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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38517-8.txt b/38517-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b482a42 --- /dev/null +++ b/38517-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9264 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Front Yard, by Constance Fenimore Woolson + +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: The Front Yard + +Author: Constance Fenimore Woolson + +Release Date: January 7, 2012 [EBook #38517] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRONT YARD *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet +Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + +THE +FRONT YARD +AND +OTHER +ITALIAN STORIES + +CONSTANCE +FENIMORE +WOOLSON + +[Illustration: image of the book's cover] + +[Illustration: + +Page 202 + +"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'"] + + + + +THE FRONT YARD + +AND + +OTHER ITALIAN STORIES + +BY + +CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON + +AUTHOR OF "ANNE" "HORACE CHASE" ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED + +[Illustration: colophon] + +NEW YORK +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS +1895 + +Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. + +_All rights reserved._ + + +NOTE + +Of the stories contained in this volume, "In Venice" was originally +published in the _Atlantic Monthly_, "The Street of the Hyacinth" in the +_Century Magazine_, and the other four stories in _Harper's Magazine_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE +THE FRONT YARD 1 + +NEPTUNE'S SHORE 50 + +A PINK VILLA 91 + +THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 137 + +A CHRISTMAS PARTY 194 + +IN VENICE 234 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'" _Frontispiece_ + +"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY +WITH, THAT WOULD'" _Facing p._ 2 + +"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR +BY, LISTENING" " 22 + +"STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO +THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE" " 42 + +"'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'" " 58 + +AZUBAH ASH " 68 + +THE OLD WATCH-TOWER " 86 + +"THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, +FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED" " 88 + +"'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID +ROD'" " 100 + +SORRENTO " 102 + +ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO " 112 + +AT THE DESERTO " 114 + +"SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER +BREAST" " 128 + +"FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY" " 134 + +"A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS" " 214 + + + + +THE FRONT YARD + + +"Well, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper settled at +last as help in a good family, and Parlo and Squawly gone to Perugia, +and Soonter taken by the nuns, and Jo Vanny learning the carpenter's +trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone Granmar, of +course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos seem, it really doos, as if I +might get it done _sometime_; say next Fourth of July, now; that's only +ten months off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, that +would; something like!" + +The woman through whose mind these thoughts were passing was sitting on +a low stone-wall, a bundle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid +carefully beside her. On her back was strapped a large deep basket, +almost as long as herself; she had loosened the straps so that she could +sit down. This basket was heavy; one could tell that from the relaxed +droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the moment, as its +end rested on a fallen block on the other side of the wall. Her feet +were bare, her dress a narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem +by a dark cotton apron; on her head was a straw bonnet, which had behind +a little cape of brown ribbon three inches deep, and in front broad +strings of the same brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops +pulled out to their full width and pinned on each side of her chin. +This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons had evidently been +washed more than once), was of old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond +the wearer's forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could be +seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregular features, +smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, still bright, set amid a bed of +wrinkles. She was sixty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had +once been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had been consumed +more by constant toil than by the approach of old age; it was not all +gone yet; the great basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a +language which told of energy that would last as long as her breath. + +These eyes were fixed now upon a low building that stood at a little +distance directly across the path. It was small and ancient, built of +stone, with a sloping roof and black door. There were no windows; +through this door entered the only light and air. Outside were two large +heaps of refuse, one of which had been there so long that thick matted +herbage was growing vigorously over its top. Bars guarded the entrance; +it was impossible to see what was within. But the woman knew without +seeing; she always knew. It had been a cow; it had been goats; it had +been pigs, and then goats again; for the past two years it had been pigs +steadily--always pigs. Her eyes were fixed upon this door as if held +there by a magnet; her mouth fell open a little as she gazed; her hands +lay loose in her lap. There was nothing new in the picture, certainly. +But the intensity of her feeling made it in one way always new. If love +wakes freshly every morning, so does hate, and Prudence Wilkin had +hated that cow-shed for years. + +[Illustration: "''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT +WOULD'"] + +The bells down in the town began to ring the Angelus. She woke from her +reverie, rebuckled the straps of the basket, and adjusting it by a jerk +of her shoulders in its place on her back, she took the fagot in one +hand, the bundle of herbs in the other, and carrying the sickle under +her arm, toiled slowly up the ascent, going round the cow-shed, as the +interrupted path too went round it, in an unpaved, provisional sort of +way (which had, however, lasted fifty years), and giving a wave of her +herbs towards the offending black door as she passed--a gesture that was +almost triumphant. "Jest you wait till next Fourth of July, you indecent +old Antiquity, you!" This is what she was thinking. + +Prudence Wilkin's idea of Antiquity was everything that was old and +dirty; indecent Antiquity meant the same qualities increased to a degree +that was monstrous, a degree that the most profligate imagination of +Ledham (New Hampshire) would never have been able to conceive. There was +naturally a good deal of this sort of Antiquity in Assisi, her present +abode; it was all she saw when she descended to that picturesque town; +the great triple church of St. Francis she never entered; the +magnificent view of the valley, the serene vast Umbrian plain, she never +noticed; but the steep, narrow streets, with garbage here and there, the +crowding stone houses, centuries old, from whose court-yard doors issued +odors indescribable--these she knew well, and detested with all her +soul. Her deepest degree of loathing, however, was reserved for the +especial Antiquity that blocked her own front path, that elbowed her own +front door, this noisome stable or sty--for it was now one, now the +other--which she had hated and abhorred for sixteen long years. + +For it was just sixteen years ago this month since she had first entered +the hill town of St. Francis. She had not entered it alone, but in the +company of a handsome bridegroom, Antonio Guadagni by name, and so happy +was she that everything had seemed to her enchanting--these same steep +streets with their ancient dwellings, the same dirt, the same +yellowness, the same continuous leisure and causeless beatitude. And +when her Tonio took her through the town and up this second ascent to +the squalid little house, where, staring and laughing and crowding +nearer to look at her, she found his family assembled, innumerable +children (they seemed innumerable then), a bedridden grandam, a +disreputable old uncle (who began to compliment her), even this did not +appear a burden, though of course it was a surprise. For Tonio had told +her, sadly, that he was "all alone in the world." It had been one of the +reasons why she had wished to marry him--that she might make a home for +so desolate a man. + +The home was already made, and it was somewhat full. Desolate Tonio +explained, with shouts of laughter, in which all the assemblage joined, +that seven of the children were his, the eighth being an orphan nephew +left to his care; his wife had died eight months before, and this was +her grandmother--on the bed there; this her good old uncle, a very +accomplished man, who had written sonnets. Mrs. Guadagni number two had +excellent powers of vision, but she was never able to discover the +goodness of this accomplished uncle; it was a quality which, like the +beneficence of angels, one is obliged to take on trust. + +She was forty-five, a New England woman, with some small savings, who +had come to Italy as companion and attendant to a distant cousin, an +invalid with money. The cousin had died suddenly at Perugia, and +Prudence had allowed the chance of returning to Ledham with her effects +to pass by unnoticed--a remarkable lapse of the quality of which her +first name was the exponent, regarding which her whole life hitherto had +been one sharply outlined example. This lapse was due to her having +already become the captive of this handsome, this irresistible, this +wholly unexpected Tonio, who was serving as waiter in the Perugian inn. +Divining her savings, and seeing with his own eyes her wonderful +strength and energy, this good-natured reprobate had made love to her a +little in the facile Italian way, and the poor plain simple-hearted +spinster, to whom no one had ever spoken a word of gallantry in all her +life before, had been completely swept off her balance by the novelty of +it, and by the thronging new sensations which his few English words, his +speaking dark eyes, and ardent entreaties roused in her maiden breast. +It was her one moment of madness (who has not had one?). She married +him, marvelling a little inwardly when he required her to walk to +Assisi, but content to walk to China if that should be his pleasure. +When she reached the squalid house on the height and saw its crowd of +occupants, when her own money was demanded to send down to Assisi to +purchase the wedding dinner, then she understood--why they had walked. + +But she never understood anything else. She never permitted herself to +understand. Tonio, plump and idle, enjoyed a year of paradisiacal +opulence under her ministrations (and in spite of some of them); he was +eighteen years younger than she was; it was natural that he should wish +to enjoy on a larger scale than hers--so he told her. At the end of +twelve months a fever carried him off, and his widow, who mourned for +him with all her heart, was left to face the world with the eight +children, the grandmother, the good old uncle, and whatever courage she +was able to muster after counting over and over the eighty-five dollars +that alone remained to her of the six hundred she had brought him. + +Of course she could have gone back to her own country. But that idea +never once occurred to her; she had married Tonio for better or worse; +she could not in honor desert the worst now that it had come. It had +come in force; on the very day of the funeral she had been obliged to +work eight hours; on every day that had followed through all these +years, the hours had been on an average fourteen; sometimes more. + +Bent under her basket, the widow now arrived at the back door of her +home. It was a small narrow house, built of rough stones plastered over +and painted bright yellow. But though thus gay without, it was dark +within; the few windows were very small, and their four little panes of +thick glass were covered with an iron grating; there was no elevation +above the ground, the brick floor inside being of the same level as the +flagging of the path without, so that there was always a sense of +groping when one entered the low door. There were but four rooms, the +kitchen, with a bedroom opening from it, and two chambers above under +the sloping roof. + +Prudence unstrapped her basket and placed it in a wood-shed which she +had constructed with her own hands. For she could not comprehend a house +without a wood-shed; she called it a wood-shed, though there was very +little wood to put in it: in Assisi no one made a fire for warmth; for +cooking they burned twigs. She hung up the fagot (it was a fagot of +twigs), the herbs, and the sickle; then, after giving her narrow skirts +a shake, she entered the kitchen. + +There was a bed in this room. Granmar would not allow it to be moved +elsewhere; her bed had always been in the kitchen, and in the kitchen it +should remain; no one but Denza, indeed, would wish to shove her off; +Annunziata had liked to have her dear old granmar there, where she could +see for herself that she was having everything she needed; but +Annunziata had been an angel of goodness, as well as of the dearest +beauty; whereas Denza--but any one could see what Denza was! As +Granmar's tongue was decidedly a thing to be reckoned with, her bed +remained where it always had been; from its comfortable cleanliness the +old creature could overlook and criticise to her heart's content the +entire household economy of Annunziata's successor. Not only the +kitchen, but the whole house and garden, had been vigorously purified by +this successor; single-handed she had attacked and carried away +accumulations which had been there since Columbus discovered America. +Even Granmar was rescued from her squalor and coaxed to wear a clean cap +and neat little shawl, her withered brown hands reposing meanwhile upon +a sheet which, though coarse, was spotless. + +Granmar was a very terrible old woman; she had a beak-like nose, round +glittering black eyes set in broad circles of yellow wrinkles, no mouth +to speak of, and a receding chin; her voice was now a gruff bass, now a +shrill yell. + +"How late you are! you do it on purpose," she said as Prudence entered. +"And me--as haven't had a thing I've wanted since you went away hours +upon hours ago. Nunziata there has been as stupid as a stone--behold +her!" + +She spoke in peasant Italian, a tongue which Mrs. Guadagni the second +(called Denza by the family, from Prudenza, the Italian form of her +first name) now spoke readily enough, though after a fashion of her own. +She remained always convinced that Italian was simply lunatic English, +English spoiled. One of the children, named Pasquale, she called +Squawly, and she always believed that the title came from the strength +of his infant lungs; many other words impressed her in the same way. + +She now made no reply to Granmar's complaints save to give one +business-like look towards the bed to see whether the pillows were +properly adjusted for the old creature's comfort; then she crossed the +room towards the stove, a large ancient construction of bricks, with two +or three small depressions over which an iron pot could be set. + +"Well, Nounce," she said to a girl who was sitting there on a little +bench. The tone of her voice was kindly; she looked to see if a fire had +been made. A few coals smouldered in one of the holes. "Good girl," said +Prudence, commendingly. + +"Oh, very good!" cried Granmar from the bed--"very good, when I told her +forty times, and fifty, to make me an omelet, a wee fat one with a drop +of fig in it, and I so faint, and she wouldn't, the snake! she wouldn't, +the toad!--toadest of toads!" + +The dark eyes of the girl turned slowly towards Prudence. Prudence, as +she busied herself with the coals, gave her a little nod of approbation, +which Granmar could not see. The girl looked pleased for a moment; then +her face sank into immobility again. She was not an idiot, but wanting, +as it was called; a delicate, pretty young creature, who, with her +cousin Pippo, had been only a year old when the second wife came to +Assisi. It was impossible for any one to be fond of Pippo, who even at +that age had been selfish and gluttonous to an abnormal degree; but +Prudence had learned to love the helpless little girl committed to her +care, as she had also learned to love very dearly the child's brother +Giovanni, who was but a year older; they had been but babies, both of +them. The girl was now seventeen. Her name was Annunziata, but Prudence +called her Nounce. "If it means 'Announce,' Nounce is near enough, I +guess," she said to herself, aggressively. The truth was that she hated +the name; it had belonged to Tonio's first wife, and of the memory of +that comely young mother, poor Prudence, with her sixty years, her white +hair, and wrinkled skin, was burningly jealous even now. Giovanni's name +she pronounced as though it were two words--Jo Vanny; she really thought +there were two. Jo she knew well, of course; it was a good New England +name; Vanny was probably some senseless Italian addition. The name of +the eldest son, Augusto, became on her lips Gooster; Paolo was Parlo, +Assunta was Soonter. + +The nuns had finally taken Soonter. The step-mother had been unable to +conceal from herself her own profound relief. True, the girl had gone to +a "papish" convent; but she had always been a mystery in the house, and +the constant presence of a mystery is particularly trying to the New +England mind. Soonter spent hours in meditation; she was very quiet; she +believed that she saw angels; her face wore often a far-away smile. + +On this September evening she prepared a heavily abundant supper for +Granmar, and a simple one for Nounce, who ate at any time hardly more +than a bird; Granmar, on the contrary, was gifted with an appetite of +extraordinary capacities, the amount of food which was necessary to keep +her, not in good-humor (she was never in good-humor), but in passable +bodily tranquillity, through the twenty-four hours being equal to that +which would have been required (so Prudence often thought) for three +hearty New England harvesters at home. Not that Granmar would touch New +England food; none of the family would eat the home dishes which +Prudence in the earlier years had hopefully tried to prepare from such +materials as seemed to her the least "onreasonable"; Granmar, indeed, +had declared each and all fit only for the hogs. Prudence never tried +them now, and she had learned the art of Italian cooking; for she felt +that she could not afford to make anything that was to be for herself +alone; the handful of precious twigs must serve for the family as a +whole. But every now and then, in spite of her natural abstemiousness, +she would be haunted by a vision of a "boiled dinner," the boiled +corned-beef, the boiled cabbage, turnips, and potatoes, and the boiled +Indian pudding of her youth. She should never taste these dainties on +earth again. More than once she caught herself hoping that at least the +aroma of them would be given to her some time in heaven. + +When Granmar was gorged she became temporarily more tranquil. Prudence +took this time to speak of a plan which she had had in her mind for +several days. "Now that Gooster and the other boys are doing for +themselves, Granmar, and Bepper too at last, and Jo Vanny only needing a +trifle of help now and then (he's so young yet, you know), I feel as +though I might be earning more money," she began. + +"Money's a very good thing; we've never had half enough since my sainted +Annunziata joined the angels," responded Granmar, with a pious air. + +"Well, it seems a good time to try and earn some more. Soonter's gone to +the convent; and as it's a long while since Pipper's been here, I really +begin to think he has gone off to get work somewhere, as he always said he +was going to." + +"Don't you be too sure of Pippo," said Granmar, shaking her owl-like +head ominously. + +"'Tany rate he hasn't been here, and I always try to hope the best about +him--" + +"And _that's_ what you call the best?" interrupted Granmar, with one of +her sudden flank movements, "to have him gone away off no one knows +where--Annunziata's own precious little nephew--taken by the +pirates--yam! Sold as a slave--yam! Killed in the war! Oh, Pippo! poor +Pippo! poor little Pipp, Pipp, Pipp!" + +"And so I thought I'd try to go to the shop by the day," Prudence went +on, when this yell had ceased; "they want me to come and cut out. I +shouldn't go until after your breakfast, of course; and I could leave +cold things out, and Nounce would cook you something hot at noon; then I +should be home myself every night in time to get your supper." + +"And so that's the plan--I'm to be left alone here with an idiot while +you go flouncing your heels round Assisi! Flounce, cat! It's a wonder +the dead don't rise in their graves to hear it. But we buried my +Annunziata too deep for that--yam!--otherwise she'd 'a been here to tear +your eyes out. An old woman left to starve alone, her own precious +grandmother, growing weaker and weaker, and pining and pining. Blessed +stomach, do you hear--do you hear, my holy, blessed stomach, always +asking for so little, and now not even to get that? It's turned all a +mumble of cold just thinking of it--yam! I, poor sufferer, who have had +to stand your ugly face so long--I _so_ fond of beauty! You haven't got +but twenty-four hairs now; you know you haven't--yam! I've got more than +you twenty times over--hey! _that_ I have." And Granmar, tearing off her +cap, pulled loose her coarse white hair, and grasping the ends of the +long locks with her crooked fingers, threw them aloft with a series of +shrill halloos. + +"I won't go to the shop," said Prudence. "Mercy on us, what a noise! I +say I won't go to the shop. There! do you hear?" + +"Will you be here every day of your life at twelve o'clock to cook me +something that won't poison me?" demanded Granmar, still hallooing. + +"Yes, yes, I promise you." + +Even Granmar believed Prudence's yes; her yea was yea and her nay nay to +all the family. "You cook me something this very minute," she said, +sullenly, putting on her cap askew. + +"Why, you've only just got through your supper!" exclaimed Prudence, +astonished, used though she was to Granmar's abdominal capacities, by +this sudden demand. + +"You won't? Then I'll yell again," said Granmar. And yell she did. + +"Hold up--do; I believe you now," said Prudence. She fanned the dying +coals with a straw fan, made up the fire, and prepared some +griddle-cakes. Granmar demanded fig syrup to eat with them; and devoured +six. Filled to repletion, she then suffered Prudence to change her day +cap for a nightcap, falling asleep almost before her head touched the +pillow. + +During this scene Nounce had sat quietly in her corner. Prudence now +went to her to see if she was frightened, for the girl was sometimes +much terrified by Granmar's outcries; she stroked her soft hair. She was +always looking for signs of intelligence in Nounce, and fancying that +she discovered them. Taking the girl's hand, she went with her to the +next room, where were their two narrow pallet beds. "You were very smart +to save the eggs for me to-day when Granmar wanted that omerlet," she +whispered, as she helped her to undress. + +Memory came back to Nounce; she smiled comprehendingly. + +Prudence waited until she was in bed; then she kissed her good-night, +and put out the candle. + +Her two charges asleep, Mrs. Guadagni the second opened the back door +softly and went out. It was not yet nine o'clock, a warm dark night; +though still September, the odors of autumn were already in the air, +coming from the September flowers, which have a pungency mingled with +their perfume, from the rank ripeness of the vegetables, from the aroma +of the ground after the first rains. + +"I could have made thirty cents a week more at the shop," she said to +herself, regretfully (she always translated the Italian money into +American or French). "In a month that would have been a dollar and +twenty cents! Well, there's no use thinking about it sence I can't go." +She bent over her vegetables, feeling of their leaves, and estimating +anew how many she could afford to sell, now that the family was so much +reduced in size. Then she paid a visit to her fig-trees. She had planted +these trees herself, and watched over their infancy with anxious care; +at the present moment they were loaded with fruit, and it seemed as if +she knew the position of each fig, so many times had she stood under the +boughs looking up at the slowly swelling bulbs. She had never before +been able to sell the fruit. But now she should be able, and the sale +would add a good many cents to the store of savings kept in her +work-box. This work-box, a possession of her youth, was lined with vivid +green paper, and had a colored lithograph of the Honorable Mrs. Norton +(taken as a Muse) on the inside of the cover; it held already three +francs and a half, that is seventy cents--an excellent sum when one +considered that only three weeks had passed since the happy day when she +had at last beheld the way open to saving regularly, laying by +regularly; many times had she begun to save, but she had never been able +to continue it. Now, with this small household, she should be able to +continue. The sale of the figs would probably double the savings already +in the work-box; she might even get eighty cents for them; and that +would make a dollar and fifty cents in all! A fig fell to the ground. +"They're ripe," she thought; "they must be picked to-morrow." She felt +for the fallen fig in the darkness, and carrying it to the garden wall, +placed it in a dry niche where it would keep its freshness until she +could send it to town with the rest. Then she went to the hen-house. +"Smart of Nounce to save the eggs for me," she thought, laughing +delightedly to herself over this proof of the girl's intelligence. +"Granmar didn't need that omerlet one bit; I left out two tremenjous +lunches for her." She peered in; but could not see the hens in the +darkness. "If Granmar'd only eat the things we do!" her thoughts went +on. "But she's always possessed after everything that takes eggs. And +then she wants the very best coffee, and white sugar, and the best wine, +and fine flour and meal and oil--my! how much oil! But I wonder if _I_ +couldn't stop eating something or other, steader pestering myself about +her? Let's see. I don't take wine nor coffee, so I can't stop them; but +I could stop soup meat, just for myself; and I will." Thus meditating, +she went slowly round to the open space before the house. + +To call it a space was a misnomer. The house stood at the apex of the +hill, and its garden by right extended as far down the descent in front +as it extended down the opposite descent behind, where Prudence had +planted her long rows of vegetables. But in this front space, not ten +feet distant from the house door, planted directly across the paved path +which came up from below, was the cow-shed, the intruding offensive +neighbor whose odors, gruntings (for it was now a pig-sty), and refuse +were constantly making themselves perceptible to one sense and another +through the open windows of the dwelling behind. For the house had no +back windows; the small apertures which passed for windows were all in +front; in that climate it was impossible that they should be always +closed. How those odors choked Prudence Wilkin! It seemed as if she +could not respect herself while obliged to breathe them, as if she had +not respected herself (in the true Ledham way) since the pig-sty became +her neighbor. + +For fifty francs the owners would take it away; for another twenty or +thirty she could have "a front yard." But though she had made many +beginnings, she had never been able to save a tenth of the sum. None of +the family shared her feelings in the least; to spend precious money for +such a whim as that--only an American could be capable of it; but then, +as everybody knew, most Americans were mad. And why should Denza object +to pigs? + +Prudence therefore had been obliged to keep her longings to herself. But +this had only intensified them. And now when at last, after thinking of +it for sixteen years, she was free to begin to save daily and regularly, +she saw as in a vision her front yard completed as she would like to +have it: the cow-shed gone; "a nice straight path going down to the +front gate, set in a new paling fence; along the sides currant bushes; +and in the open spaces to the right and left a big flowerin' +shrub--snowballs, or Missouri currant; near the house a clump of +matrimony, perhaps; and in the flower beds on each side of the path +bachelor's-buttons, Chiny-asters, lady's-slippers, and pinks; the edges +bordered with box." She heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction as she +finished her mental review. But it was hardly mental after all; she saw +the gate, she saw the straight path, she saw the currant bushes and the +box-bordered flower beds as distinctly as though they had really been +there. + +Cheered, almost joyous, she went within, locking the door behind her; +then, after softly placing the usual store of provisions beside +Granmar's bed (for Granmar had a habit of waking in the night to eat), +she sought her own couch. It was hard, but she stretched herself upon it +luxuriously. "The figs'll double the money," she thought, "and by this +time to-morrow I shall have a dollar and forty cents; mebby a dollar +fifty!" She fell asleep happily. + +Her contentment made her sleep soundly. Still it was not long after dawn +when she hurried down the hill to the town to get her supply of work +from the shop. Hastening back with it, she found Granmar clamoring for +her coffee, and Nounce, neatly dressed and clean (for so much Prudence +had succeeded in teaching her), sitting patiently in her corner. +Prudence's mind was full of a sale she had made; but she prepared the +coffee and Nounce's broth with her usual care; she washed her dishes, +and made Granmar tidy for the day; finally she arranged all her sewing +implements on the table by the window beside her pile of work. Now she +could give herself the luxury of one last look, one last estimate; for +she had made a miracle of a bargain for her figs. By ten o'clock the men +would be up to gather them. + +It was a hazy morning; butterflies danced before her as she hastened +towards the loaded trees. Reaching them, she looked up. The boughs were +bare. All the figs had been gathered in the night, or at earliest dawn. + +"Pipper!" she murmured to herself. + +The ground under the trees was trampled. + +Seven weeks later, on the 16th of November, this same Prudence was +adding to her secreted store the fifteen cents needed to make the sum +ten francs exactly--that is, two dollars. "Ten francs, a fifth of the +whole! It seems 'most too lucky that I've got on so well, spite of +Pipper's taking the figs. If I can keep along this way, it'll _all_ be +done by the Fourth of July; not just the cow-shed taken away, but the +front yard done too. My!" She sat down on a fagot to think it over. The +thought was rapture; she laughed to herself and at herself for being so +happy. + +Some one called, "Mamma." She came out, and found Jo Vanny looking for +her. Nounce and Jo Vanny were the only ones among the children who had +ever called her mother. + +"Oh, you're up there in the shed, are you?" said Jo Vanny. "Somehow, +mamma, you look very gay." + +"Yes, I'm gay," answered Prudence. "Perhaps some of these days I'll tell +you why." In her heart she thought: "Jo Vanny, now, _he'd_ understand; +he'd feel as I do if I should explain it to him. A nice front yard he +has never seen in all his life, for they don't have 'em _here_. But once +he knew what it was, he'd care about it as much as I do; I know he +would. He's sort of American, anyhow." It was the highest praise she +could give. The boy had his cap off; she smoothed his hair. "'Pears to +me you must have lost your comb," she said. + +"I'm going to have it all cut off as short as can be," announced Jo +Vanny, with a resolute air. + +"Oh no." + +"Yes, I am. Some of the other fellows have had theirs cut that way, and +I'm going to, too," pursued the young stoic. + +He was eighteen, rather undersized and slender, handsome as to his face, +with large dark long-lashed eyes, well-cut features, white teeth, and +the curly hair which Prudence had smoothed. Though he had vowed them to +destruction, these love-locks were for the present arranged in the style +most approved in Assisi, one thick glossy flake being brought down low +over the forehead, so that it showed under his cap in a sentimental +wave. He did not look much like a hard-working carpenter as he stood +there dressed in dark clothes made in that singular exaggeration of the +fashions which one sees only in Italy. His trousers, small at the knee, +were large and wing-like at the ankle, half covering the tight shabby +shoes run down at the heel and absurdly short, which, however, as they +were made of patent-leather and sharply pointed at the toes, Jo Vanny +considered shoes of gala aspect. His low flaring collar was surrounded +by a red-satin cravat ornamented by a gilt horseshoe. He wore a ring on +the little finger of each hand. In his own eyes his attire was splendid. + +In the eyes of some one else also. To Prudence, as he stood there, he +looked absolutely beautiful; she felt all a mother's pride rise in her +heart as she surveyed him. But she must not let him see it, and she must +scold him for wearing his best clothes every day. + +"I didn't know it was a festa," she began. + +"'Tain't. But one of the fellows has had a sister married, and they've +invited us all to a big supper to-night." + +"To-night isn't to-day, that I know of." + +"Do you wish me to go all covered with sawdust?" said the little dandy, +with a disdainful air. "Besides, I wanted to come up here." + +"It is a good while sence we've seen you," Prudence admitted. In her +heart she was delighted that he had wished to come. "Have you had your +dinner, Jo Vanny?" + +"All I want. I'll take a bit of bread and some wine by-and-by. But you +needn't go to cooking for me, mamma. I say, tell me what it was that +made you look so glad?" said the boy, curiously. + +"Never you mind _now_," said Prudence, the gleam of content coming again +into her eyes, and lighting up her brown, wrinkled face. She was glad +that she had the ten francs; she was glad to see the boy; she was +touched by his unselfishness in declining her offer of a second dinner. +No other member of the family would have declined or waited to decline; +the others would have demanded some freshly cooked dish immediately upon +entering; Uncle Patro would have demanded three or four. + +"I've brought my mandolin," Jo Vanny went on. "I've got to take it to +the supper, of course, because they always want me to sing--I never can +get rid of 'em! And so you can hear me, if you like. I know the new +songs, and one of them I composed myself. Well, it's rather heavenly." + +All Tonio's children sang like birds. Poor Prudence, who had no ear for +music, had never been able to comprehend either the pleasure or the +profit of the hours they gave to their carollings. But when, in his +turn, her little Jo Vanny began his pipings, then she listened, or tried +to listen. "Real purty, Jo Vanny," she would say, when the silence of a +moment or two had assured her that his song was ended; it was her only +way of knowing--the silence. + +So now she brought her work out to the garden, and sewed busily while Jo +Vanny sang and thrummed. Nounce, too, came out, and sat on the wall near +by, listening. + +At length the little singer took himself off--took himself off with his +red-satin cravat, his horseshoe pin, and his mandolin under his arm. +Nounce went back to the house, but Prudence sat awhile longer, using, as +she always did, the very last rays of the sunset light for her sewing. + +After a while she heard a step, and looked up. "Why, Gooster!--anything +the matter?" she said, in surprise. + +Unlike the slender little Jo Vanny, Gooster was a large, stoutly built +young man, as slow in his motions as Jo Vanny was quick. He was a +lethargic fellow with sombre eyes, eyes which sometimes had a gleam in +them. + +"There's nothing especial the matter," he answered, dully. "I think I'll +go for a soldier, Denza." + +"Go for a soldier? And the per-dairy?" + +"I can't never go back to the podere. _She's_ there, and she has taken +up with Matteo. I've had my heart trampled upon, and so I've got a big +hankering either to kill somebody or get killed myself; and I'll either +do it here, or I'll go for a soldier and get knifed in the war." + +"Mercy on us! there isn't any war now," said Prudence, dazed by these +sanguinary suggestions. + +"There's always a war. What else are there soldiers for? And there's +lots of soldiers. But I could get knifed here easy enough; Matteo and +I--already we've had one tussle; I gave him a pretty big cut, you may +depend." + +Seventeen years earlier Prudence Wilkin would have laughed at the idea +of being frightened by such words as these. But Mrs. Tonio Guadagni had +heard of wild deeds in Assisi, and wilder ones still among the peasants +of the hill country roundabout; these singing, indolent Umbrians dealt +sometimes in revenges that were very direct and primitive. + +"You let Matteo alone, Gooster," she said, putting her hand on his arm; +"you go straight over to Perugia and stay there. Perhaps you can get +work where Parlo and Squawly are." + +"I shall have it out with Matteo here, or else go for a soldier +to-morrow," answered Gooster, in his lethargic tone. + +"Well, go for a soldier, then." + +"It don't make much difference to me which I do," Gooster went on, as if +only half awake. "If I go for a soldier, I shall have to get to Florence +somehow, I suppose; I shall have to have ten francs for the railroad." + +"Is it ten exactly?" said Prudence. Her mind flew to her work-box, which +held just that sum. + +"It's ten." + +"Haven't you got any money at all, Gooster?" She meant to help him on +his way; but she thought that she should like to keep, if possible, a +nest-egg to begin with again--say twenty cents, or ten. + +Gooster felt in his pockets. "Three soldi," he replied, producing some +copper coins and counting them over. + +[Illustration: "NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, +LISTENING"] + +"And there's nothing due you at the per-dairy?" + +There was no necessity for answering such a foolish question as this, +and Gooster did not answer it. + +"Well, I will give you the money," said Prudence. "But to-morrow'll do, +won't it? Stay here a day or two, and we'll talk it over." + +While she was speaking, Gooster had turned and walked towards the garden +wall. The sight of his back going from her--as though she should never +see it again--threw her into a sudden panic; she ran after him and +seized his arm. "I'll give you the money, Gooster; I told you I would; +I've got it all ready, and it won't take a minute; promise me that you +won't leave this garden till I come back." + +Gooster had had no thought of leaving the garden; he had espied a last +bunch of grapes still hanging on the vine, and was going to get it; that +was all. "All right," he said. + +Prudence disappeared. He gathered the grapes and began to eat them, +turning over the bunch to see which were best. Before he had finished, +Prudence came back, breathless with the haste she had made. "Here," she +said; "and now you'll go straight to Florence, won't you? There's a +train to-night, very soon now; you must hurry down and take that." + +He let her put the money in his coat-pocket while he finished the +grapes. Then he threw the stem carefully over the garden wall. + +"And no doubt you'll be a brave soldier," Prudence went on, trying to +speak hopefully. "Brave soldiers are thought a heap of everywhere." + +"I don't know as I care what's thought," answered Gooster, +indifferently. He took up his cap and put it on. "Well, good-bye, +Denza. Best wishes to you. Every happiness." He shook hands with her. + +Prudence stood waiting where she was for five minutes; then she followed +him. It was already dark; she went down the hill rapidly, and turned +into the narrow main street. A few lamps were lighted. She hastened +onward, hoping every minute to distinguish somewhere in front a tall +figure with slouching gait. At last, where the road turns to begin the +long descent to the plain, she did distinguish it. Yes, that was +certainly Gooster; he was going down the hill towards the railway +station. All was well, then; she could dismiss her anxiety. She returned +through the town. Stopping for a moment at an open space, she gazed down +upon the vast valley, now darkening into night; here suddenly a fear +came over her--he might have turned round and come back! She hurried +through the town a second time, and not meeting him, started down the +hill. The road went down in long zigzags. As she turned each angle she +expected to see him; but she did not see him, and finally she reached +the plain: there were the lights of the station facing her. She drew +near cautiously, nearer and nearer, until, herself unseen in the +darkness, she could peer through the window into the lighted +waiting-room. If he was there, she could see him; but if he was on the +platform on the other side--No; he was there. She drew a long breath of +relief, and stole away. + +A short distance up the hill a wheelbarrow loaded with stones had been +left by the side of the road; she sat down on the stones to rest, for +the first time realizing how tired she was. The train came rushing +along; stopped; went on again. She watched it as long as she could see +its lights. Then she rose and turned slowly up the hill, beginning her +long walk home. "My," she thought, "won't Granmar be in a tantrum, +though!" + +When she reached the house she made a circuit, and came through the +garden behind towards the back door. "I don't want to see the front yard +_to-night_!" she thought. + +But she was rather ashamed of this egotism. + + * * * * * + +"And they say they'll put me in prison--oh--ow!--an old man, a good old +man, a suffering son of humanity like me!" moaned Uncle Pietro. + +"An old man, a good old man, a suffering son of humanity like _him_," +repeated Granmar, shrilly, proud of this fine language. + +Suddenly she brandished her lean arms. "You Denza there, with your +stored-up money made from _my_ starvation--yam!--mine, how dare you be +so silent, figure of a mule? Starvation! yes, indeed. Wait and I'll show +you my arms, Pietro; wait and I'll show you my ribs--yam!" + +"You keep yourself covered up, Granmar," said Prudence, tucking her in; +"you'll do yourself a mischief in this cold weather." + +"Ahi!" said Granmar, "and do I care? If I could live to see you drowned, +I'd freeze and be glad. Stored-up money! stored-up money!" + +"What do you know of my money?" said Prudence. Her voice trembled a +little. + +"She confesses it!" announced Granmar, triumphantly. + +"An old ma--an," said Pietro, crouching over Nounce's scaldino. "A good +old ma--an. But--accommodate yourself." + +Prudence sat down and took up her sewing. "I don't believe they'll put +you in jail at all, Patro," she said; "'twon't do 'em any good, and what +they want is their money. You just go to 'em and say that you'll do +day's work for 'em till it's made up, and they'll let you off, I'll bet. +Nine francs, is it? Well, at half a franc a day you can make it up full +in eighteen days; or call it twenty-four with the festas." + +"The Americans are all mercenary," remarked old Pietro, waving his hand +in scorn. "Being themselves always influenced by gain, they cannot +understand lofty motives nor the cold, glittering anger of the nobility. +The Leoncinis are noble; they are of the old Count's blood. They do not +want their money; they want revenge--they want to rack my bones." + +Granmar gave a long howl. + +"Favor me, my niece, with no more of your mistakes," concluded Pietro, +with dignity. + +"I don't believe they'd refuse," said Prudence, unmoved. "I'll go and +ask 'em myself, if you like; that'll be the best way. I'll go right away +now." She began to fold up her work. + +At this Pietro, after putting the scaldino safely on the stove, fell +down in a round heap on the floor. Never were limbs so suddenly +contorted and tangled; he clawed the bricks so fiercely with his fingers +that Nounce, frightened, left her bench and ran into the next room. + +"What's the matter with you? I never saw such a man," said Prudence, +trying to raise him. + +"Let be! let be!" called out Granmar; "it's a stroke; and you've +brought it on, talking to him about working, working all day long like a +horse--a good old man like that." + +"I don't believe it's a stroke," said Prudence, still trying to get him +up. + +"My opinion is," said Granmar, sinking into sudden calm, "that he will +die in ten minutes--exactly ten." + +His face had indeed turned very red. + +"Dear me! I suppose I shall have to run down for the doctor," said +Prudence, desisting. "Perhaps he'd ought to be bled." + +"You leave the doctor alone, and ease his mind," directed Granmar; +"that's what he needs, sensitive as he is, and poetical too, poor +fellow. You just shout in his ear that you'll pay that money, and you'll +be surprised to see how it'll loosen his joints." + +Mrs. Guadagni surveyed the good old uncle for a moment. Then she bent +over him and shouted in his ear, "I'll make you a hot fig-tart right +away now, Patro, if you'll set up." + +As she finished these words Granmar threw her scaldino suddenly into the +centre of the kitchen, where it broke with a crash upon the bricks. + +"He's going to get up," announced Prudence, triumphantly. + +"He isn't any such thing; 'twas the scaldino shook him," responded +Granmar, in a loud, admonitory tone. "He'll never get up again in _this_ +world unless you shout in his ear that you'll pay that money." + +And in truth Pietro was now more knotted than ever. + +At this moment the door opened and Jo Vanny came in. "Why, what's the +matter with uncle?" he said, seeing the figure on the floor. He bent +over him and tried to ease his position. + +"It's a stroke," said Granmar, in a soft voice. "It'll soon be over. +Hush! leave him in peace. He's dying; Denza there, she did it." + +"They want me to pay the nine francs he has--lost," said Prudence. +"Perhaps you have heard, Jo Vanny, that he has--lost nine francs that +belonged to the Leoncinis? Nine whole francs." She looked at the lad, +and he understood the look; for only the day before she had confided to +him at last her long-cherished dream, and (as she had been sure he +would) he had sympathized with it warmly. + +"I declare I wish I had even a franc!" he said, searching his pockets +desperately; "but I've only got a cigarette. Will you try a cigarette, +uncle?" he shouted in the heap's ear. + +"Don't you mock him," ordered Granmar (but Jo Vanny had been entirely in +earnest). "He'll die soon, and Denza will be rid of him; that's what she +wants. 'Twill be murder, of course; and he'll haunt us--he's always said +he'd haunt somebody. But _I_ ain't long for this world, so I ain't +disturbed. Heaven's waiting wide open for _me_." + +Jo Vanny looked a little frightened. He hesitated a moment, surveying +the motionless Pietro; then he drew Prudence aside. "He's an awful +wicked old man, and might really do it," he whispered; "'specially as +you ain't a Catholic, mamma. I think you'd better give him the money if +it'll stop him off; _I_ don't mind, but it would be bad for you if he +should come rapping on your windows and showing corpse-lights in the +garden by-and-by." + +Prudence brought her hands together sharply--a gesture of exasperation. +"He ain't going to die any more than I am," she said. But she knew what +life would be in that house with such a threat hanging over it, even +though the execution were deferred to some vague future time. Angrily +she left the room. + +Jo Vanny followed her. "Come along, if you want to," she said, half +impatient, half glad. She felt a sudden desire that some one besides +herself should see the sacrifice, see the actual despoiling of the +little box she had labored to fill. She went to the wood-shed. It was a +gloomy December day, and the vegetables hanging on the walls had a +dreary, stone-like look; she climbed up on a barrel, and removed the hay +which filled a rough shelf; in a niche behind was her work-box; with it +in her hand she climbed down again. + +She gave him the box to hold while she counted out the money--nine +francs. "There are twelve in all," she said. + +"Then you'll have three left," said Jo Vanny. + +"Yes, three." She could not help a sigh of retrospect, the outgoing nine +represented so many long hours of toil. + +"Let me put the box back," said the boy. It was quickly and deftly done. +"Never mind about it, mamma," he said, as he jumped down. "_I_'ll help +you to make it up again. I want that front yard as much as you do, now +you've told me about it; I think it will be beautiful." + +"Well," said Prudence, "when the flower-beds are all fixed up, and the +new front path and swing gate, it _will_ be kind of nice, I reckon." + +"Nice?" said Jo Vanny. "That's not the word. 