghese with the Princess of Gerano.</p> + +<p>As a girl Francesca had the rare gift of seeing +clearly in her mind what she wanted, and at last +she had found herself possessed of the power to +carry out her intentions. As a matter of course +she had taken Reanda into her confidence as her +chief helper, and the intimacy which dated from +her childhood had continued on very much the same +footing. His talent had grown and been consolidated +by ten years of good work, and she, as a +young married woman, had understood what she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +had meant when she had been a child. Reanda was +now admittedly, in his department, the first painter +in Rome, and that was fame in those days. His +high education and general knowledge of all artistic +matters made him an interesting companion in +such work as Francesca had undertaken, and he +had, moreover, a personal charm of manner and +voice which had always attracted her.</p> + +<p>No one, perhaps, would have called him a handsome +man, and at this time he was no longer in +his first youth. He was tall, thin, and very dark, +though his black beard had touches of a deep gold-brown +colour in it, which contrasted a little with +his dusky complexion. He had a sad face, with +deep, lustreless, thoughtful eyes, which seemed to +peer inward rather than outward. In the olive +skin there were heavy brown shadows, and the +bony prominence of the brow left hollows at the +temples, from which the fine black hair grew with +a backward turn which gave something unusual +to his expression. The aquiline nose which characterizes +so many Roman faces, was thin and delicate, +with sensitive nostrils that often moved when he +was speaking. The eyebrows were irregular and +thick, extending in a dark down beyond the lower +angles of the forehead, and almost meeting between +the eyes; but the somewhat gloomy expression +which this gave him was modified by a certain +sensitive grace of the mouth, little hidden by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +thin black moustache or by the beard, which did +not grow up to the lower lip, though it was thick +and silky from the chin downwards.</p> + +<p>It was a thoughtful face, but there was creative +power in the high forehead, as there was direct +energy in the long arms and lean, nervous hands. +Donna Francesca liked to watch him at his work, +as she had watched him when she was a little girl. +Now and then, but very rarely, the lustreless eyes +lighted up, just before he put in some steady, +determining stroke which brought out the meaning +of the design. There was a quick fire in them +then, at the instant when the main idea was outwardly +expressed, and if she spoke to him inadvertently +at such a moment, he never answered her at +once, and sometimes forgot to answer her at all. +For his art was always first with him. She knew +it, and she liked him the better for it.</p> + +<p>The intimacy between the great lady and the +artist was, indeed, founded upon this devotion of +his to his painting, but it was sustained by a sort +of community of interests extending far back into +darker ages, when his forefathers had been bondsmen +to her ancestors in the days of serfdom. He +had grown up with the clearly defined sensation of +belonging with, if not to, the house of Braccio. +His father had been a trusty and trusted dependent +of the family, and he had imbibed as a mere child +its hereditary likes and dislikes, its traditions wise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +and foolish, together with an indomitable pride in +its high fortunes and position in the world. And +Francesca herself was a true Braccio, though she +was descended from a collateral branch, and, next +to the Prince of Gerano, had been to Reanda by +far the most important person bearing the name. +She had admired him when she had been a child, +had encouraged him as she grew up, and now she +provided his genius with employment, and gave +him her friendship as a solace and delight both in +work and idleness. It is said that only Italians +can be admitted to such a position with the certainty +that they will not under any circumstances +presume upon it. To Angelo Reanda it meant +much more than to most men who could have been +placed as he was. His genius raised him far above +the class in which he had been born, and his education, +with his natural and acquired refinement, +placed him on a higher level than the majority of +other Roman artists, who, in the Rome of that day, +inhabited a Bohemia of their own which has completely +disappeared. Their ideas and conversation, +when they were serious, interested him, but their +manners were not his, and their gaiety was frankly +distasteful to him. He associated with them as an +artist, but not as a companion, and he particularly +disliked their wives and daughters, who, in their +turn, found him too 'serious' for their society, to +use the time-honoured Italian expression. Nevertheless,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +his natural gentleness of disposition made +him treat them all alike with quiet courtesy, and +when, as often happened, he was obliged to be in +their company, he honestly endeavoured to be one +of them as far as he could.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he had no footing in the +society to which Francesca belonged, but for which +she cared so little. There were, indeed, one or +two houses where he was received, as he was at +Casa Braccio, in a manner which, for the very +reason that it was familiar, proved his social inferiority—where +he addressed the head of the house +as 'Excellency' and was called 'Reanda' by everybody, +elders and juniors alike, where he was appreciated +as an artist, respected as a man, and welcomed +occasionally as a guest when no other outsider +was present, but where he was not looked upon as +a personage to be invited even with the great +throng on state occasions. He was as far from +receiving such cold acknowledgments of social +existence as those who received them and nothing +else were distantly removed from intimacy on an +equal footing.</p> + +<p>He did not complain of such treatment, nor even +inwardly resent it. The friendliness shown him +was as real as the kindness he had received throughout +his early youth from the Prince of Gerano, and +he was not the man to undervalue it because he +had not a drop of gentle blood in his veins. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +his refined nature craved refined intercourse, and +preferred solitude to what he could get in any +lower sphere. The desire for the atmosphere of +the uppermost class, rather than the mere wish to +appear as one of its members, often belongs to the +artistic temperament, and many artists are unjustly +disliked by their fellows and pointed at as snobs +because they prefer, as an atmosphere, inane elegance +to inelegant intellectuality. It is often forgotten +by those who calumniate them that hereditary elegance, +no matter how empty-headed, is +the result of an hereditary cultivation of what +is thought beautiful, and that the vainest, silliest +woman who dresses well by instinct is an artist in +her way.</p> + +<p>In Francesca Campodonico there was much more +than such superficial taste, and in her Reanda found +the only true companion he had ever known. He +might have been for twenty years the intimate +friend of all Roman society without meeting such +another, and he knew it, and appreciated his good +fortune. For he was not naturally a dissatisfied +man, nor at all given to complain of his lot. Few +men are, who have active, creative genius, and +whose profession gives them all the scope they +need. Of late years, too, Francesca had treated +him with a sort of deference which he got from no +one else in the world. He realized that she did, +without attempting to account for the fact, which,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +indeed, depended on something past his comprehension.</p> + +<p>He felt for her something like veneration. The +word does not express exactly the attitude of his +mind towards her, but no other defines his position +so well. He was not in love with her in the Italian +sense of the expression, for he did not conceive it +possible that she should ever love him, whereas he +told himself that he might possibly marry, if he +found a wife to his taste, and be in love with his +wife without in the least infringing upon his devotion +to Donna Francesca.</p> + +<p>That she was young and lovely, if not beautiful, +he saw and knew. He even admitted unconsciously +that if she had been an old woman he could not +have 'venerated' her as he did, though veneration, +as such, is the due of the old rather than of the +young. Her spiritual eyes and virginal face were +often before him in his dreams and waking thoughts. +There was a maidenlike modesty, as it were, even +about her graceful bodily self, which belonged, in +his imagination, to a saint upon an altar, rather +than to a statue upon a pedestal. There was +something in the sweep of her soft dark brown +hair which suggested that it would be sacrilege +and violence for a man's hand to touch it. There +was a dewy delicacy on her young lips, as though +they could kiss nothing more earthly than a newly +opened flower, already above the earth, but not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +yet touched by the sun. There was a thoughtful +turn of modelling in the smooth, white forehead, +which it was utterly beyond Reanda's art to reproduce, +often as he had tried. He thought a great +sculptor might succeed, and it was the one thing +which made him sometimes wish that he had taken +the chisel for his tool, instead of the brush.</p> + +<p>She was never considered one of the great +beauties of Rome. She had not the magnificent +presence and colouring of her kinswoman, Maria +Addolorata, whose tragic death in the convent of +Subiaco—a fictitious tragedy accepted as real by +all Roman society—had given her a special place +in the history of the Braccio family. She had not +the dark and queenly splendour of Corona d'Astradente, +her contemporary and the most beautiful +woman of her time. But she had, for those who +loved her, something which was quite her own and +which placed her beyond them in some ways and, +in any case, out of competition for the homage received +by the great beauties. No one recognized +this more fully than Angelo Reanda, and he would +as soon have thought of being in love with her, as +men love women, as he would have imagined that +his father, for instance, could have loved Maria +Addolorata, the Carmelite nun.</p> + +<p>The one human point in his devoted adoration +lay in his terror lest Francesca Campodonico should +die young and leave him to grow old without her. +He sometimes told her so.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You should marry," she answered one day, +when they were together in the great hall which +he was decorating.</p> + +<p>She was still dressed in black, and as she spoke, +he turned and saw the outline of her small pure +face against the high back of the old chair in +which she was sitting. It was so white just then +that he fancied he saw in it that fatal look which +belonged to some of the Braccio family, and which +was always spoken of as having been one of Maria +Addolorata's chief characteristics. He looked at +her long and sadly, leaning against an upright of +his scaffolding as he stood on the floor near her, +holding his brushes in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I do not think I shall ever marry," he answered +at last, looking down and idly mixing two colours +on his palette.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked quickly. "I have heard +you say that you might, some day."</p> + +<p>"Some day, some day—and then, all at once, +the 'some day' is past, and is not any more in the +future. Why should I marry? I am well enough +as I am; there would only be unhappiness."</p> + +<p>"Do you think that every one who marries must +be unhappy?" she asked. "You are cynical. I +did not know it."</p> + +<p>"No. I am not cynical. I say it only of myself. +There are many reasons. I could not marry such +a woman as I should wish to have for my wife.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +You must surely understand that. It is very easy +to understand."</p> + +<p>He made as though he would go up the ladder +to his little platform and continue his work. But +she stopped him.</p> + +<p>"What is the use of hurting your eyes?" she +asked. "It is late, and the light is bad. Besides, +I am not so sure that I understand what you mean, +though you say that it is so easy. We have never +talked about it much."</p> + +<p>He laid his palette and brushes upon a ragged +straw chair and sat down upon another, not far +from her. There was no other furniture in the +great vaulted hall, and the brick pavement was +bare, and splashed in many places with white plaster. +Fresco-painting can only be done upon stucco +just laid on, while it is still moist, and a mason +came early every day and prepared as much of the +wall as Reanda could cover before night. If he +did not paint over the whole surface, the remainder +was chipped away and freshly laid over on the following +morning.</p> + +<p>The evening light already reddened the tall +western windows, for it was autumn, and the days +were shortening quickly. Reanda knew that he +could not do much more, and sat down, to answer +Francesca's question, if he could.</p> + +<p>"I am not a gentleman, as you understand the +word," he said slowly. "And yet I am certainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +not of the class to which my father belonged. My +position is not defined. I could not marry a woman +of your class, and I should not care to marry one +of any other. That is all. Is it not clear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Francesca. "It is clear +enough. But—"</p> + +<p>She checked herself, and he looked into her face, +expecting her to continue. But she said nothing +more.</p> + +<p>"You were going to find an objection to what I +said," he observed.</p> + +<p>"No; I was not. I will say it, for you will +understand me. What you tell me is true enough, +and I am sorry that it should be so. Is it not to +some extent my fault?"</p> + +<p>"Your fault?" cried Reanda, leaning forward +and looking into her eyes. "How? I do not +understand."</p> + +<p>"I blame myself," answered Francesca, quietly. +"I have kept you out of the world, perhaps, and +in many ways. Here you live, day after day, as +though nothing else existed for you. In the morning, +long before I am awake, you come down your +staircase through that door, and go up that ladder, +and work, and work, and work, all day long, until it +is dark, as you have worked to-day, and yesterday, +and for months. And when you might and should +be out of doors, or associating with other people, +as just now, I sit and talk to you and take up all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +your leisure time. It is wrong. You ought to see +more of other men and women. Do men of genius +never marry? It seems to me absurd!"</p> + +<p>"Genius!" exclaimed Reanda, shaking his head +sadly. "Do not use the word of me."</p> + +<p>"I will do as other people do," answered Francesca. +"But that is not the question. The truth +is that you live pent up in this old house, like a +bird in a cage. I want you to spread your wings."</p> + +<p>"To go away for a time?" asked Reanda, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I did not say that. Perhaps I should. Yes, +if you could enjoy a journey, go away—for a +time."</p> + +<p>She spoke with some hesitation and rather nervously, +for he had said more than she had meant +to propose.</p> + +<p>"Just to make a change," she added, after a +moment's pause, as he said nothing. "You ought +to see more of other people, as I said. You ought +to mix with the world. You ought at least to +offer yourself the chance of marrying, even if you +think that you might not find a wife to your +taste."</p> + +<p>"If I do not find one here—" He did not complete +the sentence, but smiled a little.</p> + +<p>"Must you marry a Roman princess?" she +asked. "What should you say to a foreigner? +Is that impossible, too?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It would matter little where she came from, +if I wished to marry her," he answered. "But I +like my life as it is. Why should I try to change +it? I am happy as I am. I work, and I enjoy +working. I work for you, and you are satisfied. +It seems to me that there is nothing more to be +said. Why are you so anxious that I should +marry?"</p> + +<p>Donna Francesca laughed softly, but without +much mirth.</p> + +<p>"Because I think that in some way it is my +fault if you have not married," she said. "And +besides, I was thinking of a young girl whom I +met, or rather, saw, the other day, and who might +please you. She has the most beautiful voice in +the world, I think. She could make her fortune +as a singer, and I believe she wishes to try it. +But her father objects. They are foreigners—English +or Scotch—it is the same. She is a mere +child, they say, but she seems to be quite grown +up. There is something strange about them. He +is a man of science, I am told, but I fancy he is +one of those English enthusiasts about Italian +liberty. His name is Dalrymple."</p> + +<p>"What a name!" Reanda laughed. "I suppose +they have come to spend the winter in Rome," he +added.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I hear that they have lived here +for years. But one never meets the foreigners,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +unless they wish to be in society. His wife died +young, they say, and this girl is his only daughter. +I wish you could hear her sing!"</p> + +<p>"For that matter, I wish I might," said Reanda, +who was passionately fond of music.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Seventeen</span> years had scored their account on +Angus Dalrymple's hard face, and one great sorrow +had set an even deeper mark upon him—a +sorrow so deep and so overwhelming that none had +ever dared to speak of it to him. And he was not +the man to bear any affliction resignedly, to feed +on memory, and find rest in the dreams of what +had been. Sullenly and fiercely rebellious against +his fate, he went down life, rather than through +it, savage and silent, for the most part, Nero-like +in his wish that he could end the world at a single +blow, himself and all that lived. Yet it was +characteristic of the man that he had not chosen +suicide as a means of escape, as he would have +done in his earlier years, if Maria Addolorata had +failed him. It seemed cowardly now, and he had +never done anything cowardly in his life. Through +his grief the sense of responsibility had remained +with him, and had kept him alive. He looked +upon his existence not as a state from which he +had a right to escape, but as a personal enemy to +be fought with, to be despised, to be ill-treated +barbarously, perhaps, but still as an enemy to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +murder whom in cold blood would be an act of +cowardice.</p> + +<p>There was little more than the mere sense of the +responsibility, for he did little enough to fulfil his +obligations. His wife had borne him a daughter, +but it was not in Angus Dalrymple's nature to substitute +one being in his heart for another. He could +not love the girl simply because her mother was +dead. He could only spoil her, with a rough idea +that she should be spared all suffering as much as +possible, but that if he gave her what she wanted, +he had done all that could be expected of him. +For the rest, he lived his own life.</p> + +<p>He had a good intelligence and superior gifts, +together with considerable powers of intellectual +acquisition. He had believed in his youth that he +was destined to make great discoveries, and his +papers afterwards showed that he was really on +the track of great and new things. But with his +bereavement, all ambition as well as all curiosity +disappeared in one day from his character. Since +then he had never gone back to his studies, which +disgusted him and seemed stale and flat. He +grew rudely dogmatical when scientific matters +were discussed before him, as he had become rough, +tyrannical, and almost violent in his ordinary dealings +with the world, whenever he found any opposition +to his opinions or his will. The only exception +he made was in his treatment of his daughter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +whom he indulged in every way except in her +desire to be a public singer. It seemed to him +that to give her everything she wanted was to fulfil +all his obligations to her; in the one question +of appearing on the stage he was inflexible. He +simply refused to hear of it, rarely giving her any +reasons beyond the ordinary ones which present +themselves in such cases, and which were far from +answering the impulse of the girl's genius.</p> + +<p>They had called her Gloria in the days of their +passionate happiness. The sentimental name had +meant a great deal to them, for Dalrymple had +at that time developed that sort of uncouth sentimentality +which is in strong men like a fungus on +an oak, and disgusts them afterwards unless they +are able to forget it. The two had felt that the +glory of life was in the child, and they had named +her for it, as it were.</p> + +<p>Years afterwards Dalrymple brought the little +girl to Rome, drawn back irresistibly to the place +by that physical association of impressions which +moves such men strongly. They had remained, +keeping from year to year a lodging Dalrymple +had hired, at first hired for a few months. He +never went to Subiaco.</p> + +<p>He gave Gloria teachers, the best that could be +found, and there were good instructors in those +days when people were willing to take time in +learning. In music she had her mother's voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +and talent. Her father gave her a musician's +opportunities, and it was no wonder that she should +dream of conquering Europe from behind the footlights +as Grisi had done, and as Patti was just +about to do in her turn.</p> + +<p>She and her father spoke English together, but +Gloria was bilingual, as children of mixed marriages +often are, speaking English and Italian with equal +ease. Dalrymple found a respectable middle-aged +German governess who came daily and spent most +of the day with Gloria, teaching her and walking +with her—worshipping her, too, with that curious +faculty for idealizing the very human, which belongs +to German governesses when they like their +pupils.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple led his own life. Had he chosen to +mix in Roman society, he would have been well +received, as a member of a great Scotch family and +not very far removed from the head of his house. +No one of his relatives had ever known the truth +about his wife except his father, who had died +with the secret, and it was not likely that any one +should ask questions. If any one did, he would +certainly not satisfy such curiosity. But he cared +little for society, and spent his time either alone +with books and wine, or in occasional excursions +into the artist world, where his eccentricities excited +little remark, and where he met men who +secretly sympathized with the Italian revolutionary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +movement, and dabbled in conspiracies which +rather amused than disquieted the papal government.</p> + +<p>Though Gloria was at that time but little more +than sixteen years of age, her father took her with +him to little informal parties at the studios or even +at the houses of artists, where there was often +good music, and clever if not serious conversation. +The conventionalities of age were little regarded +in such circles. Gloria appeared, too, much older +than she really was, and her marvellous voice made +her a centre of attraction at an age when most +young girls are altogether in the background. Dalrymple +never objected to her singing on such occasions, +and he invariably listened with closed eyes +and folded hands, as though he were assisting at a +religious service. Her voice was like her mother's, +excepting that it was pitched higher, and had all +the compass and power necessary for a great +soprano. Dalrymple's almost devout attitude when +Gloria was singing was the only allusion, if one +may call it so, which he ever made to his dead +wife's existence, and no one who watched him +knew what it meant. But he was often more silent +than usual after she had sung, and he sometimes +went off by himself afterwards and sat for hours +in one of the old wine cellars near the Capitol, +drinking gloomily of the oldest and strongest he +could find. For he drank more or less perpetually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +in the evening, and wine made him melancholic +and morose, though it did not seem to affect him +otherwise. Little by little, however, it was dulling +the early keenness of his intellect, though it +hardly touched his constitution at all. He was +lean and bony still, as in the old days, but paler +in the face, and he had allowed his red beard to +grow. It was streaked with grey, and there were +small, nervous lines about his eyes, as well as deep +furrows on his forehead and face.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple had found in the artist world a man +who was something of a companion to him at +times,—a very young man, whom he could not +understand, though his own dogmatic temper made +him as a rule believe that he understood most +things and most men. But this particular individual +alternately puzzled, delighted, and irritated +the nervous Scotchman.</p> + +<p>They had made acquaintance at an artists' supper +in the previous year, had afterwards met accidentally +at the bookseller's in the Piazza di Spagna, +where they both went from time to time to look +at the English newspapers, and little by little they +had fallen into the habit of meeting there of a +morning, and of strolling in the direction of Dalrymple's +lodging afterwards. At last Dalrymple +had asked his companion to come in and look at a +book, and so the acquaintance had grown. Gloria +watched the young stranger, and at first she disliked +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>The aforesaid bookseller dealt, and deals still, +in photographs and prints, as well as in foreign +and Italian books. At the present time his establishment +is distinctively a Roman Catholic one. +In those days it was almost the only one of its +kind, and was patronized alike by Romans and +foreigners. Even Donna Francesca Campodonico +went there from time to time for a book on art or +an engraving which she and Reanda needed for +their work. They occasionally walked all the way +from the Palazzetto Borgia to the Piazza di Spagna +together in the morning. When they had found +what they wanted, Donna Francesca generally +drove home in a cab, and Reanda went to his midday +meal before returning. For the line of his +intimacy with her was drawn at this point. He +had never sat down at the same table with her, and +he never expected to do so. As the two stood to +one another at present, though Francesca would +willingly have asked him to breakfast, she would +have hesitated to do so, merely because the first invitation +would inevitably call attention to the fact +that the line had been drawn somewhere, whereas +both were willing to believe that it had never +existed at all. Under any pressure of necessity +she would have driven with him in a cab, but not +in her own carriage. They both knew it, and by +tacit consent never allowed such unknown possibilities +to suggest themselves. But in the mornings,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +there was nothing to prevent their walking together +as far as the Piazza di Spagna, or anywhere else.</p> + +<p>They went to the bookseller's one day soon after +the conversation which had led Francesca to mention +the Dalrymples. As they walked along the +east side of the great square, they saw two men +before them.</p> + +<p>"There goes the Gladiator," said Reanda to his +companion, suddenly. "There is no mistaking +his walk, even at this distance."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Francesca. "Unless +I am mistaken, the man who is a little the +taller, the one in the rough English clothes, is Mr. +Dalrymple. I spoke of him the other day, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Is that he? The other has a still more +extraordinary name. He is Paul Griggs. He is +the son of an American consul who died in Civita +Vecchia twenty years ago, and left him a sort of +waif, for he had no money and apparently no relatives. +Somehow he has grown up, Heaven knows +how, and gets a living by journalism. I believe +he was at sea for some years as a boy. He is +really as much Italian as American. I have met +him with artists and literary people."</p> + +<p>"Why do you call him the Gladiator?" asked +Francesca, with some interest.</p> + +<p>"It is a nickname he has got. Cotogni, the +sculptor, was in despair for a model last year.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +Griggs and two or three other men were in the +studio, and somebody suggested that Griggs was +very near the standard of the ancients in his proportions. +They persuaded him to let them measure +him. You know that in the 'Canons' of proportion, +the Borghese Gladiator—the one in the +Louvre—is given as the best example of an +athlete. They measured Griggs then and there, +and found that he was at all points the exact living +image of the statue. The name has stuck to him. +You see what a fellow he is, and how he walks."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he looks strong," said Francesca, watching +the man with natural curiosity.</p> + +<p>The young American was a little shorter than +Dalrymple, but evidently better proportioned. No +one could fail to notice the vast breadth of shoulder, +the firm, columnar throat, and the small athlete's +head with close-set ears. He moved without +any of that swinging motion of the upper part of +the body which is natural to many strong men and +was noticeable in Dalrymple, but there was something +peculiar in his walk, almost undefinable, but +conveying the idea of very great strength with +very great elasticity.</p> + +<p>"But he is an ugly man," observed Reanda, +almost immediately. "Ugly, but not repulsive. +You will see, if he turns his head. His face is +like a mask. It is not the face you would expect +with such a body."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How curious!" exclaimed Francesca, rather +idly, for her interest in Paul Griggs was almost +exhausted.</p> + +<p>They went on along the crowded pavement. +When they reached the bookseller's and went in, +they saw that the two men were there before them, +looking over the foreign papers, which were neatly +arranged on a little table apart. Dalrymple looked +up and recognized Francesca, to whom he had been +introduced at a small concert given for a charity +in a private house, on which occasion Gloria had +sung. He lifted his hat from his head and laid it +down upon the newspapers, when Francesca rather +unexpectedly held out her hand to him in English +fashion. He had left a card at her house on the +day after their meeting, but as she was alone in the +world, she had no means of returning the civility.</p> + +<p>"It would give me great pleasure if you would +bring your daughter to see me," she said graciously.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," answered Dalrymple, his +steely blue eyes scrutinizing her pure young features.</p> + +<p>She only glanced at him, for she was suddenly +conscious that his companion was looking at her. +He, too, had laid down his hat, and she instantly +understood what Reanda had meant by comparing +his face to a mask. The features were certainly +very far from handsome. If they were redeemed at +all, it was by the very deep-set eyes, which gazed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +into hers in a strangely steady way, as though +the lids never could droop from under the heavy +overhanging brow, and then, still unwinking, +turned in another direction. The man's complexion +was of that perfectly even but almost sallow +colour which often belongs to very strong melancholic +temperaments. His face was clean-shaven +and unnaturally square and expressionless, excepting +for such life as there was in the deep eyes. +Dark, straight, closely cut hair grew thick and +smooth as a priest's skull-cap, low on the forehead +and far forward at the temples. The level mouth, +firmly closed, divided the lower part of the face +like the scar of a straight sabre-cut. The nose +was very thick between the eyes, relatively long, +with unusually broad nostrils which ran upward +from the point to the lean cheeks. The man wore +very dark clothes of extreme simplicity, and at a +time when pins and chains were much in fashion, +he had not anything visible about him of gold or +silver. He wore his watch on a short, doubled +piece of black silk braid slipped through his +buttonhole. He dressed almost as though he +were in mourning.</p> + +<p>Francesca unconsciously looked at him so intently +for a moment that Dalrymple thought it +natural to introduce him, fancying that she might +have heard of him and might wish to know him +out of curiosity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"May I introduce Mr. Griggs?" he said, with +the stiff inclination which was a part of his manner.</p> + +<p>Griggs bowed, and Donna Francesca bent her +head a little. Reanda came up and shook hands +with the American, and Francesca introduced the +artist to Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>"I have long wished to have the pleasure of +knowing you, Signor Reanda," said the latter. +"We have many mutual acquaintances among the +artists here. I may say that I am a great admirer +of your work, and my daughter, too, for that +matter."</p> + +<p>Reanda said something civil as his hand parted +from the Scotchman's. Francesca saw an opportunity +of bringing Reanda and Gloria together.</p> + +<p>"As you like Signor Reanda's painting so much," +she said to Dalrymple, "will you not bring your +daughter this afternoon to see the frescoes he is +doing in my house? You know the Palazzetto? +Of course—you left a card, but I had no one to +return it," she added rather sadly. "Will you +also come, Mr. Griggs?" she asked, turning to the +American. "It will give me much pleasure, and +I see you know Signor Reanda. This afternoon, +if you like, at any time after four o'clock."</p> + +<p>Both Dalrymple and Griggs secretly wondered +a little at receiving such an invitation from a +Roman lady whom the one had met but once before,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +and to whom the other had but just been introduced. +But they bowed their thanks, and promised +to come.</p> + +<p>After a few more words they separated, Francesca +and Reanda to pick out the engraving they wanted, +and the other two men to return to their newspapers. +By and bye Francesca passed them again, +on her way out.</p> + +<p>"I shall expect you after four o'clock," she said, +nodding graciously as she went by.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple looked after her, till she had left the +shop.</p> + +<p>"That woman is not like other women, I think," +he said thoughtfully, to his companion.</p> + +<p>The mask-like face turned itself deliberately +towards him, with shadowy, unwinking eyes.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Griggs, and he slowly took up +his paper again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Donna Francesca</span> received her three guests in +the drawing-room, on the side of the house which +she inhabited. Reanda was at his work in the +great hall.</p> + +<p>Gloria entered first, followed closely by her +father, and Francesca was dazzled by the young +girl's brilliancy of colour and expression, though +she had seen her once before. As she came in, the +afternoon sun streamed upon her face and turned +her auburn hair to red gold, and gleamed upon her +small white teeth as her strong lips parted to speak +the first words. She was tall and supple, graceful +as a panther, and her voice rang and whispered +and rang again in quick changes of tone, like a +waterfall in the woods in summer. With much of +her mother's beauty, she had inherited from her +father the violent vitality of his youth. Yet she +was not noisy, though her manners were not like +Francesca's. Her voice rippled and rang, but she +did not speak too loud. She moved swiftly and +surely, but not with rude haste. Nevertheless, it +seemed to Francesca that there must be some +exaggeration somewhere. The elder woman at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +first set it down as a remnant of schoolgirl shyness, +and then at once felt that she was mistaken, +because there was not the smallest awkwardness +nor lack of self-possession about it. The contrast +between the young girl and Paul Griggs was so +striking as to be almost violent. He was cold and +funereal in his leonine strength, and his face was +more like a mask than ever as he bowed and sat +down in silence. When he did not remind her of +a gladiator, he made her think of a black lion with +a strange, human face, and eyes that were not +exactly human, though they did not remind her +of any animal's eyes which she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>As for Dalrymple, she thought that he was +singularly haggard and worn for a man apparently +only in middle age. There was a certain imposing +air about him, which she liked. Besides, she +rarely met foreigners, and they interested her. +She noticed that both men wore black coats and +carried their tall hats in their hands. They were +therefore not artists, nor to be classed with artists. +She was still young enough to judge them to some +extent by details, to which people attached a good +deal more importance at that time than at present. +She made up her mind in the course of the next +few minutes that both Dalrymple and Griggs belonged +to her own class, though she did not ask +herself where the young American had got his manners. +But somehow, though Gloria fascinated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +her eyes and her ears, she set down the girl as +being inferior to her father. She wondered +whether Gloria's mother had not been an actress; +which was a curious reflexion, considering that the +dead woman had been of her own house and name.</p> + +<p>After exchanging a few words with her guests, +Francesca suggested that they should cross to the +other side and see the frescoes, adding that Reanda +was probably still at work.</p> + +<p>"You know him, Mr. Griggs?" she said, as they +all rose to leave the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, "as one man knows another."</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" asked Francesca, moving +towards the door to lead the way.</p> + +<p>"It does not mean much," replied the young man, +with curious ambiguity.</p> + +<p>He was very gentle in his manner, and spoke in +a low voice and rather diffidently. She looked at +him as though mentally determining to renew the +question at some other time. Her first impression +was that of a sort of duality about the man, as she +found the possibility of a double meaning in his +answer. His magnificent frame seemed to belong +to one person, his voice and manner to another. +Both might be good in their way, but her curiosity +was excited by the side which was the less apparent.</p> + +<p>They all went through the house till they came +to a door which divided the inhabited part from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +hall in which Reanda was working. She knocked +gently upon it with her knuckles, and then smiled +as she saw Gloria looking at her.</p> + +<p>"We keep it locked," she said. "The masons +come in the morning to lay on the stucco. One +never trusts those people. Signor Reanda keeps +the key of this door."</p> + +<p>The artist opened from within, and stood aside +to let the party pass. He started perceptibly +when he first saw Gloria. As a boy he had seen +Maria Braccio more than once before she had +entered the convent, and he was struck by the +girl's strong resemblance to her. Francesca, following +Gloria, saw his movement of surprise, and +attributed it merely to admiration or astonishment +such as she had felt herself a quarter of an hour +earlier. She smiled a little as she went by, and +Reanda knew that the smile was for him because +he had shown surprise. He understood the misinterpretation, +and resented it a little.</p> + +<p>But she knew Reanda well, and before ten minutes +had passed she had convinced herself that he +was repelled rather than attracted by the young +girl, in spite of the latter's undisguised admiration +of his work. It was not mere unintelligent +enthusiasm, either, and he might well have been +pleased and flattered by her unaffected praise.</p> + +<p>She was interested, too, in the technical mechanics +of fresco-painting, which she had never before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +been able to see at close quarters. Everything +interested Gloria, and especially everything connected +with art. As soon as they had all spoken +their first words of compliment and appreciation, +she entered into conversation with the painter, +asking him all sorts of questions, and listening +earnestly to what he said, until he realized that +she was certainly not assuming an appearance of +admiration for the sake of flattering him.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Francesca talked with Griggs, and +Dalrymple, having gone slowly round the hall +alone after all the others, came and stood beside +the two and watched Francesca, occasionally +offering a rather dry remark in a somewhat +absent-minded way. It was all rather commonplace +and decidedly quiet, and he was not much +amused, though from time to time he seemed to +become absorbed in studying Francesca's face, as +though he saw something there which was past his +comprehension. She noticed that he watched her, +and felt a little uncomfortable under his steely +blue eyes, so that she turned her head and talked +more with Griggs than with him. Remembering +what Reanda had told her of the young man's +origin, she did not like to ask him the common +questions about residence in Rome and his liking +for Italy. She was self-possessed and ready enough +at conversation, and she chose to talk of general +subjects. They talked in Italian, of course. Dalrymple,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +as of old, spoke fluently, but with a strange +accent. Any one would have taken Paul Griggs +for a Roman. At last, almost in spite of herself, +she made a remark about his speech.</p> + +<p>"I was born here," answered Griggs. "It is +much more remarkable that Miss Dalrymple should +speak Italian as she does, having been born in +Scotland."</p> + +<p>"Are you talking about me?" asked the young +girl, turning her head quickly, though she was +standing with Reanda at some distance from the +others.</p> + +<p>"I was speaking of your accent in Italian," said +Griggs.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything wrong about it?" asked +Gloria, with an anxiety that seemed exaggerated.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," answered Donna Francesca, +"Mr. Griggs was telling me how perfectly you +speak. But I had noticed it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I thought Mr. Griggs was finding fault," +answered Gloria, turning to Reanda again.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple looked at his daughter as though he +were annoyed. The eyes of Francesca and Griggs +met for a moment. All three were aware that they +resented the young girl's quick question as one +which they themselves would not have asked in +her place, had they accidentally heard their names +mentioned in a distant conversation. But Francesca +instantly went on with the subject.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To us Italians," she said, "it seems incredible +that any one should speak our language and English +equally well. It is as though you were two persons, +Mr. Griggs," she added, smiling at the covered +expression of her thought about him.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes think so myself," answered Griggs, +with one of his steady looks. "In a way, every +one must have a sort of duality—a good and evil +principle."</p> + +<p>"God and the devil," suggested Francesca, +simply.</p> + +<p>"Body and soul would do, I suppose. The one +is always in slavery to the other. The result is +a sinner or a saint, as the case may be. One never +can tell," he added more carelessly. "I am not +sure that it matters. But one can see it. The +battle is fought in the face."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand. What battle?"</p> + +<p>"The battle between body and soul. The face +tells which way the fight is going."</p> + +<p>She looked at his own, and she felt that she could +not tell. But to a certain extent she understood +him.</p> + +<p>"Griggs is full of theories," observed Dalrymple. +"Gloria, come down!" he cried in English, suddenly.</p> + +<p>Gloria, intent upon understanding how fresco-painting +was done, was boldly mounting the steps +of the ladder towards the top of the little scaffolding,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +which might have been fourteen feet high. +For the vault had long been finished, and Reanda +was painting the walls.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, papa!" answered the young girl, +also in English. "There's no danger at all."</p> + +<p>"Well—don't break your neck," said Dalrymple. +"I wish you would come down, though."</p> + +<p>Francesca was surprised at his indifference, and +at his daughter's calm disregard of his authority. +Timid, too, as most Italian women of higher rank, +she watched the girl nervously. Griggs raised his +eyes without lifting his head.</p> + +<p>"Gloria is rather wild," said Dalrymple, in a +sort of apology. "I hope you will forgive her—she +is so much interested."</p> + +<p>"Oh—if she wishes to see, let her go, of +course," answered Francesca, concealing a little +nervous irritation she felt.</p> + +<p>A moment later Gloria and Reanda were on the +small platform, on one side of which only there was +a hand rail. It had been made for him, and his +head was steady even at a much greater elevation. +He was pointing out to her the way in which the +colours slowly changed as the stucco dried from +day to day, and explaining how it was impossible +to see the effect of what was done until all was +completely dry. The others continued to talk +below, but Griggs glanced up from time to time, +and Francesca's eyes followed his. Dalrymple<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +had become indifferent, allowing his daughter to +do what she pleased, as usual.</p> + +<p>When Gloria had seen all she wished to see, she +turned with a quick movement to come down again, +and on turning, she found herself much nearer to +the edge than she had expected. She was bending +forwards a little, and Griggs saw at once that she +must lose her balance, unless Reanda caught her +from behind. But she made no sound, and turned +very white as she swayed a little, trying to throw +herself back.</p> + +<p>With a swift movement that was gentle but irresistible, +Griggs pushed Francesca back, keeping +his eyes on the girl above. It all happened in an +instant.</p> + +<p>"Jump!" he cried, in a voice of command.</p> + +<p>She had felt that she must spring or fall, and +her body was already overbalanced as she threw +herself off, instinctively gathering her skirt with +her hands. Dalrymple turned as pale as she. If +she struck the bare brick floor, she could scarcely +escape serious injury. But she did not reach it, +for Paul Griggs caught her in his arms, swayed +with her weight, then stood as steady as a rock, +and set her gently upon her feet, beside her father.</p> + +<p>"Maria Santissima!" cried Francesca, terrified, +though instantly relieved, and dimly understanding +the stupendous feat of bodily strength which +had just been done before her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p>Above, Reanda leaned upon the single rail of +the scaffolding with wide-staring eyes. Gloria was +faint with the shock of fear, and grasped her +father's arm.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he said +roughly, in English, but in a low voice. "You +probably owe your life to Mr. Griggs," he added, +immediately regaining his self-possession.</p> + +<p>Griggs alone seemed wholly unmoved by what +had happened. Gloria had held one of her gloves +loosely in her hand, and it had fallen to the ground +as she sprang. He picked it up and handed it to +her with a curious gentleness.</p> + +<p>"It must be yours, Miss Dalrymple," he said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was late before Reanda and Donna Francesca +were alone together on that afternoon. +When the first surprise and shock of Gloria's +accident had passed, Francesca would not allow +Dalrymple to take her away at once, as he seemed +anxious to do. The girl was not in the least hurt, +but she was still dazed and frightened. Francesca +took them all back to the drawing-room and insisted +upon giving them tea, because they were foreigners, +and Gloria, she said, must naturally need something +to restore her nerves. Roman tea, thirty +years ago, was a strange and uncertain beverage, +as both Gloria and her father knew, but they +drank what Francesca gave them, and at last +went away with many apologies for the disturbance +they had made. To tell the truth, Francesca +was glad when they were gone and she was at +liberty to return to the hall where Reanda was +still at work. She found him nervous and irritated. +He came down from the scaffolding as +soon as he heard her open the door. Neither spoke +until she had seated herself in her accustomed +chair, with a very frank sigh of relief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am very grateful to you, Donna Francesca," +said Reanda, twisting his beard round his long, +thin fingers, as he glanced at her and then surveyed +his work.</p> + +<p>"It was your fault," she answered, tapping the +worm-eaten arms of the old chair with both her +white hands, for she herself was still annoyed and +irritated. "Do not make me responsible for the +girl's folly."</p> + +<p>"Responsibility! May that never be!" exclaimed +the artist, in the common Italian phrase, +but with a little irony. "But as for the responsibility, +I do not know whose it was. It was certainly +not I who invited the young lady to go up +the ladder."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was her fault. Besides, the absent +are always wrong. But she is handsome, is she +not?"</p> + +<p>Reanda shrugged his thin shoulders, and looked +critically at his hands, which were smeared with +paint.</p> + +<p>"Very handsome," he said indifferently. "But +it is a beauty that says nothing to me. One must +be young to like that kind of beauty. She is a +beautiful storm, that young lady. For one who +seeks peace—" He shrugged his shoulders again. +"And then, her manners! I do not understand +English, but I know that her father was telling +her to come down, and yet she went up. I do not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +know what education these foreigners have. Instruction, +yes, as much as you please; but education, +no. They have no more than barbarians. +The father says, 'You must not do that.' And +the daughter does it. What education is that? +Of course, if they were friends of yours, I should +not say it."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless that girl is very handsome," insisted +Francesca. "She has the Venetian colouring. +Titian would have painted her just as she is, +without changing anything."</p> + +<p>"Beauty, beauty!" exclaimed Reanda, impatiently. +"Of course, it is beauty! Food for the +brush, that says nothing to the heart. The devil +can also take the shape of a beautiful woman. +That is it. There is something in that young +lady's face—how shall I say? It pleases me—little! +You must forgive me, princess. My +nerves are shaken. Divine goodness! To see a +young girl flying through the air like Simon +Magus! It was enough!"</p> + +<p>Francesca laughed gently. Reanda shook his +head with slow disapprobation, and frowned.</p> + +<p>"I say the truth," he said. "There is something—I +cannot explain. But I can show you," +he added quickly.</p> + +<p>He took up his palette and brushes from the +chair on which they lay, and reached the white +plastered wall in two steps.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Paint her," said Francesca, to encourage him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will show her to you—as I think she +is," he answered.</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes for a moment, calling up the +image before him, then went back to the chair and +took a quantity of colour from a tube which lay, +with half-a-dozen others, in the hollow of the rush +seat. They were not the colours he used for fresco-painting, +but had been left there when he had +made a sketch of a head two or three days previously. +In a moment he was before the wall +again. It was roughly plastered from the floor to +the lower line of the frescoes. With a long, coarse +brush he began to sketch a gigantic head of a +woman. The oil paint lay well on the rough, dry +surface. He worked in great strokes at the full +length of his arm.</p> + +<p>"Make her beautiful, at least," said Francesca, +watching him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—very beautiful," he answered.</p> + +<p>He worked rapidly for a few minutes, smiling, +as his hand moved, but not pleasantly. Francesca +thought there was an evil look in his face which +she had never seen there before, and that his smile +was wicked and spiteful.</p> + +<p>"But you are painting a sunset!" she cried +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"A sunset? That is her hair. It is red, and +she has much of it. Wait a little."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>And he went on. It was certainly something +like a sunset, the bright, waving streamers of the +clouds flying far to right and left, and blending +away to the neutral tint of the dry plaster as +though to a grey sky.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it is still a sunset," said Francesca. +"I have seen it like that from the Campagna in +winter."</p> + +<p>"She is not 'Gloria' for nothing," answered +Reanda. "I am making her glorious. You shall +see."</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with another tone, he brought out the +main features of the striking face, by throwing in +strong shadows from the flaming hair. Francesca +became more interested. The head was colossal, +extraordinary, almost unearthly; the expression +was strange.</p> + +<p>"What a monster!" exclaimed Francesca at last, +as he stood aside, still touching the enormous +sketch here and there with his long brush, at +arm's length. "It is terrible," she added, in a +lower tone.</p> + +<p>"Truth is always terrible," answered Reanda. +"But you cannot say that it is not like her."</p> + +<p>"Horribly like. It is diabolical!"</p> + +<p>"And yet it is a beautiful head," said the artist. +"Perhaps you are too near." He himself crossed +the hall, and then turned round to look at his +work. "It is better from here," he said. "Will +you come?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>She went to his side. The huge face and wildly +streaming hair stood out as though in three dimensions +from the wall. The great, strong mouth +smiled at her with a smile that was at once evil +and sad and fatal. The strange eyes looked her +through and through from beneath the vast brow.</p> + +<p>"It is diabolical, satanical!" she responded, +under her breath.</p> + +<p>Reanda still smiled wickedly and watched her. +The face seemed to grow and grow till it filled the +whole range of vision. The dark eyes flashed; +the lips trembled; the flaming hair quivered and +waved and curled up like snakes that darted +hither and thither. Yet it was horribly like +Gloria, and the fresh, rich oil colours gave it her +startling and vivid brilliancy.</p> + +<p>It was the sudden and enormous expression of a +man of genius, strung and stung, till irritation had +to find its explosion through the one art of which +he was absolute master—in a fearful caricature +exaggerating beauty itself to the bounds of the +devilish.</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear it!" cried Francesca.</p> + +<p>She snatched the big brush from his hand, and, +running lightly across the room, dashed the colour +left in it across the face in all directions, over the +eyes and the mouth, and through the long red +hair. In ten seconds nothing remained but confused +daubs and splashes of brilliant paint.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There!" cried Francesca. "And I wish I had +never seen it!"</p> + +<p>Still holding the brush in her hand, she turned +her back to the obliterated sketch and faced Reanda, +with a look of girlish defiance and satisfaction. His +face was grave now, but he seemed pleased with +what he had done.</p> + +<p>"It makes no difference," he said. "You will +never forget it."</p> + +<p>He felt that he was revenged for the smile she +had bestowed upon his apparent surprise at Gloria's +beauty, when she had followed the girl into the +hall, and had seen him start. He could not conceal +his triumph.</p> + +<p>"That is the young lady whom you thought I +might wish to marry," he said. "You know me +little after so many years, Donna Francesca. You +have bestowed much kindness upon a man whom +you do not know."</p> + +<p>"My dear Reanda, who can understand you? +But as for kindness, do not let me hear the word +between you and me. It has no meaning. We are +always good friends, as we were when I was a little +girl and used to play with your paints. You have +given me far more than I can ever repay you for, +in your works. I do not flatter you, my friend. +Cupid and Psyche, there in your frescoes, will outlive +me and be famous when I am forgotten—yet +they are mine, are they not? And you gave them +to me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sweet young face turned to him with an unaffected, +grateful smile. His sad features softened +all at once.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Donna Francesca," he said gently, "you +have given me something better than Cupid and +Psyche, for your gift will live forever in heaven."</p> + +<p>She looked thoughtfully into his eyes, but with +a sort of question in her own.</p> + +<p>"Your dear friendship," he added, bending his +head a little. Then he laughed suddenly. "Do +not give me a wife," he concluded.</p> + +<p>"And you, Reanda—do not make wicked caricatures +of women you have only seen once! Besides, +I go back to it again. I saw you start when +she passed you at the door. You were surprised +at her beauty. You must admit that. And then, +because you are irritated with her, you take a +brush and daub that monstrous thing upon the +wall! It is a shame!"</p> + +<p>"I started, yes. It was not because she struck +me as beautiful. It was something much more +strange. Do you know? She is the very portrait +of Donna Maria, who was in the Carmelite convent +at Subiaco, and who was burned to death. I have +often told you that I remembered having seen her +when I was a boy, both at Gerano and at the +Palazzo Braccio, before she took the veil. There is a +little difference in the colouring, I think, and much +in the expression. But the rest—it is the image!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>Francesca, who could not remember her ill-fated +kinswoman, was not much impressed by Reanda's +statement.</p> + +<p>"It makes your caricature all the worse," she +answered, "since it was also a caricature of that +holy woman. As for the resemblance, after all +these years, it is a mere impression. Who knows? +It may be. There is no portrait of Sister Maria +Addolorata."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I remember well!" insisted Reanda.</p> + +<p>"Well, it concludes nothing, after all," returned +Francesca, with much logic. "It does not make a +fiend of the poor nun, who is an angel by this time, +and it does not make Miss Dalrymple less beautiful. +And now, Signor Painter," she added, with +another girlish laugh, "if we have quarrelled enough +to restore your nerves, I am going out. It is almost +dark, and I have to go to the Austrian Embassy +before dinner, and the carriage has been waiting +for an hour."</p> + +<p>"You, princess!" exclaimed Reanda, in surprise; +for she had not begun to go into the world yet since +her husband's death.</p> + +<p>"It is not a reception. We are to meet there +about arranging another of those charity concerts +for the deaf and dumb."</p> + +<p>"I might have known," answered the painter. +"As for me, I shall go to the theatre to-night. +There is the Trovatore."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is a new thing for you, too. But I am +glad. Amuse yourself, and tell me about the singing +to-morrow. Remember to lock the door and +take the key. I do not trust the masons in the +morning."</p> + +<p>"Do I ever forget?" asked Reanda. "But I +will lock it now, as you go out; for it is late, and +I shall go upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Good night," said Francesca, as she turned to +leave the room.</p> + +<p>"And you forgive the caricature?" asked Reanda, +holding the door open for her to pass.</p> + +<p>"I would forgive you many things," she answered, +smiling as she went by.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> those days the Trovatore was not an old-fashioned +opera. It was not 'threshed-out,' to +borrow the vigorous German phrase. Wagner +had not eclipsed melody with 'tone-poetry,' nor +made men feel more than they could hear. Many +of the great things of this century-ending had not +been done then, nor even dreamed of, and even +musicians listened to the Trovatore with pleasure, +not dreaming of the untried strength that lay waiting +in Verdi's vast reserve. It was then the +music of youth. To us it seems but the music of +childhood. Many of us cannot listen to Manrico's +death-song from the tower without hearing the +grind-organ upon which its passion has grown so +pathetically poor. But one could understand that +music. The mere statement that it was comprehensible +raises a smile to-day. It appealed to simple +feelings. We are no longer satisfied with such +simplicity, and even long for powers that do not +appeal, but twist us with something stronger than +our hardened selves, until we ourselves appeal to +the unknown, in a sort of despairing ecstasy of +unsatisfied delight, asking of possibility to stretch +itself out to the impossible. We are in a strange<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +phase of development. We see the elaborately +artificial world-scape painted by Science on the +curtain close before our eyes, but our restless +hands are thrust through it and beyond, opening +eagerly and shutting on nothing, though we know +that something is there.</p> + +<p>Angelo Reanda was passionately fond of what +was called music in Italy more than thirty years +ago. He had the true ear and the facile memory +for melody common to Italians, who are a singing +people, if not a musical race, and which constituted +a talent for music when music was considered to +be a succession of sounds rather than a series of +sensuous impressions. He could listen to an opera, +understand it without thought, enjoy it simply, and +remember it without difficulty, like thousands of +other Romans. Most of us would willingly go back +to such childlike amusements if we could. A few +possess the power even now, and are looked upon +with friendly contempt by their more cultured, and +therefore more tortured, musical acquaintances, +whose dream it is to be torn to very rags in the +delirium of orchestral passion.</p> + +<p>Reanda went to the Apollo Theatre in search of +merely pleasurable sensations, and he got exactly +what he wanted. The old house was brilliant even +in those days, less with light than with jewels, it +is true, but perhaps that illumination was as good +as any other. The Roman ladies and the ladies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +of the great embassies used then to sit through +the whole evening in their boxes, and it was the +privilege, as it is still in Rome, of the men in +the stalls and pit to stand up between the acts +and admire them and their diamonds as much as +they pleased. The light was dim enough, compared +with what we have nowadays; for gas was +but just introduced in a few of the principal streets, +and the lamps in the huge chandelier at the Apollo, +and in the brackets around the house, were filled +with the olive oil which to-day dresses the world's +salad. But it was a soft warm light, with rich +yellow in it, which penetrated the shadows and +beautified all it touched.</p> + +<p>Reanda, like the others, stood up and looked +about him after the first act. His eyes were instantly +arrested by Gloria's splendid hair, which +caught the light from above. She was seated in +the front of a box on the third tier, the second row +of boxes being almost exclusively reserved in those +days. Dalrymple was beside his daughter, and +the dark, still face of Paul Griggs was just visible +in the shadow.</p> + +<p>Gloria saw the artist almost immediately, for he +could not help looking at her curiously, comparing +her face with the mad sketch he had made on the +wall. She nodded to him, and then spoke to her +father, evidently calling his attention to Reanda, +for Dalrymple looked down at once, and also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +nodded, while Griggs leaned forward a little and +stared vacantly into the pit.</p> + +<p>"It is an obsession to-day," said Reanda to himself, +reflecting that though the girl lived in Rome +he had never noticed her before, and had now seen +her twice on the same day.</p> + +<p>He mentally added the reflexion that she must +have good nerves, and that most young girls would +be at home with a headache after such a narrow +escape as hers. She was quite as handsome as he +had thought, however, and even more so, now that +he saw her in her girlish evening gown, which was +just a little open at the throat, and without even +the simplest of ornaments. The white material +and the shadow around and behind her threw her +head into strong relief.</p> + +<p>The curtain went up again, and Reanda sat down +and watched the performance and listened to the +simple, stirring melodies. But he was uncomfortably +conscious that Gloria was looking at the back +of his head from her box. Nervous people know +the unpleasant sensation which such a delusion can +produce. Reanda moved uneasily in his seat, and +looked round more than once, just far enough to +catch sight of Gloria's hair without looking up into +her eyes.</p> + +<p>His thoughts were disturbed, and he recalled +vividly the face of the dead nun, which he had +seen long ago. The resemblance was certainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +strong. Maria Addolorata had sometimes had a +strange expression which was quite her own, and +which he had not yet seen in Gloria. But he felt +that he should see it some day. He was sure of it, +so sure that he had thrown its full force into the +sketch on the wall, knowing that it would startle +Donna Francesca. It was not possible that two +women should be so much alike and yet that one +of them should never have that look. Perhaps +Gloria had it now and was staring at the back of +his head.</p> + +<p>An unaccountable nervousness took possession +of the sensitive man, and he suffered as he sat +there. After the curtain dropped he rose and +left the theatre without looking up, and crossed +the narrow street to a little coffee shop familiar +to him for many years. He drank a cup of +coffee, broke off the end of a thin black Roman +cigar, and smoked for a few minutes before he +returned.</p> + +<p>Gloria had not moved, but Griggs was either +gone or had retired further back into the shadow. +Dalrymple was leaning back in his chair, bony and +haggard, one of his great hands hanging listlessly +over the front of the box. Reanda sat down again, +and determined that he would not turn round before +the end of the act. But it was of no use. He +irritated his neighbours on each side by his restlessness, +and his forehead was moist as though he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +were suffering great pain. Again he faced about +and stared upwards at the box. Gloria, to his surprise, +was not looking at him, but in the shadow +he met the inscrutable eyes of Paul Griggs, fixed +upon him as though they would never look away. +But he cared very little whether Griggs looked at +him or not. He faced the stage again and was +more quiet.</p> + +<p>It was a good performance, and he began to be +glad that he had come. The singers were young, +the audience was inclined to applaud, and everything +went smoothly. Reanda thought the soprano +rather weak in the great tower scene.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Calpesta il mio cadavere, ma salva il Trovator!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>she sang in great ascending intervals.</div> + +<p>Reanda sighed, for she made no impression on +him, and he remembered that he had been deeply +impressed, even thrilled, when he had first heard +the phrase. He had realized the situation then +and had felt with Leonora. Perhaps he had grown +too old to feel that sort of young emotion any +more. He sighed regretfully as he rose from his +seat. Looking up once more, he saw that Gloria +was putting on her cloak, her back turned to the +theatre. He waited a moment and then moved on +with the crowd, to get his coat from the cloak-room.</p> + +<p>He went out and walked slowly up the Via di<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +Tordinona. It was a dark and narrow street in +those days. The great old-fashioned lanterns were +swung up with their oil lamps in them, by long +levers held in place by chains locked to the wall. +Here and there over a low door a red light showed +that wine was sold in a basement which was almost +a cellar. The crowd from the theatre hurried along +close by the walls, in constant danger from the big +coaches that dashed past, bringing the Roman +ladies home, for all had to pass through that +narrow street. Landaus were not yet invented, +and the heavy carriages rumbled loudly through +the darkness, over the small paving-stones. But +the people on foot were used to them, and stood +pressed against the walls as they went by, or +grouped for a moment on the low doorsteps of the +dark houses.</p> + +<p>Reanda went with the rest. He might have +gone the other way, by the Banchi Vecchi, from +the bridge of Sant' Angelo, and it would have been +nearer, but he had a curious fancy that the Dalrymples +might walk home, and that he might see +Gloria again. Though it was not yet winter, the +night was bright and cold, and it was pleasant to +walk. The regular season at the Apollo Theatre +did not begin until Christmas, but there were often +good companies there at other times of the year.</p> + +<p>The artist walked on, glancing at the groups he +passed in the dim street, but neither pausing nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +hurrying. He meant to let fate have her own way +with him that night.</p> + +<p>Fate was not far off. He had gone on some distance, +and the crowd had dispersed in various +directions, till he was almost alone as he emerged +into the open space where the Via del Clementino +intersects the Ripetta. At that moment he heard +a wild and thrilling burst of song.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Calpesta il mio cadavere, ma salva il Trovator!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>The great soprano rang out upon the midnight +silence, like the voice of a despairing archangel, +and there was nothing more.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" exclaimed a man's voice energetically.</p> + +<p>Two or three windows were opened high up, for +no one had ever heard such a woman's voice in the +streets before. Reanda peered before him through +the gloom, saw three people standing at the next +corner, and hastened his long steps. An instinct +he could not explain told him that Gloria had sung +the short strain, which had left him cold and indifferent +when he had heard it in the theatre. He +was neither now, and he was possessed by the +desire to be sure that it had been she.</p> + +<p>He was not mistaken. Griggs had recognized +him first, and they had waited for him at the +corner.</p> + +<p>"It is an unexpected pleasure to meet twice in +the same day," said Reanda.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The pleasure is ours," answered Dalrymple, in +the correct phrase, but with his peculiar accent. +"I suppose you heard my daughter's screams," he +added drily. "She was explaining to us how a +particular phrase should be sung."</p> + +<p>"Was I not right?" asked Gloria, quickly appealing +to Reanda with the certainty of support.</p> + +<p>"A thousand times right," he answered. "How +could one be wrong with such a voice?"</p> + +<p>Gloria was pleased, and they all walked on together +till they reached the door of Dalrymple's +lodging.</p> + +<p>"Come in and have supper with us," said the +Scotchman, who seemed to be less gloomy than +usual. "I suppose you live in our neighbourhood?"</p> + +<p>"No. In the Palazzetto Borgia, where I work."</p> + +<p>"This is not exactly on your way home, then," +observed Gloria. "You may as well rest and +refresh yourself."</p> + +<p>Reanda accepted the invitation, wondering inwardly +at the assurance of the foreign girl. With +her Italian speech she should have had Italian +manners, he thought. The three men all carried +tapers, as was then customary, and they all lit them +before they ascended the dark staircase.</p> + +<p>"This is an illumination," said Dalrymple, looking +back as he led the way.</p> + +<p>Gloria stopped suddenly, and looked round. +She was following her father, and Reanda came +after her, Griggs being the last.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"One, two, three," she counted, and her eyes +met Reanda's.</p> + +<p>Without the slightest hesitation, she blew out +the taper he held in his hand. But, for one instant, +he had seen in her face the expression of the dead +nun, distinct in the clear light, and close to his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why did you do that?" asked Dalrymple, who +had turned his head again, as the taper was +extinguished.</p> + +<p>"Three lights mean death," said Gloria, promptly; +and she laughed, as she went quickly up the +steps.</p> + +<p>"It is true," answered Reanda, in a low voice, +as he followed her; and it occurred to him that in +a flash he had seen death written in the brilliant +young face.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, they were seated around the +table in the Dalrymples' small dining-room. Reanda +noticed that everything he saw there evidently +belonged to the hired lodging, from the +old-fashioned Italian silver forks, battered and +crooked at the prongs, to the heavy cut-glass decanters, +stained with age and use, at the neck, +and between the diamond-shaped cuttings. There +was supper enough for half-a-dozen people, however, +and an extraordinary quantity of wine. +Dalrymple swallowed a big tumbler of it before +he ate anything. Paul Griggs filled his glass to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +the brim, and looked at it. He had hardly spoken +since Reanda had joined the party.</p> + +<p>The artist made an effort to be agreeable, feeling +that the invitation had been a very friendly one, +considering the slight acquaintance he had with +the Dalrymples, an acquaintance not yet twenty-four +hours old. Presently he asked Gloria if she +had felt no ill effects from her extraordinary accident +in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I had not thought about it again," she answered. +"I have thought of nothing but your +painting all the evening, until that woman sang +that phrase as though she were asking the Conte di +Luna for more strawberries and cream."</p> + +<p>She laughed, but her eyes were fixed on his face.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"'Un altro po' di fravole, e dammi crema ancor,'"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>she sang softly, in the Roman dialect.</div> + +<p>Then she laughed again, and Reanda smiled at +the absurd words—"A few more strawberries, +and give me some more cream." But even the +few notes, a lazy parody of the prima donna's +singing of the phrase, charmed his simple love of +melody.</p> + +<p>"Don't look so grim, papa," she said in English. +"Nobody can hear me here, you know."</p> + +<p>"I should not think anybody would wish to," +answered the Scotchman; but he spoke in Italian, +in consideration of his guest, who did not understand +English.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not know why you are always so angry +if I sing anything foolish," said the young girl, +going back to Italian. "One cannot be always +serious. But I was talking about your frescoes, +Signor Reanda. I have thought of nothing else."