'Twill be an ecstasy! a +smile! a dream!" + +"Bless the boy, what nonsense he talks!" said the step-mother. But she +loved to hear his romantic phrases all the same. + +They went back to the kitchen. The sacrifice had now become a cheerful +one. She bent over the heap. "Here's your nine francs, Patro," she +shouted. "Come, now, come!" + +Pietro felt the money in his hand. He rose quietly. "I'm nearly killed +with all your yelling," he said. Then he took his hat and left the +house. + +"We did yell," said Prudence, picking up the fragments of the broken +scaldino. "I don't quite know why we did." + +"Never mind why-ing, but get supper," said Granmar. "Then go down on +your knees and thank the Virgin for giving us such a merciful, mild old +man as Pietro. You brought on his stroke; but what did he do? He just +took what you gave him, and went away so forgivingly--the soul of a +dove, the spice-cake soul!" + + * * * * * + +In January, the short, sharp winter of Italy had possession of Assisi. + +One day towards the last of the month a bitter wind was driving through +the bleak, stony little street, sending clouds of gritty, frozen dust +before it. The dark, fireless dwellings were colder than the outside +air, and the people, swathed in heavy layers of clothing, to which all +sorts of old cloaks and shawls and mufflers had been added, were +standing about near the open doors of their shops and dwellings, various +prominences under apron or coat betraying the hidden scaldino, the +earthen dish which Italians tightly hug in winter with the hope that +the few coals it contains will keep their benumbed fingers warm. All +faces were reddened and frost-bitten. The hands of the children who were +too young to hold a scaldino were purple-black. + +Prudence Guadagni, with her great basket strapped on her back, came +along, receiving but two or three greetings as she passed. Few knew her; +fewer still liked her, for was she not a foreigner and a pagan? Besides, +what could you do with a woman who drank water, simple water, like a +toad, and never touched wine--a woman who did not like oil, good, sweet, +wholesome oil! Tonio's children were much commiserated for having fallen +into such hands. + +Prudence was dressed as she had been in September, save that she now +wore woollen stockings and coarse shoes, and tightly pinned round her +spare person a large shawl. This shawl (she called it "my Highland +shawl") had come with her from America; it was green in hue, plaided; +she thought it still very handsome. Her step was not as light as it had +been; rheumatism had crippled her sorely. + +As she left the town and turned up the hill towards home, some one who +had been waiting there joined her. "Is that you, Bepper? Were you coming +up to the house?" she said. + +"Yes," answered Beppa, showing her white teeth in a smile. "I'm bringing +you some news, Denza." + +"Well, what is it? I hope you're not going to leave your place?" + +"I'm going to leave it, and that's my news: I'm going to be married." + +"My! it's sudden, isn't it?" said Prudence, stopping. + +"Giuseppe doesn't think it's sudden," said Beppa, laughing and tossing +her head; "he thinks I've been ages making up my mind. Come on, Denza, +do; it's so cold!" + +"I don't know Giuseppe, do I?" said Prudence, trudging on again; "I +don't remember the name." + +"No; I've never brought him up to the house. But the boys know +him--Paolo and Pasquale; Augusto, too. He's well off, Giuseppe is; he's +got beautiful furniture. He's a first-rate mason, and gets good wages, +so I sha'n't have to work any more--I mean go out to work as I do now." + +"Bepper, do you _like_ him?" said Prudence, stopping again. She took +hold of the girl's wrist and held it tightly. + +"Of course I like him," said Beppa, freeing herself. "How cold your +hands are, Denza--ugh!" + +"You ain't marrying him for his furniture? You love him for himself--and +better than any one else in the whole world?" Prudence went on, +solemnly. + +"Oh, how comical you do look, standing there talking about love, with +your white hair and your great big basket!" said Beppa, breaking into +irrepressible laughter. The cold had not made her hideous, as it makes +so many Italians hideous; her face was not empurpled, her fine features +were not swollen. She looked handsome. What was even more attractive on +such a day, she looked warm. As her merriment ceased, a sudden change +came over her. "Sainted Maria! she doubts whether I love him! Love him? +Why, you poor old woman, I'd die for him to-morrow. I'd cut myself in +pieces for him this minute." Her great black eyes gleamed; the color +flamed in her oval cheeks; she gave a rich, angry laugh. + +It was impossible to doubt her, and Prudence did not doubt. "Well, I'm +right down glad, Bepper," she said, in a softened tone--"right down +glad, my dear." She was thinking of her own love for the girl's father. + +"I was coming up," continued Beppa, "because I thought I'd better talk +it over with you." + +"Of course," said Prudence, cordially. "A girl can't get married all +alone; nobody ever heard of that." + +"I sha'n't be much alone, for Giuseppe's family's a very big one; too +big, I tell him--ten brothers and sisters. But they're all well off, +that's one comfort. Of course I don't want to shame 'em." + +"Of course not," said Prudence, assenting again. Then, with the awakened +memories still stirring in her heart: "It's a pity your father isn't +here now," she said, in a moved tone; "he'd have graced a wedding, +Bepper, he was so handsome." She seldom spoke of Tonio; the subject was +too sacred; but it seemed to her as if she might venture a few words to +this his daughter on the eve of her own marriage. + +"Yes, it's a pity, I suppose," answered Beppa. "Still, he would have +been an old man now. And 'tain't likely he would have had a good coat +either--that is, not such a one as I should call good." + +"Yes, he would; I'd have made him one," responded Prudence, with a spark +of anger. "This whole basket's full of coats now." + +"I know you're wonderful clever with your needle," said the girl, +glancing carelessly at the basket that weighed down her step-mother's +shoulders. "I can't think how you can sew so steadily, year in, year +out; I never could." + +"Well, I've had to get stronger spectacles," Prudence confessed. "And +they wouldn't take my old ones in exchange, neither, though they were +perfectly good." + +"They're robbers, all of them, at that shop," commented Beppa, +agreeingly. + +"Now, about your clothes, Bepper--when are you going to begin? I suppose +you'll come home for a while, so as to have time to do 'em; I can help +you some, and Nounce too; Nounce can sew a little." + +"No, I don't think I'll come home; 'twouldn't pay me. About the +clothes--I'm going to buy 'em." + +"They won't be half so good," Prudence began. Then she stopped. "I'm +very glad you've got the money laid up, my dear," she said, +commendingly. + +"Oh, but I haven't," answered Beppa, laughing. "I want to borrow it of +you; that is what I came up for to-day--to tell you about it." + +Prudence, her heart still softened, looked at the handsome girl with +gentle eyes. "Why, of course I'll lend it to you, Bepper," she said. +"How much do you want?" + +"All you've got won't be any too much, I reckon," answered Beppa, with +pride. "I shall have to have things nice, you know; I don't want to +shame 'em." + +"I've got twenty-five francs," said Prudence; "I mean I've got that +amount saved and put away; 'twas for--for a purpose--something I was +going to do; but 'tain't important; you can have it and welcome." Her +old face, as she said this, looked almost young again. "You see, I'm so +glad to have you happy," she went on. "And I can't help thinking--if +your father had only lived--the first wedding in his family! However, +_I'll_ come--just as though I was your real mother, dear; you sha'n't +miss that. I've got my Sunday gown, and five francs will buy me a pair +of new shoes; I can earn 'em before the day comes, I guess." + +"I'm afraid you can't," said Beppa, laughing. + +"Why, when's the wedding? Not for two or three weeks, I suppose?" + +"It's day after to-morrow," answered Beppa. "Everything's bought, and +all I want is the money to pay for 'em; I knew I could get it of you." + +"Dear me! how quick! And these shoes are really too bad; they're clear +wore out, and all the cleaning in the world won't make 'em decent." + +"Well, Denza, why do you want to come? You don't know any of Giuseppe's +family. To tell the truth, I never supposed you'd care about coming, and +the table's all planned out for (at Giuseppe's sister's), and there +ain't no place for you." + +"And you didn't have one saved?" + +"I never thought you'd care to come. You see they're different, they're +all well off, and you don't like people who are well off--who wear nice +clothes. You never wanted us to have nice clothes, and you like to go +barefoot." + +"No, I don't!" said Prudence. + +"'Tany rate, one would think you did; you always go so in summer. But +even if you had new shoes, none of your clothes would be good enough; +that bonnet, now--" + +"My bonnet? Surely my _bonnet's_ good?" said the New England woman; her +voice faltered, she was struck on a tender point. + +"Well, people laugh at it," answered Beppa, composedly. + +They had now reached the house. "You go in," said Prudence; "I'll come +presently." + +She went round to the wood-shed, unstrapped her basket, and set it down; +then she climbed up on the barrel, removed the hay, and took out her +work-box. Emptying its contents into her handkerchief, she descended, +and, standing there, counted the sum--twenty-seven francs, thirty +centimes. "'Twon't be any too much; she don't want to shame 'em." She +made a package of the money with a piece of brown paper, and, entering +the kitchen, she slipped it unobserved into Beppa's hand. + +"Seems to me," announced Granmar from the bed, "that when a girl comes +to tell her own precious Granmar of her _wedding_, she ought in decency +to be offered a bite of something to eat. Any one but Denza would think +so. Not that it's anything to me." + +"Very well, what will you have?" asked Prudence, wearily. Freed from her +bonnet and shawl, it could be seen that her once strong figure was much +bent; her fingers had grown knotted, enlarged at the joints, and clumsy; +years of toil had not aged her so much as these recent nights--such long +nights!--of cruel rheumatic pain. + +Granmar, in a loud voice, immediately named a succulent dish; Prudence +began to prepare it. Before it was ready, Jo Vanny came in. + +"You knew I was up here, and you've come mousing up for an invitation," +said Beppa, in high good-humor. "I was going to stop and invite you on +my way back, Giovanni; there's a nice place saved for you at the +supper." + +"Yes, I knew you were up here, and I've brought you a wedding-present," +answered the boy. "I've brought one for mamma, too." And he produced two +silk handkerchiefs, one of bright colors, the other of darker hue. + +"Is the widow going to be married, too?" said Beppa. "Who under heaven's +the man?" + +In spite of the jesting, Prudence's face showed that she was pleased; +she passed her toil-worn hand over the handkerchief softly, almost as +though its silk were the cheek of a little child. The improvised feast +was turned into a festival now, and of her own accord she added a second +dish; the party, Granmar at the head, devoured unknown quantities. When +at last there was nothing left, Beppa, carrying her money, departed. + +"You know, Jo Vanny, you hadn't ought to leave your work so often," said +Prudence, following the boy into the garden when he took leave; she +spoke in an expostulating tone. + +"Oh, I've got money," said Jo Vanny, loftily; "_I_ needn't crawl." And +carelessly he showed her a gold piece. + +But this sudden opulence only alarmed the step-mother. "Why, where did +you get that?" she said, anxiously. + +"How frightened you look! Your doubts offend me," pursued Jo Vanny, +still with his grand air. "Haven't I capacities?--hasn't Heaven sent me +a swarming genius? Wasn't I the acclaimed, even to laurel crowns, of my +entire class?" + +This was true: Jo Vanny was the only one of Tonio's children who had +profited by the new public schools. + +"And now what shall I get for you, mamma?" the boy went on, his tone +changing to coaxing; "I want to get you something real nice; what will +you have? A new dress to go to Beppa's wedding in?" + +For an instant Prudence's eyes were suffused. "I ain't going, Jo Vanny; +they don't want me." + +"They _shall_ want you!" declared Jo Vanny, fiercely. + +"I didn't mean that; I don't want to go anyhow; I've got too much +rheumatism. You don't know," she went on, drawn out of herself for a +moment by the need of sympathy--"you don't know how it does grip me at +night sometimes, Jo Vanny! No; you go to the supper, and tell me all +about it afterwards; I like to hear you tell about things just as well +as to go myself." + +Jo Vanny passed his hand through his curly locks with an air of +desperation. "There it is again--my gift of relating, of narrative; it +follows me wherever I go. What will become of me with such talents? I +shall never die in my bed; nor have my old age in peace." + +"You go 'long!" said Prudence (or its Italian equivalent). She gave him +a push, laughing. + +Jo Vanny drew down his cap, put his hands deep in his pockets, and thus +close-reefed scudded down the hill in the freezing wind to the shelter +of the streets below. + +By seven o'clock Nounce and Granmar were both asleep; it was the most +comfortable condition in such weather. Prudence adjusted her lamp, put +on her strong spectacles, and sat down to sew. The great brick stove +gave out no warmth; it was not intended to heat the room; its three +yards of length and one yard of breadth had apparently been constructed +for the purpose of holding and heating one iron pot. The scaldino at her +feet did not keep her warm; she put on her Highland shawl. After a +while, as her head (scantily covered with thin white hair) felt the cold +also, she went to get her bonnet. As she took it from the box she +remembered Beppa's speech, and the pang came back; in her own mind that +bonnet had been the one link that still united her with her old Ledham +respectability, the one possession that distinguished her from all these +"papish" peasants, with their bare heads and frowzy hair. It was not +new, of course, as it had come with her from home. But what signified an +old-fashioned shape in a community where there were no shapes of any +kind, new or old? At least it was always a bonnet. She put it on, even +now from habit pulling out the strings carefully, and pinning the loops +on each side of her chin. Then she went back and sat down to her work +again. + +At eleven o'clock Granmar woke. "Yam! how cold my legs are! Denza, are +you there? You give me that green shawl of yours directly; precisely, I +am dying." + +Prudence came out from behind her screen, lamp in hand. "I've got it on, +Granmar; it's so cold setting up sewing. I'll get you the blanket from +my bed." + +"I don't want it; it's as hard as a brick. You give me that shawl; if +you've got it on, it'll be so much the warmer." + +"I'll give you my other flannel petticoat," suggested Prudence. + +"And I'll tear it into a thousand pieces," responded Granmar, +viciously. "You give me that shawl, or the next time you leave Nounce +alone here, _she_ shall pay for it." + +Granmar was capable of frightening poor little Nounce into spasms. +Prudence took off the shawl and spread it over the bed, while Granmar +grinned silently. + +Carrying the lamp, Prudence went into the bedroom to see what else she +could find to put on. She first tried the blanket from her bed; but as +it was a very poor one, partly cotton, it was stiff (as Granmar had +said), and would not stay pinned; the motion of her arms in sewing would +constantly loosen it. In the way of wraps, except her shawl, she +possessed almost nothing; so she put on another gown over the one she +wore, pinned her second flannel petticoat round her shoulders, and over +that a little cloak that belonged to Nounce; then she tied a woollen +stocking round her throat, and crowned with her bonnet, and carrying the +blanket to put over her knees, she returned to her work. + +"I declare I'm clean tired out," she said to herself; "my feet are like +ice. I wouldn't sew any longer such a bitter night if it warn't that +that work-box 'ain't got a thing in it. I can't bear to think of it +empty. But as soon as I've got a franc or two to begin with again, I'll +stop these extry hours." + +But they lasted on this occasion until two o'clock. + + * * * * * + +"It don't seem as if I'd ever known it _quite_ so baking as it is +to-night." It was Prudence who spoke; she spoke to Nounce; she must +speak to some one. + +Nounce answered with one of her patient smiles. She often smiled +patiently, as though it were something which she was expected to do. + +Prudence was sitting in the wood-shed resting; she had been down to town +to carry home some work. Now the narrow streets there, thrown into shade +by the high buildings on each side, were a refuge from the heat; now the +dark houses, like burrows, gave relief to eyes blinded by the yellow +glare. It was the 30th of August. From the first day of April the broad +valley and this brown hill had simmered in the hot light, which filled +the heavens and lay over the earth day after day, without a change, +without a cloud, relentless, splendid; each month the ground had grown +warmer and drier, the roads more white, more deep in dust; insect life, +myriad legged and winged, had been everywhere; under the stones lurked +the scorpions. + +In former summers here this never-ending light, the long days of burning +sunshine, the nights with the persistent moon, the importunate +nightingales, and the magnificent procession of the stars had sometimes +driven the New England woman almost mad; she had felt as if she must +bury her head in the earth somewhere to find the blessed darkness again, +to feel its cool pressure against her tired eyes. But this year these +things had not troubled her; the possibility of realizing her +long-cherished hope at last had made the time seem short, had made the +heat nothing, the light forgotten; each day, after fifteen hours of +toil, she had been sorry that she could not accomplish more. + +But she had accomplished much; the hope was now almost a reality. +"Nounce," she said, "do you know I'm 'most too happy to live. I shall +have to tell you: I've got _all_ the money saved up at last, and the +men are coming to-morrow to take away the cow-shed. Think of that!" + +Nounce thought of it; she nodded appreciatively. + +Prudence took the girl's slender hand in hers and went on: "Yes, +to-morrow. And it'll cost forty-eight francs. But with the two francs +for wine-money it will come to fifty in all. By this time to-morrow +night it will be gone!" She drew in her breath with a satisfied sound. +"I've got seventy-five francs in all, Nounce. When Bepper married, of +course I knew I couldn't get it done for Fourth of July. And so I +thought I'd try for Thanksgiving--that is, Thanksgiving _time_; I never +know the exact day now. Well, here it's only the last day of August, and +the cow-shed will be gone to-morrow. Then will come the new fence; and +then the fun, the real fun, Nounce, of laying out our front yard! It'll +have a nice straight path down to the gate, currant bushes in neat rows +along the sides, two big flowerin' shrubs, and little flower beds +bordered with box. I tell you you won't know your own house when you +come in a decent gate and up a nice path to the front door; all these +years we've been slinking in and out of a back door, just as though we +didn't have no front one. I don't believe myself in tramping in and out +of a front door _every_ day; but on Sundays, now, when we have on our +best clothes, we shall come in and out respectably. You'll feel like +another person, Nounce; and I'm sure _I_ shall--I shall feel like Ledham +again--my!" And Prudence actually laughed. + +Still holding Nounce's hand, she went round to the front of the house. + +[Illustration: "STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT +OF THE HOUSE"] + +The cow-shed was shedding forth its usual odors; Prudence took a stone +and struck a great resounding blow on its side. She struck with so +much force that she hurt her hand. "Never mind--it done me good!" she +said, laughing again. + +She took little Nounce by the arm and led her down the descent. "I shall +have to make the front walk all over," she explained. "And here'll be +the gate, down here--a swing one. And the path will go from here +straight up to the door. Then the fence will go along here--palings, you +know, painted white; a good clean American white, with none of these +yellows in it, you may depend. And over there--and there--along the +sides, the fence will be just plain boards, notched at the top; the +currant bushes will run along there. In the middle, here--and here--will +be the big flowerin' shrubs. And then the little flower-beds bordered +with box. Oh, Nounce, I can't hardly believe it--it will be so +beautiful! I really can't!" + +Nounce waited a moment. Then she came closer to her step-mother, and +after looking quickly all about her, whispered, "You needn't if you +don't want to; there's here yet to believe." + +"It's just as good as here," answered Prudence, almost indignantly. +"I've got the money, and the bargain's all made; nothing could be surer +than that." + +The next morning Nounce was awakened by the touch of a hand on her +shoulder. It was her step-mother. "I've got to go down to town," she +said, in a low tone. "You must try to get Granmar's breakfast yourself, +Nounce; do it as well as you can. And--and I've changed my mind about +the front yard; it'll be done some time, but not now. And we won't talk +any more about it for the present, Nounce; that'll please me most; and +you're a good girl, and always want to please me, I know." + +She kissed her, and went out softly. + + * * * * * + +In October three Americans came to Assisi. Two came to sketch the Giotto +frescos in the church of St. Francis; the third came for her own +entertainment; she read Symonds, and wandered about exploring the +ancient town. + +One day her wanderings led her to the little Guadagni house on the +height. The back gate was open, and through it she saw an old woman +staggering, then falling, under the weight of a sack of potatoes which +she was trying to carry on her back. + +The American rushed in to help her. "It's much too heavy for you," she +said, indignantly, after she had given her assistance. "Oh dear--I mean, +_è troppo grave_," she added, elevating her voice. + +"Are you English?" said the old woman. "I'm an American myself; but I +ain't deef. The sack warn't too heavy; it's only that I ain't so strong +as I used to be--it's perfectly redeculous!" + +"You're not strong at all," responded the stranger, still indignantly, +looking at the wasted old face and trembling hands. + +A week later Prudence was in bed, and an American nurse was in charge. + +This nurse, whose name was Baily, was a calm woman with long strong +arms, monotonous voice, and distinct New England pronunciation; her +Italian (which was grammatically correct) was delivered in the vowels of +Vermont. + +One day, soon after her arrival, she remarked to Granmar, "That yell of +yours, now--that yam--is a very unusual thing." + +"My sufferings draw it from me," answered Granmar, flattered by the +adjective used. "I'm a very pious woman; I don't want to swear." + +"I think I have never heard it equalled, except possibly in lunatic +asylums," Marilla Baily went on. "I have had a great deal to do with +lunatic asylums; I am what is called an expert; that is, I find out +people who are troublesome, and send them there; I never say much about +it, but just make my observations; then, when I've got the papers out, +whiff!--off they go." + +Granmar put her hand over her mouth apprehensively, and surveyed her in +silence. From that time the atmosphere of the kitchen was remarkably +quiet. + +Marilla Baily had come from Florence at the bidding of the American who +had helped to carry the potatoes. This American was staying at the +Albergo del Subasio with her friends who were sketching Giotto; but she +spent most of her time with Prudence Wilkin. + +"You see, I minded it because it was _him_," Prudence explained to her +one day, at the close of a long conversation. "For I'd always been so +fond of the boy; I had him first when he warn't but two years old--just +a baby--and _so_ purty and cunning! He always called me mamma--the only +one of the children, 'cept poor Nounce there, that really seemed to care +for me. And I cared everything for him. I went straight down to town and +hunted all over. But he warn't to be found. I tried it the next day, and +the next, not saying what I wanted, of course; but nobody knew where he +was, and at last I made up my mind that he'd gone away. For three weeks +I waited; I was almost dead; I couldn't do nothing; I felt as if I was +broke in two, and only the skin held me together. Every morning I'd say +to myself, 'There'll certainly come a letter to-day, and he'll tell me +all about it.' But the letter didn't come, and didn't come. From the +beginning, of course, I knew it was him--I couldn't help but know; Jo +Vanny was the only person in the whole world that knew where it was. For +I'd showed it to him one day--the work-box, I mean--and let him put it +back in the hole behind the hay--'twas the time I took the money out for +Patro. At last I did get a letter, and he said as how he'd meant to put +it back the very next morning, sure. But something had happened, so he +couldn't, and so he'd gone away. And now he was working just as hard as +he could, he said, so as to be able to pay it back soon; he hardly +played on his mandolin at all now, he said, he was working so hard. You +see, he wasn't bad himself, poor little fellow, but he was led away by +bad men; gambling's an awful thing, once you get started in it, and he +was sort of _drove_ to take that money, meaning all the while to pay it +back. Well, of course I felt ever so much better just as soon as I got +that letter. And I began to work again. But I didn't get on as well as +I'd oughter; I can't understand why. That day, now, when I first saw +you--when you ran in to help me--I hadn't been feeling sick at all; +there warn't no sense in my tumbling down that way all of a sudden." + +One lovely afternoon in November Prudence's bed was carried out to the +front of the dark little house. + +The cow-shed was gone. A straight path, freshly paved, led down to a +swing gate set in a new paling fence, flower beds bordered the path, and +in the centre of the open spaces on each side there was a large rose +bush. The fence was painted a glittering white; there had been an +attempt at grass; currant bushes in straight rows bordered the two +sides. + +Prudence lay looking at it all in peaceful silence. "It's mighty purty," +she said at last, with grateful emphasis. "It's everything I planned to +have, and a great deal nicer than I could have done it myself, though I +thought about it goodness knows how many years!" + +"I'm not surprised that you thought about it," the American answered. +"It was the view you were longing for--fancy its having been cut off so +long by that miserable stable! But now you have it in perfection." + +"You mean the view of the garden," said Prudence. "There wasn't much to +look at before; but now it's real sweet." + +"No; I mean the great landscape all about us here," responded the +American, surprised. She paused. Then seeing that Prudence did not lift +her eyes, she began to enumerate its features, to point them out with +her folded parasol. "That broad Umbrian plain, Prudence, with those tall +slender trees; the other towns shining on their hills, like Perugia over +there; the gleam of the river; the velvety blue of the mountains; the +color of it all--I do believe it is the very loveliest view in the whole +world!" + +"I don't know as I've ever noticed it much--the view," Prudence +answered. She turned her eyes towards the horizon for a moment. "You see +I was always thinking about my front yard." + +"The front yard is very nice now," said the American. "I am so glad you +are pleased; we couldn't get snowballs or Missouri currant, so we had to +take roses." She paused; but she could not give up the subject without +one more attempt. "You have probably noticed the view without being +aware of it," she went on; "it is so beautiful that you must have +noticed it. If you should leave it you would find yourself missing it +very much, I dare say." + +"Mebbe," responded Prudence. "Still, I ain't so sure. The truth is, I +don't care much for these Eyetalian views; it seems to me a poor sort of +country, and always did." Then, wishing to be more responsive to the +tastes of this new friend, if she could be so honestly, she added, "But +I like views, as a general thing; there was a very purty view from +Sage's Hill, I remember." + +"Sage's Hill?" + +"Yes; the hill near Ledham. You told me you knew Ledham. You could see +all the fields and medders of Josiah Strong's farm, and Deacon +Mayberry's too; perfectly level, and not a stone in 'em. And the +turnpike for miles and miles, with three toll-gates in sight. Then, on +the other side, there were the factories to make it lively. It was a +sweet view." + +A few days afterwards she said: "People tell us that we never get what +we want in this world, don't they? But I'm fortunate. I think I've +always been purty fortunate. I got my front yard, after all." + + * * * * * + +A week later, when they told her that death was near, "My! I'd no idea I +was so sick as that," she whispered. Then, looking at them anxiously, +"What'll become of Nounce?" + +They assured her that Nounce should be provided for. "You know you have +to be sorter patient with her," she explained; "but she's growing +quicker-witted every day." + +Later, "I should like so much to see Jo Vanny," she murmured, longingly; +"but of course I can't. You must get Bepper to send him my love, my +dearest, dearest love." + +Last of all, as her dulled eyes turned from the little window and rested +upon her friend: "It seems a pity--But perhaps I shall find--" + + + + +NEPTUNE'S SHORE + + +I + +Old Mrs. Preston had not been able to endure the hotel at Salerno. She +had therefore taken, for two months, this house on the shore. + +"I might as well be here as anywhere, saddled as I am with the +Abercrombies," she remarked to her cousin, Isabella Holland. "Arthur may +really do something: I have hopes of Arthur. But as to Rose, Hildegarde, +and Dorothea, I shall plainly have to drag them about with me, and drag +them about with me, year after year, in the hope that the constant +seeing of so many straight statues, to say nothing of pictures, may at +last teach them to have spines. Here they are now; did you ever see such +shoulders, or rather such a lack of them? Hildegarde, child, come here a +moment," she added, as the three girls drew near. "I have an idea. Don't +you think you could _hold_ your shoulders up a little? Try it now; put +them up high, as though you were shrugging them; and expand your chest +too; you mustn't cramp that. There!--that is what I mean; don't you +think, my dear, that you could keep yourself so?" + +Hildegarde, with her shoulders elevated and her long chin run out, began +to blush painfully, until her milk-white face was dyed red. "I am afraid +I could not keep myself so _long_, aunt," she answered, in a low voice. + +"Never mind; let them down, then: it's of no use," commented Mrs. +Preston, despairingly. "Go and dance for twenty-five minutes in the +upper hall, all of you. And dance as hard as you can." + +The three girls, moving lifelessly, went down the echoing vaulted +corridor. They were sisters, the eldest not quite sixteen, all three +having the same lank figures with sloping shoulders and long thin +throats, and the same curiously white, milk-white skin. Orphans, they +had been sent with their brother Arthur to their aunt, Mrs. Octavia +Preston, five years before, having come to her from one of the West +India Islands, their former home. + +"Those girls have done nothing but eat raw meat, take sea baths, and +practise calisthenics and dancing ever since I first took charge of +them," Mrs. Preston was accustomed to remark to intimate friends; "yet +look at them now! Of course I could not send them to school--they would +only grow lanker. So I take them about with me patiently, governess and +all." + +But Mrs. Preston was not very patient. + +The three girls having disappeared, Isabella thought the occasion +favorable for a few words upon another subject. "Do you like to have +Paulie riding so often with Mr. Ash, Cousin Octavia? I can't help being +distressed about it." + +"Don't be Mistering John Ash, I beg; no one in the world but you, +Isabella, would dream of doing it--a great swooping creature like +that--the horseman in 'Heliodorus.'" + +"You mean Raphael's fresco? Oh, Cousin Octavia, how can you think so? +Raphael--such a religious painter, and John Ash, who looks so +dissipated!" + +"Did I say he didn't look dissipated? I said he could ride. John Ash is +one of the most dissipated-looking youths I have ever met," pursued Mrs. +Preston, comfortably. "The clever sort, not the brutal." + +"And you don't mind Paulie's being with him?" + +"Pauline Euphemia Graham has been married, Pauline Euphemia Graham is a +widow; it ill becomes those who have not had a tithe of her experience +(though they may be _much_ older) to set themselves up as judges of her +conduct." + +Mrs. Preston had a deep rich voice, and slow enunciation; her simplest +sentences, therefore, often took on the tone of declamation, and when +she held forth at any length, it was like a Gregorian chant. + +"Oh, I didn't mean to judge, I'm sure," said Isabella; "I only meant +that it would be such a pity--such a bad match for dear Paulie in case +she should be thinking of marrying again. Even if one were sure of John +Ash--and certainly the reverse is the case--look at his mother! I am +interested, naturally, as Paulie is my first cousin, you know." + +"Do you mean that your first cousin's becoming Mrs. John Ash might +endanger your own matrimonial prospects?" + +"Oh dear no," said poor little Isabella, shrinking back to her +embroidery. She was fifty, small, plain, extremely good. In her heart +she wished that people would take the tone that Isabella had "never +cared to marry." + +"Here is Pauline now, I think," said Mrs. Preston, as a figure appeared +at the end of the hall. + +Isabella was afraid to add, "And going out to ride again!" But it was +evident that Mrs. Graham intended to ride: she wore her habit. + +"I wish you were going, too," she said to Mrs. Preston, pausing in the +doorway with her skirt uplifted. Her graceful figure in the closely +fitting habit was a pleasant sight to see. + +"Thanks, my dear; I should enjoy going very much if I were a little more +slender." + +"You are magnificent as you are," responded Pauline, admiringly. + +And in truth the old lady was very handsome, with her thick silver hair, +fine eyes with heavy black eyebrows, and well-cut aquiline profile. Her +straight back, noble shoulders, and beautiful hands took from her +massive form the idea of unwieldiness. + +"Isabella--you who are always posing for enthusiasm--when will you learn +to say anything so genuine as that?" chanted Cousin Octavia's deep +voice. "I mention it merely on your account, as a question of styles +conversational. Here is Isabella, who thinks John Ash so dissipated, +Pauline; she fears that it may injure the family connection if you marry +him. I have told her that no one here was thinking of marrying or of +giving in marriage; if she has such ideas, she must have brought them +with her from Florence. There are a great many old maids in Florence." + +"I can only answer for myself: I certainly am not thinking of marriage," +said Pauline, laughing, as she went down the stairs. + +"Oh, Cousin Octavia, you have set Pauline against me!" exclaimed +Isabella, in distress. + +"Don't be an idiot; Pauline isn't against any one: she doesn't care +enough about it. She is a good deal for herself, I acknowledge; but +she's not against any one. Pauline bears no malice; she is delightfully +uncertain; she hasn't a theory in the world to live up to; in addition, +to have her in the house is like going to the play all the time--she +_is_ such a stupendous liar!" + +Isabella, who was punching round holes in a linen band with an implement +of ivory, stopped punching. "I am sure poor Paulie--" + +"Am I to sit through a defence of Pauline Euphemia Graham, born Preston, +at your hands, Isabella? Pray spare me that. I am much more Pauline's +friend than you ever can be. Did I say that she lied? Nature has given +her a face that speaks one language and a mind that speaks another; she, +of course, follows the language of her mind; but others follow that of +her face, and this makes the play. Eh!--what noise is that?" + +"We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia," called a boyish voice; +its owner was evidently mounting the stairs three at a time: now he was +in the room. "They're all down at the door--Freemantle and Gates and +Beckett. And what do you think--we've got Griff!" + +"Griff himself?" said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, as the lad, with a +very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss her hand. + +"Yes, Griff himself; you may be sure we're drawing like mad. Griff has +come down from Paris for only three weeks, and he says he will go with +us to Pæstum, and all about here--to Amalfi, Ravello, and everywhere. +But of course Pæstum's the stunner." + +"Yes, of course Pæstum's the stunner," repeated Aunt Octavia, as if +trying it in Shakespearian tones. + +"I say, may they come up?" Arthur went on. + +They came up--three boys of seventeen and eighteen, and Griffith Carew, +who was ten years older. These three youths, with Arthur Abercrombie, +were studying architecture at the Beaux-Arts, Paris; this spring they +had given to a tour in Italy for the purpose of making architectural +drawings. Griffith Carew was also an architect, but a full-fledged one. +His indomitable perseverance and painstaking accuracy caused all the +younger men to respect him; the American students went further; they +were sure that Griff had only to "let himself go," and the United States +would bloom from end to end with City Halls of beauty unparalleled. In +the mean time Griff, while waiting for the City Halls perhaps, was so +kind-hearted and jovial and unselfish that they all adored him for that +too. It was a master-treat, therefore, to Arthur and his companions, to +have their paragon to themselves for a while on this temple-haunted +shore. + +Griff sat down placidly, and began to talk to Aunt Octavia. He was of +medium height, his figure heavy and strong; he had a dark complexion and +thick features, lighted by pleasant brown eyes, and white teeth that +gleamed when he smiled. + +Aunt Octavia was gracious to Griff; she had always distinguished him +from "Arthur's horde." This was not in the least because the horde +considered him the architect of the future. Aunt Octavia did not care +much about the future; her tests were those of the past. She had known +Griff's mother, and the persons whose mothers Aunt Octavia had +known--ah, that was a certificate! + + +II + +In the meanwhile Pauline Graham had left Salerno behind her, and was +flying over the plain with John Ash. + +Pauline all her life had had a passion for riding at breakneck speed; +one of the explanations of her fancy for Ash lay in the fact that, +having the same passion himself, he enabled her to gratify her own. +Whenever she had felt in the mood during the past five weeks there had +always been a horse and a mounted escort at her door. Upon this +occasion, after what they called an inspiring ride (to any one else a +series of mad gallops), they had dismounted at a farm-house, and leaving +their horses, had strolled down to the shore. It was a lovely day, +towards the last of March; the sea, of the soft misty blue of the +southern Mediterranean, stretched out before them without a sail; at +their feet the same clear water laved the shore in long smooth wavelets, +hardly a foot high, whose gentle roll upon the sands had an +indescribably caressing sound. There was no one in sight. It is a lonely +coast. Pauline stood, gazing absently over the blue. + +"Sit down for a moment," suggested Ash. + +"Not now." + +"Not now? When do you expect to be here again?" + +She came back to the present, laughing. "True; but I did not mean that; +I meant that you were not the ideal companion for sea-side musing; you +never meditate. I venture to say you have never quoted poetry in your +life." + +"No; I live my poetry," John Ash responded. + +"But for a ride you are perfect; for a rush over the plain, in the teeth +of the wind, I have never had any one approaching you. You are a +cavalier of the gods." + +"Have you had many?" + +"Cavaliers?--plenty. Of the gods?--no." + +"Plenty! I reckon you have," said Ash, half to himself. + +"Would you wish me to have had few? You must remember that I have been +in many countries and have seen many peoples. I shouldn't have +appreciated _you_ otherwise; I should have thought you dangerous--horrible! +There is Isabella, who has not been in many countries; Isabella is sure +that you are 'so dissipated.'" + +"Dissipated!--mild term!" + +"Then you acknowledge it?" + +"Freely." + +Pauline looked about for a rock of the right height, and finding one, +seated herself, and began to draw off her gloves. "Some time--in some +other existence--will you come and tell me how it has paid you, please? +You are so preternaturally intelligent, and you have such a will of your +own, that you cannot have fallen into it from stupidity, as so many do." +Her gloves off, she began to tighten the braids of her hair, loosened by +the gallop. + +"It pays as it goes; it makes one forget for a moment the hideous +tiresomeness of existence. But you put your question off to some other +life; you have no intention, then, of redeeming me in this?" + +"I shouldn't succeed. In the first place, I have no influence--" + +"You know I am your slave," said Ash; his voice suddenly deepened. + +"And how much of a slave shall you be to the next pretty peasant girl +you meet?" Mrs. Graham demanded, turning towards him, both hands still +occupied with her hair. + +"I don't deny that. But it has nothing to do with the subject." + +"In one way I know it has not," she answered, after she had fastened the +last braid in its place with a long gold pin. + +"How right I was to like you! You understand of yourself the thing that +so few women can ever be brought to comprehend. Well, if you acknowledge +that it makes no difference--I mean about the peasant girls--we're just +where we were; I am your slave, yet you have no desire to reclaim me. I +believe you like me better as I am," he added, abruptly. + +"Do you want me to tell you that you are impertinent?" demanded Pauline, +with her lovely smile, that always contradicted in its sweetness any +apparent rebuke expressed by her words. "Do I know what you are in +reality, or care to know? I know what you seem, and what you seem is +admirable, perfect, for these rides of ours, the most enchanting rides I +have ever had." + +"And the rides are to be the end of it? You wouldn't care for me +elsewhere?" + +"Ah!" said Pauline, rising and drawing on her gloves, "you wouldn't care +for _me_. In Paris I am altogether another person; I am not at all as +you see me here. In Paris you would call me a doll. Come, don't dissect +the happy present; enjoy it as I do. 'He only is rich who owns the day,' +and we own this--for our ride." + +[Illustration: "'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"] + + "'I hear the hoofs upon the hill; + I hear them fainter, fainter still,'" + +she sang in her clear voice. "The idea of that old Virginia song coming +to me here!" + +"This talk about reclaiming and reforming is all bosh," remarked Ash, +leaning back against a high fragment of rock, with his hands in his +pockets. "I am what I am because I choose to be, that's all. The usual +successes of American life, what are they? I no longer care a rap about +them, because I've had them, or at least have seen them within my reach. +I came up from nothing; I got an education--no matter now how I got it; +I studied law. In ten years I had won such a position in my profession +(my branch of it--I was never an office lawyer) that everything lay open +before me. It was only a question of a certain number of years. Not only +was this generally prophesied, but I knew it myself. But by that time I +had found out the unutterable stupidity of people and their pursuits; I +couldn't help despising them. I had made enough to make my mother +comfortable, and there came over me a horror of a plodding life. I said +to myself, 'What is the use of it?' Of pleasure there was no question. +But I could go back to that plodding life to-morrow if I chose. Don't +you believe it, Pauline?" + +"Yes." + +"Yet you don't say--try?" + +"Try, by all means." + +"At a safe distance from you!" + +"Yes, at a safe distance from me," Pauline answered. "I should do you no +good; I am not enough in earnest. I am never in earnest long about +anything. I am changeable, too--you have no idea how changeable. There +has been no opportunity to show you." + +"Is that a threat? You know that I am deeply in love with you." He did +not move as he said this, but his eyes were fixed passionately upon her +face. + +"I neither know it nor believe it; it is with you simply as it is with +me--there is no one else here." She stood there watching the wavelets +break at her feet. Nothing in her countenance corresponded in the least +with the description she had just given of herself. + +"How you say that! What am I to think of you? You have a face to +worship: does it lie?" said Ash. + +"Oh, my face!" She turned, and began to cross the field towards the +farm. + +"It shouldn't have that expression, then," he said, joining her, and +walking by her side. "I don't believe you know what it is yourself, +Pauline--that expression. It seems to say as you talk, coming straight +from those divine lips, those sweet eyes: 'I could love you. Be good and +I will.' Why, you have almost made _me_ determine to be 'good' again, +almost made _me_ begin to dream of going back to that plodding life that +I loathe. And you don't know what I am." + +Mrs. Graham did not answer; she did not look up, though she knew that +his head was bent beseechingly towards her. + +John Ash was obliged to bend; he was very tall. His figure was rather +thin, and he had a slouching gait; his broad shoulders and well-knit +muscles showed that he had plenty of force, and his slouching step +seemed to come from laziness, as though he found it too much trouble to +plant his feet firmly, to carry his long length erect. He was holding +his hat in his hand, and the light from the sea showed his face +clearly, its good points and its bad. His head was well shaped, covered +with thick brown hair, closely cut; but, in spite of the shortness, many +silver threads could be seen on the brown--a premature silver, as he was +not yet thirty-five. His face was beardless, thin, with a bold +eagle-like outline, and strong, warm blue eyes, the blue eyes that go +with a great deal of color. Ordinarily, Ash had now but little color; +that is, there was but little red; his complexion had a dark brown hue; +there were many deep lines. The mouth, the worst feature, had a cynical +droop; the jaw conveyed suggestions that were not agreeable. The +expression of the whole countenance was that of recklessness and +cleverness, both of no common order. Of late the recklessness had often +changed into a more happy merriment when he was with Pauline, the +careless merriment of a boy; one could see then plainly how handsome he +must have been before the lines, and the heaviness, and, alas! the evil, +had come to darken his youth, and to sadden (for so it must have been) +his silent, frightened-looking mother. + +They reached the farm; he led out the horses, and mounted her. She +gathered up the reins; but he still held the bridle. "How tired you +look!" he said. + +Her face was flushed slightly, high on the cheeks close under the eyes; +between the fair eyebrows a perpendicular line was visible; for the +moment, she showed to the full her thirty years. + +"Yes, I am tired; and it's dangerous to tire me," she answered, smiling. +She had recovered her light-hearted carelessness. + +Ash still looked at her. A sudden conviction seemed to seize him. "Don't +throw me over, Pauline," he pleaded. And as he spoke, on his brown, +deeply lined face there was an expression which was boyishly young and +trusting. + +"As I told you, so long as there is no one else," Pauline answered. + +The next moment they were flying over the plain. + + +III + +The _table d'hôte_ of the Star of Italy, the Salerno inn from whose +mysteries (of eels and chestnuts) Mrs. Preston had fled--this unctuous +_table d'hôte_ had been unusually brilliant during this month of March; +upon several occasions there had been no less than fifteen travellers +present, and the operatic young landlord himself, with his affectionate +smile, had come in to hand the peas. + +The most unnoticed person was always a tall woman of fifty-five, who, +entering with noiseless step, slipped into her chair so quickly and +furtively that it seemed as if she were afraid of being seen standing +upon her feet. Once in her place, she ate sparingly, looking neither to +the right nor the left, holding her knife and fork with care, and laying +them down cautiously, as though she were trying not to waken some one +who was asleep. But the _table d'hôte_ of the Star of Italy was never +asleep; the travellers, English and American, could not help feeling +that they were far from home on this shore where so recently brigands +had prowled. It is well known that this feeling promotes conversation. + +One evening a pink-cheeked woman, who wore a little round lace cap +perched on the top of her smooth gray hair, addressed the silent +stranger at her left hand. "You have been to Pæstum, I dare say?" she +said, in her pleasant English voice. + +"No." + +"But you are going, probably? Directly we came, yesterday morning, we +engaged horses and started at once." + +"I don't know as I care about going." + +"Not to see the temples?" + +"I didn't know as there were temples," murmured the other, shyly. + +"Fancy! But you really ought to go, you know," the pleasant voice +resumed, doing a little missionary work (which can never come amiss). +"The temples are well worth seeing; they are Greek." + +"I've been ter see a good many buildings already: in Paris there were a +good many; my son took me," the tall woman answered, her tone becoming +more assured as she mentioned "my son." + +"But these temples are--are rather different. I was saying to our +neighbor here that she really ought on no account to miss going down to +Pæstum," the fresh-faced Englishwoman continued, addressing her husband, +who sat next to her on the right, for the moment very busy with his peas +(which were good, but a little oily). "The drive is not difficult. And +we found it most interesting." + +"Interesting? It may well be interesting; finest Greek remains outside +of Athens," answered the husband, a portly Warwickshire vicar. He bent +forward a little to glance past his wife at this ignorer of temples at +her other hand. "American," he said to himself, and returned to his +peas. + +The friendly vicaress offered a few words more the next day. Coming in +from her walk, in her stout shoes, and broad straw hat garnished with +white muslin, she was entering the inn by the back door, when she espied +her neighbor of the dinner-table sitting near by on a bench. There was +nothing to see but a paling fence; she was unoccupied, unless a basket +with Souvenir de Lucerne on one side, and a flat bouquet of artificial +flowers on the other, represented occupation. + +"Do you prefer this to the garden in front?" the English woman asked, in +some surprise. + +"Yes, I think I do." + +"I must differ from you, then, because there we have the sea, you know; +'tis such a pretty view." + +"I don't know as I care about the sea; it's all water--nothing to look +at." + +"Ah! I dare say it makes you ill. We had a very nasty day when we +crossed from Folkestone." + +"No; it ain't that exactly. I sit here because I like ter see the things +grow," hazarded the American, timidly, as if she felt that some +explanation was expected. + +"The things?" + +"Yes, in there." (She pointed to the paling fence.) "There's peas, and +asparagus, and beans, and some sorts I don't know; you wouldn't believe +how they do push up, day after day." + +"Ah, indeed! I dare say they do," the Englishwoman answered, a little +bewildered, looking at the lines of green behind the palings. + +"Her name is Ash, Azubah Ash--fancy!" she said to her husband, later. "I +saw it written on a Swiss basket in which she keeps her crewel-work. She +is extremely odd. She has no maid, yet she wears those very good +diamonds; and she always appears in that Paris gown of rich black +silk--the very richest quality, I assure you, Augustas: she wears it and +the diamonds