</p> + +<p>Again her eyes met the artist's, but fell before +his. He was too great a painter not to know the +value of such flattering speeches in general, and +in a way he was inclined to resent the girl's boldness. +But at the same time, it was hard to believe +that she was not really in earnest, for she had that +power of sudden gravity which lends great weight +to little speeches. In spite of himself, and perhaps +rightly, he believed her. Paul Griggs did +not, and he watched her curiously.</p> + +<p>"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, +turning upon him with a little show of temper.</p> + +<p>"If your father will allow me to say so, you are +the object most worth looking at in the room," +answered the young man, calmly.</p> + +<p>"You will make her vain with your pretty +speeches, Griggs," said Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>"I doubt that," answered Griggs.</p> + +<p>He relapsed into silence, and drained a big tumbler +of wine. Reanda suspected, with a shrewd +intuition, that the American admired Gloria, but +that she did not like him much.</p> + +<p>"Miss Dalrymple is doing her best to make me +vain with her praise," said Reanda.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I never flattered any one in my life," answered +Gloria. "Signor Reanda is the greatest painter +in Italy. Everybody says so. It would be foolish +of me to even pretend that after seeing him at +work I had thought of anything else. We have +all said, this evening, that the frescoes were wonderful, +and that no one, not even Raphael, who +did the same thing, has ever had a more beautiful +idea of the history of Cupid and Psyche. Why +should we not tell the truth, just because he +happens to be here? How illogical you are!"</p> + +<p>"I believe I excepted Raphael," said Dalrymple, +with his national accuracy. "But Signor Reanda +will not quarrel with me on that account, I am +sure."</p> + +<p>"But I did not except Raphael, nor any one," +persisted Gloria, before Reanda could speak.</p> + +<p>"Really, Signorina, though I am mortal and +susceptible, you go a little too far. Flattery is +not appreciation, you know."</p> + +<p>"It is not flattery," she answered, and the colour +rose in her face. "I am quite in earnest. Nobody +ever painted anything better than your Cupid and +Psyche. Raphael's is dull and uninteresting compared +with it."</p> + +<p>"I blush, but I cannot accept so much," said the +Italian, smiling politely, but still trying to discover +whether she meant what she said or not.</p> + +<p>In spite of himself, as before, he continued to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +believe her, though his judgment told him that +hers could not be worth much. But he was pleased +to have made such an impression, and by quick +degrees his prejudice against her began to disappear. +What had seemed like boldness in her no +longer shocked him, and he described it to himself +as the innocent frankness of a foreign girl. It +was not possible that any one so like the dead +Maria Braccio could be vulgar or bold. From +that moment he began to rank Gloria as belonging +to the higher sphere from which his birth excluded +him. It was a curious and quick transition, and +he would not have admitted that it was due to +her exaggerated praise of his work. Strange as +it must seem to those not familiar with the almost +impassable barriers of old Italian society, Reanda +had that evening, for the first time in his life, the +sensation of being liked, admired, and talked with +by a woman of Francesca Campodonico's class; +stranger still, it was one of the most delicious +sensations he had ever experienced. Yet the +woman in question was but a girl not yet seventeen +years old. Before he rose to go home, he +unconsciously resented Griggs's silent admiration +for Gloria. To the average Italian, such silence +is a sign that a man is in love, and Reanda was +the more attracted to Gloria because she treated +Griggs with such perfect indifference.</p> + +<p>It was nearly one o'clock when he lighted his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +taper to descend the stairs. Griggs was also ready +to go. It was a relief to know that he was not +going to stay behind and talk with Gloria. They +went down in silence.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to ask you a question," said the +American, as they came out upon the street, and +blew out their tapers. "We live in opposite directions, +so I must ask it now. Should you mind, if +I wrote an article on your frescoes for a London +paper?"</p> + +<p>"Mind!" exclaimed the artist, with a sudden +revulsion of feeling in favour of the journalist. +"I should be delighted—flattered."</p> + +<p>"No," said Griggs, coldly. "I shall not write +as Miss Dalrymple talks. But I shall try and do +you justice, and that is a good deal, when one is +a serious artist, as you are."</p> + +<p>Reanda was struck by the cool moderation of +the words, which expressed his own modest judgment +of himself almost too exactly to be agreeable +after Gloria's unlimited praise. He thanked Griggs +warmly, however, and they shook hands before +they parted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> months passed, and Reanda was intimate +with the Dalrymples. It was natural enough, +considering the circumstances. They lived much +alone, and Reanda was like them in this respect, +for he rarely went where he was obliged to talk. +During the day he saw much of Donna Francesca, +but when it grew dark in the early afternoons of +midwinter, the artist was thrown upon his own +resources. In former years he had now and then +done as many of the other artists did, and had sometimes +for a month or two spent most of his evenings +at the eating-house where he dined, in company with +half-a-dozen others who frequented the same establishment. +Each dropped in, at any hour that +chanced to suit him, ate his supper, pushed back +his chair, and joined in the general conversation, +smoking, and drinking coffee or a little wine, +until it was time to go home. There were grey-headed +painters who had hardly been absent more +than a few days in five and twenty years from their +accustomed tables at such places as the Falcone, +the Gabbione, or the Genio. But Reanda had never +joined in any of these little circles for longer than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +a month or two, by which time he had exhausted +the stock of his companions' ideas, and returned +to solitude and his own thoughts. For he had +something which they had not, besides his greater +talent, his broader intelligence, and his deeper +artistic insight. Donna Francesca's refining influence +exerted itself continually upon him, and made +much of the common conversation tiresome or disagreeable +to him. A man whose existence is penetrated +by the presence of a rarely refined woman +seldom cares much for the daily society of men. +He prefers to be alone, when he cannot be with her.</p> + +<p>Reanda believed that what he felt for Francesca +was a devoted and almost devout friendship. The +fact that before many weeks had passed after his +first meeting with Gloria he was perceptibly in +love with the girl, while he felt not the smallest +change in his relations with Donna Francesca, satisfactorily +proved to him that he was right. It +would not have been like an Italian and a Latin to +compare his feelings for the two women by imaginary +tests, as, for instance, by asking himself for +which of the two he would make the greater sacrifice. +He took it for granted that the one sentiment +was friendship and the other love, and he acted +accordingly.</p> + +<p>He was distrustful, indeed, and very suspicious, +but not of himself. Gloria treated him too well. +Her eyes told him more than he felt able to believe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +It was not natural that a girl so young and +fresh and beautiful, with the world before her, +should fall in love with a man of his age. That, +at least, was what he thought. But the fact that +it was unnatural did not prevent it from taking +place.</p> + +<p>Reanda ignored certain points of great importance. +In the first place, Gloria had not really +the world before her. Her little sphere was closely +limited by her father's morose selfishness, which +led him to keep her in Rome because he liked the +place himself, and to keep away from his countrymen, +whom he detested as heartily as Britons living +abroad sometimes do. On the other hand, a vague +dread lest the story of his marriage might some +day come to the light kept him away from Roman +society. He had fallen back upon artistic Bohemia +for such company as he wanted, which was little +enough, and as his child grew up he had not understood +that she was developing early and coming to +womanhood while she was still under the care of +the governess he had provided. He had not even +made any plans for her future, for he did not love +her, though he indulged her as a selfish and easy +means of fulfilling his paternal obligations. It +was to get rid of her importunity that he began +to take her to the houses of some of the married +artists when she was only sixteen years old, though +she looked at least two years older.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + +<p>But in such society as that, Reanda was easily +first, apart from the talent which placed him at +the head of the whole artistic profession. He had +been brought up, taught, and educated among +gentlemen, sons of one of the oldest and most fastidious +aristocracies in Europe, and he had their +manners, their speech, their quiet air of superiority, +and especially that exterior gentleness and +modesty of demeanour which most touches some +women. In Gloria's opinion, he even had much +of their appearance, being tall, thin, and dark. +Accustomed as she was to living with her father, +who was gloomy and morose, and to seeing much +of Paul Griggs, whose powers of silence were phenomenal +at that time, Reanda's easy grace of conversation +charmed and flattered her. He was, by +many degrees, the superior in talent, in charm, in +learning, to any one she had ever met, and it must +not be forgotten that although he was twenty years +older than she, he was not yet forty, and that, as +he had not a grey hair in his head, he could still +pass for a young man, though his grave disposition +made him feel older than he was. Of the three +melancholic men in whose society she chiefly lived, +her father was selfish and morose; Griggs was +gentle, but silent and incomprehensible, though he +exerted an undoubted influence over her; Reanda +alone, though naturally melancholy, was at once +gentle, companionable, and talkative with her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dalrymple accepted the intimacy with indifference +and even with a certain satisfaction. In his reflexions, +he characterized Reanda as a rare combination +of the great artist and the gentleman. Since +Gloria had known him she had grown more quiet. +She admired him and imitated his manner. It was +a good thing. He was glad, too, that Reanda was +not married, for it would have been a nuisance, +thought Dalrymple, to have the man's wife always +about and expecting to be amused.</p> + +<p>It began to occur to him that Reanda might be +falling in love with Gloria, and he did not resent +the idea. In fact, though at first sight it should +have seemed strange to an Englishman, he looked +upon the idea with favour. He wished to live out +his life in Italy, for he had got that fierce affection +for the country which has overcome and bound many +northern men, from Sir John Hawkwood to Landor +and Browning. Though he did not love Gloria, +he was attached to her in his own way, and did +not wish to lose sight of her altogether. But, +in consequence of his own irregular marriage, he +could not marry her to a man of his own rank in +Rome, who would not fail to make inquiries about +her mother. It was most natural that he should +look upon such a man as Reanda with favour. +Reanda had many good qualities. Dalrymple's +judgment was generally keen enough about people, +and he had understood that such a woman as Donna<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +Francesca Campodonico would certainly not make +a personal friend of a painter, and allow him to +occupy rooms in her palace, unless his character +were altogether above suspicion.</p> + +<p>Gloria was, of course, too young to be married +yet, though she seemed to be so entirely grown up +and altogether a woman. In this respect Dalrymple +was not prejudiced. His own mother had been +married at the age of seventeen, and he had lived +long in Italy, where early marriages were common +enough. There could certainly be no serious objection +to the match on that score, when another year +should have passed.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple's only anxiety about his daughter +concerned her strong inclination to be a public +singer. The prejudice was by no means extraordinary, +and as a Scotchman, it had even more weight +with him than it could have had, for instance, with +an Italian. Reanda entirely agreed with him on +this point, and when Gloria spoke of it, he never +failed to draw a lively picture of the drawbacks +attending stage life. The artist spoke very strongly, +for one of Gloria's earliest and chiefest attractions +in his eyes had been the certainty he felt that she +belonged to Francesca's class. For that reason her +flattering admiration had brought with it a peculiar +savour, especially delightful to the taste of a +man of humble origin. Dalrymple did not understand +that, but he knew that if Gloria married the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +great painter, the latter would effectually keep +her from the stage.</p> + +<p>As for Griggs, the Scotchman was well aware +that the poor young journalist might easily fall in +love with the beautiful girl. But this did not +deter him at all from having Griggs constantly at +the house. Griggs was the only man he had ever +met who did not bore him, who could be silent for +an hour at a time, who could swallow as much +strong wine as he without the slightest apparent +effect upon his manner, who understood all he +said, though sometimes saying things which he +could not understand—in short, Griggs was a +necessity to him. The young man was perhaps +aware of the fact, and he found Dalrymple congenial +to his own temper; but he was as excessively +proud as he was extremely poor, at that time, and +he managed to refuse the greater part of the hospitality +offered to him, simply because he could not +return it. It was very rarely that he accepted an +invitation to a meal, though he now generally came +in the evening, besides meeting Dalrymple almost +every morning when they went to the bookseller's +together.</p> + +<p>He puzzled the Scotchman strangely. He was +an odd combination of a thinker and an athlete, +half literary man, half gladiator. The common +phrase 'an old head on young shoulders' described +him as well as any phrase could. The shoulders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +were perhaps the more remarkable, but the head +was not to be despised. A man who could break a +horseshoe and tear in two a pack of cards, and who +spent his spare time in studying Hegel and Kant, +when he was not writing political correspondence +for newspapers, deserved to be considered an +exception. He seemed to have no material wants, +and yet he had the animal power of enjoying material +things even in excess, which is rare. He had +a couple of rooms in the Via della Frezza, between +the Corso and the Ripetta, where he lived in a +rather mysterious way, though he made no secret +about it. Occasionally an acquaintance climbed +the steep stairs, but no one ever got him to open +the door nor to give any sign that he was at home, +if he were within. A one-eyed cobbler acted as +porter downstairs, from morning till night, astride +upon his bench and ever at work, an ill-savoured +old pipe in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"You may try," he answered, when any one +asked for Griggs. "Who knows? Perhaps Sor +Paolo will open. Try a little, if you have patience."</p> + +<p>Patience being exhausted, the visitor came down +the five flights again, and remonstrated with the +cobbler.</p> + +<p>"I did not say anything," he would reply, in a +cloud of smoke. "Many have tried. I told you +to try. Am I to tell you that no one has ever got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +in? Why? To disoblige you? If you want anything +of Sor Paolo, say it to me. Or come again."</p> + +<p>"But he will not open," objected the visitor.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is true," returned the man of one eye. +"But if you wish to try, I am not here to hinder +you. This is the truth."</p> + +<p>Now and then, some one more inquisitive suggested +that there might be a lady in the question. +The one eye then fixed itself in a vacant stare.</p> + +<p>"Females?" the cobbler would exclaim. "Not +even cats. What passes through your head? He +is alone always. If you do not believe me, you +can try. I do not say Sor Paolo will not open the +door. A door is a door, to be opened."</p> + +<p>"But since I have tried!"</p> + +<p>"And I, what can I do? You have come, you +have seen, you have knocked, and no one has +opened. May the Madonna accompany you! I +can do nothing."</p> + +<p>So even the most importunate of visitors departed +at last. But Griggs had taken Dalrymple up to +his lodgings more than once, and they had sat there +for an hour talking over books. Dalrymple observed, +indeed, that Griggs was more inclined to +talk in his own rooms than anywhere else, and +that his manner then changed so much as to make +him almost seem to be a different man. There +was a look of interest in the stony mask, and there +was a light in the deep-set eyes which neither wine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +nor wit could bring there at other times. The +man wore his armour against the world, as it were, +a tough shell made up of a poor man's pride, and +solid with that sense of absolute physical superiority +which is an element in the character of strong +men, and which the Scotchman understood. He +himself had been of the strong, but not always +the strongest. Paul Griggs had never yet been +matched by any man since he had first got his +growth. He was the equal of many in intellect, +but his bodily strength was not equalled by any +in his youth and manhood. The secret of his one +well-hidden vanity lay in that. His moral power +showed itself in his assumed modesty about it, for +it was almost impossible to prevail upon him to +make exhibition of it. Gloria alone seemed able +to induce him, for her especial amusement, to break +a silver dollar with his fingers, or tear a pack of +cards, and then only in the presence of her father +or Reanda, but never before other people.</p> + +<p>"You are the strongest man in the world, are +you not?" she asked him once.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered. "I probably am, if it is I. +I am vain of it, but not proud of it. That makes +me think sometimes that I am two men in one. +That might account for it, you know."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" Gloria laughed.</p> + +<p>"Is it? I daresay it is." And he relapsed into +indifference, so far as she could see.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is the other man like?" she asked. +"Not the strong man of the two, but the other?"</p> + +<p>"He is a good man. The strong man is bad. +They fight, and the result is insignificance. Some +day one of the two will get the better of the +other."</p> + +<p>"What will happen then?" she asked lightly, +and still inclined to laugh.</p> + +<p>"One or the other, or both, will die, I suppose," +he answered.</p> + +<p>"How very unpleasant!"</p> + +<p>She did not at all understand what he meant. +At the same time she could not help feeling that +he was eminently a man to whom she would turn +in danger or trouble. Girl though she was, she +could not mistake his great admiration of her, and +by degrees, as the winter wore on, she trusted him +more, though he still repelled her a little, for his +saturnine calm was opposed to her violent vitality, +as a black rock to a tawny torrent. Griggs had +neither the manner nor the temper which wins +women's hearts as a rule. Such men are sometimes +loved by women when their sorrow has +chained them to the rock of horror, and grief insatiable +tears out their broken hearts. But in their +strength they are not loved. They cannot give +themselves yet, for their strength hinders them, +and women think them miserly of words and of +love's little coin of change. If they get love at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +last, it is as the pity which the unhurt weak feel +for the ruined strong.</p> + +<p>Gloria was not above irritating Griggs occasionally, +when the fancy took her to seek amusement +in that way. She knew how to do it, and he rarely +turned upon her, even in the most gentle way.</p> + +<p>"We are good friends, are we not?" she asked +one day, when it was raining and he was alone +with her, waiting for her father to come in.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," he answered, turning his impassive +face slowly towards her.</p> + +<p>"Then you ought to be much nicer to me," she said.</p> + +<p>"I am as nice as I know how to be," replied +Griggs, with fixed eyes. "What shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"That is it. You ought to know. You could +talk and say pleasant things, for instance. Don't +you admit that you are very dull to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I admit it. I regret it, and I wish I were not."</p> + +<p>"You need not be. I am sure you can talk very +well, when you please. You are not exactly funny +at any time, but to-day you are funereal. You +remind me of those big black horses they use for +hearses, you know."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Griggs, quietly, +repeating the words without emphasis.</p> + +<p>"I don't like you!" she exclaimed petulantly, +but with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"I know that," he answered. "But I like you +very much. We were probably meant to differ."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then you might amuse me. It's awfully dull +when it rains. Pull the house down, or tear up +silver scudi, or something."</p> + +<p>"I am not Samson, and I am not a clown," +observed Griggs, coldly.</p> + +<p>"I shall never like you if you are so disagreeable," +said Gloria, taking up a book, and settling +herself to read.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you never will," answered Griggs, +following her example.</p> + +<p>A few minutes passed in silence. Then Gloria +looked up suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Griggs?"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"I did not mean to be horrid."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>"Because, if I were ever in trouble, you know—I +should come straight to you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he answered very gently. "But +I hope you will never be in trouble. If you ever +should be—" He stopped.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think you would find anybody who +would try harder to help you," he said simply.</p> + +<p>She wished that his voice would tremble, or that +he would put out his hand towards her, or show +something a little more like emotion. But she had +to be satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Would it be the good man or the bad man that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +would help me?" she asked, remembering the +former conversation.</p> + +<p>"Both," answered Griggs, without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I might not like the bad +man better," said Gloria, almost to herself.</p> + +<p>"Is Reanda a bad man?" inquired Griggs, +slowly, and looking for the blush in her face.</p> + +<p>"Why?" But she blushed, as he expected.</p> + +<p>"Because you like him better than me."</p> + +<p>"You are quite different. It is of no use to talk +about it, and I want to read."</p> + +<p>She turned from him and buried herself in her +book, but she moved restlessly two or three times, +and it was some minutes before the heightened +colour disappeared from her face.</p> + +<p>She was very girlish still, and when she had +irritated Griggs as far as such a man was capable +of irritation, she preferred to refuse battle rather +than deal with the difficulty she had created. But +Griggs understood, and amongst his still small +sufferings he often felt the little, dull, hopeless +pang which tells a man that he is unlovable.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Very</span> late, one night in the Carnival season, +Paul Griggs was walking the streets alone. His +sufferings were no longer so small as they had +been, and the bitterness of solitude was congenial +to him.</p> + +<p>He had been at the house of a Spanish artist, +where there had been dancing and music and supper +and improvised tableaux. Gloria and her +father and Reanda had all been there, too, and +something had happened which had stirred the +depths of the young man's slow temper. He hated +to make an exhibition of himself, and much against +his will he had been exhibited, as it were, to help +the gaiety of the entertainment. Cotogni, the +great sculptor, had suggested that Griggs should +appear as Samson, asleep with his head on Delilah's +knee, and bound by her with cords which he should +seem to break as the Philistines rushed in. He +had refused flatly, again and again, till all the +noisy party caught the idea and forced him to it.</p> + +<p>They had dressed him in silk draperies, his +mighty arms bare almost to the shoulder, and they +had given him a long, dark, theatrical wig. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +had bound his arms and chest with cords, and had +made him lie down and pretend to be asleep at the +feet of the artist's beautiful wife. They had made +slipping knots in the cords, so that he could easily +wrench them loose. Then the curtain had been +drawn aside, and there had been a pause as the +tableau was shown. All at once a mob of artists, +draped hastily in anything they could lay their +hands upon, and with all manner of helmets on +their heads from the Spaniard's collection, had +rushed in.</p> + +<p>"The Philistines are upon thee!" cried Delilah +in a piercing voice.</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet, his legs being free, and +he struggled with the cords. The knots would not +slip as they were meant to do. The situation lasted +several seconds, and was ridiculous enough.</p> + +<p>People began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Cut off his hair!" cried one.</p> + +<p>"Of what use was the wig?" laughed another, +and every one tittered.</p> + +<p>Griggs could hear Gloria's clear, high laugh +above the rest. His blood slowly rose in his +throat. But no one pulled the curtain across. +The Philistines, young artists, mad with Carnival, +improvised a very eccentric dance of triumph, and +the laughter increased.</p> + +<p>Griggs looked at the cords. Then his mask-like +face turned slowly to the audience. Only the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +veins swelled suddenly at his temples, while every +one watched him in the general amusement. +Suddenly his eyes flashed, and he drew a deep +breath, for he was angry. In an instant there was +dead silence in the room. A moment later one of +the cords, drawn tight round his chest, over the +silk robe, snapped like a thread, then another, and +then a third. Then in a sort of frenzy of anger +he savagely broke the whole cord into pieces with +his hands, tossing the bits contemptuously upon +the floor. His face was as white as a dead man's.</p> + +<p>A roar of applause broke the silence when the +guests realized what he had done. The artists +seized him and carried him high in procession +round the room, the women threw flowers at him, +and some one struck up a triumphal march on the +piano. It was an ovation. Half an hour later, +dressed again in his ordinary clothes, he found himself +next to Gloria.</p> + +<p>"You told me the other day that you were not +Samson," she said. "You see you can be when +you choose."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Griggs, coldly; "I am a clown."</p> + +<p>What she had said was natural enough, but somehow +the satisfaction of his bodily vanity had stung +his moral pride beyond endurance. It seemed a +despicable thing to be as vain as he was of a gift +for which he had not paid any price. Deep down, +too, he felt bitterly that he had never received the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +slightest praise for any thought of his which he +had written down and sent to that cauldron of the +English daily press in which all individual right +to distinction disappears, with all claim to praise, +from written matter, however good it be. He +worked, he read, he studied, he wrote late, and +rose early to observe. But his natural gift was to +be a mountebank, a clown, a circus Hercules. By +stiffening one of his senseless arms he could bring +down roars of applause. By years of bitter labour +with his pen he earned the barest living. The +muscles that a porter might have, offered him opulence, +because it was tougher by a few degrees than +the flesh of other men. The knowledge he had +striven for just kept him above absolute want.</p> + +<p>He slipped away from the gay party as soon as +he could. His last glance round the room showed +him Angelo Reanda and Gloria, sitting in a corner +apart. The girl's face was grave. There was a +gentle and happy light in the artist's eyes which +Griggs had never seen. That also was the strong +man's portion.</p> + +<p>Wrathfully he strode away from the house, under +the dim oil lamps, an unlighted cigar between his +teeth, his soft felt hat drawn over his eyes. He +crossed the city towards the Pantheon and the +Piazza Navona, his cigar still unlighted.</p> + +<p>The streets were alive, though it was very late. +There was more freedom to be gay and more hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +of being simply happy in those days. Many men +and women wandered about in bands of ten or a +dozen, singing in soft voices, above which now +and then rose a few ringing tenor notes. There +was laughter everywhere in the air; tambourines +drummed and thumped and jingled, guitars twanged, +and mandolines tinkled and quavered. From a +dark lane somewhere off the broader thoroughfare, +a single voice sang out in serenade. The Corso +was bright with unusual lights, and strewn with +the birdseed and plaster-of-Paris 'confetti,' with +yellow sand and sprigs of box leaves, and withering +flowers, and there was about all the neighbourhood +that peculiar smell of plaster and crushed flower-stalks +which belonged then to the street carnival of +Rome. Further on, in the dim quarters by the +Tiber, the wine shops were all crowded, and men +stood and drank outside on the pavement, and paid, +and went laughing on, laughing and singing, singing +and laughing, through the night.</p> + +<p>Griggs felt the penetrating loneliness of him +who cannot laugh amidst laughter, and it was congenial +to him. He had always been alone, and he +felt that the world held no companion for him. +There was satisfaction in knowing that no one could +ever guess what went on between his heart and his +head.</p> + +<p>He wandered on with the same even, untiring +stride, for a long time, through the dark and winding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +ways, from the Pantheon through the old city, +through Piazza Paganica and Costaguti to Piazza +Montanara, where the carters and carriers congregate +from the country. There, in the middle of +the three-cornered open space, a flag in the paving +marked the spot on which men used to be put to +death. To-night even the carriers were making +merry. Griggs was thirsty, and paused at the door +of a wine shop. Though it was winter, men were +sitting outside, for there was no more room within. +A flaring torch of pitched rope was stuck in an iron +ring, and shed an uncertain, smoky light upon the +men's faces. A drawer in an apron brought +Griggs a glass, and he drank standing.</p> + +<p>"It makes no difference," said a rough voice in +the little crowd. "They may cut off my head there +on the paving-stone. They would do me a favour. +If I find him, I kill him. An evil death on him +and all his house!"</p> + +<p>Griggs looked at the speaker without surprise, +for he had often heard such things said. He saw +an iron-grey man in good peasant's clothes of dark +blue with broad silver buttons, a man with a true +Roman face, a small aquiline nose, and keen, dark +eyes. He turned away, and began to retrace his +steps.</p> + +<p>In half an hour he was at the door of the old +Falcone inn, gone now like many relics of that +day. It stood in the Piazza of Saint Eustace near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +the Pantheon, and in its time was the best of the +old-fashioned eating-houses. Griggs felt suddenly +hungry. He had walked seven or eight miles since +he had left the party. He entered, and passed +through the crowded rooms below and up the +narrow steps to a small upper chamber, where he +hoped to be alone. But there, also, every seat was +taken.</p> + +<p>To his surprise Dalrymple and Reanda were at +the table furthest from him, in earnest conversation, +with a measure of wine between them. Griggs +had never seen the Italian there before, but the +latter caught sight of him as he stood in the door, +and rose to his feet, making a sign which meant +that he was going away, and that the chair was +vacant. Griggs came forward, and looked into his +face as they met. There was the same gentle and +happy light in Reanda's eyes which had been there +when he was sitting with Gloria in the corner of +the Spanish artist's drawing-room. Then Griggs +understood and knew the truth, and guessed the +meaning of the unaccustomed pressure of the hand +as Reanda greeted him without speaking, and hurriedly +went out.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple had seen Griggs coming and was +already calling to a man in a spotless white jacket +for another glass and more wine. The Scotchman's +bony face was haggard, but there was a little colour +in his cheeks, and he seemed pleased.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sit down, Griggs," he said. "There are no +more chairs, so we can keep the table to ourselves. +I hope you are half as thirsty as I am."</p> + +<p>"Rather more than half," answered the other, +and he drank eagerly. "Give me some more, +please," he said, holding out his glass.</p> + +<p>"I see that you are in the right humour to hear +good news," said the Scot. "Reanda is to marry +my daughter in the summer."</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you all three," said Griggs, +slowly, for he had known what was coming. "Let +us drink the health of the couple."</p> + +<p>"By all means," answered Dalrymple, filling +again. "By all means let us drink. I could not swallow +that sweet stuff at Mendoza's. This is better. +By all means let us drink as much as we can."</p> + +<p>"That might mean a good deal," said Griggs, +quickly, and he drained a third glass. "Were +you ever drunk, Dalrymple?" he inquired +gravely.</p> + +<p>"No. I never was," answered the Scotchman.</p> + +<p>"Nor I. This seems a fitting occasion for trying +an experiment. We might try to get drunk."</p> + +<p>"By all means, let us try," replied Dalrymple. +"I have my doubts about the possibility of the +thing, however."</p> + +<p>"So have I."</p> + +<p>They sat opposite to one another in silence for +some minutes, each satisfied that the other was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +earnest. Dalrymple solemnly filled the glasses +and then leaned back in his chair.</p> + +<p>"You did not seem much surprised by what +I told you," he observed at last. "I suppose you +expected it."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It seemed natural enough, though it is +not always the natural things that happen."</p> + +<p>"I think they are suited to marry. Of course, +Reanda is very much older, but he is comparatively +a young man still."</p> + +<p>"Comparatively. He will make a better husband +for having had experience, I daresay."</p> + +<p>"That depends on what experience he has had. +When I first saw him I thought he was in love +with Donna Francesca. It would have been like +an artist. They are mostly fools. But I was +mistaken. He worships at a distance."</p> + +<p>"And she preserves the distance," Griggs remarked. +"You are not drinking fair. My glass +is empty."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple finished his and refilled both.</p> + +<p>"I have been here some time," he observed, half +apologetically. "But as I was saying—or rather, +as you were saying—Donna Francesca preserves +the distance. These Italians do that admirably. +They know the difference between intimacy and +familiarity."</p> + +<p>"That is a nice distinction," said Griggs. "I +will use it in my next letter. No. Donna Francesca<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +could never be familiar with any one. They +learn it when they are young, I suppose, and it +becomes a race-characteristic."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Dalrymple, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"A certain graceful loftiness," answered the +younger man.</p> + +<p>The Scotchman's wrinkled eyelids contracted, +and he was silent for a few moments.</p> + +<p>"A certain graceful loftiness," he repeated +slowly. "Yes, perhaps so. A certain graceful +loftiness."</p> + +<p>"You seem struck by the expression," said +Griggs.</p> + +<p>"I am. Drink, man, drink!" added Dalrymple, +suddenly, in a different tone. "There's no time +to be lost if we mean to drink enough to hurt us +before those beggars go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Never fear. They will be up all night. Not +that it is a reason for wasting time, as you say."</p> + +<p>He drank his glass and watched Dalrymple as +the latter did likewise, with that deliberate intention +which few but Scotchmen can maintain on +such occasions. The wine might have been poured +into a quicksand, for any effect it had as yet +produced.</p> + +<p>"Those race-characteristics of families are very +curious," continued Griggs, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Are they?" Dalrymple looked at him suspiciously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very. Especially voices. They run in families, +like resemblance of features."</p> + +<p>"So they do," answered the other, thoughtfully. +"So they do."</p> + +<p>He had of late years got into the habit of often +repeating such short phrases, in an absent-minded +way.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griggs. "I noticed Donna Francesca's +voice, the first time I ever heard it. It +is one of those voices which must be inherited. +I am sure that all her family have spoken as +she does. It reminds me of something—of some +one—"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple raised his eyes suddenly again, as +though he were irritated.</p> + +<p>"I say," he began, interrupting his companion. +"Do you feel anything? Anything queer in your +head?"</p> + +<p>"No. Why?"</p> + +<p>"You are talking rather disconnectedly, that +is all."</p> + +<p>"Am I? It did not strike me that I was incoherent. +Probably one half of me was asleep while +the other was talking." He laughed drily, and +drank again. "No," he said thoughtfully, as he +set down his glass. "I feel nothing unusual in +my head. It would be odd if I did, considering +that we have only just begun."</p> + +<p>"So I thought," answered Dalrymple.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>He ordered more wine and relapsed into silence. +Neither spoke again for a long time.</p> + +<p>"There goes another bottle," said Dalrymple, +at last, as he drained the last drops from the flagon +measure. "Drink a little faster. This is slow +work. We know the old road well enough."</p> + +<p>"You are not inclined to give up the attempt, +are you?" inquired Griggs, whose still face +showed no change. "Is it fair to eat? I am +hungry."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Eat as much as you like."</p> + +<p>Griggs ordered something, which was brought +after considerable delay, and he began to eat.</p> + +<p>"We are not loquacious over our cups," remarked +Dalrymple. "Should you mind telling +me why you are anxious to get drunk to-night for +the first time in your life?"</p> + +<p>"I might ask you the same question," answered +Griggs, cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Merely because you proposed it. It struck me +as a perfectly new idea. I have not much to +amuse me, you know, and I shall have less when +my daughter leaves me. It would be an amusement +to lose one's head in some way."</p> + +<p>"In such a way as to be able to get it back, you +mean. I was walking this evening after the party, +and I came to the Piazza Montanara. There is a +big flagstone there on which people used to leave +their heads for good."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes. I have seen it. You cannot tell me +much about Rome which I do not know."</p> + +<p>"There were a lot of carriers drinking close by. +It was rather grim, I thought. An old fellow +there had a spite against somebody. You know +how they talk. 'They may cut off my head there +on the paving-stone,' the man said. 'If I find +him, I kill him. An evil death on him and all his +house!' You have heard that sort of thing. But +the fellow seemed to be very much in earnest."</p> + +<p>"He will probably kill his man," said Dalrymple.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his big, loose shoulders shook a little, +and he shivered. He glanced towards the window, +suspecting that it might be open.</p> + +<p>"Are you cold?" asked Griggs, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Cold? No. Some one was walking over my +grave, as they say. If we varied the entertainment +with something stronger, we should get on +faster, though."</p> + +<p>"No," said Griggs. "I refuse to mix things. +This may be the longer way, but it is the safer."</p> + +<p>And he drank again.</p> + +<p>"He was a man from Tivoli, or Subiaco," he +remarked presently. "He spoke with that accent."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," answered Dalrymple, who looked +down into his glass at that moment, so that his +face was in shadow.</p> + +<p>Just then four men who had occupied a table<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +near the door rose and went out. It was late, even +for a night in Carnival.</p> + +<p>"I hope they are not going to leave us all to ourselves," +said Dalrymple. "The place will be shut +up, and we need at least two hours more."</p> + +<p>"At least," assented Paul Griggs. "But they +expect to be open all night. I think there is time."</p> + +<p>The men at the other tables showed no signs of +moving. They sat quietly in their places, drinking +steadily, by sips. Some of them were eating roasted +chestnuts, and all were talking more or less in low +tones. Occasionally one voice or another rose above +the rest in an exclamation, but instantly subsided +again. Italians of that class are rarely noisy, for +though the Romans drink deep, they generally have +strong heads, and would be ashamed of growing +excited over their wine.</p> + +<p>The air was heavy, for several men were smoking +strong cigars. The vaulted chamber was +lighted by a single large oil lamp with a reflector, +hung by a cord from the intersection of the cross-arches. +The floor was of glazed white tiles, and +the single window had curtains of Turkey red. It +was all very clean and respectable and well kept, +even at that crowded season, but the air was heavy +with wine and tobacco, and the smell of cooked +food,—a peculiar atmosphere in which the old-fashioned +Roman delighted to sit for hours on +holidays.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dalrymple looked about him, moving his pale +blue eyes without turning his head. The colour +had deepened a little on his prominent cheek +bones, and his eyes were less bright than usual. +But his red hair, growing sandy with grey, was +brushed smoothly back, and his evening dress was +unruffled. He and Griggs were so evidently gentlemen, +that some of the Italians at the other +tables glanced at them occasionally in quiet surprise, +not that they should be there, but that they +should remain so long, and so constantly renew +their order for another bottle of wine.</p> + +<p>Giulio, the stout, dark drawer in a spotless jacket, +moved about silently and quickly. One of the +Italians glanced at Griggs and Dalrymple and then +at the waiter, who also glanced at them quickly +and then shrugged his shoulders almost perceptibly. +Dalrymple saw both glances, and his eyes +lighted up.</p> + +<p>"I believe that fellow is laughing at us," he said +to Griggs.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to laugh at," answered the +latter, unmoved. "But of course, if you think so, +throw him downstairs."</p> + +<p>Dalrymple laughed drily.</p> + +<p>"There is a certain calmness about the suggestion," +he said. "It has a good, old-fashioned ring +to it. You are not a very civilized young man, +considering your intellectual attainments."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I grew up at sea and before the mast. That +may account for it."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have crammed a good deal into a +short life," observed Dalrymple. "It must have +been a classic ship, where they taught Greek and +Latin."</p> + +<p>"The captain used to call her his Ship of Fools. +As a matter of fact, it was rather classic, as you +say. The old man taught us navigation and Greek +verse by turns for five years. He was a university +man with a passion for literature, but I never knew +a better sailor. He put me ashore when I was +seventeen with pretty nearly the whole of my five +years' pay in my pocket, and he made me promise +that I would go to college and stay as long as my +money held out. I got through somehow, but I am +not sure that I bless him. He is afloat still, and I +write to him now and then."</p> + +<p>"An Englishman, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No. An American."</p> + +<p>"What strange people you Americans are!" exclaimed +Dalrymple, and he drank again. "You +take up a profession, and you wear it for a bit, like +a coat, and then change it for another," he added, +setting down his empty glass.</p> + +<p>"Very much like you Scotch," answered Griggs. +"I have heard you say that you were a doctor +once."</p> + +<p>"A doctor—yes—in a way, for the sake of being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +a man of science, or believing myself to be +one. My family was opposed to it," he continued +thoughtfully. "My father told me it was his +sincere belief that science did not stand in need of +any help from me. He said I was more likely to +need the help of science, like other lunatics. I +will not say that he was not right."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little and filled his glass.</p> + +<p>"Poor Dalrymple!" he exclaimed softly, still +smiling.</p> + +<p>Paul Griggs raised his slow eyes to his companion's +face.</p> + +<p>"It never struck me that you were much to be +pitied," he observed.</p> + +<p>"No, no. Perhaps not. But I will venture to +say that the point is debatable, and could be argued. +'To be, or not to be' is a question admirably calculated +to draw out the resources of the intellect +in argument, if you are inclined for that sort of +diversion. It is a very good thing, a very good +thing for a man to consider and weigh that question +while he is young. Before he goes to sleep, +you know, Griggs, before he goes to sleep."</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 443px;"> +<img src="images/gs07.jpg" width="443" height="500" alt=""Fire and sleet and candle-light; And Christ receive thy soul."—Vol. I., p. 324." title=""Fire and sleet and candle-light; And Christ receive thy soul."—Vol. I., p. 324." /> +<span class="caption">"Fire and sleet and candle-light;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And Christ receive thy soul."</span> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">—Vol. I., p. 324.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>"'For in that sleep of death, what dreams may +come—'" Griggs quoted, and stopped.</p> + +<p>"'When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.' +You do not know your Shakespeare, young man."</p> + +<p>"'Must give us pause,'" continued Griggs. "I +was thinking of the dreams, not of the rest."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + + + +<p>"Dreams? Yes. There will be dreams there. +Dreams, and other things—'this ae night of all.' +Not that my reason admits that they can be more +than dreams, you know, Griggs. Reason says 'to +sleep—no more.' And fancy says 'perchance to +dream.' Well, well, it will be a long dream, that's +all."</p> + +<p>"Yes. We shall be dead a long time. Better +drink now." And Griggs drank.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Fire and sleet and candle-light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Christ receive thy soul;'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>said Dalrymple, with a far-away look in his pale +eyes. "Do you know the Lyke-Wake Dirge, +Griggs? It is a grand dirge. Hark to the swing +of it.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +"'This ae night, this ae night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Every night and all,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Fire and sleet and candle-light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And Christ receive thy soul.'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>He repeated the strange words in a dull, matter-of-fact +way, with a Scotch accent rarely perceptible +in his conversation. Griggs listened. He had +heard the dirge before, with all its many stanzas, +and it had always had an odd fascination for him. +He said nothing.</p> + +<p>"It bodes no good to be singing a dirge at a +betrothal," said the Scotchman, suddenly. "Drink, +man, drink! Drink till the blue devils fly away. +Drink—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Till a' the seas gang dry, my love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till a' the seas gang dry.'</span><br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<div class='unindent'>Not that it is in the disposition of the Italian +inn-keeper to give us time for that," he added +drily. "As I was saying, I am of a melancholic +temper. Not that I take you for a gay man yourself, +Griggs. Drink a little more. It is my opinion +that a little more will produce an agreeable impression +upon you, my young friend. Drink a little +more. You are too grave for so very young a man. +I should not wish to be indiscreet, but I might +almost take you for a man in love, if I did not +know you better. Were you ever in love, Griggs?"</div> + +<p>"Yes," answered Griggs, quietly. "And you, +Dalrymple? Were you never in love?"</p> + +<p>Dalrymple's loosely hung shoulders started suddenly, +and his pale blue eyes set themselves steadily +to look at Griggs. The red brows were shaggy, +and there was a bright red spot on each cheek bone. +He did not answer his companion's question, though +his lips moved once or twice as though he were +about to speak. They seemed unable to form words, +and no sound came from them.</p> + +<p>His anger was near, perhaps, and with another +man it might have broken out. But the pale and +stony face opposite him, and the deep, still eyes, +exercised a quieting influence, and whatever words +rose to his lips were never spoken. Griggs understood +that he had touched the dead body of a great +passion, sacred in its death as it must have been +overwhelming in its life. He struck another subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +immediately, and pretended not to have noticed +Dalrymple's expression.</p> + +<p>"I like your queer old Scotch ballads," he said, +humouring the man's previous tendency to quote +poetry.</p> + +<p>"There's a lot of life in them still," answered +Dalrymple, absently twisting his empty glass.</p> + +<p>Griggs filled it for him, and they both drank. +Little by little the Italians had begun to go away. +Giulio, the fat, white-jacketed drawer, sat nodding +in a corner, and the light from the high lamp +gleamed on his smooth black hair as his head fell +forward.</p> + +<p>"There is a sincere vitality in our Scotch poets," +said Dalrymple, as though not satisfied with the +short answer he had given. "There is a very notable +power of active living exhibited in their somewhat +irregular versification, and in the concatenation +of their ratiocinations regarding the three +principal actions of the early Scottish life, which +I take to have been birth, stealing, and a violent +death."</p> + +<p>"'But of these three charity is the greatest,'" +observed Griggs, with something like a laugh, for +he saw that Dalrymple was beginning to make long +sentences, which is a bad sign for a Scotchman's +sobriety.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Dalrymple, with much gravity. +"There I venture—indeed, I claim the right—to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +differ with you. For the Scotchman is hospitable, +but not charitable. The process of the Scotch mind +is unitary, if you will allow me to coin a word for +which I will pay with my glass."</p> + +<p>And he forthwith fulfilled the obligation in a +deep draught. Setting down the tumbler, he +leaned back in his chair and looked slowly round +the room. His lips moved. Griggs could just +distinguish the last lines of another old ballad.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Night and day on me she cries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I am weary of the skies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since—'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>He broke off and shook himself nervously, and +looked at Griggs, as though wondering whether +the latter had heard.</p> + +<p>"This wine is good," he said, rousing himself. +"Let us have some more. Giulio!"</p> + +<p>The fat waiter awoke instantly at the call, +looked, nodded, went out, and returned immediately +with another bottle.</p> + +<p>"Is this the sixth or the seventh?" asked Dalrymple, +slowly.</p> + +<p>"Eight with Signor Reanda's," answered the +man. "But Signor Reanda paid for his as he went +out. You have therefore seven. It might be +enough." Giulio smiled.</p> + +<p>"Bring seven more, Giulio," said the Scotchman, +gravely. "It will save you six journeys."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Does the Signore speak in earnest?" asked the +servant, and he glanced at Griggs, who was impassive +as marble.</p> + +<p>"You flatter yourself," said Dalrymple, impressively, +to the man, "if you imagine that I would +make even a bad joke to amuse you. Bring seven +bottles." Giulio departed.</p> + +<p>"That is a Homeric order," observed Griggs.</p> + +<p>"I think—in fact, I am almost sure—that seven +bottles more will produce an impression upon one +of us. But I have a decidedly melancholic disposition, +and I accustomed myself to Italian wine +when I was very young. Melancholy people can +drink more than others. Besides, what does such +a bottle hold? I will show you. A tumbler to +you, and one to me. Drink; you shall see."</p> + +<p>He emptied his glass and poured the remainder +of the bottle into it.</p> + +<p>"Do you see? Half a tumbler. Two and a half +are a bottle. Seven bottles are seventeen and a +half glasses. What is that for you or me in a long +evening? My blue devils are large. It would +take an ocean to float them all. I insist upon +going to bed in a good humour to-night, for once, +in honour of my daughter's engagement. By the +bye, Griggs, what do you think of Reanda?"</p> + +<p>"He is a first-rate artist. I like him very well."</p> + +<p>"A good man, eh? Well, well—from the point +of view of discretion, Griggs, I am doing right.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +But then, as you may very wisely object, discretion +is only a point of view. The important thing is +the view, and not the point. Here comes Ganymede +with the seven vials of wrath! Put them on +the table, Giulio," he said, as the fat waiter came +noiselessly up, carrying the bottles by the necks +between his fingers, three in one hand and four in +the other. "They make a fine show, all together," +he observed thoughtfully, with his bony head a +little on one side.</p> + +<p>"And may God bless you!" said Giulio, solemnly. +"If you do not die to-night, you will +never die again."</p> + +<p>"I regard it as improbable that we shall die +more than once," answered Dalrymple. "I believe," +he said, turning to Griggs, "that when men +are drunk they make mistakes about money. We +will pay now, while we are sober."</p> + +<p>Griggs insisted on paying his share. They settled, +and Giulio went away happy.</p> + +<p>The two strong men sat opposite to each other, +under the high lamp in the small room, drinking +on and on. There was something terrifying in the +Scotchman's determination to lose his senses—something +grimly horrible in the younger man's +marble impassiveness, as he swallowed glass for +glass in time with his companion. His face grew +paler still, and colder, but there was a far-off +gleaming in the shadowy eyes, like the glimmer of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +a light over a lonely plain through the dark. Dalrymple's +spirits did not rise, but he talked more +and more, and his sentences became long and involved, +and sometimes had no conclusion. The +wine was telling on him at last. He had never +been so strong as Griggs, at his best, and he was +no match for him now. The younger man's +strangely dual nature seemed to place his head +beyond anything which could affect his senses.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple talked on and on, rambling from one +subject to another, and not waiting for any answer +when he asked a question. He quoted long ballads +and long passages from Shakespeare, and then +turned suddenly off upon a scientific subject, until +some word of his own suggested another quotation.</p> + +<p>Griggs sat quietly in his seat, drinking as steadily, +but paying little attention now to what the +Scotchman said. Something had got hold of his +heart, and was grinding it like grain between the +millstones, grinding it to dust and ashes. He +knew that he could not sleep that night. He might +as well drink, for it could not hurt him. Nothing +material had power to hurt him, it seemed. He +felt the pain of longing for the utterly unattainable, +knowing that it was beyond him forever. The +widowhood of the unsatisfied is hell, compared +with the bereavement of complete possession. He +had not so much as told Gloria that he had loved +her. How could he, being but one degree above<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +a beggar? The unspoken words burned furrows +in his heart, as molten metal scores smoking channels +in living flesh. Gloria would laugh, if she +knew. The torture made his face white. There +was the scorn of himself with it, because a mere +child could hurt him almost to death, and that +made it worse. A mere child, barely out of the +schoolroom, petulant, spoiled, selfish!</p> + +<p>But she had the glory of heaven in her voice, +and in her face the fatal beauty of her dead mother's +deadly sin. He need not have despised himself +for loving her. Her whole being appealed to that +in man to which no woman ever appealed in vain +since the first Adam sold heaven to Satan for +woman's love.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple, leaning on his elbow, one hand in +his streaked beard, the other grasping his glass, +talked on and quoted more and more.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'The flame took fast upon her cheek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Took fast upon her chin,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Took fast upon her fair body</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Because of her deadly sin.'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper at the +last words, and suddenly, regardless of his companion, +his hand covered his eyes, and his long +fingers strained desperately on his bony forehead. +Griggs watched him, thinking that he was drunk +at last.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because of her deadly sin," he repeated slowly, +and the tone changed. "There is no sin in it!" +he cried suddenly, in a low voice, that had a distant, +ghostly ring in it.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and his eyes were changed, and +Griggs knew that they no longer saw him.</p> + +<p>"Stiff," he said softly. "Quite stiff. Dead +two or three hours, I daresay. It stands up on +its feet beside me—certainly dead two or three +hours."</p> + +<p>He nodded wisely to himself twice, and then +spoke again in the same far-off tone, gazing past +Griggs, at the wall.</p> + +<p>"The clothes-basket is a silly idea. Besides, +I should lose the night. Rather carry it myself—wrap +it up in the plaid. She'll never know, when +she has it on her head. Who cares?"</p> + +<p>A long silence followed. One hand grasped the +empty glass. The other lay motionless on the +table. The blue eyes, with widely dilated pupils, +stared at the wall, never blinking nor turning. +But in the face there was the drawn expression of +a bodily effort. Presently Griggs saw the fine +beads of perspiration on the great forehead. Then +the voice spoke again, but in Italian this time.</p> + +<p>"You had better look away while I go by. It is +not a pretty sight. No," he continued, changing +to English, "not at all a pretty sight. Stiff as a +board still."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> + +<p>The unwinking eyes dilated. The bright colour +was gone from the cheek bones.</p> + +<p>"It burns very well," he said again in Italian. +The whole face quivered and the hard lips softened +and kissed the air. "It is golden—I can see it in +the dark—but I must cover it, darling. Quick—this +way. At last! No—you cannot see the fire, +but it is burning well, I am sure. Hold on! Hold +the pommel of the saddle with both hands—so!"</p> + +<p>The voice ceased. Griggs began to understand. +He touched Dalrymple's sleeve, leaning across the +table.</p> + +<p>"I say!" he called softly. "Dalrymple!"</p> + +<p>The Scotchman started violently, and the pupils +of his eyes contracted. The empty glass in his +right hand rattled on the hard wood. Then he +smiled vaguely at Griggs.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he exclaimed in his natural voice. +"I think I must have been napping—'Sleep'ry +Sim of the Lamb-hill, and snoring Jock of Suport-mill!' +By Jove, Griggs, we have got near the +point at last. One bottle left, eh? The seventh.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Then up and gat the seventh o' them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never a word spake he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he has striped his bright brown brand—'</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>The rest has no bearing upon the subject," he +concluded, filling both glasses. "Griggs," he said, +before he drank, "I am afraid this settles the +matter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></div> + +<p>"I am afraid it does," said Griggs.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I had hopes a little while ago, which +appeared well founded. But that unfortunate +little nap has sent me back to the starting-point. +I should have to begin all over again. It is very +late, I fancy. Let us drink this last glass to our +own two selves, and then give it up."</p> + +<p>Something had certainly sobered the Scotchman +again, or at least cleared his head, for he had not +been drunk in the ordinary sense of the word.</p> + +<p>"It cannot be said that we have not given the +thing a fair trial," said Griggs, gloomily. "I shall +certainly not take the trouble to try it again."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he looked at his companion curiously, +as they both rose to their feet together. +Dalrymple doubled his long arms as he stood up +and stretched them out.</p> + +<p>"It is curious," he said. "I feel as though I had +been carrying a heavy weight in my arms. I did +once, for some distance," he added thoughtfully, +"and I remember the sensation."</p> + +<p>"Very odd," said Griggs, lighting a cigar.</p> + +<p>Giulio, sitting outside, half asleep, woke up as he +heard the steady tread of the two strong men go by.</p> + +<p>"If you do not die to-night, you will never die +again!" he said, half aloud, as he rose to go in and +clear the room where the guests had been sitting.</p> + + +<h3>END OF VOL. I.</h3><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_i" id="Page_V2_i">[i]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;"> +<img src="images/cover02.jpg" width="377" height="600" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> +<h1>CASA BRACCIO</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="150" height="41" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_ii" id="Page_V2_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 361px;"> +<img src="images/gs21.jpg" width="361" height="500" alt=""As he stood there repeating the name."—Vol. II., p. 331." title=""As he stood there repeating the name."—Vol. II., p. 331." /> +<span class="caption">"As he stood there repeating the name."—Vol. II., <a href="#Page_V2_331">p. 331.</a></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_iii" id="Page_V2_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>CASA BRACCIO</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD</h2> + +<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Author of "Saracinesca," "Pietro Ghisleri," etc.</span><br /> +<br /><br /> +<br />IN TWO VOLUMES<br /> + +<br />VOL. II.<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. CASTAIGNE</i><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<b>New York</b><br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +<small>AND LONDON</small><br /> +<br /> +1895<br /> +<br /> +<small><i>All rights reserved</i></small><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_iv" id="Page_V2_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='copyright'> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1894,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> F. MARION CRAWFORD.<br /> +<br /> +<b>Norwood Press</b><br /> +J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith<br /> +Norwood Mass. U.S.A.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_v" id="Page_V2_v">[v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>PART II.—<i>Continued.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gloria Dalrymple</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART III.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Donna Francesca Campodonico</span> </td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_227">227</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_vii" id="Page_V2_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span></h3> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Gloria—forgive me!"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Stefanone and Gloria</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"The horror of poverty smote him"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Let us not speak of the dead"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_203">203</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"The last great, true note died away"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"As he stood there repeating the name"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_V2_ii">331</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_1" id="Page_V2_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Part II.—<i>Continued.</i></h2> + +<h3><i>GLORIA DALRYMPLE.</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_3" id="Page_V2_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CASA BRACCIO.</h2> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Part II.</span>—<i>Continued.</i></h2> + +<h3><i>GLORIA DALRYMPLE.</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">During</span> the first few months of their marriage +Reanda and Gloria believed themselves happy, and +really were, since there is no true criterion of +man's happiness but his own belief in it. They +took a small furnished apartment at the corner of +the Macel de' Corvi, with an iron balcony overlooking +the Forum of Trajan. They would have +had no difficulty in obtaining other rooms adjoining +the two Reanda had so long occupied in the Palazzetto +Borgia, but Gloria was opposed to the arrangement, +and Reanda did not insist upon it. +The Forum of Trajan was within a convenient distance +of the palace, and he went daily to his work.</p> + +<p>"Besides," said Gloria, "you will not always be +painting frescoes for Donna Francesca. I want<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_4" id="Page_V2_4">[4]</a></span> +you to paint a great picture, and send it to Paris +and get a medal."</p> + +<p>She was ambitious for him, and dreamed of his +winning world-wide fame. She loved him, and she +felt that Francesca had caged him, as Francesca +herself had once felt. She wished to remove him +altogether from the latter's influence, both because +she was frankly jealous of his friendship +for the older woman, and wished to have him +quite to herself, and also in the belief that he could +do greater things if he were altogether freed from +the task of decorating the palace, which had kept +him far too long in one limited sequence of production. +There was, moreover, a selfish consideration +of vanity in her view, closely linked with her +unbounded admiration for her husband. She knew +that she was beautiful, and she wished his greatest +work to be a painting of herself.</p> + +<p>Gloria, however, wished also to take a position +in Roman society, and the only person who could +help her and her husband to cross the line was +Francesca Campodonico. It was therefore impossible +for Gloria to break up the intimacy altogether, +however much she might wish to do so. +Meanwhile, too, Reanda had not finished his +frescoes.</p> + +<p>Soon after the marriage, which took place in the +summer, Dalrymple left Rome, intending to be +absent but a few months in Scotland, where his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_5" id="Page_V2_5">[5]</a></span> +presence was necessary on account of certain family +affairs and arrangements consequent upon the death +of Lord Redin, the head of his branch of the Dalrymples, +and of Lord Redin's son only a few weeks +later, whereby the title went to an aged great-uncle +of Angus Dalrymple's, who was unmarried, so that +Dalrymple's only brother became the next heir.</p> + +<p>Gloria was therefore quite alone with her husband. +Paul Griggs had also left Rome for a time +on business connected with his journalistic career. +He had in reality been unwilling to expose himself +to the unnecessary suffering of witnessing Gloria's +happiness, and had taken the earliest opportunity +of going away. Gloria herself was at first pleased +by his departure. Later, however, she wished +that he would come back. She had no one to +whom she could turn when she was in need of any +advice on matters which Reanda could not or would +not decide.</p> + +<p>Reanda himself was at first as absolutely happy +as he had expected to be, and Francesca Campodonico +congratulated herself on having brought +about a perfectly successful match. While he continued +to work at the Palazzetto Borgia, the two +were often together for hours, as in former times. +Gloria had at first come regularly in the course of +the morning and sat in the hall while her husband +was painting, but she had found it a monotonous +affair after a while. Reanda could not talk perpetually.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_6" id="Page_V2_6">[6]</a></span> +More than once, indeed, he introduced +his wife's face amongst the many he painted, and +she was pleased, though not satisfied. He could +not make her one of the central figures which +appeared throughout the series, because the greater +part of the work was done already, and it was necessary +to preserve the continuity of each resemblance. +Gloria wished to be the first everywhere, +though she did not say so.</p> + +<p>Little by little, she came less regularly in the +mornings. She either stayed at home and studied +seriously the soprano parts of the great operas then +fashionable, or invented small errands which kept +her out of doors. She sometimes met Reanda when +he left the palace, and they walked home together +to their midday breakfast.</p> + +<p>Little by little, also, Francesca fell into the habit +of visiting Reanda in the great hall at hours when +she was sure that Gloria would not be there. It +was not that she disliked to see them together, but +rather because she felt that Gloria was secretly +antagonistic. There was a small, perpetual, unexpressed +hostility in Gloria's manner which could +not escape so sensitive a woman as Francesca. +Reanda felt it, too, but said nothing. He was +almost foolishly in love with his wife, and he was +devotedly attached to Francesca herself. For the +present he was very simple in his dealings with +himself, and he quietly shut his eyes to the possibility<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_7" id="Page_V2_7">[7]</a></span> +of a disagreement between the two women, +though he felt that it was in the air.</p> + +<p>Instead of diminishing with his marriage, the +obligations under which he was placed towards +Donna Francesca were constantly increasing. She +saw and understood his wife's social ambition, +and gave herself trouble to satisfy it. Reanda +felt this keenly, and while his gratitude increased, +he inwardly wished that each kindness might be +the last. But Gloria had the ambition and the +right to be received in society on a footing of +equality, and no one but Francesca Campodonico +could then give her what she wanted.</p> + +<p>She did not obtain what is commonly called +social success, though many people received her +and her husband during the following winter. +She got admiration in plenty, and she herself believed +that it was friendship. Of the two, Reanda, +who had no social ambition at all, was by far the +more popular. He was, as ever, quiet and unassuming, +as became a man of his extraordinary +talent. He so evidently preferred in society to +talk with intelligent people rather than to make +himself agreeable to the very great, that the very +great tried to attract him to themselves, in order +to appear intelligent in the eyes of others. They +altogether forgot that he was the son of the +steward of Gerano, though he sometimes spoke +unaffectedly of his boyhood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_8" id="Page_V2_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Gloria reminded people too often that she +had a right to be where she was, as the daughter +of Angus Dalrymple, who might some day be Lord +Redin. Fortunately for her, no one knew that +Dalrymple had begun life as a doctor, and very +far from such prospects as now seemed quite within +the bounds of realization. But even as the possible +Lord Redin, her father's existence did not interest +the Romans at all. They were not accustomed +to people who thought it necessary to justify +their social position by allusions to their parentage, +and since Francesca Campodonico had assured +them that Dalrymple was a gentleman, they had +no further questions to ask, and raised their eyebrows +when Gloria volunteered information on the +subject of her ancestors. They listened politely, +and turned the subject as soon as they could, +because it bored them.</p> + +<p>But the admiration she got was genuine of its +kind, as admiration and as nothing else. Her +magnificent voice was useful to ancient and charitable +princesses who wished to give concerts for the +benefit of the deserving poor, but her face disturbed +the hearts of those excellent ladies who had unmarried +sons, and of other excellent ladies who +had gay husbands. Her beauty and her voice together +were a danger, and must be admired from a +distance. Gloria and her husband were asked to +many houses on important occasions. Gloria went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_9" id="Page_V2_9">[9]</a></span> +to see the princesses and duchesses, and found them +at home. Their cards appeared regularly at the +small house in the Macel de' Corvi, but there was +always a mystery as to how they got there, for the +princesses and the duchesses themselves did not +appear, except once or twice when Francesca Campodonico +brought one of her friends with her, gently +insisting that there should be a proper call. +Gloria understood, and said bitter things about +society when she was alone, and by degrees she +began to say them to her husband.</p> + +<p>"These Romans!" she exclaimed at last. "They +believe that there is nobody like themselves!"</p> + +<p>Angelo Reanda's face had a pained look, as he +laid his long thin hand upon hers.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said gently. "You have married +an artist. What would you have? I am sure, +people have received us very well."</p> + +<p>"Very well! Of course—as though we had not +the right to be received well. But, Angelo—do +not say such things—that I have married an +artist—"</p> + +<p>"It is quite true," he answered, with a smile. "I +work with my hands. They do not. There is the +difference."