at breakfast. She has spoken of a son, but apparently he +never turns up. And she spends all her time on a bench behind the house +watching the beans grow." + +"I should think she would bore herself to extinction," said the +easy-going vicar. + +"I dare say she _is_ having rather a hard time of it, she is so +_bornée_. I would offer her a book, but I don't think she ever reads. +And when I told her that I should be very pleased to show her some of +the pretty walks about here, she said that she never walked. She must be +sadly lonely, poor thing!" + +But Mrs. Ash was not lonely; or, if she was, she did not know the name +of her malady. The comings and goings of her son were without doubt very +uncertain; but the mother had been born among people who believe that +the "men-folks" of a family have an existence apart from that of mothers +and sisters, and that it is right that they should have it. Her son, who +never went himself to a public table, had taken it for granted that his +mother would prefer to have her meals served privately in one of the +four large rooms which he had engaged for her at the inn. + +"I think I like it better in the big dining-room, John," Mrs. Ash had +replied. She did not tell him that she found it less difficult to eat +her dinner when the attention of the waiter was distracted by the +necessity of attending to the wants of ten persons than when his gaze +was concentrated upon her solitary knife and fork alone. + +John Ash was fond of his mother. It did not occur to him that this +nomad life abroad was causing her any suffering. Her shyness, her dread +of being looked at, her dread of foreign servants, he did not fully see, +because when he was present she controlled them; when he was present, +also, in a great measure, they disappeared. He knew that she would not +have had one moment's content had he left her behind him, even if he had +left her in the finest house his money could purchase; so he took her +with him, and travelled slowly, for her sake, making no journeys that +she could not make, sending forward to engage the best rooms for her at +the inns where he intended to stop. + +That he had not taken her to Pæstum was not an evidence of neglect. +During the first months of their wanderings he had been at pains to take +her everywhere he had thought that she would enjoy it. But Mrs. Ash had +enjoyed nothing--save the going about on her son's arm. If he left her +alone amid the most exquisite scenery in the world, she did not even see +the scenery; she thought a dusty jaunt in a horse-car "very pleasant" if +John was there. So at last John gave her his simple presence often, but +troubled her with descriptions and excursions no more. + +Dumb, shy, hopelessly out of her element as she was, this mother had, on +the whole, enjoyed her two years abroad. The reason was found in the +fact that she could say to herself, or rather could hope to herself, +that John was more "steady" over here. + +The rustic term covered much--the days and the nights when John had not +been "steady." + +These six weeks at Salerno particularly had been a season of blessed +repose to Azubah Ash; the days had gone by so peacefully that life had +become almost comfortable to her again, in spite of the ordeal of +dinner. She had even been beguiled into thinking a little of the +future--of the farm she should like to have some day, with fruit and +cream and vegetables--yes, especially vegetables; and she dreamed of an +old pleasure of her youth, that of hunting for little round artichokes +in the cool brown earth. John had been contented all the time, and his +mood had been very tranquil. His mother liked this much better than high +spirits. There was an element sometimes in John's high spirits that had +made her tremble. + +But on the day succeeding that last ride with Mrs. Graham, when they had +dismounted and walked down to the shore, John had come back to the inn +with a darkened face. The dark mood had lasted now for ten days. His +mother began to lead her old sleepless, restless life again. Her awkward +crochet-needle had stopped of itself; she went no more to her bench +beside the asparagus. Instead, she remained in her room--her four +rooms--every now and then peeping anxiously through the blinds. Nothing +happened--so any one would have said; the sea continued blue and misty, +the sky blue and clear; every one came and went as usual in the divine +weather of the Italian spring. But John Ash's mother had, to use an old +expression, her heart in her mouth all the time. + +It choked her, and she gave up going to the _table d'hôte_; she let her +son suppose that the meal was served in her sitting-room, but in reality +she took no dinner at all. When he came in she was always there, always +carefully dressed in the black silk whose rich texture the vicar's wife +had noticed, with the "very good" diamonds fastening her collar and on +her thin hands. She made a constant effort that her son should notice +no change in her. + +Azubah Ash had a gaunt frame with large bones; her chest was hollow, and +she stooped a little as she walked. Yet, looking at her, one felt sure +that she would live to be an old woman. Her large features were roughly +moulded, her cheeks thin; her thick dusky hair was put plainly back from +her face, and arranged with a high comb after a fashion of her youth. +Her eyes, large, dark, and appealing, were sunken; they were beautiful +eyes, if one could have removed from them their expression of +apprehension, but that seemed now to have grown a part of them, to have +become fixed by time. Observers of physiognomy who met Azubah during +these two years of her sojourn abroad never forgot her--that tall gaunt +woman with the awkward step and bearing, with the rich dress and +diamonds, from whose timid face with its rough features those beautiful +eyes looked appealingly out. + +"Mother, I am going to Pæstum to-morrow," announced Ash on that eleventh +day. "Perhaps you had better go with me." He had come in and thrown +himself down upon the sofa, where he sat staring at the wall. + +"Pæstum--yes, that's where that English lady said I'd oughter go," +answered Mrs. Ash. Then, after a moment, "She said there were temples +there." She had her hands folded tightly as she looked at her son. + +"They're all going--old lady Preston, with her ghosts of Abercrombies, +little Miss Holland, Mrs. Graham, and all. Those boys are sketching down +there; they've been there some time." + +[Illustration: AZUBAH ASH] + +"I shall be very glad ter go, John, if you are going. Would you like +ter have me--ter have me ride horseback?" + +Ash, coming out of his abstraction, broke into a laugh. "I shall take +you in the finest landau in Salerno, marmer," he said, coming across to +kiss her; "old lady Preston will have to put up with the second best. +You haven't forgotten, then, that you used to ride, marmer, have you?" + +The mother's eyes had filled upon hearing the old name, the "marmer" of +the days when he had been her devoted, constantly following, tyrannical, +but very loving little boy. But she did not let the tears drop: she +never made scenes of any kind before John. "Well, you've been riding +horseback every day now for a long while; you haven't seemed to care at +all for carriages. And I did use to ride horseback a good deal when I +was a girl; I used to ride to the mill." + +"I know you did. And carry the grist to be ground." He kissed her again. +"Don't be afraid of anything or anybody to-morrow, marmer, I beg. You're +the bravest and most sensible woman I know, and I want you to look what +you are." + +"Shall I wear my India shawl, then?" + +"Wear the best you have; I wish it were a hundred times bester. You are +handsomer than any of them as it is." + +"Oh no, John; I ain't good-looking; I never was," said his mother, +blushing. She put her hand up for a moment, nervously, over her mouth--a +gesture habitual with her. + +"Yes, you are, marmer. Look at your eyes. It's only that you have got +into a way of not thinking so. But I think so, and others shall." He +went back to the sofa, and sank into abstraction again. + +At length his mother broke the silence, which had lasted very long. "I +hope they are all well over there to-day?" she asked, hesitatingly. +"Over there" was her name for the house on the shore, the house where +she knew her son had for many weeks spent all his time. + +"Well? They're extraordinarily well," said Ash. He got up and walked +restlessly about the room. After a while he stopped, and now he seemed +to have forgotten his mother's presence, for his eyes rested upon her +without seeing her. "One of them is a little too well," he said, +menacingly; "let him look to himself--that's all." And then into his +face, his mother, watching him, saw coming slowly something she knew. +The expression changed him so completely that the ladies who had seen so +much of him would not have recognized their visitor. His mother +recognized him. That expression on her son's face was her life's long +terror. + +He left the room. She listened as long as she could hear his steps; +then, after sitting for some time with her head upon her arms on the +table before her, she rose, and went slowly to put on her bonnet and +shawl. Coming back, still slowly, she paused, and for five minutes stood +there motionless. Then her hands dropped desparingly by her sides, and +her worn face quivered. "O God, O our Father, I really don't know what +ter do!" she murmured, breaking into helpless sobs, the stifled, +difficult sobs of a person unaccustomed to self-expression, even the +self-expression of grief. + +She did not go out. Instead of that, she went back to the inner room and +knelt down. + + +IV + +The next morning three carriages and two persons on horseback were +following the long road that stretches southward from Salerno to Pæstum. + +In the first carriage old Mrs. Preston sat enthroned amid cushions and +shawls; opposite she had placed her nephew Arthur, first because he was +slim, second because he was a man (Mrs. Preston was accustomed to say, +"Too much lady talk dries my brain"); the second carriage held Isabella +Holland and the Abercrombie girls; in the third, a landau drawn by two +spirited horses, were Mrs. Ash and her son. The two persons on horseback +were Pauline Graham and Griffith Carew. + +In the soft spring air the mountains that rise all the way on the left +at no great distance from the road had in perfection the vague, dreamy +outlines and violet hues that form so characteristic a feature of the +Italian landscape. Up in the sky their peaks shone whitely, powdered +with snow. The flat plain that stretches from the base of the mountains +to the sea had beauty of another kind; often a fever-swept marsh, it +possessed at this season all a marsh's luxuriance of waving reeds and +flowers and tasselled jungles, with water birds rising from their +feeding-places, and flying along, low down, with a slow motion of their +broad wings, their feet stretched out behind. Troops of buffalo could be +seen here and there. At rare intervals there was an oasis of cultivated +ground, with a solitary farm-house. On the right, all the way, the +Mediterranean, meeting the flat land flatly, stretched forward from +thence into space, going on bluely, and rising a little on the horizon +line, as though it were surmounting a low hill. + +Occasionally the carriages passed a little band of the small, +quick-stepping Italian soldiers. + +"Oh, I say, did you know, aunt, that people were murdered by brigands on +this very bridge only ten years ago?" said Arthur, as they rolled across +a stone causeway raised in the form of an arch over a sluggish stream. + +"I should like very much to see the brigands who did it!" Mrs. Preston +answered, smacking her lips contemptuously. + +Arthur at least was very sure that no ten brigands could have vanquished +his aunt. + +"This, girls, is the ancient Tyrrhenian Gulf," began Isabella to her +companions, waving one neatly gloved hand towards the sea. Isabella, +owing to the singularly incessant death of relatives, was always in +mourning; her neat gloves therefore were sable. "The temples we are +about to visit are very ancient also, having been built ages ago by +Greeks, who came from--from Greece, of course, naturally; and never +ceased to regret it. And all this shore, and the temples also, were +sacred to Neptune, or Poseidon, as he was called in Greek. And the +Greeks lamented--but I will read you that later at the threshold of the +temples; you cannot fail to be interested." + +"I shall not be interested at all," said Hildegarde. + +"Nor I," said Rose. + +"_They_ had nothing to lament about; _they_ had no dancing to do," added +Dorothea. And the three white faces glared suddenly and sullenly at +their astonished companion. + +"I am shocked," began Isabella. + +"Shocked yourself," said Rose. + +"You are a busybody," said Dorothea. + +"And a gormandizer," added Hildegarde. + +"And a _Worm_!" said Rose, with decision. "We have decided not to +pretend any more before _you_, Worm! Dance yourself till your legs drop +off, and see how you like it." + +The three girls had weak soft voices; they possessed no other tones; the +strong words they used, therefore, were all the more startling because +so gently, almost sighingly, spoken. + +In the landau there had been silence. Mrs. Ash, after respecting her +son's sombre mood for more than an hour, at last spoke: "I guess you +don't care very much about those triflin' temples, after all, do you, +John? And it's going to be very long. Supposing we turn back?" She wore +her India shawl and a Paris bonnet; she was sitting without touching the +cushions of the carriage behind her. She had looked neither at the +mountains nor at the sea; most of the time her eyes had rested on the +blue cloth of the empty seat opposite. Occasionally, however, they had +followed the two figures on horseback, and it was after these figures +had passed them a second time, pushing on ahead in order to get a free +space of road for a gallop, that she had offered her suggestion. + +"Go back? Not for ten thousand dollars--not for ten thousand devils!" +said John Ash. "What a lazy girl you are, marmer!" And he became gay and +talkative. + +His mother responded to his gayety as well as she could: she laughed +when he did. Her laugh was eager. It was almost obsequious. + +By-and-by the three temples loomed into view, standing in all their +beauty on the barren waste, majestic, uninjured, extraordinary. Their +rows of fluted columns, their brilliant tawny hues, their perfect Doric +architecture, made the loneliness surrounding them even more lonely, +made the sound of the sea breaking near by on the lifeless shore a +melancholy dirge. When the party reached the great colonnades there were +exclamations; there was even declamation, Mrs. Preston having been +fitted by nature for that. Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett had come +rushing forward to meet their arriving friends. In reality, however, it +was Griff whom they had rushed to meet. Griff to their minds was the +only important person present, even though the unimportant included +Pauline. + +"Hallo, Griff, old fellow! how are you?" + +"Couldn't you stay, Griff? We've got a tent for you." + +They laughed, and made jokes, and hovered about him, longing to drag him +off immediately to show him their drawings, and to discuss with him a +hundred disputed points. But though they thus paid small attention to +Pauline, they were obliged to form part of her train; for as Griff +remained with her, and they remained with Griff, naturally, as Isabella +would have said, they made the tour of inspection in her company. + +In the meanwhile Isabella, who had it upon her strictly kept conscience +not to neglect her own duties in spite of the Abercrombie revolt, had +taken her stand before the great temple of Neptune, with her instructive +little book in her hand. "'The men of Poseidonia,'" she began, "'having +been at first true Greeks, had in process of time gradually become +barbarized, changing to Romans.' Poseidonia, girls, was the ancient +name of Pæstum," she interpolated in explanation, glancing over her +glasses at her silent audience. + +The Abercrombies could not retort this time, because Aunt Octavia was +very near them, sitting at the base of one of the great columns of +travertine with the air and manner of Neptune's only lawful wife. But +their backs were towards her; she could not see their faces; they were +able, therefore, to make grimaces at Isabella, and this they immediately +proceeded to do in unison, flattening their thin lips over their teeth +in a very ghastly way, and turning up their eyes so unnaturally far that +Isabella was afraid the pupils would never come down again. + +"'Yet they still observed one Hellenic festival,'" she read stumblingly +on--stumblingly because she felt obliged from a sort of fascination to +glance every now and then at the distorted countenances before +her--"'one Hellenic festival, when they met together here to call to +remembrance the old days and the old customs, and to weep upon each +other's necks, and to lament drearily. And then, when the time of their +mourning was over, they departed, each man in silence to his Roman +home.'" + +"Very fine," said Mrs. Preston, commendingly, from her column. + +But Isabella had closed her book, and was walking away, wiping her +forehead: those girls' faces were really too horrible. + +"Where are you going, Isabella?" Mrs. Preston called. + +"I suppose I may gather some asphodel?" Isabella responded, with some +asperity. + +But she did not gather much asphodel. Coming upon Mrs. Ash wandering +about over the fallen stones, she stayed her steps to speak to her. She +was not interested in Mrs. Ash, but she was so "happily relieved" that +dear Paulie lately had given up her rides with the son, that she, as +Paulie's cousin (first), could afford to be civil to the mother, in +spite of that mother's bad judgment as to English and diamonds. Isabella +disapproved of Mrs. Ash; she thought that "such persons" did great harm +by their display of "mere vulgar affluence." No vulgar affluence +oppressed Isabella. She had six hundred dollars a year of her own, and +each dollar was well bred. + +"We shall soon be having lunch, I suppose," she began, in a gracious +tone. "It seems almost a desecration, doesn't it, to have it in the +shrine itself, for I see they are arranging it there." + +"Oh, is that a shrine?" said Mrs. Ash, vaguely. "I didn't know. But then +I'm not a Catholic. They seem very large buildings. They seem wasted +here." + +Little Isabella looked up at her--she was obliged to look up, her +companion was so tall. The anxious expression in Mrs. Ash's eyes had +grown into anguish: she was watching her son, who had now joined Pauline +and her train. Pauline had Carew on her right hand and John Ash on her +left; the four boys walked stragglingly, now in front, now behind, but +never far from Carew. + +"You are not well," said Isabella; "the drive was too long for you. Pray +take my smelling-salts; they are sometimes refreshing." And she detached +from its black chain a minute funereal bottle. + +"Thank you," answered Mrs. Ash, gazing down uncomprehendingly at the +offering; "I am very well indeed. I was jest looking at your cousin, +Mrs. Graham; she's very handsome." + +"Yes," responded Isabella, gladly seizing this opportunity to convey to +the Ash household a little light, "Pauline is handsome--in her own way. +It is not the style that I myself admire. But then I know that my taste +is severe. By ordinary people Pauline is considered attractive; it is +therefore all the more to be deplored that she should be such a sad, sad +flirt." + +"A flirt?" said Mrs. Ash. + +"Yes--I am sorry to say it. No matter how far she may go, it means +nothing, absolutely nothing; she has not the slightest intention of +allowing herself either to fall in love or to marry again; she prefers +her position as it is. And I don't think she realizes sufficiently that +what is but pastime to her may be taken more seriously by others; and +naturally, I must say, after the way she sometimes goes on. _I_ could +never do so, no matter what the temptations were, and I must say I have +never been able to understand it in Pauline. At present it is Mr. Carew; +she is going to Naples with him to-morrow for the day. As you may +imagine, it is against our wish--Cousin Octavia Preston's and mine. But +Pauline being a widow, which _she_ considers an advantage, and no longer +young (she is thirty, though you may not think it; she shows her age +very fully in the morning)--Pauline, under these circumstances, has for +some time refused a chaperon. I don't think myself that she needs a +chaperon exactly, but she might take a lady friend." + +"Going to Naples with him to-morrow," murmured Mrs. Ash. She put her +gloved hand over her mouth for a moment, the large kid expanse very +different from Isabella's little black paw. "I might as well go over +there," she said, starting off with a rapid step towards Pauline. + +Pauline received her smilingly; Ash frowned a little. He frowned not at +his mother--she was always welcome; he frowned at her persistence in +standing so near Pauline, in dogging her steps. Mrs. Ash kept this up; +she sat near Pauline at lunch; she followed her when she strolled down +to the beach; she gathered flowers for her; in her India shawl and Paris +bonnet she hovered constantly near. + +Only once did John Ash find opportunity to speak to Pauline alone. The +boys had at last carried off Griff by force to their camp; Griff was +willing enough to go, the "force" applied to the intellectual effort +necessary on the boys' part to detach him from a lady who wished to keep +him by her side. They had all been strolling up and down in the shade of +the so-called Basilica, amid the fern and acanthus. Left alone with her +son and Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Ash, after remaining with them a few moments, +turned aside, and entering the temple, sat down there. She was out of +hearing, but still near. + +"Ride with me to-morrow, Pauline," Ash said, immediately. "I have not +had a chance to speak to you before. Don't refuse." + +"I am afraid I must. I have an engagement." + +"With Carew?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"I am very good-natured to tell you. I am going to Naples with him for +the day." + +"You are going-- Damnation!" + +"You forget yourself," said Pauline. Then, when she saw the look on his +face--the face of this man with whom she had played--she was startled. + +"Forget myself! I wish I could. You shall not go to Naples." + +"And how can you prevent it?" + +"Are you daring me?" + +"By no means," answered Pauline; and this time she really tried to speak +gently. "I was calling to your remembrance the fact that there is no tie +between us, Mr. Ash; you have no shadow of authority over my actions; I +am free to do as I please." + +"I know you are; that is the worst of it," he said, almost with a groan. +"Pauline, don't play with me now. I have given up hoping for anything +for myself--if I ever really did hope; I am not worthy of you. Whether +you could make me worthy I don't know; but I don't ask you that; I don't +ask you to try; it would be too much. I only ask you to be as you have +been; as you were, I mean, during all those many weeks, not as you have +been lately. Only a few days are left when I can see you freely; be kind +to me, then, during those few days, and then I will take myself off." + +"I mean to be kind; I am kind." + +"Then ride with me to-morrow; just this once more." + +"But I told you it was impossible; I told you I was going to Naples." + +The pleading vanished from Ash's face and voice. "_I_ never asked you to +do that--to go off with me for a whole day." + +Pauline did not answer; she was arranging the flowers which Mrs. Ash had +industriously gathered. + +"So much the greater fool I!--is that what you are thinking?" Ash went +on, laughing discordantly. + +For the moment Pauline forgot to be angry in the vague feeling, +something like fear, which took possession of her. All fear is +uncomfortable, and she hated discomfort; she gave herself a little +inward shake as if to shake it off. "I shall ask Cousin Oc to go back to +Paris next week," was her thought. "I have had enough of Italy for the +present--Italy and madmen!" + +"You won't go?" asked Ash, bending forward eagerly, as though he had +gained hope from her silence. + +"To Paris?" + +"Are we speaking of Paris? To Naples--to-morrow." + +"Oh, I must go to Naples," she answered, gayly. In spite of her gayety +she turned towards the Basilica; Mrs. Ash was the nearest person. + +"You are going to my mother? She, at least, is a good woman; she would +never have tarnished herself with such an expedition as you are +planning!" cried Ash, in a fury. + +Pauline turned white. "I am well paid for ever having endured you, ever +having liked you," she said, in a low voice, as she hastened on. "I +might have known--I might have known." + +There was not much to choose now between the expression of the two +faces, for the woman's sweet countenance showed in its pallor an anger +as vivid as that which had flushed the face of the man beside her, with +a red so dark that his blue eyes looked unnaturally light by contrast, +as though they had been set in the face of an Indian. + +Mrs. Ash had come hurriedly out to meet them. Her son paid no attention +to her; all his powers were evidently concentrated upon holding himself +in check. "I shouldn't have said it, even if it were the plain brutal +truth," he said. "But you madden me, Pauline. I mean what I say--you +really do drive me into a kind of madness." + +"I have no desire to drive you into anything; I have no desire to talk +with you further," she answered. + +"No, no, dearie, don't say that; talk ter him a little longer," said +Mrs. Ash, coming forward, her face set in a tremulous smile. "I'm sure +it's very pleasant here--beside these buildings. And John thinks so much +of you; he means no harm." + +"Poor mother!" said Ash, his voice softening. "She does not dare to say +to you what she longs to say; she would whisper it if she could; and +that is, 'Don't provoke him!' She has some pretty bad memories--haven't +you, mother?--of times when I've--when I've gone a-hunting, as one may +say. She'll tell you about them if you like." + +"I don't want to hear about them; I don't want to hear about anything," +answered Mrs. Graham, troubled out of all her composure, troubled even +out of her anger by the strangeness of this strange pair. She looked +about for some one, and, seeing Carew coming from the tents of the camp, +she waved her hand to attract his attention and beckoned to him; then +she went forward to meet him as he hastened towards her. + +Ash disengaged himself from his mother, who, however, had only touched +his arm entreatingly, for she had learned to be very cautious where her +son was concerned; he strode forward to Pauline's side. + +"I should rather see you dead before me than go with that man +to-morrow." + +"Pray don't kill me, at least till the day is over," Pauline answered, +her courage, and her unconquerable carelessness too, returning in the +approach of Carew. "It would be quite too great a disappointment to lose +my day." + +"You _shall_ lose it!" said Ash, with a loud coarse oath. + +"Oh!" said the woman, all her lovely delicate person shrinking away from +him. + +Her intonation had been one of disgust. She held the skirt of her habit +closer, as if to avoid all contact. + + +V + +At five o'clock of the same afternoon Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett, +with Arthur Abercrombie, came running along the narrow streets of a +village some miles from Pæstum. + +The stone houses of which this village was composed stood like two solid +walls facing each other, rising directly from the stone-paved road, +which was barely ten feet wide; down this conduit water was pouring like +a brook. The houses were about forty in number, twenty on each side, and +this one short street was all there was of the town. + +It was raining, not in drops, but in torrents, with great pats of water +coming over, almost like stones, and striking upon the heads of those +who were passing below; every two or three minutes there came a glare of +blindingly white lightning, followed immediately by the crash of +thunder, which seemed to be rolling on the very roofs of the houses +themselves. The four boys must have been out in the storm for some time, +for they paid no attention to it. Their faces were set, excited. Every +thread of their clothing was wet through. + +"This is the house," said Arthur. + +They looked up, sheltering their eyes with their arms from the blows of +the rain-balls. From the closed windows above, the faces of Isabella +Holland and the three Abercrombie girls looked down at them, pressed +flatly against the small panes, in order to see; for the storm had made +the air so dark that the street lay in gloom. + +The next moment the boys entered. + +"No, we haven't found him," said Arthur, in answer to his white sisters' +look. "But we're going to." + +"Yes, we're going to," said the others. And then, walking on tiptoe in +their soaked shoes, they went softly into an inner room. + +Here on a couch lay Griffith Carew, dying. + +An Italian doctor was still trying to do something for the unconscious +man. He had an assistant, and the two were at work together. Near by, +old Mrs. Preston sat waiting, her hands folded upon the knob of a cane +which stood on the floor before her, her chin resting upon her hands. In +this bent position, with her disordered white hair and great black eyes, +she looked witch-like. Three candles burned on a table at the head of +the bed, illumining Carew and the two doctors and the waiting old woman. +The room was long, and its far end was in shadow. Was there another +person present--sitting there silent and motionless? Yes--Pauline. The +boys came to the foot of the bed and gazed with full hearts at Griff. + +Griff had been shot by John Ash two hours before. The deed had been done +just as they had reached the shelter of this village, swept into it +almost by a tornado, which, preceding the darker storm, had driven them +far from their rightful road. The darker storm had broken upon them +immediately afterwards with a terrible sound and fury; but the boys had +barely heard the crash in the sky above them as they carried Griff +through the stony little street. They had found a doctor--two of them; +they had done everything possible. Then they had been told that Griff +must die, and they had gone out to look for the murderer. + +He could not be far, for the village was small, and he could not have +quitted the village, because the half-broken young horses that had +brought him from Salerno, frightened by the incessant glare of the +lightning, had become unmanageable, dragged their fastenings loose, and +disappeared. In any case the plain was impassable; the roar of the sea, +with the night coming on, indicated that the floods were out; they had +covered the shore, and would soon be creeping inland; the road would be +drowned and lost. Ash, therefore, could not be far. + +Yet they had been unable to find him, though they had searched every +house. And they had found no trace of his mother. + +During these long hours four times the boys had sallied forth and hunted +the street up and down. The Italians, crowded into their narrow dark +dwellings from fear of the storm, had allowed them to pass freely in and +out, to go from floor to floor; some of the men had even lighted their +little oil lamps and gone down with them to search the shallow cellars. +But the women did not look up; they were telling their beads or +kneeling before their little in-door shrines, the frightened children +clinging to their skirts and crying. For both the street and the dark +houses were lighted every minute or two by that unearthly blinding +glare. + +The village version of the story was that the two _forestieri_ had +sprung at each other's throats, maddened by jealousy; poniards had been +drawn, and one of them had fallen. One had fallen, indeed, but only one +had attacked. And there had been no poniards: it was a well-aimed bullet +from an American revolver that had struck down Griffith Carew. + +The four boys, brought back each time from their search by a sudden hope +that perhaps Griff might have rallied, and forced each time to yield up +their hope at the sight of his death-like face, were animated in their +grief by one burning determination: they would bring the murderer to +justice. It was a foreign land and a remote shore; they were boys; and +he was a bold, bad man with a wonderful brain--for they had always +appreciated Ash's cleverness, though they had never liked him. In spite +of all this he should not escape; they would hunt him like +hounds--blood-hounds; and though it should take months, even years, of +their lives, they would bring him to justice at the last. + +This hot vow kept the poor lads from crying. They were very young, and +their heads were throbbing with their unshed tears; there were big lumps +in their throats when poor Griff, opening his dull eyes for a moment, +knew them, and tried to smile in his cheery old way. But he relapsed +into unconsciousness immediately. And the watch went on. + +The gloomy day drew to its close; by the clocks, evening had come. +There was more breathing-space now between the lightning flashes and the +following thunder; the wind was no longer violent; the rain still fell +heavily; its torrent, striking the pavement below, sent up a loud hollow +sound. One of the doctors left the house, and came back with a fresh +supply of candles and various things, vaguely frightful, because hidden, +concealed in a sheet. Then the other doctor went out to get something to +eat. Finally they were both on guard again. And the real night began. + +Then, to the waiting group in the lighted silent room, there entered a +tall figure--Azubah Ash; drenched, without bonnet or shawl, she stood +there before them. Her frightened look was gone forever: she faced them +with unconscious majesty. "My son is dead"--this was her announcement. + +She walked forward to the bed, and gazed at the man lying there. +"Perhaps he will not die," she said, turning her head to glance at the +others. "God is kind--sometimes; perhaps he will not die." She bent over +and stroked his hair tenderly with her large hand. "Dear heart, live! +Try ter live!" she said; "we want yer to, so much!" + +Then she left him, and faced them again. "I thought of warning you," she +began; "you"--and she looked at Mrs. Preston; "and you"--she turned +towards the figure at the end of the room. "My son was not himself when +he was in a passion--I have known it ever sence he was born. Even when +he was a little fellow of two and three I used ter try ter guard him; +but I couldn't do much--his will was stronger than mine. And he was +always very clever, my son was--much cleverer than me. Twice before, +three times before, I've ben afraid he'd take some one's life. You +see, he didn't care about life so much as some people do; and now he has +taken his own." + +[Illustration: THE OLD WATCH-TOWER] + +There was an involuntary stir among the boys. + +Mrs. Ash turned her eyes towards them. "Would you like ter see him, so's +ter be sure? In one moment." + +She went towards the bed again, and clasped her hands; then she knelt +down, and began to pray beside the unconscious man in hushed tones. "O +God, O our Father, give us back this life: do, Lord--O do. It's so dear +ter these poor boys, and it's so dear ter many; and perhaps there's a +mother too. O Lord, give it back to us! And when he's well again, help +him ter be all that my poor son was not. For Christ's sake." + +She rose and crossed to where the boys were standing. "Will you come +now?" she said. "I'm taking him away at dawn." Then, very simply, she +offered her hand to Mrs. Preston. "He was a great deal at your house; he +told me that. I thank you for having ben so kind ter him. Good-bye." + +"But I too will go with you," answered Mrs. Preston, in her deep tones. +She rose, leaning on her cane. Mrs. Ash was already crossing the room +towards the door. + +The boys followed her; then came Mrs. Preston, looking bent and old. The +figure of Pauline in her dark corner rose as they approached. + +"No," said Mrs. Ash, seeing the movement. She paused. "Don't come, my +dear; I really can't let you; you'd think of it all the rest of your +life if you was ter see him now, and 'twould make you feel so bad. I +know you didn't mean no harm. But you mustn't come." + +And Pauline, shrinking back into the shadow, was held there by the +compassion of this mother--this mother whose nobler nature, and large +glance quiet in the majesty of sorrow, made her, made all the women +present, fade into nothingness beside her. In the outer room Isabella +and the excited, peering Abercrombies were like four unimportant, +unnoticed ghosts, as the little procession went by them in silence, and +descended the stairs. Then it passed out into the storm. + +Mrs. Ash walked first, leading the way, the rain falling on her hair; +the three boys followed; behind them came Mrs. Preston, leaning on her +nephew's arm and helping herself with her cane. They passed down the +narrow street, and the people brought their small lamps to the doorways +to aid them in the darkness. The street ended, but the mother went on: +apparently she was going out on the broad waste. They all followed, Mrs. +Preston merely shaking her head when Arthur proposed that she should +turn back. + +At some distance beyond the town there was a grove of oaks; they went +round an angle of this grove, stumbling in the darkness, and came to a +mound behind it; on the summit of the mound there was something--a +square structure of stone. Mrs. Ash went up, and entered a low door. +Within there was but one room, empty save for a small lighted lamp +standing on the dirt floor; a stairway, or rather a flight of stone +steps, ascended to a room above. Mrs. Ash took the lamp and led the way +up; Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the stones as she followed. + +[Illustration: "THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE +ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED."] + +The room above was square, like the one below; it was the whole interior +of the ancient house, or rather the ancient watch-tower; its roof of +beams was broken; the rain came through in several places and dropped +upon the floor. There was a second small lamp in the room besides the +one which Mrs. Ash had brought; the two shed a dim ray over a peasant's +rude bed, where something long and dark and straight was stretched out. +Mrs. Ash went up to the bed, and motioning away the old peasant who was +keeping watch there, she took both lamps and held them high above the +still face. The others drew near. And then they saw that it was John +Ash--dead! + +There were no signs of the horror of it; his mother had removed them +all; he lay as if asleep. + +The mother held the lights up steadily for a long moment. Then she +placed them on a table, and coming back, took her son's lifeless hand in +hers. + +"Now that you've seen him, seen that he's really gone, will you leave me +alone with him?" she said. "I think there's nothing more." + +There was a dignity in her face as she stood there beside her child +which made the others feel suddenly conscious of the wantonness of +further intrusion. As they looked at her, too, they perceived that she +no longer thought of them, no longer even saw them: her task was ended. + +Without a word they went out. Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the +stairway again; then there was silence. + +At dawn they saw her drive away. Griff might live, the doctors had said. +But for the moment the gazing group of Americans forgot even that. She +was in a cart, with a man walking beside the horse; the cart was going +slowly across the fields, for the road was over-flowed. The storm had +ceased; the sky was blue; the sun, rising, shed his fresh golden light +on the tall, lonely figure with its dark hair uncovered, and on the +long rough box at its feet. + +Looking the other way, one could see in the south the beautiful temples +of Pæstum, that have gazed over that plain for more than two thousand +years. + + + + +A PINK VILLA + + +I + +"Yes, of the three, I liked Pierre best," said Mrs. Churchill. "Yet it +was hard to choose. I have lived so long in Italy that I confess it +would have been a pleasure to see Eva at court; it's a very pretty +little court they have now at Rome, I assure you, with that lovely Queen +Margherita at the head. The old Marchese is to resign his post this +month, and the King has already signified his intention of giving it to +Gino. Eva, as the Marchesa Lamberti, living in that ideal old Lamberti +palace, you know--Eva, I flatter myself, would have shone in her small +way as brightly as Queen Margherita in hers. You may think I am assuming +a good deal, Philip. But you have no idea how much pain has been taken +with that child; she literally is fitted for a court or for any other +high position. Yet at the same time she is very childlike. I have kept +her so purposely; she has almost never been out of my sight. The +Lambertis are one of the best among the old Roman families, and there +could not be a more striking proof of Gino's devotion than his having +persuaded his father to say (as he did to me two months ago) that he +should be proud to welcome Eva 'as she is,' which meant that her very +small dowry would not be considered an objection. As to Eva herself, of +course the Lambertis, or any other family, would be proud to receive +her," pursued Mrs. Churchill, with the quiet pride which in its +unruffled serenity became her well. "But not to hesitate over her mere +pittance of a portion, that is very remarkable; for the marriage-portion +is considered a sacred point by all Italians; they are brought up to +respect it--as we respect the Constitution." + +"It's a very pretty picture," answered Philip Dallas--"the court and +Queen Margherita, the handsome Gino and the old Lamberti palace. But I'm +a little bewildered, Fanny; you speak of it all so appreciatively, yet +Gino was certainly not the name you mentioned; Pierre, wasn't it?" + +"Yes, Pierre," answered Mrs. Churchill, laughing and sighing with the +same breath. "I've strayed far. But the truth is, I did like Gino, and I +wanted to tell you about him. No, Eva will not be the Marchesa Lamberti, +and live in the old palace; I have declined that offer. Well, then, the +next was Thornton Stanley." + +"Thornton Stanley? Has he turned up here? I used to know him very well." + +"I thought perhaps you might." + +"He is a capital fellow--when he can forget his first editions." + +Mrs. Churchill folded her arms, placing one hand on each elbow, and +slightly hugging herself. "He has forgotten them more than once in +_this_ house," she said, triumphantly. + +"He is not only a capital fellow, but he has a large fortune--ten times +as large, I venture to say, as your Lambertis have." + +"I know that. But--" + +"But you prefer an old palace. I am afraid Stanley could not build Eva +an old castle. Couldn't you manage to jog on with half a dozen new +ones?" + +"The trouble with Thornton Stanley was his own uncertainty," said Fanny; +"he was not in the least firm about staying over here, though he +pretended he was. I could see that he would be always going home. More +than that, I should not be at all surprised if at the end of five +years--three even--he should have bought or built a house in New York, +and settled down there forever." + +"And you don't want that for your American daughter, renegade?" + +Mrs. Churchill unfolded her arms. "No one can be a warmer American than +I am, Philip--no one. During the war I nearly cried my eyes out; have +you forgotten that? I scraped lint; I wanted to go to the front as +nurse--everything. What days they were! We _lived_ then. I sometimes +think we have never lived since." + +Dallas felt a little bored. He was of the same age as Fanny Churchill; +but the school-girl, whose feelings were already those of a woman, had +had her nature stirred to its depths by events which the lad had been +too young to take seriously to heart. His heart had never caught up with +them, though, of course, his reason had. + +"Yes, I know you are flamingly patriotic," he said. "All the same, you +don't want Eva to live in Fiftieth Street." + +"In Fiftieth Street?" + +"I chose the name at random. In New York." + +"I don't see why you should be sarcastic," said Fanny. "Of course I +expect to go back myself some time; I could not be content without that. +But Eva--Eva is different; she has been brought up over here entirely; +she was only three when I came abroad. It seems such a pity that all +that should be wasted." + +"And why should it be wasted in Fiftieth Street?" + +"The very qualities that are admired here would be a drawback to her +there," replied Mrs. Churchill. "A shy girl who cannot laugh and talk +with everybody, who has never been out alone a step in her life, where +would she be in New York?--I ask you that. While here, as you see, +before she is eighteen--" + +"Isn't the poor child eighteen yet? Why in the world do you want to +marry her to any one for five years more at least?" + +Mrs. Churchill threw up her pretty hands. "How little you have learned +about some things, Philip, in spite of your winters on the Nile and your +Scotch shooting-box! I suppose it is because you have had no daughters +to consider." + +"Daughters?