</p> + +<p>"But you are the greatest artist in the world!" +she cried enthusiastically, throwing her arms round +his neck, and kissing him again and again. "It is +ridiculous. In any other city, in London, in Paris,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_10" id="Page_V2_10">[10]</a></span> +people would run after you, people would not be +able to do enough for you. But it is not you; it is +I. They do not like me, Angelo, I know that they +do not like me! They want me at their big parties, +and they want me to sing for them—but that is +all. Not one of them wants me for a friend. I +am so lonely, Angelo."</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with tears, and he tried to comfort +her.</p> + +<p>"What does it matter, my heart?" he asked, +soothingly. "We have each other, have we not? +I, who adore you, and you, who love me—"</p> + +<p>"Love you? I worship you! That is why I +wish you to have everything the world holds, +everything at your feet."</p> + +<p>"But I am quite satisfied," objected Reanda, +with unwise truth. "Do not think of me."</p> + +<p>She loved him, but she wished to put upon him +some of her uncontrollable longing for social success, +in order to justify herself. To please her, +he should have joined in her complaint. Her tears +dried suddenly, and her eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>"I will think of you!" she cried. "I have +nothing else to think of. You shall have it all, +everything—they shall know what a man you +are!"</p> + +<p>"An artist, my dear, an artist. A little better +than some, a little less good than others. What +can society do for me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_11" id="Page_V2_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>She sighed, and the colour deepened a little in +her cheeks. But she hid her annoyance, for she +loved him with a love at once passionate and intentional, +compounded of reality and of a strong +inborn desire for emotion, a desire closely connected +with her longing for the life of the stage, +but now suddenly thrown with full force into the +channel of her actual life.</p> + +<p>Reanda began to understand that his wife was +not happy, and the certainty reacted strongly upon +him. He became more sad and abstracted from day +to day, when he was not with her. He longed, +as only a man of such a nature can long, for a +friend in whom he could confide, and of whom he +could ask advice. He had such a friend, indeed, +in Francesca Campodonico, but he was too proud +to turn to her, and too deeply conscious that she +had done all she could to give Gloria the social +position the latter coveted.</p> + +<p>Francesca, on her side, was not slow to notice +that something was radically wrong. Reanda's +manner had changed by degrees since his marriage. +His pride made him more formal with the woman +to whom he owed so much, and she felt that she +could do nothing to break down the barrier which +was slowly rising between them. She suffered, in +her way, for she was far more sincerely attached +to the man than she recognized, or perhaps would +have been willing to recognize, when she allowed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_12" id="Page_V2_12">[12]</a></span> +herself to look the situation fairly in the face. +For months she struggled against anything which +could make her regret the marriage she had made. +But at last she admitted the fact that she regretted +it, for it thrust itself upon her and embittered her +own life. Then she became conscious in her heart +of a silent and growing enmity for Gloria, and +of a profound pity for Angelo Reanda. Being +ashamed of the enmity, as something both sinful +in her eyes, and beneath the nobility of her nature, +she expressed it, if that were expression, by allowing +her pity for the man to assert itself as it would. +That, she told herself, was a form of charity, and +could not be wrong, however she looked at it.</p> + +<p>All mention of Gloria vanished from her conversation +with Reanda when they were alone together. +At such times she did her best to amuse him, to +interest him, and to take him out of himself. At +first she had little success. He answered her, and +sometimes even entered into an argument with +her, but as soon as the subject dropped, she saw the +look of harassed preoccupation returning in his +face. So far as his work was concerned, what he +did was as good as ever. Francesca thought it was +even better. But otherwise he was a changed +man.</p> + +<p>In the course of the winter Paul Griggs returned. +One day Francesca was sitting in the hall with +Reanda, when a servant announced that Griggs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_13" id="Page_V2_13">[13]</a></span> +had asked to see her. She glanced at Reanda's +face, and instantly decided to receive the American +alone in the drawing-room, on the other side of the +house.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not receive him here?" asked +Reanda, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Because—" she hesitated. "I should rather +see him in the drawing-room," she added a moment +later, without giving any further explanation.</p> + +<p>Griggs told her that he had come back to stay +through the year and perhaps longer. She took a +kindly interest in the young man, and was glad to +hear that he had improved his position and prospects +during his absence. He rarely found sympathy +anywhere, and indeed needed very little of it. +But he was capable of impulse, and he had long +ago decided that Francesca was good, discreet, and +kind. He answered her questions readily enough, +and his still face warmed a little while she talked +with him. She, on her part, could not help being +interested in the lonely, hard-working man who +never seemed to need help of any kind, and was +climbing through life by the strength of his own +hands. There was about him at that time an air +of reserved power which interested though it did +not attract those who knew him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he asked about Gloria and her husband. +There was an odd abruptness in the question, and +a hard little laugh, quite unnecessary, accompanied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_14" id="Page_V2_14">[14]</a></span> +it. Francesca noted the change of manner, and +remembered how she had at first conceived the +impression that Griggs admired Gloria, but that +Gloria was repelled by him.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they are radiantly happy," he said.</p> + +<p>Francesca hesitated, being truthful by nature, +as well as loyal. There was no reason why Griggs +should not ask her the question, which was natural +enough, but she had many reasons for not wishing +to answer it.</p> + +<p>"Are they not happy?" he asked quickly, as her +silence roused his suspicions.</p> + +<p>"I have never heard anything to the contrary," +answered Francesca, dangerously accurate in the +statement.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Griggs uttered the ejaculation in a +thoughtful tone, but said no more.</p> + +<p>"I hope I have not given you the impression that +there is anything wrong," said Francesca, showing +her anxiety too much.</p> + +<p>"I saw Dalrymple in England," answered Griggs, +with ready tact. "He seems very well satisfied +with the match. By the bye, I daresay you have +heard that Dalrymple stands a good chance of dying +a peer, if he ever dies at all. With his constitution +that is doubtful."</p> + +<p>And he went on to explain to Francesca the +matter of the Redin title, and that as Dalrymple's +elder brother, though married, was childless, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_15" id="Page_V2_15">[15]</a></span> +himself would probably come into it some day. +Then Griggs took his leave without mentioning +Reanda or Gloria again. But Francesca was aware +that she had betrayed Reanda's unhappiness to a +man who had admired Gloria, and had probably +loved her before her marriage. She afterwards +blamed herself bitterly and very unjustly for what +she had done.</p> + +<p>Griggs went away, and called soon afterwards at +the small house in the Macel de' Corvi. He found +Gloria alone, and she was glad to see him. She +told him that Reanda would also be delighted to +hear of his return. Griggs, who wrote about everything +which gave him an opportunity of using his +very various knowledge, wrote also upon art, and +besides the first article he had written about Reanda, +more than a year previously, had, since then, +frequently made allusion to the artist's great talent +in his newspaper correspondence. Reanda was +therefore under an obligation to the journalist, +and Gloria herself was grateful. Moreover, Englishmen +who came to Rome had frequently been +to see Reanda's work in consequence of the articles. +One old gentleman had tried to induce the artist to +paint a picture for him, but had met with a refusal, +on the ground that the work at the Palazzetto Borgia +would occupy at least another year. The Englishman +said he should come back and try again.</p> + +<p>Between Griggs and Gloria there was the sort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_16" id="Page_V2_16">[16]</a></span> +of friendly confidence which could not but exist +under the circumstances. She had known him +long, and he had been her father's only friend in +Rome. She remembered him from the time when +she had been a mere child, before her sudden transition +to womanhood. She trusted him. She understood +perfectly well that he loved her, but she +believed that she had it in her power to keep his +love as completely in the background as he himself +had kept it hitherto. Her instinct told her also +that Griggs might be a strong ally in a moment of +difficulty. His reserved strength impressed her +even more than it impressed Francesca Campodonico. +She received him gladly, and told him to +come again.</p> + +<p>He came, and she asked him to dinner, feeling +sure that Reanda would wish to see him. He +accepted the first invitation and another which +followed before long. By insensible degrees, during +the winter, Griggs became very intimate at the +house, as he had been formerly at Dalrymple's +lodgings.</p> + +<p>"That young man loves you, my dear," said +Reanda, one day in the following spring, with a +smile which showed how little anxiety he felt.</p> + +<p>Gloria laughed gaily, and patted her husband's +hand.</p> + +<p>"What men like that call love!" she answered. +"Besides—a journalist! And hideous as he is!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_17" id="Page_V2_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He certainly has not a handsome face," laughed +Reanda. "I am not jealous," he added, with sudden +gravity. "The man has done much for my +reputation, too, and I know what I owe him. I +have good reason for wishing to treat him well, +and I am all the more pleased, if you find him +agreeable."</p> + +<p>He made the rather formal speech in a decidedly +formal tone, and with the unconscious intention of +justifying himself in some way, though he was far +too simple by nature to suspect himself of any +complicated motive. She looked at him, but did +not quite understand.</p> + +<p>"You surely do not suppose that I ever cared +for him!" she said, readily suspecting that he +suspected her.</p> + +<p>He started perceptibly, and looked into her eyes. +She was very truly in earnest, but her exaggerated +self-consciousness had given her tone a colour +which he did not recognize. Some seconds passed +before he answered her. Then the gentle light +came into his face as he realized how much he +loved her.</p> + +<p>"How foolish you are, love!" he exclaimed. +"But Griggs is younger than I—it would not be +so very unnatural if you had cared for him."</p> + +<p>She broke out passionately.</p> + +<p>"Younger than you! So am I, much younger +than you! But you are young, too. I will not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_18" id="Page_V2_18">[18]</a></span> +have you suggest that you are not young. Of +course you are. You are unkind, besides. As +though it could make the slightest difference to +me, if you were a hundred years old! But you +do not understand what my love for you is. You +will never understand it. I wish I loved you less; +I should be happier than I am."</p> + +<p>He drew her to him, reluctant, and the pained +look which Francesca knew so well came into his +face.</p> + +<p>"Are you unhappy, my heart?" he asked gently. +"What is it, dear? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>She was nervous, and the confession or complaint +had been unintentional and the result of irritation +more than of anything else. The fact that he had +taken it up made matters much worse. She was +in that state in which such a woman will make a +mountain of a molehill rather than forego the sympathy +which her constitution needs in a larger +measure than her small sufferings can possibly +claim.</p> + +<p>"Oh, so unhappy!" she cried softly, hiding her +face against his coat, and glad to feel the tears in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"But what is it?" he asked very kindly, smoothing +her auburn hair with one hand, while the other +pressed her to him.</p> + +<p>As he looked over her head at the wall, his +face showed both pain and perplexity. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_19" id="Page_V2_19">[19]</a></span> +not the least idea what to do, except to humour her +as much as he could.</p> + +<p>"I am so lonely, sometimes," she moaned. "The +days are so long."</p> + +<p>"And yet you do not come and sit with me in +the mornings, as you used to do at first." There +was an accent of regret in his voice.</p> + +<p>"She is always there," said Gloria, pressing her +face closer to his coat.</p> + +<p>"Indeed she is not!" he cried, and she could +feel the little breath of indignation he drew. "I +am a great deal alone."</p> + +<p>"Not half as much as I am."</p> + +<p>"But what can I do?" he asked, in despair. "It +is my work. It is her palace. You are free to +come and go as you will, and if you will not +come—"</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," she answered, still clinging +to him. "You will say it is my fault. It is just +like a man. And yet I know that you are there, +hour after hour, with her, and she is young and +beautiful. And she loves you—oh, I know she +loves you!"</p> + +<p>Reanda began to lose patience.</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" he exclaimed. "It is ridiculous. +It is an insult to Donna Francesca to say +that she is in love with me."</p> + +<p>"It is true." Gloria suddenly raised her head +and drew back from him a very little. "I am a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_20" id="Page_V2_20">[20]</a></span> +woman," she said. "I know and I understand. +She meant to sacrifice herself and make you happy, +by marrying you to me, and now she regrets +it. It is enough to see her. She follows you +with her eyes as you move, and there is a look in +them—"</p> + +<p>Reanda laughed, with an effort.</p> + +<p>"It is altogether too absurd!" he said. "I do +not know what to say. I can only laugh."</p> + +<p>"Because you know it is true," answered Gloria. +"It is for your sake that she has done it all, that +she makes such a pretence of being friendly to me, +that she pushes us into society, and brings her +friends here to see me. They never come unless +she brings them," she added bitterly. "There is +no fear of that. The Duchess of Astrardente would +not have her black horses seen standing in the +Macel de' Corvi, unless Donna Francesca made her +do it and came with her."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked Reanda, simply, for his Italian +mind did not grasp the false shame which +Gloria felt in living in a rather humble neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>"She would not have people know that she had +friends living in such a place," Gloria answered.</p> + +<p>Unwittingly she had dealt Reanda a deadly +thrust.</p> + +<p>He had fallen in love with her and had married +her on the understanding with himself, so to say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_21" id="Page_V2_21">[21]</a></span> +that she was in all respects as much a great lady +as Donna Francesca herself, and he had taken it +for granted that she must be above such pettiness. +The lodging was extremely good and had the +advantage of being very conveniently situated for +his work. It had never struck him that because it +was in an unfashionable position, Gloria could +imagine that the people she knew would hesitate +to come and see her. Since their marriage she +had done and said many little things which had +shaken his belief in the thoroughness of her refinement. +She had suddenly destroyed that belief now, +by a single foolish speech. It would be hard to +build it up again.</p> + +<p>Like many men of genius he could not forgive +his own mistake, and Gloria was involved in this +one. Moreover, as an Italian, he fancied that she +secretly suspected him of meanness, and when +Italians are not mean, there is nothing which they +resent more than being thought to be so. He had +plenty of money, for he had always lived very +simply before his marriage, and Dalrymple gave +Gloria an allowance.</p> + +<p>His tone changed, when he answered her, but +she was far from suspecting what she had done.</p> + +<p>"We will get another apartment at once," he +said quietly.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered at once, protesting, "you +must not do anything of the kind! What an idea!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_22" id="Page_V2_22">[22]</a></span> +To change our home merely because it is not on the +Corso or the Piazza di Venezia!"</p> + +<p>"You would prefer the Corso?" inquired Angelo. +"That is natural. It is more gay."</p> + +<p>The reflexion that the view of the deserted +Forum of Trajan was dull suggested itself to him +as a Roman, knowing the predilection of Roman +women of the middle class for looking out of the +window.</p> + +<p>"It is ridiculous!" cried Gloria. "You must +not think of it. Besides—the expense—"</p> + +<p>"The expense does not enter into the question, +my dear," he answered, having fully made up his +mind. "You shall not live in a place to which +you think your friends may hesitate to come."</p> + +<p>"Friends! They are not my friends, and they +never mean to be," she replied more hotly. "Why +should I care whether they will take the trouble +to come and see me or not? Let them stay away, +if I am not good enough for them. Tell Donna +Francesca not to bring them—not to come herself +any more. I hate to feel that she is thrusting me +down the throat of a society that does not want +me! She only does it to put me under an obligation +to her. I am sure she talks about me behind +my back and says horrid things—"</p> + +<p>"You are very unjust," said Reanda, hurt by +the vulgarity of the speech and deeply wounded in +his own pride.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_23" id="Page_V2_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You defend her! You see!" And the colour +rose in Gloria's cheeks.</p> + +<p>"She has done nothing that needs defence. +She has acted always with the greatest kindness +to me and to us. You have no right to suppose +that she says unkind things of you when you are +not present. I cannot imagine what has come +over you to-day. It must be the weather. It is +sirocco."</p> + +<p>Gloria turned away angrily, thinking that he was +laughing at her, whereas the suggestion about the +weather was a perfectly natural one in Rome, where +the southeast wind has an undoubted effect upon +the human temper.</p> + +<p>But the seeds of much discussion were sown on +that close spring afternoon. Reanda was singularly +tenacious of small purposes, as he was of +great ideas where his art was concerned, and his +nature though gentle was unforgiving, not out of +hardness, but because he was so sensitive that his +illusions were easy to destroy.</p> + +<p>He went out and forthwith began to search for +an apartment of which his wife should have no +cause to complain. In the course of a week he +found what he wanted. It was a part of the second +floor of one of the palaces on the Corso, not far from +the Piazza di Venezia. It was partially furnished, +and without speaking to Gloria he had it made +comfortable within a few days. When it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_24" id="Page_V2_24">[24]</a></span> +ready, he gave her short warning that they were to +move immediately.</p> + +<p>Strange to say, Gloria was very much displeased, +and did not conceal her annoyance. She really +liked the small house in the Macel de' Corvi, and +resented the way in which her husband had taken +her remarks about the situation. To tell the truth, +Reanda had deceived himself with the idea that +she would be delighted at the change, and had +spent money rather lavishly, in the hope of giving +her a pleasant surprise. He was proportionately +disappointed by her unexpected displeasure.</p> + +<p>"What was the use of spending so much +money?" she asked, with a discontented face. +"People will not come to see us because we live in +a fine house."</p> + +<p>"I did not take the house with that intention, +my dear," said Reanda, gently, but wounded and +repelled by the remark and the tone.</p> + +<p>"Well then, we might have stayed where we +were," she answered. "It was much cheaper, and +there was more sun for the winter."</p> + +<p>"But this is gayer," objected Reanda. "You +have the Corso under the window."</p> + +<p>"As though I looked out of the window!" +exclaimed Gloria, scornfully. "It was so nice—our +little place there."</p> + +<p>"You are hard to please, my dear," said the +artist, coldly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_25" id="Page_V2_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she saw that she had hurt him, which she +had not meant to do. Her own nature was self-conscious +and greedy of emotion, but not sensitive. +She threw her arms round him, and kissed him and +thanked him.</p> + +<p>But Reanda was not satisfied. Day by day when +Francesca looked at him, she saw the harassed +expression deepening in his face, and she felt that +every furrow was scored in her own heart. And +she, in her turn, grew very grave and thoughtful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_26" id="Page_V2_26">[26]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Paul Griggs</span> was a man compounded of dominant +qualities and dormant contradictions of them +which threatened at any moment to become dominant +in their turn for a time. He himself almost +believed that he had two separate individualities, +if not two distinct minds.</p> + +<p>It may be doubted whether it can be good for +any man to dwell long upon such an idea in connexion +with himself, however distinctly he may see +in others the foundation of truth on which it rests. +To Griggs, however, it presented itself so clearly +that he found it impossible not to take it into +consideration in the more important actions of his +life. The two men were very sharply distinguished +in his thoughts. The one man would do what the +other would not. The other could think thoughts +above the comprehension of the first.</p> + +<p>The one was material, keen, strong, passionate, +and selfish; pre-eminently adapted for hard work; +conscientious in the force of its instinct to carry +out everything undertaken by it to the very end, +and judging that whatever it undertook was good +and worth finishing; having something of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_27" id="Page_V2_27">[27]</a></span> +nature of a strong piece of clockwork which being +wound up must run to the utmost limit before stopping, +whether regulated to move fast or slow, with +a fateful certainty independent of will; possessed +of such uncommon strength as to make it dangerous +if opposed while moving, and at the same time +having an extraordinary inertia when not wound +up to do a certain piece of work; self-reliant to a +fault, as the lion is self-reliant in the superiority +of physical endowment; gentle when not opposed, +because almost incapable of action without a determinate +object and aim; but developing an irresistible +momentum when the inertia was overcome; +thorough, in the sense in which the tide is thorough, +in rising evenly and all at the same time, and as +ruthless as the tide because it was that part of the +whole man which was a result, and which, therefore, +when once set in motion was almost beyond his +control; reasonable only because, as a result, it +followed its causes logically, and required a real +cause to move it at first.</p> + +<p>The other man in him was very different, almost +wholly independent of the first, and very generally +in direct conflict with it, at that time. It was an +imaginative and meditative personality, easily deceived +into assuming a false <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'premiss'">premise</ins>, but logical +beyond all liability to deception when reasoning +from anything it had accepted. Its processes were +intuitively correct and almost instantaneous, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_28" id="Page_V2_28">[28]</a></span> +its assumptions were arbitrary in the extreme. It +might begin to act at any point whatsoever, and +unlike the material man, which required a will to +move it at first, it struck spontaneously with the +directness of straight lightning from one point to +another, never misled in its path, though often +fatally mistaken in the value of the points themselves.</p> + +<p>Most men who have thought much, wisely or +foolishly, and who have seen much, good or bad, +are more or less conscious of their two individualities. +Idle and thoughtless people are not, as a +rule. With Griggs, the two were singularly distinct +and independent. Sometimes it seemed to +him that he sat in judgment, as a third person, +between them. At other moments he felt himself +wholly identified with the one and painfully aware +of the opposition of the other. The imaginative +part of him despised the material part for its pride +of life and lust of living. The material part +laughed to scorn the imaginative one for its false +assumptions and unfounded beliefs. When he +could abstract himself from both, he looked upon +the intuitive personality as being himself in every +true sense of the word, and upon the material man +as a monstrous overgrowth and encumbrance upon +his more spiritual self.</p> + +<p>When he began to love Gloria Dalrymple, she +appealed to both sides of his nature. For once, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_29" id="Page_V2_29">[29]</a></span> +spiritual instinct coincided with the direction given +to the material man by a very earthly passion.</p> + +<p>The cause of this was plain enough and altogether +simple. The spiritual instinct had taken +the lead. He had known Gloria before she had +been a woman to be loved. The maiden genius of +the girl had spoken to the higher man from a +sphere above material things, and had created in +him one of those assumed <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'premisses'">premises</ins> for subsequent +spiritual intuition from which he derived almost +the only happiness he knew. Then, all at once, +the woman had sprung into existence, and her +young beauty had addressed itself to the young +gladiator with overwhelming force. The woman +fascinated him, and the angelic being his imagination +had assumed in the child still enchanted him.</p> + +<p>He was not like Reanda; for his sensitiveness +was one-sided, and therefore only half vulnerable. +Gloria's faults were insignificant accidents of a +general perfectness, the result of having arbitrarily +assumed a perfect personality. They could not +make the path of his spiritual intuitive love waver, +and they produced no effect at all against his direct +material passion. To destroy the prime beautiful +illusion, something must take place which would +upset the mistaken assumption from a point beyond +it, so to say. As for the earthly part of his love, +it was so strong that it might well stand alone, +even if the other should disappear altogether.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_30" id="Page_V2_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then came honour, and the semi-religious morality +of the man, defending the woman against him, +for the sake of the angel he saw through her. +Chief of all, in her defence, stood his own conviction +that she did not love him, and never would, nor +ever could. To all intents and purposes, too, he +had been her father's friend, though between the +two men there had been little but the similarity of +their gloomy characters. It was the will of the +material man to be governed, and as no outward +influence set it in motion, it remained inert, in +unstable equilibrium, as a vast boulder may lie for +ages on the very edge of a precipice, ready but not +inclined to fall. There was fatality in its stillness, +and in the certainty that if moved it must +crash through everything it met.</p> + +<p>Gloria had not the least understanding of the +real man. She thought about him often during the +months which followed his return, and a week +rarely passed in which she did not see him two or +three times. Her thoughts of him were too ignorant +to be confused. She was conscious, rather +than aware, that he loved her, but it seemed quite +natural to her, at her age, that he should never +express his love by any word or deed.</p> + +<p>But she compared him with her husband, innocently +and unconsciously, in matters where comparison +was almost unavoidable. His leonine +strength of body impressed her strongly, and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_31" id="Page_V2_31">[31]</a></span> +felt his presence in the room, even when she was +not looking at him. Reanda was physically a +weak and nervous man. When he was painting, +the movements of his hand seemed to be independent +of his will and guided by a superior unseen +power, rather than directed by his judgment and +will. Paul Griggs never made the slightest movement +which did not strike Gloria as the expression +of his will to accomplish something. He was +wonderfully skilful with his hands. Whatever +he meant to do, his fingers did, forthwith, unhesitatingly. +His mental processes were similar, so +far as she could see. If she asked him a question, +he answered it categorically and clearly, if he were +able. If not, he said so, and relapsed into silence, +studying the problem, or trying to force his memory +to recall a lost item. Reanda, on the other hand, +answered most questions with the expression of a +vague opinion, often right, but apparently not +founded on anything particular. The accuracy of +Griggs sometimes irritated the artist perceptibly, +in conversation; but he took an interest in what +Griggs wrote, and made Gloria translate many of +the articles to him, reading aloud in Italian from +the English. Strange to say, they pleased him for +the very qualities which he disliked in the man's +talk. The Italian mind, when it has developed +favourably, is inclined to specialism rather than to +generalization, and Griggs wrote of many things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_32" id="Page_V2_32">[32]</a></span> +as though he were a specialist. He had enormous +industry and great mechanical power of handling +language.</p> + +<p>"I have no genius," he said one day to Gloria, +when she had been admiring something he had +written, and using the extravagant terms of praise +which rose easily to her lips. "Your husband has +genius, but I have none. Some day I shall astonish +you all by doing something very remarkable. But +it will not be a work of genius."</p> + +<p>It was in the late autumn days, more than a +year and a half after Gloria's marriage. The +southeast wind was blowing down the Corso, and +the pavements were yellow and sticky with the +moistened sand-blast from the African desert. The +grains of sand are really found in the air at such +times. It is said that the undoubted effect of the +sirocco on the temper of Southern Italy is due to +the irritation caused by inhaling the fine particles +with the breath. Something there is in that +especial wind, which changes the tempers of men +and women very suddenly and strangely.</p> + +<p>Gloria and her companion were seated in the +drawing-room that afternoon, and the window was +open. The wind stirred the white curtains, and +now and then blew them inward and twisted them +round the inner ones, which were of a dark grey +stuff with broad brown velvet bands, in a fashion +then new. Gloria had been singing, and sat leaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_33" id="Page_V2_33">[33]</a></span> +sideways on the desk of the grand piano. A tall +red Bohemian glass stood beside the music on one +of the little sliding shelves meant for the candles, +and there were a few flowers in it, fresh an hour +ago, but now already half withered and drooping +under the poisonous breath of the southeast. The +warm damp breeze came in gusts, and stirred the +fading leaves and Gloria's auburn hair, and the sheet +of music upright on the desk. Griggs sat in a low +chair not far from her, his still face turned towards +her, his shadowy eyes fixed on her features, his +sinewy hands clasped round his crossed knees. The +nature of the great athlete showed itself even in +repose—the broad dark throat set deep in the +chest, the square solidity of the shoulders, the great +curved lines along the straightened arms, the small, +compact head, with its close, dark hair, bent somewhat +forward in the general relaxation of the resting +muscles. In his complete immobility there +was the certainty of instant leaping and flash-like +motion which one feels rather than sees in the +sleeping lion.</p> + +<p>Gloria looked at him thoughtfully with half-closed +lids.</p> + +<p>"I shall surprise you all," he repeated slowly, +"but it will not be genius."</p> + +<p>"You will not surprise me," Gloria answered, +still meeting his eyes. "As for genius, what +is it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_34" id="Page_V2_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is what you have when you sing," said +Griggs. "It is what Reanda has when he paints."</p> + +<p>"Then why not what you do when you write?"</p> + +<p>"The difference is simple enough. Reanda does +things well because he cannot help it. When I do +a thing well it is because I work so hard at it that +the thing cannot help being done by me. Do you +understand?"</p> + +<p>"I always understand what you tell me. You +put things so clearly. Yes, I think I understand +you better than you understand yourself."</p> + +<p>Griggs looked down at his hands and was silent +for a moment. Mechanically he moved his thumb +from side to side and watched the knot of muscle +between it and the forefinger, as it swelled and +disappeared with each contraction.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you do understand me. Perhaps you +do," he said at last. "I have known you a long +time. It must be four years, at least—ever since +I first came here to work. It has been a long piece +of life."</p> + +<p>"Indeed it has," Gloria answered, and a moment +later she sighed.</p> + +<p>The wind blew the sheet of music against her. +She folded it impatiently, threw it aside and +resumed her position, resting one elbow on the +narrow desk. The silence lasted several seconds, +and the white curtains flapped softly against the +heavy ones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_35" id="Page_V2_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder whether you understand my life at +all," she said presently.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I do. It is a strange life, +in some ways—like yourself."</p> + +<p>"Am I strange?"</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think so?"</p> + +<p>Again he was silent for a time. His face was +very still. It would have been impossible to guess +from it that he felt any emotion at the moment.</p> + +<p>"Do you like compliments?" he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"That depends upon whether I consider them +compliments or not," she answered, with a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>"You are a very perfect woman in very imperfect +surroundings," said Griggs.</p> + +<p>"That is not a compliment to the surroundings, +at all events. I do not know whether to laugh or +not. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"If you will. I like to hear you laugh."</p> + +<p>"You should hear me cry!" And she laughed +again at herself.</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" he said gravely.</p> + +<p>"I do sometimes," she answered, and her face +grew suddenly sad, as he watched her.</p> + +<p>He felt a quick pain for her in his heart.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you have told me so," he said. "I +do not like to think of it. Why should you cry? +What have you to cry for?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_36" id="Page_V2_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What should you think?" she asked lightly, +though no smile came with the words.</p> + +<p>"I cannot guess. Tell me. Is it because you +still wish to be a singer? Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"No. That is not it."</p> + +<p>"Then I cannot guess." He looked for the +answer in her face. "Will you tell me?" he asked +after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Of what use could it be?" Her eyes met his +for a moment, the lids fell, and she turned away. +"Will you shut the window?" she said suddenly. +"The wind blows the things about. Besides, it is +getting late."</p> + +<p>He rose and went to the window. She watched +him as he shut it, turning his back to her, so that +his figure stood out distinct and black against the +light. She realized what a man he was. With +those arms and those shoulders he could do anything, +as he had once caught her in the air and +saved her life, and then, again, as he had broken +the cords that night at Mendoza's house. There +was nothing physical which such a man could not +do. He was something on which to rely in her +limited life, an absolute contrast to her husband, +whose vagueness irritated her, while his deadness +of sensibility, where she had wrung his sensitiveness +too far, humiliated her in her own eyes. She +had kept her secret long, she thought, though she +had kept it for the simple reason that she had no +one in whom to confide.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_37" id="Page_V2_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Griggs came back from the window and sat down +near her again in the low chair, looking up into +her face.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Griggs," she said, turning from his eyes +and looking into the piano, "you asked me a question +just now. I should like to answer it, if I were +quite sure of you."</p> + +<p>"Are you not sure of me?" he asked. "I think +you might be, by this time. We were just saying +that we had known each other so long."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But—all sorts of things have happened +in that time, you know. I am not the same as I +was when I first knew you."</p> + +<p>"No. You are married. That is one great +difference."</p> + +<p>"Too great," said she. "Honestly, do you think +me improved since my marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Improved? No. Why should you improve? +You are just what you were meant to be, as you +always were."</p> + +<p>"I know. You called me a perfect woman a +little while ago, and you said my surroundings +were imperfect. You must have meant that they +did not suit me, or that I did not suit them. +Which was it?"</p> + +<p>"They ought to suit you," said Griggs. "If +they do not, it is not your fault."</p> + +<p>"But I might have done something to make them +suit me. I sometimes think that I have not treated +them properly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_38" id="Page_V2_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why should you blame yourself? You did not +make them, and they cannot unmake you. You +have a right to be yourself. Everybody has. It +is the first right. Your surroundings owe you +more than you owe to them, because you are what +you are, and they are not what they ought to be. +Let them bear the blame. As for not treating them +properly, no one could accuse you of that."</p> + +<p>"I do not know—some one might. People are +so strange, sometimes."</p> + +<p>She stopped, and he answered nothing. Looking +down into the open piano, she idly watched the +hammers move as she pressed the keys softly with +one hand.</p> + +<p>"Some people are just like this," she said, smiling, +and repeating the action. "If you touch them +in a certain way, they answer. If you press them +gently, they do not understand. Do you see? The +hammer comes just up to the string, and then falls +back again without making any noise. I suppose +those are my surroundings. Sometimes they answer +me, and sometimes they do not. I like things I +can be sure of."</p> + +<p>"And by things you mean people," suggested +Griggs.</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"And by your surroundings you mean—what?"</p> + +<p>"You know," she answered in a low voice, turning +her face still further away from him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_39" id="Page_V2_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Reanda?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment, knowing that her +answer must have weight on the man.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," she said at last. "I ought not +to say so—ought I? Tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>"The truth is, you are unhappy," he answered +slowly. "There is no reason why you should not +tell me so. Perhaps I might help you, if you +would let me."</p> + +<p>He almost regretted that he had said so much, +little as it was. But she had wished him to say +it, and more, also. Still turning from him, she +rested her chin in her hand. His face was still, +but there was the beginning of an expression in it +which she had never seen. Now that the window +was shut it was very quiet in the room, and the air +was strangely heavy and soft and dim. Now and +then the panes rattled a little. Griggs looked at +the graceful figure as Gloria sat thinking what she +should say. He followed the lines till his eyes +rested on what he could see of her averted face. +Then he felt something like a sharp, quick blow at +his temples, and the blood rose hot to his throat. +At the same instant came the bitter little pang he +had known long, telling him that she had never +loved him and never could.</p> + +<p>"Are you really my friend?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes." The word almost choked him, for there +was not room for it and for the rest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_40" id="Page_V2_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned quietly and surveyed the marble +mask with curious inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say it like that," she asked; "as +though you would rather not? Do you grudge it?"</p> + +<p>"No." He spoke barely above his breath.</p> + +<p>"How you say it!" she exclaimed, with a little +laugh that could not laugh itself out, for there was +a strange tension in the air, and on her and on +him. "You might say it better," she added, the +pupils of her eyes dilating a little so that the room +looked suddenly larger and less distinct.</p> + +<p>She knew the sensation of coming emotion, and +she loved it. She had never thought before that +she could get it by talking with Paul Griggs. He +did not answer her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you meant it," she said presently. "I +hardly know. Did you?"</p> + +<p>"Please be reasonable," said Griggs, indistinctly, +and his hands gripped each other on his knee.</p> + +<p>"How oddly you talk!" she exclaimed. "What +have I said that was unreasonable?"</p> + +<p>She felt that the emotion she had expected was +slipping from her, and her nerves unconsciously +resented the disappointment. She was out of +temper in an instant.</p> + +<p>"You cannot understand," he answered. "There +is no reason why you should. Forgive me. I am +nervous to-day."</p> + +<p>"You? Nervous?" She laughed again, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_41" id="Page_V2_41">[41]</a></span> +little scorn. "You are not capable of being nervous."</p> + +<p>She was dimly conscious that she was provoking +him to something, she knew not what, and that he +was resisting her. He did not answer her last +words. She went back to the starting-point again, +dropping her voice to a sadder key.</p> + +<p>"Honestly, will you be my friend?" she asked, +with a gentle smile.</p> + +<p>"Heart and soul—and hand, too, if you want +it," he said, for he had recovered his speech. +"Tell me what the trouble is. If I can, I will +take you out of it."</p> + +<p>It was rather an odd speech, and she was struck +by the turn of the phrase, which expressed more +strength than doubt of power to do anything he +undertook.</p> + +<p>"I believe you could," she said, looking at him. +"You are so strong. You could do anything."</p> + +<p>"Things are never so hard as they look, if +one is willing to risk everything," he answered. +"And when one has nothing to lose," he added, +as an after-thought.</p> + +<p>She sighed, and turned away again, half satisfied.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to risk," she said. "It is not +a case of danger. And you cannot take my trouble +and tear it up like a pack of cards with those hands +of yours. I wish you could. I am unhappy—yes, +I have told you so. But what can you do to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_42" id="Page_V2_42">[42]</a></span> +help me? You cannot make my surroundings +what they are not, you know."</p> + +<p>"No—I cannot change your husband," said +Griggs.</p> + +<p>She started a little, but still looked away.</p> + +<p>"No. You cannot make him love me," she said, +softly and sadly.</p> + +<p>The big hands lost their hold on one another, +and the deep eyes opened a little wider. But she +was not watching him.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say—" He stopped.</p> + +<p>She slowly bent her head twice, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Reanda does not love you?" he said, in wondering +interrogation. "Why—I thought—" He +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"He cares no more for me than—that!" The +hand that stretched towards him across the open +piano tapped the polished wood once, and sharply.</p> + +<p>"Are you in serious earnest?" asked Griggs, +bending forward, as though to catch her first look +when she should turn.</p> + +<p>"Does any one jest about such things?" He +could just see that her lips curled a little as she +spoke.</p> + +<p>"And you—you love him still?" he asked, with +pressing voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I love him. The more fool I."</p> + +<p>The words did not grate on him, as they would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_43" id="Page_V2_43">[43]</a></span> +have jarred on her husband's ear. The myth he +had imagined made perfections of the woman's +faults.</p> + +<p>"It is a pity," he said, resting his forehead in +his hand. "It is a deadly pity."</p> + +<p>Then she turned at last and saw his attitude.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said. "There is nothing to be +done. Is there? You know my story now. I +have married a man I worship, and he does not +care for me. Take it and twist it as you may, it +comes to that and nothing else. You can pity me, +but you cannot help me. I must bear it as well +as I can, and as long as I must. It will end some +day—or I will make it end."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake do not talk like that!"</p> + +<p>"How should I talk? What should I say? Is +it of any use to speak to him? Do you think I +have not begged him, implored him, besought him, +almost on my knees, to give up that work and do +other things?"</p> + +<p>Griggs looked straight into her eyes a moment +and then almost understood what she meant.</p> + +<p>"You mean that he—that when he is painting +there—" He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Of course. All day long. All the bitter live-long +day! They sit there together on pretence of +talking about it. You know—you can guess at +least—it is the old, old story, and I have to suffer +for it. She could not marry him—because she is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_44" id="Page_V2_44">[44]</a></span> +a princess and he an artist—good enough for me—God +knows, I love him! Too good for her, ten +thousand times too good! But yet not good enough +for her to marry! He needed a wife, and she +brought us together, and I suppose he told her that +I should do very well for the purpose. I was a +good subject. I fell in love with him—that was +what they wanted. A wife for her favourite! O +God! When I think of it—"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly and buried her face in +both her hands, as she leaned upon the piano.</p> + +<p>"It is not to be believed!" The strong man's +voice vibrated with the rising storm of anger.</p> + +<p>She looked up again with flashing eyes and pale +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"No!" she cried. "It is not to be believed! +But you see it now. You see what it all is, and +how my life is wrecked and ruined before it is half +begun. It would be bad enough if I had married +him for his fame, for his face, for his money, for +anything he has or could have. But I married +him because I loved him with all my soul, and +worshipped him and everything he did."</p> + +<p>"I know. We all saw it."</p> + +<p>"Of course—was it anything to hide? And I +thought he loved me, too. Do you know?" She +grew more calm. "At first I used to go and sit in +the hall when he was at work. Then he grew +silent, and I felt that he did not want me. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_45" id="Page_V2_45">[45]</a></span> +thought it was because he was such a great artist, +and could not talk and work, and wanted to be +alone. So I stayed away. Then, once, I went +there, and she was there, sitting in that great +chair—it shows off the innocence of her white +face, you know! The innocence of it!" Gloria +laughed bitterly. "They were talking when I +came, and they stopped as soon as the door opened. +I am sure they were talking about me. Then they +seemed dreadfully uncomfortable, and she went +away. After that I went several times. Once or +twice she came in while I was there. Then she +did not come any more. He must have told her, +of course. He kept looking at the door, though, +as if he expected her at any moment. But she +never came again in those days. I could not bear +it—his trying to talk to me, and evidently wishing +all the time that she would come. I gave up +going altogether at last. What could I do? It +was unbearable. It was more than flesh and blood +could stand."</p> + +<p>"I do not wonder that you hate her," said +Griggs. "I have often thought you did."</p> + +<p>Gloria smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "I hate her with all my +heart. She has robbed me of the only thing I ever +had worth having—if I ever had it. I sometimes +wonder—or rather, no. I do not wonder, +for I know the truth well enough. I have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_46" id="Page_V2_46">[46]</a></span> +over and over it again and again in the night. He +never loved me. He never could love any one but +her. He knew her long ago, and has loved her all +his life. Why should he put me in her place? He +admired me. I was a beautiful plaything—no, +not beautiful—" She paused.</p> + +<p>"You are the most beautiful woman in the +world," said Paul Griggs, with deep conviction.</p> + +<p>He saw the blush of pleasure in her face, saw +the fluttering of the lids. But he neither knew +that she had meant him to say it, nor did he judge +of the vast gulf her mind must have instantaneously +bridged, from the outpouring of her fancied +injuries and of her hatred for Francesca Campodonico, +to the unconcealable satisfaction his words +gave her.</p> + +<p>"I have heard him say that, too," she answered +a moment later. "But he did not mean it. He +never meant anything he said to me—not one +word of it all. You do not know what that means," +she went on, working herself back into a sort of +despairing anger again. "You do not know. To +have built one's whole life on one thing, as I did! +To have believed only one thing, as I did! To find +that it is all gone, all untrue, all a wretched piece +of acting—oh, you do not know! That woman's +face haunts me in the dark—she is always there, +with him, wherever I look, as they are together +now at her house. Do you understand? Do you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_47" id="Page_V2_47">[47]</a></span> +know what I feel? You pity me—but do you +know? Oh, I have longed for some one—I have +wished I had a dog to listen to me—sometimes—it +is so hard to be alone—so very hard—"</p> + +<p>She broke off suddenly and hid her face again.</p> + +<p>"You are not alone. You have me—if you will +have me."</p> + +<p>Before he had finished speaking the few words, +the first sob broke, violent, real, uncontrollable. +Then came the next, and then the storm of tears. +Griggs rose instinctively and came to her side. He +leaned heavily on the piano, bending down a little, +helpless, as some men are at such moments. She +did not notice him, and her sobs filled the still +room. As he stood over her he could see the bright +tears falling upon the black and white ivory keys. +He laid his trembling hand upon her shoulder. He +could hardly draw his breath for the sight of her +suffering.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't," he said, almost pathetic in +his lack of eloquence when he thought he most +needed it.</p> + +<p>One of her hot hands, all wet with tears, went +suddenly to her shoulder, and grasped his that lay +there, with a convulsive pressure, seeming to draw +him down as she bowed herself almost to the keyboard +in her agony of weeping. Then, without +thought, his other hand, cold as ice, was under her +throat, bringing her head gently back upon his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_48" id="Page_V2_48">[48]</a></span> +arm, till the white face was turned up to his. Sob +by sob, more distantly, the tempest subsided, but +still the great tears swelled the heavy lids and ran +down across her face upon his wrist. Then the +wet, dark eyes opened and looked up to his, above +her head.</p> + +<p>"Be my friend!" she said softly, and her fingers +pressed his very gently.</p> + +<p>He looked down into her eyes for one moment, +and then the passion in him got the mastery of his +honourable soul.</p> + +<p>"How can I?" he cried in a broken, choking +voice. "I love you!"</p> + +<p>In an instant he was standing up, lifting her +high from the floor, and the lips that had perhaps +never kissed for love before, were pressed upon +hers. What chance had she, a woman, in those +resistless arms of his? In her face was the still, +fateful look of the dead nun, rising from the far +grave of a buried tragedy.</p> + +<p>In his uncontrollable passion he crushed her to +him, holding her up like a child. She struggled +and freed her hands and pressed them both upon +his two eyes.</p> + +<p>"Please—please!" she cried.</p> + +<p>There was a pitiful ring in the tone, like the +bleating of a frightened lamb. He hurt her too, +for he was overstrong when he was thoughtless.</p> + +<p>She cried out to him to let her go. But as she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_49" id="Page_V2_49">[49]</a></span> +hung there, it was not all fear that she felt. There +came with it an uncertain, half-delirious thrill of +delight. To feel herself but a feather to his huge +strength, swung, tossed, kissed, crushed, as he +would. There was fear already, there was all her +innocent maidenlike resistance, beating against +him with might and anger, there was the feminine +sense of injury by outrageous violence; but with it +all there was also the natural woman's delight in +the main strength of the natural man, that could +kill her in an instant if he chose, but that could +lift her to itself as a little child and surround her +and protect her against the whole world.</p> + +<p>"Please—please!" she cried again, covering his +fierce eyes and white face with her hands and +trying to push him away. The tone was pathetic +in its appeal, and it touched him. His arms +relaxed, tightened again with a sort of spasm, and +then she found herself beside him on her feet. A +long silence followed.</p> + +<p>Gloria sank into a chair, glanced at him and saw +that his face was turned away, looked down again +and then watched him. His chest heaved once or +twice, as though he had run a short sharp race. +One hand grasped the back of a chair as he stood +up. All at once, without looking at her, he went to +the window and stood there, looking out, but seeing +nothing. The soft damp wind made the panes of +glass rattle. Still neither broke the silence. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_50" id="Page_V2_50">[50]</a></span> +he came to her and stood before her, looking down, +and she looked down, too, and would not see him. +She was more afraid of him now than when he had +lifted her from her feet, and her heart beat fast. +She wondered what he would say, for she supposed +that he meant to ask her forgiveness, and she was +right.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 363px;"> +<img src="images/gs22.jpg" width="363" height="500" alt=""Gloria—forgive me!"—Vol. II., p. 50." title=""Gloria—forgive me!"—Vol. II., p. 50." /> +<span class="caption">"Gloria—forgive me!"—Vol. II., p. 50.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Gloria—forgive me," he said.</p> + +<p>She looked up, a little fear of him still in her face.</p> + +<p>"How can I?" she asked, but in her voice there +was forgiveness already.</p> + +<p>Her womanly instinct, though she was so young, +told her that the fault was hers, and that considering +the provocation it was not a great one—what +were a few kisses, even such kisses as his, in a lifetime? +And she had tempted him beyond all bounds +and repented of it. Before the storm she had +raised in him, her fancied woes sank away and +seemed infinitely small. She knew that she had +worked herself up to emotion and tears, though not +half sure of what she was saying, that she had +exaggerated all she knew and suggested all she did +not know, that she had almost been acting a part to +satisfy something in her which she could not understand. +And by her acting she had roused the +savage truth in her very face and it had swept +down everything before it. She had not guessed +such possibilities. Before the tempest of his love +all she had ever felt or dreamed of feeling seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_51" id="Page_V2_51">[51]</a></span> +colourless and cold. She dreaded to rouse it again, +and yet she could never forget the instant thrill +that had quivered through her when he had lifted +her from her feet.</p> + +<p>When she had answered him with her question, +he stood still in silence for a moment. She was +too perfect in his eyes for him to cast the blame +upon her, yet he knew that it had not been all his +fault. And in the lower man was the mad triumph +of having kissed her and of having told her, once for +all, the whole meaning of his being. She looked +down, and he could not see her eyes. There was no +chair near. To see her face he dropped upon his +knee and lightly touched her hands that lay idly +in her lap. She started, fearing another outbreak.</p> + +<p>"Please—please!" he said softly, using the +very word she had used to him.</p> + +<p>"Yes—but—" She hesitated and then raised +her eyes.</p> + +<p>The mask of his face was all softened, and his +lips trembled a little. His hands quivered, too, +as they touched hers.</p> + +<p>"Please!" he repeated. "I promise. Indeed, I +promise. Forgive me."</p> + +<p>She smiled, all at once, dreamily. All his emotion, +and her desire for it, were gone.</p> + +<p>"I asked you to be my friend," she said. "I +meant it, you know. How could you? It was not +kind."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_52" id="Page_V2_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—but forgive me," he insisted in a pleading +tone.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must," she said at last. "But I +shall never feel sure of you again. How can I?"</p> + +<p>"I promise. You will believe me, not to-day, +perhaps, nor to-morrow, but soon. I will be just +what I have always been. I will never do anything +to offend you again."</p> + +<p>"You promise me that? Solemnly?" She still +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is a promise. I will keep it. I will +be your friend always. Give me something to do +for you. It will make it easier."</p> + +<p>"What can I ask you to do? I shall never dare +to speak to you about my life again."</p> + +<p>"I think you will, when you see that I am just +as I used to be. And you forgive me, quite?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I must. We must forget to-day. It +must be as though it had never happened. Will +you forget it?"</p> + +<p>"I will try." But of that he knew the utter +impossibility.</p> + +<p>"If you try, you can succeed. Now get up. Be +reasonable."</p> + +<p>He took her hand in both of his. She made a +movement to withdraw it, and then submitted. He +barely touched it with his lips and rose to his feet +instantly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said simply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_53" id="Page_V2_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had never had such a mastery of charm over +him as at that moment. But his mood was changed, +and there was no breaking out of the other man in +him, though he felt again the quick sharp throb in +the temples, and the rising blood at his throat. +The higher self was dominant once more, and the +features was as still as a statue's.</p> + +<p>He took leave of her very quickly and went out +into the damp street and faced the gusty southeast +wind.</p> + +<p>When he was gone, she rose and went to the +window with a listless step, and gazed idly through +the glass at the long row of windows in the palace +opposite, and then went back and sank down, as +though very weary, upon a sofa far from the light. +There was a dazed, wondering look in her face and +she sat very still for a long time, till it began to +grow dark. In the dusk she rose and went to the +piano and sang softly to herself. Her voice never +swelled to a full note, and the chords which her +fingers sought were low and gentle and dreamy.</p> + +<p>While she was singing, the door opened noiselessly, +and Reanda came in and stood beside her. +She broke off and looked up, a little startled. The +same wondering, half-dazed look was in her face. +Her husband bent down and kissed her, and she +kissed him silently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_54" id="Page_V2_54">[54]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Donna Francesca</span> had put off her mourning, +and went into the world again during that winter. +The world said that she might marry if she so +pleased, and was somewhat inclined to wonder that +she did not. She could have made a brilliant +match if she had chosen. But instead, though she +appeared everywhere where society was congregated +together, she showed a tendency to religion which +surprised her friends.</p> + +<p>A tendency to religion existed in the Braccio +family, together with various other tendencies not +at all in harmony with it, nor otherwise edifying. +Those other tendencies seemed to be absent in +Francesca, and little by little her acquaintances +began to speak of her as a devout person. The +Prince of Gerano even hinted that she might some +day be an abbess in the Carmelite Convent at +Subiaco, as many a lady of the great house had +been before her. But Francesca was not prepared +to withdraw from the world altogether, though at +the present time she was very unhappy.</p> + +<p>She suspected herself of a great sin, besides reproaching +herself bitterly with many of her deeds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_55" id="Page_V2_55">[55]</a></span> +which deserved no blame at all. Yet she was by +no means morbid, nor naturally inclined to perpetual +self-examination. On the contrary, she had +always been willing to accept life as a simple +affair which could not offer any difficulties provided +that one were what she meant by "good"—that +is, honest in word and deed, and scrupulous in doing +thoroughly and with right intention those +things which her religion required of her, but in +which only she herself could judge of her own sincerity.</p> + +<p>Of late, however, she had felt that there was +something very wrong in all her recent life. The +certainty of it dawned by degrees, and then burst +upon her suddenly one day when she was with +Reanda.</p> + +<p>She had long ago noticed the change in his manner, +the harassed look, and the sad ring in his +voice, and for a time his suffering was her sorrow, +and there was a painful pleasure in being able to +feel for him with all her heart. He had gone +through a phase which had lasted many months, +and the change was great between his former and +his present self. He had suffered, but indifference +was creeping upon him. It was clear enough. +Nothing interested him but his art, and perhaps +her own conversation, though even that seemed +doubtful to her.</p> + +<p>They were alone together on a winter's afternoon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_56" id="Page_V2_56">[56]</a></span> +in the great hall. The work was almost done, and +they had been talking of the more mechanical decorations, +and of the style of the furniture.</p> + +<p>"It is a big place," said Francesca, "but I mean +to fill it. I like large rooms, and when it is finished, +I will take up my quarters here, and call it +my boudoir."</p> + +<p>She smiled at the idea. The hall was at least +fifty feet long by thirty wide.</p> + +<p>"All the women I know have wretched little +sitting-rooms in which they can hardly turn round," +she said. "I will have all the space I like, and +all the air and all the light. Besides, I shall +always have the dear Cupid and Psyche, to remind +me of you."</p> + +<p>She spoke the last words with the simplicity of +absolute innocence.</p> + +<p>"And me?" he asked, as innocently and simply +as she. "What will you do with me?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever you like," she said, taking it quite +for granted, as he did, that he was to work for +her all his life. "You can have a studio in the +house, just as it used to be, if you please. And +you can paint the great canvas for the ceiling +of the dining-room. Or shall I restore the old +chapel? Which should you rather do—oil-painting, +or fresco?"</p> + +<p>"You would not want the altar piece which I +should paint," he said, with sudden sadness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_57" id="Page_V2_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Santa Francesca?" she asked. "It would +have to be Santa Francesca. The chapel is dedicated +to her. You could make a beautiful picture +of her—a portrait, perhaps—" she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Of yourself? Yes, I could do that," he answered +quickly.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, and hesitated. "Of your wife," +she added rather abruptly.</p> + +<p>He started and looked at her, and she was sorry +that she had spoken. Gloria's beautiful face had +risen in her mind, and it had seemed generous to +suggest the idea. Finding a difficulty in telling +him, she had thought it her duty to be frank.</p> + +<p>He laughed harshly before he answered her.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "Certainly not a portrait of my +wife. Not even to please you. And that is saying +much."</p> + +<p>He spoke very bitterly. In the few words, he +poured out the pent-up suffering of many months. +Francesca turned pale.</p> + +<p>"I know, and it is my fault," she said in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Your fault? No! But it is not mine."</p> + +<p>His hands trembled violently as he took up his +palette and brushes and began to mix some colours, +not knowing what he was doing.</p> + +<p>"It is my fault," said Francesca, still very white, +and staring at the brick floor. "I have seen it. +I could not speak of it. You are unhappy—miserable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_58" id="Page_V2_58">[58]</a></span> +Your life is ruined, and I have done +it. I!"</p> + +<p>She bit her lip almost before the last word was +uttered; for it was stronger and louder than she +had expected it to be, and the syllable rang with a +despairing echo in the empty hall.</p> + +<p>Reanda shook his head, and bent over his colours +with shaking hands, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I was so happy when you were married," said +Francesca, forcing herself to speak calmly. "She +seemed such a good wife for you—so young, so +beautiful. And she loves you—"</p> + +<p>"No." He shook his head energetically. "She +does not love me. Do not say that, for it is not +true. One does not love in that way—to-day a +kiss, to-morrow a sting—to-day honey, to-morrow +snake-poison. Do not say that it is love, for it is +not true. The heart tells the truth, all alone in +the breast. A thousand words cannot make it tell +one lie. But for me—it is finished. Let us speak +no more of love. Let us talk of our good friendship. +It is better."</p> + +<p>"Eh, let us speak of it, of this friendship! It +has cost tears of blood!"</p> + +<p>Francesca, in the sincerity of what she felt, +relapsed into the Roman dialect. Almost all +Romans do, under any emotion.</p> + +<p>"Everything passes," answered Reanda, laying +his palette aside, and beginning to walk up and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_59" id="Page_V2_59">[59]</a></span> +down, his hands in his pockets. "This also will +pass," he added, as he turned. "We are men. +We shall forget."</p> + +<p>"But not I. For I did it. Your sadness cuts +my heart, because I did it. I—I alone. But for +me, you would be free."</p> + +<p>"Would to Heaven!" exclaimed the artist, +almost under his breath. "But I will not have +you say that it is your fault!" he cried, stopping +before her. "I was the fool that believed. A +man of my age—oh, a serious man—to marry +a child! I should have known. At first, I do +not say. I was the first. She thought she had +paradise in her arms. A husband! They all +want it, the husband. But I, who had lived +and seen, I should have known. Fool, fool! +Ignorant fool!"</p> + +<p>The words came out vehemently in the strong +dialect, and the nervous, heart-wrung man struck +his breast with his clenched fist, and his eyes +looked upward.</p> + +<p>"Reanda, Reanda! What are you saying? +When I tell you that I made you marry her! It +was here,—I was in this very chair,—and I told +you about her. And I asked her here with intention, +that you might see how beautiful she was. +And then, neither one nor two, she fell in love with +you! It would have been a miracle if you had not +married her. And her father, he was satisfied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_60" id="Page_V2_60">[60]</a></span> +May that day be accursed when I brought them +here to torment you!"</p> + +<p>She spoke excitedly, and her lip quivered. He +began to walk again with rapid, uncertain strides.</p> + +<p>"For that—yes!" he said. "Let the day bear +the blame. But I was the madman. Who leaves +the old way and follows the new knows what he +leaves, but not what he may find. I might have +been contented. I was so happy! God knows how +happy I was!"</p> + +<p>"And I!" exclaimed Francesca, involuntarily; +but he did not hear her.</p> + +<p>She felt a curious sense of elation, though she +was so truly sorry for him, and it disturbed her +strangely. She looked at him and smiled, and then +wondered why the smile came. There is a ruthless +cruelty in the half-unconscious impulses of the +purest innocence, of which vice itself might be +ashamed in its heart. It is simple humanity's +assertion of its prior right to be happy. She +smiled spontaneously because she knew that Reanda +no longer loved Gloria, and she felt that he could +not love her again; and for a while she was too +simply natural to quarrel with herself for it, or to +realize what it meant.</p> + +<p>He was nervous, melancholy, and unstrung, and +he began to talk about himself and his married life +for the first time, pouring out his sufferings and +thoughtless of what Francesca might think and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_61" id="Page_V2_61">[61]</a></span> +feel. He, too, was natural. Unlike his wife, he +detested emotion. To be angry was almost an +illness to his over-finely organized temperament. +In a way, Griggs had been right in saying that +Reanda seemed to paint as an agent in the power +of an unseen, directing influence. Beauty made +him feel itself, and feel for it in his turn with his +brush. The conception was before him, guiding +his hand, before a stroke of the work was done. +There was the lightning-like co-respondence and +mutual reaction between thought and execution, +which has been explained by some to be the simultaneous +action of two minds in man, the subjective +and the objective. In doing certain things he +had the patience and the delicacy of one for whom +time has no meaning. He could not have told +whether his hand followed his eye, or his eye followed +his hand. His whole being was of excessively +sensitive construction, and emotion of any +kind, even pleasure, jarred upon its hair-fine sensibilities. +And yet, behind all this, there was the +tenacity of the great artist and the phenomenal +power of endurance, in certain directions, which is +essential to prize-winning in the fight for fame. +There was the quality of nerve which can endure +great tension in one way, but can bear nothing in +other ways.</p> + +<p>He went on, giving vent to all he felt, talking to +himself rather than to Francesca. He could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_62" id="Page_V2_62">[62]</a></span> +reproach his wife with any one action of importance. +She was fond of Paul Griggs. But it was +only Griggs! He smiled. In his eyes, the cold-faced +man was no more than a stone. In their +excursions into society she had met men whom he +considered far more dangerous, men young, handsome, +rich, having great names. They admired +her and said so to her in the best language they +had, which was no doubt often very eloquent. Had +she ever looked twice at one of them? No. He +could not reproach her with that. The Duchess of +Astrardente was not more cold to her admirers +than Gloria was. It was not that. There were +little things, little nothings, but in thousands. He +tried to please her with something, and she laughed +in his face, or found fault. She had small hardnesses +and little vulgarities of manner that drove +him mad.</p> + +<p>"I had thought her like you," he said suddenly, +turning to Francesca. "She is not. She is coarse-grained. +She has the soul of a peasant, with the +face of a Madonna. What would you have? It is +too much. Love is an illusion. I will have no +more of it. Besides, love is dead. It would be +easier to wake a corpse. I shall live. I may forget. +Meanwhile there is our friendship. That is +of gold."</p> + +<p>Francesca listened in silence, thoughtful and +with downcast eyes, as the short, disjointed sentences<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_63" id="Page_V2_63">[63]</a></span> +broke vehemently from his lips, each one +accusing her in her own heart of having wrought +the misery of two lives, one of which was very dear +to her. Too dear, as she knew at last. The scarlet +shame would have burned her face, if she had +owned to herself that she loved this man, whom +she had married to another, believing that she was +making his happiness. She would not own it. +Had she admitted it then, she would have been +capable of leaving him within the hour, and of +shutting herself up forever in the Convent at +Subiaco to expiate the sin of the thought. It was +monstrous in her eyes, and she would still refuse to +see it.</p> + +<p>But she owned that there was the suspicion, and +that Angelo Reanda was far dearer to her than +anything else on earth. Her innocence was so +strong and spotless that it had a right to its one +and only satisfaction. But what she felt for Reanda +was either love, or it was blasphemy against the +holy thing in whose place he stood in her temple. +It must not be love, and therefore, as anything else, +it was too much. And the strange joy she felt +because Gloria was nothing to him, still filled her +heart, though it began to torment her with the +knowledge of evil which she had never understood.</p> + +<p>There was much else against him, too, in her +pride of race, and it helped her just then, for it +told her how impossible it was that she, a princess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_64" id="Page_V2_64">[64]</a></span> +of the house of Braccio, should love a mere artist, +the son of a steward, whose forefathers had been +bondsmen to her ancestors from time immemorial. +It was out of the question, and she would not +believe it of herself. Yet, as she looked into his +delicate, spiritual face and watched the shades of +expression that crossed it, she felt that it made +little difference whence he came, since she understood +him and he understood her.