--I should think not!" was Dallas's mental exclamation. +Fanny, then, with all her sense, was going to make that same old mistake +of supposing that a bachelor of thirty-seven and a mother of +thirty-seven were of the same age. + +"Why, it's infinitely better in every way that a nice girl like Eva +should be married as soon as possible after her school-books are closed, +Philip," Mrs. Churchill went on; "for then, don't you see, she can enter +society--which is always so dangerous--safely; well protected, and yet +quite at liberty as well. I mean, of course, in case she has a good +husband. That is the mother's business, the mother's responsibility, and +I think a mother who does not give her heart to it, her whole soul and +energy, and choose _well_--I think such a mother an infamous woman. In +this case I am sure I have chosen well; I am sure Eva will be happy with +Pierre de Verneuil. They have the same ideas; they have congenial +tastes, both being fond of music and art. And Pierre is a very lovable +fellow; you will think so yourself when you see him." + +"And you say she likes him?" + +"Very much. I should not have gone on with it, of course, if there had +been any dislike. They are not formally betrothed as yet; that is to +come soon; but the old Count (Pierre's father) has been to see me, and +everything is virtually arranged--a delightful man, the old Count. They +are to make handsome settlements; not only are they rich, but they are +not in the least narrow--as even the best Italians are, I am sorry to +say. The Verneuils are cosmopolitans; they have been everywhere; their +estate is near Brussels, but they spend most of their time in Paris. +They will never tie Eva down in any small way. In addition, both father +and son are extremely nice to _me_." + +"Ah!" said Dallas, approvingly. + +"Yes; they have the French ideas about mothers; you know that in France +the mother is and remains the most important person in the family." As +she said this, Mrs. Churchill unconsciously lifted herself and threw +back her shoulders. Ordinarily the line from the knot of her hair behind +to her waist was long and somewhat convex, while correspondingly the +distance between her chin and her belt in front was surprisingly short: +she was a plump woman, and she had fallen into the habit of leaning upon +a certain beguiling steel board, which leads a happy existence in +wrappings of white kid and perfumed lace. + +"Not only will they never wish to separate me from Eva," she went on, +still abnormally erect, "but such a thought would never enter their +minds; they think it an honor and a pleasure to have me with them; the +old Count assured me of it in those very words." + +"And now we have the secret of the Belgian success," said Dallas. + +"Yes. But I have not been selfish; I have tried to consider everything; +I have investigated carefully. If you will stay half an hour longer you +can see Pierre for yourself; and then I know that you will agree with +me." + +In less than half an hour the Belgian appeared--a slender, handsome +young man of twenty-two, with an ease of manner and grace in movement +which no American of that age ever had. With all his grace, however, and +his air of being a man of the world, there was such a charming +expression of kindliness and purity in his still boyish eyes that any +mother, with her young daughter's happiness at heart, might have been +pardoned for coveting him as a son-in-law. This Dallas immediately +comprehended. "You have chosen well," he said to Fanny, when they were +left for a moment alone; "the boy's a jewel." + +Before the arrival of Pierre, Eva Churchill, followed by her governess, +had come out to join her mother on the terrace; Eva's daily lessons were +at an end, save that the music went on; Mlle. Legrand was retained as a +useful companion. + +Following Pierre, two more visitors appeared, not together; one was an +Englishman of fifty, small, meagre, plain in face; the other an +American, somewhat younger, a short, ruddy man, dressed like an +Englishman. Mrs. Churchill mentioned their names to Dallas: "Mr. +Gordon-Gray." "Mr. Ferguson." + +It soon appeared that Mr. Gordon-Gray and Mr. Ferguson were in the habit +of looking in every afternoon, at about that hour, for a cup of tea. +Dallas, who hated tea, leaned back in his chair and watched the scene, +watched Fanny especially, with the amused eyes of a contemporary who +remembers a different past. Fanny was looking dimpled and young; her tea +was excellent, her tea-service elaborate (there was a samovar); her +daughter was docile, her future son-in-law a Count and a pearl; in +addition, her terrace was an enchanting place for lounging, attached as +it was to a pink-faced villa that overlooked the sea. + +Nor were there wanting other soft pleasures. "Dear Mrs. +Murray-Churchill, how delicious is this nest of yours!" said the +Englishman, with quiet ardor; "I never come here without admiring it." + +Fanny answered him in a steady voice, though there was a certain +flatness in its tone: "Yes, it's very pretty indeed." Her face was red; +she knew that Dallas was laughing; she would not look in his direction. +Dallas, however, had taken himself off to the parapet, where he could +have his laugh out at ease: to be called Mrs. Murray-Churchill as a +matter of course in that way--what joy for Fanny! + +Eva was listening to the busy Mark Ferguson; he was showing her a little +silver statuette which he had unearthed that morning in Naples, "in a +dusty out-of-the-way shop, if you will believe it, where there was +nothing else but rubbish--literally nothing. From the chasing I am +inclined to think it's fifteenth century. But you will need glasses to +see it well; I can lend you a pair of mine." + +"I can see it perfectly--thanks," said Eva. "It is very pretty, I +suppose." + +"Pretty, Miss Churchill? Surely it's a miracle!" Ferguson protested. + +Pierre, who was sitting near the mother, glanced across and smiled. Eva +did not smile in reply; she was looking vaguely at the blackened silver; +but when he came over to see for himself the miracle, then she smiled +very pleasantly. + +Pierre was evidently deeply in love; he took no pains to conceal it; but +during the two hours he spent there he made no effort to lure the young +girl into the drawing-room, or even as far as the parapet. He was very +well bred. At present he stood beside her and beside Mark Ferguson, and +talked about the statuette. "It seems to me old Vienna," he said. + +"Signor Bartalama," announced Angelo, Mrs. Churchill's man-servant, +appearing at the long window of the drawing-room which served as one of +the terrace doors; he held the lace curtains apart eagerly, with the +smiling Italian welcome. + +Fanny had looked up, puzzled. But when her eyes fell upon the figure +emerging from the lace she recognized it instantly. "Horace Bartholomew! +Now from what quarter of the heavens do you drop _this_ time?" + +"So glad you call it heaven," said the new-comer, as she gave him her +hand. "But from heaven indeed this time, Mrs. Churchill--I say so +emphatically; from our own great, grand country--with the permission of +the present company be it spoken." And he bowed slightly to the +Englishman and Pierre, his discriminating glance including even the +little French governess, who smiled (though non-comprehendingly) in +reply. "May I present to you a compatriot, Mrs. Churchill?" he went on. +"I have taken the liberty of bringing him without waiting for formal +permission; he is, in fact, in your drawing-room now. His credentials, +however, are small and puny; they consist entirely of the one item--that +I like him." + +"That will do perfectly," said Fanny, smiling. + +Bartholomew went back to the window and parted the curtains. "Come," he +said. A tall man appeared. "Mrs. Churchill, let me present to you Mr. +David Rod." + +Mrs. Churchill was gracious to the stranger; she offered him a chair +near hers, which he accepted; a cup of tea, which he declined; and the +usual small questions of a first meeting, which only very original minds +are bold enough to jump over. The stranger answered the questions +promptly; he was evidently not original. He had arrived two days before; +this was his first visit to Italy; the Bay of Naples was beautiful; he +had not been up Vesuvius; he had not visited Pompeii; he was not afraid +of fever; and he had met Horace Bartholomew in Florida the year before. + +"I am told they are beginning to go a great deal to Florida," remarked +Fanny. + +"I don't go there; I live there," Rod answered. + +"Indeed! in what part?" (She brought forward the only names she knew.) +"St. Augustine, perhaps? Or Tallahassee?" + +"No; I live on the southern coast; at Punta Palmas?" + +"How Spanish that is! Perhaps you have one of those old Spanish +plantations?" She had now exhausted all her knowledge of the State save +a vague memory of her school geography: "Where are the Everglades?" +"They are in the southern part of Florida. They are shallow lakes filled +with trees." But the stranger could hardly live in such a place as that. + +"No," answered Rod; "my plantation isn't old and it isn't Spanish; it's +a farm, and quite new. I am over here now to get hands for it." + +"Hands?" + +"Yes, laborers--Italians. They work very well in Florida." + +Eva and Mademoiselle Legrand had turned with Pierre to look at the +magnificent sunset. "Did you receive the flowers I sent this morning?" +said Pierre, bending his head so that if Eva should glance up when she +answered, he should be able to look into her eyes. + +"Yes; they were beautiful," said Eva, giving the hoped-for glance. + +"Yet they are not in the drawing-room." + +"You noticed that?" she said, smiling. "They are in the music-room; +Mademoiselle put them there." + +"They are the flowers for Mozart, are they not?" said +Mademoiselle--"heliotrope and white lilies; and we have been studying +Mozart this morning. The drawing-room, as you know, Monsieur le Comte, +is always full of roses." + +"And how do you come on with Mozart?" asked Pierre. + +"As usual," answered Eva. "Not very well, I suppose." + +[Illustration: "'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"] + +Mademoiselle twisted her handkerchief round her fingers. She was +passionately fond of music; it seemed to her that her pupil, who played +accurately, was not. Pierre also was fond of music, and played with +taste. He had not perceived Eva's coldness in this respect simply +because he saw no fault in her. + +"I want to make up a party for the Deserto," he went on, "to lunch +there. Do you think Madame Churchill will consent?" + +"Probably," said Eva. + +"I hope she will. For when we are abroad together, under the open sky, +then it sometimes happens I can stay longer by your side." + +"Yes; we never have very long talks, do we?" remarked Eva, reflectively. + +"Do you desire them?" said Pierre, with ardor. "Ah, if you could know +how I do! With me it is one long thirst. Say that you share the feeling, +even if only a little; give me that pleasure." + +"No," said Eva laughing, "I don't share it at all. Because, if we should +have longer talks, you would find out too clearly that I am not clever." + +"Not clever!" said Pierre, with all his heart in his eyes. Then, with +his unfailing politeness, he included Mademoiselle. "She is clever, +Mademoiselle?" + +"She is good," answered Mademoiselle, gravely. "Her heart has a +depth--but a depth!" + +"I shall fill it all," murmured Pierre to Eva. "It is not that I myself +am anything, but my love is so great, so vast; it holds you as the sea +holds Capri. Some time--some time, you must let me try to tell you!" + +Eva glanced at him. Her eyes had for the moment a vague expression of +curiosity. + +This little conversation had been carried on in French; Mademoiselle +spoke no English, and Pierre would have been incapable of the rudeness +of excluding her by means of a foreign tongue. + + +II + +The pink villa was indeed a delicious nest, to use the Englishman's +phrase. It crowned one of the perpendicular cliffs of Sorrento, its rosy +façade overlooking what is perhaps the most beautiful expanse of water +in the world--the Bay of Naples. The broad terrace stretched from the +drawing room windows to the verge of the precipice; leaning against its +strong stone parapet, with one's elbows comfortably supported on the +flat top (which supported also several battered goddesses of marble), +enjoying the shade of a lemon-tree set in a great vase of tawny +terra-cotta--leaning thus, one could let one's idle gaze drop straight +down into the deep blue water below, or turn it to the white line of +Naples opposite, shining under castled heights, to Vesuvius with its +plume of smoke, or to beautiful dark Ischia rising from the waves in the +west, guarding the entrance to the sea. On each side, close at hand, the +cliffs of Sorrento stretched away, tipped with their villas, with their +crowded orange and lemon groves. Each villa had its private stairway +leading to the beach below; strange dark passages, for the most part cut +in the solid rock, winding down close to the face of the cliff, so that +every now and then a little rock-window can let in a gleam of light to +keep up the spirits of those who are descending. For every one does +descend: to sit and read among the rocks; to bathe from the +bathing-house on the fringe of beach; to embark for a row to the +grottos or a sail to Capri. + +[Illustration: SORRENTO] + +The afternoon which followed the first visit of Philip Dallas to the +pink villa found him there a second time; again he was on the terrace +with Fanny. The plunging sea-birds of the terrace's mosaic floor were +partially covered by a large Persian rug, and it was upon this rich +surface that the easy-chairs were assembled, and also the low tea-table, +which was of a construction so solid that no one could possibly knock it +over. A keen observer had once said that that table was in itself a +sufficient indication that Fanny's house was furnished to attract +masculine, not feminine, visitors (a remark which was perfectly true). + +"You are the sun of a system of masculine planets, Fanny," said Dallas. +"After long years, that is how I find you." + +"Oh, Philip--we who live so quietly!" + +"So is the sun quiet, I suppose; I have never heard that he howled. Mr. +Gordon-Gray, Mark Ferguson, Pierre de Vernueil, Horace Bartholomew, +unknown Americans. Do they come to see Eva or you?" + +"They come to see the view--as you do; to sit in the shade and talk. I +give very good dinners too," Fanny added, with simplicity. + +"O romance! good dinners on the Bay of Naples!" + +"Well, you may laugh; but nothing draws men of a certain age--of a +certain kind, I mean; the most satisfactory men, in short--nothing draws +them so surely as a good dinner delicately served," announced Fanny, +with decision. "Please go and ring for the tea." + +"I don't wonder that they all hang about you," remarked Dallas as he +came back, his eyes turning from the view to his hostess in her +easy-chair. "Your villa is admirable, and you yourself, as you sit +there, are the personification of comfort, the personification, too, of +gentle, sweet, undemonstrative affectionateness. Do you know that, +Fanny?" + +Fanny, with a very pink blush, busied herself in arranging the table for +the coming cups. + +Dallas smiled inwardly. "She thinks I am in love with her because I said +that about affectionateness," he thought. "Oh, the fatuity of women!" + +At this moment Eva came out, and presently appeared Mr. Gordon-Gray and +Mark Ferguson. A little later came Horace Bartholomew. The tea had been +brought; Eva handed the cups. Dallas, looking at her, was again struck +by something in the manner and bearing of Fanny's daughter. Or rather he +was not struck by it; it was an impression that made itself felt by +degrees, as it had done the day before--a slow discovery that the girl +was unusual. + +She was tall, dressed very simply in white. Her thick smooth flaxen hair +was braided in two long flat tresses behind, which were doubled and +gathered up with a ribbon, so that they only reached her shoulders. This +school-girl coiffure became her young face well. Yes, it was a very +young face. Yet it was a serious face too. "Our American girls are often +serious, and when they are brought up under the foreign system it really +makes them too quiet," thought Dallas. Eva had a pair of large gray eyes +under dark lashes: these eyes were thoughtful; sometimes they were dull. +Her smooth complexion was rather brown. The oval of her face was +perfect. Though her dress was so child-like, her figure was womanly; the +poise of her head was noble, her step light and free. Nothing could be +more unlike the dimpled, smiling mother than was this tall, serious +daughter who followed in her train. Dallas tried to recall Edward +Churchill (Edward Murray Churchill), but could not; he had only seen him +once. "He must have been an obstinate sort of fellow," he said to +himself. The idea had come to him suddenly from something in Eva's +expression. Yet it was a sweet expression; the curve of the lips was +sweet. + +"She isn't such a very pretty girl, after all," he reflected, summing +her up finally before he dismissed her. "Fanny is a clever woman to have +made it appear that she is." + +At this moment Eva, having finished her duties as cup-bearer, walked +across the terrace and stood by the parapet, outlined against the light. + +"By Jove she's beautiful!" thought Dallas. + +Fanny's father had not liked Edward Churchill; he had therefore left his +money tied up in such a way that neither Churchill nor any children whom +he might have should be much benefited by it; Fanny herself, though she +had a comfortable income for life, could not dispose of it. This +accounted for the very small sum belonging to Eva: she had only the few +hundreds that came to her from her father. + +But she had been brought up as though she had many thousands; studiedly +quiet as her life had been, studiedly simple as her attire always was, +in every other respect her existence had been arranged as though a large +fortune certainly awaited her. This had been the mother's idea; she had +been sure from the beginning that a large fortune did await her +daughter. It now appeared that she had been right. + +"I don't know what you thought of me for bringing a fellow-countryman +down upon you yesterday in that unceremonious way, Mrs. Churchill," +Bartholomew was saying. "But I wanted to do something for him--I met him +at the top of your lane by accident; it was an impulse." + +"Oh, I'm sure--any friend of yours--" said Fanny, looking into the +teapot. + +Bartholomew glanced round the little circle on the rug, with an +expression of dry humor in his brown eyes. "You didn't any of you like +him--I see that," he said. + +There was a moment's silence. + +"Well, he is rather a commonplace individual, isn't he?" said Dallas, +unconsciously assuming the leadership of this purely feminine household. + +"I don't know what you mean by commonplace; but yes, I do, coming from +_you_, Dallas. Rod has never been abroad in his life until now; and he's +a man with convictions." + +"Oh, come, don't take that tone," said Mark Ferguson; "I've got +convictions too; I'm as obstinate about them as an Englishman." + +"What did your convictions tell you about Rod, then, may I ask?" pursued +Bartholomew. + +"I didn't have much conversation with him, you may remember; I thought +he had plenty of intelligence. His clothes were--were a little peculiar, +weren't they?" + +"Made in Tampa, probably. And I've no doubt but that he took pains with +them--wanted to have them appropriate." + +"That is where he disappointed me," said Gordon-Gray--"that very +appearance of having taken pains. When I learned that he came from +that--that place in the States you have just named--a wild part of the +country, is it not?--I thought he would be more--more interesting. But +he might as well have come from Clerkenwell." + +"You thought he would be more wild, you mean; trousers in his boots; +long hair; knives." + +All the Americans laughed. + +"Yes. I dare say you cannot at all comprehend our penchant for that sort +of thing," said the Englishman, composedly. "And--er--I am afraid there +would be little use in attempting to explain it to you. But this Mr. Rod +seemed to me painfully unconscious of his opportunities; he told me +(when I asked) that there was plenty of game there--deer, and even bears +and panthers--royal game; yet he never hunts." + +"He never hunts, because he has something better to do," retorted +Bartholomew. + +"Ah, better?" murmured the Englishman, doubtfully. + +Bartholomew got up and took a chair which was nearer Fanny. "No--no +tea," he said, as she made a motion towards a cup; then, without further +explaining his change of position, he gave her a little smile. Dallas, +who caught this smile on the wing, learned from it unexpectedly that +there was a closer intimacy between his hostess and Bartholomew than he +had suspected. "Bartholomew!" he thought, contemptuously. +"Gray--spectacles--stout." Then suddenly recollecting the increasing +plumpness of his own person, he drew in his out-stretched legs, and +determined, from that instant, to walk fifteen miles a day. + +"Rod knows how to shoot, even though he doesn't hunt," said +Bartholomew, addressing the Englishman. "I saw him once bring down a mad +bull, who was charging directly upon an old man--the neatest sort of a +hit." + +"He himself being in a safe place meanwhile," said Dallas. + +"On the contrary, he had to rush forward into an open field. If he had +missed his aim by an eighth of an inch, the beast--a terrible +creature--would have made an end of him." + +"And the poor old man?" said Eva. + +"He was saved, of course; he was a rather disreputable old darky. +Another time Rod went out in a howling gale--the kind they have down +there--to rescue two men whose boat had capsized in the bay. They were +clinging to the bottom; no one else would stir; they said it was certain +death; but Rod went out--he's a capital sailor--and got them in. I +didn't see that myself, as I saw the bull episode; I was told about it." + +"By Rod?" said Dallas. + +"By one of the men he saved. As you've never been saved yourself, +Dallas, you probably don't know how it feels." + +"He seems to be a modern Chevalier Bayard, doesn't he?" said +good-natured Mark Ferguson. + +"He's modern, but no Bayard. He's a modern and a model pioneer--" + +"Pioneers! oh, pioneers!" murmured Gordon-Gray, half chanting it. + +None of the Americans recognized his quotation. + +"He's the son of a Methodist minister," Bartholomew went on. "His +father, a missionary, wandered down to Florida in the early days, and +died there, leaving a sickly wife and seven children. You know the sort +of man--a linen duster for a coat, prunella shoes, always smiling and +hopeful--a great deal about 'Brethren.' Fortunately they could at least +be warm in that climate, and fish were to be had for the catching; but I +suspect it was a struggle for existence while the boys were small. David +was the youngest; his five brothers, who had come up almost laborers, +were determined to give this lad a chance if they could; together they +managed to send him to school, and later to a forlorn little Methodist +college somewhere in Georgia. David doesn't call it forlorn, mind you; +he still thinks it an important institution. For nine years now--he is +thirty--he has taken care of himself; he and a partner have cleared this +large farm, and have already done well with it. Their hope is to put it +all into sugar in time, and a Northern man with capital has advanced +them the money for this Italian colonization scheme: it has been tried +before in Florida, and has worked well. They have been very +enterprising, David and his partner; they have a saw-mill running, and +two school-houses already--one for whites, one for blacks. You ought to +see the little darkies, with their wool twisted into twenty tails, going +proudly in when the bell rings," he added, turning to Fanny. + +"And the white children, do they go too?" said Eva. + +"Yes, to their own school-house--lank girls, in immense sun-bonnets, +stalking on long bare feet. He has got a brisk little Yankee +school-mistress for them. In ten years more I declare he will have +civilized that entire neighborhood." + +"You are evidently the Northern man with capital," said Dallas. + +"I don't care in the least for your sneers, Dallas; I'm not the Northern +man, but I should like to be. If I admire Rod, with his constant driving +action, his indomitable pluck, his simple but tremendous belief in the +importance of what he has undertaken to do, that's my own affair. I do +admire him just as he stands, clothes and all; I admire his creaking +saw-mill; I admire his groaning dredge; I even admire his two hideously +ugly new school-houses, set staring among the stumps." + +"Tell me one thing, does he preach in the school-houses on Sundays and +Friday evenings, say?" asked Ferguson. "Because if he does he will make +no money, whatever else he may make. They never do if they preach." + +"It's his father who was the minister, not he," said Bartholomew. "David +never preached in his life; he wouldn't in the least know how. In fact, +he's no talker at all; he says very little at any time; he's a +doer--David is; he _does_ things. I declare it used to make me sick of +myself to see how much that fellow accomplished every day of his life +down there, and thought nothing of it at all." + +"And what were you doing 'down there,' besides making yourself sick, if +I may ask?" said Ferguson. + +"Oh, I went down for the hunting, of course. What else does one go to +such a place for?" + +"Tell me a little about that, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, +interested for the first time. + +"M. de Verneuil wants us all to go to the Deserto some day soon," said +Fanny; "a lunch party. We shall be sure to enjoy it; M. de Verneuil's +parties are always delightful." + + +III + +The end of the week had been appointed for Pierre's excursion. + +The morning opened fair and warm, with the veiled blue that belongs to +the Bay of Naples, the soft hazy blue which is so different from the dry +glittering clearness of the Riviera. + +Fanny was mounted on a donkey; Eva preferred to walk, and Mademoiselle +accompanied her. Pierre had included in his invitation the usual +afternoon assemblage at the villa--Dallas, Mark Ferguson, Bartholomew, +Gordon-Gray, and David Rod. + +For Fanny had, as Dallas expressed it, "taken up" Rod; she had invited +him twice to dinner. The superfluous courtesy had annoyed Dallas, for of +course, as Rod himself was nothing, less than nothing, the explanation +must lie in the fact that Horace Bartholomew had suggested it. +"Bartholomew was always wrong-headed; always picking up some perfectly +impossible creature, and ramming him down people's throats," he thought, +with vexation. + +Bartholomew was walking now beside Fanny's donkey. + +Mark Ferguson led the party, as it moved slowly along the narrow paved +road that winds in zigzags up the mountain; Eva, Mademoiselle, Pierre, +Dallas, and Rod came next. Fanny and Bartholomew were behind; and +behind still, walking alone and meditatively, came Gordon-Gray, who +looked at life (save for the hunting) from the standpoint of the Italian +Renaissance. Gordon-Gray knew a great deal about the Malatesta family; +he had made a collection of Renaissance cloak clasps; he had written an +essay on the colors of the long hose worn in the battling, +leg-displaying days which had aroused his admiration, aroused it rather +singularly, since he himself was as far as possible from having been +qualified by nature to shine in such vigorous society. + +Pierre went back to give some directions to one of the men in the rear +of their small procession. + +When he returned, "So the bears sometimes get among the canes?" Eva was +saying. + +"But then, how very convenient," said Pierre; "for they can take the +canes and chastise them punctually." He spoke in his careful English. + +"They're sugar-canes," said Rod. + +"It's his plantation we are talking about," said Eva. "Once it was a +military post, he says. Perhaps like Ehrenbreitstein." + +"Exactly," said Dallas, from behind; "the same massive frowning stone +walls." + +"There were four one-story wooden barracks once," said Rod; +"whitewashed; flag-pole in the centre. There's nothing now but a +chimney; we've taken the boards for our mill." + +"See the cyclamen, good folk," called out Gordon-Gray. + +On a small plateau near by a thousand cyclamen, white and pink, had +lifted their wings as if to fly away. Off went Pierre to get them for +Eva. + +[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO] + +"Have you ever seen the bears in the canes yourself?" pursued Eva. + +"I've seen them in many places besides canes," answered Rod, grimly. + +"I too have seen bears," Eva went on. "At Berne, you know." + +"The Punta Palmas bears are quite the same," commented Dallas. "When +they see Mr. Rod coming they sit up on their hind legs politely. And he +throws them apples." + +"No apples; they won't grow there," said Rod, regretfully. "Only +oranges." + +"Do you make the saw-mill go yourself--with your own hands?" pursued +Eva. + +"Not now. I did once." + +"Wasn't it very hard work?" + +"That? Nothing at all. You should have seen us grubbing up the +stumps--Tipp and I!" + +"Mr. Tipp is perhaps your partner?" said Dallas. + +"Yes; Jim Tipp. Tipp and Rod is the name of the firm." + +"Tipp--and Rod," repeated Dallas, slowly. Then with quick utterance, as +if trying it, "Tippandrod." + +Pierre was now returning with his flowers. As he joined them, round the +corner of their zigzag, from a pasture above came a troop of ponies that +had escaped from their driver, and were galloping down to Sorrento; two +and two they came rushing on, too rapidly to stop, and everybody pressed +to one side to give them room to pass on the narrow causeway. + +Pierre jumped up on the low stone wall and extended his hand to Eva. +"Come!" he said, hastily. + +Rod put out his arm and pushed each outside pony, as he passed Eva, +forcibly against his mate who had the inside place; a broad space was +thus left beside her, and she had no need to leave the causeway. She had +given one hand to Pierre as a beginning; he held it tightly. +Mademoiselle meanwhile had climbed the wall like a cat. There were +twenty of the galloping little nags; they took a minute or two to pass. +Rod's out-stretched hands, as he warded them off, were seen to be large +and brown. + +Eva imagined them "grubbing up" the stumps. "What is grubbing?" she +said. + +"It is writing for the newspapers in a street in London," said Pierre, +jumping down. "And you must wear a torn coat, I believe." Pierre was +proud of his English. + +He presented his flowers. + +Mademoiselle admired them volubly. "They are like souls just ready to +wing their way to another world," she said, sentimentally, with her head +on one side. She put her well-gloved hand in Eva's arm, summoned Pierre +with an amiable gesture to the vacant place at Eva's left hand, and the +three walked on together. + +The Deserto, though disestablished and dismantled, like many another +monastery, by the rising young kingdom, held still a few monks; their +brown-robed brethren had aided Pierre's servant in arranging the table +in the high room which commands the wonderful view of the sea both to +the north and the south of the Sorrento peninsula, with Capri lying at +its point too fair to be real--like an island in a dream. + + "O la douce folie-- + Aimable Capri!" + +said Mark Ferguson. No one knew what he meant; he did not know himself. +It was a poetical inspiration--so he said. + +[Illustration: AT THE DESERTO] + +The lunch was delicate, exquisite; everything save the coffee (which the +monks wished to provide: coffee, black-bread, and grapes which were half +raisins was the monks' idea of a lunch) had been sent up from Sorrento. +Dallas, who was seated beside Fanny, gave her a congratulatory nod. + +"Yes, all Pierre does is well done," she answered, in a low tone, unable +to deny herself this expression of maternal content. + +Pierre was certainly a charming host. He gave them a toast; he gave them +two; he gave them a song: he had a tenor voice which had been admirably +cultivated, and his song was gay and sweet. He looked very handsome; he +wore one of the cyclamen in his button-hole; Eva wore the rest, arranged +by the deft fingers of Mademoiselle in a knot at her belt. But at the +little feast Fanny was much more prominent than her daughter: this was +Pierre's idea of what was proper; he asked her opinion, he referred +everything to her with a smile which was homage in itself. Dallas, after +a while, was seized with a malicious desire to take down for a moment +this too prosperous companion of his boyhood. It was after Pierre had +finished his little song. "Do you ever sing now, Fanny?" he asked, +during a silence. "I remember how you used to sing Trancadillo." + +"I am sure I don't know what you refer to," answered Fanny, coldly. + +Another week passed. They sailed to Capri; they sailed to Ischia; they +visited Pompeii. Bartholomew suggested these excursions. Eva too showed +an almost passionate desire for constant movement, constant action. +"Where shall we go to-day, mamma?" she asked every morning. + +One afternoon they were strolling through an orange grove on the +outskirts of Sorrento. Under the trees the ground was ploughed and +rough; low stone copings, from whose interstices innumerable violets +swung, ran hither and thither, and the paths followed the copings. The +fruit hung thickly on the trees. Above the high wall which surrounded +the place loomed the campanile of an old church. While they were +strolling the bells rang the Angelus, swinging far out against the blue. + +Rod, who was of the party, was absent-minded; he looked a little at the +trees, but said nothing, and after a while he became absent-bodied as +well, for he fell behind the others, and pursued his meditations, +whatever they were, in solitude. + +"He is bothered about his Italians," said Bartholomew; "he has only +secured twenty so far." + +Pierre joined Fanny; he had not talked with her that afternoon, and he +now came to fulfil the pleasant duty. Eva, who had been left with +Mademoiselle, turned round, and walking rapidly across the ploughed +ground, joined Rod, who was sitting on one of the low stone walls at +some distance from the party. Mademoiselle followed her, putting on her +glasses as she went, in order to see her way over the heaped ridges. She +held up her skirts, and gave ineffectual little leaps, always landing in +the wrong spot, and tumbling up hill, as Dallas called it. "Blue," he +remarked, meditatively. Every one glanced in that direction, and it was +perceived that the adjective described the hue of Mademoiselle's +birdlike ankles. + +"For shame!" said Fanny. + +But Dallas continued his observations. "Do look across," he said, after +a while; "it's too funny. The French woman evidently thinks that Rod +should rise, or else that Eva should be seated also. But her pantomime +passes unheeded; neither Eva nor the backwoodsman is conscious of her +existence." + +"Eva is so fond of standing," explained Fanny. "I often say to her, 'Do +sit down, child; it tires me to see you.' But Eva is never tired." + +Pierre, who had a spray of orange buds in his hand, pressed it to his +lips, and waved it imperceptibly towards his betrothed. "In everything +she is perfect--perfect," he murmured to the pretty mother. + +"Rod doesn't in the least mean to be rude," began Bartholomew. + +"Oh, don't explain that importation of yours at this late day," +interposed Dallas; "it isn't necessary. He is accustomed to sitting on +fences probably; he belongs to the era of the singing-school." + +This made Fanny angry. For as to singing-schools, there had been a +time--a remote time long ago--and Dallas knew it. She had smiled in +answer to Pierre's murmured rapture; she now took his arm. To punish +Dallas she turned her steps--on her plump little feet in their delicate +kid boots--towards the still seated Rod, with the intention of asking +him (for the fifth time) to dinner. This would not only exasperate +Dallas, but it would please Bartholomew at the same stroke. Two birds, +etc. + +When they came up to the distant three, Mademoiselle glanced at Mrs. +Churchill anxiously. But in the presence of the mistress of the villa, +Rod did at last lift his long length from the wall. + +This seemed, however, to be because he supposed they were about to leave +the grove. "Is the walk over?" he said. + +Pierre looked at Eva adoringly. He gave her the spray of orange buds. + + +IV + +A week later Fanny's daughter entered the bedroom which she shared with +her mother. + +From the girl's babyhood the mother had had her small white-curtained +couch placed close beside her own. She could not have slept unless able +at any moment to stretch out her hand and touch her sleeping child. + +Fanny was in the dressing-room; hearing Eva's step, she spoke. "Do you +want me, Eva?" + +"Yes, please." + +Fanny appeared, a vision of white arms, lace, and embroidery. + +"I thought that Rosine would not be here yet," said Eva. Rosine was +their maid; her principal occupation was the elaborate arrangement of +Fanny's brown hair. + +"No, she isn't there--if you mean in the dressing-room," answered Fanny, +nodding her head towards the open door. + +"I wanted to see you alone, mamma, for a moment. I wanted to tell you +that I shall not marry Pierre." + +Fanny, who had sunk into an easy-chair, at these words sprang up. "What +is the matter? Are you ill?" + +"Not in the least, mamma; I am only telling you that I cannot marry +Pierre." + +"You _must_ be ill," pursued Fanny. "You have fever. Don't deny it." And +anxiously she took the girl's hands. But Eva's hands were cooler than +her own. + +"I don't think I have any fever," replied Eva. She had been taught to +answer all her mother's questions in fullest detail. "I sleep and eat as +usual; I have no headache." + +Fanny still looked at her anxiously. "Then if you are not ill, what can +be the matter with you?" + +"I have only told you, mamma, that I could not marry Pierre; it seems to +me very simple." + +She was so quiet that Fanny began at last to realize that she was in +earnest. "My dearest, you know you like Pierre. You have told me so +yourself." + +"I don't like him now." + +"What has he done--poor Pierre? He will explain, apologize; you may be +sure of that." + +"He has done nothing; I don't want him to apologize. He is as he always +is. It is I who have changed." + +"Oh, it is you who have changed," repeated Fanny, bewildered. + +"Yes," answered Eva. + +"Come and sit down and tell mamma all about it. You are tired of poor +Pierre--is that it? It is very natural, he has been here so often, and +stayed so long. But I will tell him that he must go away--leave +Sorrento. And he shall stay away as long as you like, Eva; just as long +as you like." + +"Then he will stay away forever," the girl answered, calmly. + +Fanny waited a moment. "Did you like Gino better? Is that it?" she said, +softly, watching Eva's face. + +"No." + +"Thornton Stanley?" + +"Oh no!" + +"Dear child, explain this a little to your mother. You know I think only +of your happiness," said Fanny, with tender solicitude. + +Eva evidently tried to obey. "It was this morning. It came over me +suddenly that I could not possibly marry him. Now or a year from now. +Never." She spoke tranquilly; she even seemed indifferent. But this one +decision was made. + +"You know that I have given my word to the old Count," began Fanny, in +perplexity. + +Eva was silent. + +"And everything was arranged." + +Eva still said nothing. She looked about the room with wandering +attention, as though this did not concern her. + +"Of course I would never force you into anything," Fanny went on. "But I +thought Pierre would be so congenial." In her heart she was asking +herself what the young Belgian could have done. "Well, dear," she +continued, with a little sigh, "you must always tell mamma everything." +And she kissed her. + +"Of course," Eva answered. And then she went away. + +Fanny immediately rang the bell, and asked for Mademoiselle. But +Mademoiselle knew nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with surprise +and dismay. She greatly admired Pierre; even more she admired the old +Count, whom she thought the most distinguished of men. Fanny dismissed +the afflicted little woman, and sat pondering. While she was thinking, +Eva re-entered. + +"Mamma, I forgot to say that I should like to have you tell Pierre +immediately. To-day." + +Fanny was almost irritated. "You have never taken that tone before, my +daughter. Have you no longer confidence in my judgment?" + +"If you do not want to tell him this afternoon, it can be easily +arranged, mamma; I will not come to the dinner-table; that is all. I do +not wish to see him until he knows." + +Pierre was to dine at the villa that evening. + +"What can he have done?" thought Fanny again. + +She rang for Rosine; half an hour later she was in the drawing-room. +"Excuse me to every one but M. de Verneuil," she said to Angelo. She was +very nervous, but she had decided upon her course: Pierre must leave +Sorrento, and remain away until she herself should call him back. + +"At the end of a month, perhaps even at the end of a week, she will miss +you so much that I shall have to issue the summons," she said, speaking +as gayly as she could, as if to make it a sort of joke. It was very hard +for her, at best, to send away the frank, handsome boy. + +Poor Pierre could not understand it at all. He declared over and over +again that nothing he had said, nothing he had done, could possibly have +offended his betrothed. "But surely you know yourself that it is +impossible!" he added, clasping his hands beseechingly. + +"It is a girlish freak," explained the mother. "She is so young, you +know." + +"But that is the very reason. I thought it was only older women who say +what they wish to do in that decided way; who have freaks, as you call +it," said the Belgian, his voice for a moment much older, more like the +voice of a man who has spent half his life in Paris. + +This was so true that Fanny was driven to a defence that scarcely +anything else would have made her use. + +"Eva is different from the young girls here," she said. "You must not +forget that she is an American." + +At last Pierre went away; he had tried to bear himself as a gentleman +should; but the whole affair was a mystery to him, and he was very +unhappy. He went as far as Rome, and there he waited, writing to Fanny +an anxious letter almost every day. + +In the meanwhile life at the villa went on; there were many excursions. +Fanny's thought was that Eva would miss Pierre more during these +expeditions than at other times, for Pierre had always arranged them, +and he had enjoyed them so much himself that his gay spirits and his gay +wit had made all the party gay. Eva, however, seemed very happy, and at +length the mother could not help being touched to see how light-hearted +her serious child had become, now that she was entirely free. And yet +how slight the yoke had been, and how pleasant! thought Fanny. At the +end of two weeks there were still no signs of the "missing" upon which +she had counted. She thought that she would try the effect of briefly +mentioning the banished man. "I hear from Pierre almost every day, poor +fellow. He is in Rome." + +"Why does he stay in Rome?" said Eva. "Why doesn't he return home?" + +"I suppose he doesn't want to go so far away," answered Fanny, vaguely. + +"Far away from what? Home should always be the first place," responded +the young moralist. "Of course you have told him, mamma, that I shall +never be his wife? That it is forever?" And she turned her gray eyes +towards her mother, for the first time with a shade of suspicion in +them. + +"Never is a long word, Eva." + +"Oh, mamma!" The girl rose. "I shall write to him myself, then." + +"How you speak! Do you wish to disobey me, my own little girl?" + +"No; but it is so dishonest; it is like a lie." + +"My dear, trust your mother. You have changed once; you may change +again." + +"Not about this, mamma. Will you please write this very hour, and make +an end of it?" + +"You are hard, Eva. You do not think of poor Pierre at all." + +"No, I do not think of Pierre." + +"And is there any one else you think of? I must ask you that once more," +said Fanny, drawing her daughter down beside her caressingly. Her +thoughts could not help turning again towards Gino, and in her supreme +love for her child she now accomplished the mental somerset of believing +that on the whole she preferred the young Italian to all the liberty, +all the personal consideration for herself, which had been embodied in +the name of Verneuil. + +"Yes, there is some one else I think of," Eva replied, in a low voice. + +"In Rome?" said Fanny. + +Eva made a gesture of denial that was fairly contemptuous. + +Fanny's mind flew wildly from Bartholomew to Dallas, from Ferguson to +Gordon-Gray: Eva had no acquaintances save those which were her +mother's also. + +"It is David Rod," Eva went on, in the same low tone. Then, with sudden +exaltation, her eyes gleaming, "I have never seen any one like him." + +It was a shock so unexpected that Mrs. Churchill drew her breath under +it audibly, as one does under an actual blow. But instantly she rallied. +She said to herself that she had got a romantic idealist for a +daughter--that was all. She had not suspected it; she had thought of Eva +as a lovely child who would develop into what she herself had been. +Fanny, though far-seeing and intelligent, had not been endowed with +imagination. But now that she did realize it, she should know how to +deal with it. A disposition like that, full of visionary fancies, was +not so uncommon as some people supposed. Horace Bartholomew should take +the Floridian away out of Eva's sight forever, and the girl would soon +forget him; in the meanwhile not one word that was harsh should be +spoken on the subject, for that would be the worst policy of all. + +This train of thought had passed through her mind like a flash. "My +dear," she began, as soon as she had got her breath back, "you are right +to be so honest with me. Mr. Rod has not--has not said anything to you +on the subject, has he?" + +"No. Didn't I tell you that he cares nothing for me? I think he despises +me--I am so useless!" And then suddenly the girl began to sob; a passion +of tears. + +Fanny was at her wits' end; Eva had not wept since the day of her baby +ills, for life had been happy to her, loved, caressed, and protected as +she had been always, like a hot-house flower. + +"My darling," said the mother, taking her in her arms. + +But Eva wept on and on, as if her heart would break. It ended in Fanny's +crying too. + + +V + +Early the next morning her letter to Bartholomew was sent. Bartholomew +had gone to Munich for a week. The letter begged, commanded, that he +should make some pretext that would call David Rod from Sorrento at the +earliest possible moment. She counted upon her fingers; four days for +the letter to go and the answer to return. Those four days she would +spend at Capri. + +Eva went with her quietly. There had been no more conversation between +mother and daughter about Rod; Fanny thought that this was best. + +On the fourth day there came a letter from Bartholomew. Fanny returned +to Sorrento almost gayly: the man would be gone. + +But he was not gone. Tranquillized, glad to be at home again, Mrs. +Churchill was enjoying her terrace and her view, when Angelo appeared at +the window: "Signor Ra." + +Angelo's mistress made him a peremptory sign. "Ask the gentleman to wait +in the drawing-room," she said. Then crossing to Eva, who had risen, "Go +round by the other door to our own room, Eva," she whispered. + +The girl did not move; her face had an excited look. "But why--" + +"Go, child; go." + +Still Eva stood there, her eyes fixed upon the long window veiled in +lace; she scarcely seemed to breathe. + +Her mother was driven to stronger measures. "You told me yourself that +he cared nothing for you." + +A deep red rose in Eva's cheeks; she turned and left the terrace by the +distant door. + +The mother crossed slowly to the long window and parted the curtains. +"Mr. Rod, are you there? Won't you come out? Or stay--I will join you." +She entered the drawing-room and took a seat. + +Rod explained that he was about to leave Sorrento; Bartholomew had +summoned him so urgently that he did not like to refuse, though it was +very inconvenient to go at such short notice. + +"Then you leave to-morrow?" said Fanny; "perhaps to-night?" + +"No; on Monday. I could not arrange my business before." + +"Three days more," Fanny thought. + +She talked of various matters; she hoped that some one else would come +in; but, by a chance, no one appeared that day, neither Dallas, nor +Ferguson, nor Gordon-Gray. "What can have become of them?" she thought, +with irritation. After a while she gave an inward start; she had become +conscious of a foot-fall passing to and fro behind the half-open door +near her--a door which led into the dining-room. It was a very soft +foot-fall upon a thick carpet, but she recognized it: it was Eva. She +was there--why? The mother could think of no good reason. Her heart +began to beat more quickly; for the first time in her life she did not +know her child. This person walking up and down behind that door so +insistently, this was not Eva. Eva was docile; this person was not +docile. What would be done next? She felt strangely frightened. It was a +proof of her terror that she did not dare to close the door lest it +should be instantly reopened. She began to watch every word she said to +Rod, who had not perceived the foot-fall. She began to be +extraordinarily polite to him; she stumbled through the most irrelevant +complimentary sentences. Her dread was, every minute, lest Eva should +appear. + +But Eva did not appear; and at last, after long lingering, Rod went +away. Fanny, who had hoped to bid him a final farewell, had not dared to +go through that ceremony. He said that he should come again. + +When at last he was gone the mother pushed open the half-closed door. +"Eva," she began. She had intended to be severe, as severe as she +possibly could be; but the sight of Eva stopped her. The girl had flung +herself down upon the floor, her bowed head resting upon her arms on a +chair. Her attitude expressed a hopeless desolation. + +"What is it?" said Fanny, rushing to her. + +Eva raised her head. "He never once spoke of me--asked for me," she +murmured, looking at her mother with eyes so dreary with grief that any +one must have pitied her. + +Her mother pitied her, though it was an angry pity, too--a +non-comprehending, jealous, exasperated feeling. She sat down and +gathered her child to her breast with a gesture that was almost fierce. +That Eva should suffer so cruelly when she, Fanny, would have made any +sacrifice to save her from it, would have died for her gladly, were it +not that she was the girl's only protector--oh, what fate had come over +their happy life together! She had not the heart to be stern. All she +said was, "We will go away, dear; we will go away." + +"No," said Eva, rising; "let me stay here. You need not be afraid." + +"Of course I am not afraid," answered Fanny, gravely. "My daughter will +never do anything unseemly; she has too much pride." + +"I am afraid I have no pride--that is, not as you have it, mamma. Pride +doesn't seem to me at all important compared with---- But of course I +know that there is nothing I can do. He is perfectly indifferent. Only +do not take me away again--do not." + +"Why do you wish to stay?" + +"Because then I can think--for three days more--that he is at least as +near me as that." She trembled as she said this; there was a spot of +sombre red in each cheek; her fair face looked strange amid her +disordered hair. + +Her mother watched her helplessly. All her beliefs, all her creed, all +her precedents, the experience of her own life and her own nature even, +failed to explain such a phenomenon as this. And it was her own child +who was saying these things. + +The next day Eva was passive. She wandered about the terrace, or sat for +hours motionless staring blankly at the sea. Her mother left her to +herself. She had comprehended that words were useless. She pretended to +be embroidering, but in reality as she drew her stitches she was +counting the hours as they passed: seventy-two hours; forty-eight hours. +Would he ever be gone? + +[Illustration: "SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"] + +On the second day, in the afternoon, she discovered that Eva had +disappeared. The girl had been on the terrace with Mademoiselle; +Mademoiselle had gone to her room for a moment, and when she returned +her pupil could not be found. She had not passed through the +drawing-room, where Fanny was sitting with her pretended industry; nor +through the other door, for Rosine was at work there, and had seen +nothing of her. There remained only the rock stairway to the beach. +Mademoiselle ran down it swiftly: no one. But there was a small boat not +far off, she said. Fanny, who was near-sighted, got the glass. In a +little boat with a broad sail there were two figures; one was certainly +David Rod, and the other--yes, the other was Eva. There was a breeze, +the boat was rapidly going westward round the cliffs; in two minutes +more it was out of sight. + +Fanny wrung her hands. The French woman, to whom the event wore a much +darker hue than it did to the American mother, turned yellowly pale. + +At this moment Horace Bartholomew came out on the terrace; uneasy, for +Fanny's missive had explained nothing, he had followed his letter +himself. "What is it?" he said, as he saw the agitation of the two +women. + +"Your friend--_yours_--the man you brought here, has Eva with him at +this moment out on the bay!" said Fanny, vehemently. + +"Well, what of that? You must look at it with Punta Palmas eyes, Fanny; +at Punta Palmas it would be an ordinary event." + +"But my Eva is not a Punta Palmas girl, Horace Bartholomew!" + +"She is as innocent as one, and I'll answer for Rod. Come, be sensible, +Fanny. They will be back before sunset, and no one in Sorrento--if that +is what is troubling you so--need be any the wiser." + +"You do not know all," said Fanny. "Oh, Horace--I must tell +somebody--she fancies she cares for that man!" She wrung her hands +again. "Couldn't we follow them? Get a boat." + +"It would take an hour. And it would be a very conspicuous thing to do. +Leave them alone--it's much better; I tell you I'll answer for Rod. +Fancies she cares for him, does she? Well, he is a fine fellow; on the +whole, the finest I know." + +The mother's eyes flashed through her tears. "This from _you_?" + +"I can't help it; he is. Of course you do not think so. He has got no +money; he has never been anywhere that you call anywhere; he doesn't +know anything about the only life you care for nor the things you think +important. All the same, he is a man in a million. He is a man--not a +puppet." + +Gentle Mrs. Churchill appeared for the moment transformed. She looked as +though she could strike him. "Never mind your Quixotic ideas. Tell me +whether he is in love with Eva; it all depends upon that." + +"I don't know, I am sure," answered Bartholomew. He began to think. "I +can't say at all; he would conceal it from me." + +"Because he felt his inferiority. I am glad he has that grace." + +"He wouldn't be conscious of any inferiority save that he is poor. It +would be that, probably, if anything; of course he supposes that Eva is +rich." + +"Would to Heaven she were!" said the mother. "Added to every other +horror of it, poverty, miserable poverty, for my poor child!" She sat +down and hid her face. + +"It may not be as bad as you fear, nor anything like it. Do cheer up a +little, Fanny. When Eva comes back, ten to one you will find that +nothing at all has happened--that it has been a mere ordinary excursion. +And I promise you I will take Rod away with me to-morrow." + +Mrs. Churchill rose and began to pace to and fro, biting her lips, and +watching the water. Mademoiselle, who was still hovering near, she waved +impatiently away. "Let no one in," she called to her. + +There seemed, indeed, to be nothing else to do, as Bartholomew had said, +save to wait. He sat down and discussed the matter a little. + +Fanny paid no attention to what he was saying. Every now and then broken +phrases of her own burst from her: "How much good will her perfect +French and Italian, her German, Spanish, and even Russian, do her down +in that barbarous wilderness?"--"In her life she has never even buttoned +her boots. Do they think she can make bread?"--"And there was Gino. And +poor Pierre." Then, suddenly, "But it _shall_ not be!" + +"I have been wondering why you did not take that tone from the first," +said Bartholomew. "She is very young. She has been brought up to obey +you implicitly. It would be easy enough, I should fancy, if you could +once make up your mind to it." + +"Make up my mind to save her, you mean," said the mother, bitterly. She +did not tell him that she was afraid of her daughter. "Should you +expect _me_ to live at Punta Palmas?" she demanded, contemptuously, of +her companion. + +"That would depend upon Rod, wouldn't it?" answered Bartholomew, rather +unamiably. He was tired--he had been there an hour--of being treated +like a door-mat. + +At this Fanny broke down again, and completely. For it was only too +true; it would depend upon that stranger, that farmer, that unknown +David Rod, whether she, the mother, should or should not be with her own +child. + +A little before sunset the boat came into sight again round the western +cliffs. Fanny dried her eyes. She was very pale. Little Mademoiselle, +rigid with anxiety, watched from an upper window. Bartholomew rose to go +down to the beach to receive the returning fugitives. "No," said Fanny, +catching his arm, "don't go; no one must know before I do--no one." So +they waited in silence. + +Down below, the little boat had rapidly approached. Eva had jumped out, +and was now running up the rock stairway; she was always light-footed, +but to her mother it seemed that the ascent took an endless time. At +length there was the vision of a young, happy, rushing figure--rushing +straight to Fanny's arms. "Oh, mamma, mamma," the girl whispered, seeing +that there was no one there but Bartholomew, "he loves me! He has told +me so! he has told me so!" + +For an instant the mother drew herself away. Eva, left alone, and +mindful of nothing but her own bliss, looked so radiant with happiness +that Bartholomew (being a man) could not help sympathizing with her. +"You will have to give it up," he said to Fanny, significantly. Then he +took his hat and went away. + +Fifteen minutes later his place was filled by David Rod. + +"Ah! you have come. I must have a few words of conversation with you, +Mr. Rod," said Fanny, in an icy tone. "Eva, leave us now." + +"Oh no, mamma, not now; never again, I hope," answered the girl. She +spoke with secure confidence; her eyes were fixed upon her lover's face. + +"Do you call this honorable behavior, Mr. Rod?" Fanny began. She saw +that Eva would not go. + +"Why, I hope so," answered Rod, surprised. "I have come at once, as soon +as I possibly could, Mrs. Churchill (I had to take the boat back first, +you know), to tell you that we are engaged; it isn't an hour old yet--is +it, Eva?" He looked at Eva smilingly, his eyes as happy as her own. + +"It is the custom to ask permission," said Fanny, stiffly. + +"I have never heard of the custom, then; that is all I can say," +answered Rod, with good-natured tranquillity, still looking at the +girl's face, with its rapt expression, its enchanting joy. + +"Please to pay attention; I decline to consent, Mr. Rod; you cannot have +my daughter." + +"Mamma--" said Eva, coming up to her. + +"No, Eva; if you will remain here--which is most improper--you will have +to hear it all. You are so much my daughter's inferior, Mr. Rod, that I +cannot, and I shall not, consent." + +At the word "inferior," a slight shock passed over Eva from head to +foot. She went swiftly to her lover, knelt down and pressed her lips to +his brown hand, hiding her face upon it. + +He raised her tenderly in his arms, and thus embraced, they stood there +together, confronting the mother--confronting the world. + +Fanny put out her hands with a bitter cry. "Eva!" + +The girl ran to her, clung to her. "Oh, mamma, I love you dearly. But +you must not try to separate me from David. I could not leave him--I +never will." + +"Let us go in, to our own room," said the mother, in a broken voice. + +"Yes; but speak to David first, mamma." + +Rod came forward and offered his arm. He was sorry for the mother's +grief, which, however, in such intensity as this, he could not at all +understand. But though he was sorry, he was resolute, he was even stern; +in his dark beauty, his height and strength, he looked indeed, as +Bartholomew had said, a man. + +At the sight of his offered arm Mrs. Churchill recoiled; she glanced all +round the terrace as though to get away from it; she even glanced at the +water; it almost seemed as if she would have liked to take her child and +plunge with her to the depths below. But one miserable look at Eva's +happy, trustful eyes still watching her lover's face cowed her; she took +the offered arm. And then Rod went with her, supporting her gently into +the house, and through it to her own room, where he left her with her +daughter. That night the mother rose from her sleepless couch, lit a +shaded taper, and leaving it on a distant table, stole softly to Eva's +side. The girl was in a deep slumber, her head pillowed on her arm. +Fanny, swallowing her tears, gazed at her sleeping child. She still +saw in the face the baby outlines of years before, her mother's eye +could still distinguish in the motionless hand the dimpled fingers of +the child. The fair hair, lying on the pillow, recalled to her the short +flossy curls of the little girl who had clung to her skirts, who had had +but one thought--"mamma." + +[Illustration: "FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"] + +"What will her life be now? What must she go through, perhaps--what +pain, privation--my darling, my own little child!" + +The wedding was to take place within the month; Rod said that he could +not be absent longer from his farm. Fanny, breaking her silence, +suggested to Bartholomew that the farm might be given up; there were +other occupations. + +"I advise you not to say a word of that sort to Rod," Bartholomew +answered. "His whole heart is in that farm, that colony he has built up +down there. You must remember that he was brought up there himself, or +rather came up. It's all he knows, and he thinks it the most important +thing in life; I was going to say it's all he cares for, but of course +now he has added Eva." + +Pierre came once. He saw only the mother. + +When he left her he went round by way of the main street of Sorrento in +order to pass a certain small inn. His carriage was waiting to take him +back to Castellamare, but there was some one he wished to look at first. +It was after dark; he could see into the lighted house through the low +uncurtained windows, and he soon came upon the tall outline of the young +farmer seated at a table, his eyes bent upon a column of figures. The +Belgian surveyed him from head to foot slowly. He stood there gazing +for five minutes. Then he turned away. "_That_, for Americans!" he +murmured in French, snapping his fingers in the darkness. But there was +a mist in his boyish eyes all the same. + +The pink villa witnessed the wedding. Fanny never knew how she got +through that day. She was calm; she did not once lose her self-control. + +They were to sail directly for New York from Naples, and thence to +Florida; the Italian colonists were to go at the same time. + +"Mamma comes next year," Eva said to everybody. She looked indescribably +beautiful; it was the radiance of a complete happiness, like a halo. + +By three o'clock they were gone, they were crossing the bay in the +little Naples steamer. No one was left at the villa with Fanny--it was +her own arrangement--save Horace Bartholomew. + +"She won't mind being poor," he said, consolingly, "she won't mind +anything--with _him_. It is one of those sudden, overwhelming loves that +one sometimes sees; and after all, Fanny, it is the sweetest thing life +offers." + +"And the mother?" said Fanny. + + + + +THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH + + +I + +It was a street in Rome--narrow, winding, not over-clean. Two vehicles +meeting there could pass only by grazing the doors and windows on either +side, after the usual excited whip-cracking and shouts which make the +new-comer imagine, for his first day or two, that he is proceeding at a +perilous speed through the sacred city of the soul. + +But two vehicles did not often meet in the street of the Hyacinth. It +was not a thoroughfare, not even a convenient connecting link; it +skirted the back of the Pantheon, the old buildings on either side +rising so high against the blue that the sun never came down lower than +the fifth line of windows, and looking up from the pavement was like +looking up from the bottom of a well. There was no foot-walk, of course; +even if there had been one no one would have used it, owing to the easy +custom of throwing from the windows a few ashes and other light trifles +for the city refuse-carts, instead of carrying them down the long stairs +to the door below. They must be in the street at an appointed hour, must +they not? Very well, then--there they were; no one but an unreasonable +foreigner would dream of objecting. + +But unreasonable foreigners seldom entered the street of the Hyacinth. +There were, however, two who lived there one winter not long ago, and +upon a certain morning in the January of that winter a third came to see +these two. At least he asked for them, and gave two cards to the Italian +maid who answered his ring; but when, before he had time to even seat +himself, the little curtain over the parlor door was raised again, and +Miss Macks entered, she came alone. Her mother did not appear. The +visitor was not disturbed by being obliged to begin conversation +immediately; he was an old Roman sojourner, and had stopped fully three +minutes at the end of the fourth flight of stairs to re-gain his breath +before he mounted the fifth and last to ring Miss Macks's bell. Her card +was tacked upon the door: "Miss Ettie F. Macks." He surveyed it with +disfavor, while the little, loose-hung bell rang a small but exceedingly +shrill and ill-tempered peal, like the barking of a small cur. "Why in +the world doesn't she put her mother's card here instead of her own?" he +said to himself. "Or, if her own, why not simply 'Miss Macks,' without +that nickname?" + +But Miss Macks's mother had never possessed a visiting-card in her life. +Miss Macks was the visiting member of the family; and this was so well +understood at home, that she had forgotten that it might not be the same +abroad. As to the "Ettie," having been called so always, it had not +occurred to her to make a change. Her name was Ethelinda Faith, Mrs. +Macks having thus combined euphony and filial respect--the first title +being her tribute to æsthetics, the second her tribute to the memory of +her mother. + +"I am so very glad to see you, Mr. Noel," said Miss Macks, greeting her +visitor with much cordial directness of voice and eyes. "I have been +expecting you. But you have waited so long--three days!" + +Raymond Noel, who thought that under the circumstances he had been +unusually courteous and prompt, was rather surprised to find himself +thus put at once upon the defensive. + +"We are not always able to carry out our wishes immediately, Miss +Macks," he replied, smiling a little. "I was hampered by several +previously made engagements." + +"Yes; but this was a little different, wasn't it? This was something +important--not like an invitation to lunch or dinner, or the usual idle +society talk." + +He looked at her; she was quite in earnest. + +"I suppose it to be different," he answered. "You must remember how +little you have told me." + +"I thought I told you a good deal! However, the atmosphere of a +reception is no place for such subjects, and I can understand that you +did not take it in. That is the reason I asked you to come and see me +here. Shall I begin at once? It seems rather abrupt." + +"I enjoy abruptness; I have not heard any for a long time." + +"That I can understand, too; I suppose the society here is all finished +off--there are no rough ends." + +"There are ends. If not rough, they are often sharp." + +But Miss Macks did not stop to analyze this; she was too much occupied +with her own subject. + +"I will begin immediately, then," she said. "It will be rather long; but +if you are to understand me you ought, of course, to know the whole." + +"My chair is very comfortable," replied Noel, placing his hat and gloves +on the sofa near him, and taking an easy position with his head back. + +Miss Macks thought that he ought to have said, "The longer it is, the +more interesting," or something of that sort. She had already described +him to her mother as "not over-polite. Not rude in the least, you +know--as far as possible from that; wonderfully smooth-spoken; but yet, +somehow--awfully indifferent." However, he was Raymond Noel; and that, +not his politeness or impoliteness, was her point. + +"To begin with, then, Mr. Noel, a year ago I had never read one word you +have written; I had never even heard of you. I suppose you think it +strange that I should tell you this so frankly; but, in the first place, +it will give you a better idea of my point of view; and, in the second, +I feel a friendly interest in your taking measures to introduce your +writings into the community where I lived. It is a very intelligent +community. Naturally, a writer wants his articles read. What else does +he write them for?" + +"Perhaps a little for his own entertainment," suggested her listener. + +"Oh no! He would never take so much trouble just for that." + +"On the contrary, many would take any amount just for that. Successfully +to entertain one's self--that is one of the great successes of life." + +Miss Macks gazed at him; she had a very direct gaze. + +"This is just mere talk," she said, not impatiently, but in a +business-like tone. "We shall never get anywhere if you take me up so. +It is not that your remarks are not very cultivated and interesting, +and all that, but simply that I have so much to tell you." + +"Perhaps I can be cultivated and interesting dumbly. I will try." + +"You are afraid I am going to be diffuse; I see that. So many women are +diffuse! But I shall not be, because I have been thinking for six months +just what I should say to you. It was very lucky that I went with Mrs. +Lawrence to that reception where I met you. But if it had not happened +as it did I should have found you out all the same. I should have looked +for your address at all the bankers', and if it was not there I should +have inquired at all the hotels. But it was delightful luck getting hold +of you in this way almost the very minute I enter Rome!" + +She spoke so simply and earnestly that Noel did not say that he was +immensely honored, and so forth, but merely bowed his acknowledgments. + +"To go back. I shall give you simply heads," pursued Miss Macks. "If you +want details, ask, and I will fill them in. I come from the West. +Tuscolee Falls is the name of our town. We had a farm there, but we did +not do well with it after Mr. Spurr's death, so we rented it out. That +is how I come to have so much leisure. I have always had a great deal of +ambition; by that I mean that I did not see why things that had once +been done could not be done again. It seemed to me that the point +was--just determination. And then, of course, I always had the talent. I +made pictures when I was a very little girl. Mother has them still, and +I can show them to you. It is just like all the biographies, you know. +They always begin in childhood, and astonish the family. Well, I had my +first lessons from a drawing-teacher who spent a summer in Tuscolee. I +can show you what I did while with him. Then I attended, for four years, +the Young Ladies' Seminary in the county-town, and took lessons while +there. I may as well be perfectly frank and tell the whole, which is +that everybody was astonished at my progress, and that I was myself. All +sorts of things are prophesied out there about my future. You see, the +neighborhood is a very generous-spirited one, and they like to think +they have discovered a genius at their own doors. My telling you all +this sounds, I know, rather conceited, Mr. Noel. But if you could see my +motive, and how entirely without conceit my idea of myself really is, +you would hold me free from that charge. It is only that I want you to +know absolutely the whole." + +"I quite understand," answered her visitor. + +"Well, I hope you do. I went on at home after that by myself, and I did +a good deal. I work pretty rapidly, you see. Then came my last lessons, +from a third teacher. He was a young man from New York. He had +consumption, poor fellow! and cannot last long. He wasn't of much use to +me in actual work. His ideas were completely different from those of my +other teachers, and, indeed, from my own. He was unreliable, too, and +his temper was uneven. However, I had a good deal of respect for his +opinion, and _he_ told me to get your art-articles and read them. It +wasn't easy. Some of them are scattered about in the magazines and +papers, you know. However, I am pretty determined, and I kept at it +until I got them all. Well, they made a great impression upon me. You +see, they were new." She paused. "But I doubt, Mr. Noel, whether we +should ever entirely agree," she added, looking at him reflectively. + +"That is very probable, Miss Macks." + +Miss Macks thought this an odd reply. "He is so queer, with all his +smoothness!" she said to her mother afterwards. "He never says what you +think he will say. Now, any one would suppose that he would have +answered that he would try to make me agree, or something like that. +Instead, he just gave it right up without trying! But I expect he sees +how independent I am, and that I don't intend to _reflect any_ one." + +"Well, they made a great impression," she resumed. "And as you seemed to +think, Mr. Noel, that no one could do well in painting who had not seen +and studied the old pictures over here, I made up my mind to come over +at any cost, if it was a possible thing to bring it about. It wasn't +easy, but--here we are. In the lives of all--almost all--artists, I have +noticed--haven't you?--that there comes a time when they have to live on +hope and their own pluck more than upon anything tangible that the +present has to offer. They have to take that risk. Well, I have taken +it; I took it when we left America. And now I will tell you what it is I +want from _you_. I haven't any hesitation in asking, because I am sure +you will feel interested in a case like mine, and because it was your +writings really that brought me here, you know. And so, then, first: I +would like your opinion of all that I have done so far. I have brought +everything with me to show you. Second: I want your advice as to the +best teacher; I suppose there is a great choice in Rome. Third: I should +be glad if you would give a general oversight to all I do for the next +year. And last, if you would be so kind, I should much enjoy making +visits with you to all the galleries and hearing your opinions again by +word of mouth, because that is always so much more vivid, you know, than +the printed page." + +"My dear Miss Macks! you altogether over-estimate my powers," said Noel, +astounded by these far-reaching demands, so calmly and confidently made. + +"Yes, I know. Of course it strikes you so--strikes you as a great +compliment that I should wish to put myself so entirely in your hands," +answered Miss Macks, smiling. "But you must give up thinking of me as +the usual young lady; you must not think of me in that way any more than +I shall think of you as the usual young gentleman. You will never meet +me at a reception again; now that I have found _you_, I shall devote +myself entirely to my work." + +"An alarming girl!" said Noel to himself. But, even as he said it, he +knew that, in the ordinary acceptation of the term at least, Miss Macks +was not alarming. + +She was twenty-two; in some respects she looked older, in others much +younger, than most girls of that age. She was tall, slender, erect, but +not especially graceful. Her hands were small and finely shaped, but +thin. Her features were well cut; her face oval. Her gray eyes had a +clear directness in their glance, which, combined with the other +expressions of her face, told the experienced observer at once that she +knew little of what is called "the world." For, although calm, it was a +deeply confident glance; it showed that the girl was sure that she could +take care of herself, and even several others also, through any +contingencies that might arise. She had little color; but her smooth +complexion was not pale--it was slightly brown. Her mouth was small, her +teeth small and very white. Her light-brown hair was drawn back smoothly +from her forehead, and drawn up smoothly behind, its thickness braided +in a close knot on the top of her head. This compact coiffure, at a time +when most feminine foreheads in Rome and elsewhere were shaded almost to +the eyebrows by curling locks, and when the arched outline of the head +was left unbroken, the hair being coiled in a low knot behind, made Miss +Macks look somewhat peculiar. But she was not observant of fashion's +changes. That had been the mode in Tuscolee; she had grown accustomed to +it; and, as her mind was full of other things, she had not considered +this one. One or two persons, who noticed her on the voyage over, said +to themselves, "If that girl had more color, and if she was graceful, +and if she was a little more womanly--that is, if she would not look at +everything in such a direct, calm, impartial, impersonal sort of +way--she would be almost pretty." + +But Miss Macks continued without color and without grace, and went on +looking at things as impersonally and impartially as ever. + +"I shall be most happy, of course, to do anything that I can," Noel had +answered. Then to make a diversion, "Shall I not have the pleasure of +seeing Mrs. Macks?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Macks? Oh, you mean mother. My mother's name is Spurr--Mrs. Spurr. +My father died when I was a baby, and some years afterwards she married +Mr. Spurr. She is now again a widow. Her health is not good, and she +sees almost no one, thank you." + +"I suppose you are much pleased with the picturesqueness of Roman life, +and--ah--your apartment?" he went on. + +"Pleased?" said Miss Macks, looking at him in wonder. "With our +apartment? We get along with it because we must; there seems to be no +other way to live in Rome. The idea of having only a story of a house, +and not a whole house to ourselves, is dreadful to mother; she cannot +get used to it. And with so many families below us--we have a +clock-mender, a dress-maker, an engraver, a print-seller, and a +cobbler--and only one pair of stairs, it does seem to me dreadfully +public." + +"You must look upon the stairway as a street," said Noel. "You have +established yourselves in a very short time." + +"Oh yes. I got an agent, and looked at thirty places the very first day. +I speak Italian a little, so I can manage the house-keeping; I began to +study it as soon as we thought of coming, and I studied hard. But all +this is of secondary importance; the real thing is to get to work. Will +you look at my paintings now?" she said, rising as if to go for them. + +"Thanks; I fear I have hardly time to-day," said Noel. He was thinking +whether it would be better to decline clearly and in so many words the +office she had thrust upon him, or trust to time to effect the same +without an open refusal. He decided upon the latter course; it seemed +the easier, and also the kinder to her. + +"Well, another day, then," said Miss Macks, cheerfully, taking her seat +again. "But about a teacher?" + +"I hardly know--" + +"Oh, Mr. Noel! you _must_ know." + +And, in truth, he did know. It came into his mind to give her the name +of a good teacher, and then put all further responsibilities upon him. + +Miss Macks wrote down the name in a clear, ornamental handwriting. + +"I am glad it isn't a foreigner," she said. "I don't believe I should +get on with a foreigner." + +"But it is a foreigner." + +"Why, it's an English name, isn't it?--Jackson." + +"Yes, he is an Englishman. But isn't an Englishman a foreigner in Rome?" + +"Oh, you take that view? Now, to me, America and--well, yes, perhaps +England, too, are the nations. Everything else is foreign." + +"The English would be very much obliged to you," said Noel, laughing. + +"Yes, I know I am more liberal than most Americans; I really like the +English," said Miss Macks, calmly. "But we keep getting off the track. +Let me see--Oh yes. As I shall go to see this Mr. Jackson this +afternoon, and as it is not likely that he will be ready to begin +to-morrow, will you come then and look at my pictures? Or would you +rather commence with a visit to one of the galleries?" + +Raymond Noel was beginning to be amused. If she had shown the faintest +indication of knowing how much she was asking, if she had betrayed the +smallest sign of a desire to secure his attention as Raymond Noel +personally, and not simply the art authority upon whom she had pinned +her faith, his disrelish for various other things about her would have +been heightened into utter dislike, and it is probable that he would +never have entered the street of the Hyacinth again. But she was so +unaware of any intrusion, or any exorbitance in her demands, probably so +ignorant of--certainly so indifferent to--the degree of perfection +(perfection of the most quiet kind, however) visible in the general +appearance and manner of the gentleman before her, that (he said to +himself) he might as well have been one of her own Tuscolee farmers, for +all she knew to the contrary. The whole affair was unusual; and Noel +rather liked the unusual, if it was not loud--and Miss Macks was, at +least, not loud; she was dressed plainly in black, and she had the gift +of a sweet voice, which, although very clear, was low-toned. Noel was an +observer of voices, and he had noticed hers the first time he heard her +speak. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he was +answering that he feared his engagements for the next day would, +unfortunately, keep him from putting himself at her service. + +Her face fell; she looked much disappointed. + +"Is it going to be like this all the time?" she asked, anxiously. "Are +you always engaged?" + +"In Rome, in the winter, one generally has small leisure. It will be the +same with you, Miss Macks, when you have been here a while longer; you +will see. As to the galleries, Mr. Jackson has a class, I think, and +probably the pupils will visit them all under his charge; you will find +that very satisfactory." + +"But I don't want Mr. Jackson for the galleries; I want _you_," said +Miss Macks. "I have studied your art criticisms until I know them by +heart, and I have a thousand questions to ask about every picture you +have mentioned. Why, Mr. Noel, I came to Europe to see you!" + +Raymond Noel was rather at a loss what to answer to this statement, made +by a girl who looked at him so soberly and earnestly with clear gray +eyes. It would be of no avail again to assure her that his opinions +would be of small use to her; as she had said herself, she was very +determined, and she had made up her mind that they would be of great use +instead of small. Her idea must wear itself out by degrees. He would try +to make the degrees easy. He decided that he would have a little private +talk with Jackson, who was a very honest fellow; and, for the present, +he would simply take leave. + +"You are very kind," he said, rising. "I appreciate it, I assure you. It +has made me stay an unconscionable time. I hope you will find Rome all +you expected, and I am sure you will; all people of imagination like +Rome. As to the galleries, yes, certainly; a--ah--little later. You must +not forget the various small precautions necessary here as regards the +fever, you know." + +"Rome will not be at all what I expected if _you_ desert me," answered +Miss Macks, paying no attention to his other phrases. She had risen, +also, and was now confronting him at a distance of less than two feet; +as she was tall, her eyes were not much below the level of his own. + +"How can a man desert when he has never enlisted?" thought Noel, +humorously. But he kept his thought to himself, and merely replied, as +he took his hat: "Probably you will desert me; you will find out how +useless I am. You must not be too hard upon us, Miss Macks; we Americans +lose much of our native energy if we stay long over here." + +"Hard?" she answered--"hard? Why, Mr. Noel, I am absolutely at your +feet!" + +He looked at her, slightly startled, although his face showed nothing of +it; was she, after all, going to--But no; her sentence had been as +impersonal as those which had preceded it. + +"All I said about having contrary opinions, and all that, amounts to +nothing," she went on, thereby relieving him from the necessity of +making reply. "I desire but one thing, and that is to have you guide me. +And I don't believe you are really going to refuse. You haven't an +unkind face, although you _have_ got such a cold way! Why, think of it: +here I have come all this long distance, bringing mother, too, just to +study, and to see you. I shall study hard; I have a good deal of +perseverance. It took a good deal to get here in the first place, for we +are poor. But I don't mind that at all; the only thing I should mind, +the only thing that would take my courage away, would be to have you +desert me. In all the troubles that I thought might happen, I assure +you, I never once thought of _that_, Mr. Noel. I thought, of course, you +would be interested. Why, in your books you are all interest. Are you +different from your books?" + +"I fear, Miss Macks, that writers are seldom good illustrations of their +own doctrines," replied Noel. + +"That would make them hypocrites. I don't believe you are a hypocrite. I +expect you have a habit of running yourself down. Many gentlemen do +that, and then they think they will be cried up. I don't believe you are +going to be unkind; you _will_ look at the pictures I have brought with +me, won't you?" + +"Mr. Jackson's opinion is worth a hundred of mine, Miss Macks; my +knowledge is not technical. But, of course, if you wish it, I shall take +pleasure in obeying." He added several conventional remarks as +filling-up, and then, leaving his compliments for "your mother"--he +could not recall the name she had given--he went towards the little +curtained door. + +She had brightened over his promise. + +"You will come Monday, then, to see them, won't you?--as you cannot come +to-morrow," she said, smiling happily. + +When she smiled (and she did not smile often), showing her little white, +child-like teeth, she looked very young. He was fairly caught, and +answered, "Yes." But he immediately qualified it with a "That is, if it +is possible." + +"Oh, _make_ it possible," she answered, still smiling and going with him +herself to the outer door instead of summoning the maid. The last he saw +of her she was standing in the open doorway, her face bright and +contented, watching him as he went down. He did not go to see her +pictures on the following Monday; he sent a note of excuse. + +Some days later he met her. + +"Ah, you are taking one of the delightful walks?" he said. "I envy you +your first impressions of Rome." + +"I am not taking a walk--that is, for pleasure," she answered. "I am +trying to find some vegetables that mother can eat; the vegetables here +are so foreign! You don't know how disappointed I was, Mr. Noel, when I +got your note. It was such a setback! Why couldn't you come right home +with me now--that is, after I have got the vegetables--and see the +pictures? It wouldn't take you fifteen minutes." + +It was only nine o'clock, and a beautiful morning. He thought her such a +novelty, with her urgent invitations, her earnest eyes, and her basket +on her arm, that he felt the impulse to walk beside her a while through +the old streets of Rome; he was very fond of the old streets, and was +curious to see whether she would notice the colors and outlines that +made their picturesqueness. She noticed nothing but the +vegetable-stalls, and talked of nothing but her pictures. + +He still went on with her, however, amused by the questions she put to +the vegetable-dealers (questions compiled from the phrase-books), and +the calm contempt with which she surveyed the Roman artichokes they +offered. At last she secured some beans, but of sadly Italian aspect, +and Noel took the basket. He was much entertained by the prospect of +carrying it home. He remarked to himself that of all the various things +he had done in Rome this was the freshest. They reached the street of +the Hyacinth and walked down its dark centre. + +"I see you have the sun," he said, looking up. + +"Yes; that is the reason we took the top floor. We will go right up. +Everything is ready." + +He excused himself. + +"Some other time." + +They had entered the dusky hallway. She looked at him without replying; +then held out her hand for the basket. He gave it to her. + +"I suppose you have seen Mr. Jackson?" he said, before taking leave. + +She nodded, but did not speak. Then he saw two tears rise in her eyes. + +"My dear young lady, you have been doing too much! You are tired. Don't +you know that that is very dangerous in Rome?" + +"It is nothing. Mother has been sick, and I have been up with her two +nights. Then, as she did not like our servant, I dismissed her, and as +we have not got any one else yet, I have had a good deal to do. But I +don't mind that at all, beyond being a little tired; it was only your +refusing to come up, when it seemed so easy. But never mind; you will +come another day." And, repressing the tears, she smiled faintly, and +held out her hand for good-bye. + +"I will come now," said Noel. He took the basket again, and went up the +stairs. He was touched by the two tears, but, at the same time, vexed +with himself for being there at all. There was not one chance in five +hundred that her work was worth anything; and, in the four hundred and +ninety-nine, pray what was he to say? + +She brought him everything. They were all in the four hundred and +ninety-nine. In his opinion they were all extremely and essentially bad. + +It was one of Raymond Noel's beliefs that, where women were concerned, a +certain amount of falsity was sometimes indispensable. There were +occasions when a man could no more tell the bare truth to a woman than +he could strike her; the effect would be the same as a blow. He was an +excellent evader when he chose to exert himself, and he finally got away +from the little high-up apartment without disheartening or offending its +young mistress, and without any very black record of direct +untruth--what is more, without any positive promise as to the exact date +of his next visit. But all this was a good deal of trouble to take for +a girl he did not know or care for. + +Soon afterwards he met, at a small party, Mrs. Lawrence. + +"Tell me a little, please, about the young lady to whom you presented me +at Mrs. Dudley's reception--Miss Macks," he said, after some +conversation. + +"A little is all I can tell," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She brought a +letter of introduction to me from a far-away cousin of mine, who lives +out West somewhere, and whom I have not seen for twenty years; my home, +you know, is in New Jersey. How they learned I was in Rome I cannot +imagine; but, knowing it, I suppose they thought that Miss Macks and I +would meet, as necessarily as we should if together in their own +village. The letter assures me that the girl is a great genius; that all +she needs is an opportunity. They even take the ground that it will be a +privilege for me to know her! But I am mortally tired of young geniuses; +we have so many here in Rome! So I told her at once that I knew nothing +of modern art--in fact, detested it--but that in any other way I should +be delighted to be of use. And I took her to Mrs. Dudley's _omnium +gatherum_." + +"Then you have not been to see her?" + +"No; she came to see me. I sent cards, of course; I seldom call. What +did you think of her?" + +"I thought her charming," replied Noel, remembering the night-vigils, +the vegetables, the dismissed servant, and the two tears of the young +stranger--remembering, also, her extremely bad pictures. + +"I am glad she has found a friend in you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She +was very anxious to meet you; she looks upon you as a great authority. +If she really has talent--of course _you_ would know--you must tell me. +It is not talent I am so tired of, but the pretence of it. She struck +me, although wofully unformed and awkward, of course, as rather +intelligent." + +"She is intelligence personified," replied Noel, qualifying it mentally +with "intelligence without cultivation." He perceived that the young +stranger would have no help from Mrs. Lawrence, and he added to himself: +"And totally inexperienced purity alone in Rome." To be sure, there was +the mother; but he had a presentiment that this lady, as guardian, would +not be of much avail. + +The next day he went down to Naples for a week with some friends. Upon +his return he stopped at Horace Jackson's studio one afternoon as he +happened to be passing. His time was really much occupied; he was a +favorite in Rome. To his surprise, Jackson seemed to think that Miss +Macks had talent. Her work was very crude, of course; she had been +brutally taught; teachers of that sort should simply be put out of +existence with the bowstring. He had turned her back to the alphabet; +and, in time, in time, they--would see what she could do. + +Horace Jackson was English by birth, but he had lived in Italy almost +all his life. He was a man of forty-five--short, muscular, his thick, +rather shaggy, beard and hair mixed with gray; there was a permanent +frown over his keen eyes, and his rugged face had marked lines. He was a +man of strong individuality. He had the reputation of being the most +incorruptibly honest teacher in Rome. Noel had known him a long time, +and liked him, ill-tempered though he was. Jackson, however, had not +shown any especial signs of a liking for Noel in return. Perhaps he +thought that, in the nature of things, there could not be much in common +between a middle-aged, morose teacher, who worked hard, who knew nothing +of society, and did not want to know, and a man like Raymond Noel. True, +Noel was also an artist--that is, a literary one. But he had been highly +successful in his own field, and it was understood, also, that he had an +income of his own by inheritance, which, if not opulence, was yet +sufficiently large to lift him quite above the usual _res angusta_ of +his brethren in the craft. In addition, Jackson considered Noel a +fashionable man; and that would have been a barrier, even if there had +been no other. + +As the Englishman seemed to have some belief in Miss Macks, Noel did not +say all he had intended to say; he did, however, mention that the young +lady had a mistaken idea regarding any use he could be to her; he should +be glad if she could be undeceived. + +"I think she will be," said Jackson, with a grim smile, giving his guest +a glance of general survey that took him in from head to foot; "she +isn't dull." + +Noel understood the glance, and smiled at Jackson's idea of him. + +"She is not dull, certainly," he answered. "But she is +rather--inexperienced." He dismissed the subject, went home, dressed, +and went out to dinner. + +One morning, a week later, he was strolling through the Doria gallery. +He was in a bad humor. There were many people in the gallery that day, +but he was not noticing them; he detested a crowd. After a while some +one touched his coat-sleeve from behind. He turned, with his calmest +expression upon his face; when he was in an ill-humor he was +impassively calm. It was Miss Macks, her eyes eager, her face flushed +with pleasure. + +"Oh, what good luck!" she said. "And to think that I almost went to the +Borghese, and might have missed you! I am so delighted that I don't know +what to do. I am actually trembling." And she was. "I have so longed to +see these pictures with you," she went on. "I have had a real aching +disappointment about it, Mr. Noel." + +Again Noel felt himself slightly touched by her earnestness. She looked +prettier than usual, too, on account of the color. + +"I always feel a self-reproach when with you, Miss Macks," he +answered--"you so entirely over-estimate me." + +"Well, if I do, live up to it," she said, brightly. + +"Only an archangel could do that." + +"An archangel who knows about Art! I have been looking at the Caraccis; +what do you think of them?" + +"Never mind the Caraccis; there are better things to look at here." And +then he made the circuit of the gallery with her slowly, pointing out +the best pictures. During this circuit he talked to her as he would have +talked to an intelligent child who had been put in his charge in order +to learn something of the paintings; he used the simplest terms, +mentioned the marked characteristics, and those only of the different +schools, and spoke a few words of unshaded condemnation here and there. +All he said was in broad, plain outlines. His companion listened +earnestly. She gave him a close attention, almost always a +comprehension, but seldom agreement. Her disagreement she did not +express in words, but he could read it in her eyes. When they had seen +everything--and it took some time-- + +"Now," he said, "I want you to tell me frankly, and without reference to +anything I have said, your real opinion of several pictures I shall +name--that is, if you can remember?" + +"I remember everything. I always remember." + +"Very well. What do you think, then, of the Raphael double portrait?" + +"I think it very ugly." + +"And the portrait of Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del Piombo?" + +"Uglier still." + +"And the Velasquez?" + +"Ugliest of all." + +"And the two large Claude Lorraines?" + +"Rather pretty; but insipid. There isn't any reality or meaning in +them." + +"The Memling?" + +"Oh, _that_ is absolutely hideous, Mr. Noel; it hasn't a redeeming +point." + +Raymond Noel laughed with real amusement, and almost forgot his +ill-humor. + +"When you have found anything you really admire in the galleries here, +Miss Macks, will you tell me?" + +"Of course I will. I should wish to do so in any case, because, if you +are to help me, you ought to thoroughly understand me. There is one +thing more I should like to ask," she added, as they turned towards the +door, "and that is that you would not call me Miss Macks. I am not used +to it, and it sounds strangely; no one ever called me that in Tuscolee." + +"What did they call you in Tuscolee?" + +"They called me Miss Ettie; my name is Ethelinda Faith. But my friends +and older people called me just 'Ettie'; I wish you would, too." + +"I am certainly older," replied Noel, gravely (he was thirty-three); +"but I do not like Ettie. With your permission, I will call you Faith." + +"Do you like it? It's so old-fashioned! It was my grandmother's name." + +"I like it immensely," he answered, leading the way down-stairs. + +"You can't think how I've enjoyed it," she said, warmly, at the door. + +"Yet you do not agree with my opinions?" + +"Not yet. But all the same it was perfectly delightful. Good-bye." + +He had signalled for a carriage, as he had, as usual, an engagement. She +preferred to walk. He drove off, and did not see her for ten days. + +Then he came upon her again and again in the Doria gallery. He was fond +of the Doria, and often went there, but he had no expectation of meeting +Miss Macks this time; he fancied that she followed a system, going +through her list of galleries in regular order, one by one, and in that +case she would hardly have reached the Doria on a second round. Her list +was a liberal one; it included twenty. Noel had supposed that there were +but nine in Rome. + +This time she did not see him; she had some sheets of manuscript in her +hand, and was alternately reading from them and looking at one of the +pictures. She was much absorbed. After a while he went up. + +"Good-morning, Miss Macks." + +She started; her face changed, and the color rose. She was as delighted +as before. She immediately showed him her manuscript. There he beheld, +written out in her clear handwriting, all he had said of the Doria +pictures, page after page of it; she had actually reproduced from memory +his entire discourse of an hour. + +There were two blank spaces left. + +"There, I could not exactly remember," said Miss Macks, apologetically. +"If you would tell me, I should be so glad; then it would be quite +complete." + +"I shall never speak again. I am frightened," said Noel. He had taken +the manuscript, and was looking it over with inward wonder. + +"Oh, please do." + +"Why do you care for my opinions, Miss Macks, when you do not agree with +them?" he asked, his eyes still on the pages. + +"You said you would call me Faith. Why do I care? Because they are +yours, of course." + +"Then you think I know?" + +"I am sure you do." + +"But it follows, then, that you do not." + +"Yes; and there is where my work comes in; I have got to study up to +you. I am afraid it will take a long time, won't it?" + +"That depends upon you. It would take very little if you would simply +accept noncombatively." + +"Without being convinced? That I could never do." + +"You want to be convinced against your will?" + +"No; my will itself must be convinced to its lowest depths." + +"This manuscript won't help you." + +"Indeed, it has helped me greatly already. I have been here twice with +it. I wrote it out the evening after I saw you. I only wish I had one +for each of the galleries! But I feel differently now about asking you +to go." + +"I told you you would desert me." + +"No, it is not that. But Mr. Jackson says you are much taken up with the +fashionable society here, and that I must not expect you to give me so +much of your time as I had hoped for. He says, too, that your art +articles will do me quite as much good as you yourself, and more; +because you have a way, he says, like all society men, of talking as if +you had no real convictions at all, and that would unsettle me." + +"Jackson is an excellent fellow," replied Noel; "I like him extremely. +And when would you like to go to the Borghese?" + +"Oh, will you take me?" she said, joyfully. "Any time. To-morrow." + +"Perhaps Mrs.--your mother, will go, also," he suggested, still unable +to recall the name; he could think of nothing but "stirrup," and of +course it was not that. + +"I don't believe she would care about it," answered the daughter. + +"She might. You know we make more of mothers here than we do in +America," he ventured to remark. + +"That is impossible," said Miss Macks, calmly. Evidently she thought his +remark frivolous. + +He abandoned the subject, and did not take it up again. It was not his +duty to instruct Miss Macks in foreign customs. In addition, she was not +only not "in society," but she was an art student, and art students had, +or took, privileges of their own in Rome. + +"At what hour shall I come for you?" he said. + +"It will be out of your way to come for me; I will meet you at the +gallery," she answered, radiant at the prospect. + +He hesitated, then accepted her arrangement of things. He would take her +way, not his own. The next morning he went to the Borghese Palace ten +minutes before the appointed time. But she was already there. + +"Mother thought she would not come out--the galleries tire her so," she +said; "but she was pleased to be remembered." + +They spent an hour and a half among the pictures. She listened to all he +said with the same earnest attention. + +Within the next five weeks Raymond Noel met Miss Macks at other +galleries. It was always very business-like--they talked of nothing but +the pictures; in truth, her systematic industry kept him strictly down +to the subject in hand. He learned that she made the same manuscript +copies of all he said, and, when he was not with her, she went alone, +armed with these documents, and worked hard. Her memory was remarkable; +she soon knew the names and the order of all the pictures in all the +galleries, and had made herself acquainted with an outline, at least, of +the lives of all the artists who had painted them. During this time she +was, of course, going on with her lessons; but as he had not been again +to see Jackson, or to the street of the Hyacinth, he knew nothing of her +progress. He did not want to know; she was in Jackson's hands, and +Jackson was quite competent to attend to her. + +In these five weeks he gave to Miss Macks only the odd hours of his +leisure. He made her no promises; but when he found that he should have +a morning or half-morning unoccupied, he sent a note to the street of +the Hyacinth, naming a gallery and an hour. She was always promptly +there, and so pleased, that there was a sort of fresh aroma floating +through the time he spent with her, after all--but a mild one. + +To give the proper position to the place the young art student's light +figure occupied on the canvas of Raymond Noel's winter, it should be +mentioned that he was much interested in a French lady who was spending +some months in Rome. He had known her and admired her for a long time; +but this winter he was seeing more of her, some barriers which had +heretofore stood in the way being down. Madame B---- was a charming +product of the effects of finished cultivation and fashionable life upon +a natural foundation of grace, wit, and beauty of the French kind. She +was not artificial, because she was art itself. Real art is as real as +real nature is natural. Raymond Noel had a highly artistic nature. He +admired art. This did not prevent him from taking up occasionally, as a +contrast to this lady, the society of the young girl he called "Faith." +Most men of imagination, artistic or not, do the same thing once in a +while; it seems a necessity. With Noel it was not the contrast alone. +The French lady led him an uneasy life, and now and then he took an hour +of Faith, as a gentle soothing draught of safe quality. She believed in +him so perfectly! Now Madame appeared to believe in him not at all. + +It must be added that, in his conversations with Miss Macks, he had +dropped entirely even the very small amount of conventional gallantry +that he had bestowed upon her in the beginning. He talked to her not as +though she was a boy exactly, or an old woman, but as though he himself +was a relative of mature age--say an uncle of benevolent disposition and +a taste for art. + +February gave way to March. And now, owing to a new position of his own +affairs, Noel saw no more of Faith Macks. She had been a contrast, and +he did not now wish for a contrast or a soothing draught, and a soothing +draught was not at present required. He simply forgot all about her. + +In April he decided rather suddenly to leave Rome. This was because +Madame B---- had gone to Paris, and had not forbidden her American +suitor to follow her a few days later. He made his preparations for +departure, and these, of course, included farewell calls. Then he +remembered Faith Macks; he had not seen her for six weeks. He drove to +the street of the Hyacinth, and went up the dark stairs. Miss Macks was +at home, and came in without delay; apparently, in her trim neatness, +she was always ready for visitors. + +She was very glad to see him; but did not, as he expected, ask why he +had not come before. This he thought a great advance; evidently she was +learning. When she heard that he had come to say good-bye her face fell. + +"I am so very sorry; please sit as long as you can, then," she said, +simply. "I suppose it will be six months before I see you again; you +will hardly return to Rome before October." That he would come at that +time she did not question. + +"My plans are uncertain," replied Noel. "But probably I shall come back. +One always comes back to Rome. And you--where do you go? To +Switzerland?" + +"Why--we go nowhere, of course; we stay here. That is what we came for, +and we are all settled." + +He made some allusion to the heat and unhealthiness. + +"I am not afraid," replied Miss Macks. "Plenty of people stay; Mr. +Jackson says so. It is only the rich who go away, and we are not rich. +We have been through hot summers in Tuscolee, I can tell you!" Then, +without asking leave this time, as if she was determined to have an +opinion from him before he departed, she took from a portfolio some of +the work she had done under Mr. Jackson's instruction. + +Noel saw at once that the Englishman had not kept his word. He had not +put her back upon the alphabet, or, if he had done so, he had soon +released her, and allowed her to pursue her own way again. The original +faults were as marked as ever. In his opinion all was essentially bad. + +He looked in silence. But she talked on hopefully, explaining, +comparing, pointing out. + +"What does Mr. Jackson think of this?" he said, selecting the one he +thought the worst. + +"He admires the idea greatly; he thinks it very original. He says that +my strongest point is originality," she answered, with her confident +frankness. + +"He means--ah--originality of subject?" + +"Oh yes; my execution is not much yet. But that will come in time. Of +course, the subject, the idea, is the important thing; the execution is +secondary." Here she paused; something seemed to come into her mind. "I +know _you_ do not think so," she added, thoughtfully, "because, you +know, you said"--and here she quoted a page from one of his art +articles with her clear accuracy. "I have never understood what you +meant by that, Mr. Noel; or why you wrote it." + +She looked at him questioningly. He did not reply; his eyes were upon +one of the sketches. + +"It would be dreadful for me if you were right!" she added, with slow +conviction. + +"I thought you believed that I was always right," he said, smiling, as +he placed the sketches on the table. + +But she remained very serious. + +"You are--in everything but that." + +He made some unimportant reply, and turned the conversation. But she +came back to it. + +"It would be dreadful," she repeated, earnestly, with the utmost gravity +in her gray eyes. + +"I hope the long summer will not tire you," he answered, irrelevantly. +"Shall I not have the pleasure of saying good-bye--although that, of +course, is not a pleasure--to Mrs.