</p> + +<p>She became confused by her own thoughts and +grasped at the idea of a true and perfect friendship, +with a somewhat desperate determination to see it +and nothing else in it, for the rest of her life, +rather than part with Angelo Reanda.</p> + +<p>"Friends," she said thoughtfully. "Yes—always +friends, you and I. But as a friend, +Reanda, what can I do? I cannot help you."</p> + +<p>"The time for help is past, if it ever came. +You are a saint—pray for me. You can do that."</p> + +<p>"But there is more than that to be done," she +said, ready to sacrifice anything or everything just +then. "Do not tell me it is hopeless. I will see +your wife often and I will talk to her. I am older +than she, and I can make her understand many +things."</p> + +<p>"Do not try it," said Reanda, in an altered tone. +"I advise you not to try it. You can do no good +there, and you might find trouble."</p> + +<p>"Find trouble?" repeated Francesca, not understanding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_65" id="Page_V2_65">[65]</a></span> +him. "What do you mean? Does she +dislike me?"</p> + +<p>"Have you not seen it?" he asked, with a bitter +smile.</p> + +<p>Francesca did not answer him at once, but bent +her head again. Once or twice she looked up as +though she were about to speak.</p> + +<p>"It is as I tell you," said Reanda, nodding his +head slowly.</p> + +<p>Francesca made up her mind, but the scarlet +blood rose in her face.</p> + +<p>"It is better to be honest and frank," she said. +"Is Gloria jealous of me?" She was so much +ashamed that she could hardly look at him just +then.</p> + +<p>"Jealous! She would kill you!" he cried, and +there was anger in his voice at the thought. "Do +not go to her. Something might happen."</p> + +<p>The blush in Francesca's face deepened and then +subsided, and she grew very pale again.</p> + +<p>"But if she is jealous, she loves you," she said +earnestly and anxiously.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his high thin shoulders, and the +bitter smile came back to his face.</p> + +<p>"It is a stage jealousy," he said cruelly. +"How could she pass the time without something +to divert her? She is always acting."</p> + +<p>"But what is she jealous of?" asked Francesca. +"How can she be jealous of me? Because you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_66" id="Page_V2_66">[66]</a></span> +work here? She is free to come if she likes, and +to stay all day. I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Who can understand her? God, who made +her, understands her. I am only a man. I know +only one thing, that I loved her and do not love +her. And she makes a scene for every day. One +day it is you, and another day it is the walls she +does not like. You will forgive me, Princess. I +speak frankly what comes to my mouth from my +heart. The whole story is this. She makes my +life intolerable. I am not an idle man, the first +you may meet in society, to spend my time from +morning to night in studying my wife's caprices. +I am an artist. When I have worked I must have +peace. I do not ask for intelligent conversation +like yours. But I must have peace. One of these +days I shall strangle her with my hands. The +Lord will forgive me and understand. I am full +of nerves. Is it my fault? She twists them as +the women wring out clothes at the fountain. It +is not a life; it is a hell."</p> + +<p>"Poor Reanda! Poor Reanda!" repeated Francesca, +softly.</p> + +<p>"I do not pity myself," he said scornfully. "I +have deserved it, and much more. But I am +human. If it goes on a little longer, you may take +me to Santo Spirito, for I am going mad. At least +I should be there in holy peace. After her, the +madmen would all seem doctors of wisdom. Do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_67" id="Page_V2_67">[67]</a></span> +you know what will happen this evening? I go +home. 'Where have you been?' she will ask. +'At the Palazzetto.' 'What have you been doing?' +'Painting—it is my trade.' 'Was Donna Francesca +there?' 'Of course. She is mistress in her +own house.' 'And what did you talk of?' 'How +should I remember? We talked.' Then it will +begin. It will be an inferno, as it always is. +'Leave hope behind, all ye that enter here!' I +can say it, if ever man could! You are right to +pity me. Before it is finished you will have reason +to pity me still more. Let us hope it may finish +soon. Either San Lorenzo, or Santo Spirito—with +the mad or with the dead."</p> + +<p>"Poor Reanda!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—poor Reanda, if you like. People envy +me, they say I am a great artist. If they think +so, let them say it. It seems to them that I am +somebody." He laughed, almost hysterically. +"Somebody! Stuff for Santo Spirito! That is all +she has left me in two years—not yet two years."</p> + +<p>"Do not talk of Santo Spirito," said Francesca. +"You shall not go mad. When you are unhappy, +think of our friendship and of all the hours you +have here every day." She hesitated and seemed +to make an effort over herself. "But it is impossible +that it should be all over, so hopelessly and +so soon. She is nervous, perhaps. The climate +does not suit her—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_68" id="Page_V2_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>Reanda laughed wildly, for he was rapidly losing +all control of himself.</p> + +<p>"Therefore I should take her away and go and +live somewhere else!" he cried. "That would be +the end! I should tear her to pieces with my +hands—"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush! You are talking madly—"</p> + +<p>"I know it. There is reason. It will end +badly, one of these days, unless I end first, and +that may happen also. Without you it would have +happened long ago. You are the good angel in my +life, the one friend God has sent me in my tormented +existence, the one star in my black sky. +Be my friend still, always, for ever and ever, and +I shall live forever only to be your friend. As +for love—the devil and his demons will know +what to do with it—they will find their account in +it. They have lent it, and they will take their +payment in blood and tears of those who believe +them."</p> + +<p>"But there is love in the world, somewhere," +said Francesca, gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes—and in hell! But not in heaven—where +you will be."</p> + +<p>Francesca sighed unconsciously, and looked long +away towards the great windows at the end of the +hall. Reanda gathered up his palette and brushes +with a steadier hand. His anger had not spent +itself, but it made him suddenly strong, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_69" id="Page_V2_69">[69]</a></span> +outburst had relieved him, though it was certain +that it would be followed by a reaction of profound +despondency.</p> + +<p>All at once he came close to Francesca. She +looked up, half startled by his sudden movement.</p> + +<p>"At least it is true—this one thing," he said. +"I can count upon you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. You can count upon me," she answered, +gazing into his eyes.</p> + +<p>He did not move. The one hand held his +palette, the other hung free by his side. All at +once she took it in hers, still looking up into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am very fond of you," she said earnestly. +"You can count upon me as long as we two live."</p> + +<p>"God bless you," he said, more quietly than he +had spoken yet, and his hand pressed hers a little.</p> + +<p>There could be no harm in saying as much as +that, she thought, when it was so true and so +simply said. It was all she could ever say to him, +or to herself, and there was no reason why she +should not say it. He would not misunderstand +her. No man could have mistaken the innocence +that was the life and light of her clear eyes. She +was glad she had said it, and she was glad long +afterwards that she had said it on that day, quietly, +when no one could hear them in the great still hall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_70" id="Page_V2_70">[70]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Reanda</span> went home that evening in a very disturbed +state of mind. He had been better so long +as he had not given vent to what he felt; for, as +with many southern men of excitable temper and +weak nerves, his thoughts about himself, as distinguished +from his pursuits, did not take positive +shape in his mind until he had expressed them in +words. Amongst the Latin races the phrase, 'he +cannot think without speaking,' has more truth as +applied to some individuals than the Anglo-Saxon +can easily understand.</p> + +<p>For many months the artist had been most unhappy. +His silence concerning his grief had been +almost exemplary, and had been broken only now +and then by a hasty exclamation of annoyance +when Gloria's behaviour had irritated him beyond +measure. He was the gentlest of men; and even +when he had lost his temper with her, he had +never spoken roughly.</p> + +<p>"You are hard to please, my dear," he had sometimes +said.</p> + +<p>But that had been almost the strongest expression +of his displeasure. It was not, indeed, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_71" id="Page_V2_71">[71]</a></span> +he had exercised very great self-control in the +matter, for he had little power of that sort over +himself. If he was habitually mild and gentle in +his manner with Gloria, it was rather because, like +many Italians, he dreaded emotion as something +like an illness, and could avoid it to some extent +merely by not speaking freely of what he felt. +Silence was generally easy to him; and he had not +broken out more than two or three times in all his +life, as he had done on that afternoon alone with +Francesca.</p> + +<p>The inevitable consequence followed immediately,—a +consequence as much physical as mental, +for when he went away from the Palazzetto, his +clear dark eyes were bloodshot and yellow, and his +hands had trembled so that he had hardly been +able to find the armholes of his great-coat in putting +it on. He walked with an uncertain and +agitated step, glancing to right and left of him as +he went, half-fiercely, half-timidly, as though he +expected a new adversary to spring upon him from +every corner. The straight line of the houses +waned and shivered in the dusk, as he looked at +them, and he saw flashes of light in the air. His +head was hot and aching, and his hat hurt him. +Altogether he was in a dangerous state, not unlike +that which, with northern men, sometimes follows +hard drinking.</p> + +<p>He hated to go home that evening. So far as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_72" id="Page_V2_72">[72]</a></span> +was conscious, he had neither misrepresented nor +in any way exaggerated the miseries of his domestic +existence; and he felt that it was before him +now, precisely as he had described it. There would +be the same questions, to which he would give the +same answers, at which Gloria would put on the +same expression of injured hopelessness, unless +she broke out and lost her temper, which happened +often enough. The prospect was intolerable. +Reanda thrust his hands deep into the pocket of +his overcoat, and glared about him as he turned +the corner of the Via degli Astalli, and saw the +Corso in the distance. But he did not slacken his +pace as he went along under the gloomy walls of +the Austrian Embassy—the Palace of Venice—the +most grim and fortress-like of all Roman +palaces.</p> + +<p>He felt as a poor man may feel when, hot and +feverish from working by a furnace, he knows that +he must face the winter storm of freezing sleet +and piercing wind in his thin and ragged jacket to +go home—a plunge, as it were, from molten iron +into ice, with no protection from the cold. Every +step of the homeward way was hateful to him. +Yet he knew his own weakness well enough not to +hesitate. Had he stopped, he might have been +capable of turning in some other direction, and of +spending the whole evening with some of his +fellow-artists, going home late in the night, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_73" id="Page_V2_73">[73]</a></span> +Gloria would be asleep. The thought crossed his +mind. If he did that, he was sure to be carried +away into speaking of his troubles to men with +whom he had no intimacy. He was too proud for +that. He wished he could go back to Francesca, +and pour out his woes again. He had not said half +enough. He should like to have it out, to the very +end, and then lie down and close his eyes, and hear +Francesca's voice soothing him and speaking of +their golden friendship. But that was impossible, +so he went home to face his misery as best he +could.</p> + +<p>There was exaggeration in all he thought, but +there was none in the effect of his thoughts upon +himself. He had married a woman unsuited to +him in every way, as he was unsuited to her. The +whole trouble lay there. Possibly he was not a +man to marry at all, and should have led his solitary +life to the end, illuminated from the outside, +as it were, by Francesca Campodonico's faithful +friendship and sweet influence. All causes of disagreement, +considered as forces in married life, are +relative in their value to the comparative solidity +of the characters on which they act—a truism +which ought to be the foundation of social charity, +but is not. Reanda could not be blamed for his +brittle sensitivenesses, nor Gloria for a certain +coarse-grained streak of cruelty, which she had +inherited from her father, and which had combined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_74" id="Page_V2_74">[74]</a></span> +strangely with the rare gifts and great faults of +her dead mother—the love of emotion for its own +sake, and the tendency to do everything which +might produce it in herself and those about her. +Emotion was poison to Reanda. It was his wife's +favourite food.</p> + +<p>He reached his home, and went up the well-lighted +marble staircase, wishing that he were ascending +the narrow stone steps at the back of the +Palazzetto Borgia, taper in hand, to his old bachelor +quarters, to light his lamp, to smoke in peace, and +to spend the evening over a sketch, or with a book, +or dreaming of work not yet done. He paused on +the landing, before he rang the bell of his apartment. +The polished door irritated him, with its +brass fittings and all that it meant of married life +and irksome social obligation. He never carried a +key, because the Roman keys of those times were +large and heavy; but he had been obliged to use +one formerly, when he had lived by himself. The +necessity of ringing the bell irritated him again, +and he felt a nervous shock of unwillingness as he +pulled the brass knob. He set his teeth against +the tinkling and jangling that followed, and his +eyelids quivered. Everything hurt him. He did +not feel sure of his hands when he wanted to +use them. He was inclined to strike the silent +and respectful man-servant who opened the door, +merely because he was silent and respectful. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_75" id="Page_V2_75">[75]</a></span> +went straight to his own dressing-room, and shut +himself in. It would be a relief to change his +clothes. He and Gloria were to go to a reception +in the evening, and he would dress at once. In +those days few Romans dressed for dinner every +day.</p> + +<p>He dropped a stud, for his hands were shaking +so that he could hardly hold anything; and he +groped for the thing on his knees. The blood +went to his head, and hurt him violently, as +though he had received a blow.</p> + +<p>Gloria's room was next to his, and she heard him +moving about. She knocked and tried the door, +but it was locked; and she heard him utter an +exclamation of annoyance, as he hunted for the +stud. She thought it was meant for her, and +turned angrily back from the door. On any other +day he would have called her, for he had heard her +trying to get in. But he shrugged his lean shoulders +impatiently, glanced once towards her room, +found his stud, and went on dressing.</p> + +<p>He really made an effort to get control of himself +while he was alone. But to all intents and +purposes he was actually ill. His face was drawn +and sallow; his eyes were yellow and bloodshot; +and there were deep, twitching lines about his +mouth. His nostrils moved spasmodically when +he drew breath, and his long thin hands fumbled +helplessly at the studs and buttons of his clothes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_76" id="Page_V2_76">[76]</a></span> +At last he was dressed, and went into the drawing-room. +Gloria was already there, waiting by the +fireside, with an injured and forbidding expression +in her beautiful face.</p> + +<p>Reanda came to the fireside, and stood there, +spreading out his trembling hands to the blaze. +He dreaded the first word, as a man lying ill of +brain fever dreads each cracking explosion in a +thunderstorm. Strained as their relations had been +for a long time, he had never failed to kiss Gloria +when he came home. This evening he barely +glanced at her, and stood watching the dancing +tongues of the wood fire, not daring to think of +the sound of his wife's voice. It came at last +cool and displeased.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?" she asked, looking steadily at +him.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered with an effort, and his outstretched +hands shook before the fire.</p> + +<p>"Then what is the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing." He did not even turn his eyes to +her, as he spoke the single word.</p> + +<p>A silence followed, during which he suffered. +Nevertheless, the first dreaded shock of hearing +her voice was over. Though he had barely glanced +at her, he had known from her face what the sound +of the voice would be.</p> + +<p>Gloria leaned back in her chair and watched +the fire, and sighed. Griggs had been with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_77" id="Page_V2_77">[77]</a></span> +in the afternoon, and she had been happy, quite +innocently, as she thought. The man's dominating +strength and profound earnestness, which +would have been intolerably dull to many women, +smoothed Gloria, as it were. She said that he +ironed the creases out of her life for her. It +was not a softening influence, but a calming one, +bred of strength pressing heavily on caprice. She +resisted it, but took pleasure in finding that it was +irresistible. Now and then it was not merely a +steady pressure. He had a sledge hammer amongst +his intellectual weapons, and once in a while it fell +upon one of her illusions. She laughed at the +destruction, and had no pity for the fragments. +They were not illusions integral with her vanity, +for he thought her perfect, and he would not have +struck at her faults if he had seen them. Her +faults grew, for they had root in her vital nature, +and drew nourishment from his enduring strength, +which surrounded them and protected them in the +blind, whole-heartedness of his love. For the rest, +he had kept his word. She had seen him turn +white and bite his lip, sometimes, and more than +once he had left her abruptly, and had not come +back again for several days. But he had never +forgotten his promise, in any word or deed since +he had given it.</p> + +<p>It is a dangerous thing to pile up a mountain of +massive reality from which to look out upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_78" id="Page_V2_78">[78]</a></span> +fading beauty of a fleeting illusion. In his influence +on Gloria's life, the strong man had overtopped +the man of genius by head and shoulders. +And she loved the strange mixture of attraction +and repulsion she felt when she was with Griggs—the +something that wounded her vanity because +she could not understand it, and the protecting +shield that overspread that same vanity, and gave +it freedom to be vain beyond all bounds. She +would not have admitted that she loved the man. +It was her nature to play upon his pity with the +wounds her love for her husband had suffered. +Yet she knew that if she were free she should +marry him, because she could not resist him, and +there was pleasure in the idea that she controlled +so irresistible a force. The contrast between +him and Reanda was ever before her, and +since she had learned how weak genius could be, +the comparison was enormously in favour of the +younger man.</p> + +<p>As Reanda stood there before the fire that evening, +she despised him, and her heart rebelled +against his nature. His nervousness, his trembling +hands, his almost evident fear of being questioned, +were contemptible. He was like a hunted +animal, she thought. Two hours earlier her friend +had stood there, solid, leonine, gladiatorial, dominating +her with his square white face, and still, +shadowy eyes, quietly stretching to the flames two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_79" id="Page_V2_79">[79]</a></span> +hands that could have torn her in pieces,—a man +imposing in his stern young sadness, almost solemn +in his splendid physical dignity.</p> + +<p>She looked at Reanda, and her lip curled with +scorn of herself for having loved such a thing. It +was long since she had seen the gentle light in his +face which had won her heart two years ago. She +was familiar with his genius, and it no longer surprised +her into overlooking his frailty. His fame +no longer flattered her. His gentleness was gone, +and had left, not hardness nor violence, in its place, +but a sort of irritable palsy of discontent. That +was what she called it as she watched him.</p> + +<p>"You used to kiss me when you came home," +she said suddenly, leaning far back in her chair.</p> + +<p>Mechanically he turned his head. The habit +was strong, and she had reminded him of it. He +did not wish to quarrel, and he did not reason. +He moved a step to her side and bent down to kiss +her forehead. The automatic conjugality of the +daily kiss might have a good effect. That was +what he thought, if he thought at all.</p> + +<p>But she put up her hands suddenly, and thrust +him back rudely.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "That sort of thing is not +worth much, if I have to remind you to do it."</p> + +<p>Her lip curled again. His high shoulders went +up, and he turned away.</p> + +<p>"You are hard to please," he said, and the words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_80" id="Page_V2_80">[80]</a></span> +were as mechanical as the action that had preceded +them.</p> + +<p>"It cannot be said that you have taken much +pains to please me of late," she answered coldly.</p> + +<p>The servant announced dinner at that moment, +and Reanda made no answer, though he glanced at +her nervously. They went into the dining-room +and sat down.</p> + +<p>The storm brewed during the silent meal. Reanda +scarcely ate anything, and drank a little weak wine +and water.</p> + +<p>"You hardly seem well enough to go out this +evening," said Gloria, at last, but there was no +kindness in the tone.</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly well," he answered impatiently. +"I will go with you."</p> + +<p>"There is not the slightest necessity," replied +his wife. "I can go alone, and you can go to +bed."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I am perfectly well!" he said with +unconcealed annoyance. "Let me alone."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Nothing is easier."</p> + +<p>The voice was full of that injured dignity which +most surely irritated him, as Gloria knew. But the +servant was in the room, and he said nothing, though +it was a real effort to be silent. His tongue had +been free that day, and it was hard to be bound +again.</p> + +<p>They finished dinner almost in silence, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_81" id="Page_V2_81">[81]</a></span> +went back to the drawing-room by force of habit. +Gloria was still in her walking-dress, but there +was no hurry, and she resumed her favourite seat +by the fire for a time, before going to dress for the +reception.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_82" id="Page_V2_82">[82]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was something exasperating in the renewal +of the position exactly as it had been before +dinner. To make up for having eaten nothing, +Reanda drank two cups of coffee in silence.</p> + +<p>"You might at least speak to me," observed +Gloria, as he set down the second cup. "One +would almost think that we had quarrelled!"</p> + +<p>The hard laugh that followed the words jarred +upon him more painfully than anything that had +gone before. He laughed, too, after a moment's +silence, half hysterically.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said; "one might almost think that +we had quarrelled!" And he laughed again.</p> + +<p>"The idea seems to amuse you," said Gloria, +coldly.</p> + +<p>"As it does you," he answered. "We both +laughed. Indeed, it is very amusing."</p> + +<p>"Donna Francesca has sent you home in a good +humour. That is rare. I suppose I ought to be +grateful."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am in a fine humour. It seems to me +that we both are." He bit his cigar, and blew out +short puffs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_83" id="Page_V2_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You need not include me. Please do not smoke +into my face."</p> + +<p>The smoke was not very near her, but she made +a movement with her hands as though brushing it +away.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he said politely, and he +moved to the other side of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"How nervous you are!" she exclaimed. "Why +can you not sit down?"</p> + +<p>"Because I wish to stand," he answered, with +returning impatience. "Because I am nervous, if +you choose."</p> + +<p>"You told me that you were perfectly well."</p> + +<p>"So I am."</p> + +<p>"If you were perfectly well, you would not be +nervous," she replied.</p> + +<p>He felt as though she were driving a sharp nail +into his brain.</p> + +<p>"It does not make any difference to you whether +I am nervous or not," he said, and his eye began +to lighten, as he sat down.</p> + +<p>"It certainly makes no difference to you whether +you are rude or not."</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders, said nothing, and +smoked in silence. One thin leg was crossed over +the other and swung restlessly.</p> + +<p>"Is this sort of thing to last forever?" she inquired +coldly, after a silence which had lasted a +full minute.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_84" id="Page_V2_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not know what you mean," said Reanda.</p> + +<p>"You know very well what I mean."</p> + +<p>"This is insufferable!" he exclaimed, rising +suddenly, with his cigar between his teeth.</p> + +<p>"You might take your cigar out of your mouth +to say so," retorted Gloria.</p> + +<p>He turned on her, and an exclamation of anger +was on his lips, but he did not utter it. There +was a remnant of self-control. Gloria leaned back +in her chair, and took up a carved ivory fan from +amongst the knick-knacks on the little table beside +her. She opened it, shut it, and opened it again, +and pretended to fan herself, though the room was +cool.</p> + +<p>"I should really like to know," she said presently, +as he walked up and down with uneven steps.</p> + +<p>"What?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"Whether this is to last for the rest of our lives."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"This peaceful existence," she said scornfully. +"I should really like to know whether it is to last. +Could you not tell me?"</p> + +<p>"It will not last long, if you make it your principal +business to torment me," he said, stopping in +his walk.</p> + +<p>"I?" she exclaimed, with an air of the utmost +surprise. "When do I ever torment you?"</p> + +<p>"Whenever I am with you, and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Really! You must be ill, or out of your mind,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_85" id="Page_V2_85">[85]</a></span> +or both. That would be some excuse for saying +such a thing."</p> + +<p>"It needs none. It is true." He was becoming +exasperated at last. "You seem to spend your +time in finding out how to make life intolerable. +You are driving me mad. I cannot bear it much +longer."</p> + +<p>"If it comes to bearing, I think I have borne +more than you," said Gloria. "It is not little. +You leave me to myself. You neglect me. You +abuse the friends I am obliged to find rather than +be alone. You neglect me in every way—and you +say that I am driving you mad. Do you realize +at all how you have changed in this last year? +You may have really gone mad, for all I know, but +it is I who have to suffer and bear the consequences. +You neglect me brutally. How do I +know how you pass your time?"</p> + +<p>Reanda stood still in the middle of the room, +gazing at her. For a moment he was surprised by +the outbreak. She did not give him time to answer.</p> + +<p>"You leave me in the morning," she went on, +working her coldness into anger. "You often go +away before I am awake. You come back at midday, +and sometimes you do not speak a word over +your breakfast. If I speak, you either do not +answer, or you find fault with what I say; and if +I show the least enthusiasm for anything but your +work, you preach me down with proverbs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_86" id="Page_V2_86">[86]</a></span> +maxims, as though I were a child. I am foolish, +young, impatient, silly, not fit to take care of myself, +you say! Have you taken care of me? Have +you ever sacrificed one hour out of your long day +to give me a little pleasure? Have you ever once, +since we were married, stayed at home one morning +and asked me what I would do—just to make +one holiday for me? Never. Never once! You +give me a fine house and enough money, and you +think you have given me all that a woman wants."</p> + +<p>"And what do you want?" asked Reanda, trying +to speak calmly.</p> + +<p>"A little kindness, a little love—the least thing +of all you promised me and of all I was so sure +of having! Is it so much to ask? Have you lied +to me all this time? Did you never love me? Did +you marry me for my face, or for my voice? Was +it all a mere empty sham from the beginning? +Have you deceived me from the first? You said +you loved me. Was none of it true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I loved you," he answered, and suddenly +there was a dulness in his voice.</p> + +<p>"You loved me—"</p> + +<p>She sighed, and in the stillness that followed the +little ivory fan rattled as she opened and shut it. +To his ear, the tone in which she had spoken had +rung false. If only he could have heard her voice +speaking as it had once sounded, he must have been +touched.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_87" id="Page_V2_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," she continued. "You loved me, or at +least you made me think you did. I was young +and I believed you. You do not even say it now. +Perhaps because you know how hard it would be +to make me believe you."</p> + +<p>"No. That is not the reason."</p> + +<p>She waited a moment, for it was not the answer +she had expected.</p> + +<p>"Angelo—" she began, and waited, but he said +nothing, though he looked at her. "It is not true, +it cannot be true!" she said, suddenly turning her +face away, for there was a bitter humiliation in it.</p> + +<p>"It is much better to say it at once," he said, +with the supernaturally calm indifference which +sometimes comes upon very sensitive people when +they are irritated beyond endurance. "I did love +you, or I should not have married you. But I do +not love you any longer. I am sorry. I wish I +did."</p> + +<p>"And you dare to tell me so!" she cried, turning +upon him suddenly.</p> + +<p>A moment later she was leaning forward, covering +her face with her hands, and speaking through +them.</p> + +<p>"You have the heart to tell me so, after all I +have been to you—the devotion of years, the tenderness, +the love no man ever had of any woman! +Oh, God! It is too much!"</p> + +<p>"It is said now. It is of no use to go back to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_88" id="Page_V2_88">[88]</a></span> +lie," observed Reanda, with an indifference that +would have seemed diabolical even to himself, had +he believed her outbreak to be quite genuine. "Of +what use would it be to pretend again?"</p> + +<p>"You admit that you have only pretended to +love me?" She raised her flushed face and gleaming +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Of late—if you call it a pretence—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not that—not that! I have seen it—but +at first. You did love me. Say that, at least."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Why should I have married you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—why? In spite of her, too—it is not to +be believed."</p> + +<p>"In spite of her? Of whom? Are you out of +your mind?"</p> + +<p>Gloria laughed in a despairing sort of way.</p> + +<p>"Do not tell me that Donna Francesca ever +wished you to be married!" she said.</p> + +<p>"She brought us together. You know it. It is +the only thing I could ever reproach her with."</p> + +<p>"She made you marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Made me? No! You are quite mad."</p> + +<p>He stamped his foot impatiently, and turned +away to walk up and down again. His cigar had +gone out, but he gnawed at it angrily. He was +amazed at what he could still bear, but he was fast +losing his head. The mad desire to strangle her +tingled in his hands, and the light of the lamp +danced when he looked at it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_89" id="Page_V2_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She has made you do so many things!" said +Gloria.</p> + +<p>Her tone had changed again, growing hard and +scornful, when she spoke of Donna Francesca.</p> + +<p>"What has she made me do that you should speak +of her in that way?" asked Reanda, angrily, re-crossing +the room.</p> + +<p>"She has made you hate me—for one thing," +Gloria answered.</p> + +<p>"That is not true!" Reanda could hardly +breathe, and he felt his voice growing thick.</p> + +<p>"Not true! Then, if not she, who else? You +are with her there all day—she talks about me, +she finds fault with me, and you come home and +see the faults she finds for you—"</p> + +<p>"There is not a word of truth in what you +say—"</p> + +<p>"Do not be so angry, then! If it were not true, +why should you care? I have said it, and I will +say it. She has robbed me of you. Oh, I will +never forgive her! Never fear! One does not +forget such things! She has got you, and she +will keep you, I suppose. But you shall regret it! +She shall pay me for it!"</p> + +<p>Her voice shook, for her jealousy was real, as +was all her emotion while it lasted.</p> + +<p>"You shall not speak of her in that way," said +Reanda, fiercely. "I owe her and her family all +that I am, all that I have in the world—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_90" id="Page_V2_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Including me!" interrupted Gloria. "Pay her +then—pay her with your love and yourself. You +can satisfy your conscience in that way, and you +can break my heart."</p> + +<p>"There is not the slightest fear of that," answered +Reanda, cruelly.</p> + +<p>She rose suddenly to her feet and stood before +him, blazing with anger.</p> + +<p>"If I could find yours—if you had any—I would +break it," she said. "You dare to say that I have +no heart, when you can see that every word you +say thrusts it through like a knife, when I have +loved you as no woman ever loved man! I said it, +and I repeat it—when I have given you everything, +and would have given you the world if I had +it! Indeed, you are utterly heartless and cruel +and unkind—"</p> + +<p>"At least, I am honest. I do not play a part as +you do. I say plainly that I do not love you and +that I am sorry for it. Yes—really sorry." His +voice softened for an instant. "I would give a +great deal to love you as I once did, and to believe +that you loved me—"</p> + +<p>"You will tell me that I do not—"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I will tell you so, and that you never +did—"</p> + +<p>"Angelo—take care! You will go too far!"</p> + +<p>"I could never go far enough in telling you that +truth. You never loved me. You may have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_91" id="Page_V2_91">[91]</a></span> +thought you did. I do not care. You talk of +devotion and tenderness and all the like! Of +being left alone and neglected! Of going too far! +What devotion have you ever shown to me, beyond +extravagantly praising everything I painted, for a +few months after we were married. Then you grew +tired of my work. That is your affair. What is +it to me whether you admire my pictures or Mendoza's, +or any other man's? Do you think that is +devotion? I know far better than you which are +good and which are bad. But you call it devotion. +And it was devotion that kept you away from me +when I was working, when I was obliged to work—for +it is my trade, after all—and when you +might have been with me day after day! And it +was devotion to meet me with your sour, severe +look every day when I came home, as though I +were a secret enemy, a conspirator, a creature to be +guarded against like a thief—as though I had been +staying away from you on purpose, and of my will—instead +of working for you all day long. That +was your way of showing your love. And to torment +me with questions, everlastingly believing +that I spend my time in talking against you to +Donna Francesca—"</p> + +<p>"You do!" cried Gloria, who had not been able +to interrupt his incoherent speech. "You love her +as you never loved me—as you hate me—as you +both hate me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_92" id="Page_V2_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>She grasped his sleeve in her anger, shaking his +arm, and staring into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You make me hate you!" he answered, trying +to shake her off.</p> + +<p>"And you succeed, between you—You and +your—"</p> + +<p>In his turn he grasped her arm with his long, +thin fingers, with nervous roughness.</p> + +<p>"You shall not speak of her—"</p> + +<p>"Shall not? It is the only right I have left—that +and the right to hate you—you and that infamous +woman you love—yes—you and your mistress—your +pretty Francesca!" Her laugh was +almost a scream.</p> + +<p>His fury overflowed. After all, he was the son +of a countryman, of the steward of Gerano. He +snatched the ivory fan from her hand and struck +her across the face with it. The fragile thing +broke to shivers, and the fragments fell between +them.</p> + +<p>Gloria turned deadly white, but there was a +bright red bar across her cheek. She looked at +him a moment, and into her face there came that +fateful look that was like her dead mother's.</p> + +<p>Then without a word she turned and left the +room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_93" id="Page_V2_93">[93]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> daughter of Angus Dalrymple and Maria +Braccio was not the woman to bear a blow tamely, +or to hesitate long as to the surest way of resenting +it. Before she had reached the door she had +determined to leave the house at once, and ten +minutes had not passed before she found herself +walking down the Corso, veiled and muffled in a +cloak, and having all the money she could call her +own, in her pocket, together with a few jewels of +little value, given her by her father.</p> + +<p>Reanda had sunk into a chair when the door had +closed behind her, half stunned by the explosion of +his own anger. He looked at the bits of broken +ivory on the carpet, and wondered vaguely what +they meant. He felt as though he had been in a +dream of which he could not remember the distorted +incidents at all clearly. His breath came +irregularly, his heart fluttered and stood still and +fluttered again, and his hands twitched at the +fringe on the arms of the chair. By and bye, the +butler came in to take away the coffee cups and he +saw that his master was ill. Under such circumstances +nothing can equal the gentleness of an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_94" id="Page_V2_94">[94]</a></span> +Italian servant. The man called some one to help +him, and got Reanda to his dressing-room, and +undressed him and laid him upon the long leathern +sofa. Then they knocked at the bedroom door, +but there was no answer.</p> + +<p>"Do not disturb the signora," said Reanda, +feebly. "She wishes to be alone. We shall not +want the carriage."</p> + +<p>Those were the only words he spoke that evening, +and the servants understood well enough that something +had happened between husband and wife, and +that it was best to be silent and to obey. No one +tried the door of the bedroom. If any one had +turned the handle, it would have been found to be +locked. The key lay on the table in the hall, +amongst the visiting-cards. Dalrymple's daughter +had inherited some of his quick instinct and presence +of mind. She had felt sure that if she locked +the door of her room when she left the house, her +husband would naturally suppose that she had shut +herself in, not wishing to be disturbed, and would +respect her desire to be alone. It would save +trouble, and give her time to get away. He could +sleep on the sofa in his dressing-room, as he +actually did, in the illness of his anger, treated as +Italians know how to treat such common cases, +of which the consequences are sometimes fatal. +Many an Italian has died from a fit of rage. A +single blood-vessel, in the brain, a little weaker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_95" id="Page_V2_95">[95]</a></span> +than the rest, and all is over in an apoplexy. But +Reanda was not of an apoplectic constitution. The +calming treatment acted very soon, he fell asleep, +and did not wake till daylight, quite unaware that +Gloria was not in the next room, sleeping off her +anger as he had done.</p> + +<p>She had gone out in her first impulse to leave the +house of the man who had so terribly insulted her. +Under her veil the hot blood scorched her where +the blow had left its red bar, and her rage and +wounded pride chased one another from her heart +to her head while with every beating of her pulse +the longing for revenge grew wilder and stronger.</p> + +<p>She had left the house with one first idea—to +find Paul Griggs and tell him what had happened. +No other thought crossed her mind, and her steps +turned mechanically down the Corso, for he still +lived in his two rooms in the Via della Frezza.</p> + +<p>It was early still. People dined at six o'clock +in those days, and it was not yet eight when Gloria +found herself in the street. It was quiet, though +there were many people moving about. During the +hours between dinner and the theatre there were +hardly any carriages out, and the sound of many +footsteps and of many low voices filled the air. +Gloria kept to the right and walked swiftly along, +never turning her head. She had never been out +in the streets alone at night in her life, and even +in her anger she felt a sort of intoxication of freedom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_96" id="Page_V2_96">[96]</a></span> +that was quite new to her, a beginning of +satisfaction upon him who had injured her. There +was Highland blood in her veins, as well as Italian +passion.</p> + +<p>The southeast wind was blowing down the street +behind her, that same strange and tragic wind, +tragic and passionate, that had blown so gustily +down upon Subiaco from the mountains, on that +night long ago when Maria Addolorata had stood +aside by the garden gate to let Dalrymple pass, +bearing something in his arms. Gloria knew it +by its sad whisper and by the faint taste of it and +smell of it, through her close-drawn veil.</p> + +<p>On she went, down the Corso, till she came to +the Piazza Colonna, and saw far on her left, beyond +the huge black shaft of the column, the brilliant +lights from the French officers' Club. She hesitated +then, and slackened her speed a little. The +sight of the Club reminded her of society, of what +she was doing, and of what it might mean. As +she walked more slowly, the wind gained upon her, +as it were, from behind, and tried to drive her on. +It seemed to be driving her from her husband's +house with all its might, blowing her skirts before +her and her thick veil. She passed the square, +keeping close to the shutters of the shops under the +Palazzo Piombino—gone now, to widen the open +space. A gust, stronger than any she had felt yet, +swept down the pavement. She paused a moment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_97" id="Page_V2_97">[97]</a></span> +leaning against the closed shutters of the clockmaker +Ricci, whose shop used to be a sort of landmark +in the Corso. Just then a clock within +struck eight strokes. She heard them all distinctly +through the shutters.</p> + +<p>She hesitated an instant. It was eight o'clock. +She had not realized what time it was. If she +found the street door shut in the Via della Frezza, +it would be hard to get at Griggs. She had passed +the house more than once in her walks, and she +knew that Griggs lived high up in the fifth story. +It might be already too late. She hesitated and +looked up and down the pavement. A young +French officer of Zouaves was coming towards her; +his high wrinkled and varnished boots gleamed in +the gaslight. He had a black beard and bright +young eyes, and was smoking a cigarette. He was +looking at her and slackened his pace as he came +near. She left her place and walked swiftly past +him, down the Corso.</p> + +<p>All at once she felt in the gust that drove her a +cool drop of rain just behind her ear, and a moment +later, passing a gas-lamp, she saw the dark round +spots on the grey pavement. In her haste, she +had brought no umbrella. She hurried on, and the +wind blew her forward with all its might, so that +she felt her steps lightened by its help. The Corso +was darker and there were fewer people. The rain +fell fast when she reached San Carlo, where the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_98" id="Page_V2_98">[98]</a></span> +street widens, and she gathered her cloak about her +as well as she could and crossed to the other side, +hoping to find more shelter. She was nearing the +Via della Frezza, and she knew some of the ins and +outs of the narrow streets behind the tribune of +the great church. It was very dark as she turned +the semicircle of the apse, and the rain fell in +torrents, but it was shorter to go that way, for +Griggs lived nearer to the Ripetta than to the +Corso, and she followed a sort of crooked diagonal, +in the direction of his house. She thought the +streets led by that way to the point she wished to +reach, and she walked as fast as she could. The +flare of an occasional oil lamp swung out high at +the end of its lever showed her the way, and +showed her, too, the rush of the yellow water down +the middle channel of the street. She looked in +vain for the turning she expected on her right. +She had not lost her way, but she had not found the +short cut she had looked for. Emerging upon the +broad Ripetta, she paused an instant at the corner +and looked about, though she knew which way to +turn. Just then there were heavy splashing footsteps +close to her.</p> + +<p>"Permit me, Signora," said a voice that was +rough and had an odd accent, though the tone was +polite, and a huge umbrella was held over her head.</p> + +<p>She shrank back against the wall quickly, in +womanly fear of a strange man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_99" id="Page_V2_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, thank you!" she exclaimed in answer.</p> + +<p>"But yes!" said the man. "It rains. You are +getting an illness, Signora."</p> + +<p>The faint light showed her that she would be safe +enough in accepting the offer. The man was evidently +a peasant from the mountains, and he was +certainly not young. His vast black cloak was +turned back a little by his arm and showed the +lining of green flannel and the blue clothes with +broad silver buttons which he wore.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, for she was glad of the +shelter, and she stood still under the enormous blue +cotton umbrella, with its battered brass knob and +its coloured stripes.</p> + +<p>"But I will accompany you," said the man. "It +is certainly not beginning to finish. Apoplexy! +It rains in pieces!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I am not going far," said Gloria. +"You are very kind."</p> + +<p>"It seems to be the act of a Christian," observed +the peasant.</p> + +<p>She began to move, and he walked beside her. +He would have thought it bad manners to ask +whither she was going. Through the torrents of +rain they went on in silence. In less than five +minutes she had found the door of Griggs's house. +To her intense relief it was still open, and there +was the glimmer of a tiny oil lamp from a lantern +in the stairway. Gloria felt for the money in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_100" id="Page_V2_100">[100]</a></span> +pocket. The man did not wait, nor speak, and was +already going away. She called him.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 363px;"> +<img src="images/gs23.jpg" width="363" height="500" alt="Stefanone and Gloria.—Vol. II., p. 100." title="Stefanone and Gloria.—Vol. II., p. 100." /> +<span class="caption">Stefanone and Gloria.—Vol. II., p. 100.</span> +</div> + +<p>"I wish to give you something," said Gloria.</p> + +<p>"To me?" exclaimed the man, in surprise. +"No, Signora. It seems that you make a mistake."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," Gloria answered. "In the dark, +I did not see. I am very grateful to you. You +are from the country?"</p> + +<p>She wished to repair the mistake she had made, +by some little civility. The man stood on the +doorstep, with his umbrella hanging backward over +his shoulder, and she could see his face distinctly,—a +typical Roman face with small aquiline features, +keen dark eyes, a square jaw, and iron-grey +hair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Signora. Stefanone of Subiaco, wine +merchant, to serve you. If you wish wine of +Subiaco, ask for me at Piazza Montanara. Signora, +it rains columns. With permission, I go."</p> + +<p>"Thank you again," she answered.</p> + +<p>He disappeared into the torrent, and she was left +alone at the foot of the gloomy stairs, under the +feeble light of the little oil lamp. She had thrown +back her veil, for it was soaked with water and +stuck to her face. Little rivulets ran down +upon the stones from her wet clothes, which felt +intolerably heavy as she stood there, resting one +gloved hand against the damp wall and staring at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_101" id="Page_V2_101">[101]</a></span> +the lantern. Her thoughts had been disturbed by +her brief interview with the peasant; the rain +chilled her, and her face burned. She touched her +cheek with her hand where Reanda had struck her. +It felt bruised and sore, for the blow had not been +a light one. The sensation of the wet leather +disgusted her, and she drew off the glove with difficulty, +turning it inside out over her full white +hand. Then she touched the place again, and +patted it, softly, and felt it. But her eyes did not +move from the lantern.</p> + +<p>There was one of those momentary lulling pauses +in the rush of events which seem sent to confuse +men's thoughts and unsettle their purposes. Had +she reached the house five minutes earlier, she would +not have hesitated a moment at the foot of the +stairs. Suddenly she turned back to the door, and +stood there looking out. It looked very black. +She gathered her dripping skirt back as she bent +forward a little and peered into the darkness. The +rain fell in sheets, now, with the unquavering +sound of a steadily rushing torrent. It would be +madness to go out into it. A shiver ran through +her, and another. She was very cold and miserable. +No doubt Griggs had a fire upstairs, and a +pleasant light in his study. He would be there, +hard at work. She would knock, and he would +open, and she would sit down by the fire and dry +herself, and pour out her misery. The red bar was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_102" id="Page_V2_102">[102]</a></span> +still across her face—she had seen it in the +looking-glass when she had put on her hat.</p> + +<p>To go back, to see her husband that night—it +was impossible. Later, perhaps, when he should +be asleep, Griggs would find a carriage and take +her home. No one would ever know where she +had been, and she would never tell any more than +Griggs would. She felt that she must see him and +tell him everything, and feel his strength beside +her. After all, he was the only friend she had in +the world, and it was natural that she should turn +to him for help, in her father's absence. He was +her father's friend, too.</p> + +<p>She shivered again and again from head to foot, +and she drew back from the door. For a moment +she hesitated. Then with a womanly action she +began to shake the rain out of her cloak and her +skirts as well as she could, wetting her hands to +the wrists. As she bent down, shaking the hem of +the skirt, the blood rushed to her face again, and the +place he had struck burned and smarted. It was +quite a different sensation from what she had felt +when she had touched it with her cool wet hand. +She straightened herself with a spring and threw +back her head, and her eyes flashed fiercely in the +dark. The accidents of fate closed round her, and +the hands of her destiny had her by the throat, +choking her as she breathed.</p> + +<p>There was no more hesitation. With quick steps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_103" id="Page_V2_103">[103]</a></span> +she began to ascend the short, steep flights. It was +dark, beyond the first turning, but she went on, +touching the damp walls with her hands. Then +there was a glimmer again, and a second lantern +marked the first landing and shone feebly upon a +green door with a thin little square of white marble +screwed to it for a door-plate and a name in black. +She glanced at it and went on, for she knew that +Griggs lived on the fifth floor. She was surefooted, +like her father, as she went firmly up, +panting a little, for her drenched clothes weighed +her down. There was one more light, and then there +were no more. She counted the landings, feeling +the doors with her hands as she went by, dizzy +from the constant turning in the darkness. At last +she thought she had got to the end, and groping +with her hands she found a worsted string and +pulled it, and a cracked little bell jangled and beat +against the wood inside. She heard a pattering of +feet, and a shrill, nasal child's voice called out the +customary question, inquiring who was there. She +asked for Griggs.</p> + +<p>"He is not here," answered the child, and she +heard the footsteps running away again, though +she called loudly.</p> + +<p>Her heart sank. But she groped her way on. +The staircase ended, for it was the top of the house, +and she found another door, and felt for a string +like the one she had pulled, but there was none.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_104" id="Page_V2_104">[104]</a></span> +Something told her that she was right, and with +the sudden, desperate longing to be inside, with +her strong protector, in the light and warmth, she +beat upon the door with the palms of her hands, +her face almost touching the cold painted wood +studded with nails, that smelled of wet iron.</p> + +<p>Then came the firm, regular footsteps of the +strong man, and his clear, stern voice spoke from +within, not in a question, but in a curt refusal to +open.</p> + +<p>"Go away," he said, in Italian. "You have +mistaken the door."</p> + +<p>But she beat with her hands upon the heavy +wood.</p> + +<p>"Let me in!" she cried in English. "Let +me in!"</p> + +<p>There was a deep exclamation of surprise, and +the oiled bolt clanked back in its socket. The +door opened inward, and Paul Griggs held up a +lamp with a green shade, throwing the light into +Gloria's face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_105" id="Page_V2_105">[105]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Gloria</span> pushed past Griggs and stood beside him +in the narrow entry. He shut the door mechanically, +and turned slowly towards her, still holding +up the lamp so that it shone upon her face.</p> + +<p>"What has happened to you?" he asked, slowly +and steadily, his shadowed eyes fixed upon her.</p> + +<p>"He has beaten me, and I have come to you. +Look at my face."</p> + +<p>He saw the red bar across her cheek. He did +not raise his voice, and there was little change in +his features, but his eyes glowed suddenly, like the +eyes of a wild beast, and he swore an oath so terrible +that Gloria turned a little pale and shrank +from him. Then he was silent, and they stood together. +She could hear his breath. She could see +him trying to swallow, for his throat was suddenly +as dry as cinders. Very slowly his frown deepened +to a scowl, and two straight furrows clove +their way down between his eyes, his dark eyebrows +were lifted evilly, upward and outward, and +little by little the strong, clean shaven upper lip +rose at the corners and showed two gleaming, wolfish +teeth. The smooth, close hair bristled from +the point where it descended upon his forehead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_106" id="Page_V2_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gloria shrank a little. She had seen such a +look in an angry lion; just the look, without a +motion of the limbs. Then it all disappeared, +and the still face she knew so well was turned +to hers.</p> + +<p>"Will you come in?" he asked in a constrained +tone. "It is my work-room. I will light a fire, +and you must dry yourself. How did you get so +wet? You did not come on foot?"</p> + +<p>He opened the door while he was speaking, and +led the way with the lamp. Gloria shivered as she +followed, for there was a small window open in the +entry, and her clothes clung to her in the cold +draught. She closed the door behind her, as she +went in. It was very little warmer within than +without, and the small fireplace was black and cold. +Instinctively she glanced at Griggs. He wore a +rough pilot coat that had seen much service, buttoned +to his throat. He set the little lamp with +its green shade down upon the table amidst a mass +of papers and books, and drew forward the only +easy-chair there was, a dilapidated piece of furniture +covered with faded yellow reps and ragged +fringes that dragged on the floor. He took a great +cloak from a clothes-horse in the corner and threw +it over the chair, smoothing it carefully with his +hands.</p> + +<p>"If you will sit down, I will try and make a +fire," he said quietly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_107" id="Page_V2_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>She sat down as he bade her, wondering a little +at his calmness, but remembering the awful words +that had escaped his lips when she had spoken, and +the look of the wild beast and incarnate devil that +had been one moment in his face. She looked +about her while he began to make a fire, not hindering him, +for she was shivering. The room was +large, but very poorly furnished. There were two +great tables, covered with books and papers; there +was a deal bookcase along one wall and an antiquated +cabinet between the two windows, one of +its legs propped up with a dingy faded paper. +The coarse green carpet was threadbare, but still +whole. There were half-a-dozen plain chairs with +green and white rush seats in various parts of the +room. On the narrow white marble mantel-shelf +stood two china candlesticks, in one of which there +was a piece of candle that had guttered when last +burning. In the middle a cheap American clock +of white metal ticked loudly, and the hands pointed +to twenty minutes before nine. In one corner was +the clothes-horse, with two or three overcoats +hanging on it, and two hats, one of which was +hanging half over on one side. It looked as though +two cloaked skeletons in hats were embracing. In +another corner by the door a black stick and an +umbrella stood side by side. But for the books +the place would have had a desolate look. The +air smelt of strong tobacco.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_108" id="Page_V2_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gloria looked about her curiously, though her +heart was beating fast. The man was familiar to +her, dear to her in many ways, and over much in +her life. The place where he lived contained a +part of him which she did not know. Her breath +came quickly in the anticipation of an emotion +greater even than what she had felt already, but +her eyes wandered in curiosity from one object to +another. Suddenly she heard the loud cracking +of breaking wood. There was a blaze of paper +from the fireplace, illuminating all the room, and +some light pieces he was throwing on kindled +quickly. He was breaking them—she looked—it +was one of the rush-bottomed chairs.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" she cried, leaning suddenly +far forward.</p> + +<p>"Making a good fire," he answered. "There +happened to be only one bit of wood in my box, +so I am taking these things."</p> + +<p>He broke the legs and the rails of the chair in +his hands, as a child would break twigs, and heaped +them up upon the blaze.</p> + +<p>"There are five more," he observed. "They will +make a good fire."</p> + +<p>He arranged the burning mass to suit him, looked +at it, and then turned.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be a little nearer," he said, and +he lifted the chair with her in it and set her before +the fireplace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_109" id="Page_V2_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>It had all looked and felt desperately desolate +half a minute earlier. It was changed now. He +went to a corner and filled a small glass with wine +from a straw-covered flask and brought it to her. +She thanked him with her eyes and drank half of +it eagerly. He knelt down before the fire again, +for as the paper burned away underneath, the light +sticks fell inward and might go out. When he had +arranged it all again, he looked round and met her +eyes, still kneeling.</p> + +<p>"Is that better?" he asked quietly.</p> + +<p>"You are so good," said Gloria, letting her eyelids +droop as she looked from him to the pleasant flame.</p> + +<p>He put out his hand and gently touched the hem +of her cloth skirt.</p> + +<p>"You are drenched," he said.</p> + +<p>Then, before she realized what he was doing, he +bent down and kissed the wet cloth, and without +looking at her rose to his feet, got another chair +and sat down near her. A soft blush of pleasure +had risen in her cheeks. They were little things +that he did, but they were like him, unaffected, +strong, direct. Another man would have made +apologies for having no wood and would have tried +to make a fire of the single stick. Another man +would have made excuses for the disorder of his +room, or for the poverty of its furniture, perhaps. +The other man she thought of was her husband,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_110" id="Page_V2_110">[110]</a></span> +and possibly she had her father in her mind, +too.</p> + +<p>"When you are rested, tell me your story," he +said, and his face hardened all at once.</p> + +<p>She began to speak in a low and uncertain voice, +reciting almost mechanically many things which +she had often told him before. He listened without +moving a muscle. Her voice was dear to him, +whether she repeated the endless history of her +woes for the tenth or the hundredth time. Where +she was concerned he had no judgment, and he had +no criterion, for he had never loved another woman +with whom he could compare her. All that was of +her was of paramount interest and weighty importance. +He could not hear it too often. But to-night +her first words had told him of the violent crisis in +her life with Reanda, and he listened to all she +said, before she reached that point, with an interest +he had never felt before. But he would not look +at her, for he must have taken her in his arms, as +he had done once, months before now. She had +come for protection and for help, and her need was +the life spring of his honour.</p> + +<p>As she went on, her voice took colour from her +emotion, her hands moved now and then in short +swift gestures, and her dark eyes burned. The +marvellous dramatic power she possessed blazed +out under the lash of her wrongs, and she found +words she had only groped for until that moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_111" id="Page_V2_111">[111]</a></span> +She described the miserably nervous feebleness of +the man with scathing contempt, her tone made +evil deeds of his shortcomings, her scorn made his +weakness a black crime; her jealous anger fastened +upon Francesca Campodonico and tore her honour +to shreds and her virtues to rags of abomination; +and her flaming pride blazed out in searing hatred +and contempt for the coward who had struck her +in the face.</p> + +<p>"He broke my fan across my face!" she cried +with the ascending intonation of a fury rising still, +and still more fiercely beautiful. "He slashed my +face with it and broke it and threw the bits down +at my feet! There, look at it! That is his work—oh, +give it back to him, kill him for me, tear +him to pieces for me—make him feel what I have +felt to-day!"</p> + +<p>She had pushed her brown hat and veil back +from her head, and her wet cloak had long ago +fallen from her shoulders. One straight, white +hand shot out and fastened upon her companion's +arm, as he sat beside her, and she shook it in savage +confidence of his iron strength.</p> + +<p>A dead silence followed, but the fire made of the +broken chairs roared and blazed on the low brick +hearth. The man kept his eyes upon it fixedly, as +though it were his salvation, for he felt that if he +looked at her he was lost. She had come to him +not for love, but for protection, of her own free<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_112" id="Page_V2_112">[112]</a></span> +will. Yet he felt that his honour was burning in +him, with no longer life, if she stayed there, than +the short, quick fire itself. His voice was thick +when he answered, as though he were speaking +through a velvet pall.</p> + +<p>"I will kill him, if he will fight," he answered, +with an effort. "I will not murder him, even for +you."</p> + +<p>She started, for she had not realized how he +would take literally what she said. She had no +experience of desperate men in her limited life.</p> + +<p>"Murder him? No!" she said, snatching back +her hand from his arm. "No, no! I never meant +that."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you did not. If you did, I should +probably break down and do it to please you. But +if he will fight like a man, I will kill him to please +myself. Now I will go and get a carriage and take +you home."</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet and, turning, turned away +from her, going toward the corner to get an overcoat. +She followed him with her eyes, in silence.</p> + +<p>"You are not afraid to be left alone for a quarter +of an hour?" he asked, buttoning his coat, and +looking toward his umbrella.</p> + +<p>"Do not go just yet," she answered softly.</p> + +<p>"I must. It is getting late. I shall not find a +carriage if I wait any longer. I must go now."</p> + +<p>"Do not go."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_113" id="Page_V2_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>She heard him breathe hard once or twice. Then +with quick strides he was beside her, and speaking +to her.</p> + +<p>"Gloria, I cannot stand it—I warn you. I love +you in a way you cannot understand. You must +not keep me here."</p> + +<p>"Do not go," she said again, in the deep, soft +tone of her golden voice.</p> + +<p>"I must."</p> + +<p>He turned from her and went towards the door. +Soft and swift she followed him, but he was in the +entry before her hand was on his arm. It was +almost dusk out there. He stopped.</p> + +<p>"I cannot go back to him," she said, and he +could see the light in her eyes, and very faintly +the red bar across the face he loved.</p> + +<p>"You should—there is nowhere else for you to +go," he said, and in the dark his hand was finding +the bolt of the door to the stairs.</p> + +<p>"No—there is nowhere else—I cannot go back +to him," she answered, and the voice quavered +uncertainly as the night breeze sighing amongst reeds.</p> + +<p>"You must—you must," he tried to say.</p> + +<p>Her weight was all upon his arm, but it was +nothing to him. He steadily drew back the bolt. +He turned up his face so that he could not see her.</p> + +<p>With sudden strength her white hands went +round his sinewy dark throat as he threw back +his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_114" id="Page_V2_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are all I have in the world!" she half said, +half whispered. "I will not let you go!"</p> + +<p>"You?" His voice broke out as through a +bursting shell.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Come back!"</p> + +<p>His arm fell like lead to his side. Gently she +drew him back to the door of the study. The +blaze of the fire shot into her face.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said. "See how well it burns."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, mechanically, "it is burning well."</p> + +<p>He stood aside an instant at the door to let her +pass. His eyelids closed and his face became rigid +as a death mask of a man dead in passion. One +moment only; then he followed her and softly shut +the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_115" id="Page_V2_115">[115]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> brilliant winter morning had an intoxicating +quality in it, after the heavy rain which had +fallen in the night, and Paul Griggs felt that it +was good to be alive as he threaded the narrow +streets between his lodging and the Piazza Colonna. +He avoided the Corso; for he did not know whom +he might meet, and he had no desire to meet any +one, except Angelo Reanda.</p> + +<p>Naturally enough, his first honourable impulse +was to go to the artist, to tell him something of the +truth, and to give him an opportunity of demanding +the common satisfaction of a hostile meeting. +It did not occur to him that Reanda would not wish +to exchange shots with him and have the chance of +taking his life. Griggs was not the man to refuse +such an encounter, and at that moment he felt so +absolutely sure of himself that the idea of being killed +was very far removed from his thoughts. It was +without the slightest emotion that he enquired for +Reanda at the latter's house, but he was very much +surprised to hear that the painter had gone out as +usual at his customary hour. He hesitated a moment +and then decided not to leave a card, upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_116" id="Page_V2_116">[116]</a></span> +which he could not have written a message intelligible +to Reanda which should not have been understood +also by the servant who received it. Griggs +made up his mind that he would write a formal +note later in the day. He took it for granted that +Reanda must be searching for his wife.</p> + +<p>It was necessary to find a better lodging than +the one in the Via della Frezza, and to provide as +well as he could for Gloria's comfort. He was met +by a difficulty upon which he had not reflected as +yet, though he had been dimly aware of it more +than once during the past twelve hours.</p> + +<p>He was almost penniless, and he had no means +of obtaining money at short notice. The payments +he received from the newspapers for which he +worked came regularly, but were not due for at +least three weeks from that day. Alone in his +bachelor existence he could have got through the +time very well and without any greater privations +than his capriciously ascetic nature had often imposed +upon itself.</p> + +<p>He was not an improvident man, but in his +lonely existence he had no sense of future necessities, +and the weakest point in his judgment was +his undiscriminating generosity. Of the value of +money as a store against possible needs, he had no +appreciation at all, and he gave away what he earned +beyond his most pressing requirements in secret +and often ill-judged charities, whenever an occasion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_117" id="Page_V2_117">[117]</a></span> +of doing so presented itself, though he never sought +one. For himself, he was able to subsist on bread +and water, and the meagre fare was scarcely a +privation to his hardy constitution. If he chanced to +have no money to spare for fuel, he bore the cold +and buttoned up his old pea-jacket to the throat +while he sat at work at his table. His self-respect +made him wise and careful in regard to his dress, +but in other matters many a handicraftsman was +accustomed to more luxury than he. At the present +juncture he had been taken unawares, and he +found himself in great difficulty. He had left himself +barely enough for subsistence until the arrival +of the next remittance, and that meant but a very +few scudi; and yet he knew that certain expenses +must be met immediately, almost within the twenty-four +hours. The very first thing was to get a lodging +suitable for Gloria. It would be necessary to +pay at least one month's rent in advance. Even if +he were able to do that, he would be left without a +penny for daily expenses. He had no bank account; +for he cashed the drafts he received and kept the +money in his room. He had never borrowed of an +acquaintance, and the idea was repulsive to him +and most humiliating. Had he possessed any bit +of jewelry, or anything of value, he would have +sold the object, but he had nothing of the kind. +His books were practically valueless, consisting of +such volumes as he absolutely needed for his daily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_118" id="Page_V2_118">[118]</a></span> +use, chiefly cheap editions, poorly bound and well +worn. He needed at least fifty scudi, and he did +not possess quite ten. Three weeks earlier he had +sent a hundred, anonymously, to free a starving +artist from debt.</p> + +<p>His position was only very partially enviable +just then, but the bright north wind seemed to +blow his troubles back from him as he faced it, +walking home from his ineffectual attempt to meet +Reanda. It was very unlike the man to return to +his lodging without having accomplished anything, +but he was hardly conscious of the fact. The face +of the ancient city was suddenly changed, and it +seemed as though nothing could go wrong if he +would only allow fortune to play her own game +without interference. He walked lightly, and there +was a little colour in his face. He tried to think +of what he should do to meet his present difficulties, +but when he thought of them they were +whirled away, shapeless and unrecognizable, and +he felt a sense of irresistible power with each +breath of the crisp dry air.</p> + +<p>As he went along he glanced at the houses he +passed, and on some of the doors were little notices +scrawled in queer handwritings and telling that a +lodging was to let. Occasionally he paused, looked <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'np'">up</ins> +and hesitated, and then he went on. The difficulty +was suddenly before him, and he knew that even if +he looked at the rooms he could not hire them, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_119" id="Page_V2_119">[119]</a></span> +he had not enough money to cover the first month's +rent. Immediately he attempted to devise some +means of raising the sum he needed, but before he +had reached the very next corner the clear north +wind had blown the trouble away like a cobweb. +With all his strength and industry and determination, +he was still a very young man, and perplexity +had no hold upon him since passion had taken its +own way.</p> + +<p>He reached the corner of his own street and +stood still for a few moments. He could almost +have smiled at himself as he paused. He had +been out more than an hour and had done nothing, +thought out nothing, made no definite plan for the +future. His present poverty, which was desperate +enough, had put on a carnival mask and laughed at +him, as it were, and ran away when he tried to +grapple with it and look it in the face. Gloria was +there, upstairs in that tall house on which the morning +sun was shining, and nothing else could possibly +matter. But if anything mattered, it would +be simple to talk it over together and to decide it +in common.