--to your mother?" + +He should have made the speech in any case, as it was the proper one to +make; but as he sat there he had thought that he really would like to +have a look at the one guardian this young girl was to have during her +long, lonely summer in Rome. + +"I will tell her. Perhaps when she hears that you are going away she +will feel like coming in," said Miss Macks. + +She came back after some delay, and with her appeared a matron of +noticeable aspect. + +"My mother," she said, introducing her (evidently Noel was never to get +the name); "this is Mr. Noel, mother." + +"And very glad I am to see you, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Spurr, +extending her hand with much cordiality. "I said to Ettie that I'd come +in, seeing as 'twas you, though I don't often see strangers nowadays on +account of poor health for a long time past; rheumatism and asthma. But +I feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul, because you've been so good to Ettie. +You've been real kind." + +Ettie's mother was a very portly matron of fifty-five, with a broad +face, indistinct features, very high color, and a breathless, panting +voice. Her high color--it really was her most noticeable feature--was +surmounted by an imposing cap, adorned with large bows of scarlet +ribbon; a worsted shawl, of the hue known as "solferino," decked her +shoulders; under her low-necked collar reposed a bright blue necktie, +its ends embroidered in red and yellow; and her gown was of a vivid dark +green. But although her colors swore at each other, she seemed amiable. +She was also voluble. + +Noel, while shaking hands, was considering, mentally, with some +retrospective amusement, his condition of mind if this lady had accepted +his invitations to visit the galleries. + +"You must sit down, mother," said Miss Macks, bringing forward an +easy-chair. "She has not been so well as usual, lately," she said, +explanatorily, to Noel, as she stood for a moment beside her mother's +chair. + +"It's this queer Eye-talian air," said Mrs. Spurr. "You see I ain't used +to it. Not but what I ain't glad to be here on Ettie's account--real +glad. It's just what she needs and oughter have." + +The girl put her hand on her mother's shoulder with a little caressing +touch. Then she left the room. + +"Yes, I do feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul. But, then, she'll be a +credit to you, to whatever you've done for her," said Mrs. Spurr, when +they were left alone. "Her talunts are very remarkable. She was the head +scholar of the Young Ladies' Seminary through four whole years, and all +the teachers took a lot of pride in her. And then her paintings, too! +I'm sorry you're going off so soon. You see, she sorter depends upon +your opinion." + +Noel felt a little stir at the edges of his conscience; he knew +perfectly that his opinion was that Miss Macks, as an artist, would +never do anything worth the materials she used. + +"I leave her in good hands," he said. + +After all, it was Jackson's responsibility, not his. + +"Yes, Mr. Jackson thinks a deal of her. I can see that plain!" answered +Mrs. Spurr, proudly. + +Here the daughter returned, bringing a little note-book and pencil. + +"Do you know what these are for?" she said. "I want you to write down a +list of the best books for me to read this summer, while you are gone. I +am going to work hard; but if I have books, too, the time won't seem so +long." + +Noel considered a moment. In one way her affairs were certainly none of +his business; in another way they were, because she had thrust them upon +him. + +"I will not give you a list, Miss Macks; probably you would not be able +to find the books here. But I will send you, from Paris or London, some +things that are rather good, if you will permit me to do so." + +She said he was very kind. Her face brightened. + +"If she has appreciation enough to comprehend what I send her," he +thought, "perhaps in the end she will have a different opinion about my +'kindness'!" + +Soon afterwards he took leave. The next day he went to Paris. + + +II + +The events of Raymond Noel's life, after he left Rome that spring, were +various. Some were pleasant, some unpleasant; several were quite +unexpected. Their combinations and results kept him from returning to +Italy the following winter, and the winter after that he spent in Egypt. +When he again beheld the dome of St. Peter's he remembered that it +lacked but a month of two full years since he had said good-bye to it; +it was then April, and now it was March. He established himself in some +pleasant rooms, looked about him, and then began to take up, one by one, +the old threads of his Roman life--such, at least, as remained unbroken. +He found a good many. Threads do not break in Rome. He had once said +himself that the air was so soft and historic that nothing broke +there--not even hearts. But this was only one of his little speeches. In +reality he did not believe much in the breaking of hearts; he had seen +them stretch so! + +It may be said with truth that Noel had not thought of Miss Macks for +months. This was because he had had other things to think of. He had +sent her the books from Paris, with an accompanying note, a charming +little note--which gave no address for reply. Since then his mind had +been otherwise occupied. But as he never entirely forgot anything that +had once interested him, even although but slightly (this was in +reality a system of his; it gave him many holds on life, and kept +stored up a large supply of resources ready for use when wanted), he +came, after a while, on the canvas of his Roman impressions, to the +figure of Miss Macks. When he came to it he went to see her; that is, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth. + +Of course, she might not be there; a hundred things might have happened +to her. He could have hunted up Horace Jackson; but, on the whole, he +rather preferred to see the girl herself first--that is, if she was +there. Mrs. Lawrence, the only person among his acquaintances who had +known her, was not in Rome. Reaching the street of the Hyacinth, he +interrogated the old woman who acted as portress at the lower door, +keeping up at the same time a small commerce in fritters; yes, the +Americans were still on the fourth floor. He ascended the dark stairway. +The confiding little "Ettie" card was no longer upon the door. In its +place was a small framed sign: "Miss Macks' School." + +This told a story! + +However, he rang. It was the same shrill, ill-tempered little bell, and +when the door opened it was Miss Macks herself who opened it. She was +much changed. + +The parlor had been turned into a school-room--at present empty of +pupils. But even as a school-room it was more attractive than it had +been before. He took a seat, and spoke the usual phrases of a renewal of +acquaintance with his accustomed ease and courtesy; Miss Macks responded +briefly. She said that her mother was not very well; she herself quite +well. No, they had not left Italy, nor indeed the neighborhood of Rome; +they had been a while at Albano. + +The expression of her face had greatly altered. The old direct, wide +glance was gone; gone also what he had called her over-confidence; she +looked much older. On the other hand, there was more grace in her +bearing, more comprehension of life in her voice and eyes. She was +dressed as plainly as before; but everything, including the arrangement +of her hair, was in the prevalent style. + +She did not speak of her school, and therefore he did not. But after a +while he asked how the painting came on. Her face changed a little; but +it was more in the direction of a greater calm than hesitation or +emotion. + +"I am not painting now," she answered. + +"You have given it up temporarily?" + +"Permanently." + +"Ah--isn't that rather a pity?" + +She looked at him, and a gleam of scorn filtered into the glance. + +"You know it is not a pity," she said. + +He was a little disgusted at the scorn. Of course, the only ground for +him to take was the ground upon which she stood when he last saw her; at +that time she proposed to pass her life in painting, and it was but good +manners for him to accept her intentions as she had presented them. + +"I never assumed to be a judge, you know," he answered. "When I last had +the pleasure of seeing you, painting was, you remember, your cherished +occupation!" + +"When you last had the pleasure of seeing me, Mr. Noel," said Miss +Macks, still with unmoved calm, "I was a fool." + +Did she wish to go into the subject at length? Or was that merely an +exclamation? + +"When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you were taking lessons of +Mr. Jackson," he said, to give a practical turn to the conversation. "Is +he still here? How is he?" + +"He is very well, now. He is dead." + +(She was going to be dramatic then, in any case.) + +He expressed his regret, and it was a sincere one; he had always liked +and respected the honest, morose Englishman. He asked a question or two. +Miss Macks replied that he had died here in the street of the +Hyacinth--in the next room. He had fallen ill during the autumn +following Noel's departure, and when his illness grew serious, they--her +mother and herself--had persuaded him to come to them. He had lived a +month longer, and died peacefully on Christmas Eve. + +"He was one of the most honest men I ever knew," said Noel. Then, as she +did not reply, he ventured this: "That was the reason I recommended him +when you asked me to select a teacher for you." + +"Your plan was made useless by an unfortunate circumstance," she +answered, with an evident effort. + +"A circumstance?" + +"Yes; he fell in love with me. If I did not consider his pure, deep, and +devoted affection the greatest honor of my life I would not mention it. +I tell you because it will explain to you his course." + +"Yes, it explains," said Noel. As he spoke there came across him a +realization of the whole of the strength of the love such a man as +Horace Jackson would feel, and the way in which it would influence him. +Of course, he saw to the full the imperfection of her work, the utter +lack of the artist's conception, the artist's eye and touch; but +probably he had loved her from the beginning, and had gone on hoping to +win her love in return. She was not removed from him by any distance; +she was young, but she was also poor, friendless, and alone. When she +was his wife he would tell her the truth, and in the greatness of his +love the revelation would be naught. "He was a good man," he said. "He +was always lonely. I am glad that at last he was with your mother and +you." + +"His goodness was simply unbounded. If he had lived he would have +remained always a faithful, kind, and respectful son to my dear mother. +That, of course, would have been everything to me." She said this +quietly, yet her tone seemed to hold intention. + +For a moment he thought that perhaps she had married the Englishman, and +was now his widow. The sign on the door bore her maiden name, but that +might have been an earlier venture. + +"Had you opened your school at that time?" he asked. "I may speak of it, +since, of course, I saw the sign upon the door." + +"Not until two months later; I had the sign made then. But it was of +little use; day-schools do not prosper in Rome; they are not the custom. +I have a small class twice a week, but I live by going out as +day-governess. I have a number of pupils of that kind; I have been very +successful. The old Roman families have a fancy for English-speaking +governesses, you know. Last summer I was with the Princess C----, at +Albano; her children are my pupils." + +"Her villa is a delightful one," said Noel; "you must have enjoyed +that." + +"I don't know that I enjoyed, but I learned. I have learned a great +deal in many ways since I saw you last, Mr. Noel. I have grown very +old." + +"As you were especially young when you saw me last it does not matter +much," he answered, smiling. + +"Yes, I was especially young." She looked at him soberly. "I do not feel +bitterly towards you," she continued. "Strange! I thought I should. But +now that I see you in person it comes over me that, probably, you did +not intend to deceive me; that not only you tried to set me right by +selecting Mr. Jackson as my teacher, but again you tried when you sent +me those books. It was not much to do! But knowing the world as I now +know it, I see that it was all that could have been expected. At first, +however, I did not see this. After I went to Mr. Bellot, and, later, to +Mr. Salviati, there were months when I felt very bitterly towards you. +My hopes were false ones, and had been so from the beginning; you knew +that they were, yet you did not set me right." + +"I might have done more than I did," answered Noel. "I have a habit of +not assuming responsibility; I suppose I have grown selfish. But if you +went to Bellot, then it was not Jackson who told you?" + +"He intimated something when he asked me to marry him; after that his +illness came on, and we did not speak of it again. But I did not believe +him. I was very obstinate. I went to Mr. Bellot the 1st of January; I +wished him to take me as pupil. In answer he told me that I had not a +particle of talent; that all my work was insufferably bad; that I better +throw away my brushes and take in sewing." + +"Bellot is always a brute!" said Noel. + +"If he told the truth brutally, it was still the truth; and it was the +truth I needed. But even then I was not convinced, and I went to Mr. +Salviati. He was more gentle; he explained to me my lacks; but his +judgment was the same. I came home; it was the 10th of January, a +beautiful Roman winter day. I left my pictures, went over to St. +Peter's, and walked there under its bright mosaics all the afternoon. +The next day I had advertisements of a day-school placed at the bankers' +and in the newspapers. I thought that I could teach better than I could +sew." All this she said with perfect calm. + +"I greatly admire your bravery, Miss Macks. Permit me to add that I +admire, even more, the clear, strong, good sense which has carried you +through." + +"I had my mother to think of; my--good sense might not have been so +faithful otherwise." + +"You do not think of returning to America?" + +"Probably not; I doubt if my mother could bear the voyage now. We have +no one to call us back but my brother, and he has not been with us for +years, and would not be if we should return; he lives in California. We +sold the farm, too, before we came. No; for the present, at least, it is +better for us to remain here." + +"There is one more question I should like to ask," said Noel, later. +"But I have no possible right to do so." + +"I will give you the right. When I remember the things I asked you to do +for me, the demands I made upon your time, I can well answer a few +questions in return. I was a miracle of ignorance." + +"I always did you justice in those respects, Miss Macks; all that I +understood at once. My question refers to Horace Jackson: I see you +appreciated his worth--which was rare--yet you would not marry him." + +"I did not love him." + +"Did any of his relatives come out from England?" he said, after a +moment of silence. + +"After his death a cousin came." + +"As heir to what was left?" + +"Yes." + +"He should have left it to you." + +"He wished to do so. Of course, I would not accept it." + +"I thank you for answering. My curiosity was not an idle one." He +paused. "If you will permit me to express it, your course has been very +brave and true. I greatly admire it." + +"You are kind," said Miss Macks. + +There was not in her voice any indication of sarcasm. Yet the fact that +he immediately thought of it made him suspect that it was there. He took +leave soon afterwards. He was smarting a little under the sarcasm he had +divined, and, as he was, it was like him to request permission to come +again. + +For Raymond Noel lived up with a good deal of determination to his own +standard of what was manly; if his standard was not set on any very fine +elevation of self-sacrifice or heroism, it was at least firmly +established where it did stand, and he kept himself fairly near it. If +Miss Macks was sarcastic, he had been at fault somewhere; he would try +to atone. + +He saw her four times during the five weeks of his stay in Rome; upon +three other occasions when he went to the street of the Hyacinth she was +not at home. The third week in April he decided to go to Venice. Before +going he asked if there was not something he could do for her; but she +said there was nothing, and he himself could think of nothing. She was +well established in her new life and occupations, and needed nothing--at +least, nothing that he could bestow. + +The next winter he came back to Rome early in the season, before +Christmas. By chance one of the first persons he encountered was Mrs. +Lawrence. She began immediately to tell him a piece of American news, in +which he, as an American, would of course be interested; the news was +that "the brother of the Princess C---- --that is Count L----, you +know--is determined to marry Ettie Macks. You remember her, don't you? I +introduced you to her at the Dudley reception, three years ago." + +Noel thought that probably he remembered her better than Mrs. Lawrence +did, seeing that that lady had never troubled herself to enter the +street of the Hyacinth. But he did her injustice. Mrs. Lawrence had +troubled herself--lately. + +"It seems that she has been out at Albano for two summers, as governess +to his sister's children; it was there that he saw her. He has announced +his determination to the family, and they are immensely disturbed and +frightened; they had it all arranged for him to marry a second cousin +down at Naples, who is rich--these Italians are so worldly, you know! +But he is very determined, they say, and will do as he pleases in spite +of them. He hasn't much money, but of course it's a great match for +Ettie Macks. She will be a countess, and now, I suppose, more American +girls will come over than ever before! Of course, as soon as I heard of +it, I went to see her. I felt that she would need advice about a hundred +things. In the beginning she brought a letter of introduction to me from +a dear cousin of mine, and, naturally, she would rely upon me as her +chief friend now. She is very much improved. She was rather silent; but, +of course, I shall go again. The count is willing to take the mother, +too, and that, under the circumstances, is not a small matter; she is a +good deal to take. Until the other day I had not seen Mrs. Spurr! +However, I suppose that her deficiencies are not apparent in a language +she cannot speak. If her daughter would only insist upon her dressing in +black! But the old lady told me herself, in the most cheerful way, that +she liked 'a sprinkling of color.' And at the moment, I assure you, she +had on five different shades of red!" + +Noel had intended to present himself immediately at the street of the +Hyacinth; but a little attack of illness kept him in for a while, and +ten days had passed before he went up the dark stairway. The maid said +that Miss Macks was at home; presently she came in. They had ten minutes +of conversation upon ordinary topics, and then he took up the especial +one. + +"I am told that you are soon to be a countess," he said, "and I have +come to give you my best good wishes. My congratulations I reserve for +Count L----, with whom I have a slight acquaintance; he is, in my +opinion, a very fortunate man." + +"Yes, I think he is fortunate; fortunate in my refusal. I shall not +marry Count L----." + +"He is not a bad fellow." + +"Isn't your praise somewhat faint?" This time the sarcasm was visible. + +"Oh, I am by no means his advocate! All I meant was that, as these +modern Romans go, he was not among the worst. Of course I should have +expressed myself very differently if you had said you were to marry +him." + +"Yes; you would then have honored me with your finest compliments." + +He did not deny this. + +"Shall you continue to live in Rome?" he asked. + +"Certainly. I shall have more pupils and patronage now than I know what +to do with; the whole family connection is deeply obliged to me." + +They talked awhile longer. + +"We have always been unusually frank with each other, Miss Macks," he +said, towards the end of his visit. "We have never stopped at +conventionalities. I wonder if you will tell me why you refused him?" + +"You are too curious. As to frankness, I have been frank with you; not +you with me. And there was no conventionality, simply because I did not +know what it was." + +"I believe you are in love with some one in America," he said, laughing. + +"Perhaps I am," answered Miss Macks. She had certainly gained greatly in +self-possession during the past year. + +He saw her quite frequently after this. Her life was no longer solitary. +As she had said, she was overwhelmed with pupils and patronage from the +friends of the Princess C----; in addition, the American girl who had +refused a fairly-indorsed and well-appearing count was now something of +a celebrity among the American visitors in Rome. That they knew of her +refusal was not her fault; the relatives of Count L---- had announced +their objections as loud and widely as the count had announced his +determination. Apparently neither side had thought of a non-acceptance. +Cards, not a few, were sent to the street of the Hyacinth; some persons +even climbed the five flights of stairs. Mrs. Spurr saw a good deal of +company--and enjoyed it. + +Noel was very fond of riding; when in Rome he always rode on the +Campagna. He had acted as escort to various ladies, and one day he +invited Miss Macks to accompany him--that is, if she were fond of +riding. She had ridden in America, and enjoyed it; she would like to go +once, if he would not be troubled by an improvised habit. They went +once. Then a second time, an interval of three weeks between. Then, +after a while, a third time. + +Upon this occasion an accident happened, the first of Noel's life; his +horse became frightened, and, skilled rider though he was, he was +thrown. He was dragged, too, for a short distance. His head came against +some stones, and he lost consciousness. When it came back it did not +come wholly. He seemed to himself to be far away, and the girl who was +weeping and calling his name to be upon the other side of a wide space +like an ocean, over which, without volition of his own, he was being +slowly wafted. As he came nearer, still slowly, he perceived that in +some mysterious way she was holding in her arms something that seemed to +be himself, although he had not yet reached her. Then, gradually, spirit +and body were reunited, he heard what she was saying, and felt her +touch. Even then it was only after several minutes that he was able to +move and unclose his heavy eyes. + +When she saw that he was not dead, her wild grief was at once merged in +the thought of saving him. She had jumped from her horse, she knew not +how; but he had not strayed far; a shepherd had seen him, and was now +coming towards them. He signalled to another, and the two carried Noel +to a house which was not far distant. A messenger was sent to the city; +aid came, and before night Noel was in his own rooms at the head of the +Via Sistina, near the Spanish steps. + +His injuries proved to be not serious; he had lost consciousness from +the shock, and this, with his pallor and the blood from the cuts made by +the stones, had given him the look of death. The cuts, however, were not +deep; the effect of the shock passed away. He kept his bed for a week +under his physician's advice; he had a good deal of time to think during +that week. Later his friends were admitted. As has been said before, +Noel was a favorite in Rome, and he had friends not a few. Those who +could not come in person sent little notes and baskets of flowers. Among +these Miss Macks was not numbered. But then she was not fashionable. + +At the end of two weeks the patient was allowed to go out. He took a +short walk to try his strength, and, finding that it held out well, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth. + +Miss Macks was at home. She was "so glad" to see him out again; and was +he "really strong enough;" and he "should be very prudent for a while;" +and so forth and so forth. She talked more than usual, and, for her, +quite rapidly. + +He let her go on for a time. Then he took the conversation into his own +hands. With few preliminaries, and with much feeling in his voice and +eyes, he asked her to be his wife. + +She was overwhelmed with astonishment; she turned very white, and did +not answer. He thought she was going to burst into tears. But she did +not; she only sat gazing at him, while her lips trembled. He urged his +point; he spoke strongly. + +"You are worth a hundred of me," he said. "You are true and sincere; I +am a dilettante in everything. But, dilettante as I am, in one way I +have always appreciated you, and, lately, all other ways have become +merged in that one. I am much in earnest; I know what I am doing; I have +thought of it searchingly and seriously, and I beg you to say yes." + +He paused. Still she did not speak. + +"Of course I do not ask you to separate yourself from your mother," he +went on, his eyes dropping for the moment to the brim of his hat, which +he held in his hand; "I shall be glad if she will always make her home +with us." + +Then she did speak. And as her words came forth, the red rose in her +face until it was deeply colored. + +"With what an effort you said that! But you will not be tried. One gray +hair in my mother's head is worth more to me, Mr. Noel, than anything +you can offer." + +"I knew before I began that this would be the point of trouble between +us, Faith," he answered. "I can only assure you that she will find in me +always a most respectful son." + +"And when you were thinking so searchingly and seriously, it was _this_ +that you thought of--whether you could endure her! Do you suppose that I +do not see the effort? Do you suppose I would ever place my mother in +such a position? Do you suppose that you are of any consequence beside +her, or that anything in this world weighs in my mind for one moment +compared with her happiness?" + +"We can make her happy; I suppose that. And I suppose another thing, and +that is that we could be very happy ourselves if we were married." + +"The Western girl, the girl from Tuscolee! The girl who thought she +could paint, and could not! The girl who knew so little of social rules +that she made a fool of herself every time she saw you!" + +"All this is of no consequence, since it is the girl I love," answered +Noel. + +"You do not. It is a lie. Oh, of course, a very unselfish and noble one; +but a lie, all the same. You have thought of it seriously and +searchingly? Yes, but only for the last fourteen days! I understand it +all now. At first I did not, I was confused; but now I see the whole. +You were not unconscious out there on the Campagna; you heard what I +said when I thought you were dying, or dead. And so you come--come very +generously and self-sacrificingly, I acknowledge that--and ask me to be +your wife." She rose; her eyes were brilliant as she faced him. "I might +tell you that it was only the excitement, that I did not know or mean +what I was saying; I might tell you that I did not know that I had said +anything. But I am not afraid. I will not, like you, tell a lie, even +for a good purpose. I did love you; there, you have it! I have loved you +for a long time, to my sorrow and shame. For I do not respect you or +admire you; you have been completely spoiled, and will always remain so. +I shall make it the one purpose of my life from this moment to overcome +the feeling I have had for you; and I shall succeed. Nothing could make +me marry you, though you should ask me a thousand times." + +"I shall ask but once," said Noel. He had risen also; and, as he did, he +remembered the time when they had stood in the same place and position, +facing each other, and she had told him that she was at his feet. "I did +hear what you said. And it is of that I have been seriously thinking +during the days of my confinement to the house. It is also true that it +is what you said which has brought me here to-day. But the reason is +that it has become precious to me--this knowledge that you love me. As I +said before, in one way I have always done you justice, and it is that +way which makes me realize to the full now what such a love as yours +would be to me. If it is true that I am spoiled, as you say I am, a love +like yours would make me better, if anything can." He paused. "I have +not said much about my own feelings," he added; "I know you will not +credit me with having any. But I think I have. I think that I love you." + +"It is of little moment to me whether you do or not." + +"You are making a mistake," he said, after a pause, during which their +eyes had met in silence. + +"The mistake would be to consent." + +She had now recovered her self-possession. She even smiled a little. + +"Imagine Mr. Raymond Noel in the street of the Hyacinth!" she said. + +"Ah, I should hardly wish to live here; and my wife would naturally be +with me." + +"I hope so. And I hope she will be very charming and obedient and +sweet." Then she dropped her sarcasms, and held out her hand in +farewell. "There is no use in prolonging this, Mr. Noel. Do not think, +however, that I do not appreciate your action; I do appreciate it. I +said that I did not respect you, and I have not until now; but now I do. +You will understand, of course, that I would rather not see you again, +and refrain from seeking me. Go your way, and forget me; you can do so +now with a clear conscience, for you have behaved well." + +"It is not very likely that I shall forget you," answered Noel, +"although I go my way. I see you are firmly resolved. For the present, +therefore, all I can do is to go." + +They shook hands, and he left her. As he passed through the small hall +on his way to the outer door he met Mrs. Spurr; she was attired as +opulently, in respect to colors, as ever, and she returned his greeting +with much cordiality. He glanced back; Miss Macks had witnessed the +meeting through the parlor door. Her color had faded; she looked sad and +pale. + +She kept her word; she did not see him again. If he went to the street +of the Hyacinth, as he did two or three times, the little maid presented +him with the Italian equivalent of "begs to be excused," which was +evidently a standing order. If he wrote to her, as he did more than two +or three times, she returned what he wrote, not unread, but without +answer. He thought perhaps he should meet her, and was at some pains to +find out her various engagements. But all was in vain; the days passed, +and she remained invisible. Towards the last of May he left Rome. After +leaving, he continued to write to her, but he gave no address for +reply; she would now be obliged either to burn his letters or keep them, +since she could no longer send them back. They could not have been +called love-letters; they were friendly epistles, not long--pleasant, +easy, sometimes amusing, like his own conversation. They came once a +week. In addition he sent new books, and occasionally some other small +remembrance. + +In early September of that year there came to the street of the Hyacinth +a letter from America. It was from one of Mrs. Spurr's old neighbors at +Tuscolee, and she wrote to say that John Macks had come home--had come +home broken in health and spirits, and, as he himself said, to die. He +did not wish his mother to know; she could not come to him, and it would +only distress her. He had money enough for the short time that was left +him, and when she heard it would be only that he had passed away; he had +passed from her life in reality years before. In this John Macks was +sincere. He had been a ne'er-do-well, a rolling stone; he had not been a +dutiful son. The only good that could be said of him, as far as his +mother was concerned, was contained in the fact that he had not made +demands upon her small purse since the sum he took from her when he +first went away. He had written to her at intervals, briefly. His last +letter had come eight months before. + +But the Tuscolee neighbor was a mother herself, and, doing as she would +be done by, she wrote to Rome. When her letter came Mrs. Spurr was +overwhelmed with grief; but she was also stirred to an energy and +determination which she had never shown before. For the first time in +years she took the leadership, put her daughter decisively back into a +subordinate place, and assumed the control. She would go to America. She +must see her boy (the dearest child of the two, as the prodigal always +is) again. But even while she was planning her journey illness seized +her--her old rheumatic troubles, only more serious than before; it was +plain that she could not go. She then required that her daughter should +go in her place--go and bring her boy to Rome; this soft Italian air +would give new life to his lungs. Oh, she should not die! Ettie need not +be afraid of that. She would live for years just to get one look at him! +And so it ended in the daughter's departure, an efficient nurse being +left in charge; the physician said that although Mrs. Spurr would +probably be crippled, she was in no danger otherwise. + +Miss Macks left Rome on the 15th of September. On the 2d of December she +again beheld the dome of St. Peter's rising in the blue sky. She saw it +alone. John Macks had lived three weeks after her arrival at Tuscolee, +and those three weeks were the calmest and the happiest of his +unsuccessful--unworthy it may be--but also bitterly unhappy life. His +sister did not judge him. She kissed him good-bye as he lost +consciousness, and soon afterwards closed his eyes tenderly, with tears +in her own. Although he was her brother, she had never known him; he +went away when she was a child. She sat beside him a long time after he +was dead, watching the strange, youthful peace come back to his worn +face. + +When she reached the street of the Hyacinth a carriage was before the +door; carriages of that sort were not often required by the dwellers on +the floors below their own, and she was rather surprised. She had heard +from her mother in London, the nurse acting as amanuensis; at that time +Mrs. Spurr was comfortable, although still confined to her bed most of +the day. As she was paying her driver she heard steps on the stairway +within. Then she beheld this: The nurse, carrying a pillow and shawls; +next, her mother, in an invalid-chair, borne by two men; and last, +Raymond Noel. + +When Mrs. Spurr saw her daughter she began to cry. She had not expected +her until the next day. Her emotion was so great that the drive was +given up, and she was carried back to her room. Noel did not follow her; +he shook hands with the new-comer, said that he would not detain her, +and then, lifting his hat, he stepped into the carriage which was +waiting and was driven away. + +For two days Mrs. Spurr wished for nothing but to hear, over and over +again, every detail of her boy's last hours. Then the excitement and +renewed grief made her dangerously ill. After ten days she began to +improve; but two weeks passed before she came back to the present +sufficiently to describe to her daughter all "Mr. No-ul's kind +attentions." He had returned to Rome the first of October, and had come +at once to the street of the Hyacinth. Learning what had happened, he +had devoted himself to her "most as if he was my real son, Ettie, I do +declare! Of course, he couldn't never be like my own darling boy," +continued the poor mother, overlooking entirely, with a mother's sublime +forgetfulness, the small amount of devotion her boy had ever bestowed; +"but he's just done everything he could, and there's no denying that." + +"He has not been mentioned in your letters, mother." + +"Well, child, I just told Mrs. Bowler not to. For he said himself, +frankly, that you might not like it; but that he'd make his peace with +you when you come back. I let him have his way about it, and I _have_ +enjoyed seeing him. He's the only person I've seen but Mrs. Bowler and +the doctor, and I'm mortal tired of both." + +During Mrs. Spurr's second illness Noel had not come in person to the +street of the Hyacinth; he had sent to inquire, and fruits and flowers +came in his name. Miss Macks learned that these had come from the +beginning. + +When three weeks had passed Mrs. Spurr was back in her former place as +regarded health. One of her first requests was to be taken out to drive; +during her daughter's absence Mr. Noel had taken her five times, and she +had greatly enjoyed the change. It was not so simple a matter for the +daughter as it had been for Mr. Noel; her purse was almost empty; the +long journeys and her mother's illness had exhausted her store. Still +she did it. Mrs. Spurr wished to go to the Pincio. Her daughter thought +the crowd there would be an objection. + +"It didn't tire me one bit when Mr. No-ul took me," said Mrs. Spurr, in +an aggrieved tone; "and we went there every single time--just as soon as +he found out that I liked it. What a lot of folks he does know, to be +sure! They kept him a-bowing every minute." + +The day after this drive Mr. Noel came to the street of the Hyacinth. He +saw Miss Macks. Her manner was quiet, a little distant; but she thanked +him, with careful acknowledgment of every item, for his kind attentions +to her mother. He said little. After learning that Mrs. Spurr was much +better he spoke of her own health. + +"You have had two long, fatiguing journeys, and you have been acting as +nurse; it would be well for you to give yourself entire rest for several +weeks at least." + +She replied, coldly, that she was perfectly well, and turned the +conversation to subjects less personal. He did not stay long. As he rose +to take leave, he said: + +"You will let me come again, I hope? You will not repeat the 'not at +home' of last spring?" + +"I would really much rather not see you, Mr. Noel," she answered, after +hesitating. + +"I am sorry. But of course I must submit." Then he went away. + +Miss Macks now resumed her burdens. She was obliged to take more pupils +than she had ever accepted before, and to work harder. She had not only +to support their little household, but there were now debts to pay. She +was out almost the whole of every day. + +After she had entered upon her winter's work Raymond Noel began to come +again to the street of the Hyacinth. But he did not come to see her; his +visits were to her mother. He came two or three times a week, and always +during the hours when the daughter was absent. He sat and talked to Mrs. +Spurr, or rather listened to her, in a way that greatly cheered that +lady's monotonous days. She told him her whole history; she minutely +described Tuscolee and its society; and, finally, he heard the whole +story of "John." In addition, he sent her various little delicacies, +taking pains to find something she had not had. + +Miss Macks would have put an end to this if she had known how. But +certainly Mr. Noel was not troubling _her_, and Mrs. Spurr resented any +attempt at interference. + +"I don't see why you should object, Ettie. He seems to like to come, and +there's but few pleasures left to me, I'm sure! You oughtn't to grudge +them!" + +In this way two months passed, Noel continuing his visits, and Miss +Macks continuing her lessons. She was working very hard. She now looked +not only pale, but much worn. Count L----, who had been long absent, +returned to Rome about this time. He saw her one day, although she did +not see him. The result of this vision of her was that he went down to +Naples, and, before long, the desirable second cousin with the fortune +was the sister of the Princess C----. + +One afternoon in March Miss Macks was coming home from the broad, new, +tiresome piazza Indipendenza; the distance was long, and she walked with +weariness. As she drew near the dome of the Pantheon she met Raymond +Noel. He stopped, turned, and accompanied her homeward. She had three +books. + +"Give them to me," he said, briefly, taking them from her. + +"Do you know what I have heard to-day?" he went on. "They are going to +tear down your street of the Hyacinth. The Government has at last +awakened to the shame of allowing all those modern accretions to +disfigure longer the magnificent old Pagan temple. All the streets in +the rear, up to a certain point, are to be destroyed. And the street of +the Hyacinth goes first. You will be driven out." + +"I presume we can find another like it." + +He went on talking about the Pantheon until they entered the doomed +street; it was as obstinately narrow and dark as ever. Then he dropped +his Pagan temple. + +"How much longer are you going to treat me in this way, Faith?" he said. +"You make me very unhappy. You are wearing yourself out, and it troubles +me greatly. If you should fall ill I think that would be the end. I +should then take matters into my own hands, and I don't believe you +would be able to keep me off. But why should we wait for illness? It is +too great a risk." + +They were approaching her door. She said nothing, only hastened her +steps. + +"I have been doing my best to convince you, without annoying you, that +you were mistaken about me. And the reason I have been doing it is that +I am convinced myself. If I was not entirely sure last spring that I +loved you, I certainly am sure now. I spent the summer thinking of it. I +know now, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that I love you above all +and everything. There is no 'duty' or 'generosity' in this, but simply +my own feelings. I could perfectly well have let the matter drop; you +gave me every opportunity to do so. That I have not done it should show +you--a good deal. For I am not of the stuff of which heroes are made. I +should not be here unless I wanted to; my motive is the selfish one of +my own happiness." + +They had entered the dark hallway. + +"Do you remember the morning when you stood here, with two tears in your +eyes, saying 'Never mind; you will come another time'?" (Here the +cobbler came down the stairs.) "Why not let the demolition of the street +of the Hyacinth be the crisis of our fate?" he went on, returning the +cobbler's bow. (Here the cobbler departed.) "If you refuse, I shall not +give you up; I shall go on in the same way. But--haven't I been tried +long enough?" + +"You have not," she answered. "But, unless you will leave Rome, and--me, +I cannot bear it longer." + +It was a great downfall, of course; Noel always maintained that it was. + +"But the heights upon which you had placed yourself, my dear, were too +superhuman," he said, excusingly. + +The street of the Hyacinth experienced a great downfall, also. During +the summer it was demolished. + +Before its demolition Mrs. Lawrence, after three long breaths of +astonishment, had come to offer her congratulations--in a new direction +this time. + +"It is the most fortunate thing in the world," she said to everybody, +"that Mrs. Spurr is now confined to her bed for life, and is obliged to +wear mourning." + +But Mrs. Spurr is not confined to her bed; she drives out with her +daughter whenever the weather is favorable. She wears black, but is now +beginning to vary it with purple and lavender. + + + + +A CHRISTMAS PARTY + + +In 188- the American Consul at Venice was occupying the second story of +an old palace on the Grand Canal. It was the story which is called by +Italians the _piano nobile_, or noble floor. Beneath this _piano nobile_ +there is a large low ground, or rather water, floor, whose stone +pavement, only slightly above the level of the canal outside, is always +damp and often wet. At the time of the Consul's residence this +water-floor was held by another tenant, a dealer in antiquities, who had +partitioned off a shallow space across its broad front for a show-room. +As this dealer had the ground-floor, he possessed, of course, the +principal entrance of the palace, with its broad marble steps descending +into the rippling wavelets of the splendid azure street outside, and +with the tall, slender poles, irregularly placed in the water, which +bore testimony to the aristocracy of the venerable pile they guarded. +One could say that these blue wands, ornamented with heraldic devices, +were like the spears of knights; this is what Miss Senter said. Or one +could notice their strong resemblance to barbers' poles; and this was +what Peter Senter always mentioned. + +Peter Senter was the American Consul, and his sister Barbara was the +Consuless; for she kept house for her brother, who was a bachelor. And +she not only kept house for him, but she assisted him in other ways, +owing to her knowledge of Italian. The Consul, a man of fifty-seven, +spoke only the language of his native place--Rochester, New York. That +he could not understand the speech (gibberish, he called it) of the +people with whom he was supposed to hold official relations did not +disturb him; he thought it patriotic not to understand. There was a +vice-consul, an Italian, who could attend to the business matters; and +as for the rest, wasn't Barbara there--Barbara, who could chatter not +only in Italian, but in French and German also, with true feminine +glibness? (For Peter, in his heart, thought it unmasculine to have a +polyglot tongue.) He knew how well his sister could speak, because he +had paid her bills during the six years of her education abroad. These +bills had been large; of course, therefore, the knowledge must be large +as well. + +Miss Senter was always chronically annoyed that she and her brother did +not possess the state entrance. As the palace was at present divided, +the tenants of the noble floor descended by an outside stairway to a +large inner court, and from this court opened the second water-door. +Their staircase was a graceful construction of white marble, and the +court, with the blue sky above, one or two fretted balconies, and a +sculptured marble well-curb in the centre, was highly picturesque. But +this did not reconcile the American lady to the fact that their door was +at the side of the palace; she thought that by right the gondola of the +Consul should lie among the heraldic poles on the Grand Canal. But, in +spite of right, nothing could be done; the antiquity-dealer held his +premises on a long lease. Miss Senter, therefore, disliked the dealer. + +Her dislike, however, had not prevented her from paying a visit to his +establishment soon after she had taken possession of the high-ceilinged +rooms above. For she was curious about the old palace, and wished to see +every inch of it; if there had been cellars, she would have gone down to +inspect them, and she was fully determined to walk "all over the roof." +The dealer's name was Pelham--"Z. Pelham" was inscribed on his sign. How +he came by this English title no one but himself could have told. He was +supposed to be either a Pole or an Armenian, and he spoke many languages +with equal fluency and incorrectness. He appeared to have feeble health, +and he always wore large arctic over-shoes; he was short and thin, and +the most noticeable expression of his plain, small face was resignation. +Z. Pelham conducted the Consuless through the dusky space behind his +show-room, a vast, low, open hall with massive squat columns and arches, +and the skeletons of two old gondolas decaying in a corner. At the back +he opened a small door, and pointed out a flight of stone steps going up +steeply in a spiral, enclosed in a circular shaft like a round tower. +"It leads to the attic floor. Her Excellency wishes to mount?" he +inquired, patiently. For, owing to the wares in which he dealt, he had +had a large acquaintance with eccentric characters of all nations. + +"Certainly," replied Miss Senter. "Carmela, you can stay below, if you +like," she said to the servant who accompanied her. + +But no; Carmela also wished to mount. Z. Pelham preceded them, +therefore, carrying his small oil-lamp. They went slowly, for the steps +were narrow, the spiral sharp. The attic, when they reached it, was a +queer, ghostly place; but there was a skylight with a ladder, and the +Consuless carried out her intention of traversing the roof, while Mr. +Pelham waited calmly, seated on the open scuttle door. Carmela followed +her mistress. She gave little cries of admiration; there never were such +wonderful ladies anywhere as those of America, she declared. On the way +down, the stairs were so much like a corkscrew that Miss Senter, feeling +dizzy, was obliged to pause for a moment where there was a landing. +"Isn't there a secret chamber?" she demanded of the dealer. + +Z. Pelham shook his head. "I have not one found." + +"Try again," said Miss Senter, laughing. "I'll make it worth your while, +Mr. Pelham." + +Z. Pelham surveyed the walls, as if to see where he could have one +built. His eye passed over a crack, and, raising his lamp, he showed it +to the Consuless. "One time was there a door, opening into the rooms of +her Excellency. But it opens not ever now; it is covered on inside." + +"Oh, _that_ isn't a secret chamber," answered Miss Senter; "we have +doors that have been shut up at home. What I want is something +mysterious--behind a picture, or a sliding panel." + +Partly in return for this expedition to the roof, and partly because she +had a liking for wood-carvings, Miss Senter purchased from Mr. Pelham, +shortly afterwards, his best antique cabinet. It was eight feet