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself and of the +confusion of his own intelligence. There was something +meek and childish in standing still at the +street corner, watching the people as they went by, +listening to the regularly recurring yell of the man +who was selling country vegetables from a hand-cart,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_120" id="Page_V2_120">[120]</a></span> +and looking into the faces of people who went +by, as though expecting to find there some solution +of a difficulty which his disturbed powers of +concentration did not clearly grasp. He could not think +connectedly, much less could he reason sensibly. He +made a few steps forward towards his house, and +then stopped again, asking himself what he was going +to do. He felt that he had no right to go back +to Gloria until he had decided something for the +future. He felt like a boy who has been sent on +an errand, and who comes back having forgotten +what he was to do. All at once he had lost his +hold upon the logic of common-sense, and when he +groped for a thread that might lead him, he was +suddenly dazzled by the blaze of his happiness and +deafened by the voice of his own joy.</p> + +<p>He went on again and came to his own door. +The one-eyed cobbler was at work, astride of his +little bench with a brown pot of coals beside him. +From time to time, when he had drawn the waxed +yarn out through the leather on both sides, he blew +into his black hands. Griggs stood still and looked +at him in idle indetermination, and only struggling +against the power that drew him towards the stairs.</p> + +<p>"A fine north wind," observed Griggs, by way +of salutation.</p> + +<p>"It seems that it must be said," grunted the +old man, punching a fresh hole in the sole he +was cobbling. "To me, my fingers say it. It has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_121" id="Page_V2_121">[121]</a></span> +always been a fine trade, this cobbling. It is a +gentleman's trade because one is always sitting +down."</p> + +<p>"I am going to change my lodging," said Griggs.</p> + +<p>The cobbler looked up, resting his dingy fists +upon the bench on each side of the shoe, his awl +in one hand, the other half encased in a leathern +sheath, black with age.</p> + +<p>"After so many years!" he exclaimed. "The +world will also come to an end. I expected that +it would. Now where will you take lodging?"</p> + +<p>"Where I can find one. I want a little apartment—"</p> + +<p>"It seems that your affairs go better," observed +the old man, scrutinizing the other's face with his +one eye.</p> + +<p>"No. No better. That is the trouble. I want +a little apartment, and I do not want to pay for it +till the end of the first month."</p> + +<p>"Then wait till the end of the month before you +move to it, Signore."</p> + +<p>"That is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Then there is a female," said the cobbler, without +the slightest hesitation. "I understand. Why +did you not say so?"</p> + +<p>Griggs hesitated. The man's guess had taken +him by surprise. He reflected that it could make no +difference whether the old cobbler knew of Gloria's +coming or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_122" id="Page_V2_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is a signora—a relation of mine—who +has come to Rome."</p> + +<p>"A fair signora? Very beautiful? With a little +eye of the devil? I have seen. Thanks be to +heaven, one eye is still good. You are dark, and +your family is fair. How can it interest me?"</p> + +<p>"What? Has she gone out?" asked Griggs, in +sudden anxiety. "When?"</p> + +<p>"I had guessed!" exclaimed the cobbler, with a +grunting laugh, and he ran the delicate bristles, +which pointed the yarn, in opposite directions +through the hole he had made, caught one yarn +round the knot on the handle of the awl and the +other round the leather sheath on his left hand. +He drew the yarn tight to his arm's length with a +vicious jerk.</p> + +<p>"When did the signora go out?" enquired +Griggs, repeating his question.</p> + +<p>"It may be half an hour ago. Apoplexy! If +your relations are all as beautiful as that!"</p> + +<p>But Griggs was already moving towards the staircase. +The cobbler called him back, and he stood +still at the foot of the steps.</p> + +<p>"There is the little apartment on the left, on +the third floor," said the man. "The lodgers went +away yesterday. I was going to ask you to write +me a notice to put up on the door. As for paying, +the padrone will not mind, seeing that you are an +old lodger. It is good, do you know? There is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_123" id="Page_V2_123">[123]</a></span> +sun. There is also a kitchen. There are five +rooms with the entry."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 345px;"> +<img src="images/gs24.jpg" width="345" height="500" alt=""The horror of poverty smote him."—Vol. II., p. 123." title=""The horror of poverty smote him."—Vol. II., p. 123." /> +<span class="caption">"The horror of poverty smote him."—Vol. II., p. 123.</span> +</div> + +<p>"I will take it," said Griggs, instantly, and he +ran up the stairs.</p> + +<p>He was breathless with anxiety as he entered +his work-room, and looked about him for something +which should tell him where Gloria was gone. +Almost instantly his eyes fell upon a sheet of +paper lying before his accustomed seat. The writing +on it was hers.</p> + +<p>"I have gone to tell him. I shall be back soon."</p> + +<p>That was all it said, but it was enough to +blacken the sun that streamed through the windows +upon the old carpet. Griggs sat down and +rested his head in his hand. With the cloud that +came between him and happiness, his powers of +reason returned, and he saw quickly, in the pre-vision +of logic, a scene of violence and anger +between husband and wife, a possible reconciliation, +and the instant wreck of his storm-driven +love. It was impossible to know what Gloria +would tell Reanda.</p> + +<p>At the same instant the difficulties of his position +rushed upon him and demanded an instant +solution. He looked about him at the poor room, +the miserable furniture, and the worn-out carpet, +and the horror of poverty smote him in the face. +He had allowed Gloria to come to him, and he +knew that he could not support her decently. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_124" id="Page_V2_124">[124]</a></span> +had never found himself in so desperate a position +in the course of his short and adventurous life. +He could face anything when he alone was to +suffer privation, but it was horrible to force misery +upon the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>Then, too, he asked himself what was to happen +to Gloria if Reanda killed him, as was possible +enough. And if he were not killed, there was +Dalrymple, her father, who might return at any +moment. No one could foretell what the Scotchman +would do. It would be like him to do nothing +except to refuse ever to see his daughter +again. But he, also, might choose to fight, though +his English traditions would be against it. In any +case, Gloria ran the risk of being left alone, ruined +and unprotected.</p> + +<p>But the present problem was a meaner one, +though not less desperate in its way. He reproached +himself with having wasted even an hour +when the case was so urgent. Without longer +hesitation, he began to write letters to the editors +for whom he worked, requesting them as a favour +to advance the next remittance. Even then, he +could scarcely expect to have money in less than +ten days, and there was no one to whom he would +willingly turn for help. Under ordinary +circumstances he would have gone without food for days +rather than have borrowed of an acquaintance, but +he realized that he must overcome any such false<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_125" id="Page_V2_125">[125]</a></span> +pride within a day or two, at the risk of making +Gloria suffer.</p> + +<p>In those first hours he was not conscious of any +question of right or wrong in what had taken +place. Honour, in a rather worldly sense, had +always supplied for him the place of all other +moral considerations. The woman he loved had +been ill-treated by her husband, and had come to +him for protection. He had done his best, in spite +of his love, to make her go back, and she had +known how to refuse. Men, as men, would not +blame him for what he was doing. Gloria, as a +woman, could never reproach him with having +tempted her. He might suffer for his deeds, but +he could never blush for them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_126" id="Page_V2_126">[126]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span>, Gloria had gone out alone, intending +to find her husband and to tell him that the die +was cast, that she had left him in haste and anger, +but that she never would return to his house. She +felt that she must live through the chain of emotions +to the very last link, as it were, until she +could feel no more. It was like her to go straight +to Reanda and take up the battle where she had +interrupted it. Her anger had been sudden, but it +was not brief. She had left weakness, and had +found strength to add to her own, and she wished +the man who had hurt her to feel how strong she +was, and how she was able to take her life out of +his hands and to keep it for herself, and live it as +she pleased in spite of him and every one. The +wild blood that ran in her veins was free, now, +and she meant that no one but herself should ever +again have the right to thwart it, to tell her heart +that it should beat so many times in each minute +and no more. She was perfectly well aware that +she was accepting social ruin with her freedom, +but she had long nourished a rancorous hatred for +the society which had seemed to accept her under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_127" id="Page_V2_127">[127]</a></span> +protest, for Francesca's sake, and she was ready +enough to turn her back on it before it should +finally make up its polite mind to relegate her to +the middle distance of indifferent toleration.</p> + +<p>As for Reanda, on that first morning she hated +him with all her soul, for himself, and for what +he had done to her. She had words ready for him, +and she turned and fitted them in her heart that +they might cut him and stab him as long as he +could feel. The selfishness with a tendency to +cruelty which was a working spring of her father's +character was strong in her, and craved the +satisfaction of wounding. A part of the sudden joy in +life which she felt as she walked towards what +had been her home, lay in the certainty of dealing +back fourfold hurt for every real and fancied injury +she had ever suffered at Reanda's hands.</p> + +<p>She felt quite sure of finding him. She did not +imagine it possible that after what had happened +he should go to the Palazzetto Borgia to work as +usual. Besides, he must have discovered her +absence by this time, and would in all probability +be searching for her. She smiled at the idea, and +she went swiftly on, keenly ready to give all +the pain she could.</p> + +<p>At her own door the servant seemed surprised +to see her. Every one had supposed that she was +still in her room, for it was not yet midday, and +she sometimes slept very late. She glanced at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_128" id="Page_V2_128">[128]</a></span> +hall table and saw her key lying amongst the +cards where she had thrown it when she had left +the house. The servant did not see her take it, +for she made a pretence of turning the cards over +to find some particular one. She asked indifferently +about her husband. The man said that Reanda +had gone out as usual. Gloria started a little +in surprise, and inquired whether he had left no +message for her. On hearing that he had given +none, she sent the servant away, went to her own +room, and locked herself in.</p> + +<p>With a curious Scotch caution very much at variance +with her conduct, she reflected that as the servants +were evidently not aware of what had taken +place, they might as well be kept in the dark. In +a few moments she gave the room the appearance +which it usually had in the morning. With perfect +calmness she dressed for the day, and then +rang for her maid.</p> + +<p>She told the woman that she had slept badly, +had got up early, and had gone out for a long walk; +that she now intended to leave Rome for a few +days, for a change of air, and must have what she +needed packed within an hour. She gave a few +orders, clearly and concisely, and then went out +again, leaving word that if Reanda returned he +should be told that she was coming back very soon.</p> + +<p>Clearly, she thought, he must have supposed that +she was still sleeping, and he had gone to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_129" id="Page_V2_129">[129]</a></span> +painting without any further thought of her. Again +she smiled, and a line of delicate cruelty was faintly +shadowed about her lips. She left the house and +walked in the direction of the Palazzetto. Reanda +always came home to the midday breakfast, and it +was nearly time for him to be on his way. Gloria +knew every turning which he would take, and she +hoped to meet him. Her eyes flashed in anticipation +of the contest, and she felt that he would +not be able to meet them. They would be too +bright for him. There was a small mark on her +cheek still, where one of the sharp edges of the +ivory slats had scratched her fair skin, and there +was a slight redness on that side, but the bright +red bar was gone. She was glad of it, as she +nodded to a passing acquaintance.</p> + +<p>She wished to assure herself that her husband +was really at the Palazzetto, and she inquired of +the porter at the great gate whether Reanda had +been seen that morning. The man said that he +had come at the usual hour, and stood aside for +her to pass, but she turned from him abruptly +and went away without a word.</p> + +<p>The blood rose in her cheeks, and her heart beat +angrily. He had attached no more importance +than this to what he had done, and had gone to +his painting as though nothing had happened. +He had not even tried to see her in the morning to +beg her pardon for having struck her. Strange<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_130" id="Page_V2_130">[130]</a></span> +to say, in spite of what she herself had done, that +was what most roused her anger. She demanded +the satisfaction of his asking her forgiveness, as +though she had no fault to find with herself. In +comparison with his cowardly violence to her, her +leaving him for Griggs was as nothing in her eyes.</p> + +<p>She walked more slowly as she went homewards, +and the unspoken bitterness of her heart choked +her, and the sharp words she could not speak cut +her cruelly. She compared the hand that had +dared to hurt though it had not strength to kill, +with that other, dearer, gentler, more terrible +hand, which could have killed anything, but which +would rather be burned to the wrist than let one +of its fingers touch her roughly. She compared +them, and she loved the one and she loathed the +other, with all her heart. And with that same +hand Reanda, at that same moment, was painting +some goddess's face, and it had forgotten whose +divinely lovely cheek it had struck. It was painting +unless, perhaps, it lay in Francesca's. But +Gloria had not forgotten, and she would repay +before the day darkened.</p> + +<p>Her husband, since he was calm enough to go to +his work, would come home for his breakfast when +he was hungry. Gloria went back to her room +and superintended the packing of what she needed. +But she was not so calm as she had been half an +hour earlier, and she waited impatiently for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_131" id="Page_V2_131">[131]</a></span> +husband's return and for the last scene of the +drama. When the things were packed, she had +the box taken out to the hall and sent for a cab. +As she foresaw the situation, she would leave the +house forever as soon as the last word was spoken. +Then she went into the drawing-room and waited, +watching the clock.</p> + +<p>There, on the mantelpiece, lay the broken fan, +where the fragments had been placed by the servant. +Gloria looked at them, handled them curiously, +and felt her cheek softly with her hand. +He must have struck her with all his might, she +thought, to have hurt her as he had with so light a +weapon; and the whole quarrel came back to her +vividly, in every detail, and with every spoken +word.</p> + +<p>She could not regret what she had done. With +an attempt at self-examination, which was only a +self-justification, she tried to recall the early days +when she had loved her husband, and to conjure +up the face with the gentle light in it. She failed, +of course, and the picture that came disgusted her +and was unutterably contemptible and weak and +full of cowardice. The face of Paul Griggs came +in its place a moment later, and she heard in her +ears the deep, stern voice, quavering with strength +rather than with weakness, and she could feel the +arms she loved about her, pressing her almost to +pain, able to press her to death in their love-clasp.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_132" id="Page_V2_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>The hands of the clock went on, and Reanda did +not come. She was surprised to find how long she +had waited, and with a revulsion of feeling she +rose to her feet. If he would not come, she would +not wait for him. She was hungry, too. It was +absurd, perhaps, but she would not eat his bread +nor sit at his table, not even alone. She went to +her writing-table and wrote a note to him, short, +cruel, and decisive. She wrote that if her father +had been in Rome she would have gone to him for +protection. As he was absent, she had gone to +her father's best friend and her own—to Paul +Griggs. She said nothing more. He might interpret +the statement as he pleased. She sealed the +note and addressed it, and before she went out of +the house she gave it to the servant, to be given +to Reanda as soon as he came home. The man-servant +went downstairs with her, and stood looking +after the little open cab; he saw Gloria speak +to the coachman, who nodded and changed his +direction before they were out of sight.</p> + +<p>At the door in the Via della Frezza the cabman +let down Gloria's luggage and drove away. She +stood still a moment and looked at the one-eyed +cobbler.</p> + +<p>"You have given the signore a beautiful fright," +observed the old man. "I told him you had gone +out. With one jump he was upstairs. By this +time he cries."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_133" id="Page_V2_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gloria took a silver piece of two pauls from her +purse.</p> + +<p>"Can you carry up these things for me?" she +inquired, concealing her annoyance at the man's +speech.</p> + +<p>"I am not a porter," said the cobbler, with his +head on one side. "But one must live. With +courage and money one makes war. There are +three pieces. One at a time. But you must watch +the door while I carry up the box. If any one +should steal my tools, it would be a beautiful day's +work. Without them I should be in the middle of +the street. You will understand, Signora. It is +not to do you a discourtesy, but my tools are my +bread. Without them I cannot eat. There is +also the left boot of Sor Ercole. If any one were +to steal it, Sor Ercole would go upon one leg. +Imagine the disgrace!"</p> + +<p>"I will stay here," said Gloria. "Do not be +afraid."</p> + +<p>The cobbler, who was a strong old man, got hold +of the trunk and shouldered it with ease. When +he stood up, Gloria saw that he was bandy-legged +and very short.</p> + +<p>She turned and stood on the threshold of the +street door as she had stood on the previous night. +No one would have believed that a few hours +earlier the rain had fallen in torrents, for the +pavement was dry, and even under the arch there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_134" id="Page_V2_134">[134]</a></span> +seemed to be no dampness. Looking up the street +towards the Corso, she saw that there was a wine +shop, a few doors higher on the opposite side. +Two or three men were standing before it, under +the brown bush which served for a sign, and +amongst them she saw a peasant in blue cloth +clothes with silver buttons and clean white stockings. +She recognized him as the man who had +held his umbrella over her in the storm. He also +saw her, lifted his felt hat and came forwards, +crossing the street. His look was fixed on her +face with a stare of curiosity as he stood before her.</p> + +<p>"I hope you have not caught cold, Signora," he +said, with steady, unwinking eyes. "We passed a +beautiful storm. Signora, I sell wine to that host. +If you should need wine, I recommend him to you." +He pointed to the shop.</p> + +<p>"You told me to ask for you at the Piazza Montanara," +said Gloria, smiling.</p> + +<p>"With that water you could not see the shop," +answered Stefanone. "Signora, you are very beautiful. +With permission, I say that you should not +walk alone at night."</p> + +<p>"It was the first and last time," said Gloria. +"Fortunately, I met a person of good manners. I +thank you again."</p> + +<p>"Signora, you are so beautiful that the Madonna +and her angels always accompany you. With +permission, I go. Good day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_135" id="Page_V2_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>To the last, until he turned, he kept his eyes +steadily fixed on Gloria's face, as though searching +for a resemblance in her features. She noticed his +manner and remembered him very distinctly after +the second meeting.</p> + +<p>The cobbler came back again, closely followed by +Griggs himself, who said nothing, but took possession +of the small valise and bag which Gloria had +brought in addition to her box. He led the way, +and she followed him swiftly. Inside the door of +his lodging he turned and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Please do not go away suddenly without telling +me," he said in a low voice. "I am easily frightened +about you."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>Gloria held out her two hands to meet him. He +nodded as he took them.</p> + +<p>"That is better than anything you have ever +said to me." She drew him to her.</p> + +<p>It was natural, for she was thinking how Reanda +had calmly gone back to his work that morning, +without so much as asking for her. The contrast +was too great and too strong, between love and +indifference.</p> + +<p>They went into the work-room together, and +Gloria sat down on one of the rush chairs, and told +Griggs what she had done. He walked slowly up +and down while she was speaking, his eyes on the +pattern of the old carpet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_136" id="Page_V2_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I might have stayed," she said at last. "The +servants did not even know that I had been out of +the house."</p> + +<p>"You should have stayed," said Griggs. "I +ought to say it, at least."</p> + +<p>But as he spoke the mask softened and the rare +smile beautified for one instant the still, stern face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_137" id="Page_V2_137">[137]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Reanda</span> neither wished to see Gloria again, nor +to take vengeance upon Paul Griggs. He was not +a brave man, morally or physically, and he was +glad that his wife had left him. She had put him +in the right, and he had every reason for refusing +ever to see her again. With a cynicism which +would have been revolting if it had not been +almost childlike in its simplicity, he discharged +his servants, sold his furniture, gave up his apartment +in the Corso, and moved back to his old +quarters in the Palazzetto Borgia. But he did not +acknowledge Gloria's note in any other way.</p> + +<p>She had left him, and he wished to blot out her +existence as though he had never known her, not +even remembering the long two years of his married +life. She was gone. There was no Gloria, and he +wished that there never had been any woman with +her name and face.</p> + +<p>On the third day, he met Paul Griggs in the +street. The younger man saw Reanda coming, and +stood still on the narrow pavement, in order to +show that he had no intention of avoiding him. +As the artist came up, Griggs lifted his hat gravely. +Reanda mechanically raised his hand to his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_138" id="Page_V2_138">[138]</a></span> +hat and passed the man who had injured him, +without a word. Griggs saw a slight, nervous +twitching in the delicate face, but that was all. +He thought that Reanda looked better, less harassed +and less thin, than for a long time. He +had at once returned to his old peaceful life and +enjoyed it, and had evidently not the smallest +intention of ever demanding satisfaction of his +former friend.</p> + +<p>Francesca Campodonico had listened in nervous +silence to Reanda's story.</p> + +<p>"She has done me a kindness," he concluded. +"It is the first. She has given me back my freedom. +I shall not disturb her."</p> + +<p>The colour was in Francesca's face, and her eyes +looked down. Her delicate lips were a little +drawn in, as though she were making an effort to +restrain her words, for it was one of the hardest +moments of her life. Being what she was, it was +impossible for her to understand Gloria's conduct. +But at the same time she felt that she was liberated +from something which had oppressed her, and the +colour in her cheeks was a flash of satisfaction and +relief mingled with a certain displeasure at her +own sensations and the certainty that she should +be ashamed of them by and bye.</p> + +<p>It was not in her nature to accept such a termination +for Reanda's married life, however he +himself might be disposed to look upon it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_139" id="Page_V2_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are to blame almost as much as Gloria," +she said, and she was sincerely in earnest.</p> + +<p>She was too good and devout a woman to believe +in duelling, but she was far too womanly to be +pleased with Reanda's indifference. It was wicked +to fight duels and unchristian to seek revenge. +She knew that, and it was a conviction as well as +an opinion. But a man who allowed another to +take his wife from him and did not resent the +injury could not command her respect. Something +in her blood revolted against such tameness, +though she would not for all the world have had +Reanda take Gloria back. Between the two opposites +of conviction and instinct, she did not know +what to do. Moreover, Reanda had struck his +wife. He admitted it, though apologetically and +with every extenuating circumstance which he +could remember.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered. "I know that I did wrong. +Am I infallible? Holy Saint Patience! I could +bear no more. But it is clear that she was waiting +for a reason for leaving me. I gave it to her, and +she should be grateful. She also is free, as I am."</p> + +<p>"It is horrible!" exclaimed Francesca, with sorrowful +emphasis.</p> + +<p>She blamed herself quite as much as Reanda or +Gloria, because she had brought them together and +had suggested the marriage. Reanda's thin shoulders +went up, and he smiled incredulously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_140" id="Page_V2_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not see what is so horrible," he answered. +"Two people think they are in love. They marry. +They discover their mistake. They separate. +Well? It is finished. Let us make the sign of +the cross over it."</p> + +<p>The common Roman phrase, signifying that a +matter is ended and buried, as it were, jarred upon +Francesca, for whom the smallest religious allusion +had a real meaning.</p> + +<p>"It is not the sign of the cross which should be +made," she said sadly and gravely, and the colour +was gone from her face now. "There are two +lives wrecked, and a human soul in danger. We +cannot say that it is finished, and pass on."</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do?" asked Reanda, +almost impatiently. "Take her back?"</p> + +<p>"No!" exclaimed Francesca, with a sharp intonation +as though she were hurt.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, what? I do not see that anything +is to be done. She herself can think of her soul. +It is her property. She has made me suffer enough—let +some one else suffer. I have enough of it."</p> + +<p>"You will forgive her some day," said Francesca. +"You are angry still, and you speak cruelly. You +will forgive her."</p> + +<p>"Never," answered Reanda, with emphasis. "I +will not forgive her for what she made me bear, +any more than I will forgive Griggs for receiving +her when she left me. I will not touch them, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_141" id="Page_V2_141">[141]</a></span> +I will not forgive them. I am not angry. Why +should I be?"</p> + +<p>Francesca sighed, for she did not understand the +man, though hitherto she had always understood +him, or thought that she had, ever since she had +been a mere child, playing with his colours and +brushes in the Palazzo Braccio. She left the hall +and went to her own sitting-room on the other side +of the house. As soon as she was alone, the +tears came to her eyes. She was hardly aware of +them, and when she felt them on her cheeks she +wondered why she was crying, for she did not often +shed tears, and was a woman of singularly well +balanced nature, able to control herself on the rare +occasions when she felt any strong emotion.</p> + +<p>In spite of Reanda's conduct, she determined +not to leave matters as they were without attempting +to improve them. She wrote a note to Paul +Griggs, asking him to come and see her during the +afternoon.</p> + +<p>He could not refuse to answer the summons, +knowing, as he did, that he must in honour +respond to any demand for an explanation coming +from Reanda's side. Gloria wished him to reply +to the note, giving an excuse and hinting that no +good could come of any meeting.</p> + +<p>"It is a point of honour," he answered briefly, +and she yielded, for he dominated her altogether.</p> + +<p>Francesca received him in her own small sitting-room,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_142" id="Page_V2_142">[142]</a></span> +which overlooked the square before the +Palazzetto. It was very quiet, and there were roses +in old Vienna vases. It was a very old-fashioned +room, the air was sweet with the fresh flowers, and +the afternoon sun streamed in through a single +tall window. Francesca sat on a small sofa which +stood crosswise between the window and the writing-table. +She had a frame before her on which was +stretched a broad band of deep red satin, a piece of +embroidery in which she was working heraldic +beasts and armorial bearings in coloured silks.</p> + +<p>She did not rise, nor hold out her hand, but +pointed to a chair near her, as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I asked you to come," she said, "because I +wish to speak to you about Gloria."</p> + +<p>Griggs bent his head, sat down, and waited with +a perfectly impassive face. Possibly there was a +rather unusual aggressiveness in the straight lines +of his jaw and his even lips. There was a short +silence before Francesca spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you have done?" she asked, +finishing a stitch and looking quietly into the +man's deep eyes.</p> + +<p>He met her glance calmly, but said nothing, +merely bending his head again, very slightly.</p> + +<p>"It is very wicked," said she, and she began to +make another stitch, looking down again.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt that you think so," answered +Paul Griggs, slowly nodding a third time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_143" id="Page_V2_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is not a question of opinion. It is a matter +of fact. You have ruined the life of an innocent +woman."</p> + +<p>"If social position is the object of existence, +you are right," he replied. "I have nothing to +say."</p> + +<p>"I am not speaking of social position," said +Donna Francesca, continuing to make stitches.</p> + +<p>"Then I am afraid that I do not understand +you."</p> + +<p>"Can you conceive of nothing more important to +the welfare of men and women than social position?"</p> + +<p>"It is precisely because I do, that I care so little +what society thinks. I do not understand you."</p> + +<p>"I have known you some time," said Francesca. +"I had not supposed that you were a man without +a sense of right and wrong. That is the question +which is concerned now."</p> + +<p>"It is a question which may be answered from +more than one point of view. You look at it in +one way, and I in another. With your permission, +we will differ about it, since we can never agree."</p> + +<p>"There is no such thing as differing about right +and wrong," answered Donna Francesca, with a +little impatience. "Right is right, and wrong is +wrong. You cannot possibly believe that you have +done right. Therefore you know that you have +done wrong."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_144" id="Page_V2_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That sort of logic assumes God at the expense +of man," said Griggs, calmly.</p> + +<p>Francesca looked up with a startled expression +in her eyes, for she was shocked, though she did +not understand him.</p> + +<p>"God is good, and man is sinful," she answered, +in the words of her simple faith.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Griggs, gravely.</p> + +<p>He waited for her answer to the most tremendous +question which man can ask, and he knew that she +could not answer him, though she might satisfy +herself.</p> + +<p>"I have never talked about religion with an +atheist," she said at last, slowly pushing her needle +through the heavy satin.</p> + +<p>"I am not an atheist, Princess."</p> + +<p>"A Protestant, then—"</p> + +<p>"I am not a Protestant. I am a Catholic, as +you are."</p> + +<p>She looked up suddenly and faced him with +earnest eyes.</p> + +<p>"Then you are not a good Catholic," she said. +"No good Catholic could speak as you do."</p> + +<p>"Even the Apostles had doubts," answered +Griggs. "But I do not pretend to be good. Since +I am a man, I have a right to be a man, and to be +treated as a man. If the right is not given me +freely, I will take it. You cannot expect a body +to behave as though it were a spirit. A man cannot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_145" id="Page_V2_145">[145]</a></span> +imitate an invisible essence, any more than a +sculptor can imitate sound with a shape of clay. +When we are spirits, we shall act as spirits. Meanwhile +we are men and women. As a man, I have +not done wrong. You have no right to judge me +as an angel. Is that clear?"</p> + +<p>"Terribly clear!" Francesca slowly shook her +head. "And terribly mistaken," she added.</p> + +<p>"You see," answered the young man. "It is +impossible to argue the point. We do not speak +the same language. You, by your nature, believe +that you can imitate a spirit. You are spiritual +by intuition and good by instinct, according to the +spiritual standard of good. I am, on the contrary, +a normal man, and destined to act as men act. I +cannot understand you and you, if you will allow +me to say so, cannot possibly understand me. That +is why I propose that we should agree to differ."</p> + +<p>"And do you think you can sweep away all right +and wrong, belief and unbelief, salvation and perdition, +with such a statement as that?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," replied Griggs. "You tell me that +I am wicked. That only means that I am not +doing what you consider right. You deny my +right of judgment, in favour of your own. You +make witnesses of spirits against the doings of +men. You judge my body and condemn my soul. +And there is no possible appeal from your tribunal, +because it is an imaginary one. But if you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_146" id="Page_V2_146">[146]</a></span> +return to the facts of the case, you will find it hard +to prove that I have ruined the life of an innocent +woman, as you told me that I had."</p> + +<p>"You have! There is no denying it."</p> + +<p>"Socially, and it is the fault of society. But +society is nothing to me. I would be an outcast +from society for a much less object than the love +of a woman, provided that I had not to do anything +dishonourable."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is it! You forget that a man's honour +is his reputation at the club, while the honour of +a woman is founded in religion, and maintained +upon a single one of God's commandments—as +you men demand that it shall be."</p> + +<p>Griggs was silent for a moment. He had never +heard a woman state the case so plainly and forcibly, +and he was struck by what she said. He +could have answered her quickly enough. But +the answer would not have been satisfactory to +himself.</p> + +<p>"You see, you have nothing to say," she said. +"But in one way you are right. We cannot argue +this question. I did not ask you to come in order +to discuss it. I sent for you to beg you to do +what is right, as far as you can. And you could +do much."</p> + +<p>"What should you think right?" asked Griggs, +curious to know what she thought.</p> + +<p>"You should take Gloria to her father, as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_147" id="Page_V2_147">[147]</a></span> +are his friend. Since she has left her husband, she +should live with her father."</p> + +<p>"That is a very simple idea!" exclaimed the +young man, with something almost like a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Right is always simple," answered Francesca, +quietly. "There is never any doubt about it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him once, and then continued to +work at her embroidery. His eyes rested on the +pure outline of her maidenlike face, and he was +silent for a moment. Somehow, he felt that her +simplicity of goodness rebuked the simplicity of +his sin.</p> + +<p>"You forget one thing," said Griggs at last. +"You make a spiritual engine of mankind, and you +forget the mainspring of the world. You leave +love out of the question."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps—as you understand love. But you +will not pretend to tell me that love is necessarily +right, whatever it involves."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the young man. "That is +what I mean. Unless your God is a malignant +and maleficent demon, the overwhelming passions +which take hold of men, and against which no man +can fight beyond a certain point, are right, because +they exist and are irresistible. As for what you +propose that I should do, I cannot do it."</p> + +<p>"You could, if you would," said Francesca. +"There is nothing to hinder you, if you will."</p> + +<p>"There is love, and I cannot."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_148" id="Page_V2_148">[148]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Paul Griggs</span> left Francesca with the certainty +in his own mind that she had produced no impression +whatever upon him, but he was conscious that +his opinion of her had undergone a change. He +was suddenly convinced that she was the best +woman he had ever known, and that Gloria's accusations +were altogether unjust and unfounded. +Recalling her face, her manner, and her words, he +knew that whatever influence she might have had +upon Reanda, there could be no ground for Gloria's +jealousy. She certainly disturbed him strangely, +for Gloria was perfect in his eyes, and he accepted +all she said almost blindly. The fact that Reanda +had struck her now stood in his mind as the sole +reason for the separation of husband and wife.</p> + +<p>Gloria was far from realizing what influence she +had over the man she loved. It seemed to her, on +the contrary, that she was completely dominated +by him, and she was glad to feel his strength at +every turn. Her enormous vanity was flattered by +his care of her, and by his uncompromising admiration +of her beauty as well as of her character, and +she yielded to him purposely in small things that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_149" id="Page_V2_149">[149]</a></span> +she might the better feel his strength, as she supposed. +The truth, had she known it, was that he +hardly asserted himself at all, and was ready to +make any and every sacrifice for her comfort and +happiness. He had sacrificed his pride to borrow +money from a friend to meet the first necessities +of their life together. He would have given his +life as readily.</p> + +<p>They led a strangely lonely existence in the +little apartment in the Via della Frezza. The +world had very soon heard of what had happened, +and had behaved according to its lights. Walking +alone one morning while Griggs was at work, Gloria +had met Donna Tullia Meyer, whom she had known +in society, and thoughtlessly enough had bowed as +though nothing had happened. Donna Tullia had +stared at her coldly, and then turned away. After +that, Gloria had realized what she had already +understood, and had either not gone out without +Griggs, or, when she did, had kept to the more +secluded streets, where she would not easily meet +acquaintances.</p> + +<p>Griggs worked perpetually, and she watched +him, delighting at first in the difference between +his way of working and that of Angelo Reanda; delighted, +too, to be alone with him, and to feel that +he was writing for her. She could sit almost in +silence for hours, half busy with some bit of needlework, +and yet busy with him in her thoughts. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_150" id="Page_V2_150">[150]</a></span> +seemed to her that she understood him—she told +him so, and he believed her, for he felt that he +could not be hard to understand.</p> + +<p>He was as singularly methodical as Reanda was +exceptionally intuitive. She felt that his work +was second to her in his estimation of it, but that, +since they both depended upon it for their livelihood, +they had agreed together to put it first. +With Reanda, art was above everything and beyond +all other interests, and he had made her feel +that he worked for art's sake rather than for hers. +There was a vast difference in the value placed +upon her by the two men, in relation to their two +occupations.</p> + +<p>"I have no genius," said Griggs to her one day. +"I have no intuitions of underlying truth. But I +have good brains, and few men are able to work as +hard as I. By and bye, I shall succeed and make +money, and it will be less dull for you."</p> + +<p>"It is never dull for me when I can be with you," +she answered.</p> + +<p>As he looked, the sunshine caught her red auburn hair, +and the love-lights played with the sunshine +in her eyes. Griggs knew that life had no +more dulness for him while she lived, and as for +her, he believed what she said.</p> + +<p>Without letting him know what she was doing, +she wrote to her father. It was not an easy letter +to write, and she thought that she knew the savage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_151" id="Page_V2_151">[151]</a></span> +old Scotchman's temper. She told him everything. +At such a distance, it was easy to throw herself +upon his mercy, and it was safer to write him all +while he was far away, so that there might be +nothing left to rouse his anger if he returned. She +had no lack of words with which to describe Reanda's +treatment of her; but she was also willing to take +all the blame of the mistake she had made in +marrying him. She had ruined her life before it +had begun, she said. She had taken the law into +her own hands, to mend it as best she could. Her +father knew that Paul Griggs was not like other +men—that he was able to protect her against all +comers, and that he could make the world fear him +if he could not make it respect her. Her father +must do as he thought right. He would be justified, +from the world's point of view, in casting her +off and never remembering her existence again, but +she begged him to forgive her, and to think kindly +of her. Meanwhile, she and Griggs were wretchedly +poor, and she begged her father to continue her +allowance.</p> + +<p>If Paul Griggs had seen this letter, he would +have been startled out of some of his belief in +Gloria's perfection. There was a total absence of +any moral sense of right or wrong in what she +wrote, which would have made a more cynical man +than Griggs was look grave. The request for the +continuation of the allowance would have shocked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_152" id="Page_V2_152">[152]</a></span> +him and perhaps disgusted him. The whole tone +was too calm and business-like. It was too much +as though she were fulfilling a duty and seeking to +gain an object rather than appealing to Dalrymple +to forgive her for yielding to the overwhelming +mastery of a great passion. It was cold, it +was calculating, and it was, in a measure, unwomanly.</p> + +<p>When she had sent the letter, she told Griggs +what she had done, but her account of its contents +satisfied him with one of those brilliant false impressions +which she knew so well how to convey. +She told him rather what she should have said than +what she had really written, and, as usual, he found +that she had done right.</p> + +<p>It was not that she would not have written a +better letter if she had been able to compose one. +She had done the best that she could. But the +truth lay there, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'orf'">or</ins> the letter was composed as an +expression of what she knew that she ought to +feel, and was not the actual outpouring of an overfull +heart. She could not be blamed for not feeling +more deeply, nor for her inability to express what +she did not feel. But when she spoke of it to the +man she loved, she roused herself to emotion easily +enough, and her words sounded well in her own +ears and in his. To the last, he never understood +that she loved such emotion for its own sake, and +that he helped her to produce it in herself. In the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_153" id="Page_V2_153">[153]</a></span> +comparatively simple view of human nature which +he took in those days, it seemed to him that if a +woman were willing to sacrifice everything, including +social respectability itself, for any man, she +must love him with all her heart. He could not +have understood that any woman should give up +everything, practically, in the attempt to feel +something of which she was not capable.</p> + +<p>In reply to her letter, Dalrymple sent a draft for +a considerable sum of money, through his banker. +The fact that it was addressed to her at Via della +Frezza was the only indication that he had received +her letter. In due time, Gloria wrote to thank him, +but he took no notice of the communication.</p> + +<p>"He never loved me," she said to Griggs as the +days went by and brought her nothing from her +father. "I used to think so, when I was a mere +child, but I am sure of it now. You are the only +human being that ever loved me."</p> + +<p>She was pale that day, and her white hand sought +his as she spoke, with a quiver of the lip.</p> + +<p>"I am glad of it," he answered. "I shall not +divide you with any one."</p> + +<p>So their life went on, somewhat monotonously +after the first few weeks. Griggs worked hard +and earned more money than formerly, but he discovered +very soon that it would be all he could do +to support Gloria in bare comfort. He would not +allow her to use her own money for anything which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_154" id="Page_V2_154">[154]</a></span> +was to be in common, or in which he had any share +whatever.</p> + +<p>"You must spend it on yourself," he said. "I +will not touch it. I will not accept anything you +buy with it—not so much as a box of cigarettes. +You must spend it on your clothes or on jewels."</p> + +<p>"You are unkind," she answered. "You know +how much pleasure it would give me to help you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know. You cannot understand, but you +must try. Men never do that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>And, as usual, he dominated her, and she dropped +the subject, inwardly pleased with him, and knowing +that he was right.</p> + +<p>His strength fascinated her, and she admired his +manliness of heart and feeling as she had never +admired any qualities in any one during her life. +But he did not amuse her, even as much as she had +been amused by Reanda. He was melancholic, +earnest, hard working, not inclined to repeat lightly +the words of love once spoken in moments of passion. +He meant, perhaps, to show her how he +loved her by what he would do for her sake, rather +than tell her of it over and over again. And he +worked as he had never worked before, hour after +hour, day after day, sitting at his writing-table +almost from morning till night. Besides his correspondence, +he was now writing a book, from which +he hoped great things—for her. It was a novel, +and he read her day by day the pages he wrote.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_155" id="Page_V2_155">[155]</a></span> +She talked over with him what he had written, +and her imagination and dramatic intelligence, forever +grasping at situations of emotion for herself +and others, suggested many variations upon his +plan.</p> + +<p>"It is my book," she often said, when they had +been talking all the evening.</p> + +<p>It was her book, and it was a failure, because it +was hers and not his. Her imagination was disorderly, +to borrow a foreign phrase, and she was +altogether without any sense of proportion in what +she imagined. He did not, indeed, look upon her +as intellectually perfect, though for him she was +otherwise unapproachably superior to every other +woman in the world. But he loved her so wholly +and unselfishly that he could not bear to disappoint +her by not making use of her suggestions. When +she was telling him of some scene she had imagined, +her voice and manner, too, were so thoroughly +dramatic that he was persuaded of the real value +of the matter. Divested of her individuality and +transferred in his rather mechanically over-correct +language to the black and white of pen and ink, +the result was disappointing, even when he read it +to her. He knew that it was, and wasted time in +trying to improve what was bad from the beginning. +She saw that he failed, and she felt that he +was not a man of genius. Her vanity suffered +because her ideas did not look well on his paper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_156" id="Page_V2_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before he had finished the manuscript, she had +lost her interest in it. Feeling that she had, and +seeing it in her face, he exerted his strength of will +in the attempt to bring back the expression of surprise +and delight which the earlier readings had +called up, but he felt that he was working uphill +and against heavy odds. Nevertheless he completed +the work, and spent much time in fancied +improvement of its details. At a later period in +his life he wrote three successful books in the time +he had bestowed upon his first failure, but he wrote +them alone.</p> + +<p>Gloria's face brightened when he told her that it +was done. She took the manuscript and read over +parts of it to herself, smiling a little from time to +time, for she knew that he was watching her. She +did not read it all.</p> + +<p>"Dedicate it to me," she said, holding out one +hand to find his, while she settled the pages on her +knees with the other.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he answered, and he wrote a few +words of dedication to her on a sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>He sent it to a publisher in London whom he +knew. It was returned with some wholesome +advice, and Gloria's vanity suffered another blow, +both in the failure of the book which contained so +many of her ideas and in the failure of the man +to be successful, for in her previous life she had +not been accustomed to failure of any sort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_157" id="Page_V2_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am afraid I am only a newspaper man, after +all," said Paul Griggs, quietly. "You will have to +be satisfied with me as I am. But I will try +again."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Gloria, more coldly than she +usually spoke. "When you find that you cannot +do a thing naturally, leave it alone. It is of no +use to force talent in one direction when it wants +to go in another."</p> + +<p>She sighed softly, and busied herself with some +work. Griggs felt that he was a failure, and he +felt lonely, too, for a moment, and went to his own +room to put away the rejected manuscript in a safe +place. It was not his nature to destroy it angrily, +as some men might have done at his age.</p> + +<p>When he came back to the door of the sitting-room +he heard her singing, as she often did when +she was alone. But to-day she was singing an old +song which he had not heard for a long time, and +which reminded him painfully of that other house +in which she had lived and of that other man whom +she never saw, but who was still her husband.</p> + +<p>He entered the room rather suddenly, after having +paused a moment outside, with his hand on the +door.</p> + +<p>"Please do not sing that song!" he said quickly, +as he entered.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked, interrupting herself in +the middle of a stave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_158" id="Page_V2_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It reminds me of unpleasant things."</p> + +<p>"Does it? I am sorry. I will not sing it +again."</p> + +<p>But she knew what it meant, for it reminded +her of Reanda. She was no longer so sure that the +reminiscence was all painful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_159" id="Page_V2_159">[159]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> spite of all that Griggs could do, and he +did his utmost, it was hard to live in anything +approaching to comfort on the meagre remuneration +he received for his correspondence, and his +pride altogether forbade him to allow Gloria to +contribute anything to the slender resources of +the small establishment. At first, it had amused +her to practise little economies, even in the matter +of their daily meals. Griggs denied himself everything +which was not absolutely necessary, and it +pleased Gloria to imitate him, for it made her feel +that she was helping him. The housekeeping was +a simple affair enough, and she undertook it +readily. They had one woman servant as cook +and maid-of-all-work, a strong young creature, not +without common-sense, and plentifully gifted with +that warm, superficial devotion which is common +enough in Italian servants. Gloria had kept house +for her father long enough to understand what she +had undertaken, and it seemed easy at first to do +the same thing for Griggs, though on a much more +restricted scale.</p> + +<p>But the restriction soon became irksome. In a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_160" id="Page_V2_160">[160]</a></span> +more active and interesting existence, she would +perhaps not have felt the constant pinching of such +excessive economy. If there had been more means +within her reach for satisfying her hungry vanity, +she could have gone through the daily round of little +domestic cares with a lighter heart or, at least, +with more indifference. But she and Griggs led +a very lonely life, and, as in all lonely lives, the +smallest details became important.</p> + +<p>It was not long before Gloria wished herself in +her old home in the Corso, not indeed with Reanda, +but with Paul Griggs. He had made her promise +to use only the money he gave her himself for +their housekeeping. She secretly deceived him +and drew upon her own store, and listened in +silence to his praise of her ingenuity in making +the little he was able to give her go so far. He +trusted her so completely that he suspected nothing.</p> + +<p>She expected that at the end of three months her +father would send her another draft, but the day +passed, and she received nothing, so that she at last +wrote to him again, asking for money. It came, as +before, without any word of inquiry or greeting. +Dalrymple evidently intended to take this means +of knowing from time to time that his daughter +was alive and well. She would be obliged to write +to him whenever she needed assistance. It was +a humiliation, and she felt it bitterly, for she had +thought that she had freed herself altogether and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_161" id="Page_V2_161">[161]</a></span> +she found herself still bound by the necessity of +asking for help.</p> + +<p>It seemed very hard to be thus shut off from the +world in the prime of her youth, and beauty, and +talent. To a woman who craved admiration for all +she did and could do, it was almost unbearable. +Paul Griggs worked and looked forward to success, +and was satisfied in his aspirations, and more than +happy in the companionship of the woman he so +dearly loved.</p> + +<p>"I shall succeed," he said quietly, but with perfect +assurance. "Before long we shall be able to +leave Rome, and begin life somewhere else, where +nobody will know our story. It will not be so dull +for you there."</p> + +<p>"It is never dull when I am with you," said +Gloria, but there was no conviction in the tone any +more. "If you would let me go upon the stage," +she added, with a change of voice, "things would be +very different. I could earn a great deal of money."</p> + +<p>But Paul Griggs was as much opposed to the +project as Reanda had been, and in this one respect +he really asserted his will. He was so confident +of ultimately attaining to success and fortune by +his pen that he would not hear of Gloria's singing +in public.</p> + +<p>"Besides," he said, after giving her many and +excellent reasons, "if you earned millions, I would +not touch the money."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_162" id="Page_V2_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>She sighed for the lost opportunities of brilliant +popularity, but she smiled at his words, knowing +how she had used her own money for him, and +in spite of him. But for her own part she had +lost all belief in his talent since the failure of the +book he had written.</p> + +<p>The long summer days were hard to bear. He +was not able to leave Rome, for he was altogether +dependent upon his regular correspondence for +what he earned, and he did not succeed in persuading +his editors to employ him anywhere else, for +the very reason that he did so well what was required +of him where he was.</p> + +<p>The weather grew excessively hot, and it was +terribly dreary and dull in the little apartment in +the Via della Frezza. All day long the windows +were tightly closed to keep out the fiery air, both +the old green blinds and the glass within them. +Griggs had moved his writing-table to the feeble +light, and worked away as hard as ever. Gloria +spent most of the hot hours in reading and dreaming. +They went out together early in the morning +and in the evening, when there was some coolness, +but during the greater part of the day they were +practically imprisoned by the heat.</p> + +<p>Gloria watched the strong man and wondered at +his power of working under any circumstances. +He was laborious as well as industrious. He often +wrote a page over two and three times, in the hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_163" id="Page_V2_163">[163]</a></span> +of improving it, and he was capable of spending +an hour in finding a quotation from a great writer, +not for the sake of quoting it, but in order to satisfy +himself that he had authority for using some +particular construction of phrase. He kept notebooks +in which he made long indexed lists of words +which in common language were improperly used, +with examples showing how they should be rightly +employed.</p> + +<p>"I am constructing a superiority for myself," he +said once. "No one living takes so much pains as +I do."</p> + +<p>But Gloria had no faith in his painstaking ways, +though she wondered at his unflagging perseverance. +Her own single great talent lay in her singing, +and she had never given herself any trouble +about it. Reanda, too, though he worked carefully +and often slowly, worked without effort. It was +true that Griggs never showed fatigue, but that +was due to his amazing bodily strength. The intellectual +labour was apparent, however, and he always +seemed to be painfully overcoming some almost +unyielding difficulty by sheer force of steady application, +though nothing came of it, so far as she +could see.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand why you take so much +trouble," she said. "They are only newspaper +articles, after all, to be read to-day and forgotten +to-morrow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_164" id="Page_V2_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am learning to write," he answered. "It +takes a long time to learn anything unless one has +a great gift, as you have for singing. I have failed +with one book, but I will not fail with another. +The next will not be an extraordinary book, but +it will succeed."</p> + +<p>Nothing could disturb him, and he sat at his +table day after day. He was moved by the strongest +incentives which can act upon a man, at the +time when he himself is strongest; namely, necessity +and love. Even Gloria could never discover +whether he had what she would have called ambition. +He himself said that he had none, and she compared +him with Reanda, who believed in the divinity of +art, the temple of fame, and the reality of glory.</p> + +<p>In the young man's nature, Gloria had taken the +place of all other divinities, real and imaginary. +His enduring nature could no more be wearied in +its worship of her than it could be tired in toiling +for her. He only resented the necessity of cutting +out such a main part of the day for work as left +him but little time to be at leisure with her.</p> + +<p>She complained of his industry, for she was tired +of spending her life with novels, and the hours +hung like leaden weights upon her, dragging with +her as she went through the day.</p> + +<p>"Give yourself a rest," she said, not because she +thought he needed it, but because she wished him +to amuse her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_165" id="Page_V2_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am never tired of working for you," he +answered, and the rare smile came to his face.</p> + +<p>With any other man in the world she might +have told the truth and might have said frankly +that her life was growing almost unbearable, buried +from the world as she was, and cut off from +society. But she was conscious that she should +never dare to say as much to Paul Griggs. She +was realizing, little by little, that his love for +her was greater than she had dreamed of, and immeasurably +stronger than what she felt for him.</p> + +<p>Then she knew the pain of receiving more than +she had to give. It was a genuine pain of its +kind, and in it, as in many other things, she suffered +a constant humiliation. She had taken herself +for a heroic character in the great moment +when she had resolved to leave her husband, intuitively +sure that she loved Paul Griggs with all her +heart, and that she should continue to love him to +the end in spite of the world. She knew now that +there was no endurance in the passion.</p> + +<p>The very efforts she made to sustain it contributed +to its destruction; but she continued to play +her part. Her strong dramatic instinct told her +when to speak and when to be silent, and how to +modulate her voice to a tender appeal, to a touching +sadness, to the strength of suppressed emotion. +It was for a good object, she told herself, and +therefore it must be right. He was giving his life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_166" id="Page_V2_166">[166]</a></span> +for her, day by day, and he must never know that +she no longer loved him. It would kill him, she +thought; for with him it was all real. She grew +melancholy and thought of death. If she died +young, he should never guess that she had not +loved him to the very last.</p> + +<p>In her lonely thoughts she dwelt upon the possibility, +for it was a possibility now. There was +that before her which, when it came, might turn +life into death very suddenly. She had moments +of tenderness when she thought of her own dead +face lying on the white pillow, and the picture +was so real that her eyes filled with tears. She +would be very beautiful when she was dead.</p> + +<p>The idea took root in her mind; for it afforded +her an inward emotion which touched her strangely +and cost her nothing. It gained in fascination as +she allowed it to come back when it would, and +the details of death came vividly before her imagination, +as she had read of them in books,—her +own white face, the darkened room, the candles, +Paul Griggs standing motionless beside her body.</p> + +<p>One day he looked from his work and saw tears +on her cheeks. He dropped his pen as though +something had struck him unawares; and he was +beside her in a moment, looking anxiously into her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, and his hands were +on hers and pressed them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_167" id="Page_V2_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is nothing," she answered. "It is natural, +I suppose—"</p> + +<p>"No. It is not natural. You are unhappy. +Tell me what is the matter."</p> + +<p>"It is foolish," she said, turning her face from +him. "I see you working so hard day after day. +I am a burden to you—it would be better if I +were out of the way. You are working yourself +to death. If you could see your face sometimes!" +And more tears trickled down.</p> + +<p>His strong hands shook suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I am not working too hard—for me," he +answered, but his voice trembled a little. "One +of your tears hurts me more than a hundred years +of hard work. Even if it were true—I would +rather die for you than live to be the greatest man +that ever breathed—without you."</p> + +<p>She threw her arms about his neck, and hid her +face upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Tell me you love me!" she cried. "You are +all I have in the world!"</p> + +<p>"Does it need telling?" he asked, soothing her.</p> + +<p>Then all at once his arms tightened so that she +could hardly draw breath for a moment, and his +head was bent down and rested for an instant upon +her neck as though he himself sought rest and +refuge.</p> + +<p>"I think you know, dear," he said.</p> + +<p>She knew far better than he could tell her, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_168" id="Page_V2_168">[168]</a></span> +the truth of his passion shook the dramatic and +artificial fabric of her own to its foundations; and +even as she pressed him to her, she felt that secret +repugnance which those who do not love feel for +those who love them overmuch. It was mingled +with a sense of shame which made her hate herself, +and she began to suffer acutely.</p> + +<p>When she thought of Reanda, as she now often +did, she longed for what she had felt for him, +rather than for anything she had ever felt for Paul +Griggs. In the pitiful reaching after something +real, she groped for memories of true tenderness, +and now and then they came back to her from +beyond the chaos which lay between, as memories +of home come to a man cast after many storms +upon a desert island. She dwelt upon them and +tried to construct an under-life out of the past, +made up only of sweet things amongst which all +that had not been good should be forgotten. She +went for comfort to the days when she had loved +Reanda, before their marriage—or when she had +loved his genius as though it were himself, believing +that it was all for her.</p> + +<p>Beside her always, with even, untiring strength, +Paul Griggs toiled on, his whole life based and +founded in hers, every penstroke for her, every +dream of her, every aspiration and hope for her +alone. He was splendidly unconscious of his own +utter loneliness, blankly unaware of the life-comedy—or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_169" id="Page_V2_169">[169]</a></span> +tragedy—which Gloria was acting for +him out of pity for the heart she could break, and +out of shame at finding out what her own heart +was. Had he known the truth, the end would have +come quickly and terribly. But he did not know +it. The woman's gifts were great, and her beauty +was greater. Greater than all was his whole-souled +belief in her. He had never conceived it +possible, in his ignorance of women, that a woman +should really love him. She, whom he had first +loved so hopelessly, had given him all she had to +give, which was herself, frankly and freely. And +after she had come to him, she loved him for a +time, beyond even self-deception. But when she +no longer loved him, she hid her secret and kept +it long and well; for she feared him. He was not +like Reanda. He would not strike only; he would +kill and make an end of both.</p> + +<p>But she might have gone much nearer to the +truth without danger. It was not his nature to +ask anything nor to expect much, and he had +taken all there was to take, and knew it, and was +satisfied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_170" id="Page_V2_170">[170]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> summer passed, with its monotonous heat. +Rain fell in August and poisoned the campagna +with fever for six weeks, and the clear October +breezes blew from the hills, and the second greenness +of the late season was over everything for a +brief month of vintage and laughter. Then came +November with its pestilent sirocco gales and its +dampness, pierced and cut through now and then +by the first northerly winds of winter.</p> + +<p>And then, one day, there was a new life in the +little apartment in the Via della Frezza. Fate, +relentless, had brought to the light a little child, +to be the grandson of that fated Maria Braccio +who had died long ago, to have his day of happiness +and his night of suffering in his turn and to +be a living bond between Gloria and the man who +loved her.</p> + +<p>They called the boy Walter Crowdie for a relative +of Angus Dalrymple, who had been the last +of the name. It was convenient, and he would +never need any other, nor any third name after +the two given to him in baptism.</p> + +<p>For a few days after the child's birth, Griggs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_171" id="Page_V2_171">[171]</a></span> +left his writing-table. He was almost too happy +to work, and he spent many hours by Gloria's side, +not talking, for he knew that she must be kept +quiet, but often holding her hand and always looking +at her face, with the strong, dumb devotion of +a faithful bloodhound.</p> + +<p>Often she pretended to be sleeping when he was +there, though she was wide awake and could have +talked well enough. But it was easier to seem to +be asleep than to play the comedy now, while she +was so weak and helpless. With the simplicity of +a little child Griggs watched her, and when her +eyes were closed believed that she was sleeping. +As soon as she opened them he spoke to her. She +understood and sometimes smiled in spite of herself, +with close-shut lids. He thought she was +dreaming of him, or of the child, and was smiling +in her sleep.</p> + +<p>As she lay there and thought over all that had +happened, she knew that she hated him as she had +never loved him, even in the first days. And she +hated the child, for its life was the last bond, linking +her to Paul Griggs and barring her from the +world forever. Until it had been there she had +vaguely felt that if she had the courage and really +wished it, she might in some way get back to her +old life. She knew that all hope of that was gone +from her now.</p> + +<p>In the deep perspective of her loosened intelligence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_172" id="Page_V2_172">[172]</a></span> +the endless years to come rolled away, grey +and monotonous, to their vanishing point. She +had made her choice and had not found heart to +give it up, after she had made it, while there was +yet time. Time itself took shape before her closed +eyes, as many succeeding steps, and she saw herself +toiling up them, a bent, veiled figure of great +weariness. It was terrible to look forward to such +truth, and the present was no better. She grasped +at the past and dragged it up to her and looked at +its faded prettiness, and would have kissed it, as +though it had been a living thing. But she knew +that it was dead and that what lived was horrible +to her.</p> + +<p>She wished that she might die, as she had often +thought she might during the long summer months. +In those days her eyes had filled with tears of pity +for herself. They were dry now, for the suffering +was real and the pain was in her bodily heart. +Yet she was so strong, and she feared Paul Griggs +with such an abject fear, that she played the +comedy when she could not make him think that +she was asleep.</p> + +<p>"My only thought is for you," she said. "It is +another burden on you."</p> + +<p>He was utterly happy, and he laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"It is another reason for working," he said.</p> + +<p>And even as he said it she saw the writing-table, +the poor room, his stern, determined face and busy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_173" id="Page_V2_173">[173]</a></span> +hand, and herself seated in her own chair, with a +half-read novel on her lap, staring at the grey +future of mediocrity and mean struggling that +loomed like a leaden figure above his bent head. +Year after year, perhaps, she was to sit in that +chair and watch the same silent battle for bare +existence. It was too horrible to be borne. If +only he were a man of genius, she could have suffered +it all, she thought, and more also. But he +himself said that he had no genius. His terrible +mechanics of mind killed the little originality he +had. His gloomy sobriety over his work made her +desperate. But she feared him. The belief grew +on her that if he ever found out that she did not +love him, he would end life then, for them both—perhaps +for them all three.</p> + +<p>Surely, hell had no tortures worse than hers, +she thought. Yet she bore them, in terror of him. +And he was perfectly happy and suspected nothing. +She could not understand how with his melancholy +nature and his constant assertion that he had but +a little talent and much industry for all his stock +in trade, he could believe in his own future as he +did. It was an anomaly, a contradiction of terms, +a weak point in the low level of his unimaginative, +dogged strength. She thought often of the poor +book he had written. She had heard that talent +was stirred to music by a great passion that strung +it and struck it, till its heartstrings rang wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_174" id="Page_V2_174">[174]</a></span> +changes and breathed deep chords, and burst into +rushing harmonies of eloquence. But his love +was dumb and dull, though it might be deadly. +There had been neither eloquence nor music in his +book. It had been an old story, badly told. He +had said that he was only fit to be a newspaper +man, and it was true, so far as she could see. His +letters to the paper were excellent in their way, +but that was all he could do. And she had given +him, in the child, another reason for being what he +was, hard-working, silent—dull.</p> + +<p>She looked at him and wondered; for there was +a mystery in his shadowy eyes and still face, which +had promised much more than she had ever found +in him. There was something mysterious and +dreadful, too, in his unnatural strength. The fear +of him grew upon her, and sometimes when he +kissed her she burst into tears out of sheer terror +at his touch.</p> + +<p>"They are tears of happiness," she said, trembling +and drying her eyes quickly.</p> + +<p>She smiled, and he believed her, happier every +day in her and in the child.</p> + +<p>Then came the realization of the grey dream of +misery. Again she was seated by the window in +her accustomed chair, and he was in his place, pen +in hand, eyes on paper, thoughts fixed like steel in +that obstinate effort to do better, while she had the +certainty of his failure before her. And between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_175" id="Page_V2_175">[175]</a></span> +them, in a straw cradle with a hood, all gauze and +lace and blue ribbons, lay the thing that bound her +to him and cut her off forever from the world,—little +Walter Crowdie, the child without a name, as +she called him in her thoughts. And above the +child, between her and Paul Griggs, floated the +little imaginary stage on which she was to go on +acting her play over and over again till all was +done. She had not even the right to shed tears +for herself without telling him that they were for +the happiness he expected of her.</p> + +<p>He would not leave her. He had scarcely been +out of the house for weeks, though the only perceptible +effect of remaining indoors so long was that +he had grown a little paler. She implored him to +go out. In a few days she would be able to go +with him, and meanwhile there was no reason why +he should be perpetually at her side. He yielded +to her importunity at last, and she was left alone +with the child.</p> + +<p>It was a relief even greater than she had +anticipated. She could cry, she could laugh, she could +sing, and he was not there to ask questions. For +one moment after she had heard the outer door +close behind him she almost hesitated as to which +she should do, for she was half hysterical with the +long outward restraint of herself while, inwardly, +she had allowed her thoughts to run wild as they +would. She stood for a moment, and there was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_176" id="Page_V2_176">[176]</a></span> +vague, uncertain look in her face. Then her breast +heaved, and she burst into tears, weeping as never +before in her short life, passionately, angrily, violently, +without thought of control, or indeed of anything +definite.</p> + +<p>Before an hour had passed Griggs came back. +She was seated quietly in her chair, as when he +had left her. The light was all behind her, and he +could not see the slight redness of her eyes. Pale +as she was, he thought she had never been more +beautiful. There was a gentleness in her manner, +too, beyond what he was accustomed to. He +believed that perhaps she might be the better for +being left to herself for an hour or two every day, +until she should be quite strong again. On the +following day she again suggested that he should +go out for a walk, and he made no objection.</p> + +<p>Again, as soon as he was gone, she burst into +tears, almost in spite of herself, though she unconsciously +longed for the relief they had brought her +the first time. But to-day the fit of weeping did +not pass so soon. The spasms of sobbing lasted +long after her eyes were dry, and she had less time +to compose herself before Griggs returned. Still, +he noticed nothing. The tears had refreshed her, +and he found that same gentleness which had +touched him on the previous day.</p> + +<p>Several times, after that, he went out and left +her alone in the afternoon. Then, one day, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_177" id="Page_V2_177">[177]</a></span> +he was walking, a heavy shower came on, and he +made his way home as fast as he could. He +opened the door quickly and came upon her to find +her sobbing as though her heart would break.</p> + +<p>He turned very pale and stood still for a moment. +There was terror in her face when she saw him, +but in an instant he was holding her in his arms +and kissing her hair, asking her what was the +matter.</p> + +<p>"I am a millstone around your neck!" she +sobbed. "It is breaking my heart—I shall die, if +I see you working so!"</p> + +<p>He tried to comfort her, soothing her and laughing +at her fears for him, but believing her, as he +always did. Little by little, her sobs subsided, +and she was herself again, as far as he could see. +He tried to argue the case fairly on its merits.</p> + +<p>She listened to him, and listening was a new +torture, knowing as she did what her tears were +shed for. But she had to play the comedy again, +at short notice, not having had the time to compose +herself and enjoy the relief she found in crying +alone.</p> + +<p>It was a relief which she sought again and again. +When she thought of it afterwards, it was as an +indescribable, half-painful, half-pleasant emotion +through which she passed every day. When she +felt that it was before her, as soon as Griggs +was out of the house, she made a slight effort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_178" id="Page_V2_178">[178]</a></span> +to resist it, for she was sensible enough to understand +that it was becoming a habit which she could not easily +break.</p> + +<p>Even after she was quite strong again, Griggs +often left her to herself for an hour, and he did +not again come in accidentally and find her in +tears. He thought it natural that she should sometimes +wish to be alone.</p> + +<p>One day, when she had dried her eyes, she took +a sheet of paper from his table and began to write. +She had no distinct intention, but she knew that +she was going to write about herself and her sufferings. +It gave her a strange and unhealthy pleasure +to set down in black and white all that she +suffered. She could look at it, turn it, change it, +and look at it again. Constantly, as the pen ran +on, the tears came to her eyes afresh, and she +brushed them away with a smile.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, she looked at the clock—the +same cheap little American clock which had ticked +so long on the mantelpiece in Griggs's old lodging +upstairs. She knew that he would be back before +long, and she tore the sheets she had covered into +tiny strips and threw them into the waste-paper +basket. When Griggs returned, she was singing +softly to herself over her needlework.</p> + +<p>But she had enjoyed a rare delight in writing +down the story of her troubles. The utter loneliness +of her existence, when Griggs was not with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_179" id="Page_V2_179">[179]</a></span> +her, made it natural enough. Then a strange +thought crossed her mind. She would write to +Reanda and tell him that she had forgiven him, +and had expiated the wrong she had done him. +She craved the excitement of confession, and it +could do no harm. He might, perhaps, answer +her. Griggs would never know, for she always +received the letters and sorted them for him, merely +to save him trouble. The correspondence of a +newspaper man is necessarily large, covering many +sources of his information.</p> + +<p>It was rather a wild idea, she thought, but it +attracted her, or rather it distracted her thoughts +by taking her out of the daily comedy she was +obliged to keep up. There was in it, too, a very +slight suggestion of danger; for it was conceivable, +though almost impossible, that some letter of hers +or her husband's might fall into Griggs's hands. +There was a perverseness about it which was seductive +to her tortuous mind.</p> + +<p>At the first opportunity she wrote a very long +letter. It was the letter of a penitent. She told +him all that she had told herself a hundred times, +and it was a very different production from the +one she had sent to her father nearly a year earlier. +There were tears in the phrases, there were sobs in +the broken sentences. And there were tears in her +own eyes when she sealed it.</p> + +<p>She was going to ring for the woman servant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_180" id="Page_V2_180">[180]</a></span> +to take it, and her hand was on the bell. She +paused, looked at the addressed envelope, glanced +furtively round the room, and then kissed it passionately. +Then she rang.</p> + +<p>Griggs came home later than usual, but he +thought she was preoccupied and absent-minded.</p> + +<p>"Has anything gone wrong?" he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Wrong?" she repeated. "Oh no!" She sighed. +"It is the same thing. I am always anxious about +you. You were a little pale before you went out +and you had hardly eaten anything at breakfast."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing the matter with me," laughed +Griggs. "I am indestructible. I defy fate."</p> + +<p>She started perceptibly, for she was too much of +an Italian not to be a little superstitious.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_181" id="Page_V2_181">[181]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + + +<p><span class='smcap'>Stefanone</span> was often seen in the Via della +Frezza, for the host of the little wine shop was one +of his good customers. The neighbourhood was +very quiet and respectable, and the existence of +the wine shop was a matter of convenience and +almost of necessity to the respectable citizens who +dwelt there. They sent their women servants or +came themselves at regular hours, bringing their +own bottles and vessels of all shapes and of many +materials for the daily allowance of wine; they +invariably paid in cash, and they never went away +in the summer. The business was a very good +one; for the Romans, though they rarely drink too +much and are on the whole a sober people, consume +an amount of strong wine which would produce a +curious effect upon any other race, in any other +climate. Stefanone, though his wife had formerly +thought him extravagant, had ultimately turned +out to be a very prudent person, and in the course +of a thirty years' acquaintance with Rome had +selected his customers with care, judgment, and +foresight. Whenever he was in Rome and had +time to spare he came to the little shop in the Via<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_182" id="Page_V2_182">[182]</a></span> +della Frezza. He had stood godfather for one of +the host's children, which in those days constituted +a real tie between parents and god-parents.</p> + +<p>But he had another reason for his frequent visits +since that night on which he had accompanied +Gloria and had shielded her from the rain with his +gigantic brass-tipped umbrella. He took an interest +in her, and would wait a long time in the hope +of seeing her, sitting on a rush-bottomed stool +outside the wine shop, and generally chewing the +end of a wisp of broom. He had the faculty of +sitting motionless for an hour at a time, his sturdy +white-stockinged legs crossed one over the other, +his square peasant's hands crossed upon his knee,—the +sharp angles of the thumb-bones marked the +labouring race,—his soft black hat tilted a little +forward over his eyes, his jacket buttoned up when +the weather was cool, thrown back and showing the +loosened shirt open far below the throat when the +day was warm.</p> + +<p>Gloria reminded him of Dalrymple. The process +of mind was a very simple one and needs no +analysis. He had sought Dalrymple for years, but +in vain, and Gloria had something in her face +which recalled her father, though the latter's features +were rough and harshly accentuated. Stefanone +had made the acquaintance of the one-eyed +cobbler without difficulty and had ascertained that +there was a mystery about Gloria, whom the cobbler<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_183" id="Page_V2_183">[183]</a></span> +had first seen on the morning after Stefanone +had met her in the storm. It was of course very +improbable that she should be the daughter of +Dalrymple and Annetta, but even the faint possibility +of being on the track of his enemy had a +strong effect upon the unforgiving peasant. If he +ever found Dalrymple, he intended to kill him. +In the meanwhile he had found a simple plan for +finding out whether Gloria was the Scotchman's +daughter or not. He waited patiently for the +spring, and he came to Rome now every month for +a week at a time.</p> + +<p>More than once during the past year he had +brought small presents of fruit and wine and country +cakes for Gloria, and both she and Griggs knew all +about him, and got their wine from the little shop +which he supplied. Gloria was pleased by the +decent, elderly peasant's admiration of her beauty, +which he never failed to express when he got a +chance of speaking to her. When little Walter +Crowdie was first carried out into the sun, Stefanone +was in the street, and he looked long and earnestly +into the baby's face.</p> + +<p>"There is the same thing in the eyes," he muttered, +as he turned away, after presenting the +nurse with a beautiful jumble, which looked as +though it had been varnished, and was adorned +with small drops of hard pink sugar. "If it is he—an +evil death on him and all his house."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_184" id="Page_V2_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>And he strolled slowly back to the wine shop, +his hand fumbling with the big, curved, brass-handled +knife which he carried in the pocket of +his blue cloth breeches.</p> + +<p>He was certainly mistaken about the baby's +eyes, which were remarkably beautiful and of a +very soft brown; whereas Dalrymple's were hard, +blue, and steely, and it was not possible that anything +like an hereditary expression should be +recognizable in the face of a child three weeks old. +But his growing conviction made his imagination +complete every link which chanced to be missing +in the chain.</p> + +<p>One day, in the spring, he met Griggs when the +latter was going out alone.</p> + +<p>"A word, Signore, if you permit," he said +politely.</p> + +<p>"Twenty," replied Griggs, giving the common +Roman answer.</p> + +<p>"Signore, Subiaco is a beautiful place," said the +peasant. "In spring it is an enchantment. In +summer, I tell you nothing. It is as fresh as +Paradise. There is water, water, as much as you +please. Wine is not wanting, and it seems that +you know that. The butcher kills calves twice a +week, and sometimes an ox when there is an old +one, or one lame. Eh, in Subiaco, one is well."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it when I look at you," answered +Griggs, without a smile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_185" id="Page_V2_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thanks be to Heaven, my health still assists +me. But I am thinking of you and of your beautiful +lady and of that little angel, whom God preserve. +In truth, you appear to me as the Holy +Family. I should not say it to every one, but the +air of Subiaco is thin, the water is light, and, for +a house, mine is of the better ones. One knows +that we are country people, but we are clean people; +there are neither chickens nor children. If +you find a flea, I will have him set in gold. You +shall say, 'This is the flea that was found in +Stefanone's house.' In that way every one will +know. I do not speak of the beds. The pope +could sleep in the one in the large room at the +head of the staircase, the pope with all his cardinals. +They would say, 'Now we know that this is +indeed a bed.' Do you wish better than this? I +do not know. But if you will bring your lady and +the baby, you will see. Eyes tell no lies."</p> + +<p>"And the price?" inquired Griggs, struck by +the good sense of the suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Whatever you choose to give. If you give +nothing, we shall have had your company. In +general, we take three pauls a day, and we give the +wine. You shall make the price as you like it. +Who thinks of these things? We are Christians."</p> + +<p>When Griggs spoke of the project to Gloria, she +embraced it eagerly. He said that he should be +obliged to come to Rome every week on account of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_186" id="Page_V2_186">[186]</a></span> +his correspondence. But Subiaco was no longer as +inaccessible as formerly, and there was now a good +carriage road all the way and a daily public conveyance. +He should be absent three days, and would +spend the other four with her.</p> + +<p>It was a sacrifice on his part, as she guessed +from the way in which he spoke, but it was clearly +necessary that Gloria and the child should have +country air during the coming summer. He had +often reproached himself with not having made +some such arrangement for the preceding hot +season, but he had seen that she did not suffer from +the heat, and his presence in the capital had been +very necessary for his work. Now, however, it +looked possible enough, and before Stefanone went +back to the country for his next trip a preliminary +agreement had been made.</p> + +<p>Gloria looked forward with impatience to the +liberty she was to gain by his regular absences, for +her life was becoming unbearable. She felt that +she could not much longer sustain the perpetual +comedy she was acting, unless she could get an +interval of rest from time to time. At first, the +hour he gave her daily when he went out alone +had been a relief and had sufficed. The tears she +shed, the letters she wrote to Reanda, rested her +and refreshed her. For she had written others +since that first one, though he had never answered +any of them. But the small daily interruption of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_187" id="Page_V2_187">[187]</a></span> +her acting was no longer enough. The taste of +liberty had bred an intense craving for more of it, +and she dreamed of being alone for days together.</p> + +<p>She wrote to Reanda now without the slightest +hope of receiving any reply, as madmen sometimes +write endless letters to women they love, though +they have never exchanged a word with them. It +was a vent for her pent-up suffering. It could +make no difference, and Griggs could never know. +Her strange position put the point of faithfulness +out of the question. She was in love with her +husband, and the man who loved her held her to +her play of love by the terror she felt of what lay +behind his gentleness. She dreamed once that he +had found out the truth, and was tearing her head +from her body with those hands of his, slowly, +almost gently, with mysterious eyes and still face. +She woke, and found that the heavy tress of her +hair was twisted round her throat and was choking +her; but the impression remained, and her dread +of Griggs increased, and it became harder and +harder to act her part.</p> + +<p>At the same time the attraction of secretly writing +to her husband grew stronger, day by day. She +did not send him all she wrote, nor a tenth part of +all, and the greater portion of her outpourings went +into the fire, or they were torn to infinitesimal bits +and thrown into the waste-paper basket. She was +critical, in a strangely morbid way, of what she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_188" id="Page_V2_188">[188]</a></span> +wrote. The fact that she was acting for Griggs, +and knew it, made her dread to write anything to +Reanda which could possibly seem insincere. No +aspiring young author ever took greater pains over +his work than she sometimes bestowed upon the +composition of these letters, or judged his work +more conscientiously and severely than she. And +the result was that she told of her life with wonderful +sincerity and truth. Truth was her only +luxury in the midst of the great lie she had to sustain. +She revelled in it, and yet, fearing to lose +it, she used it with a conscientiousness which she +had never exhibited in anything she had done +before. It was her single delight, and she treasured +it with scrupulous and miserly care. In her +letters, at least, she could be really herself.</p> + +<p>But the strain was telling upon her visibly, and +Griggs was very anxious about her, and hastened +their departure for Subiaco as soon as the weather +began to grow warm, hoping that the mountain air +would bring the colour back to her pale cheeks. +For her beauty's sake, he could almost have deprecated +the prospect, strange to say, for she had +never seemed more perfectly beautiful than now. +She was thinner than she had formerly been, and +her pallor had refined her by softening the look +of hard and brilliant vitality which had characterized +her before she had left Reanda. There is +perhaps no beauty which is not beautified by a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_189" id="Page_V2_189">[189]</a></span> +touch of sadness. Griggs saw it, and while his +eyes rejoiced, his heart sank.</p> + +<p>He knew what an utterly lonely life she was +leading, even as he judged her existence, and the +tender string was touched in his deep nature. She +had sacrificed everything for him, as he told himself +many a time in his solitary walks. All the love +he had given and had to give could never repay +her for what she had given him. Marriage, he reflected, +was often a bargain, but such devotion as +hers was a gift for which there could be no return. +She had ruined herself in the eyes of the world for +him, but the world would never accuse him, nor +shut its doors upon him because he had accepted +what she had so freely given. He was not an emotional +man, but even he longed for some turn of +life in which for her sake he might do something +above the dead level of that commonplace heroism +which begins in hard work and ends in the attainment +of ordinary necessities. He felt his strength +in him and about him, and he wished that he could +let it loose upon some adversary in the physical +satisfaction of fighting for what he loved. It was +not a high aspiration, but it was a manly one.</p> + +<p>He drew upon his resources to the utmost, in +order to make her comfortable in Subiaco when +they should get there. He was not a dreamer, +though he dreamed when he had time. It was his +nature to take all the things which came to him to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_190" id="Page_V2_190">[190]</a></span> +be done and to do them one after another with untiring +energy. He worked at his correspondence, +and got additional articles to write for periodicals, +though it was no easy matter in that day when the +modern periodical was in its infancy.</p> + +<p>Gloria, acting her part, complained sadly that +he worked too hard. Work as he might, he had +no such stress to fear as was wearing out her life. +She hated him, she feared him, and she envied +him. Sometimes she pitied him, and then it was +easier for her to act the play. As for Griggs, he +laughed and told her for the hundredth time that +he was indestructible and defied fate.</p> + +<p>So far as he could see what he had to deal with, +he could defy anything. But there was that beyond +of which he could not dream, and destiny, +with leaden hands, was already upon him, on the +day when a great, old-fashioned carriage, loaded +with boxes and belongings, brought him and his to +the door of Stefanone's house in Subiaco.</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna, grey-haired, and withered as a brown +apple, but tough as leather still, stood on the threshold +to receive them. She no longer wore the embroidered +napkin on her hair, for civilization had +advanced a generation in Subiaco, and a coloured +handkerchief flapped about her head, and she had +caught one corner of it in her teeth to keep it out +of her eyes, as the afternoon breeze blew it across +her leathery face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_191" id="Page_V2_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>First at the door of the carriage she saw the +baby, held up by its nurse, and the old woman +threw up her hands and clapped them, and crowed +to the child till it laughed. Then Griggs got out. +And then, out of the dark shadow of the coach, a +face looked at Sora Nanna, and it was a face she +had known long ago, with dark eyes, beautiful and +deadly pale, and very fateful.</p> + +<p>She turned white herself, and her teeth chattered.</p> + +<p>"Madonna Santissima!" she cried, shrinking +back.</p> + +<p>She crossed herself, and did not dare to meet +Gloria's eyes again for some time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_192" id="Page_V2_192">[192]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Sora Nanna</span> showed her new lodgers their +rooms. They were the ones Dalrymple had occupied +long ago, together with a third, opening separately +from the same landing. In what had been +the Scotchman's laboratory, and which was now +turned into a small bedroom, a large chest stood in +a corner, of the sort used by the peasant women to +this day for their wedding outfits.</p> + +<p>"If it is not in your way, I will leave it here," +said Sora Nanna. "There are certain things +in it."</p> + +<p>"What things?" asked Gloria, idly, and for the +sake of making acquaintance with the woman, +rather than out of curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Things, things," answered Nanna. "Things of +that poor girl's. We had a daughter, Signora."</p> + +<p>"Did she die long ago?" inquired Gloria, in a +tone of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"We lost her, Signora," said Nanna, simply. +"Look at these beds! They are new, new! No +one has ever slept in them. And linen there is, +as much as you can ask for. We are country +people, Signora, but we are good people. I do not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_193" id="Page_V2_193">[193]</a></span> +say that we are rich. One knows—in Rome +everything is beautiful. Even the chestnuts are +of gold. Here, we are in the country, Signora. +You will excuse, if anything is wanting."</p> + +<p>But Gloria was by no means inclined to find +fault. She breathed more freely in the mountain +air, she was tired with the long drive from Tivoli, +where they had spent the previous night, and she +was more hungry than she had been for a long time.</p> + +<p>It was not dark when they sat down to supper in +the old guest chamber which opened upon the +street. Nanna was anxious and willing to bring +them their supper upstairs, but Gloria preferred +the common room. She said it would amuse her, +and in reality it was easier for her not to be alone +with Griggs, and by going downstairs on the first +evening she meant to establish a precedent for the +whole summer. He had told her that he must go +back to Rome for his work on the next day but +one, and she counted the hours before her up to +the minute when she should be free and alone.</p> + +<p>They sat down at the old table at which Dalrymple +had eaten his solitary meals so often, more +than twenty years earlier. There was no change. +There were the same solid, old-fashioned silver +forks and spoons, there were plates of the same +coarse china, tumblers of the same heavy pressed +glass. Had Dalrymple been there, he would have +recognized the old brass lamp with its three beaks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_194" id="Page_V2_194">[194]</a></span> +which poor Annetta had so often brought in lighted +when he sat there at dusk. On the shelf in the +corner were the selfsame decanters full of transparent +aniseed and pink alchermes and coarse +brown brandy. Stefanone came in, laid his hat +upon the bench, and put his stick in the corner +just as he had always done. There was no change, +except that Annetta was not there, and the husband +and wife had grown almost old since those +days.</p> + +<p>"How often does the post go to Rome?" Gloria +asked of Sora Nanna, while they were at supper.</p> + +<p>"Every evening, at one of the night, Signora. +There are also many occasions of sending by the +carters."</p> + +<p>"I can write to you every day when you are +away," said Gloria in English to Griggs.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of those letters which she +wrote to Reanda almost in spite of herself, but the +loving smile did not play her false, and Griggs +believed her.</p> + +<p>In her, the duality of her being had created two +distinct lives. For him, the two elements of consciousness +and perception were merged in one by +his love. All that he felt he saw in her, and all +that he saw in her he felt. The perfection of +love, while it lasts, is in that double certainty +from within and from without, which, if once +disturbed, can never be restored again. Singly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_195" id="Page_V2_195">[195]</a></span> +the one part or the other may remain as of old, +but the wholeness of the two has but one chance +of life.</p> + +<p>On that first night Gloria had an evil dream. +She had fallen asleep, tired from the journey and +worn out with the endless weariness of her secret +suffering. She awoke in the small hours, and +moonlight was streaming into the room. She was +startled to find herself in a strange place, at first, +and then she realized where she was, and gazed at +the clouded panes of common glass as her head lay +on the pillow, and she marked the moonlight on +the brick floor by the joints of the bricks, and +watched how it crept silently away. For the moon +was waning, and had not long risen above the +black line of the hills.</p> + +<p>Her eyelids drooped, but she saw it all distinctly +still—more distinctly than before, she thought. +The level light rose slowly from the floor; very, +very slowly, stiff and straight as a stark, shrouded +corpse, and stood upright between her and the window. +She felt the heavy hair rising on her scalp, +and an intense horror took possession of her body, +and thrilled through her from head to foot and +from her feet to her head. But she could not +move. She felt that something held her and +pressed on her, as though the air were moulded +about her like cast iron.</p> + +<p>The thing stood between her and the window,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_196" id="Page_V2_196">[196]</a></span> +stiff and white. It showed its face, and the face +was white, too. It was Angelo Reanda. She knew +it, though there seemed to be no eyes in the white +thing. She felt its dead voice speaking to her.</p> + +<p>"An evil death on you and all your house," it +said.</p> + +<p>The face was gone again, but the thing was still +there. Very, very slowly, stiff and white, it lay +back, straight from the heel upwards, unbending +as it sank, till it laid itself upon the floor, and she +was staring at the joints of the bricks in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>Then she shrieked aloud and awoke. The moonlight +had moved a foot or more, and she knew that +she had been asleep.</p> + +<p>"It was only a dream," she said to Griggs in +the morning. "I thought I saw you dead, dear. +It frightened me."</p> + +<p>"I am not dead yet," he laughed. "It was that +salad—there were potatoes in it."</p> + +<p>She turned away; for the contrast between the +triviality of what he said and the horror of what +she had felt brought an expression to her face +which even her consummate art could not have +concealed.</p> + +<p>The impression lasted all day, and when she +went to bed she carefully closed the shutters so +that the moonlight should not fall upon the floor. +The dream did not return.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_197" id="Page_V2_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It must have been the salad," said Griggs, +when she told him that she had not been disturbed +again.</p> + +<p>But Gloria was thinking of death, and his words +jarred upon her horribly, as a trivial jest would jar +on a condemned man walking from his cell to the +scaffold. In the evening Griggs went by the +diligence to Rome, and Gloria was left alone with +her child and the nurse.</p> + +<p>Then she sat down and wrote to Reanda with a +full heart and a trembling hand. She told him +of her dream, and how the fear of his death had +broken her nerves. She implored him to come out +and see her when Griggs was in Rome. She could +let him know when to start, if he would write one +word. It was but a little journey, she said, and +the cool mountain air would do him good. But if +he would not come, she besought him to write to +her, if it were only a line, to say that he was alive. +She could not forget the dream until she should +know that he was safe.</p> + +<p>She was not critical of her writing any more, for +she was no longer in fear of being misunderstood, +and she wrote desperately. It seemed to her that +she was writing with her blood. She had sent him +many letters without hope of answer, but something +told her that she could not appeal in vain forever, +and that he would at last reply to her.</p> + +<p>Two days passed, and she spent much of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_198" id="Page_V2_198">[198]</a></span> +time with the child. She felt that in time she +might love it, if Griggs were not beside her. Then +he came back, and in the great joy of seeing her +again after that first short separation, the stern +voice grew as soft as a woman's, and the still face +was moved. She had looked forward with dread +to his return, and she shivered when he touched +her; she would have given all she had if only he +would not kiss her. Then, when she felt that he +might have found her cold to him at the first +moment, that he might guess, that he might find +out her secret, she shivered again from head to +heel, in fear of him, and she forced the smile upon +her face with all her will.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, that I am almost frightened!" +she cried, and lest the smile should be imperfect, +she hid it against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>She could have bitten the cloth and the tough +arm under it, as she felt him kiss the back of her +neck just at the roots of the hair; as it was, she +grasped his arm convulsively.</p> + +<p>"How strong you are!" he laughed, as he felt +the pressure of her fingers.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "It is the mountain air—and +you," she added.</p> + +<p>And, as ever, it seemed to him true. The days +he spent with her were heavenly to him as they +were days of living earthly hell to her. He did +not even leave her alone for an hour or two, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_199" id="Page_V2_199">[199]</a></span> +had done in the city, for when he was in Rome +without her he did double work and shortened his +sleep by half, that he might lengthen the time he +was to have with her. The heat of the capital and +the late hours brought out dark shadows under his +eyes, and gave her another excuse for saying that +he was overworking for her sake, and that she was +a burden upon him—she and the child.</p> + +<p>On the morning before he next went to Rome, +she received a letter from Reanda. The blood +rushed scarlet to her face, but Griggs was busy +with his own letters and did not see it.</p> + +<p>She went to the baby's room. The child had +been taken out by the nurse, and she sat down in +the nurse's chair by the empty cradle and broke +the seal of the note. There was a big sheet of +paper inside, on which were written these lines in +the artist's small, nervous handwriting:—</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly well, but I understand your +anxiety about my health. I do not wish to see +you, but as human life is uncertain I have given +instructions that you may be at once informed of +the good news of my death, if you outlive me."</p> + +<p>Gloria's hand closed upon the sheet of paper, +and she reeled forward and sideways in the chair, +as though she had received a stunning blow. She +heard heavy footsteps on the brick floor in the next +room and with a desperate effort at consciousness +she hid the crumpled letter in her bosom before the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_200" id="Page_V2_200">[200]</a></span> +door opened. But the room swam with her as she +grasped the straw cradle and tried to steady herself.</p> + +<p>In an agony of terror she heard the footsteps +coming nearer and nearer, then retreating again, +then turning back towards her. She prayed to +God at that moment that Griggs might not open +the door. To gain strength, she forced herself to +rise to her feet and stand upright, but with the +first step she took, she stumbled against the chest +that contained Annetta's belongings. The physical +pain roused her. She drew breath more freely, +and listened. Griggs was moving about in the +other room, probably putting together some few +things which he meant to take to Rome with him +that evening. It seemed an hour before she heard +him go away, and the echo of his footsteps came +more and more faintly as he went down the stairs. +He evidently had not guessed that she was in the +little room which served as a nursery—the room +which had once been Dalrymple's laboratory.</p> + +<p>She did not read the letter again, but she found +a match and set fire to it, and watched it as it +burned to black, gossamer-like ashes on the brick +floor. It was long before she had the courage to go +down and face Griggs and say that she was ready +for the daily walk together before the midday meal. +And all that day she went about dreamily, scarcely +knowing what she did or said, though she was sure +that she did not fail in acting her part, for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_201" id="Page_V2_201">[201]</a></span> +habit was so strong that the acting was natural to +her, except when something waked her to herself +too suddenly.</p> + +<p>He went away at last in the evening, and she +was free to do what she pleased with herself, to +close the deadly wound she had received, if that +were possible, to forget it even for an hour, if she +could.</p> + +<p>But she could not. She felt that it was her +death-wound, for it had killed a hope which she +had tended and fostered into an inner life for +herself. She felt that her husband hated her, as +she hated Paul Griggs.</p> + +<p>She was impelled to fall upon her knees and +pray to Something, somewhere, though she knew +not what, but she was ashamed to do it when she +thought of her life. That Something would turn +upon her and curse her, as Reanda had cursed her +in her dream—and in the cruel words he had +written.</p> + +<p>She hardly slept that night, and she rose in the +morning heavy-eyed and weary. Going out into +the old garden behind the house she met Sora +Nanna with a basket of clothes on her head, just +starting to go up to the convent, followed by two +of her women.</p> + +<p>"Signora," said the old woman, with her leathern +smile, "you are consuming yourself because the +husband is in Rome. You are doing wrong."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_202" id="Page_V2_202">[202]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gloria started, stared at her, and then understood, +and nodded.</p> + +<p>"Come up to the convent with us," said Nanna. +"You will divert yourself, and while they take in +the clothes, I will show you the church. It is +beautiful. I think that even in Rome it would be +a beautiful church. I will show you where the +sisters are buried and I will tell you how Sister +Maria Addolorata was burned in her cell. But she +was not buried with the rest. When you come +back, you will eat with a double appetite, and I +will make gnocchi of polenta for dinner. Do you +like gnocchi, Signora? There is much resistance +in them."</p> + +<p>Gloria went with the washerwomen. She was +strong and kept pace with them, burdened as they +were with their baskets. It was good to be with +them, common creatures with common, human +hearts, knowing nothing of her strange trouble. +Sora Nanna took her into the church and showed +her the sights, explaining them in her strident, +nasal voice without the slightest respect for the +place so long as no religious service was going on. +The woman showed her the little tablet erected in +memory of Maria Addolorata, and she told the story +as she had heard it, and dwelt upon the funeral +services and the masses which had been said.</p> + +<p>"At least, she is in peace," said Gloria, in a low +voice, staring at the tablet.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 376px;"> +<img src="images/gs25.jpg" width="376" height="500" alt=""Let us not speak of the dead."—Vol. II., p. 203." title=""Let us not speak of the dead."—Vol. II., p. 203." /> +<span class="caption">"Let us not speak of the dead."—Vol. II., p. 203.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_203" id="Page_V2_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Poor Annetta used to say that Sister Maria +Addolorata sinned in her throat," said Nanna. +"But you see. God can do everything. She +went straight from her cell to heaven. Eh, she is +in peace, Signora, as you say. Requiesca'. Come, +Signora, it takes at least three-quarters of an hour +to make gnocchi."</p> + +<p>And they did not know. She was standing on +her daughter's grave, and the tablet was a memorial +of the mother of the woman beside her.</p> + +<p>"You make me think of her, Signora," said the +peasant. "You have her face. If you had her +voice, to sing, I should think that you were she, +returned from the dead."</p> + +<p>"Could she sing?" asked Gloria, dreamily, as +they left the church.</p> + +<p>"Like the angels in Paradise," answered Nanna. +"I think that now, when she sings, they are +ashamed and stand silent to listen to her. If God +wills that I make a good death, I shall hear her +again."</p> + +<p>She glanced at her companion's dreamy, fateful +face.</p> + +<p>"Let us not speak of the dead!" she concluded. +"To-day we will make gnocchi of polenta."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_204" id="Page_V2_204">[204]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the afternoon Gloria called Sora Nanna to +move the chest against which she had stumbled in +the morning. It would be more convenient, she +said, to put it under the bed, if it could not be +taken away altogether. It was a big, old-fashioned +chest of unpainted, unvarnished wood, brown with +age, and fastened by a hasp, through which a +splinter of white chestnut wood had been stuck +instead of a padlock. Gloria saw that it was +heavy, as Sora Nanna dragged it and pushed it +across the room. She remarked that, if it held +only clothes, it must be packed very full.</p> + +<p>Sora Nanna, glad to rest from her efforts, stood +upright with her hand on her hip and took breath.</p> + +<p>"Signora," she said, "who knows what is in it? +Things, certain things! There are the clothes of +that poor girl. This I know. And then, certain +other things. Who knows what is in it? It may +be a thousand years since I looked. Signora, shall +we open it? But I think there are certain things +that belonged to the Englishman."</p> + +<p>"The Englishman?" asked Gloria, with some +curiosity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_205" id="Page_V2_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was glad of anything which could interest +her a little. For the moment she had not yet the +courage to begin to write again after Reanda's message. +Anything which had power to turn the current +of her thoughts was a relief. She was sitting +in the same chair beside the cradle in which she had +sat in the morning, for she had called Nanna to move +the box at a time when the child had been taken +out for its second airing. She leaned back, resting +her auburn hair against the bare wall, the waxen +whiteness of her face contrasting with the bluish +whitewash.</p> + +<p>"What Englishman?" she asked again, wearily, +but with a show of interest in her half-closed eyes.</p> + +<p>"Who knows? An Englishman. They called +him Sor Angoscia." Nanna sat down on the heavy +box, and dropped her skinny hands far apart upon +her knees. "We have cursed him much. He took +our daughter. It was a night of evil. In that +night the abbess died, and Sister Maria Addolorata +was burned in her cell, and the Englishman took +our daughter. He took our one daughter, Signora. +We have not seen her more, not even her little +finger. It will be twenty-two years on the eve of +the feast of St. Luke. That is in October, Signora. +He took our daughter. Poor little one! She was +young, young—perhaps she did not know what she +did."</p> + +<p>Gloria leaned forward, resting her chin in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_206" id="Page_V2_206">[206]</a></span> +hand and her elbow on her knee, gazing at the old +woman.</p> + +<p>"She was a flower," said Nanna, simply. "He +tore her from us with the roots. Who knows what +he did with her? She will be dead by this time. +May the Madonna obtain grace for her! Signora, +she seemed one of those flowers that grow on the +hillside, just as God wills. Rain, sun, she was +always fresh. Then came the storm. Who could +find her any more? Poor little one!"</p> + +<p>"Poor child!" exclaimed Gloria.</p> + +<p>And she made Nanna tell all she knew, and how +they had found the girl's peasant dress in a corner +of that very room.</p> + +<p>"Signora, if you wish to see, I will content +you," said Nanna, rising at last.</p> + +<p>She opened the box. It exhaled the peculiar +odour of heavy cloth which has been worn and has +then been kept closely shut up for years. On the +top lay Annetta's carpet apron. Nanna held it +up, and there were tears in her eyes, glistening on +her dry skin like water in a crevice of brown rock.</p> + +<p>"Signora, there are moths in it, see! Who cares +for these things? They are a memory. And this +is her skirt, and this is her bodice. Eh, it was +beautiful once. The shoes, Signora, I wore them, +for we had the same feet. What would you? It +seemed a sin to let them mould, because they were +hers. The apron, too, I might have worn it. Who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_207" id="Page_V2_207">[207]</a></span> +knows why I did not wear it? It was the affection. +We are all so, we women. And now there are +moths in it. I might have worn it. At least it +would not have been lost."</p> + +<p>Gloria peered into the box, and saw under the +clothes a number of books packed neatly with a box +made of English oak. She stretched down her hand +and took one of the volumes. It was an English +medical treatise. She looked at the fly-leaf.</p> + +<p>A loud cry from Gloria startled the old woman.</p> + +<p>"Angus Dalrymple—but—" Gloria read the +name and stared at Nanna.</p> + +<p>"Eh, eh!" assented Nanna, nodding violently +and smiling a little as she at last recognized the +Scotchman's name which she had never been able +to pronounce. "Yes—that is it. That was the +name of the Englishman. An evil death on him +and all his house! Stefanone says it always. I +also may say it once. It was he. He took our +daughter. Stefanone went after them, but they +had the beast of the convent gardener. It was a +good beast, and they made it run. Stefanone heard +of them all the way to the sea, but the twenty-four +hours had passed, and the war-ship was far out. +He could see it. Could he go to the war-ship? It +had cannons. They would have killed him. Then +I should have had neither daughter nor husband. +So he came back."</p> + +<p>The long habit of acting had made Gloria strong,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_208" id="Page_V2_208">[208]</a></span> +but her hands shook on the closed volume. She +had known that her mother had been an Italian, +that they had left Italy suddenly and had been +married on board an English man-of-war by the +captain, that same Walter Crowdie, a relative of +Dalrymple's, after whom Gloria and Griggs had +named the child. More than that Dalrymple had +never been willing to tell her. She remembered, +too, that though she had once or twice begged him +to take her to Tivoli and Subiaco, he had refused +rather abruptly. It was clear enough now. Her +mother had been this Annetta whom Dalrymple +had stolen away in the night.</p> + +<p>And the wrinkled, leathery old hag, with her +damp, coarse mouth, her skinny hands, and her +cunning, ignorant eyes, was her grandmother—Stefanone +was her grandfather—her mother had +been a peasant, like them, beautified by one of +nature's mad miracles.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt about it. That was the +truth, and it fell upon her with its cruel, massive +weight, striking her where many other truths had +struck her before this one, in her vanity.</p> + +<p>She grasped the book tightly with both hands +and set her teeth. After that, she did not know +what Nanna said, and the old woman, thinking +Gloria was not paying a proper attention to her +remarks, pushed and heaved the box across the +room rather discontentedly. It would not go under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_209" id="Page_V2_209">[209]</a></span> +the bed, being too high, so she wedged it in between +the foot of the bedstead and the wall. There was +just room for it there.</p> + +<p>"Signora, if ever your one child leaves you without +a word, you will understand," said Nanna, a +little offended at finding no sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I understand too well," answered Gloria.</p> + +<p>Then she suddenly realized what the woman +wanted, and with great self-control she held out +her hand kindly. Nanna took it and smiled, and +pressed it in her horny fingers.</p> + +<p>"You are young, Signora. When you are old, +you will understand many things, when evils have +pounded your heart in a mortar. Oil is sweet, +vinegar is sour; with both one makes salad. This +is our life. Rest yourself, Signora, for you walked +well this morning. I go."</p> + +<p>Gloria felt the pressure of the rough fingers on +hers, after Nanna had left her. The acrid odour of +peeled vegetables clung to her own hand, and she +rose and washed it carefully, though she was +scarcely conscious of what she was doing. Suddenly +she dropped the towel and went back to the +box. It had crossed her mind that the single book +she had opened might have been borrowed from +her father and that she might find another name +in the others—that Nanna might have been mistaken +in thinking that she recognized the English +name—that it might all be a mistake, after all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_210" id="Page_V2_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>With violent hands she dragged out the moth-eaten +clothes and threw them behind her upon the +floor, and seized the books, opening them desperately +one after the other. In each there was the +name, 'Angus Dalrymple,' in her father's firm +young handwriting of twenty years ago. She threw +them down and lifted out the oak box. A little +brass plate was let into the lid, and bore the +initials, 'A. D.' There was no doubt left. The +books all bore dates prior to 1844, the year in +which, as she knew, her father had been married. +It was impossible to hesitate, for the case was +terribly clear.</p> + +<p>She rose to her feet and carried the box to the +window and set it upon a chair, sitting down upon +another before it. It was not locked. She raised +the lid, and saw that it was a medicine chest. +There was a drawer, or little tray, on the top, full +of small boxes and very minute vials, lying on +their sides. Lifting this out, she saw a number of +little stoppered bottles set in holes made in a thin +piece of board for a frame. One was missing, and +there were eleven left. She counted them mechanically, +not knowing why she did so. Then she +took them out and looked at the labels. The first +she touched contained spirits of camphor. It +chanced to be the only one of which the contents +were harmless. The others were strong tinctures +and acids, vegetable poisons, belladonna, aconite,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_211" id="Page_V2_211">[211]</a></span> +and the like, sulphuric acid, nitric acid, hydrochloric +acid, and others.</p> + +<p>Gloria looked at them curiously and set them +back, one by one, put in the little tray and closed +the lid. Then she sat still a long time and +gazed out of the window at the rugged line of +the hills.</p> + +<p>Between her and the pale sky she saw her own +life, and the hideous failure of it all, culminating +in the certainty that she was of the blood of the +old peasant couple to whose house a seeming chance +had brought her to die. She felt that she could +not live, and would not live if she could. It was +all too wildly horrible, too utterly desolate.</p> + +<p>The only human being that clung to her was the +one of all others whom she most feared and hated, +whose very touch sent a cold shiver through her. +She and fate together had pounded her heart in a +mortar, as the old woman had said. With a bitterness +that sickened her she thought of her brief +married life, of her poor social ambition, of her +hopeless efforts to be some one amongst the great. +What could she be, the daughter of peasants, what +could she have ever been? Probably some one knew +the truth about her, in all that great society. Such +things might be known. Francesca Campodonico's +delicate noble face rose faintly between her and +the sky, and she realized with excruciating suddenness +the distance that separated her from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_212" id="Page_V2_212">[212]</a></span> +woman she hated, the woman who perhaps knew +that Gloria Dalrymple was the daughter of a peasant +and a fit wife by her birth for Angelo Reanda, +the steward's son.</p> + +<p>The ruin of her life spread behind her and before +her. She could not face it. The confusion of it +all seemed to blind her, and the confusion was +pierced by the terrible thought that on the next +day but one Griggs would return again, the one +being who would not leave her, who believed in +her, who worshipped her, and whom she hated for +himself and for the destruction of her existence +which had come by him.</p> + +<p>In the box before her was death, painful perhaps, +but sure as the grave itself. She was not a +coward, except when she was afraid of Paul Griggs, +and the fear lest he, too, should find out the truth +was worse than the fear of mortal pain.</p> + +<p>She sat still in her place, staring out of the window. +After a long time, the nurse came in, carrying +the child asleep in her arms, covered with a +thin gauze veil. Gloria started, and then smiled +mechanically as she had trained herself to smile +whenever the child was brought to her. The +nurse laid the small thing in its cradle, and Gloria, +as in a dream, put the books and the clothes back +into the box, and was glad that the nurse asked no +questions. When she had shut down the lid, she +rose to her feet and saw that she had left the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_213" id="Page_V2_213">[213]</a></span> +medicine chest on the chair. She took it into the +bedroom and set it upon the table.</p> + +<p>Then she sat down and wrote to Reanda. There +was no haste in the writing, and her head was clear +and cool, for she was not afraid. Griggs could not +return for two days, and she had plenty of time. +She went over her story, as she had gone over it +many times before in her letters. She told him +all, but not the discovery she had just made. That +should die with her, if it could. It would be easy +enough, on the next day, when the nurse was out, +to open the box again, and to tear out the fly-leaf +from each book and so destroy the name. As for +the medicine chest, Griggs might see that it had +belonged to her father, but he would suppose that +she had brought it amongst her belongings. He +would never guess that it had lain hidden in the +old box for more than twenty years. That was her +plan, and it was simple enough. But she should +have to wait until the next day. It was better so. +She could think of what she was going to do, and +nobody would disturb her. She finished her letter.</p> + +<p>"You have killed me," she wrote at the end. +"If I had not loved you to the very end, I would +tell you that my death is on your soul. But it is +not all your fault, if I have loved you to death. I +would not die if I could be free in any other way, +but I cannot live to be touched and caressed again +by this man whom I loathe with all my soul. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_214" id="Page_V2_214">[214]</a></span> +tell you that when he kisses me it is as though I +were stung by a serpent of ice. It is for your sake +that I hate him as I do. For your sake I have +suffered hell on earth for more than a whole year. +For your sake I die. I cannot live without you. +I have told you so again and a hundred times +again, and you have not believed me. You write +to-day and you tell me that I shall be free, when +you die, to marry Paul Griggs. I would rather +marry Satan in hell. But I shall be free to-morrow, +for I shall be dead. God will forgive me, for +God knows what I suffer. Good-bye. I love you, +Angelo. I shall love you to-morrow, when the +hour comes, and after that I shall love you always. +This is the end. Good-bye. I love you; I kiss +your soul with my soul. Good-bye, good-bye.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +"<span class="smcap">Gloria.</span>"<br /> +</div> + +<p>She cut a lock from her auburn hair and twisted +it round and round her wedding ring, and thrust it +into the envelope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_215" id="Page_V2_215">[215]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> days later, Paul Griggs stood beside Gloria. +She was not dead yet, but no earthly power could +save her. She lay white and motionless on the +high trestle bed, unconscious of his presence. +They had sent a messenger for him, and he had +come. The door was locked. Stefanone and his +wife whispered together on the landing. In the +third room, beyond, the nurse was shedding hysterical +tears over the sleeping child.</p> + +<p>The strong man stood stone still with shadowy, +unblinking eyes, gazing into the dying face. Not +a muscle moved, not a feature was distorted, his +breath was regular and slow, for his grief had +taken hold upon his soul, and his body was unconscious +of time, as though it were already dead.</p> + +<p>She had suffered horrible agonies for two nights +and one day, and now the end was very near, for +the wracked nerves could no longer feel. She lay +on her back, lightly covered, one white arm and +hand above the coverlet, the other hidden beneath +it.</p> + +<p>The room was very hot, and the sun streamed +through the narrow aperture of the nearly closed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_216" id="Page_V2_216">[216]</a></span> +shutters, and made a bright streak on the red +bricks, for it was morning still.</p> + +<p>The purple lids opened, and Gloria looked up. +There was no shiver now, as she recognized the +man she feared, for the nerves were almost dead. +Perhaps there was less fear, for she knew that it +was almost over. The dark eyes were fixed on his +with a mysterious, wondering look.</p> + +<p>He tried to speak, and his lips moved, but he +could make no sound, and his chest heaved convulsively, +once. He knew what she had done, for they +had told him. He knew, now that he tried to speak +and could not, that he was half killed by grief. +She saw the effort and understood, and faintly +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>He wrenched the single broken word out of himself +by an enormous effort, and his throat swelled +and was dry. Suddenly a single great drop of +sweat rolled down his pale forehead.</p> + +<p>"I could not live," she answered, in a cool, far +voice beyond suffering, and still she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Why? Why?"</p> + +<p>The repeated word broke out twice like two sobs, +but not a feature moved. The dying woman's +eyelids quivered.</p> + +<p>"I was a burden to you," she said faintly and +distinctly. "You are free now, you have—only +the child."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_217" id="Page_V2_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>His calm broke.</p> + +<p>"Gloria, Gloria! In the name of God Almighty, +do not leave me so!"</p> + +<p>He clasped her in his arms and lifted her a little, +pressing his lips to her face. She was inert as a +statue. She feared him still, and she felt the +shiver of horror at his touch, but it could not move +her limbs any more. Her eyes opened and looked +into his, very close, but his were shut. The mask +was gone. The man's whole soul was in his agonized +face, and his arm shook with her. Her mind +was clear and she understood. She was still herself, +acting her play out in the teeth of death.</p> + +<p>"I could not live," she said. "I could not be a +millstone, dragging you down, watching you as +you killed yourself in working for me. It was to +be one of us. It was better so."</p> + +<p>In his agony he laid his head beside hers on the +pillow.</p> + +<p>"Gloria—for Christ's sake—don't leave me—" +The deep moan came from his tortured heart.</p> + +<p>"Bring—the child—Walter—" she said very +faintly.</p> + +<p>Even in death she could not bear to be alone +with him. He straightened himself, stood up, and +saw the light fading in her eyes. Then, indeed, +a shiver ran through her and shook her. Then the +lids opened wide, and she cried out loudly.</p> + +<p>"Quick—I am going—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_218" id="Page_V2_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rather than that she should not have what she +wished, he tore himself away and wrenched the +door open, forgetting that it was locked.</p> + +<p>"Bring the child!" he cried, into the face of old +Nanna, who was standing there, and he pushed her +towards the door of the other room with one hand, +while he already turned back to Gloria.</p> + +<p>He started, for she was sitting up, with wide eyes +and outstretched hands, gazing at the patch of +sunlight on the floor. Dying, she saw the awful +vision of her dream again, rising stiff and stark +from the bricks to its upright horror between her +and the light. Her hands pointed at it and shook, +and her jaw dropped, but she was motionless as +she sat.</p> + +<p>Nanna, sobbing, came in suddenly, holding up +the little child straight before her, that it might +see its mother before she was gone forever. The +baby hands feebly beat its little sides, and it +gasped for breath.</p> + +<p>Words came from Gloria's open mouth, articulate, +clear, but very far in sound.</p> + +<p>"An evil death on you and all your house!" the +words said, as though spoken by another.</p> + +<p>The outstretched hands sank slowly, as the vision +laid itself down before her, straight and corpse-like. +The beautiful head fell back upon Griggs's +arm, and the eyes met his.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/gs26.jpg" width="350" height="500" alt=""The last great, true note died away."—Vol. II., p. 219." title=""The last great, true note died away."—Vol. II., p. 219." /> +<span class="caption">"The last great, true note died away."—Vol. II., p. 219.</span> +</div> + +<p>Nanna prayed aloud, holding up the child mechanically,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_219" id="Page_V2_219">[219]</a></span> +and the small eyes were fixed, horrorstruck, +upon the bed. A low cry trembled in the +air. Stefanone, his hat in his hand, stood against +the door, bowed a little, as though he were in +church. The cry came again. Then there was a +sort of struggle.</p> + +<p>In an instant Gloria was standing up on the bed +to her full height. And the hot, still room rang +with a burst of desperate, ear-breaking song, in +majestic, passionate, ascending intervals.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Calpasta'">Calpesta</ins> il mio cadavere, ma salva il Trovator!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>The last great, true note died away. For one +instant she stood up still, with outstretched hands, +white, motionless. Then the flame in the dark +eyes broke and went out, and Gloria fell down +dead.</p> + +<p>"Maria Addolorata! Maria Addolorata!" Nanna +screamed in deadly terror, as she heard the transcendent +voice that one time, like a voice from the +grave.</p> + +<p>She sank down, fainting upon the floor, and the +little child rolled from her slackened arms upon +the coarse bricks and lay on its face, moaning tremulously. +No one heeded it.</p> + +<p>Stefanone, with instinctive horror of death, +turned and went blindly down the steps, not knowing +what he had seen, the death notes still ringing +in his ears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_220" id="Page_V2_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the bed, the man lay dumb upon the dead +woman. Only the poor little child seemed to be +alive, and clutched feebly at the coarse red bricks, +and moaned and bruised its small face. It bore +the slender inheritance of fatal life, the inheritance +of vows broken and of faith outraged, and with it, +perhaps, the implanted seed of a lifelong terror, +not remembered, but felt throughout life, as real +and as deadly as an inheritance of mortal disease. +Better, perhaps, if death had taken it, too, to the +lonely grave of the outcast and suicide woman, +among the rocks, out of earshot of humanity. +Death makes strange oversights and leaves strange +gleanings for life, when he has reaped his field and +housed his harvest.</p> + +<p>They would not give Gloria Christian burial, for +it was known throughout Subiaco that she had +poisoned herself, and those were still the old days, +when the Church's rules were the law of the people.</p> + +<p>Paul Griggs took the body of the woman he had +loved, and loved beyond death, and he laid her in +a deep grave in a hollow of the hillside. Such +words as he had to speak to those who helped him, +he spoke quietly, and none could say that they had +seen the still face moved by sorrow. But as they +watched him, a human sort of fear took hold of +them, at his great quiet, and they knew that his +grief was beyond anything which could be shown +or understood. It was night, and they filled the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_221" id="Page_V2_221">[221]</a></span> +grave after he had thrown earth into it with his +hands. He sent them away, and they left him +alone with the dead, leaving also one of their lanterns +upon a stone near by.</p> + +<p>All that night he lay on the grave, dumb. Then, +when the dawn came upon him, he kissed the loose +earth and stones, and got upon his feet and went +slowly down the hillside to the town beyond the +torrent. He went into the house noiselessly, and +lay down upon the bed on which she had died. +And so he did for two nights and two days. On +the third, a great carriage came from Rome, bringing +twelve men, singers of the Sistine Chapel and +of the choir of Saint Peter's and of Saint John +Lateran, twelve men having very beautiful voices, +as sweet as any in the world. He had sent for +them when he had been told that she could not +have Christian burial.</p> + +<p>They were talking and laughing together when +they came, but when they saw his face they grew +very quiet, and followed him in silence where he +led them. Two little boys followed them, too, +wondering what was to happen, and what the thirteen +men were going to do, all dressed in black, +walking so steadily together.</p> + +<p>When they all came to the hollow in the hillside, +they saw a mound, as of a grave, amidst the +stones, and on it there lay a cross of black wood. +The singers looked at one another in silence, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_222" id="Page_V2_222">[222]</a></span> +they understood that whoever lay in the grave had +been refused a place in the churchyard, for some +great sin. But they said nothing. The man who +led them stood still at the head of the cross and +took off his hat, and looked at his twelve companions, +who uncovered their heads. They had sheets +of written music with them, and they passed them +quietly about from one to another and looked +towards one who was their leader.</p> + +<p>Overhead, the summer sky was pale, and there +were twin mountains of great clouds in the northwest, +hiding the sun, and in the southeast, whence +the parching wind was blowing in fierce gusts. It +blew the dry dust from the clods of earth on the +grave, and the dust settled on the black clothes of +the men as they stood near.</p> + +<p>The voices struck the first chord softly together, +and the music for the dead went up to heaven, and +was borne far across the torrent to the distance in +the arms of the hot wind. And one voice climbed +above the others, sweet and clear, as though to +reach heaven itself; and another sank deep and +true and soft in the full close of the stave, as +though it would touch and comfort the heart that +was quite still at last in the deep earth.</p> + +<p>Then one who was young stood a little before +the rest, a strong, pale singer, with an angel's +voice. And he sang alone to the sky and the dusty +rocks and the solemn grave. He sang the 'Cujus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_223" id="Page_V2_223">[223]</a></span> +animam gementem pertransivit gladius' of the +Stabat Mater, as none had sung it before him, nor +perhaps has ever sung it since that day—he alone, +without other music.</p> + +<p>They came also to the words 'Fac ut animæ +donetur Paradisi gloria,' and the word was a name +to him who listened silently in their midst.</p> + +<p>Besides these they sang also a 'Miserere,' and +last of all, 'Requiem eternam dona eis.'</p> + +<p>Then there was silence, and they looked at the +still face, as though asking what they should do. +The mysterious eyes met theirs with shadows. The +pale head bent itself in thanks, twice or thrice, but +there were no words.</p> + +<p>So they turned and left him there on the hillside, +and went back to the town, awestruck by the vastness +of the man's sorrow. And afterwards, for +many years, when any of them heard of a great +grief, he shook his head and said that he and those +who had sung with him over a lonely grave in the +mountains, alone knew what a man could feel and +yet live.</p> + +<p>And Paul Griggs lived through those days, and +is still alive. His grief could not spend itself, +but his stern strength took hold of life again, and +he took the child with him and went back to Rome, +to work for it from that time forward, and to shield +it from evil if he could, and to bring it up to be a +man, ignorant of what had happened in Subiaco<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_224" id="Page_V2_224">[224]</a></span> +in those summer days, ignorant of the tie that +made it his, to be a man free from the burden of +past fates and sins and broken vows and trampled +faith, and of the death his dead mother had died, +having a clean name of his own, with which there +could be no memories of misery and fear and +horror.</p> + +<p>He wrote a few short words to Angus Dalrymple, +now Lord Redin at last, to tell him the truth as +far as he knew it. The hand that had laboured so +bravely for Gloria could hardly trace the words +that told of her death.</p> + +<p>Then, when the summer heat was passed, he took +little Walter Crowdie with him, hiring an Englishwoman +to tend the child, and he crossed the ocean +and gave it to certain kinsfolk of his in America, +telling them that it was the child of one who had +been very dear to him, that he had taken it as his +own, and would provide for it and take it back +when it should be older. And so he did, and little +Walter Crowdie grew up with an angel's voice, and +other gifts which made him famous in his day. But +many things happened before that time came.</p> + +<p>He could do no better than that. For a time he +strove to earn money with his pen in his own country. +But the land was still trembling from the +convulsion of a great war, and there were many +before him, and he was little known. After a +year had passed, he saw that he could not then succeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_225" id="Page_V2_225">[225]</a></span> +and very heavy at heart he set his face eastward +again, to toil at his old calling as a correspondent +for a great London paper, to earn bread +for himself and for the one living being that he +loved.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_227" id="Page_V2_227">[227]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Part III.</span></h2> + +<h3><i>DONNA FRANCESCA CAMPODONICO.</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_229" id="Page_V2_229">[229]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> long after this Dalrymple returned to Rome, +after an absence of several years. Family affairs +had kept him in England and Scotland during his +daughter's married life with Reanda; and after she +had left the latter, it was natural that he should +not wish to be in the same city with her, considering +the view he took of her actions. Then, after +he had learned from Griggs's brief note that she +was dead, he felt that he could not return at once, +hard and unforgiving as he was. But at last the +power that attracted him was too strong to be resisted +any longer, and he yielded to it and came +back.</p> + +<p>He took up his abode in a hotel in the Piazza +di Spagna, not far from his old lodgings. Long +as he had lived in Rome, he was a foreigner there +and liked the foreigners' quarter of the city. He +intended once more to get a lodging and a servant, +and to live in his morose solitude as of old, but on +his first arrival he naturally went to the hotel. +He did not know whether Griggs were in Rome. +Reanda was alive, and living at the Palazzetto +Borgia; for the two had exchanged letters twice a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_230" id="Page_V2_230">[230]</a></span> +year, written in the constrained tone of mutual +civility which suited the circumstances in which +they were placed towards each other.</p> + +<p>In Dalrymple's opinion, Reanda had been to +blame to a certain extent, in having maintained +his intimacy with Francesca when he was aware +that it displeased his wife. At the same time, the +burden of the fault was undoubtedly the woman's, +and her father felt in a measure responsible for it. +Whether he felt much more than that it would be +hard to say. His gloomy nature had spent itself +in secret sorrow for his wife, with a faithfulness +of grief which might well atone for many shortcomings. +It is certain that he was not in any way +outwardly affected by the news of Gloria's death. +He had never loved her, she had disgraced him, +and now she was dead. There was nothing more +to be said about it.</p> + +<p>He was not altogether indifferent to the inheritance +of title and fortune which had fallen to him +in his advanced middle age. But if either influenced +his character, the result was rather an increased +tendency to live his own life in scorn and +defiance of society, for it made him conscious that +he should find even less opposition to his eccentricities +than in former days, when he had been +relatively a poor man without any especial claim +to consideration.</p> + +<p>Two or three days after he had arrived in Rome,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_231" id="Page_V2_231">[231]</a></span> +he went to the Palazzetto Borgia and sent in his +card, asking to see Francesca Campodonico. In +order that she might know who he was, he wrote +his name in pencil, as she would probably not have +recognized him as Lord Redin. In this he was +mistaken, for Reanda, who had heard the news, +had told her of it. She received him in the drawing-room. +She looked very ill, he thought, and was +much thinner than in former times, but her manner +was not changed. They talked upon indifferent +subjects, and there was a constraint between them. +Dalrymple broke through it roughly at last.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see my daughter after she left her +husband?" he asked, as though he were inquiring +about a mere acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Francesca started a little.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered. "It would not have been +easy."</p> + +<p>She remembered her interview with Griggs, but +resolved not to speak of it. She would have +changed the subject abruptly if he had given her +time.</p> + +<p>"It certainly was not to be expected that you +should," said Lord Redin, thoughtfully. "When +a woman chooses to break with society, she knows +perfectly well what she is doing, and one may as +well leave her to herself."</p> + +<p>Francesca was shocked by the cynicism of the +speech. The colour rose faintly in her cheeks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_232" id="Page_V2_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She was your daughter," she said, reproachfully. +"Since she is dead, you should speak less +cruelly of her."</p> + +<p>"I did not speak cruelly. I merely stated a fact. +She disgraced herself and me, and her husband. +The circumstance that she is dead does not change +the case, so far as I can see."</p> + +<p>"Do you know how she died?" asked Francesca, +moved to righteous anger, and willing to pain him +if she could.</p> + +<p>He looked up suddenly, and bent his shaggy +brows.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "That man Griggs wrote +me that she had died suddenly. That was all I +heard."</p> + +<p>"She did not die a natural death."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?"</p> + +<p>"She poisoned herself. She could not bear the +life. It was very dreadful." Francesca's voice +sank to a low tone.</p> + +<p>Lord Redin was silent for a few moments, and +his bony face had a grim look. Perhaps something +in the dead woman's last act appealed to him, as +nothing in her life had done.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, please. I should like to know. After +all, she was my daughter."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Francesca, gravely. "She was your +daughter. She was very unhappy with Paul +Griggs, and she found out very soon that she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_233" id="Page_V2_233">[233]</a></span> +made a dreadful mistake. She loved her husband, +after all."</p> + +<p>"Like a woman!" interjected Lord Redin, half +unconsciously.</p> + +<p>Francesca paid no attention to the remark, except, +perhaps, that she raised her eyebrows a +little.</p> + +<p>"They went out to spend the summer at Subiaco—"</p> + +<p>"At Subiaco?" Dalrymple's steely blue eyes +fixed themselves in a look of extreme attention.</p> + +<p>"Yes, during the heat. They lodged in the +house of a man called Stefanone—a wine-seller—a +very respectable place."</p> + +<p>Lord Redin had started nervously at the name, +but he recovered himself.</p> + +<p>"Very respectable," he said, in an odd tone.</p> + +<p>"You know the house?" asked Francesca, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Very well indeed. I was there nearly five and +twenty years ago. I supposed that Stefanone was +dead by this time."</p> + +<p>"No. He and his wife are alive, and take +lodgers."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, but how do you know all this?" +asked Lord Redin, with sudden curiosity.</p> + +<p>"I have been there," answered Francesca. "I +have often been to the convent. You know that +one of our family is generally abbess. A Cardinal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_234" id="Page_V2_234">[234]</a></span> +Braccio was archbishop, too, a good many years +ago. Casa Braccio owns a good deal of property +there."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know that you are of the family."