high, +and its whole surface was beautifully sculptured in odd designs, no two +alike. Within were many ingenious receptacles, and, better than these, a +concealed drawer. "You see I have my secret chamber, after all," said +the Consuless, making a joke. And there was a best even to this better; +for after the cabinet had been placed in her own room, Miss Senter +discovered within it a second hiding-place, even more perfectly +concealed than the first. This was delightful, and she confided to its +care all her loose money. She thought with disgust of the ugly green +safe, built into the wall of Peter's Rochester house, where she was +obliged to keep her gold and silver when at home. Not only was Miss +Senter's own room in the old palace handsomely furnished, but all the +others belonging to the apartment were rich in beautiful things. The +Consuless had used her own taste, which was great, and her brother's +fortune, which was greater, deferring to him only on one point--namely, +warmth. In Peter's mind the temperature of his Rochester house remained +a fixed standard, and his sister therefore provided in every room a +place for a generous open fire, while in the great drawing-room, in +addition to this fire, two large white Vienna stoves, like monuments, +were set up, hidden behind screens. As this salon was eighty feet long +and thirty feet high, it required all this if it was to be used--used by +Peter, at least--in December, January, and February; for the Venetian +winter, though short, is often sharp and raw. + +On Christmas Eve of their third year in Venice this drawing-room was +lighted for a party. At one end, concealed by a curtain, stood a +Christmas-tree; for there were thirty children among their invited +guests, who would number in all over fifty. After the tree had bestowed +its fruit the children were to have a dance, and an odd little +projection like a very narrow balcony high on the wall was to be +occupied by five musicians. These musicians would have been much more +comfortable below. But Miss Senter was sure that this shelf was +intended for musicians; her musicians, therefore, were to sit there, +though their knees would be well squeezed between the wall and the +balustrade. Fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, which was an +early one on account of the children, the Consuless appeared. She found +her brother standing before the fire, surveying the room, with his hands +behind him. + +"Doesn't it look pretty?" said the sister, with pride; for she had a +great faith in all her pots and pans, carvings and tapestries. Any one, +however, could have had faith in the chandeliers of Venetian glass, from +which came the soft radiance of hundreds of wax candles, lighting up the +ancient gilding of the ceiling. + +"Well, Barly, you know that personally I don't care much for all these +second-hand articles you have collected," replied Peter. "And you +haven't got the room very warm, after all--only 60°. However, I can +stand it if the supper is all right--plenty of it, and the hot things +really hot; not lukewarm, you know." + +"We can trust Giorgio. But I'll go and have a final word with him, if +you like," answered Miss Senter, crossing the beautiful salon, her train +sweeping over the floor behind her. The Consuless was no longer young +(the days when Peter had paid those school bills were now far distant), +and she had never been handsome. But she was tall and slender, with +pretty hands and feet, a pleasant expression in her blue eyes, and soft +brown hair, now heavily tinged with silver. Her brother's use of "Barly" +was a grief to her. She had tried to lead him towards the habit of +calling her Barbe, the French form of Barbara, if nickname he must have. +But he pronounced this Bob, and that was worse than the other. + +On her way towards the kitchen the Consuless came upon Carmela. Carmela +was the servant who had the general oversight of everything excepting +the cooking. For Giorgio, the cook, allowed no interference in his +department; in the kitchen he must be Cæsar or nothing. Carmela was not +the house-keeper, for Miss Senter herself was the house-keeper. But the +American would have found her task twenty times, fifty times more +difficult if she had not had this skilful little deputy to carry out all +her orders. Carmela was said to be middle-aged. But her short, slender +figure was so erect, her little face so alert, her movements were so +brisk, and her small black eyes so bright, that she seemed full of +youthful fire; in fact, if one saw only her back, she looked younger +than Assunta and Beppa, who were Venetian girls of twenty. Carmela was +always attired in the French fashion, with tight corsets, a plain black +dress fitting like a glove round her little waist, and short enough to +show the neat shoes on her small feet; over this black dress there was a +jaunty white apron with pockets, and upon her beautifully braided +shining dark hair was perched a small spotless muslin cap. The younger +servants asserted that the slight pink tint on the tidy little woman's +cheeks was artificial. However that may have been, Carmela, as she +stood, was the personification of trimness and activity. Untiring and +energetic, she was a wonderful worker; Miss Senter, who had been much in +Italy, appreciated her good-fortune in having secured for her Venetian +house-keeping such a coadjutor as this. Carmela was scrupulously neat, +and she was even more scrupulously honest, never abstracting so much as +a pin; she economized for her mistress with her whole soul, and kept +watch over every detail; she told the truth, she swept the corners, she +dusted under everything; she worked conscientiously, in one way and +another, all day long. Even Peter, who did not like foreign servants, +liked Carmela; he said she was "so spry!" + +"Is everything ready?" inquired Miss Senter, as she met her deputy. + +"Yes, signorina, everything," answered Carmela, briskly. She was looking +her very best and tightest, all black and white, with black silk +stockings showing above her little high-heeled shoes. As she spoke she +put her hands in their black lace mitts in the pockets of her apron, +and, middle-aged though she was said to be, she looked at that moment +like a smart French soubrette of the stage. + +"I am going to the kitchen to have a word with Giorgio," said the +Consuless, passing on. + +"If the signorina permits, I carry the train," answered Carmela, lifting +the satin folds from the floor. Thus they went on together, mistress and +maid, through various rooms and corridors, until finally the kitchen was +reached. It was a large, lofty place, brilliantly lighted, for Giorgio +was old and needed all the radiance that could be obtained to aid his +failing sight. He was a small man with a melancholy countenance. But +this melancholy was an accident of expression; in reality, old Giorgio +was cheerful and amiable, with a good deal of mild wit. He was the most +skilful cook in Venice. But his health had failed some years before, and +he had now very little strength; the Consul, who liked good dinners, +paid him high wages, and gave him a young assistant. + +"Well, Giorgio, all promises well, I trust?" said Miss Senter as she +entered, her steps somewhat impeded by the tightness with which Carmela +held back her train. "The Consul is particular about having the hot +things really hot, and constantly renewed, as it is such a cold night. +The three men from Florian's will have charge of the ices and the other +cold things, and will do all that is necessary in the supper-room. But +for the hot dishes we depend upon you." + +Giorgio, who was dressed entirely in white, bowed and waved his hand. +"Mademoiselle need give herself no uneasiness," he said in French. For +Giorgio had learned his art in Paris, and whenever Carmela was present +he invariably answered his mistress in the language of that Northern +capital, even though her question had been couched in Italian; it was +one of his ways--and he had but few--of standing up, as it were, against +the indefatigable little deputy. For, clever though Carmela was, she had +never been out of her native land, and could speak no tongue but her +own. + +"Are you feeling well, Giorgio?" continued Miss Senter. "I see that you +look pale. I am afraid you have been doing too much. Where is Luigi?" +(Luigi was the cook's assistant.) + +"He has gone home; ten minutes ago. I let him go, as it is a festival. +He is young, and we can be young but once. _Che vuole!_ In addition, all +was done." + +"No," said Miss Senter, who was now speaking French also; "there is +still much to do, and it was not wise to let Luigi go. You are certainly +very tired, Giorgio." + +"Let not mademoiselle think of it," said the old man, straightening +himself a little. + +"But I _shall_ think of it," said Miss Senter, kindly. "Carmela," she +continued, speaking now in Italian, "go to my room and get my case of +cordials." + +Carmela divined that the cordial was for the cook. "And the signorina's +train?" she said. "Surely I cannot leave it on this _dirty_ floor! Will +not the signorina return to the drawing-room to take her cordial? Eh--it +is not for her? It is for Giorgio? A man? A _man_ to be faint like a +girl? Ha, ha! it makes me laugh!" + +"Go and get it," repeated Miss Senter, taking the train over her own +arm. She knew that Carmela did not like the cook. Jealousy was the one +fault the hard-working little creature possessed. "She has tried to make +me dismiss Giorgio more than once," she said to her brother, in +confidence; "but I always pretend not to see the feeling that influences +her. It is only Giorgio she is jealous of; she gets on perfectly well +with Luigi, and with Assunta and Beppa; while for Ercole she can never +do enough. She is devoted to Ercole!" + +Giorgio had not taken up the slur cast upon his immaculate floor. All he +said was, "_Comme elle est méchante!_" with a shrug. + +"Where is Ercole?" said Miss Senter, while she waited. + +"He is dressing," answered Giorgio. "He makes himself beautiful for the +occasion." + +Ercole was the chief gondolier--a tall, athletic young man of thirty, +handsome and clever. Miss Senter had chosen Ercole to assist her with +the Christmas-tree. The second gondolier, Andrea, was to be stationed at +the end of the little quay or riva down below, outside of their own +water-door; for here on the small canal were the steps used by arriving +and departing gondolas, and here also floated the handsome gondola of +the Consul, with its American flag. The two gondoliers also had +picturesque costumes of white (woollen in winter, linen in summer), with +blue collars, blue stockings, blue caps, and long fringed red sashes, +the combination representing the American national colors. To-night +Ercole, having to appear in the drawing-room, was making a longer stay +than usual before his little mirror. + +Carmela returned with the cordial-case. "Ah, yes, our cook _is_ +pale--pale as a young virgin!" she commented, as Miss Senter, unlocking +the box, poured into one of the little glasses it contained a generous +portion of a restorative whose every drop was costly. + +Giorgio, taking off the white linen cap which covered his gray hair, +made a bow, and then drank the draught with much appreciation. "It is +true that I am pale," he remarked, slyly, in Italian. "I might, perhaps, +try some rouge?" + +And then the Consuless, to avert war, hastily bore her deputy away. + +Half an hour later the guests had arrived; they included all the +Americans in Venice, with a sprinkling of English, Italians, and +Russians. The grown people assembled in the drawing-room. And presently +they heard singing. Through the anterooms came the children, entering +with measured step, two and two, led by three little boys in Oriental +costumes. These three boys were singing as follows: + + "We three Kings of Orient are, + Bearing gifts we've travelled from far, + Field and fountain, moor and mountain, + Following yonder star." + +Here, from the high top branch of the Christmas-tree which rose above +the concealing curtain, blazed out a splendid star. And then all the +procession took up the chorus, as they marched onward: + + "Oh, star of wonder, + Star of might, + Star with royal + Beauty bright!" + +Ercole, who was behind the curtain, now drew it aside, and there stood +the tree, blazing with fairy-lamps and glittering ornaments, while +beneath it was a mound composed entirely of toys. The children behaved +well; they kept their ranks and repeated their carol, as they had been +told to do, ranging themselves meanwhile in a half-circle before the +tree. + + "We three Kings of Orient are," + +chanted the three little kings a second time, though their eyes were +fixed upon a magnificent box of soldiers, with tents and flags and +cannon. The carol finished, Miss Senter, with the aid of her gondolier, +distributed the toys and bonbons, and the room was filled with happy +glee. When Ercole had detached the last package of sweets from the +sparkling branches he disappeared. His next duty was to conduct the +musicians up to their cage. + +Miss Senter had allowed an hour for the inspection and trial of the toys +before the dancing should begin. It was none too much, and the clamor +was still great as this hour drew towards its close, so great that she +herself was glad that the end was near. Looking up to see whether her +musicians had assembled on their shelf, she perceived some one at the +drawing-room door; it was Carmela, hiding herself modestly behind the +portière, but at the same time unmistakably beckoning to her mistress as +soon as she saw that she had caught her eye. Miss Senter went to the +doorway. + +"Will the signorina permit? A surprise of Ercole's," whispered Carmela, +eagerly, standing on tiptoe to reach her mistress's ear. "He has dressed +himself as a clown, and he _is_ of a perfection! He has bells on his cap +and his elbows, and if the signorina graciously allows, he will come in +to amuse the children." + +"A clown!" answered Miss Senter, hesitating. "I don't know; he ought to +have told me." + +"He has been dancing to show _me_. And oh! so beautifully, with bounds +and leaps. He makes of himself also a statue," pursued Carmela. + +"But I cannot have any buffoonery here, you know," said Miss Senter. "It +would not do." + +"Buffoonery! Surely the signorina knows that Ercole has the soul of a +gentleman," whispered Carmela, reproachfully. + +And it was true that Miss Senter had always thought that her chief +gondolier possessed a great deal of natural refinement. + +"Will the signorina step out for a moment and look at him?" pursued the +deputy, her whisper now a little dejected. "If he is to be disappointed, +poor fellow, may he at least have _that_ pleasure?" + +The idea of the gondolier's disappointment touched the amiable American. +She turned her head and glanced into the drawing-room; all was going on +gayly; no one had missed her. She slipped out under the portière, and +followed Carmela to a room at the side. Here stood the gondolier. He +wore the usual white dress and white mask of a clown, and, as the +Consuless entered, he cut a splendid caper, ringing all his bells. + +"I had no idea that you were such a skilful acrobat, Ercole," said his +mistress. + +Ercole turned a light somerset, gave a high jump, and came down in the +attitude of the Mercury of John of Bologna. + +"Why, you are really wonderful!" said Miss Senter, admiringly. + +And now he was dancing with butterfly grace. + +Miss Senter was won. "But if I let you come in, Ercole, I hope you will +remember where you are?" she said, warningly. "Can you breathe quite at +ease in that mask?" + +The gondolier opened his grotesque painted lips a little to show that he +could part them. + +"Yes, I see. Now listen; in the drawing-room you must keep your eye on +me, and if at any time you see me raise my hand--so--you must dance out +of the room, Ercole. For the sign will mean that that is enough. But, +dear me! there's one thing we haven't thought of; who is to see to the +musicians up-stairs, and to go back and forth, telling them what to +play?" + +"I can do that," said Carmela, who was now all smiles. "Does the +signorina wish me to take them up? They are all ready. They are waiting +in the wood-room." + +The wood-room was a remote store-room for fuel; it was detached from the +rest of the apartment. "Why did you put them _there_?" inquired Miss +Senter, astonished. + +"They are musicians--yes; but who knows what else they may be? Thieves, +perhaps!" said the deputy, shrewdly. + +"Get them out immediately and take them up to the gallery," said Miss +Senter. "And tell them to play something lively as a beginning." + +Carmela, quick as usual, was gone before the words were ended. + +"Now, Ercole, wait until you hear the music. Then come in," said the +Consuless. + +She returned to the drawing-room, making a motion with her hands as she +advanced, which indicated that her guests were to move a little more +towards the walls on each side, leaving the centre of the room free. And +then, as the music burst out above, Ercole came bounding in. His dress +was ordinary; Miss Senter was vexed anew that he had not told her of his +plan, for if he had she could have provided a perfectly fresh costume. +But no one noticed the costume; all eyes were fixed upon the gambols; +for, keeping time to the music, he was advancing up the room, dancing, +bounding, leaping, turning somersets, and every now and then striking an +attitude with extraordinary skill. He was so light that his white linen +feet made no sound, and so graceful that the fixed grin of his mask +became annoying, clashing as it did with the beauty of his poses. This +thought, however, came to the elders only; for to the children, +fascinated, shouting with delight, the broad red smile was an important +part. + +"It's our gondolier," explained Miss Senter. "It's Ercole," she had +whispered to her brother. + +"You are always so fortunate in servants," said Lady Kay. "That little +woman you have, too, Carmela--she is a miracle for an Italian." + +Four times the clown made his pyrotechnic progress up and then down the +long salon, never twice repeating the same pose, but always something +new; then, after a final tremendous pigeon-wing, he let his white arms +fall and his white head droop on his breast, as if saying that he was +taking a moment for repose. + +"Yes, yes; give him time to breathe, children," cried Peter. "I'll tell +you what," he added to Sir William Kay; "I've never seen a better +performance on any stage." And he slapped his leg in confirmation. The +Consul was a man whose sole claim to beauty lay in the fact that he +always looked extremely clean. He was meagre and small, with very short +legs, but he was without consciousness of these deficiencies; in the +presence of the Apollo Belvedere, for instance, it had never occurred to +him to draw comparisons. Nature, however, will out in some way, and from +childhood Peter Senter had had a profound admiration for feats of +strength, vaulting, tumbling, and the like. "I'll tell you what," he +repeated to Sir William; "I'll have the fellow exhibited; I'll start him +at my own cost. Here all this time--two whole years--he has been our +gondolier, Ercoly has, and nothing more; for I hadn't a suspicion that +he had the least talent in this line. But, sir, he's a regular +high-flier! And A Number One!" + +Meanwhile the children were crowding closely round their clown, and +peering up in order still to see his grin, which was now partly hidden, +owing to his drooped head; the three Kings of Orient, especially, were +very pressing in their attentions, pinching his legs to see if they were +real. + +"Come, children, this will be a good time for our second song," said +Miss Senter, making a diversion. "Take hands, now, in a circle; +yes--round the clown, if you wish. There--that's right." She signalled +to the music to stop, and then, beginning, led the little singers +herself: + + "Though we're here on foreign shores, + We are all devotion + To our land of Stars and Stripes, + Far across the ocean. + Yankee doodle doodle doo, + Yankee doodle dandy, + Buckwheat cakes are very good, + And so's molasses candy." + +Singing this gayly to the well-known fife-like tune, round and round +danced the children in a circle, holding each other's hands, the English +and Italians generously joining with the little Americans in praise of +the matutinal cakes which they had never seen; the Consuless had drilled +her choir beforehand, and they sang merrily and well. The first four +lines of this ditty had been composed by Peter himself for the occasion. + +"I hear _you_ haf written this vurra fine piece!" said a Russian +princess, addressing him. + +"Oh no," answered the Consul; "I only wrote the first four lines; the +chorus is one of our national songs, you know." + +"But those first four lines--their sentiment ees so fine, so speerited!" +said the princess. + +"Well, they're _neat_," Peter admitted, modestly. + +The clown, having recovered his breath, cut a caper. Instantly "Yankee +Doodle" came to an end, and the children all stopped to watch him. + +"Tell them to play a waltz," said Miss Senter to Carmela, who was in +waiting at the door. The deputy must have flown up the little stairway +leading to the gallery, for the waltz began in less than a minute. Then +Ercole, selecting a pretty American child from among the group, began to +dance with her in the most charming way, followed by all the little +ones, two and two. Those who could waltz, did so; those who could not, +held each other's hands and hopped about. + +Supper followed. The hot things were smoking and delicious, and the +supplies constantly renewed; old Giorgio was evidently on his mettle. It +was the gondolier, still in his clown's dress, who brought in these +supplies and handed them to the waiters from Florian's. + +"You need not do that, Ercole," said Miss Senter, in an undertone; +"these men can go to the kitchen for them." + +Ercole bowed; it would not have been respectful to reply with his +grinning linen lips. But he continued to fill the same office. + +"Perhaps Giorgio won't have Florian's people in the kitchen!" the +Consuless reflected. + +As soon as supper was over, the children clamored for their clown, and +he came bounding in a second time, and, after several astonishing +capers, selected a beautiful English child with long golden curls and +led a galop, followed again by all the others, two and two. Peter, his +mind still occupied with his project of taking the young Italian to +America as a star performer, moved from point to point, in order to get +different views of him. One of these stations was in the doorway, and +here Carmela spoke to him in a low tone, and asked him to come to the +outer hall. He did not understand her words; but he comprehended her +gesture and followed her. She was talking angrily, almost spluttering, +as she led the way. But her talk was lost on her master, who, however, +opened his eyes when he saw four policemen standing at his outer door. + +"What do you want here?" he said. "This is a private residence, and you +are disturbing a Christmas party." + +The chief officer told his tale. But Peter did not comprehend him. + +"You should have gone to the Consulate," he went on. "The Consulate, you +know--Riva Skevony. The vice-consul won't be there so late as this; but +you'll find him early to-morrow morning, sure." + +The policemen, however, remained where they were. + +"There's no making them understand a word," said Peter to himself, in +irritation. "Here, you go and call my sister," he said to Carmela, who, +in her wrath over this intrusion, stood at a distance swallowing nothing +in a series of gulps that made her throat twitch. "Let's see; sister, +that's sorelly. Sorelly!" he repeated to Carmela. "Sorelly!" + +The enraged little deputy understood. And she got Miss Senter out of the +drawing-room without attracting notice. "The master wishes to see the +signorina," she said, in a concentrated undertone. "I burn with +indignation, for it is an insolent intrusion; it is an insult to his +Excellency, who no doubt is a prince in his own country. But they +_would_ not go, in spite of all I could say. Nor would they tell me +their errand--brutes!" And with her skirts quivering she led the way to +the outer hall. + +"Find out what these men want, Barly," said Peter, when his sister +appeared. + +And then the chief officer again told his story. + +"Mercy!" said Miss Senter, "how dreadful. Somebody was killed, Peter, +about seven o'clock this evening, in a café near the Rialto, and they +say they have just found a clew which appears to track the assassin to +this very door! And they wish to search." + +"What an absurd idea! With the whole place crowded and blazing with +lights, as it is to-night, a mouse couldn't hide," said Peter. "Tell +them so." + +"They repeat that they must search," said Miss Senter. "But if you will +exert your authority, Peter--make use of your official position--I am +sure we need not submit to such a thing." + +Peter, however, was helpless without his vice-consul; he had no clear +idea as to what his powers were or were not; he had never informed +himself. + +Carmela, greatly excited, had drawn Miss Senter aside. "There was a +sixth man with those musicians!" she whispered. "I saw him. He did not +play, but he sat behind them. And he has only just gone. Five minutes +ago." + +Miss Senter repeated the information to the chief officer. The officer +immediately detached two men to follow this important clew; he himself, +with the third, would remain to go through the apartment, as a matter of +form. + +"As the rooms are all open and lighted," said Miss Senter in English to +her brother, "it will only take a few minutes, if go they must, and no +one need know anything about it. But whom shall we send with them? If we +call Ercole, it will attract attention; and Florian's men, who were due +at another place, have already gone. We could have Andrea come up. But +no; Giorgio will do best of all. Call Giorgio to go with these men," she +added in Italian to Carmela. + +"Let _me_ conduct them!" answered the deputy. + +"Yes; on the whole, she will be better than any one," said Miss Senter +to Peter. "She is so angry at what she calls the insult to you, and so +excited about the mysterious person who was with the musicians, that she +will bully them and hurry them off to look for him in no time. They can +begin with a peep into the drawing-room; I'll tell them to keep +themselves hidden." She turned and explained her idea in Italian to the +officer; they could glance into the drawing-room first, and then Carmela +would take them through all the other rooms; the Consul, though he had +the power of refusal, would permit this liberty in the cause of justice. +Their search, however, would be unavailing; under the circumstances, it +was impossible that any one should have taken refuge there, unless it +was that one extra man who had been admitted with the musicians to the +gallery. And he was already gone. + +"Perhaps he only pretended to go?" suggested the officer. "With +permission, I will lock this door." And he did so. + +[Illustration: "A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"] + +They went to the drawing-room, the policemen moving quietly, close to +the wall. When the last anteroom was reached, the two men hid themselves +behind the tapestries that draped the door, and, making loop-holes among +the folds, peeped into the ball-room. For it was at that moment a +ball-room. The children had again taken up their whirling dance around +Ercole, and the gondolier, who had now a small child perched on each of +his shoulders, was singing with them in a clear tenor, having caught +the syllables from having heard them shouted about fifty times: + + "Yankee dooda dooda doo, + Yankee dooda dandee, + Barkeet cakar vera goo, + Arso molarsa candee." + +Miss Senter had sent Peter back to his guests. She herself, standing +between the tapestries as though she were looking on from the doorway, +named to the hidden policemen, as well as she could amid the loud +singing within, all the persons present, one by one. Finally her list +came to a close. "And that is Mr. Barlow, the American who lives at the +Danieli; and the one near the Christmas-tree is Mr. Douglas, who has the +Palazzo Dario. And the tall, large gentleman with silver hair is Sir +William Kay. That is all, except the clown, who is our gondolier, and +the five musicians up in the gallery; can you see them from here? If +not, Carmela can take you up." And then she thought, with a sudden +little shudder, that perhaps the officer's idea was not, after all, +impossible; perhaps, indeed, that extra man had only pretended to go! + +The policemen signified that this was enough as regarded the +drawing-room; they withdrew softly, and waited outside the door. + +"Now take them through all the other rooms, Carmela," whispered the +Consuless. "Be as quiet about it as you can, so that no one need know. +And when they have finally gone, come and stand for a moment between +these curtains, as a sign. If, by any chance, they _should_ discover any +one--" + +"The signorina need not be frightened; I saw the man go myself! And he +could not have re-entered without my knowledge. As for these beasts of +policemen--" And Carmela's eyes flashed, while her set lips seemed to +say, "Trust _me_ to hustle them out!" + +"Run up first and tell the musicians to play the music I sent them," +said the Consuless. And then she rejoined her guests. + +For the next dance was to be a Virginia Reel, and some of the elders +were to join the children; the two lines, when arranged, extended down +half the length of the long room. It began with great spirit, the clown +and the three Kings of Orient dancing at the end of the file. + +"It is really Sir Roger de Coverley, an English dance," said Lady Kay to +the Russian princess, who was looking on from the chair next her own. +"But the Senters like to call it a Virginia Reel, they are so patriotic. +And we never contradict the Senters, you know," added the English lady, +laughing; "we let them have their way." + +"It seems to me a vurra good way," answered the princess, who was a +plain-looking old woman with a charming smile. "I have nowhere seen so +many reech toyees" (here she glanced at the costly playthings heaped on +a table near by). "Nor haf I, in _Italy_, seen so many tings to eat. +With so moche champagne." + +"Yes, they always do that," answered the baronet's wife. "They are so +very lavish. And very kind." + +Miss Senter herself was dancing the reel. Once she thought there was a +quaver in the music, and, glancing up quickly towards the gallery, she +perceived the heads of the policemen behind the players. The players, +however, recovered themselves immediately, and upon looking up again a +moment afterwards she saw with relief that the sinister apparition had +vanished. Ten minutes later the trim little figure of the deputy +appeared between the tapestries of the doorway. Miss Senter, still +dancing, nodded slightly, as a signal that she perceived her, and then +Carmela, with an answering nod and one admiring look at Ercole, +disappeared. After all, now that there had been a suspicion about that +extra man, it _was_ a comfort to have had the apartment searched; it +would make the moment of going to bed easier, the American lady +reflected. + +It was now half-past eleven. By midnight the last sleepy child had been +carried down the marble stairway, the music ceased, and the musicians +departed. The elders, glad that the noise was over, remained half an +hour longer; then they took leave. Only Lady Kay and her husband were +left; they had waited to take a closer look at Miss Senter's Christmas +present to her brother, which was a large and beautifully executed copy +of Tintoretto's "Bacchus and Ariadne," from the Anticollegio of the +Doge's Palace. It had been placed temporarily on the wall behind the +Christmas-tree. + +"How exquisite!" said Lady Kay, with a long sigh. "You are most +fortunate, Mr. Senter." + +"Oh yes. Though I don't quite know what they will think of it in +Rochester, New York," answered Peter, chuckling. + +Sir William and his wife intended to walk home. When it was cold they +preferred to walk rather than go to and fro in a gondola; and as they +were old residents, they knew every turn of the intricate burrowing +chinks in all the quarters that serve as footways. When they took leave +at one o'clock, Peter and Miss Senter, with American friendliness, +accompanied them to the outer door. Peter was about to open this door +when it was swung back, and a figure reeled in--Ercole. He had taken off +his clown's dress, and wore now his gondolier's costume; but this +costume was in disorder, and his face was darkly red--a purple red. + +"Why, Ercole, is it you? What is the matter?" said Miss Senter, as he +staggered against the wall. + +"Oh, her Excellency the Consuless, I have been _beaten_!" + +"Beaten? Where have you been? I thought you were down at the landing +with Andrea," said Miss Senter. + +"The antiquity-dealer suffocates," muttered Ercole. "And Giorgio--dead!" + +This "dead" (_morto!_) even Peter understood. "Dead! What is he saying, +Barly?" + +"The man is saying, Mr. Senter, that an antiquity-dealer is suffocating, +and that somebody he calls Giorgio is dead," translated the +pink-cheeked, portly Lady Kay, in her sweet voice. "It's your gondolier, +isn't it--the one who played the clown so nicely? What a pity! He has +been drinking, I fear." + +While she was saying this, Sir William was leading Ercole farther away +from the ladies. + +"Yes, he is drunk," said Peter, looking at him. "Too bad! We must have +help. Let's see; Andrea is down at the landing. I'll get him. And you +call Giorgio, Barly." + +Here Ercole, held by Sir William, gave a maddened cry, and threw his +head about violently. + +"Oh, don't leave my husband alone with him, Mr. Senter," said Lady Kay, +alarmed. "He is a very powerful young man, and his eyes are dreadful. +To me he looks as if he were mad. Those somersaults have affected his +head." + +And the gondolier's eyes were indeed strangely bloodshot and wild. Miss +Senter had hurried to the kitchen. But Giorgio was not there. She came +back, and found Ercole struggling with the Englishman and her brother. + +"Let me try," she said. "I am not afraid of him. Ercole," she continued, +speaking gently in Italian, "go to your room now, and go to bed quietly; +everything will be all right to-morrow." + +Ercole writhed in Sir William's grasp. "The antiquity-dealer! And +Giorgio--dead!" + +"Where is Giorgio, Barly?" said Peter, angrily, as he helped Sir William +in securing the gondolier. "And where are the other servants? Where's +Carmela? Find them, and send one down to the landing for Andrea, and the +other for Giorgio. Quick!" + +"Oh, Peter, I've been, and I couldn't find Giorgio or any one." + +"Carmela was in your bedroom not long ago," said Lady Kay, watching the +gondolier's contortions nervously; "she helped me put on my cloak." + +Miss Senter ran to her bedroom, her train flying in the haste she made. +But in a moment she was back again. "There is no one there. Oh, where +are they all?" + +Ercole, hearing her voice, peered at her with his crimsoned eyes, and +then, breaking loose suddenly, he came and caught hold of her arm. "The +antiquity-room. _Will_ she come?" + +Peter and Sir William dragged him away by main force. + +"The gentlemen, then. Will _they_ come?" said the gondolier, hoarsely. +And again freeing himself with two strokes of his powerful arms, he +passed out (for the door was still open), and began to descend the +outside staircase. + +"Oh, thank Heaven, he has gone!" "Oh, lock the door!" cried the two +ladies together. + +"We must follow him, Mr. Senter," said Sir William. "He is plainly mad +from drink, and may do some harm." + +"Yes; and down there Andrea can help us," answered Peter. + +And the two gentlemen hastened down the staircase. It was a very long +flight with three turns. The court below was brilliantly lighted by many +wall lamps. + +"I _don't_ like my husband's going down," said Lady Kay, in a tremor, as +she stood on the landing outside. "If they are going to seize him, the +more of us the better; don't you think so? For while they are holding +him, you and I could run across and get that other man in from the +riva." + +But Miss Senter was not there. She had rushed back into the house, and +was now calling with all her strength: "Giorgio! Carmela! Assunta! +Beppa!" There was no answer, and, seized with a fresh panic by the +strangeness of this silence, she hastened out again and joined Lady Kay, +who was already half-way down the stairs. The gondolier had not turned +towards the water entrance; he had crossed the court in the opposite +direction, and now he was passing through a broad, low door which led +into the hall on the ground-floor behind the show-room of Z. Pelham, +throwing open as he did so both wings of this entrance, so that the +light from the court entered in a broad beam across the stone pavement. + +"My dear, _don't_ go in!" "Oh, Peter, stop! stop!" cried the two ladies, +as they breathlessly descended the last flight. + +But Peter and Sir William had paid no attention. Quickly detaching two +of the lamps from the wall, they had followed the madman. + +"The other gondolier!" gasped Lady Kay. + +And the two women ran swiftly to the water-door and threw it open, Miss +Senter calling, in Italian: "Andrea! come _instantly_!" + +The little riva along the small canal was also brightly lighted. But +there was no one there. And opposite there was only a long blank wall. + +"Oh, we must not leave them a moment longer," said Lady Kay. + +And again they rushed across the broad court, this time entering the +dark water-story; for it was better to enter, dreadful though it was, +than to remain outside, not knowing what might be happening within. +Ercole meanwhile had made his way into Mr. Pelham's show-room, and here +he had struck a match and lighted a candle. As he had left the door of +the show-room open, those who were without could see him, and they +stopped for a moment to watch what he would do next. It was now a group +of four, for the ladies had joined the other two, Miss Senter whispering +to her brother: + +"Andrea isn't there!" + +The gondolier bent down, and began to drag something across the floor +and out to the open space behind. "Here!" he said, turning his purple +face towards their lamps. "I can no more." And he sat down suddenly on +the pavement, and let his head and arms fall forward over his knees. + +Peter and Sir William, giving their lamps to the ladies, were +approaching cautiously, in order to secure him while he was quiet, when +they saw, to their horror, two human legs and feet protruding from the +object which he had dragged forth. + +"Why, it's the second-hand dealer; it's Z. Pelham!" said Peter, in fresh +excitement. "I know his arctics. Bring the lamp, Barly. Quick!" + +The two ladies came nearer, keeping one eye upon Ercole. Peter and Sir +William with some difficulty cut the rope, and unwound two woollen +coverlids and a sheet. Within, almost suffocated, with his hands tied +behind him, was the dealer. + +"I suppose _he_ did this!" whispered Lady Kay to Miss Senter, her pink +face white, as she indicated the motionless gondolier. + +Sir William lifted the dealer's head, while Peter loosened his collar. + +"Now will Excellencies look for Giorgio," muttered Ercole, without +changing his position. + +"He says now will you look for Giorgio," translated Lady Kay. "That he +_tells_ his crimes shows that he really _is_ mad!" she added, in a +whisper. + +"No; I think he has come to for the moment, and that's why he tells," +said Peter, hastily rubbing Z. Pelham's chest. "Ask him where we shall +look, Barly; ask while he's lucid." + +"Where must we look for Giorgio, Ercole?" quavered Miss Senter, her +Italian coming out with the oddest pronunciation. + +"Back stairs," answered the gondolier. + +"Back stairs, he says," translated Lady Kay. + +"There are no back stairs," replied Peter. + +"I'll put this coverlid under his back. That will make him breathe +better," said the Englishman, his sympathies roused by the forlorn +plight of the little dealer, whose carefully strapped arctic shoes gave +ironical emphasis to his helplessness. + +Meanwhile Miss Senter, saying "Yes, there _are_ stairs," had run across +the pavement with her lamp, found the door at the back of the hall, and +opened it. Z. Pelham began to breathe more regularly, although he had +not yet opened his eyes. Sir William drew him farther away from the +gondolier, and then he and Peter hastened across and looked up the +spiral. "It goes to the attics," explained Miss Senter. + +"You two stand here at the bottom with one lamp, and Sir William and I +will go up with the other," said Peter. "Keep your eye on Ercole, Barly, +and if he so much as _moves_, come right up and join us." + +"Wait an instant," said the Englishman. "Stay here with Mr. Senter, +Gertrude." Making a détour so as not to rouse the gondolier, he entered +the antiquity-dealer's show-room and tried to open the outer door. But +it was locked, and the key was not there. "No use," he said, coming +hurriedly back; "I had hoped to get help from outside to watch him while +we go up. Now remember, Gertrude, you and Miss Senter are to come up and +join us _instantly_ if he leaves his place." And then he and Peter +ascended the winding steps, carrying one of the lamps. Round and round +went the gleam of their light, and the two ladies at the bottom, +standing with their skirts caught up ready to run, watched the still +form of the gondolier in the distance, visible in the gleam of the +candle burning in the show-room. It seemed an hour. But a full minute +had not gone when Peter's voice above cried out: + +"It's Giorgio! Good God! Killed! Bring up the other light." + +And the two ladies rushed up together. There on the landing lay the poor +old cook, his eyes closed, his face ghastly, his white jacket deeply +stained with blood. Miss Senter, who was really attached to the old man, +began to cry. + +"He isn't quite dead," said Peter, who had been listening for the heart. +"But we must get him out of this icy place. Then we'll tie up Ercoly--we +can use that rope--and after he is secured, I can go for help. Here, you +take his head and shoulders, Sir William; you are the strongest. And +I'll take his body. Barly can take the feet." + +"It will be difficult," said the Englishman. "These steep stairs--" + +But Peter, when roused, was a veritable little lion. "Come on," he said; +"we can do it." + +"Please go down first and see if Ercole is still quiet," begged Miss +Senter of Lady Kay. And the Englishwoman, who now had both lamps, went +down and came back in thirty seconds; she never knew how she did it. "He +has not stirred," she said. And then old Giorgio was borne down, and out +to the brilliantly lighted court beyond. + +"Now," said Peter, whose face was bathed with great drops of +perspiration, "we'll first secure him," and he indicated Ercole by +pointing his thumb backward over his shoulder towards the water-story, +"and then I'll go for a doctor and the police." + +But as he spoke, coming out of the door upon his hands and knees, +appeared Z. Pelham, who, as soon as he saw the cook's prostrate body, +called back, hoarsely, in Italian: "Ercole, get my brandy-flask." + +"Oh, don't call him!" said Lady Kay, in terror, clapping a fold of her +skirt tightly over the dealer's mouth and holding it there. "He is +mad--quite mad!" + +Mr. Pelham collapsed. + +"Good heavens! Gertrude, don't suffocate the poor creature a second +time," said Sir William, pulling his wife away. + +Z. Pelham, released, raised his head. "Ercole has been bad beat, and +that makes him not genteel," he explained. "Ercole, bring my +brandy-flask," he called again, in Italian, and the effort he made to +break through his hoarseness brought out the words in a sudden wild +yell. "My voice a little deranged is," he added, apologetically, in +English. + +They could now hear the steps of the gondolier within, and the ladies +moved to a distance as he appeared, walking unsteadily, the flask in his +hand. "Not dead?" he said, trying to see Giorgio. But his eyes closed +convulsively, and as soon as the dealer had taken the flask, down he +went, or half fell, on the pavement as before, with his head thrown +forward over his knees. Sir William placed himself promptly by his side, +while Peter ran within to get the rope. Z. Pelham, uncorking the flask, +poured a little brandy between Giorgio's pale lips. "You have all +mistake," he said to Sir William as he did this. "Ercole was bad beat by +a third partee who has done it all--me and he and this died cook; a +third partee was done it all." And he chafed the cook's temples with +brandy. + +"A third party?" said Peter, who had returned with the rope. "Who?" + +"I know not; they knocked me from behind. It was lightning to me, in +_my_ head also," answered Z. Pelham, going on with his chafing. + +"Come here, Barly," said Peter, taking command. "Say what I tell you. +Don't be afraid; Sir William and I will grab him if he stirs. Say, +'Ercoly, who hurt you?'" + +"Ercole, who hurt you?" said Miss Senter, tremulously. + +"_Non so. Un demonio_," answered the gondolier, his head still on his +knees. + +"He says he doesn't know. A demon," said Lady Kay. + +"Ask when it happened." + +"It was after he had taken the presents from the tree," translated Lady +Kay again. "He was struck, dragged down the back stairs, gagged, and +left in the antiquity-room. He has only just now been able to free +himself." + +"How could he act the clown, then?" pursued Peter. + +"He says he hasn't been a clown or seen a clown. Oh, Peter, it was some +one else disguised! Who could it have been?" cried Miss Senter, running +away as if to fly up the staircase, and then in her terror running back +again. + +The cook's eyes had now opened. "He says see what is stoled," said Mr. +Pelham, administering more brandy. Mr. Pelham was seated, tailor +fashion, on the pavement, his feet in their arctics under him. + +"Giorgio knows something about it, too," said Peter. "Ask him, Barly." + +But Miss Senter was incapable of speaking; she had hidden her face on +Lady Kay's shoulder, shuddering. The clown with whom she had talked, who +had danced all the evening with the children, was an assassin! A strange +and savage murderer! + +"I'll do it," said the Englishman. And bending over Giorgio, he asked, +in correct, stiff Italian: "Do you know who hurt you?" + +"A tall, dark man. I never saw him before," answered the cook, or rather +his lips formed those words. "He stabbed me after he had struck down +Ercole." + +"Now he is again gone," soliloquized Z. Pelham, as Giorgio's eyes +closed; "I have fear this time he is truly died!" And he chafed the +cook's temples anew. + +"It's all clear now," said Peter, "and Ercoly isn't mad; only hurt in +some way. So I'll go for help at once." + +"Oh, Peter, you always get lost!" moaned his sister. + +And it was true that the Consul almost invariably lost his way in the +labyrinth of chinks behind the palace. + +"I'll go," said the Englishman. "It's not very late" (he looked at his +watch); "I shall be sure to find some one." + +"You must let me go with you, my dear," urged Lady Kay. + +In three minutes they were back with two men. "I've brought these two, +and there's a doctor coming. And I sent word to the police," said the +Englishman. + +And following very soon came a half-dressed youth, a young American +doctor, who had been roused by somebody. The cook was borne up the +stairway and into the salon, where the chandeliers were shedding their +soft radiance calmly, and where all the fairy-lamps were still burning +on the Christmas-tree; for only twenty minutes had passed since the host +and his guests had left the room. Behind the group of the two men from +outside, who with Peter and the doctor were carrying Giorgio, came Sir +William leading the gondolier, who seemed now entirely blind, while Z. +Pelham followed, last of all, on his hands and knees. + +"This old man has a deep cut--done with a knife; he has lost a good deal +of blood; pretty bad case," said the doctor. "Your gondolier has been +dreadfully beaten about the head, but it won't kill him; he is young and +strong. This third man seems to be only sprained. Get me something for +bandages and compresses, and bring cold water." + +"Get towels, Barly," said the Consul. + +"Oh, Peter, I'm afraid to go," said Miss Senter, faintly. "The man may +still be hidden here somewhere. And I know he has murdered Carmela and +the other servants, too!" + +Peter ran to his own chamber, and came back with a pile of towels, a +sheet from his bed, a large jug of water, and a scissors. "Now, doctor, +you stay here and do what you can for all three," he said, as he hurried +round the great drawing-room, locking all the doors but one. "And the +ladies will stay here with you. The rest of us will search the whole +apartment immediately! Lock this last door as soon as we're out, will +you?" + +"Oh, Peter, don't go!" cried his sister. "Let those two men do it. Or +wait for the police." + +"My dear, pray consider," said Lady Kay to her husband; "if any one _is_ +hidden, it is some desperate character--" + +But the Englishman and Peter were already gone, and the ladies were left +with the doctor, who, comprehending everything quickly, locked the last +door, and then hurried back to the cook. Old Giorgio's mind was now +wandering; he muttered incoherently, and seemed to be suffering greatly. +The gondolier, his head enveloped in wet towels, was lying in a stupor +on one of the sofas. Z. Pelham quietly tied up his own sprained ankles +with a portion of the torn sheet, and then assisted with much +intelligence in the making of the bandages which the doctor needed for +Giorgio. + +Sir William, Peter, and the two men from outside began with the kitchen; +no one. The pantries and store-rooms; no one. The supper-room; no one. +The bedrooms; no one. The anterooms and small drawing-room; no one. As +the whole house was still brightly lighted, this did not take long. They +now crossed to four rooms on the north side; no one. Then came a large +store-room for linen. This was not lighted, so they took in a lamp; no +one. + +"There's a second door here," said Sir William, perceiving one of those +masked flat portals common in Italy, which are painted or frescoed so +exactly like the wall that they seem a part of it. + +"It opens into a little recess only a foot deep," said Peter, going on +with the lamp to the second store-room. "No one could possibly hide +there. Now after we have finished on this side, there is only the +wood-room left; that is off by itself in a wing." + +The Englishman had accompanied his host. But having a strong bent +towards thoroughness, he was not satisfied, and he quietly returned +alone and opened that masked door. There, flattened against the wall, +not clearly visible in the semi-darkness, was the outline of a woman's +figure. His exclamation brought back the others with the lamp. It was +Carmela. + +She stood perfectly still for an instant or two, so motionless, and with +such bright eyes staring at them, that she looked like a wax figure. +Then she sprang from her hiding-place and made a swift rush down the +corridor towards the outer door. They caught her. She fought and +struggled dreadfully, still without a sound. So frantic were her +writhings that her apron and cap were torn away, and the braids of her +hair fell down and finally fell off, leaving only, to Peter's +astonishment, a