</p> + +<p>"My name was Francesca Braccio," said Francesca, +quietly. "Of course I have always known +Subiaco, and every one there knows Stefanone, and +the story of his daughter who ran away with an +Englishman many years ago, and never was heard +of again."</p> + +<p>Lord Redin grew a trifle paler.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Does every one know +that story?"</p> + +<p>There was something so constrained in his tone +that Francesca looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes—in Subiaco," she answered. "But +Gloria—" she lingered a little sadly on the name—"Gloria +wrote letters to her husband from there +and begged him to go and see her."</p> + +<p>"He could hardly be expected to do that," said +Lord Redin, his hard tone returning. "Did you +advise him to go?"</p> + +<p>"He consulted me," answered Francesca, rather +coldly. "I told him to follow his own impulse. +He did not go. He did not believe that she was +sincere."</p> + +<p>"I do not blame him. When a woman has done +that sort of thing, there is no reason for believing +her."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_235" id="Page_V2_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He should have gone. I should have influenced +him, I think, and I did wrong. She wrote him +one more letter and then killed herself. She +suffered horribly and only died two days afterwards. +Shall I tell you more?"</p> + +<p>"If there is more to tell," said Lord Redin, less +hardly.</p> + +<p>"There is not much. I went out there last year. +They had refused her Christian burial. Paul +Griggs bought a piece of land amongst the rock, +on the other side of the torrent, and buried her +there. It is surrounded by a wall, and there is a +plain slab without a name. There are flowers. +He pays Stefanone to have it cared for. They told +me all they knew—it is too terrible. She died +singing—she was out of her mind. It must have +been dreadful. Old Nanna, Stefanone's wife, was +in the room, and fainted with terror. It seems +that poor Gloria, oddly enough, had an extraordinary +resemblance to that unfortunate nun of our +family who was burned to death in the convent, and +whom Nanna had often seen. She sang like her, +too—at the last minute Nanna thought she saw +poor sister Maria Addolorata standing up dead and +singing. It was rather strange."</p> + +<p>Lord Redin said nothing. He had bowed his +head so that Francesca could not see his face, but +she saw that his hands were trembling violently. +She thought that she had misjudged the man, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_236" id="Page_V2_236">[236]</a></span> +that he was really very deeply moved by the story +of his daughter's death. Doubtless, his emotion +had made him wish to control himself, and he had +overshot the mark and spoken cruelly only in order +to seem calm. No one had ever spoken to him of +his wife, and even now he could hardly bear to +hear her name. It was long before he looked up. +Then he rose almost immediately.</p> + +<p>"Will you allow me to come and see you occasionally?" +he asked, with a gentleness not at all +like his usual manner.</p> + +<p>Francesca was touched at last, misunderstanding +the cause of the change. She told him to come as +often as he pleased. As he was going, he remembered +that he had not asked after his son-in-law. +Reanda had always seemed to belong to Francesca, +and it was natural enough that he should inquire +of her.</p> + +<p>"Where is Reanda to be found?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"He is very ill," said Francesca, in a low voice. +"I am afraid you cannot see him."</p> + +<p>"Where does he live? I will at least inquire. +I am sorry to hear that he is ill."</p> + +<p>"He lives here," she answered with a little hesitation. +"He is in his old rooms upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Yes—thank you." Their eyes met for a +moment. Lord Redin's glittered, but Francesca's +were clear and true. "I am sure you take good +care of him," he added. "Good-bye."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_237" id="Page_V2_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>He left her alone, and when he was gone, she sat +down wearily and laid her head back against a +cushion, with half-closed eyes. Her lips were +almost colourless, and her mouth had grown ten +years older.</p> + +<p>Reanda was dying, and she knew it, and with +him the light was going out of her life, as it had +gone out long ago from Dalrymple's, as it had gone +out of the life of Paul Griggs. The idea crossed +her mind that these two men, with herself, were +linked and bound together by some strange fatality +which she could not understand, but from which +there was no escape, and which was bringing them +slowly and surely to the blank horror of lonely +old age.</p> + +<p>The same thought occurred to Lord Redin as +he slowly threaded the streets, going back to his +hotel, to his lonely dinner, his lonely evening, his +lonely, sleepless night. He alone of the three now +knew all that there was to know, and in the chronicle +of his far memories all led back to that day at +Subiaco, long ago, when he had first knocked at +the convent gate—beyond that, to the evening +when poor Annetta had told him of the beautiful +nun with the angel's voice. Many lives had been +wrecked since that first day, and every one of them +owed its ruin to him. He felt strangely drawn to +Francesca Campodonico. There was something in +her face that very faintly reminded him of his dead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_238" id="Page_V2_238">[238]</a></span> +wife, her kinswoman, and of his dead daughter, +another of her race. His gloomy northern nature +felt the fatality of it all. He never could repent +of what he had done. The golden light of his one +short happiness shone through the shrouding veil +of fatal time. In his own eyes, with his beliefs, +he had not even sinned in taking what he had loved +so well. But all the sorrow he saw, came from +that deed. Francesca Campodonico's eyes were as +clear and true as her heart. But he knew that +Reanda's life was everything on earth to her, and +he guessed that she was to lose that, too, before +long. He would willingly have parted with his +own, but through all his being there was a rough, +manly courage that forbade the last act of fear, +and there was a stern old Scottish belief that it +was wrong—plainly wrong.</p> + +<p>He did not wish to see Paul Griggs any more +than he had wished to see his daughter after she +had left her husband. But no thought of vengeance +crossed his mind. It seemed to him fruitless +to think of avenging himself upon fate; for, +after all, it was fate that had done the dire mischief. +Possibly, he thought, as he walked slowly +towards his hotel, fate had brought him back to +Rome now, to deal with him as she had dealt with +his. He should be glad of it, for he found little +in life that was not gloomy and lonely beyond any +words. He did not know why he had come. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_239" id="Page_V2_239">[239]</a></span> +had acted upon an impulse in going to see Francesca +that day.</p> + +<p>When he reached the Corso, instead of going to +his hotel he walked down the street in the direction +of the Piazza del Popolo. He wished to see the +house in which Gloria had lived with Griggs, and +he remembered the street and the number from her +having written to him when she wanted money. +He reached the corner of the Via della Frezza, and +turned down, looking up at the numbers as he went +along. He glanced at the little wine shop on the +left, with its bush, its red glass lantern, and its +rush-bottomed stools set out by the door. In the +shadow within he saw the gleam of silver buttons +on a dark blue jacket. There was nothing uncommon +in the sight.</p> + +<p>He found the house, paused, looked up at the +windows, and looked twice at the number.</p> + +<p>"Do you seek some one?" inquired the one-eyed +cobbler, resting his black hands on his knees.</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Paul Griggs ever live here?" asked +Lord Redin.</p> + +<p>"Many years," answered the cobbler, laconically.</p> + +<p>"Where does he live now?"</p> + +<p>"Always here, except when he is not here. +Third floor, on the left. You can ring the bell. +Who knows? Perhaps he will open. I do not +wish to tell lies."</p> + +<p>The old man grunted, bent down over the shoe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_240" id="Page_V2_240">[240]</a></span> +and ran his awl through the sole. He was profoundly +attached to Paul Griggs, who had always been kind to +him, and since Gloria's death he defended him from +visitors with more determination than ever.</p> + +<p>Lord Redin stood still and said nothing. In ten +seconds the cobbler looked up with a surly frown.</p> + +<p>"If you wish to go up, go up," he growled. "If +not, favour me by getting out of my light."</p> + +<p>The Scotchman looked at him.</p> + +<p>"You do not remember me," he observed. +"I used to come here with the Signore."</p> + +<p>"Well? I have told you. If you want him, +there is the staircase."</p> + +<p>"No. I do not want him," said Lord Redin, +and he turned away abruptly.</p> + +<p>"As you please," growled the cobbler without +looking up again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_241" id="Page_V2_241">[241]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Paul Griggs</span> had gone back to the house in the +Via della Frezza after his return from America, +and lived alone in the little apartment in which +the happy days of his life had been spent. He +was a man able to live two lives,—the one in the +past, the other in the active present. It was his +instinct to be alone in his sorrow, and alone in the +struggle which lay before him, for himself and his +child. But he would have with him all that could +make the memory of Gloria real. The reality of +such things softened with their contrast the hardness +of life.</p> + +<p>He had taken the same rooms again. Out of +boxes and trunks stored in a garret of the house, +he had taken many things which had belonged to +Gloria. Alone, he had arranged the rooms as they +used to be. His writing-table stood in the same +place, and near it was Gloria's chair; beside it, +the little stand with her needlework, her silks, her +scissors, and her thimble, all as it used to be. A +novel she had once read when sitting there lay upon +the chair. Many little objects which had belonged +to her were all in their accustomed places. On<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_242" id="Page_V2_242">[242]</a></span> +the mantelpiece the cheap American clock ticked +loudly as in old days.</p> + +<p>Day after day, as of old, he sat in his place at +work. He had made the room so alive with her +that sometimes, looking up from a long spell of +writing, he forgot, and stared an instant at the +bedroom door, and listened for her footstep. Those +were his happiest moments, though each was killed +in turn by the vision of a lonely grave among rocks.</p> + +<p>With intensest longing he called her back to +him. In his sleep, the last words he had spoken +to her were spoken again by his unconscious lips +in the still, dark night. Everything in him called +her, his living soul and his strong bodily self. +There were times when he knew that if he opened +his eyes, shut to see her, he should see her really, +there in her chair. He looked, trembling, and +there was nothing. In dreams he sought her and +could not find her, though he wandered in dark +places, across endless wastes of broken clods of +earth and broken stone. It was as though her +grave covered the whole world round, and his path +lay on the shadowed arms of an infinite great cross. +And again the grey dawn awoke him from the +search, to feel that, for pity's sake, she must be +alive and near him. But he was always alone.</p> + +<p>Silent, iron-browed, iron-handed, he faced the +world alone, doing all that was required of him, +and more also. As he had said to Gloria in that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_243" id="Page_V2_243">[243]</a></span> +very room, he was building up a superiority for +himself, since genius was not his. He had in the +rough ore of his strength the metal which some +few men receive as a birth-gift from nature, ready +smelted and refined, ready for them to coin at a +single stroke, and throw broadcast to the applauding +world. He had not much, perhaps, but he had +something of the true ore, and in the furnace of his +untiring energy he would burn out the dross and +find the precious gold at last. It could not be for +her, now. It was not for himself, but it was to +be for the little child, growing up in a far country +with a clean name—to be his father's friend, and +nothing more, but to be happy, for the dead +woman's sake who bore him.</p> + +<p>As in all that made a part of Paul Griggs, there +was in his memory of Gloria and in his sorrow for +her that element of endurance which was the foundation +of his nature. That portion of his life was +finished, and there could never be anything like it +again; but it was to be always present with him, +so long as he lived. He was sure of that. It +would always be in his power to close his eyes and +believe that she was near him. If it were possible, +he loved her more dead than he had loved her +living.</p> + +<p>And she had loved him to the last, and had +given her life in the mad thought of lightening his +burden. Her last words to him had told him so.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_244" id="Page_V2_244">[244]</a></span> +Her last wish had been to see the child. And the +greatest sacrifice he could now make to her was to +separate himself from the child, and let him grow +up to look upon the man who provided for him as +his friend, but as nothing more. It was an exaggerated +idea, perhaps, though it was by far the +wisest course. Yet in doing what he did, Griggs +deprived himself for months at a time of something +that was of her, and he did it for her sake. He +knew that in her heart there had been the unspoken +shame of her ruined life. Shame should never +come near little Walter Crowdie. The secret could +be kept, and Paul Griggs meant to keep it, as he +kept many things from the world.</p> + +<p>All his lonely life grew in the perfect memory, +cut short though it was by fate's cruel scythe-stroke. +Even that one fearful day held no shadow +of unfaithfulness. She had been mad, but she had +loved him. She had done a deed of horror upon +herself, but she had loved him, and madly had +done it for his sake. She had laid down her life +for him. All that he could do would be nothing +compared with that. All that he could tear from +the world and lay tenderly as an offering at her +feet would be but a handful of dust in comparison +with what she had done in the madness of love.</p> + +<p>His heart strings wound themselves about their +treasure, closer and closer, stronger and stronger. +The two natures that strove together in him, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_245" id="Page_V2_245">[245]</a></span> +natures of body and soul, were at one with her, +and drew life from her though she was gone. It +seemed impossible that they could ever again part +and smite one another for the mastery, as of old, +for one sorrow had overwhelmed them both, and +together they knew the depths of one grief.</p> + +<p>Again, as of old, he defied fate. Death could +take the child from him, but could not separate +the three in death or life. So long as the child +lived, to do or die for him was the question, while +life should last. But Paul Griggs defied fate, for +fate's grim hand could not uproot his heart from +the strong place of his great dead love, to buffet it +and tear it again. He was alone, bodily, but he +was safe forever.</p> + +<p>Out of the dimness of twilight shadows the pale +face came to him, and the sweet lips kissed his; in +a light not earthly the dark eyes lightened, and the +red auburn hair gleamed and fell about him. In +the darkness, a tender hand stole softly upon his, +and words yet more tender stirred the stillness. +He knew that she was near him, close to him, with +him. The truth of what had been made the half +dream all true. Only in his sleep he could not find +her, and was wandering ever over a dreary grave +that covered the whole world.</p> + +<p>So his life went on with little change, inwardly +or outwardly, from day to day, in the absolute +security from danger which the dead give us of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_246" id="Page_V2_246">[246]</a></span> +themselves. The faith that had gone beyond her +death could go beyond his own life, too. He defied +fate.</p> + +<p>Then fate, silent, relentless, awful, knocked at +his door.</p> + +<p>He was at work as usual. It was a bright winter's +day, and the high sun of the late morning +streamed across one corner of his writing-table. +He was thinking of nothing but his writing, and +upon that his thoughts were closely intent in that +everlasting struggle to do better which had nearly +driven poor Gloria mad.</p> + +<p>The little jingling bell rang and thumped against +the outer door to which it was fastened. He paid +no attention to it, till it rang again, an instant +later. Then he looked up and waited, listening. +Again, again, and again he heard it, at equal intervals, +five times in all. That was the old cobbler's +signal, and the only one to which Griggs +ever responded. He laid down his pen and went +to the door. The one-eyed man, his shoemaker's +apron twisted round his waist, stood on the landing, +and gave him a small, thick package, tied with +a black string, under which was thrust a note. +Griggs took it without a word, and the bandy-legged +old cobbler swung away from the door with +a satisfied grunt.</p> + +<p>Griggs took the parcel back to his work-room, +and stood by the window looking at the address on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_247" id="Page_V2_247">[247]</a></span> +the note. He recognized Francesca Campodonico's +handwriting, though he had rarely seen it, and he +broke the seal with considerable curiosity, for he +could not imagine why Donna Francesca should +write to him. He even wondered at her knowing +that he was in Rome. He had never spoken with +her since that day long ago, when she had sent for +him and begged him to take Gloria back to her +father. He read the note slowly. It was in +Italian, and the language was rather formal.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Signore</span>:—My old and dear friend, Signor +Angelo Reanda, died the day before yesterday +after a long illness. During the last hours of his +life he asked me to do him a service, and I gave +him the solemn promise which I fulfil in sending +you the accompanying package. You will see that +it was sealed by him and addressed to you by himself, +probably before he was taken ill, and he saw +it before he died and said that it was the one he +meant me to send. That was all he told me regarding +it, and I am wholly ignorant of the contents. +I have ascertained that you are in Rome, and are +living, as formerly, in the Via della Frezza, and +to that address I send the parcel. Pray inform me +that you have received it.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, Signore, with perfect esteem,</p> + +<div class='sig'> +"<span class="smcap">Francesca Campodonico</span>."<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>Griggs read the note twice through to the end,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_248" id="Page_V2_248">[248]</a></span> +and laid it upon the table. Then he thrust his +hands into his pockets, and turned thoughtfully +to the window without touching the parcel, of +which he had not even untied the black string.</p> + +<p>So Reanda was dead at last. It was nothing to +him, now, though it might have meant much if +the man had died two years earlier. Living people +were very little to Paul Griggs. They might as +well be dead, he thought. Nevertheless, the bald +fact that Reanda was gone, made him thoughtful. +Another figure had disappeared out of his life, +though it had not meant very much. He believed, +and had always believed, that Reanda had loved +Francesca in secret, though she had treated him as +a mere friend, as a protectress should treat one +who needs her protection.</p> + +<p>Griggs turned and took up the note to look at it +keenly, for he believed himself a judge of handwriting, +and he thought that he might detect in +hers the indications of any great suffering. The +lines ran down a little at the end, but otherwise +the large, careful hand was the same as ever, +learned in a convent and little changed since, even +as the woman herself had changed little. She was +the same always, simple, honest, strangely maidenlike, +thoroughly good.</p> + +<p>He turned to the window again. So Reanda was +dead. He would not find Gloria, to whatsoever +place he was gone. The shadow of a smile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_249" id="Page_V2_249">[249]</a></span> +wreathed itself about the mouth of the lonely man—the +last that was there for a long time after that +day. Gloria was dead, but Gloria was his, and he +hers, for ever and ever. Neither heaven nor hell +could tear up his heart nor loosen the strong hold +of all of him that clung to her and had grown about +her and through her, till he and she were quite +one.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, he wondered what it could be +that Reanda had wished to send him from beyond +the grave. He turned, took the parcel, and snapped +the black string with his fingers, and took off the +paper. Within was the parcel, wrapped in a second +paper and firmly tied with broad tape. A few +words were written on the outside.</p> + +<p>"To be given to Paul Griggs when I am dead. +A. R."</p> + +<p>The superscription told nothing, but he looked +at it curiously as one does at such things, when +the sender is beyond answer. He cut the white +tape, for it was tied so tightly that he could not +slip a finger under it to break it. There was something +of hard determination in the way it was tied.</p> + +<p>It contained letters in their envelopes, as they +had reached Reanda through the post, all of the +same size, laid neatly one upon the other—a score +or more of them.</p> + +<p>Griggs felt his hand shake, for he recognized +Gloria's writing. His first impulse was to burn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_250" id="Page_V2_250">[250]</a></span> +the whole package, as it was, reverently, as something +which had belonged to Gloria, in which he +had no part, or share, or right. He laid his hand +upon the pile of letters, and looked at the small +fire to see whether it were burning well. Under +his hand he felt something hard inside the uppermost +envelope. His fate was upon him—the fate +he had so often defied to do its worst, since all that +he had was dead and was his forever.</p> + +<p>Without another thought, he took from the envelope +the letter it contained, and the hard thing +which was inside the letter. He held it a moment +in his hand, and it flamed in the beam of sunlight +that fell across the end of the table, and dazzled +him. Then he realized what it was. It was +Gloria's wedding ring, and twisted round and +round it and in and out of it was a lock of her red +auburn hair, serpent-like, flaming in the sunshine, +with a hundred little tongues that waved and +moved softly under his breath.</p> + +<p>An icy chill smote him in the neck, and his +strong limbs shook to his feet as he laid the thing +down upon the corner of the table. There was a +fearful fascination in it. The red gold hairs stirred +and moved in the sunlight still, even when he no +longer breathed upon them. It was her hair, and +it seemed alive.</p> + +<p>In his other hand he still held the letter. Fate +had him now, and would not let him go while he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_251" id="Page_V2_251">[251]</a></span> +could feel. Again and again the cruel chill smote +him in the back. He opened the doubled sheet, +and saw the date and the name of the place,—Subiaco,—and +the first words—'Heart of my heart, +this is my last cry to you'—and it was to Angelo +Reanda.</p> + +<p>Rigid and feeling as though great icy hands were +drawing him up by the neck from the ground, he +stood still and read every word, with all the message +of loathing and abject fear and horror of his +touch, which every word brought him, from the +dead, through the other dead.</p> + +<p>Slowly, regularly, without wavering, moved by +a power not his own, his hands took the other letters +and opened them, and his eyes read all the +words, from the last to the first. One by one the +sheets fell upon the table, and all alone in the midst +the lock of red auburn hair sent up its little lambent +flame in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Paul Griggs stood upright, stark with the stress +of rending soul and breaking heart.</p> + +<p>As he stood there, he was aware of a man in +black beside him, like himself, ghastly to see, with +shadows and fires for eyes, and thin, parted lips +that showed wolfish teeth, strong, stern, with iron +hands.</p> + +<p>"You are dead," said his own voice out of the +other's mouth. "You are dead, and I am Gorlias."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_252" id="Page_V2_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the strong teeth were set and the lips +closed, and the gladiator's unmatched arms wound +themselves upon the other's strength, with grip +and clutch and strain not of earthly men.</p> + +<p>Silent and terrible, they wrestled in fight, arm +to arm, bone to bone, breath to breath. Hour +after hour they strove in the still room. The sun +went westering away, the shadows deepened. The +night came stealing black and lonely through the +window. Foot to foot, breast to breast, in the +dark, they bowed themselves one upon the other, +dumb in the agony of their reeling strife.</p> + +<p>Late in the night, in the cold room, Paul Griggs +felt the carpet under his hands as he lay upon his +back.</p> + +<p>His heart was broken.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_253" id="Page_V2_253">[253]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Lord Redin</span> had barely glanced at the man in +the blue jacket with silver buttons, whom he had +seen in the deep shadow of the little wine shop as +he strolled down the Via della Frezza. But Stefanone +had seen him and had gone to the door as he +passed, watching him when he stood talking to the +one-eyed cobbler, and keeping his keen eyes on him +as he passed again on his homeward way. And +all the way to the hotel in the Piazza di Spagna +Stefanone had followed him at a distance, watching +the great loose-jointed frame and the slightly stooping +head, till the Scotchman disappeared under the +archway, past the porter, who stood aside, his gold-laced +cap in his hand, bowing low to the 'English +lord.'</p> + +<p>Stefanone waited a few moments and then accosted +the porter civilly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know if the proprietor wishes to buy +some good wine of last year, at a cheap rate?" he +asked. "You understand. I am of the country. +I cannot go in and look for the proprietor. But +you are doubtless the director and you manage +these things for him. That is why I ask you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_254" id="Page_V2_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>The porter smiled at the flattery, but said that he +believed wine had been bought for the whole year.</p> + +<p>"The hotel is doubtless full of rich foreigners," +observed Stefanone. "It is indeed beautiful. I +should prefer it to the Palazzo Borghese. Is it +not full?"</p> + +<p>"Quite full," answered the porter, proud of the +establishment.</p> + +<p>"For instance," said Stefanone, "I saw a great +signore going in, just before I took the liberty of +speaking with you. I am sure that he is a great +English signore. Not perhaps a mylord. But a +great signore, having much money."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that?" inquired the +porter, with a superior smile.</p> + +<p>"Eh, the reasons are two. First, you bowed to +him, as though he were some personage, and you +of course know who he is. Secondly, he lifted his +hat to you. He is therefore a real signore, as +good perhaps as a Roman prince. We say a +proverb in the country—'to salute is courtesy, to +answer is duty.' Therefore when any one salutes +a real signore, he answers and lifts his hat. +These are the reasons why I say this one must be +a great one."</p> + +<p>"For that matter, you are right," laughed the +porter. "That signore is an English lord. What +a combination! You have guessed it. His name +is Lord Redin."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_255" id="Page_V2_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stefanone's sharp eyes fixed themselves vacantly, +for he did not wish to betray his surprise at not +hearing the name he had expected.</p> + +<p>"Eh!" he exclaimed. "Names? What are they, +when one is a prince. Prince of this. Duke of +that. Our Romans are full of names. I daresay +this signore has four or five."</p> + +<p>But the porter knew of no other, and presently +Stefanone departed, wondering whether he had +made a mistake, after all, and recalling the features +of the man he had followed to compare them with +those younger ones he remembered so distinctly. +He went back to the Via della Frezza and drank a +glass of wine. Then he filled the glass again and +carried it carefully across the street to his friend +the cobbler.</p> + +<p>"Drink," he said. "It will do you good. +A drop of wine at sunset gives force to the +stomach."</p> + +<p>The one-eyed man looked up, and smiled at his +friend, a phenomenon rarely observed on his +wrinkled and bearded face. He shrugged one +round shoulder, by way of assent, held his head +a little on one side and stretched out his black +hand with the glass in it, to the light. He tasted +it, smelt it, and looked up at Stefanone before he +drank in earnest.</p> + +<p>"Black soul!" he exclaimed by way of an +approving asseveration. "This is indeed wine!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_256" id="Page_V2_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He took it for vinegar!" observed Stefanone, +speaking to the air.</p> + +<p>"It is wine," answered the cobbler when he had +drained the glass. "It is a consolation."</p> + +<p>Then they began to talk together, and Stefanone +questioned him about his interview with the tall +gentleman an hour earlier. The cobbler really +knew nothing about him, though he remembered +having seen him several times, years ago, before +Gloria had come.</p> + +<p>"You know nothing," said Stefanone. "That +signore is the father of Sor Paolo's signora, who +died in my house."</p> + +<p>"You are joking," returned the cobbler, gravely. +"He would have come to see his daughter while +she lived—requiescat!"</p> + +<p>"And I say that I am not joking. Do you wish +to hear the truth? Well. You have much confidence +with Sor Paolo. Tell him that the father of +the poor Signora Gloria came to the door and asked +questions. You shall hear what he will say. He +will say that it is possible. Then he will ask you +about him. You will tell him, so and so—a very +tall signore, all made of pieces that swing loosely +when he walks, with a beard like the Moses of the +fountain, and hard blue eyes that strike you like +two balls from a gun, and hair that is neither red +nor white, and a bony face like an old horse."</p> + +<p>"It is true," said the cobbler, reflectively. "It +is he. It is his picture."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_257" id="Page_V2_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will also say that he is now an English +lord, but that formerly they called him Sor Angoscia. +You, who are friends with Sor Paolo, you +should tell him this. It may be that Sor Angoscia +wishes him evil. Who knows? In this world the +combinations are so many!"</p> + +<p>It was long before the cobbler got an opportunity +of speaking with Griggs, and when he had the +chance, he forgot all about it, though Stefanone +reminded him of it from time to time. But when +he at last spoke of the matter he was surprised to +find that Stefanone had been quite right, as Griggs +admitted without the least hesitation. He told +Stefanone so, and the peasant was satisfied, though +he had long been positive that he had found his +man at last, and recognized him in spite of his +beard and his age.</p> + +<p>After that Stefanone haunted the Piazza di +Spagna in the morning, talking a little with the +models who used to stand there in their mountain +costumes to be hired by painters in the days when +pictures of them were the fashion. Many of them +came from the neighbourhood of Subiaco, and knew +Stefanone by sight. When Lord Redin came out +of the hotel, as he generally did between eleven +and twelve if the day were fine, Stefanone put his +pipe out, stuck it into his breeches' pocket with +his brass-handled clasp-knife, and strolled away a +hundred yards behind his enemy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_258" id="Page_V2_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>If Lord Redin noticed him once or twice, it was +merely to observe that men still came to Rome +wearing the old-fashioned dress of the respectable +peasants. Being naturally fearless, and at present +wholly unsuspicious, it never struck him that any +one could be dogging his footsteps whenever he +went out of his hotel. In the evening he went out +very little and then generally in a carriage. Two +or three times, on a Sunday, he walked over to +Saint Peter's and listened to the music at Vespers, +as many foreigners used to do. Stefanone followed +him into the church and watched him from a distance. +Once the peasant saw Donna Francesca, +whom he knew by sight as a member of the Braccio +family, sitting within the great gate of the Chapel +of the Choir, where the service was held. Lord +Redin always followed the frequented streets, +which led in an almost direct line from the Piazza +di Spagna by the Via Condotti to the bridge of +Saint Angelo. It was the nearest way. He never +went back to the Via della Frezza, for he had no +desire to see Paul Griggs, and his curiosity had been +satisfied by once looking at the house in which his +daughter had lived. He spent his evenings alone +in his rooms with a bottle of wine and a book. +Luxury had become a habit with him, and he now +preferred a draught of Château Lafitte to the rough +Roman wine barely a year old, while three or four +glasses of a certain brandy, twenty years in bottle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_259" id="Page_V2_259">[259]</a></span> +which he had discovered in the hotel, were a necessary +condition of his comfort. He had the intention +of going out one evening, in cloak and soft +hat, as of old, to dine in his old corner at the +Falcone, but he put it off from day to day, feeling +no taste for the coarser fare and the rougher drink +when the hour came.</p> + +<p>He often went to see Francesca Campodonico in +the middle of the day, at which hour the Roman +ladies used to be visible to their more intimate +friends. An odd sort of sympathy had grown up +between the two, though they scarcely ever alluded +to past events, and then only by an accident which +both regretted. Francesca exercised a refining +influence upon the gloomy Scotchman, and as he +knew her better, he even took the trouble to be less +rough and cynical when he was with her. In +character she was utterly different from his dead +wife, but there was something of family resemblance +between the two which called up memories +very dear to him.</p> + +<p>Her influence softened him. In his wandering +life he had more than once formed acquaintances +with men of tastes more or less similar to his own, +which might have ripened into friendships for a +man of less morose character. But in that, he and +Paul Griggs were very much alike. They found +an element in every acquaintance which roused +their distrust, and as men to men they were both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_260" id="Page_V2_260">[260]</a></span> +equally incapable of making a confidence. Dalrymple's +life had not brought him into close +relations with any woman except his wife. For +her sake he had kept all others at a distance in a +strange jealousy of his own heart which had made +her for him the only woman in the world. Then, +too, he had hated, for her, the curiosity of those +who had evidently wished to know her story. That +had been always a secret. He had told it to his +father, and his father had died with it. No one +else had ever known whence Maria had come, nor +what her name had been. If Captain Crowdie had +ever guessed the truth, which was doubtful, he +had held his tongue.</p> + +<p>But Angus Dalrymple was no longer the man he +had been in those days. He had changed very +much in the past two or three years; for though +he had almost outlived the excesses into which he +had fallen in his first sorrow, his hardy constitution +had been shaken, if not weakened, by them. +Physically his nerves were almost as good as ever, +but morally he was not the same man. He felt +the need of sympathy and confidence, which with +such natures is the first sign of breaking down, and +of the degeneration of pride.</p> + +<p>That was probably the secret of what he felt +when he was with Francesca. She had that rarest +quality in women, too, which commands men without +inspiring love. It is very hard to explain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_261" id="Page_V2_261">[261]</a></span> +what that quality is, but most men who have lived +much and seen much have met with it at least once +in their lives.</p> + +<p>There is a sort of manifested goodness for which +the average man of the world has a profound and +unreasonable contempt. And there is another sort +which most wholly commands the respect of that +man who has lived hardest. From a religious +point of view, both may be equally real and conducive +to salvation. The cynic, the worn out man +of the world, the man whose heart is broken, all +look upon the one as a weakness and the other as a +strength. Perhaps there is more humanity in the +one than in the other. A hundred women may +rebuke a man for something he has done, and he +will smile at the reproach, though he may smile +sadly. The one will say to him the same words, +and he will be gravely silent and will feel that she +is right and will like her the better for it ever +afterwards. And she is not, as a rule, the woman +whom such men would love.</p> + +<p>"I have never before met a woman whom I +should wish to have for my friend," said Lord +Redin, one day when he was alone with Francesca. +"I daresay I am not at all the kind of man you +would select for purposes of friendship," he added, +with a short laugh.</p> + +<p>Francesca smiled a little at the frankness of the +words, and shook her head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_262" id="Page_V2_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," she said. "Who knows? Life +brings strange changes when one thinks that one +knows it best."</p> + +<p>"It has brought strange things to me," answered +Lord Redin.</p> + +<p>Then he was silent for a time. He felt the +strong desire to speak out, for no good reason or +purpose, and to tell her the story of his life. She +would be horrorstruck at first. He fancied he +could see the expression which would come to her +face. But he held his peace, for she had not met +him half-way, and he was ashamed of the weakness +that was upon him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said thoughtfully, after a little +pause. "You must have had a strange life, and a +very unhappy one. You speak of friendship as +men speak who are in earnest, because there is no +other hope for them. I know something of that."</p> + +<p>She ceased, and her clear eyes turned sadly away +from him.</p> + +<p>"I know you do," he answered softly.</p> + +<p>She looked at him again, and she liked him better +than ever before, and pitied him sincerely. She +had discovered that with all his faults he was not +a bad man, as men go, for she did not know of that +one deed of his youth which to her would have +seemed a monstrous crime of sacrilege, beyond all +forgiveness on earth or in heaven.</p> + +<p>Then she began to speak of other things, for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_263" id="Page_V2_263">[263]</a></span> +own words, and his, had gone too near her heart, +and presently he left her and strolled homeward +through the sunny streets. He walked slowly and +thoughtfully, unconscious of the man in a blue +jacket with silver buttons, who followed him and +watched him with keen, unwinking eyes set under +heavy brows.</p> + +<p>But Stefanone was growing impatient, and his +knife was every day a little sharper as he whetted +it thoughtfully upon a bit of smooth oilstone +which he carried in his pocket. Would the Englishman +ever turn down into some quiet street or +lane where no one would be looking? And Stefanone's +square face grew thinner and his aquiline +features more and more eagle-like, till the one-eyed +cobbler noticed the change, and spoke of it.</p> + +<p>"You are consuming yourself for some female," +he said. "You have white hair. This is a shameful +thing."</p> + +<p>But Stefanone laughed, instead of resenting the +speech—a curiously nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>"What would you have?" he replied. "We +are men, and the devil is everywhere."</p> + +<p>As he sat on the doorstep by the cobbler's bench, +which was pushed far forward to get the afternoon +light, he took up the short sharp shoemaker's +knife, looked at it, held it in his hands and pared +his coarse nails with it, whistling a little tune.</p> + +<p>"That is a good knife," he observed carelessly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_264" id="Page_V2_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>The cobbler looked up and saw what he was +doing.</p> + +<p>"Black soul!" he cried out angrily. "That is +my welt-knife, like a razor, and he pares his hoofs +with it!"</p> + +<p>But Stefanone dropped it into the little box of +tools on the front of the bench, and whistled softly.</p> + +<p>"You seem to me a silly boy!" said the cobbler, +still wrathful.</p> + +<p>"Apoplexy, how you talk!" answered Stefanone. +"But I seem so to myself, sometimes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_265" id="Page_V2_265">[265]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> life of Paul Griggs was not less lonely than +it had been before the day on which he had received +and read Gloria's letters to Reanda, but it +was changed. Everything which had belonged to +the dead woman was gone from the room in which +he sat and worked as usual. Even the position of +the furniture was changed. But he worked on as +steadily as before.</p> + +<p>Outwardly he was very much the same man as +ever. Any one who knew him well—if such a +person had existed—would have seen that there +was a little difference in the expression of his impassive +face. The jaw was, if possible, more firmly +set than ever, but there was a line in the forehead +which had not been there formerly, and which +softened the iron front, as it were, with something +more human. It had come suddenly, and had +remained. That was all.</p> + +<p>But within, the difference was great and deep. +He felt that the man who sat all day long at the +writing-table doing his work was not himself any +longer, but another being, his double and shadow, +and in all respects his slave, except in one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_266" id="Page_V2_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>That other man sometimes paused in his work, +fingering the pen unconsciously, as men do who +hold it all day long, and thinking of Gloria with +an expression of horror and suffering in his eyes. +But he, the real Paul Griggs, never thought of +her. The link was broken, the thread that had +carried the message of dead love between him and +the lonely grave beyond Subiaco was definitely +broken. Stefanone came to receive the small sum +which Griggs paid him monthly for his care of +the place, and Griggs paid him as he would have +paid his tailor, mechanically, and made a note of +the payment in his pocket-book. When the man +was gone, Griggs felt that his double was staring +at the wall as a man stares at the dark surface of +the pool in which the thing he loves has sunk for +the last time.</p> + +<p>It was always the other self that felt at such +moments. He could abstract himself from it, and +feel that he was watching it; he could direct it +and make it do what he pleased; but he could +neither control its thoughts nor feel any sympathy +for them. Until the fatal day, the world had all +been black to him; only by closing his eyes could +he bring into it the light that hovered about a dead +woman's face.</p> + +<p>But now the black was changed to a flat and +toneless white in which there was never the least +variation. Life was to him a vast blank, in which,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_267" id="Page_V2_267">[267]</a></span> +without interest or sensation, he moved in any +direction he pleased, and he pleased that it should +be always the same direction, from the remembrance +of a previous intention and abiding principle. +But it might as well have been any other, backwards, +or to right or left. It was all precisely the +same, and it was perfectly inconceivable to him that +he should ever care whether in the endless journey +he ever came upon a spot or point in the blank +waste which should prove to him that he had +moved at all. Nothing could make any difference. +He was beyond that state in which any +difference was apprehensible between one thing +and another.</p> + +<p>His double had material wants, and was ruled +by material circumstances. His double was a +broken-hearted creature, toiling to make money +for a little child to which it felt itself bound by +every responsibility which can bind father to son; +acknowledging the indebtedness in every act of its +laborious life, denying itself every luxury, and +almost every comfort, that there might be a little +more for the child, now and in time to come; +weary beyond earthly weariness, but untiring in +the mechanical performance of its set task; fatally +strong and destined, perhaps, to live on through +sixty or seventy years of the same unceasing toil; +fatally weak in its one deep wound, and horribly +sensitive within itself, but outwardly expressionless,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_268" id="Page_V2_268">[268]</a></span> +strong, merely a little more pale and haggard +than Paul Griggs had been.</p> + +<p>This was the being whom Paul Griggs employed, +as it were, to work for him, which he thoroughly +understood and could control in every part except +in its thoughts, and they were its own. But he +himself existed in another sphere, in which there +were neither interests nor responsibilities, nor +landmarks, nor touches of human feeling, neither +memories for the dead nor hopes for the living; in +which everything was the same, because there was +nothing but a sort of universal impersonal consciousness, +no more attached to himself than to the +beings he saw about him, or to that particular +being which was his former self,—in which he +chose to reside, merely because he required a bodily +evidence of some sort in order to be alive—and +there was no particular reason why he should not +be alive. He therefore did not cease to live, but +a straw might have turned the balance to the side +of death.</p> + +<p>It was certainly true that, so far as it could be +said that there was any link between him and +humanity, it lay in the existence of the little boy +beyond the water. But it would have been precisely +the same if little Walter Crowdie had died. +He did not wish to see the child, for he had no +wishes at all. Life being what it was, it would be +very much better if the child were to die at once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_269" id="Page_V2_269">[269]</a></span> +Since it happened to be alive, he forced his double +to work for it. It was no longer any particular +child so far as he himself was concerned. It +belonged to his double, which seemed to be +attached to it in an unaccountable way and did +not complain at being driven to labour for it.</p> + +<p>At certain moments, when he seemed to have +got rid of his double altogether for a time, a question +presented itself to his real self. The question +was the great and old one—What was it for? +And to what was it tending? Then the people he +saw in the streets appeared to him to be very small, +like ants, running hither and thither upon the ant-hill +and about it, moved by something which they +could not understand, but which made them do +certain things with an appearance of logical sequence, +just as he forced his double to work for +little Walter Crowdie from morning till night. So +the people ran about anxiously, or strolled lazily +through the hours, careful or careless, as the case +might be, but quite unconscious that they were of +no consequence and of no use, and that it was quite +immaterial whether they were alive or dead. Most +of them thought that they cared a good deal for +life on the whole, and that it held a multitude of +pleasant and interesting things to be liked and +sought, and an equal number of unpleasant and +dangerous things to be avoided; all of which things +had no real existence whatever, as the impersonal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_270" id="Page_V2_270">[270]</a></span> +consciousness of Paul Griggs was well aware. He +watched the people curiously, as though they +merely existed to perform tricks for his benefit. +But they did not amuse him, for nothing could +amuse him, nor interest him when he had momentarily +got rid of his double, as sometimes happened +when he was out of doors.</p> + +<p>One day, the month having passed again, Stefanone +came for his money. It was very little, and +the old peasant would willingly have undertaken +that the work should be done for nothing. But +he was interested in Paul Griggs, and he was +growing very impatient because he could not get +an opportunity of falling upon Lord Redin in a +quiet place. He had formed a new plan of almost +childlike simplicity. When Griggs had paid him +the money, he lingered a moment and looked about +the room.</p> + +<p>"Signore, you have changed the furniture," he +observed. "That chair was formerly here. This +table used to be there. There are a thousand +changes."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griggs, taking up his pen to go on +with his work. "You have good eyes," he added +good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"Two," assented Stefanone; "each better than +the other. For instance, I will tell you. When +that chair was by the window, there was a little +table beside it. On the table was the work-basket<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_271" id="Page_V2_271">[271]</a></span> +of your poor Signora, whom may the Lord preserve +in glory! Is it truth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Griggs, with perfect indifference. +"It is quite true."</p> + +<p>The allusion did not pain him, the man who was +talking with Stefanone. It would perhaps hurt +the other man when he thought of it later.</p> + +<p>"Signore," said Stefanone, who evidently had +something in his mind, "I was thinking in the +night, and this thought came to me. The dead are +dead. Requiescant! It is better for the living +to live in holy peace. You never see the father +of the Signora. There is bad blood between you. +This was my thought—let them be reconciled, +and spend an evening together. They will speak +of the dead one. They will shed tears. They will +embrace. Let the enmity be finished. In this +way they will enjoy life more."</p> + +<p>"You are crazy, Stefanone," answered Griggs, +impatiently. "But how do you know who is the +father of the Signora?"</p> + +<p>"Every one knows it, Signore!" replied the peasant, +with well-feigned sincerity. "Every one knows +that it is the great English lord who lives at the +hotel in the Piazza di Spagna this year. Signore, +I have said a word. You must not take it ill. +Enmity is bad. Friendship is a good thing. And +then it is simple. With maccaroni one makes +acquaintance again. There is the Falcone, but it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_272" id="Page_V2_272">[272]</a></span> +would be better here. We will cook the maccaroni +in the kitchen; you will eat on this table. What +are all these papers for? Study, study! A dish +of good paste is better, with cheese. I will bring +a certain wine—two flasks. Then you will be +friends, for you will drink together. And if the +English lord drinks too much, I will go home with +him to the hotel in the Piazza di Spagna. But +you will only have to go to bed. Once in a year, +what is it to be a little gay with good wine? At +least you will be good friends. Then things will +end well."</p> + +<p>Griggs looked at Stefanone curiously, while the +old peasant was speaking, for he knew the people +well, and he suspected something though he did +not know what to think.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps some day we may take your advice," +he said coldly. "Good morning, Stefanone; I have +much to write."</p> + +<p>"I remove the inconvenience," answered Stefanone, +in the stock Italian phrase for taking leave.</p> + +<p>"No inconvenience," replied Griggs, civilly, as +is the custom. "But I have to work."</p> + +<p>"Study, study!" grumbled Stefanone, going +towards the door. "What does it all conclude, +this great study? Headache. For a flask of wine +you have the same thing, and the pleasure besides. +It is enough. Signore," he added, reluctantly +turning the handle, "I go. Think of what I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_273" id="Page_V2_273">[273]</a></span> +said to you. Sometimes an old man says a wise +word."</p> + +<p>He went away very much discontented with the +result of the conversation. His mind was a medley +of cunning and simplicity backed by an absolutely +unforgiving temper and great caution. His plan +had seemed exceedingly good. Lord Redin and +Griggs would have supped together, and the former +would very naturally have gone home alone. Stefanone +was oddly surprised that Griggs should not +have acceded to the proposition at once, though in +reality there was not the slightest of small reasons +for his doing so.</p> + +<p>It was long since anything had happened to rouse +Griggs into thinking about any individual human +being as anything more than a bit of the world's +furniture, to be worn out and thrown away in the +course of time, out of sight. But something in +the absolutely gratuitous nature of Stefanone's +advice moved his suspicions. He saw, with his +intimate knowledge of the Roman peasant's character, +the whole process of the old wine-seller's +mind, if only, in the first place, the fellow had the +desire to harass Dalrymple. That being granted, +the rest was plain enough. Dalrymple, if he really +came to supper with Griggs, would stay late into the +night and finish all the wine there might be. On his +way home through the deserted streets, Stefanone +could kill him at his leisure and convenience, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_274" id="Page_V2_274">[274]</a></span> +nobody would be the wiser. The only difficulty lay +in establishing some sufficient reason why Stefanone +should wish to kill him at all, and in this +Griggs signally failed, which was not surprising.</p> + +<p>All at once, as generally happened now, he lost +all interest in the matter and returned to his work; +or rather, to speak as he might have spoken, he set +his mechanical self to work for him, while his own +being disappeared in blank indifference and unconsciousness. +But on the following day, which +chanced to be a Sunday, he went out in the morning +for a walk. He rarely worked on Sundays, +having long ago convinced himself that a day of +rest was necessary in the long run.</p> + +<p>As he was coming home, he saw Lord Redin +walking far in front of him down the Corso, easily +recognizable by his height and his loose, swinging +gait. Griggs had not proceeded many steps further +when Stefanone passed him, walking at a +swinging stride. The peasant had probably seen +him, but chose to take no notice of him. Griggs +allowed him to get a fair start and then quickened +his own pace, so as to keep him in view. Lord +Redin swung along steadily and turned up the Via +Condotti. Stefanone almost ran, till he, too, had +turned the corner of the street. Griggs, without +running, nearly overtook him as he took the same +turn a moment later.</p> + +<p>It was perfectly clear that Stefanone was dogging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_275" id="Page_V2_275">[275]</a></span> +the Scotchman's steps. The latter crossed +the Piazza di Spagna, and entered the deep archway +of his hotel. The peasant slackened his speed +at once and lounged across the square towards the +foot of the great stairway which leads up to the +Trinità de' Monti. Griggs followed him, and +came up with him just as he sat down upon a step +beside one of the big stone posts, to take breath +and light his pipe. The man looked up, touched +his hat, smiled, and struck a sulphur match, which +he applied to the tobacco in the red clay bowl before +the sulphur was half burned out, after the +manner of his kind.</p> + +<p>"You have taken a walk, Signore," he observed, +puffing away at the willow stem and watching the +match.</p> + +<p>"You walk fast, Stefanone," answered Griggs. +"You can walk as fast as Lord Redin."</p> + +<p>Stefanone did not show the least surprise. He +pressed down the burning tobacco with one horny +finger, and carefully laid the last glowing bit of +the burnt-out wooden match upon it.</p> + +<p>"For this, we are people of the mountains," he +answered slowly. "We can walk."</p> + +<p>"Why do you wish to kill that signore?" inquired +Griggs, calmly.</p> + +<p>Stefanone looked up, and the pale lids of his +keen eyes were contracted as he stared hard and +long at the other's face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_276" id="Page_V2_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What are you saying?" he asked, with a short, +harsh laugh. "What is passing through your +head? What have I to do with the Englishman? +Nothing. These are follies!"</p> + +<p>And still he gazed keenly at Griggs, awaiting +the latter's reply. Griggs answered him contemptuously +in the dialect.</p> + +<p>"You take me for a foreigner! You might know +better."</p> + +<p>"I do not know what you mean," answered Stefanone, +doggedly. "It is Sunday. I am at leisure. +I walk to take a little air. It is my affair. +Besides, at this hour, who would follow a man to +kill him? It is about to ring midday. There are +a thousand people in the street. Those who kill +wait at the corners of streets when it is night. +You say that I take you for a foreigner. You have +taken me for an assassin. At your pleasure. So +much the worse for me. An assassin! Only this +was wanting. It is better that I go back to Subiaco. +At least they know me there. Here in +Rome—not even dogs would stay here. Beautiful +town! Where one is called assassin for breakfast, +without counting one, nor two."</p> + +<p>By this time Griggs was convinced that he was +right. He knew the man well, and all his kind. +The long speech of complaint, with its peculiar +tone, half insolent, half of injured innocence, was +to cover the fellow's embarrassment. Griggs answered +him in his own strain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_277" id="Page_V2_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A man is not an assassin who kills his enemy +for a good reason, Stefanone," he observed. "How +do I know what he may have done to you?"</p> + +<p>"To me? Nothing." The peasant shrugged his +sturdy shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Then I have made a mistake," said Griggs.</p> + +<p>"You have made a mistake," assented Stefanone. +"Let us not talk about it any more."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>Griggs turned away and walked slowly towards +the hotel, well aware that Stefanone was watching +him and would think that he was going to warn +Lord Redin of his danger. That, indeed, was +Griggs's first impulse, and it was probably his +wisest course, whatever might come of the meeting. +But the Scotchman had made up his mind +that he would not see Griggs under any circumstances, +and though the latter had seen him enter +the hotel less than ten minutes earlier, the servant +returned almost immediately and said that Lord +Redin was not at home. Griggs understood and +turned away, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Before he went down the Via Condotti again, he +looked over his shoulder towards the steps, and he +saw that Stefanone was gone. As he walked along +the street, the whole incident began to fade away +in his mind, as all real matters so often did, nowadays. +All at once he stopped short, and roused +himself by an effort—directing his double, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_278" id="Page_V2_278">[278]</a></span> +would have said, perhaps. There was no denying +the fact that a man's life was hanging in the balance +of a chance, and to the man, if not to Griggs, +that life was worth something. If it had been +any other man in the world, even that fact would +have left him indifferent enough. Why should he +care who lived or died? But Dalrymple was a +man he had injured, and he was under an obligation +of honour to save him, if he could.</p> + +<p>There was only one person in Rome who could +help him—Francesca Campodonico. She knew +much of what had happened; she might perhaps +understand the present case. At all events, even +if she had not seen Lord Redin of late, she could +not be supposed to have broken relations with him; +she could send for him and warn him. The case +was urgent, as Griggs knew. After what he had +said to Stefanone, the latter, if he meant to kill +his man, would not lose a day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_279" id="Page_V2_279">[279]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was past midday when Paul Griggs reached +the Palazzetto Borgia and inquired for Donna +Francesca. He was told that she was out. It was +her custom, the porter said, always to breakfast on +Sundays with her relatives, the Prince and Princess +of Gerano. Griggs asked at what time she +might be expected to return. The porter put on a +vague look and said that it was impossible to tell. +Sometimes she went to Saint Peter's on Sunday +afternoon, to hear Vespers. Vespers began at +twenty-two o'clock, or half-past twenty-two—between +half-past three and four by French time, +at that season of the year.</p> + +<p>Griggs turned away, and wandered about for +half an hour in the vicinity of the palace, uncertain +as to what he should do, and yet determined not to +lose sight of the necessity for immediate action of +some sort. At last he went back to the Piazza di +Spagna, intending to write a word of warning to +Lord Redin, though he knew that the latter would +pay very little attention to anything of such a +nature. Like most foreigners, he would laugh at +the idea of being attacked in the streets. Even in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_280" id="Page_V2_280">[280]</a></span> +an interview it would not be easy to persuade him +of the truth which Griggs had discovered more by +intuition and through his profound knowledge of +the Roman character than by any chain of evidence.</p> + +<p>Lord Redin had gone out, he was told. It was +impossible to say with any certainty whether this +were true or not, and Griggs wrote a few words on +his card, sealed the latter in an envelope, and left +it to be delivered to the Scotchman. Then he went +back to the Via della Frezza, determined to renew +his attempt to see Francesca Campodonico, at a +later hour.</p> + +<p>At the door of the little wine shop Stefanone +was seated on one of the rush stools, his hat tilted +over his eyes, and his white-stockinged legs crossed. +He was smoking and looking down, but he recognized +Griggs's step at some distance, and raised his +eyes. Griggs nodded to him familiarly, passing +along on the other side of the narrow street, and +he saw Stefanone's expression. There was a look +of cunning and amusement in the contraction of the +pale lids, which the younger man did not like. +Stefanone spoke to him across the street.</p> + +<p>"You are well returned, Signore," he said, in +the common phrase of greeting after an absence.</p> + +<p>The words were civil enough, but there was +something of mockery in the tone. Griggs might +not have noticed it at any other time, but his +thoughts had been occupied with Stefanone during<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_281" id="Page_V2_281">[281]</a></span> +the last two hours, and he resented what sounded +like insolence. The tone implied that he had been +on a fool's errand, and that Stefanone knew it. He +said nothing, but stood still and scrutinized the +man's face. There was an unwonted colour about +the cheek bones, and the keen eyes sparkled under +the brim of the soft hat. Stefanone had a solid +head, and was not given to drinking, especially in +the morning; but Griggs guessed that to-day he +had drunk more than usual. The man's next +words convinced him of the fact.</p> + +<p>"Signore," he said, slowly rising, "will you +favour us by tasting the wine I brought last week? +There is no one in the shop yet, for it is early. +If you will, we can drink a glass."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," answered Griggs. "I have not +eaten yet."</p> + +<p>"Then Sor Angoscia did not ask you to breakfast!" +laughed Stefanone, insolently. "At midday, +too! It was just the hour! But perhaps he +invited you to his supper, for it is ordered."</p> + +<p>And he laughed again. Griggs glanced at him +once more, and then went quietly on towards his +own door. He saw that the man had drunk too +much, and the idea of bandying words in the +attempt to rebuke him was distasteful. Griggs +had very rarely lost his temper, so far as to strike +a man, even in former days, and it had seemed to +him of late that he could never be really angry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_282" id="Page_V2_282">[282]</a></span> +again. Nothing could ever again be of enough importance +to make it worth while. If a man of his +own class had insulted him, he would have directed +his double, as it were, to resent the offence, but he +himself would have remained utterly indifferent.</p> + +<p>The one-eyed cobbler was not in his place, as it +was Sunday. If he had been there, Griggs would +very possibly have told him to watch Stefanone +and to try and keep him in the wine shop until he +should grow heavy over his wine and fall asleep. +In that state he would at least be harmless. But +the cobbler was not there. Griggs went up to his +rooms to wait until a later hour, when he might +hope to find Francesca.</p> + +<p>Stefanone, being left alone, sat down again, +pulled his hat over his eyes once more and felt in +his pocket for his clasp-knife. His mind was by +no means clear, for he had eaten nothing, he had +swallowed a good deal of strong wine, and he had +made up his mind that he must kill his enemy on +that day or never. The intention was well-defined, +but that was all. He had put off his vengeance +too long. It was true that he had not yet caught +Dalrymple alone in a quiet street at night, that is +to say, under the most favourable circumstances +imaginable; but more than once he might have +fallen upon him suddenly from a doorway in a +narrow lane, in which there had been but a few +women and children to see the deed, if they saw it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_283" id="Page_V2_283">[283]</a></span> +at all. He knew well enough that in Rome the +fear of being in any way implicated in a murder, +even as a witness, would have made women, and +probably men, too, run indoors or out of the way, +rather than interfere or pursue him. He told himself +therefore that he had been unreasonably cautious, +and that unless he acted quickly Lord Redin, +being warned by Griggs, would take measures of +self-defence which might put him beyond the reach +of the clasp-knife forever. Stefanone's ideas +about the power of an 'English lord' were vague +in the extreme.</p> + +<p>He had not been exactly frightened by Griggs's +sudden accusation that morning, but he had been +made nervous and vicious by the certainty that his +intentions had been discovered. Peasant-like, not +being able to hit on a plan for immediate success, +he had excited himself and stimulated his courage +with drink. His eyes were already a little bloodshot, +and the flush on his high cheek bones showed +that he was in the first stage of drunkenness, which +under present circumstances was the most dangerous +and might last all day with a man of his age +and constitution, provided that he did not drink +too fast. And there was little fear of that, for the +Roman is cautious in his cups, and drinks slowly, +never wishing to lose his head, and indeed very +much ashamed of ever being seen in a helpless +condition.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_284" id="Page_V2_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<p>By this time he was well acquainted with Lord +Redin's habits; and though Griggs had been told +that the Scotchman was out, Stefanone knew very +well that he was at home and would not leave the +hotel for another hour or more.</p> + +<p>Leaning back against the wall and tipping the +stool, he swung his white-stockinged legs thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"One must eat," he remarked aloud, to himself.</p> + +<p>He held his head a little on one side, thoughtfully +considering the question of food. Then he +turned his face slowly towards the low door of the +shop and sniffed the air. Something was cooking +in the back regions within. Stefanone nodded to +himself, rose, pulled out a blue and red cotton +handkerchief, and proceeded to dust his well-blacked +low shoes and steel buckles with considerable +care, setting first one foot and then the +other upon the stool.</p> + +<p>Let us eat," he said aloud, folding his handkerchief +again and returning it to his pocket.</p> + +<p>He went in and sat down at one of the trestle +tables,—a heavy board, black with age. The host +was nodding on a chair in the corner, a fat man in +a clean white apron, with a round red face and fat +red prominences over his eyes, with thin eyebrows +that were scarcely perceptible.</p> + +<p>Stefanone rapped on the board with his knuckles; +the host awoke, looked at him with a pleased smile,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_285" id="Page_V2_285">[285]</a></span> +made an interrogatory gesture, and having received +an affirmative nod for an answer retired into the +dark kitchen. In a moment he returned with a +huge earthenware plate of soup in which a couple of +large pieces of fat meat bobbed lazily as he set the +dish on the table. Then he brought bread, a measure +of wine, an iron spoon, and a two-pronged fork.</p> + +<p>Stefanone eat the soup without a word, breaking +great pieces of bread into it. Then he pulled out +his clasp-knife and opened it; the long blade, keen +as a razor and slightly curved, but dark and dull +in colour, snapped to its place, as the ring at the +back fell into the corresponding sharp notch. With +affected delicacy, Stefanone held it between his +thumb and one finger and drew the edge across the +fat boiled meat, which fell into pieces almost at a +touch, though it was tough and stringy. The host +watched the operation approvingly. At that time +it was forbidden to carry such knives in Rome, +unless the point were round and blunt. The +Roman always stabs; he never cuts his man's +throat in a fight or in a murder.</p> + +<p>"It is a prohibited weapon," observed the fat +man, smiling, "but it is very beautiful. Poor +Christian, if he finds it between his ribs! He +would soon be cold. It is a consolation at night +to have such a toy."</p> + +<p>"Truly, it is the consolation of my soul," answered +Stefanone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_286" id="Page_V2_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say a little, dear friend," said the fat man, +sitting down and resting his bare elbows upon the +table, "that arm, has it ever sent any one to Paradise?"</p> + +<p>"And then I should tell you!" exclaimed Stefanone, +laughing, and he sipped some wine and +smacked his lips. "But no," he added presently. +"I am a pacific man. If they touch me—woe! +But I, to touch any one? Not even a fly."</p> + +<p>"Thus I like men," said the host, "serious, full +of scruples, people who drink well, quiet, quiet, +and pay better."</p> + +<p>"So we are at Subiaco," answered Stefanone.</p> + +<p>He cleaned his knife on a piece of bread very +carefully, laid it open beside him, and threw the +crust to a lean dog that appeared suddenly from +beneath the table, as though it had come up through +a trap-door; the half-famished creature bolted the +bread with a snap and a gulp and disappeared +again as suddenly and silently, just in time to +avoid the fat man's slow, heavy hand.</p> + +<p>When he had finished eating, Stefanone produced +his little piece of oilstone, which he carried wrapped +in dingy paper, and having greased it proceeded to +draw the blade over it slowly and smoothly.</p> + +<p>"Apoplexy!" ejaculated the host. "Are you +not contented? Or perhaps you wish to shave +with it?"</p> + +<p>"Thus I keep it," answered the peasant, smiling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_287" id="Page_V2_287">[287]</a></span> +"A minute here, a minute there. The time +costs nothing. What am I doing? Nothing. I +digest. To pass the time I sharpen the knife. I +am like this. I say it is a sin to waste time."</p> + +<p>Every now and then he sipped his wine, but +there was no perceptible change in his manner, for +he was careful to keep himself just at the same +level of excitement, neither more nor less.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was smoking his pipe in +the Piazza di Spagna, lounging near the great +fountain in the sunshine, his eyes generally turned +towards the door of the hotel. He waited a long +time, and replenished his pipe more than once.</p> + +<p>"This would be the only thing wanting," he said +impatiently and half aloud. "That just to-day he +should not go out."</p> + +<p>But Lord Redin appeared at last, dressed as +though he were going to make a visit. He looked +about the square, standing still on the threshold +for a moment, and a couple of small open cabs +drove up. But he shook his head, consulted his +watch, and strode away in the direction of the +Propaganda.</p> + +<p>Stefanone guessed that he was going to the +Palazzetto Borgia, and followed him as usual at a +safe distance, threading the winding ways towards +the Piazza di Venezia. There used to be a small +café then under the corner of that part of the +Palazzo Torlonia which has now been pulled down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_288" id="Page_V2_288">[288]</a></span> +Lord Redin entered it, and Stefanone lingered on +the other side of the street. A man passed him +who sold melon seeds and aquavitæ, and Stefanone +drank a glass of the one and bought a measure of +the other. The Romans are fond of the taste of +the tiny dry kernel which is found inside the +broad white shell of the seed. Presently Lord +Redin came out, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, +and went on. Stefanone followed him +again, walking fast when his enemy had turned a +corner and slackening his speed as soon as he +caught sight of him again.</p> + +<p>Francesca was out. He saw Lord Redin's look +of annoyance as the latter turned away after speaking +with the porter, and he fell back into the +shadow of a doorway, expecting that the Scotchman +would take the street by which he had come. +But Dalrymple turned down the narrow lane beside +the palace, in the direction of the Tiber. Stefanone's +bloodshot eyes opened suddenly as he +sprang after him; with a quick movement he got +his knife out, opened it, and thrust his hand with +it open into the wide pocket of his jacket. Lord +Redin had never gone down that lane before, to +Stefanone's knowledge, and it was a hundred to +one that at that hour no one would be about. +Stefanone himself did not know the place.</p> + +<p>Dalrymple must have heard the quick and heavy +footsteps of the peasant behind him, but it would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_289" id="Page_V2_289">[289]</a></span> +not have been at all like him to turn his head. +With loose, swinging gait he strode along, and his +heavy stick made high little echoes as it struck the +dry cobble-stones.</p> + +<p>Stefanone was very near him. His eyes glared +redly, and his hand with the knife in it was half +out of his pocket. In ten steps more he would +spring and strike upwards, as Romans do. He +chose the spot on the dark overcoat where his knife +should go through, below the shoulder-blade, at the +height of the small ribs on the left side. His lips +were parted and dry.</p> + +<p>There was a loud scream of anger, a tremendous +clattering noise, and a sound of feet. Stefanone +turned suddenly pale, and his hand went to the +bottom of his pocket again.</p> + +<p>On an open doorstep lay a copper 'conca'—the +Roman water jar—a wretched dog was rushing +down the street with something in its mouth, in +front of Lord Redin, a woman was pursuing it with +yells, swinging a small wooden stool in her right +hand, to throw it at the dog, and the neighbours +were on their doorsteps in a moment. Stefanone +slunk under the shadow of the wall, grinding his +teeth. The chance was gone. The streets beyond +were broader and more populous.</p> + +<p>Lord Redin went steadily onward, evidently +familiar with every turn of the way, down to the +Tiber, across the Bridge of Quattro Capi, and over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_290" id="Page_V2_290">[290]</a></span> +the island of Saint Bartholomew to Trastevere, +turning then to the right through the straight +Lungaretta, past Santa Maria and under the heights +of San Pietro in Montorio, and so to the Lungara +and by Santo Spirito to the Piazza of Saint +Peter's. He walked fast, and Stefanone twice +wiped the perspiration from his forehead on the +way, for he was nervous from the tension and the +disappointment, and felt suddenly weak.</p> + +<p>The Scotchman never paused, but crossed the +vast square and went up the steps of the basilica. +He was evidently going to hear the Vespers. Then +Stefanone, instead of following him into the church, +sat down outside the wine shop on the right, just +opposite the end of the Colonnade. He ordered a +measure of wine and prepared to wait, for he +guessed that Lord Redin would remain in the +church at least an hour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_291" id="Page_V2_291">[291]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Lord Redin</span> lifted the heavy leathern curtain of +the door on the right of the main entrance to the +basilica, and went into the church. For some +reason or other, the majority of people go in by +that door rather than the other. It may be that the +reason is a very simple one, after all. Most people +are right handed, and of any two doors side by side +leading into the same place, will instinctively take +the one on the right. The practice of passing to +the left in the street, in almost all old countries, +was for the sake of safety, in order that a man +might have his sword hand towards any one he met.</p> + +<p>The air of the church was warm, and had a faint +odour of incense in it. The temperature of the +vast building varies but little with the seasons; +going into it in winter, it seems warm, in summer +it is very cold. On that day there were not many +people in the nave, though a soft sound of unceasing +footsteps broke the stillness. Very far away +an occasional strain of music floated on the air +from the Chapel of the Choir, the last on the left +before the transept is reached. Lord Redin walked +leisurely in the direction of the sound.</p> + +<p>The chapel was full, and the canons were intoning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_292" id="Page_V2_292">[292]</a></span> +the psalms of the office. At the conclusion of +each one the choir sang the 'Gloria' from the +great organ loft on the right. It chanced that +there were a number of foreigners on that day, +and they had filled all the available space within +the gate, and there was a small crowd outside, +pressing as close as possible in order to hear the +voices more distinctly. Lord Redin was taller than +most men, and looking over the heads of the others +he saw Francesca Campodonico's pale profile in the +thick of the press. She evidently wished to extricate +herself, and she seemed to be suffering from +the closeness, for she pressed her handkerchief nervously +to her lips, and her eyes were half closed. +Lord Redin forced his way to her without much +consideration for the people who hindered him. +A few minutes later he brought her out on the side +towards the transept.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Francesca. "I should like +to sit down. I had almost fainted—there was a +woman next to me who had musk about her."</p> + +<p>They went round the pillar of the dome to the +south transept where there are almost always a +number of benches set along the edges of a huge +green baize carpet. They sat down together on +the end of one of the seats.</p> + +<p>"We can go back, by and bye, and hear the +music, if you like," said Francesca. "The psalms +will last some time longer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_293" id="Page_V2_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I would rather sit here and talk, since I have +had the good luck to meet you," answered Lord +Redin, resting his elbows on his knees, and idly +poking the green carpet with the end of his stick. +"I went to your house, and they told me that you +would very probably be here."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I often come. But you know that, for +we have met here before. I only stay at home on +Sundays when it rains."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Is that the rule?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you call it a rule," answered Francesca.</p> + +<p>"I like to know about the things you do, and +how you spend your life," said the Scotchman, +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Do you? Why? There is nothing very interesting +about my existence, it seems to me."</p> + +<p>"It interests me. It makes me feel less lonely to +know about some one else—some one I like very +much."</p> + +<p>Francesca looked at her companion with an expression +of pity. She was lonely, too, but in a +different way. The little drama of her life had +run sadly and smoothly. She was willing to give +the man her friendship if it could help him, rather +because he seemed to ask for it in a mute fashion +than because she desired his.</p> + +<p>"Lord Redin," she said, after a little pause, "do +you always mean to live in this way?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_294" id="Page_V2_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Alone? Yes. It is the only way I can live, +at my age."</p> + +<p>"At your age—would it make any difference +if you were younger?" asked Francesca. She +dropped her voice to a low key. "You would +never marry again, even if you were much +younger."</p> + +<p>"Marry!" His shoulders moved with a sort of +little start. "You do not know what you are saying!" +he added, almost under his breath, though +she heard the words distinctly.</p> + +<p>She looked at him again, in silence, during several +seconds, and she saw how the colour sank away +from his face, till the skin was like old parchment. +The hand that held the heavy stick tightened round +it and grew yellow at the knuckles.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," she said gently. "I am very +thoughtless—it is the second time."</p> + +<p>He did not speak for some moments, but she +understood his silence and waited. The air was +very quiet, and the enormous pillar of the dome +almost completely shut off the echo of the distant +music. The low afternoon sun streamed levelly +through the great windows of the apse, for the +basilica is built towards the west. There were +very few people in the church that day. The +sun made visible beams across the high shadows +overhead.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lord Redin spoke again. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_295" id="Page_V2_295">[295]</a></span> +something weak and tremulous in the tone of his +rough voice.</p> + +<p>"I am very much attached to you, for two reasons," +he said. "We have known each other long, +but not intimately."</p> + +<p>"That is true. Not very intimately."</p> + +<p>Francesca did not know exactly what to say. But +for his manner and for his behaviour a few moments +earlier, she might have fancied that he was about +to offer himself to her, but such an idea was very +far from her thoughts. Her woman's instinct told +her that he was going to tell her something in the +nature of a confidence.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," he continued. "We have never +been intimate. The reason why we have not been +intimate is one of the reasons why I am more +attached to you than you have ever guessed."</p> + +<p>"That is complicated," said Francesca, with a +smile. "Perhaps the other reason may be simpler."</p> + +<p>"It is very simple, very simple indeed, though +it will not seem natural to you. You are the +only very good woman I ever knew, who made +me feel that she was good instead of making me +see it. Perhaps you think it unnatural that I +should be attracted by goodness at all. But I am +not very bad, as men go."</p> + +<p>"No. I do not believe you are. And I am not +so good as you think." She sighed softly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_296" id="Page_V2_296">[296]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are much better than I once thought," answered +Lord Redin. "Once upon a time—well, I +should only offend you, and I know better now. +Forgive me for thinking of it. I wish to tell you +something else."</p> + +<p>"If it is something which has been your secret, +it is better not told," said Francesca, quietly. +"One rarely makes a confidence that one does not +regret it."</p> + +<p>"You are a wise woman." He looked at her +thoughtfully. "And yet you must be very young."</p> + +<p>"No. But though I have had my own life apart, +I have lived outwardly very much in the world, +although I am still young. Most of the secrets +which have been told me have been repeated to +me by the people in whom others had confided."</p> + +<p>"All that is true," he answered. "Nevertheless—" +He paused. "I am desperate!" he exclaimed, +with sudden energy. "I cannot bear this any +longer—I am alone, always, always. Sometimes +I think I shall go mad! You do not know what +a life I lead. I have not even a vice to comfort +me!" He laughed low and savagely. "I tried to +drink, but I am sick of it—it does no good! A +man who has not even a vice is a very lonely +man."</p> + +<p>Francesca's clear eyes opened wide with a startled +look, and gazed towards his averted face, trying to +catch his glance. She felt that she was close to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_297" id="Page_V2_297">[297]</a></span> +something very strong and dreadful which she +could not understand.</p> + +<p>"Do not speak like that!" she said. "No one +is lonely who believes in God."</p> + +<p>"God!" he exclaimed bitterly. "God has forgotten +me, and the devil will not have me!" He +looked at her at last, and saw her face. "Do not +be shocked," he said, with a sorrowful smile. "If +I were as bad as I seem to you just now, I should +have cut my throat twenty years ago."</p> + +<p>"Hush! Hush!" Francesca did not know what +to say.</p> + +<p>His manner changed a little, and he spoke more +calmly.</p> + +<p>"I am not eloquent," he said, looking into her +eyes. "You may not understand. But I have +suffered a great deal."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know that. I am very sorry for you."</p> + +<p>"I think you are," he answered. "That is why +I want to be honest and tell you the truth about +myself. For that reason, and because I cannot +bear it any longer. I cannot, I cannot!" he repeated +in a low, despairing tone.</p> + +<p>"If it will help you to tell me, then tell me," +said Francesca, kindly. "But I do not ask you +to. I do not see why we should not be the best of +friends without my knowing this thing which +weighs on your mind."</p> + +<p>"You will understand when I have told you,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_298" id="Page_V2_298">[298]</a></span> +answered Lord Redin. "Then you can judge +whether you will have me for a friend or not. It +will seem very bad to you. Perhaps it is. I never +thought so. But you are a Roman Catholic, and +that makes a difference."</p> + +<p>"Not in a question of right and wrong."</p> + +<p>"It makes the question what it is. You shall +hear."</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, and the lines and furrows +deepened in his face. The sun was sinking fast, +and the long beams had faded away out of the +shadows. There was no one in sight now, but the +music of the benediction service echoed faintly in +the distance. Francesca felt her heart beating +with a sort of excitement she could not understand, +and though she did not look at her companion, +her ears were strained to catch the first word +he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I married a nun," he said simply.</p> + +<p>Francesca started.</p> + +<p>"A Sister of Charity?" she asked, after a moment's +dead silence. "They do not take vows—"</p> + +<p>"No. A nun from the Carmelite Convent of +Subiaco."</p> + +<p>His words were very distinct. There was no +mistaking what he said. Francesca shrank from +him instinctively, and uttered a low exclamation +of repugnance and horror.</p> + +<p>"That is not all," continued Lord Redin, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_299" id="Page_V2_299">[299]</a></span> +calm that seemed supernatural. "She was your +kinswoman. She was Maria Braccio, whom every +one believed was burned to death in her cell."</p> + +<p>"But her body—they found it! It is impossible!" +She thought he must be mad.</p> + +<p>"No. They found another body. I put it into +the bed and set fire to the mattress. It was burned +beyond recognition, and they thought it was Maria. +But it was the body of old Stefanone's daughter. +I lived in his house. The girl poisoned herself +with some of my chemicals—I was a young doctor +in those days. Maria and I were married on board +an English man-of-war, and we lived in Scotland +after that. Gloria was the daughter of Maria +Braccio, the Carmelite nun—your kinswoman."</p> + +<p>Francesca pressed her handkerchief to her lips. +She felt as though she were losing her senses. +Minute after minute passed, and she could say +nothing. From time to time, Lord Redin glanced +sideways at her. He breathed hard once or twice, +and his hands strained upon his stick as though +they would break it in two.</p> + +<p>"Then she died," he said. When he had spoken +the three words, he shivered from head to foot, and +was silent.</p> + +<p>Still Francesca could not speak. The sacrilege of +the deed was horrible in itself. To her, who had +grown up to look upon Maria Braccio as a holy +woman, cut off in her youth by a frightful death,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_300" id="Page_V2_300">[300]</a></span> +the truth was overwhelmingly awful. She strove +within herself to find something upon which she +could throw the merest shadow of an extenuation, +but she could find nothing.</p> + +<p>"You understand now why, as an honourable +man, I wished to tell you the truth about myself," +he said, speaking almost coldly in the effort he was +making at self-control. "I could not ask for your +friendship until I had told you."</p> + +<p>Francesca turned her white face slowly towards +him in the dusk, and her lips moved, but she did +not speak. She could not in that first moment +find the words she wanted. She felt that she +shrank from him, that she never wished to touch +his hand again. Doubtless, in time, she might +get over the first impression. She wished that he +would leave her to think about it.</p> + +<p>"Can you ever be my friend now?" he asked +gravely.</p> + +<p>"Your friend—" she stopped, and shook her +head sadly. "I—I am afraid—" she could not +go on.</p> + +<p>Lord Redin rose slowly to his feet.</p> + +<p>"No. I am afraid not," he said.</p> + +<p>He waited a moment, but there was no reply.</p> + +<p>"May I take you to your carriage?" he asked +gently.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. No—that is—I am going +home in a cab. I would rather be alone—please."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_301" id="Page_V2_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then good-bye."</p> + +<p>The lonely man went away and left her there. +His head was bent, and she thought that he walked +unsteadily, as she watched him. Suddenly a great +wave of pity filled her heart. He looked so very +lonely. What right had she to judge him? Was +she perfect, because he called her good? She +called him before he turned the great pillar of the +dome.</p> + +<p>"Lord Redin! Lord Redin!"</p> + +<p>But her voice was weak, and in the vast, dim +place it did not reach him. He went on alone, +past the high altar, round the pillar, down the +nave. The benediction service was not quite over +yet, but every one who was not listening to the +music had left the church. He went towards the +door by which he had entered. Before going out +he paused, and looked towards the little chapel on +the right of the entrance. He hesitated, and then +went to it and stood leaning with his hands upon +the heavy marble balustrade, that was low for his +great height as he stood on the step.</p> + +<p>A single silver lamp sent a faint light upwards +that lingered upon the Pietà above the altar, upon +the marble limbs of the dead Christ, upon the +features of the Blessed Virgin, the Addolorata—the +sorrowing mother.</p> + +<p>Bending a little, as though very weary, the friendless, +wifeless, childless man raised his furrowed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_302" id="Page_V2_302">[302]</a></span> +face and looked up. There was no hope any more, +and his despair was heavy upon him whose young +love had blasted the lives of many.</p> + +<p>His teeth were set—he could have bitten +through iron. He trembled a little, and as he +looked upward, two dreadful tears—the tears of +the strong that are as blood—welled from his eyes +and trickled down upon his cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Maria Addolorata!" he whispered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_303" id="Page_V2_303">[303]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Francesca</span> had half risen from her seat when +she had seen that Lord Redin did not hear her +voice, calling to him. Then she realized that she +could not overtake him without running, since he +had got so far, and she kept her place, leaning +back once more, and trying to collect her thoughts +before going home. The music was still going on +in the Chapel of the Choir, and though it was dusk +in the vast church, it would not be dark for some +time. The vergers did not make their rounds to +give warning of the hour of closing until sunset. +Francesca sat still and tried to understand what +she had heard. She was nervous and shaken, and +she wished that she were already at home. The +great dimness of the lonely transept was strangely +mysterious—and the tale of the dead girl, burned +to take the place of the living, was grewsome, and +made her shiver with disgust and horror. She +started nervously at the sound of a distant footstep.</p> + +<p>But the strongest impression she had, was that +of abhorrence for the unholy deeds of the man who +had just left her. To a woman for whom religion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_304" id="Page_V2_304">[304]</a></span> +in its forms as well as in its meaning was the +mainstay of life on earth and the hope of life to +come, the sacrilege of the crime seemed supernatural. +She felt as though it must be in some +way her duty to help in expiating it, lest the +punishment of it should fall upon all her race. +And as she thought it over, trying to look at it as +simply as she could, she surveyed at a glance the +whole chain of the fatal story, and saw how many +terrible things had followed upon that one great +sin, and how very nearly she herself had been +touched by its consequences. She had been involved +in it and had become a part of it. She +had felt it about her for years, in her friendship +for Reanda. It had contributed to the causes of +his death, if it had not actually caused it. She, +in helping to bring about his marriage with the +daughter of her sinning kinswoman, had unconsciously +made a link in the chain. Her friendship +for the artist no longer looked as innocent as +formerly. Gloria had accused him of loving her, +Francesca. Had she not loved him? Whether +she had or not, she had done things which had +wounded his innocent young wife. In a sudden +and painful illumination of the past, she saw that +she herself had not been sinless; that she had +been selfish, if nothing worse; that she had craved +Reanda's presence and devoted friendship, if nothing +more; that death had taken from her more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_305" id="Page_V2_305">[305]</a></span> +than a friend. She saw all at once the vanity of +her own belief in her own innocence, and she +accused herself very bitterly of many things which +had been quite hidden from her until then.</p> + +<p>She was roused by a footstep behind her, and +she started at the sound of a voice she knew, but +which had changed oddly since she had last heard +it. It was stern, deep, and clear still, but the life +was gone out of it. It had an automatic sound.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Princess," said Paul Griggs, +stopping close to her behind the bench. "May I +speak to you for a moment?"</p> + +<p>She turned her head. As the sun went down, the +church grew lighter for a little while, as it often +does. Yet she could hardly see the man's eyes at +all, as she looked into his face. They were all in +the shadow and had no light in them.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," she said mechanically.</p> + +<p>She could not refuse to speak to him, and, indeed, +she would not have refused to receive him had she +been at home when he had called that day. +Socially speaking, according to the standards of +those around her, he had done nothing which she +could very severely blame. A woman he had dearly +loved had come to him for protection, and he had +not driven her away. That was the social value of +what he had done. The moral view of it all was +individual with herself. Society gave her no right +to treat him rudely because she disapproved of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_306" id="Page_V2_306">[306]</a></span> +past life. For the rest, she had liked him in former +times, and she believed that there was much +more good in him than at first appeared.</p> + +<p>She was almost glad that he had disturbed her +solitude just then, for a nervous sense of loneliness +was creeping upon her; and though there had been +nothing to prevent her from rising and going away, +she had felt that something was holding her in her +seat, a shadowy something that was oppressive and +not natural, that descended upon her out of the +gloomy heights, and that rose around her from the +secret depths below, where the great dead lay side +by side in their leaden coffins.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," she repeated, as Griggs came round +the bench.</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her. There was a little +distance between them, and he sat rather stiffly, +holding his hat on his knees.</p> + +<p>"I should apologize for disturbing you," he +began. "I have been twice to your house to-day, +but you were out. What I wish to speak of is +rather urgent. I heard that you might be here, and +so I came."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, and waited for him to say more.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked presently, as he did +not speak at once.</p> + +<p>"It is about Dalrymple—about Lord Redin," he +said at last. "You used to know him. Do you +ever see him now?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_307" id="Page_V2_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>Francesca looked at him with a little surprise, +but she answered quietly, as though the question +were quite a natural one.</p> + +<p>"He was here five minutes ago. Yes, I often +see him."</p> + +<p>"Would you do him a service?" asked Griggs, +in his calm and indifferent tone.</p> + +<p>He was forcing himself to do what was plainly +his duty, but he was utterly incapable of taking +any interest in the matter. Francesca hesitated +before she answered. An hour earlier she would +have assented readily enough, but now the idea of +doing anything which could tend to bring her +into closer relations with Lord Redin was disagreeable.</p> + +<p>"I do not think you will refuse," said Griggs, as +she did not speak. "His life is in danger."</p> + +<p>She turned quickly and scrutinized the expressionless +features. In the glow of the sunset the +church was quite light. The total unconcern of +the man's manner contrasted strangely with the +importance of what he said. Francesca felt that +something must be wrong.</p> + +<p>"You say that very coolly," she observed, and +her tone showed that she was incredulous.</p> + +<p>"And you do not believe me," answered Griggs, +quite unmoved. "It is natural, I suppose. I will +try to explain."</p> + +<p>"Please do. I do not understand at all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_308" id="Page_V2_308">[308]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she was startled, though she concealed +her nervousness. She had not spoken with +Griggs for a long time; and as he talked, she saw +what a great change had taken place. He was very +quiet, as he had always been, but he was almost +too quiet. She could not make out his eyes. She +knew of his superhuman strength, and his stillness +seemed unnatural. What he said did not sound +rational. An impression got hold of her that he +had gone mad, and she was physically afraid of +him. He began to explain. She felt a singing in +her ears, and she could not follow what he said. +It was like an evil dream, and it grew upon her +second by second.</p> + +<p>He talked on in the same even, monotonous tone. +The words meant nothing to her. She crossed her +feet nervously and tried to get a soothing sensation +by stroking her sable muff. She made a great +effort at concentration and failed to understand +anything.</p> + +<p>All at once it grew dark, as the sunset light +faded out of the sky. Again she felt the desire to +rise and the certainty that she could not, if she +tried. He ceased speaking and seemed to expect +her to say something, but she had not understood +a word of his long explanation. He sat patiently +waiting. She could hardly distinguish his face in +the gloom.</p> + +<p>The sound of irregular, shuffling footsteps and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_309" id="Page_V2_309">[309]</a></span> +low voices moved the stillness. The vergers were +making their last round in a hurried, perfunctory +way. They passed across the transept to the high +altar. It was so dark that Francesca could only +just see their shadows moving in the blackness. +She did not realize what they were doing, and her +imagination made ghosts of them, rushing through +the silence of the deserted place, from one tomb to +another, waking the dead for the night. They did +not even glance across, as they skirted the wall of +the church. Even if they had looked, they might +not have seen two persons in black, against the +blackness, sitting silently side by side on the dark +bench. They saw nothing and passed on, out of +sight and out of hearing.</p> + +<p>"May I ask whether you will give him the message?" +inquired Griggs at last, moving in his seat, +for he knew that it was time to be going.</p> + +<p>Francesca started, at the sound of his voice.</p> + +<p>"I—I am afraid—I have not understood," she +said. "I beg your pardon—I was not paying +attention. I am nervous."</p> + +<p>"It is growing late," said Griggs. "We had +better be going—I will tell you again as we walk +to the door."</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—just a moment!" She made a +strong effort over herself. "Tell me in three +words," she said. "Who is it that threatens Lord +Redin's life?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_310" id="Page_V2_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A peasant of Subiaco called Stefanone. Really, +Princess, we must be going; it is quite dark—"</p> + +<p>"Stefanone!" exclaimed Francesca, while he was +speaking the last words, which she did not hear. +"Stefanone of Subiaco—of course!"</p> + +<p>"We must really be going," said Griggs, rising +to his feet, and wondering indifferently why it was +so hard to make her understand.</p> + +<p>She rose to her feet slowly. Lord Redin's story +was intricately confused in her mind with the few +words which she had retained of what Griggs had +said.</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes—Stefanone," she said in a low +voice, as though to herself, and she stood still, +comprehending the whole situation in a flash, and +imagining that Griggs knew the whole truth and +had been telling it to her as though she had not +known it. "But how did you know that Lord +Redin took the girl's body and burnt it?" she +asked, quite certain that he had mentioned the fact.</p> + +<p>"What girl?" asked Griggs in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Why, the body of Stefanone's daughter, which +he managed to burn in the convent when he carried +off my cousin! How did you know about it?"</p> + +<p>"I did not know about it," said Griggs. "Your +cousin? I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"My cousin—yes—Maria Braccio—Gloria's +mother! You have just been talking about her—"</p> + +<p>"I?" asked Griggs, bewildered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_311" id="Page_V2_311">[311]</a></span></p> + +<p>Francesca stepped back from him, suddenly guessing +that she had revealed Lord Redin's secret.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?" she asked in a low voice. +"Oh, it is all a mistake!" she cried suddenly. +"I have told you his story—oh, I am losing my +head!"</p> + +<p>"Come," said Griggs, authoritatively. "We must +get out of the church, at all events, or we shall be +locked in."</p> + +<p>"Oh no!" answered Francesca. "There is always +somebody here—"</p> + +<p>"There is not. You must really come."</p> + +<p>"Yes—but there is no danger of being locked +in. Yes—let us walk down the nave. There is +more light."</p> + +<p>They walked slowly, for she was too much confused +to hasten her steps. Her inexplicable mistake +troubled her terribly. She remembered how +she had warned Lord Redin not to tell her any +secrets, and how seriously she, the most discreet of +women, had resolved never to reveal what he had +said. But the impression of his story had been so +much more direct and strong than even the first +words Griggs had spoken, that so soon as she had +realized that the latter was speaking approximately +of the same subject, she had lost the thread of +what he was saying and had seemed to hear Lord +Redin's dreadful tale all over again. She thought +that she was losing her head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_312" id="Page_V2_312">[312]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was almost quite dark when they reached the +other side of the high altar. Griggs walked beside +her in silence, trying to understand the meaning of +what she had said.</p> + +<p>The gloom was terrible. The enormous statues +loomed faintly like vast ghosts, high up, between +the floor and the roof, their whiteness glimmering +where there seemed to be nothing else but darkness +below them and above them. A low, far sound +that was a voice but not a word, trembled in the +air. Francesca shuddered.</p> + +<p>"They have not gone yet," said Griggs. "They +are still talking. But we must hurry."</p> + +<p>"No," said Francesca, "that was not any one +talking." And her teeth chattered. "Give me +your arm, please—I am frightened."</p> + +<p>He held out his arm till she could feel it in the +dark, and she took it. He pressed her hand to his +side and drew her along, for he feared that the +doors might be already shut.</p> + +<p>"Not so fast! Oh, not so fast, please!" she cried. +"I shall fall. They do not shut the doors—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they do! Let me carry you. I can run +with you in the dark—there is no time to be +lost!"</p> + +<p>"No, no! I can walk faster—but there is really +no danger—"</p> + +<p>It is a very long way from the high altar to the +main entrance of the church. Francesca was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_313" id="Page_V2_313">[313]</a></span> +breathless when they reached the door and Griggs +lifted the heavy leathern curtain. If the door had +been still open, he would have seen the twilight +from the porch at once. Instead, all was black +and close and smelled of leather. Francesca was +holding his sleeve, afraid of losing him.</p> + +<p>"It is too late," he said quietly. "We are +probably locked in. We will try the door of the +Sacristy."</p> + +<p>He seized her arm and hurried her along into +the south aisle. He struck his shoulder violently +against the base of the pillar he passed in the +darkness, but he did not stop. Almost instinctively +he found the door, for he could not see it. +Even the hideous skeleton which supports a black +marble drapery above it was not visible in the +gloom. He found the bevelled edge of the smoothly +polished panel and pushed. But it would not yield.</p> + +<p>"We are locked in," he said, in the same quiet +tone as before.</p> + +<p>Francesca uttered a low cry of terror and then +was silent.</p> + +<p>"Cannot you break the door?" she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "Nothing short of a battering-ram +could move it."</p> + +<p>"Try," she said. "You are so strong—the lock +might give way."</p> + +<p>To satisfy her he braced himself and heaved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_314" id="Page_V2_314">[314]</a></span> +against the panel with all his gigantic strength. +In the dark she could hear his breath drawn +through his nostrils.</p> + +<p>"It will not move," he said, desisting. "We +shall have to spend the night here. I am very +sorry."</p> + +<p>For some moments Francesca said nothing, overcome +by her terror of the situation. Griggs stood +still, with his back to the polished door, trying to +see her in the gloom. Then he felt her closer to +him and heard her small feet moving on the +pavement.</p> + +<p>"We must make the best of it," he said at last. +"It is never quite dark near the high altar. I +daresay, too, that there is still a little twilight +where we were sitting. At least, there is a carpet +there and there are benches. We can sit there +until it is later. Then you can lie down upon the +bench. I will make a pillow for you with my overcoat. +It is warm, and I shall not need it."</p> + +<p>He made a step forwards, and she heard him +moving.</p> + +<p>"Do not leave me!" she cried, in sudden terror.</p> + +<p>He felt her grasp his arm convulsively in the +dark, and he felt her hands shaking.</p> + +<p>"Do not be frightened," he said, in his quiet +voice. "Dead people do no harm, you know. It +is only imagination."</p> + +<p>She shuddered as he groped his way with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_315" id="Page_V2_315">[315]</a></span> +toward the nave. They passed the pillar and saw +the soft light of the ninety little flames of the huge +golden lamps around the central shrine below the +high altar. Far beyond, the great windows showed +faintly in the height of the blackness. They +walked more freely, keeping in the middle of the +church. In the distant chapels on each side a +few little lamps glimmered like fireflies. Before +the last chapel on the right, the Chapel of the +Sacrament, Francesca paused, instinctively holding +fast to Griggs's arm, and they both bent one knee, +as all Catholics do, who pass before it. But when +they reached the shrine, Francesca loosed her hold +and sank upon her knees, resting her arms upon +the broad marble of the balustrade. Griggs knelt +a moment beside her, by force of habit, then rose +and waited, looking about him into the depths of +blackness, and reflecting upon the best spot in +which to pass the night.</p> + +<p>She remained kneeling a long time, praying more +or less consciously, but aware that it was a relief +to be near a little light after passing through the +darkness. Her mind was as terribly confused as +her companion's was utterly calm and indifferent. +If he had been alone he would have sat down upon +a step until he was sleepy and then he would have +stretched himself upon one of the benches in the +transept. But to Francesca it was unspeakably +dreadful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_316" id="Page_V2_316">[316]</a></span></p> + +<p>The strangeness of the whole situation forced +itself upon her more and more, when she thought +of rising from her knees and going back to the +bench. She felt a womanly shyness about keeping +close to her companion, her hand on his arm, for +hours together, but she knew that the terror she +should feel of being left alone, even for an instant, +or of merely thinking that she was to be left alone, +would more than overcome that if she went away +from the lights. She would grasp his arm and +hold it tightly.</p> + +<p>Then she felt ashamed of herself. She had +always been told that she came of a brave race. +She had never been in danger, and there was really +no danger now. It was absurd to remain on her +knees for the sake of the lamps. She rose to +her feet and turned. Griggs was not looking at +her, but at the ornaments on the altar. The soft +glimmer lighted up his dark face. A moment +after she had risen he came forward. She meant +to propose that they should go back to the transept, +but just then she shuddered again.</p> + +<p>"Let us sit down here, on the step," she said, +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"If you like," he answered. "Wait a minute," +he added, and he pulled off his overcoat.</p> + +<p>He spread a part of it on the step, and rolled +the rest into a pillow against which she could lean, +and he held it in place while she sat down. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_317" id="Page_V2_317">[317]</a></span> +thanked him, and he sat down beside her. At +first, as she turned from the lamps, the nave was +like a fathomless black wall. Neither spoke for +some time. Griggs broke the silence when he +supposed that she was sufficiently recovered to +talk quietly, for he had been thinking of what she +had said, and it was almost clear to him at last.</p> + +<p>"I should like to speak to you quite frankly, if +you will allow me," he said gravely. "May I?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"The few words you said about Lord Redin's +story have explained a great many things which I +never understood," said Griggs. "Is it too much +to ask that you should tell me everything you +know?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather not say anything more," answered +Francesca. "I am very much ashamed +of having betrayed his secret. Besides, what is +to be gained by your knowing a few more details? +It is bad enough as it is."</p> + +<p>"It is more or less the story of my life," he +said, almost indifferently.</p> + +<p>She turned her head slowly and tried to see his +face. She could just distinguish the features, cold +and impassive.</p> + +<p>"I came to you to ask you to warn Dalrymple of +a danger," he continued, as she did not speak. "I +knew that fact, but not the reason why his life was +and is threatened. Unless I have mistaken what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_318" id="Page_V2_318">[318]</a></span> +you said, I understand it now. It is a much +stronger one than I should ever have guessed. +Lord Redin ran away with your cousin, and made +it appear that he had carried off Stefanone's daughter. +Stefanone has waited patiently for nearly a +quarter of a century. He has found Dalrymple at +last and means to kill him. He will succeed, unless +you can make Dalrymple understand that the +danger is real. I have no evidence on which I +could have the man arrested, and I have no personal +influence in Rome. You have. You would +find no difficulty in having Stefanone kept out of +the city. And you can make Dalrymple see the +truth, since he has confided in you. Will you do +that? He will not believe me, and you can save +him. Besides, he will not see me. I have tried +twice to-day. He has made up his mind that he +will not see me."</p> + +<p>"I will do my best," said Francesca, leaning her +head back against the marble rail, and half closing +her eyes. "How terrible it all is!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I suppose that is the word," said Griggs, +indifferently. "Sacrilege, suicide, and probably +murder to come."</p> + +<p>She was shocked by the perfectly emotionless +way in which he spoke of Gloria's death, so much +shocked that she drew a short, quick breath between +her teeth as though she had hurt herself. +Griggs heard it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_319" id="Page_V2_319">[319]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she said.</p> + +<p>"I thought something hurt you."</p> + +<p>"No—nothing."</p> + +<p>She was silent again.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he continued, in a tone of cold speculation, +"I suppose that any one would call it terrible. +At all events, it is curious, as a sequence of cause +and effect, from one tragedy to another."</p> + +<p>"Please—please do not speak of it all like +that—" Francesca felt herself growing angry +with him.</p> + +<p>"How should I speak of it?" he asked. "It is +an extraordinary concatenation of events. I look +upon the whole thing as very curious, especially +since you have given me the key to it all."</p> + +<p>Francesca was moved to anger, taking the defence +of the dead Gloria, as almost any woman would +have done. At the moment Paul Griggs repelled +her even more than Lord Redin. It seemed to her +that there was something dastardly in his indifference.</p> + +<p>"Have you no heart?" she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"No, I am dead," he answered, in his clear, lifeless +voice, that might have been a ghost's.</p> + +<p>The words made her shiver, and she felt as +though her hair were moving. From his face, as +she had last seen it, and from his voice, he might +almost have been dead, as he said he was, like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_320" id="Page_V2_320">[320]</a></span> +thousands of silent ones in the labyrinths under +her feet, and she alone alive in the midst of so +much death.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked, and her own +voice trembled in spite of herself.</p> + +<p>"It is very like being dead," he answered +thoughtfully. "I cannot feel anything. I cannot +understand why any one else should. Everything +is the same to me. The world is a white blank to +me, and one place is exactly like any other place."</p> + +<p>"But why? What has happened to you?" asked +Francesca.</p> + +<p>"You know. You sent me those letters."</p> + +<p>"What letters?"</p> + +<p>"The package Reanda gave you before he +died."</p> + +<p>"Yes. What was in it? I told you that I did +not know, when I wrote to you. I remember every +word I wrote."</p> + +<p>"I know. But I thought that you at least +guessed. They were Gloria's letters to her husband."</p> + +<p>"Her old letters, before—" Francesca stopped +short.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, with the same unnatural +quiet. "All the letters she wrote him afterwards—when +we were together."</p> + +<p>"All those letters?" cried Francesca, suddenly +understanding. "Oh no—no! It is not possible!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_321" id="Page_V2_321">[321]</a></span> +He could not, he would not, have done anything so +horrible."</p> + +<p>"He did," said Griggs, calmly. "I had supposed +that she loved me. He had his vengeance. He +proved to me that she did not. I hope he is satisfied +with the result. Yes," he continued, after a +moment's pause, "it was the cruelest thing that +ever one man did to another. I spent a bad night, +I remember. On the top of the package was the +last letter she wrote him, just before she killed +herself. She loathed me, she said, she hated me, +she shivered at my touch. She feared me so that +she acted a comedy of love, in terror of her life, +after she had discovered that she hated me. She +need not have been afraid. Why should I have +hurt her? In that last letter, she put her wedding +ring with a lock of her hair wound in and out of +it. Reanda knew what he was doing when he sent +it to me. Do you wonder that it has deadened me +to everything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how could he do it? How could he!" +Francesca repeated, for the worst of it all to her +was the unutterable cruelty of the man she had +believed so gentle.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it was natural," said Griggs. "I +loved the woman, and he knew it. I fancy few +men have loved much more sincerely than I loved +her, even after she was dead. I was not always +saying so. I am not that kind of man. Besides,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_322" id="Page_V2_322">[322]</a></span> +men who live by stringing words together for +money do not value them much in their own lives. +But I worked for her. I did the best I could. +Even she must have known that I loved her."</p> + +<p>"I know you did. I cannot understand how you +can speak of her at all." Francesca wondered at +the man.</p> + +<p>"She? She is no more to me than Queen +Christina, over there in her tomb in the dark! +For that matter, nothing else has any meaning, +either."</p> + +<p>For a long time Francesca said nothing. She +sat quite still, resting the back of her head against +the marble, in the awful silence under the faint +lights that glimmered above the great tomb.</p> + +<p>"You have told me the most dreadful thing I +ever heard," she said at last, in a low tone. "Is +she nothing to you? Really nothing? Can you +never think kindly of her again?"</p> + +<p>"No. Why should I? That is—" he hesitated. +"I could not explain it," he said, and was +silent.</p> + +<p>"It does not seem human," said Francesca. +"You would have a memory of her—something—some +touch of sadness—I wonder whether you +really loved her as much as you thought you did?"</p> + +<p>Griggs turned upon Francesca slowly, his hands +clasped upon one knee.</p> + +<p>"You do not know what such love means," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_323" id="Page_V2_323">[323]</a></span> +said slowly. "It is God—faith—goodness—everything. +It is heaven on earth, and earth in +heaven, in one heart. When it is gone there is +nothing left. It went hard. It will not come back +now. The heart itself is gone. There is nothing for +it to come to. You think me cold, you are shocked +because I speak indifferently of her. She lied to +me. She lied and acted in every word and deed of +her life with me. She deceived herself a little at +first, and she deceived me mortally afterwards. It +was all an immense, loathsome, deadly lie. I lived +through the truth. Why should I wish to go back +to the lie again? She died, telling me that she +died for me. She died, having written to Reanda +that she died for him. I do not judge her. God +will. But God Himself could not make me love +the smallest shadow of her memory. It is impossible. +I am beyond life. I am outside it. My +eternity has begun."</p> + +<p>"Is it not a little for her sake that you wish to +save her father?" asked Francesca.</p> + +<p>"No. It is a matter of honour, and nothing else, +since I injured him, as the world would say, by +taking his daughter from her husband. Do you +understand? Can you put yourself a little in my +position? It is not because I care whether he +lives or dies, or dies a natural death or is stabbed +in the back by a peasant. It is because I ought to +care. I do many things because I ought to care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_324" id="Page_V2_324">[324]</a></span> +to do them, though the things and their consequences +are all one to me, now."</p> + +<p>"It cannot last," said Francesca, sadly. "You +will change as you grow older."</p> + +<p>"No. That is a thing you can never understand," +he answered. "I am two individuals. +The one is what you see, a man more or less like +other men, growing older—a man who has a certain +mortal, earthly memory of that dead woman, +when the real man is unconscious. But the real +man is beyond growing old, because he is beyond +feeling anything. He is stationary, outside of life. +The world is a blank to him and always will be."</p> + +<p>His voice grew more and more expressionless as +he spoke. Francesca felt that she could not pity +him as she had pitied poor Lord Redin when she +had seen him going away alone. The man beside +her was in earnest, and was as far beyond woman's +pity as he was beyond woman's love. Yet she no +longer felt repelled by him since she had understood +what he had suffered. Perhaps she herself, +suffering still in her heart, wished that she might +be even as he was, beyond the possibility of pain, +even though beyond the hope of happiness. He +wanted nothing, he asked for nothing, and he was +not afraid to be alone with his own soul, as she +was sometimes. The other man had asked for her +friendship. It could mean nothing to Paul Griggs. +If love were nothing, what could friendship be?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_325" id="Page_V2_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yet there was something lofty and grand about +such loneliness as his. She could not but feel +that, now that she knew all. She thought of him +as she sat beside him in the monumental silence +of the enormous sepulchre, and she guessed of +depths in his soul like the deepness of the shadows +above her and before her and around her.</p> + +<p>"My suffering seems very small, compared with +yours," she said softly, almost to herself.</p> + +<p>Somehow she knew that he would understand +her, though perhaps her knowledge was only hope.</p> + +<p>"Why should you suffer at all?" he asked. +"You have never done anything wrong. Nothing, +of all this, is your fault. It was all fatal, from +the first, and you cannot blame yourself for anything +that has happened."</p> + +<p>"I do," she answered, in a low voice. "Indeed +I do."</p> + +<p>"You are wrong. You are not to blame. Dalrymple +was—Maria Braccio—I—Gloria—we +four. But you! What have you done? Compared +with us you are a saint on earth!"</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment before she spoke. Then +her voice came in a broken way.</p> + +<p>"I loved Angelo Reanda. I know it, now that +I have lost him."</p> + +<p>Griggs barely heard the last words, but he bent +his head gravely, and said nothing in answer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_326" id="Page_V2_326">[326]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> stillness was all around them and seemed to +fold them together as they sat side by side. A +deep sigh quivered and paused and was drawn +again almost with a gasp that stirred the air. +Suddenly Francesca's face was hidden in her hands, +and her head was bowed almost to her knees. A +moment more, and she sobbed aloud, wordless, as +though her soul were breaking from her heart.</p> + +<p>In the great gloom there was something unearthly +in the sound of her weeping. The man +who could neither suffer any more himself nor feel +human pity for another's suffering, turned and +looked at her with shadowy eyes. He understood, +though he could not feel, and he knew that she had +borne more than any one had guessed.</p> + +<p>She shed many tears, and it was long before her +sobbing ceased to call down pitiful, heart-breaking +echoes from the unseen heights of darkness. Her +head was bent down upon her knees as she sat +there, striving with herself.</p> + +<p>He could do nothing, and there was nothing that +he could say. He could not comfort her, he could +not deny her grief. He only knew that there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_327" id="Page_V2_327">[327]</a></span> +one more being still alive and bearing the pain of +sins done long ago. Truly the judgment upon that +man by whom the offence had come, should be +heavy and relentless and enduring.</p> + +<p>At last all was still again. Francesca did not +move, but sat bowed together, her hands pressing +her face. Very softly, Griggs rose to his feet, +and she did not see that he was no longer seated +beside her. He stood up and leaned upon the broad +marble of the balustrade. When she at last raised +her head, she thought that he was gone.</p> + +<p>"Where are you?" she asked, in a startled voice.</p> + +<p>Then, looking round, she saw him standing by +the rail. She understood why he had moved—that +she might not feel that he was watching her +and seeing her tears.</p> + +<p>"I am not ashamed," she said. "At least you +know me, now."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know."</p> + +<p>She also rose and stood up, and leaned upon the +balustrade and looked into his face.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you know," she said, and he saw +how pale she was, and that her cheeks were wet. +"Now that it is over, I am glad that you know," +she said again. "You are beyond sympathy, and +beyond pitying any one, though you are not unkind. +I am glad, that if any one was to know my secret, +it should be you. I could not bear pity. It would +hurt me. But you are not unkind."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_328" id="Page_V2_328">[328]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nor kind—nor anything," he said.</p> + +<p>"No. It is as though I had spoken to the grave—or +to eternity. It is safe with you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Quite safe. Safer than with the dead."</p> + +<p>"He never knew it. Thank God! He never knew +it! To me he was always the same faithful friend. +To you he was an enemy, and cruel. I thought +him above cruelty, but he was human, after all. +Was it not human, that he should be cruel to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Griggs, wondering a little at +her speech and tone. "It was very human."</p> + +<p>"And you forgive him for it?"</p> + +<p>"I?" There was surprise in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "I want your forgiveness +for him. He died without your forgiveness. It is +the only thing I ask of you—I have not the right +to ask anything, I know, but is it so very much?"</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," said Griggs. "There is no such +thing as forgiveness in my world. How could +there be? I resent nothing."</p> + +<p>"But then, if you do not resent what he did, +you have forgiven him. Have you not?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so." He was puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Will you not say it?" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Willingly," he answered. "I forgive him. I +remember nothing against him."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. You are a good man."</p> + +<p>He shook his head gravely, but he took her outstretched +hand and pressed it gently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_329" id="Page_V2_329">[329]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you," she repeated, withdrawing hers. +"Do not think it strange that I should ask such a +thing. It means a great deal to me. I could not +bear to think that he had left an enemy in the +world and was gone where he could not ask forgiveness +for what he had done. So I asked it of you, +for him. I know that he would have wished me +to. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griggs, thoughtfully. "I understand."</p> + +<p>Again there was silence for a long time as they +stood there. The tears dried upon the woman's +sweet pale face, and a soft light came where the +tears had been.</p> + +<p>"Will you come with me?" she asked at last, +looking up.</p> + +<p>He did not guess what she meant to do, but he +left the step on which he was standing and stood +ready.</p> + +<p>"It must be late," he said. "Should you like to +try and rest? I will arrange a place for you as +well as I can."</p> + +<p>"Not yet," she answered. "If you will come +with me—" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"I will say a prayer for the dead," she said, in a +low voice. "I always do, every night, since he +died."</p> + +<p>Griggs bent his head, and she came down from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_330" id="Page_V2_330">[330]</a></span> +the step. He walked beside her, down the silent +nave into the darkness. Before the Chapel of the +Sacrament they both paused and bent the knee. +Then she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I should like to go to the Pietà," she said +timidly. "It seems so far. Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>He held out his arm silently. She felt it and +laid her hand upon it, and they went on. It was +very dark. They knew that they were passing the +pillars when they could not see the little lights +from the chapels in the distance on their left. +Then by the echo of their own footsteps they knew +that they were near the great door, and at last they +saw the single tiny flame in the silver lamp hanging +above the altar they sought.</p> + +<p>Guided by it, they went forward, and the solitary +ray showed them the marble rail. They +knelt down side by side.</p> + +<p>"Let us pray for them all," said Francesca, very +softly.</p> + +<p>She looked up to the marble face of Christ's +mother, the Addolorata, the mother of sorrows, and +she thought of that sinning nun, dead long ago, +who had been called Addolorata.</p> + +<p>"Let us pray for them all," she repeated. "For +Maria Braccio, for Gloria—for Angelo Reanda."</p> + +<p>She lowered her head upon her hands. Then, +presently, she looked up again, and Griggs heard +her sweet voice in the darkness repeating the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_331" id="Page_V2_331">[331]</a></span> +ancient Commemoration for the Dead, from the +Canon of the Mass.</p> + +<p>"Remember also, O Lord, thy servants who are +gone before us with the sign of faith, and sleep the +sleep of peace. Give them, O Lord, and to all +who rest in Christ, a place of refreshment, light, +and peace, for that Christ's sake, who liveth and +reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit. +Amen."</p> + +<p>Once more she bent her head and was silent for +a time. Then as she knelt, her hands moved +silently along the marble and pressed the two +folded hands of the man beside her, and she looked +at him.</p> + +<p>"Let us be friends," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Such as I am, I am yours."</p> + +<p>Then their hands clasped. They both started +and looked down, for the fingers were cold and wet +and dark.</p> + +<p>It was the blood of Angus Dalrymple that had +sealed their friendship.</p> + +<p>The swift sure blade had struck him as he stood +there, repeating the name of his dead wife. There +had been no one near the door and none to see the +quick, black deed. Strong hands had thrown his +falling body within the marble balustrade, that +was still wet with his heart's blood.</p> + +<p>There Paul Griggs found him, lying on his back, +stretched to his length in the dim shadow between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_332" id="Page_V2_332">[332]</a></span> +the rail and the altar. He had paid the price at +last, a loving, sinning, suffering, faithful, faultful +man.</p> + +<p>But the friendship that was so grimly consecrated +on that night, was the truest that ever was between +man and woman.</p> + + +<h3>END OF VOL. II.</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_x" id="Page_V2_x">[x]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE RALSTONS.</h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>F. MARION CRAWFORD.</h3> +<div class='center'>———————<br /> +2 vols. 16mo. Cloth. $2.00.<br /> +———————<br /></div> +<h3>PRESS COMMENTS.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has the +author done more brilliant, artistic work than here."—<i>Ohio +State Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"It is immensely entertaining; once in the full swing of the +narrative, one is carried on quite irresistibly to the end. The +style throughout is easy and graceful, and the text abounds in +wise and witty reflections on the realities of existence."—<i>Boston +Beacon.</i></p> + +<p>"As a picture of a certain kind of New York life, it is correct +and literal; as a study of human nature it is realistic enough to +be modern, and romantic enough to be of the age of Trollope."—<i>Chicago +Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"The whole group of character studies is strong and vivid."—<i>The +Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>"There is a long succession of exceedingly strong dramatic +situations which hold the reader's attention enchained to the +end. This is one of the strong books of the year, and will have +a large circle of readers."—<i>New Orleans Picayune.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xi" id="Page_V2_xi">[xi]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>UNIFORM EDITION</h3> + +<div class='center'>OF THE WORKS OF</div> + +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD.</h2> + +<h4><b>12mo. Cloth. Price $1.00 per volume.</b></h4> +<div class='center'>———————<br /> +</div> +<h2>KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.</h2> + +<h4>The first of a series of novels dealing with New York life.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in 'Katharine Lauderdale' +we have him at his best."—<i>Boston Daily Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and +full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women."—<i>The Westminster +Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"It is the first time, we think, in American fiction that any such breadth +of view has shown itself in the study of our social framework."—<i>Life.</i></p> + +<p>"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined surroundings."—<i>New +York Commercial Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"'Katharine Lauderdale' is a tale of New York, and is up to the highest +level of his work. In some respects it will probably be regarded as his best. +None of his works, with the exception of 'Mr. Isaacs,' shows so clearly his +skill as a literary artist."—<i>San Francisco Evening Bulletin.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />PIETRO GHISLERI.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of plot, the power +and subtlety of the portrayal of character, the charm of the romantic environment,—the +entire atmosphere, indeed,—rank this novel at once among +the great creations."—<i>The Boston Budget.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xii" id="Page_V2_xii">[xii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />WITH THE IMMORTALS.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Altogether an admirable piece of art worked in the spirit of a thorough +artist. Every reader of cultivated tastes will find it a book prolific in entertainment +of the most refined description, and to all such we commend it +heartily."—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a +writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current modern thought and +progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper literary clothing, +could be successfully attempted only by one whose active literary ability +should be fully equalled by his power of assimilative knowledge both literary +and scientific, and no less by his courage and capacity for hard work. The +book will be found to have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader +of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers quite +above the ordinary plane of novel interest."—<i>Boston Advertiser.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest +department of character-painting in words."—<i>Churchman.</i></p> + +<p>"We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr. Crawford possesses in +an extraordinary degree the art of constructing a story. His sense of proportion +is just, and his narrative flows along with ease and perspicuity. It +is as if it could not have been written otherwise, so naturally does the story +unfold itself, and so logical and consistent is the sequence of incident after +incident. As a story 'Marzio's Crucifix' is perfectly constructed."—<i>New +York Commercial Advertiser.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />KHALED.</h2> + +<h4>A Story of Arabia.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Throughout the fascinating story runs the subtlest analysis, suggested +rather than elaborately worked out, of human passion and motive, the building +out and development of the character of the woman who becomes the +hero's wife and whose love he finally wins, being an especially acute and +highly finished example of the story-teller's art. . . . That it is beautifully +written and holds the interest of the reader, fanciful as it all is, to the very +end, none who know the depth and artistic finish of Mr. Crawford's work +need be told."—<i>The Chicago Times.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />PAUL PATOFF.</h2> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xiii" id="Page_V2_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />ZOROASTER.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The field of Mr. Crawford's imagination appears to be unbounded. . . . +In 'Zoroaster' Mr. Crawford's winged fancy ventures a daring flight. . . . Yet +'Zoroaster' is a novel rather than a drama. It is a drama in the +force of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of its language; but its +men and women are not men and women of a play. By the naturalness of +their conversation and behavior they seem to live and lay hold of our human +sympathy more than the same characters on a stage could possibly do."—<i>The +Times.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief and +vivid story. . . . It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as +well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the unusual with the +commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and guilt, comedy and +tragedy, simplicity and intrigue."—<i>Critic.</i></p> + +<p>"Of all the stories Mr. Crawford has written, it is the most dramatic, the +most finished, the most compact. . . . The taste which is left in one's mind +after the story is finished is exactly what the fine reader desires and the +novelist intends. . . . It has no defects. It is neither trifling nor trivial. +It is a work of art. It is perfect."—<i>Boston Beacon.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN.</h2> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xiv" id="Page_V2_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic power."—<i>Boston +Commercial Bulletin.</i></p> + +<p>"It is full of life and movement, and is one of the best of Mr. Crawford's +books."—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done +more brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and +cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what humble +conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic situations. . . . +This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and common material, the +meanest surroundings, the most sordid material prospects, and out of the +vehement passions which sometimes dominate all human beings to build up +with these poor elements scenes and passages, the dramatic and emotional +power of which at once enforce attention and awaken the profoundest interest."—<i>New +York Tribune.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />GREIFENSTEIN.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'Greifenstein' is a remarkable novel, and while it illustrates once more +the author's unusual versatility, it also shows that he has not been tempted +into careless writing by the vogue of his earlier books. . . . There is +nothing weak or small or frivolous in the story. The author deals with +tremendous passions working at the height of their energy. His characters +are stern, rugged, determined men and women, governed by powerful prejudices +and iron conventions, types of a military people, in whom the sense of +duty has been cultivated until it dominates all other motives, and in whom +the principle of 'noblesse oblige' is, so far as the aristocratic class is concerned, +the fundamental rule of conduct. What such people may be capable +of is startlingly shown."—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />A ROMAN SINGER.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"One of Mr. Crawford's most charming stories—a love romance pure +and simple."—<i>Boston Home Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"'A Roman Singer' is one of his most finished, compact, and successful +stories, and contains a splendid picture of Italian life."—<i>Toronto Mail.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xv" id="Page_V2_xv">[xv]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />MR. ISAACS.</h2> + +<h4>A Tale of Modern India.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The writer first shows the hero in relation with the people of the East +and then skilfully brings into connection the Anglo-Saxon race. It is in +this showing of the different effects which the two classes of minds have +upon the central figure of the story that one of its chief merits lies. The +characters are original, and one does not recognize any of the hackneyed +personages who are so apt to be considered indispensable to novelists, and +which, dressed in one guise or another, are but the marionettes, which are +all dominated by the same mind, moved by the same motive force. The men +are all endowed with individualism and independent life and thought. . . . +There is a strong tinge of mysticism about the book which is one of its +greatest charms."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"No story of human experience that we have met with since 'John +Inglesant' has such an effect of transporting the reader into regions differing +from his own. 'Mr. Isaacs' is the best novel that has ever laid its scenes in +our Indian dominions."—<i>The Daily News, London.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />DR. CLAUDIUS.</h2> + +<h4>A True Story.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"There is a suggestion of strength, of a mastery of facts, of a fund of +knowledge, that speaks well for future production. . . . To be thoroughly +enjoyed, however, this book must be read, as no mere cursory notice can +give an adequate idea of its many interesting points and excellences, for +without a doubt 'Dr. Claudius' is the most interesting book that has been +published for many months, and richly deserves a high place in the public +favor."—<i>St. Louis Spectator.</i></p> + +<p>"To our mind it by no means belies the promises of its predecessor. +The story, an exceedingly improbable and romantic one, is told with much +skill; the characters are strongly marked without any suspicion of caricature, +and the author's ideas on social and political subjects are often brilliant +and always striking. It is no exaggeration to say that there is not a dull +page in the book, which is peculiarly adapted for the recreation of student or +thinker."—<i>Living Church.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />TO LEEWARD.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A story of remarkable power."—<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Crawford has written many strange and powerful stories of Italian +life, but none can be any stranger or more powerful than 'To Leeward,' with +its mixture of comedy and tragedy, innocence and guilt."—<i>Cottage +Hearth.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xvi" id="Page_V2_xvi">[xvi]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />SARACINESCA.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"His highest achievement, as yet, in the realms of fiction. The work +has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it great,—that +of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a graphic picture +of Roman society in the last days of the pope's temporal power. . . . The +story is exquisitely told."—<i>Boston Traveler.</i></p> + +<p>"One of the most engrossing novels we have ever read."—<i>Boston +Times.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />SANT' ILARIO.</h2> + +<h4>A sequel to "Saracinesca."</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The author shows steady and constant improvement in his art. 'Sant' +Ilario' is a continuation of the chronicles of the Saracinesca family. . . . +A singularly powerful and beautiful story. . . . Admirably developed, +with a naturalness beyond praise. . . . It must rank with 'Greifenstein' as +the best work the author has produced. It fulfils every requirement of +artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action, +without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or artifice. It is +natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with experience, graphic in description, +penetrating in analysis, and absorbing in interest."—<i>New York +Tribune.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />DON ORSINO.</h2> + +<h4>A continuation of "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario."</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The third in a rather remarkable series of novels dealing with three +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'generat ons'">generations</ins> of the Saracinesca family, entitled respectively 'Saracinesca,' +'Sant' Ilario,' and 'Don Orsino,' and these novels present an important +study of Italian life, customs, and conditions during the present century. +Each one of these novels is worthy of very careful reading, and offers +exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating absorption of good +fiction, in interest of faithful historic accuracy, and in charm of style. The +'new Italy' is strikingly revealed in 'Don Orsino.'"—<i>Boston Budget.</i></p> + +<p>"We are inclined to regard the book as the most ingenious of all Mr. +Crawford's fictions. Certainly it is the best novel of the season."—<i>Evening +Bulletin.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_V2_xvii" id="Page_V2_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><br />THE THREE FATES.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The strength of the story lies in its portrayal of the aspirations, disciplinary +efforts, trials, and triumphs of the man who is a born writer, and +who, by long and painful experiences, learns the good that is in him and the +way in which to give it effectual expression. The analytical quality of the +book is excellent, and the individuality of each one of the very dissimilar +three fates is set forth in an entirely satisfactory manner. . . . Mr. Crawford +has manifestly brought his best qualities as a student of human nature +and his finest resources as a master of an original and picturesque style to +bear upon this story. Taken for all in all it is one of the most pleasing +of all his productions in fiction, and it affords a view of certain phases of +American, or perhaps we should say of New York, life that have not hitherto +been treated with anything like the same adequacy and felicity."—<i>Boston +Beacon.</i></p></div> + + +<h2><br />CHILDREN OF THE KING.</h2> + +<h4>A Tale of Southern Italy.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the dramatic +power of this story. The simplicity of nature, the uncorrupted truth of a +soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The suddenness of the unforeseen +tragedy at the last renders the incident of the story powerful beyond +description. One can only feel such sensations as the last scene of the story +incites. It may be added that if Mr. Crawford has written some stories +unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the stories of Italian life. A reader +of them cannot fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with the Italians +and the artistic spirit that pervades the country."—M. L. B. in <i>Syracuse +Journal</i>.</p></div> + + +<h2><br />THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.</h2> + +<h4>A Fantastic Tale.</h4> + +<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy.</span></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'The Witch of Prague' is so remarkable a book as to be certain of as +wide a popularity as any of its predecessors. The keenest interest for most +readers will lie in its demonstration of the latest revelations of hypnotic +science. . . . It is a romance of singular daring and power."—<i>London +Academy.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Crawford has written in many keys, but never in so strange a one +as that which dominates 'The Witch of Prague.' . . . The artistic skill +with which this extraordinary story is constructed and carried out is admirable +and delightful. . . . Mr. Crawford has scored a decided triumph, for +the interest of the tale is sustained throughout. . . . A very remarkable, +powerful, and interesting story."—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>———————<br /><br /> +MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.<br /> +</div> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> +<p>The List of Illustrations for Volume II lists the final illustration as being +on page 331. While the text is correct for that caption, the actual illustration +is the frontispiece of the book. The link has been ammended to reflect that +location.</p> +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Casa Braccio, Volumes 1 and 2 (of 2), by +F. Marion Crawford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CASA BRACCIO, VOLUMES 1 AND 2 *** + +***** This file should be named 26327-h.htm or 26327-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/3/2/26327/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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