few locks of thin white hair in their place. It took the +four men to hold her, for she threw herself from side to side like a +wild-cat; she even dragged the four as far as the anteroom nearest the +drawing-room in her desperate efforts to reach that outer door. But +here, as she felt herself at last over-powered, a terrible shriek burst +from her, her face became distorted, her eyes rolled up, and froth +appeared on her lips. + +The shriek, an unmistakably feminine one, had brought the doctor and two +ladies from the drawing-room. + +"A fit!" exclaimed the doctor as soon as he saw the froth. "Here, get +open that tight dress." He unbuttoned a few buttons of the black bodice, +and tore off the rest. "Gracious! corsets like steel." He took out his +knife, and hastily cutting the cashmere across the shoulders, he got his +hand in and severed the corset strings. "Now, ladies, just help me to +get her out of this harness." + +And with trembling fingers Lady Kay and Miss Senter gave their aid, and +after a moment the whole edifice--for it was an edifice--sank to the +floor. What was left was an old, old woman, small and withered, her +feeble chest rising and falling in convulsions under her coarse chemise, +and the rest of her little person scantily covered with a patched, +poverty-stricken under-skirt. + +"Oh, _poor_ creature!" said Lady Kay, the tears filling her eyes as all +the ribs of the meagre, wasted body showed in the straining, spasmodic +effort of the lungs to get breath. + +"Bring something to cover her, Barly," said Peter. + +And Miss Senter, forgetting her fears, ran to her room, and brought back +the first thing she could find--a large white shawl. + +"All right now; she's coming to," said the doctor. + +The convulsions gradually ceased, and Carmela's eyes opened. She looked +at them all in silence as she sat, muffled in the shawl, where they had +placed her. Finally she spoke. "The Consul is too late," she said, with +mock respect. "The Consuless also. Did they admire the dancing of the +clown? A fine fellow that clown! You need not hold me," she added to the +two men from outside, who were acting as guards. "I have nothing more to +do. My son is safe, and that was all I cared for. They will never find +him; he is far from here now. He is very clever, and he has, besides, to +help him, all the money which the Consuless so kindly provided for him +by keeping it in a secret drawer, whose 'secret' every Italian not an +idiot knows. But the Consuless has always had a singular self-conceit. +I had only to mention that extra man with the musicians--poor little +Tonio the tailor it was--and she swallowed him down whole. I could have +got away myself if I had cared to. But I waited, in order to keep back +the alarm as long as possible; I waited. Oh yes, I helped all the ladies +to put on their cloaks; I helped this English ladyship to put on hers +last of all, as she knows. When their Excellencies went down to the +water-story, I then tried to go; but I found that they could still see +the staircase, so I came back. What matters it? They may do with me what +they please. For myself I care not. My son is safe." On her old cheeks, +under the falling white hair, were still the faint pink tinges of rouge, +and from beneath the wretched petticoat came the two young-looking +high-heeled shoes. She folded her thin hands on her lap, and refused to +say more. + +Assunta and Beppa were found in the wood-room, gagged and bound like the +others, but not hurt. And in the morning the Consul's gondola was +discovered floating out with the tide, and within it Andrea in the same +helpless state. The man, who was an ex-convict, a burglar, suspected of +worse crimes, after committing the murder at the café, had fled to the +palace. Here he and his intrepid little mother had invented and carried +out the whole scheme in the one hour which had followed the distribution +of the presents from the tree, before the dancing began. Carmela had +even left the house to obtain a clown's costume from a dealer in +masquerade dresses who lived near by. And she had herself opened for her +son's use the disused door which led to the spiral steps. + +That son was never caught. His mother, who had worked for him +indefatigably through her whole life--worked so hard that her hands were +worn almost to claws--who had supported him and supplied him, who had +made herself young and active like a girl, though she was seventy-four, +in order to be able to send him money--his mother, who had allowed +herself nothing in the world but the few smart clothes necessary for her +disguise, who was absolutely honest, but who had stolen for him three +thousand francs from the secret drawer, and had stood by and aided him +when he beat, stabbed, and gagged her fellow-servants--this mother was +not arrested. She should have been, of course. But somehow, very +strangely, she escaped from the palace before morning. + +Poor old Giorgio was never able to work again. But as Peter pensioned +him handsomely, he led an easy life, while Ercole became a magnate among +gondoliers. + +It was not until three years afterwards, in Rochester, New York, that +Peter, surrounded by Z. Pelham's entire collection (which he had +purchased, though thinking it hideous, at large prices), confessed to +his sister that he had connived at Carmela's escape. "Somehow I couldn't +stand it, Barly. That thin white hair and those poor old arms of hers, +and that wretched, wasted, gasping little chest--in prison!" + + + + +IN VENICE + + +"Yes, we came over again in February, and have been here in Venice since +the last of March. For some reasons I was sorry to come back--one _is_ +so much more comfortable at home! What I have suffered in these +wretchedly cold houses over here words, Mr. Blake, can never express. +For in England, you know, they consider fifty-eight Fahrenheit quite +warm enough for their drawing-rooms, while here in Italy--well, one +never _is_ so cold, I think, as in a warm climate. Yes, we should have +been more comfortable, as far as _that_ goes, in my own house in New +York, reading all those delightful books on Art in a properly warmed +atmosphere (and I must say a properly warmed spirit too), and looking at +photographs of the pictures (you can have them as large as you like, you +know), instead of freezing our feet over the originals, which half the +time the eyes of a lynx could not see. But it is not always winter, of +course. And then I have lived over here so long that I have, it seems, +acquired foreign ways that are very unpopular at home. You may smile, +and it _is_ too ridiculous; but it is so. For instance, last summer we +went to Carley Ledge (you know Carley; pretty little place), and we +found out afterwards that the people came near mobbing us! Not exactly +that, of course, but they took the most violent dislike to us; and why? +It is too comical. Because we had innocently treated Carley as we treat +a pretty village over here. One lady said, and, I am told, with +indignation, that we had been stopping, 'more than once, right in the +main street, and standing there, in that _public_ place, to look at a +cloud passing over the mountain!' And another reported that she had +herself discovered us 'sitting on the _grass_, no farther away from the +main street than the open space in front of Deacon Seymour's, just as +though it was out in the country!' That 'out in the country' is rather +good, isn't it? Always that poor little main street!" + +"Still, I think, on the whole, that the cold houses are worse than the +village comments," replied Mrs. Marcy's visitor. "A New-Yorker I know, a +confirmed European too, always goes home to spend the three months of +winter. When he comes back in the spring his English friends say, 'I +hear you have had so many degrees of frost over there--fancy!'--meaning, +perhaps, zero or under. To which he assents, but always inflexibly goes +back. They look upon him as a kind of Esquimau. But how does Miss Marcy +like exile?" + +"Oh, Claudia is very fond of Italy. You have not seen her, by-the-way, +since she was a child, and she is now twenty. Do you find her altered?" + +"Greatly." + +"At home she was never thought pretty--when she was younger, I mean. She +was thought too--too--vigorous is perhaps the best word; she had not +that graceful slenderness one expects to see in a young girl. But over +here, I notice, the opinion seems to be different," continued the lady, +half questioningly. "And, of course, too, she has improved." + +"My dear Miss Sophy--improved? Miss Marcy is a wonderfully beautiful +woman." + +"Yes, yes, I know; Mr. Lenox thinks so too, I believe," answered Mrs. +Marcy, half pleased, half irritated. "It seems she is a Venetian--that +is, of the sixteenth century; and dressed in dark-green velvet, with +those great puffed Venetian sleeves coming down over her knuckles, a +gold chain, and her hair closely braided, she would be, they tell me, a +perfect Bonifazio. In fact, Mr. Lenox is painting her as one. Only he +has to imagine the dress." + +Mrs. Marcy was a widow, and fifty-five. It had pleased her to hear again +the old "Miss Sophy" of their youth from Rodney Blake; but as she had +been one of those tall, slender, faintly lined girls who are called +lilies, and who are associated with pale blues and lavender, she +naturally found it difficult to realize a beauty, even if it was that of +a niece, so unlike her own. Mrs. Marcy was now less than slender; the +blue eyes which had once mildly lighted her countenance were faded. But +she still remained lily-like and willowy, and her attire adapted itself +to that style; there was a gleam of the lavender still--she wore long +shawls and scarfs. + +In the easy-chair opposite, Rodney Blake leaned back. He was fifty-six, +long and thin, with a permanent expression on his face of half-weary, +half-amused cynicism, which, however, seemed to concern itself more with +life in general than with people in particular, and thus prevented +personal applications. He was well-to-do, well dressed. There was a +generally received legend that he was rather brilliant. This was the +more remarkable because he seldom said much. But perhaps that was the +reason. Miss Marcy had entered as her aunt finished her sentence. + +"The sitting is over, then," said the elder lady. "Has Mr. Lenox gone?" + +"Not yet," answered the niece, giving her hand to Mr. Blake as he rose +to greet her. + +She was, as he had said, a beautiful woman. Yet at home there were still +those who would have dissented from this opinion, as, secretly, her aunt +dissented. She was of about medium height, with the form of a Juno. She +had a rich complexion, slowly moving eyes of deep brown, and very thick, +curling, low-growing hair of a bright gold color, which showed a warmer +reddish tinge in the light. She was the personification of healthy life +and vigor, but not of the nervous or active sort; of the reflective. +Wherever the sun touched her it struck a color: whether the red of cheek +or lip, or the beautiful tint of her forehead and throat, which was not +fair but clear; whether the brown of her eyes, or the gold of eyebrows, +eyelashes, and the heavy, low-coiled hair. Her features were fairly +regular, but not of the pointed type; they were short rather than long, +clearly, almost boldly, outlined. Her forehead was low; her mouth not +small, the lips beautifully cut. She was attired in black velvet--she +affected rich materials--and as she talked she twisted and untwisted a +string of large pearls which hung loosely round her throat and down upon +the velvet of her dress. + +"Mr. Lenox does not have to imagine much, after all," observed Mr. Blake +in his slow way to Mrs. Marcy. "In velvet, with those pearls, she does +very well as it is." + +"They are only Roman beads," said Claudia. "I don't know what you mean, +of course." + +"I had been telling Mr. Blake that they say that if you had a green +velvet, with those big sleeves, you know, and your hair braided close to +the head, to make it look too small in comparison with the shoulders, it +would be a Bonifazio," explained the aunt. + +"Your pearls are not so effective as they might be, Miss Marcy," +continued the visitor, scanning her as she took a seat. + +"I do not wear them in this way, but so." She unfastened the clasp, and +rewound the long string in three close rows, one above the other, round +her throat, above the high-coming black of her dress. + +"That is better," said her critic. + +"It feels like a piece of armor, so I unloosen it as soon as I can," she +answered. + +Here the artist came in, hat in hand. "I am on my way home," he said. +"Good-morning, Mr. Blake. I have only stopped to ask about our +expedition this afternoon, Mrs. Marcy." + +"Oh, I suppose we shall go," answered that lady, "the day is so fine. +How are they at home this morning, Mr. Lenox?" + +"Elizabeth is quite well, thanks; Theocritus as usual. Shall I order +gondolas, then?" + +"If you will be so good; at four. Mr. Blake will, I hope, go with us." + +And then Mr. Lenox bowed, and withdrew. + +"Does the--the idyllic personage accompany us?" asked the gentleman in +the easy-chair. + +"It is only a child appended to the name," said Claudia, laughing. "For +some reason Mrs. Lenox always pronounces it in full; she could just as +well call him Theo." + +"It is her nephew, and she is devoted to him," explained Mrs. Marcy. "He +is nearly ten years old, but does not look more than five. His health is +extremely delicate, and he is at times rather--rather babyish." + +"Peevish, isn't it?" said Claudia. She had taken up two long black +needles entangled in a mass of crimson worsted, and, disengaging them, +was beginning to knit another row on an unfinished stripe. Her +beautifully moulded hands, full and white, with one antique gem on each, +contrasted with the tint of the wool. The thin fingers of Mrs. Marcy +were decked with fine diamonds, and diamonds alone; in spite of the +"foreign ways" of which that lady had accused herself, she remained +sufficiently American for that. She could buy diamonds, and Claudia an +antique ring or two; both aunt and niece enjoyed inherited incomes, that +of Claudia being comfortable, that of Mrs. Marcy large. + +These ladies occupied rooms on the third floor of a palace on the Grand +Canal, not far below the Piazzetta. The palace was a stately example of +Renaissance architecture, with three rows of majestic polished columns +extending one above the other across its front. Between these columns +the American tenant, who had once been called "the lily," and her niece, +who was so like a Bonifazio, looked out upon the golden Venetian +light--a light whose shadows are colors: mother-of-pearl, emerald, +orange, amber, and all the changing gradations between them--thrown +against and between the reds, browns, and fretted white marbles of the +buildings rising from the water; that ever-moving water which mirrors it +all--here a sparkling, glancing surface, there a mysterious darkness, +both of them contrasting with the serene blue of the sky above, which +is barred towards the riva by the long, lean, sharply defined lateen +spars of the moored barks, and made even more deep in its hue over the +harbor by the broad sails of the fishing-sloops outlined against it, as +they come slowly up the channel, rich, unlighted sheets of tawny yellow +and red, with a great cross vaguely defined upon them. + +Next to the Renaissance palace was a smaller one, narrow and high, of +mediæval Gothic, ancient and weather-stained; it had lancet-windows, +adorned above with trefoil, and a little carved balcony like old +Venetian lace cut in marble. Here Mr. and Mrs. Lenox occupied the floor +above that occupied by the ladies in the larger palace. Communication +was direct, however, owing to a hallway, like a little covered bridge, +that crossed the canal which flowed between--a canal narrow, dark, and +still, that worked away silently all day and all night at its life-long +task of undermining the ponderous walls on each side; gaining perhaps a +half-inch in a century, together with the lighter achievement of eating +out the painted wooden columns which, like lances set upright in the +sand at a tent's door, the old Venetians were accustomed to plant in the +tide round their water-washed entrances. At four o'clock the little +company started, the three from the Gothic palace having come across the +hall bridge to join the others. Two gondolas were in waiting; as the +afternoon was warm, they had light awnings instead of the antique black +tops, with the sombre drapery sweeping out behind. + +"I like the black tops better," observed Claudia. "Any one can have an +awning, but the black tops are Venetian." + +"They can easily be changed," said Lenox. + +"Oh no; not in this heat," objected Mrs. Marcy. "We should stifle. Mr. +Blake, shall you and I, as the selfish elders, take this one, and let +the younger people go together in that?" + +"I want to go in the one with the red awning--the _bright_ red," said +Theocritus. This was the one Mrs. Marcy had selected. + +"No, no, my boy; the other will do quite as well for you," said Lenox. + +"It won't," replied the child, in a decided little voice. + +"It is not of the slightest consequence," graciously interposed Mrs. +Marcy, signalling to the other gondola, and, with Blake's assistance, +taking her place within it. + +Mr. Lenox glanced at his wife. She was occupied in folding a shawl +closely over the boy's little overcoat. "Come, then," he said, giving +his hand first to Miss Marcy, then to his wife and the child. The +gondolas floated out on the broad stream. + +Claudia talked; she talked well, and took the Venetian tone. "The only +thing that jars upon me," she said, after a while, "is that these +Venetians of to-day--those men and women we are passing on the riva now, +for instance--do not appreciate in the least their wonderful +water-city--scarcely know what it is." + +"They don't study 'Venice' because they are Venice--isn't that it?" said +Mrs. Lenox. She had soothed the little boy into placidity, and he sat +beside her quietly, with one gloved hand in hers, a small muffled +figure, with a pale face whose delicate skin was lined like that of an +old man. His eyes were narrow, deep-set, and dark under his faintly +outlined fair eyebrows; his thin hair so light in hue and cut so +closely to his head that it could scarcely be distinguished. + +"I hope not," said Claudia, answering Mrs. Lenox's remark--"at least, I +hope the old Venetians were not so; I like to think that they felt, down +to their very finger-tips, all the richness and beauty about them." + +"You may be sure the feeling was unconscious compared with ours," +replied Mrs. Lenox. "They did not consult authorities about the +pictures; they were the pictures. They did not study history; they made +it. They did not read romances; they lived them." + +"I wish I could have lived then," murmured Miss Marcy, her eyes resting +thoughtfully on the red tower of San Giorgio, rising from the blue. No +veil obscured the beautiful tints of her face; Claudia's complexion +could brave the brightest light, the wind, and the sun. The dark-blue +plume of the round hat she wore curled down over the rippled sunny +braids of her hair. Mr. Lenox was looking at her. But Mr. Lenox was +often looking at her. + +"That would not be at all nice for us," said Mrs. Lenox, in her pleasant +voice, answering the young lady's wish. "If you, Miss Marcy, can step +back into the fifteenth century without trouble, we cannot; Stephen and +I are very completely of this poor nineteenth." + +"I don't know," said Claudia, slowly; she looked at "Stephen" with +meditative eyes. "He could have been one of the soldiers. You remember +that Venetian portrait in the Uffizi at Florence--General Gattamelata? +Mr. Lenox does not look like it; but in armor he would look quite as +well." + +"I don't remember it," said Mrs. Lenox, turning to see why Theocritus +was beating upon her knees with his right fist. + +"You must remember--it is so superb!" said Claudia. + +"I want to sit on the other side," announced Theocritus. + +"When we come back, dear. See, the church is quite near; we shall soon +be there now," answered his aunt. + +"You remember it, don't you?" said Claudia to Lenox. + +"Perfectly." + +"No--_now_," piped Theocritus. "The wind is blowing down my back." + +"If he is cold, Stephen--" said Mrs. Lenox. + +"I will change places with him," replied her husband. "Do not move, Miss +Marcy." + +"No; Aunt Lizzie must go too!" said the boy. He had wrinkled up his +little face until he looked like an aged dwarf in a temper; he stretched +back his lips over his little square white teeth, and glared at his +uncle and Miss Marcy. + +"Let me change--do," said Claudia, rising as she spoke. And Mrs. Lenox +accepted the offer. + +"When you have finished my portrait, suppose you paint yourself as a +fifteenth-century Venetian general," continued Miss Marcy, taking up +again the thread of conversation which had been broken by Theocritus's +obstinacy. "The portrait of a man painted by himself is always +interesting; you can see then what he thinks he is." + +"And is not?" said Lenox. + +"Possibly. Still, what he might be. It is his ideal view of himself, +and I believe in ideals. It is only our real, purified--what we shall +all attain, I hope, in another world." + +Thus she talked on. And the man to whom she talked thought it a +loveliness of nature that she passed so naturally and unnoticingly over +the demeanor of the spoiled child who accompanied them. Mrs. Lenox +could, for the present take no further part in the conversation, as +Theocritus had demanded that she should relate to him the legend of St. +Mark, St. George, and St. Theodore climbing down from their places over +the church porch, the palace window, and the crocodile column to fight +the demons of the lagoons. This she did, but in so low a tone that the +conversation of the others was not interrupted. + +They reached the island and landed; Mrs. Marcy and Blake were already +there, sitting on the sun-warmed steps of the church whose smooth white +façade and red campanile are so conspicuous from Venice. "We were +discussing the shape of the prow of the gondola," said Mrs. Marcy, as +they came up. "To me it looks like the neck of a swan." Mrs. Marcy never +sought for new terms; if the old ones were only poetical--she was a +stickler for that--she used them as they were, contentedly. + +Mr. Blake, who always took the key-note of the conversation in which he +found himself, advanced the equally veteran comparison of the neck of a +violin. + +"It is the shining blade of St. Theodore, the patron of the gondolas," +suggested Claudia. + +"To me it looks a good deal like the hammer of a sewing-machine," +observed Mrs. Lenox, lightly. This was so true that they all had to +laugh. + +"But this will never do, Mrs. Lenox," said Blake, turning to look at her +as she stood on the broad marble step, holding the little boy's hand; +"you will destroy all our carefully prepared atmosphere with your modern +terms. Here we have all been reading up for this expedition, and we know +just what Ruskin thinks; wait a bit, and you will hear us talk! And not +one will be so rude as to recognize a single adjective." + +"You admire him, then--Ruskin?" said the lady. + +"Admire? That is not the word; he is the divinest madman! Ah, but he +makes us work! In some always inaccessible spot he discovers an +inscrutably beautiful thing, and then he goes to work and writes about +it fiercely, with all his nouns in capitals, and his adjectives after +the nouns instead of before them--which naturally awes us. But what +produces an even deeper thrill is his rich way of spreading his +possessive cases over two words instead of one, as, 'In the eager heart +of him,' instead of 'In his eager heart.' This cows us completely." + +"I want to go in the church. I don't want to stay out here any longer," +announced Theocritus. And, as his aunt let him have his way, the others +followed her, and they all went in together. + +Compared with the warm sunshine without, the silent aisles seemed cool. +After ten minutes or so Mrs. Marcy and Blake came out, and seated +themselves on the step again. "You have known her for some time?" Blake +was saying. + +"Mrs. Lenox? No; only since we first met here, six--I mean seven--weeks +ago. But Stephen Lenox I have always known, or rather known about; he is +a distant connection of mine. His history has been rather unusual. His +mother, a widow, managed to educate him, but that was all; they were +really very poor, and Stephen was hard at work before he was twenty. He +had some sort of a clerkship in an iron-mill, and was kept at it, I was +told, twelve and thirteen hours a day. Before he was twenty-two he +married. He worked harder than ever then, although he had, I believe, in +time a better place. His wife had no money, either, and she was not +strong. Their two little children died. Well, after twelve years of +this, most unexpectedly, by the will of an uncle by marriage, he came +into quite a nice little fortune; the uncle said, I was told, that he +admired a man who, in these days, had never had or asked for the least +help from his relatives. And so Stephen could at last do as he pleased, +and very soon afterwards they came abroad. For he had been an artist at +heart all this time, it seems--at least, he has a great liking for +painting, and even, I think, some skill." + +"I doubt if he is a creative artist," answered Blake. "He is too well +balanced for that--a strong, quiet fellow. His wife is of about his age, +I presume?" + +"Yes; he is thirty-six, and she the same. They have been over here +already nearly two years. She is a very nice little woman" (Mrs. Lenox +was tall and slender; but Mrs. Marcy always patronized Mrs. Lenox), +"although one _does_ get extremely tired of that spoiled boy she drags +about. Do you know," added the lady, deeply, "I feel sure it would be +much better for Elizabeth Lenox if she would remember her present +circumstances more; there is no longer any necessity for an invariable +untrimmed gray gown." + +"Doesn't she dress well?" said Blake. "I thought she always looked very +neat." + +"That is the very word--neat. But there is no flow, no richness. She has +been rather pretty once; that is, in that style--gray eyes and dark +hair; and she might be so still if she had the proper costumes. Of +course, going about Venice in this way one does not want to dress much; +but she has not even got anything put away." + +"If one does not wear it, what difference does that make?" asked the +gentleman. + +"All the difference in the world!" replied Mrs. Marcy. "Let me tell you +that the very _step_ of a woman who knows she has two or three nice +dresses in the bottom of her trunk is different from that of a woman who +knows she hasn't." + +"But perhaps Mrs. Lenox does not know that she 'hasn't,'" remarked +Blake. This, however, went over Mrs. Marcy's head. + +Within, the others were looking at the beautiful Tintorettos in the +choir. After a while the ill-favored but gravely serene young monk who +had admitted them approached and mentioned solemnly "the view from the +campanile;" this not because he cared whether they went up or not, but +simply as part of his duty. + +"I should like to go," said Claudia; "I love to look off over the +lagoons." + +They turned to leave the choir. "_I_ don't want to go," said Theocritus, +holding back. "I want to stay here and see that picture some more; and +I'm going to!" + +This time Miss Marcy did not yield her wish. "Do not come with me," she +said to Mr. and Mrs. Lenox; "it is not in the least necessary. I have +been up before, and know the way. I will not be gone fifteen minutes." + +"I really think that he ought not to climb all those stairs," said Mrs. +Lenox to her husband, looking at the child, who had gone back to his +station before the picture. + +"Of course not," answered Lenox. Then, after a moment, "I will stay with +him," he added; "you go up with Miss Marcy." + +"I want Aunt Lizzie to stay--not Uncle Stephen!" called the boy, +overhearing this, and turning round to scowl at them. + +"He will not be good with any one but me," said Mrs. Lenox, in a low +tone. "You two go up; I will wait for you here." + +"The question is, Is he ever good, even with her?" said Claudia, +following Lenox up the long flight of steps that winds in square turns +up, up, to the top of the campanile. + +"She says he is sometimes very sweet and docile--even affectionate," +replied Lenox. "She thinks he has quite a remarkable mind, and will +distinguish himself some day if we can only tide his poor, puny little +body safely over its childish weakness, and give him a fair start." + +"She is very fond of him." + +"Yes; his mother was her dearest friend, his father her only brother." + +Claudia considered that she had now given sufficient time to this +subject (not an interesting one), and they talked of other things, but +in short sentences, for they were still ascending. Twice she stopped to +rest for a minute or two; then Lenox came down a step, and stood beside +her. There was no danger; still, if a person should be seized with +giddiness, the thought of the near open well in the centre, going +darkly down, was a dizzy one. + +At the top they had the view: wide green flatness towards the east, +northeast, southeast, with myriad gleaming, silvery channels; the Lido +and the soft line of the Adriatic beyond; towns shining whitely in the +north; to the west, Venice, with its long bridge stretching to the +mainland; in port, at their feet, a large Italian man-of-war; on the +south side, the point of the Giudecca. + + "'À Saint-Blaise, à la Zuecca, + Vous étiez bien aise; + À Saint-Blaise, à la Zuecca, + Nous étions bien là!'" + +quoted Claudia. "I chant it because I have just discovered that the +Zuecca means the Giudecca yonder." + +"What is the verse?" said Lenox. + +"Don't you know it? It is Musset." + +"I have read but little, Miss Marcy." + +"You have not had _time_ to read," said Claudia, with a shade of +emphasis; "your time has been given to better things." + +"Yes, to iron rails!" + +"To energy and to duty," she answered. Then she turned the subject, and +talked of the tints on the water. + +Down below, in the still church, the little boy sat beside his aunt, her +arm round him, his head leaning against her. The monk had withdrawn. + +"The angels were all there, no doubt," she was saying; "but only a few +painters have ever tried to represent them in the picture. It is not +easy to paint an angel if you have never seen one." + +"Pooh! I have seen them," said Theocritus, "hundreds of times. I have +seen their wings. They come floating in when the sunshine comes through +a crack--all dusty, you know. How many of them there do you suppose saw +the angels? Not that big girl with the plate, anyhow, _I_ know!" Thus +they talked on. + +When the two from the campanile returned, and they went out to embark, a +slight breeze had risen. The little boy lifted his shoulders uneasily, +and seemed almost to shiver. Mrs. Lenox felt of his head and hands. "I +think I had better take him back in one of those covered gondolas, +Stephen," she said. "He seems to be cold; he might have a chill." + +"Surely it is very warm," said Mrs. Marcy. + +"Yes, but he is so delicate," replied the other lady. + +"I will go with you, Mrs. Lenox," said Claudia. + +"Oh no; the gondolas here are the small ones, I see, and Stephen could +not come with us. Do not leave him to go back alone; if one of us sees +to the child, that is enough." + +It ended, therefore, according to her arrangement: she went back with +Theocritus in a covered gondola, Mrs. Marcy and Blake returned as they +had come, while Claudia and Lenox had the third boat to themselves. + +Rodney Blake being added, this little party continued its Venetian life. +Lenox made some progress with his portrait of Claudia, but it was not +thought, at least by the others, that his wife made any with Theocritus, +that child remaining as delicate as ever, and, if possible, more +troublesome. In Mrs. Marcy's mind there had sprung up, since Mr. Blake's +arrival, an aftermath of interest in Venetian art and architecture which +was richer even than the first crop; she went contentedly to see the +pictures, churches, and palaces a fourth and even fifth time. + +Claudia had a great liking for St. Mark's. "But who has not?" said Mrs. +Marcy, reproachfully, when Blake commented upon the younger lady's +fancy. + +"Yes; but it is not every liking that is strong enough to take its +possessor there every day through eight long, slow weeks," answered the +gentleman. + +"Not so slow," said Claudia. "But how do you know? You have been here +through only one of them." + +"That leanest mosaic in the central dome is an old friend of mine; he +has told me many things in his time (I am an inveterate Venetian +lounger, you know), bending down from his curved abode, his glassy eyes +on mine, and a long, thin finger pointed. Be careful; he has noticed +you." + +Several days later, strolling into the church, he found her there. "As +usual," he said. + +"Yes, as usual," she answered. Miss Marcy liked Blake; his slow remarks +often amused her. And she liked to be amused--perhaps because she was +not one of those young ladies who find everything amusing. She was +sitting at the base of the last of the great pillars of the nave, where +she could see the north transept with the star-lights of the chapel at +the end, the old pulpit of colored marbles with its fretted top and +angel, and the deep, gold-lined dimness of the choir-dome, into which +the first horizontal ray of sunset light was now stealing--a light which +would soon turn into miraculous splendor its whole expanse. + +"It always seems to me like a cave set with gold and gems," said Blake, +taking a seat beside her. "And, in reality, that is what it is, you +know--a wonderful robbers' cavern. As somebody has said, it is the +church of pirates--of the greatest sea-robbers the world has ever known; +and they have adorned it with the magnificent mass of treasure they +stole from the whole Eastern hemisphere." + +"I wish they had stolen a little for me--one of those Oriental chains, +for instance. But what pleases me best here is the light. It isn't the +bright, vast clearness of St. Peter's that makes one's small sins of no +sort of consequence; it isn't the sombreness of the Duomo at Florence, +where one soon feels such a dreadful repentance that the new virtue +becomes acute depression. It is a darkness, I admit, but of such a warm, +rich hue that one feels sumptuous just by sitting in it. I do believe +that if some of our thin, anxious-faced American women could only be +induced to come and sit here quietly several hours a day they would soon +grow serene and physically opulent, like--" + +"Like yourself?" + +"Like the women of Veronese. (Of course I shall have to admit that I do +not need this process. Unfortunately, I love it.) But those Veronese +pictures, Mr. Blake--after all, what do they tell us? Blue sky and +balconies, feasts and brocades, pages and dogs, colors and splendor, and +those great fair women, with no expression in their faces--what does it +all mean?" + +"Simply beauty." + +"Beauty without mind, then." + +"A picture does not need mind. But, to be worth anything, beauty it must +have." + +"I don't know; a picture is a sort of companion. One of those pictures +would not be that; you might as well have a beautiful idiot." + +"Ah, but a _picture_ is silent," replied Blake. + +Claudia laughed. "You are incorrigible." Then, going back to her first +subject, "I wish Mrs. Lenox would come here more," she said. + +"You think she needs this enriching process you have suggested?" + +"In one way--yes. All this beauty here in Venice is so much to her +husband; while she--is forever with that child!" + +"But she does not keep him from the beauty." + +"No; but she might make it so much more to him if she would." + +"Why don't you suggest it to her?" + +"There is no use. She does not understand me, I think. We speak a +different language." + +"That may be. But I fancy she understands you." + +"Perhaps she does," answered Claudia, with the untroubled frankness +which was one of her noticeable traits. She spoke as though she thought, +indeed, that Claudia Marcy's nature was a thing which Mrs. Lenox, or any +one, might observe. Claudia rather admired her nature. It was not +perfect, of course, but at least it was large in its boundaries, and +above the usual feminine pettinesses; she felt a calm pride in that. She +was silent for a while. The first sunset ray had now been joined by +others, and together they had lighted up one-half of the choir-dome; its +gold was all awake and glistening superbly, and the great mosaic figure +enthroned there began to glow with a solemn, mysterious life. + +"Men should not marry until they are at least thirty, I think," resumed +Claudia; "and especially those of the imaginative or artistic +temperament. Three-quarters of the incongruous marriages one sees were +made when the husband was very young. It is not the wife's fault; at the +time of the marriage she is generally the superior, the generous one; +the benefit is conferred by her. But--she does not advance, and he +does." + +"What would you propose in the way of--of an amelioration?" asked her +listener. + +"There can, of course, be no amelioration in actual cases. But there +might be a prevention. I think that a law could be passed--such as now +exists, for instance, against the marriage of minors. If a man could not +marry until he was thirty or older, he would at that time naturally +select a wife who was ten years or so his junior rather than one of his +own age." + +"And the women of thirty?" + +"They would be already married to the men of fifty, you know." + +Here a figure emerging from the heavy red-brown shadows of the north +aisle, and seeming to bring some of them with it, as it advanced, +crossed the billowy pavement, and stopped before them. It was Mr. Lenox. +He took a seat on the other side of Blake, and they talked for a while +of the way the chocolate-hued walls met the gold of the domes solidly, +without shading, and of the total absence of white--two of the marked +features of the rich interior of the old pirate cathedral. At length +Blake rose, giving up his place beside Miss Marcy to the younger man. "I +think we have still a half-hour before that jailer of a janitor jangles +his keys," she said. + +"Yes; but for the men of fifty it is time to be going," answered Blake. +"They take cold rather easily, you know, those poor fellows of fifty." + +He went away. Claudia and Lenox remained until the keys jangled. + +Every day the weather and the water-city grew more divinely fair. June +began. And now even Mrs. Marcy saw no objection to their utilizing the +moonlight, and no longer spoke of "wraps." The evenings were haunted by +music; everybody seemed to be floating about singing or touching +guitars. The effect of the mingled light and shadows across the fronts +of the palaces was enchanting; they could not say enough in its praise. + +"Still, do you know sometimes I would give it all for the fresh odor of +the fields at home, in the country, and the old scent of lilacs," said +Mrs. Lenox. + +"Do you care for lilacs?" said Claudia. "If you had said roses--" + +"No, I mean lilacs--the simple country lilacs. And I want to see some +currant bushes, too; yes, and even an old wooden garden fence," replied +Mrs. Lenox, laughing, but nevertheless as if she meant what she said. +She went with them only that once in the evening, for when she reached +home she found that the little boy had been wakeful, and that he had +refused to go to sleep again because she was not there. After this the +others went without her in a gondola holding four. At last, although the +moonlight lingers longer in Venice than anywhere else, there was, for +that month at least, no more. Yet still the evening air was delicious, +and the music did not cease; the effect of the shadows was even more +marvellous than the mingled light and shade had been. They continued to +go out and float about for an hour or two in the warm, peopled +darkness. They went also, but by daylight, to Torcello, and this time +Theocritus was of the party. During half of the day he was more despotic +than he had ever been, but later he seemed very tired; he slept in his +aunt's arms all the way home. Once she made an effort to transfer him to +her husband, as the weight of his little muffled figure lay heavily on +her slender arm; but Theocritus was awake immediately, and began to beat +off his uncle's hands with all his might. + +"Do let me take him, Elizabeth; he will soon fall asleep again," said +Lenox. He looked annoyed. "You are overtaxing your strength; I can see +that you are tired out." + +"It will not harm me; I know when I am really too tired," answered his +wife. She gave him a little trusting smile as she spoke, and his frown +passed off. + +They were all together in one of the large gondolas; Blake noted this +little side-scene. + +That night Theocritus had a slight attack of fever. Mrs. Lenox said that +it came from over-fatigue, and that he must not go on any of the longer +expeditions. When they went to Murano, therefore, and down to Chioggia, +she did not accompany them, but remained at home with her charge. + +Mrs. Marcy was enjoying this last month in Venice greatly. "Naturally, +it is much pleasanter when one has some one to attend to one, and one +too who knows one's tastes and looks after one's little comforts," she +remarked to her niece, with some intricacy of impersonal pronouns. The +lily did not observe that the attentions she found so agreeable were +being offered to her niece also by another impersonal pronoun. As she +would herself have said, "naturally," when they went here and there +together, the two elders often sat down to rest awhile when Claudia and +Lenox did not feel the need of it. + +"Of course, with her beauty, her attractive qualities, and her fortune, +Miss Marcy has had many suitors," said Blake to the aunt during one of +these rests. + +"Several," answered that lady, moderately. "But Claudia is not at all +susceptible. Neither is she so--so generally attractive as you might +suppose. She has too little thought for the opinions of others. She +says, for instance, just what she thinks, and that, you know, is seldom +agreeable." + +"True; we much prefer that people should say what they don't. I have +myself noticed some plainly evident faults in her: a most impolitic +honesty; and, when stirred, an impulsiveness which is sure to be +unremunerative in the long-run. I should say, too, that she had an +empyrean sort of pride." + +"Yes," replied the lily, not knowing what he meant, but concluding on +the whole that he spoke in reprobation. "As I said before, she has not +_quite_ enough of that true feminine softness one likes so much to +see--I mean, of course, in a woman." + +"Her pride will be her bane yet. It will make her blind to the most +obvious pitfall. However, I'll back her courage against it when once she +sees where she has dropped." + +"What?" said the lily. + +"She will in time learn from you; she could not follow a more lovely +example," said Blake, coming back from his reflections. + +Towards the last of June a long expedition was planned, an expedition +into "Titian's country," which was to last three days. This little +pilgrimage had been talked about for a long time, Mrs. Lenox being as +much interested in it as the others. Whether she would have had the +courage to take Theocritus, even in his best estate, is a question; but +after the time was finally set and all the arrangements made, his worst +asserted itself, and so markedly that it was plain to all that she could +not go. Something was said about postponement, but it was equally plain +that if they were to go at all they should go at once, as the weather +was rapidly approaching a too great heat. Claudia wished particularly to +take this little journey; she had set her heart upon seeing the Titians +and reputed Titians said to be still left in that unvisited +neighborhood. Blake asserted that she even expected to discover one. It +was next proposed (although rather faintly) that Mr. Lenox should be +excused from the pilgrimage. But it could not be denied that the little +boy had been quite as ill (and irritable) several times before in +Venice, and that he had always recovered in a day or two. Not that Mrs. +Lenox denied it; on the contrary, she was the one to mention it. She +urged her husband's going; it was the excursion of all others to please +him the most. It ended in his consenting; it seemed, indeed, too much to +give up for so slight a cause. + +"She looks a little anxious," observed Blake, as they waited for him in +the gondola which was to take them to the railway station. Lenox had +said good-bye to her, and was now coming down the long stairway within, +while she had stepped out on her balcony to see them start. + +"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Marcy. "To me she always looks just the +same, always so unmoved." + +Lenox now came out, and the gondola started. Claudia looked back and +waved her hand, Mrs. Lenox returning the salutation. + +On the evening of the third day, at eleven o'clock, a gondola from the +railway station stopped at the larger palace's lower door, and three +persons ascended the dimly lighted stairs. + +At the top Mrs. Lenox's servant was waiting for them. "Oh, where is +signore? Is he not with you? He has not come? Oh, the poor signora--may +the sweet Madonna help her now!" cried the girl, with tears in her +sympathetic Italian eyes. "The poor little boy is dead." + +They rushed up the higher stairway and across the hall bridge. But it +was as the woman had said. There, on his little white bed, lay the +child; he would be troublesome no more on this earth; he was quiet at +last. Mrs. Lenox stood in the lighted doorway of her room as they came +towards her. When she saw that her husband was not with them, when they +began hurriedly to explain that he had not come, that he had stayed +behind, that he had sent a note, she swayed over without a word and +fainted away. + +It was only over-fatigue, she explained later. The child had lain in her +arms for thirty hours, most of the time in great pain, and she had +suffered with him. She soon recovered consciousness and was quite +calm--more calm than they had feared she would be. They were anxiously +watchful; they tended her with the most devoted care. Blake did what he +could, and then waited. After a while, when Mrs. Lenox had in a measure +recovered, he softly beckoned Mrs. Marcy out. + +"You must tell her that her husband will not be back in time for--that +he will not be back for at least six days, and very likely longer. And +as his route was quite uncertain, we cannot reach him; there is no +telegraph, of course, and even if I were to go after him I could only +follow his track from village to village, and probably come back to +Venice behind him." + +"How can I tell her!" said the tearful lady. "Perhaps Claudia--" + +"No, on no account. You are the one, and you must do it," replied Blake, +and with so much decision that she obeyed him. Thus the wife was told. + +What Blake had said was true; it was hopeless to try to reach Lenox +before the time when he would probably be back of his own accord. He had +started on a hunt after some early drawings of Titian's, of which they +had unearthed dim legends. One was said to be in an old monastery, among +others of no importance; two more were vaguely reported as now here, now +there. Lenox had not been certain of his own route, but expected to be +guided from village to village according to indications. It was not even +certain whether he would come back by Conegliano or strike the railway +at another point. "It certainly is an inexorable fate!" exclaimed poor +Mrs. Marcy, in the emergency driven to unusual expressions. + +But when Stephen Lenox's wife understood the position in which she was +placed, she at once decided upon all that was to be done, and gave her +directions clearly and calmly--directions which Blake executed with an +attention and thoughtful care as complete as any one could possibly have +bestowed. + +The little boy was to be buried at Venice, in the cemetery on the +island opposite, early in the morning of the second day. + +"She is _so_ sensible!" Mrs. Marcy commented, admiringly. "Of course, +under all the circumstances, it is the thing to do. But so many women +would have insisted upon--all sorts of plans; and it would have been +_so_ hard." + +"I would willingly carry out anything she wished for, no matter how +difficult," replied Blake. "I greatly respect and admire Mrs. Lenox. +But, as you say, the perfect balance of her character, her clear +judgment and beautiful goodness, have at once decided upon the best +course." (The lily had not quite said this; but in her present state of +distressed sympathy she accepted it.) + +Claudia, meanwhile, remained through all very silent. She assisted, and +ably, in everything that was done, but said almost nothing. + +The evening before the funeral the two ladies went across to Mrs. +Lenox's rooms; they had left her some hours before, as she had promised +to lie down for a while, but they thought that she was now probably +awake again. They found her sitting beside the little white-shrouded +form. + +"Now this is not wise, Elizabeth," began Mrs. Marcy, chidingly. + +"I think it is; I like to look at him," replied the watcher. "See, the +peaceful expression I have been hoping for has come; it is not often +needed on the face of a child, but it was with my poor little boy. +Look." + +And, sure enough, there shone upon the small, still countenance a lovely +sweetness which had never been there in life. The face did not even seem +thin; its lines had all passed away; it looked very fair and young, and +very peacefully at rest. + +"His mother would know him now at once; he was a very pretty little +fellow the last time she saw him, when he was about a year old," she +went on. "I was very fond of his mother, and his father, as probably you +know, was my only brother. Their child was very dear to me," she +resumed, after a short silence, which the others did not break. "His +constant suffering made him unlike stronger, happier children, and I +think that was the very reason I loved him the more. I wanted to make it +up to him. But I could not. I suppose he never knew what it was to be +entirely without pain--the doctors have told me so. He did not know +anything else, or any other way, but to suffer more or less, and to be +tired all the time. And he was so used to it, poor little fellow, that I +suppose he thought that every one suffered too--that that was life. He +has found a better now." Leaning forward, she took the small hands in +hers. "All my loving care, dear child, was not enough to keep you here," +she said, smoothing them tenderly. "But you are with your mother now; +that is far better." + +The funeral took place early the next morning. Then Mrs. Lenox came back +to her empty rooms, and entered them alone. She preferred it so. + +After the first explanation, the only allusion she had made to her +husband's absence was to Rodney Blake. That gentleman had not expressed +the shadow of a disapprobation. He had not told her that he had objected +to Lenox's lengthened absence, and had done what he could to prevent it; +he had stopped Mrs. Marcy sharply when she spoke of telling. + +"Can't you see, Sophy, that that would be the worst of all for her?" he +said; "to know that Lenox would go, in spite of my unconcealed +opposition, just because Clau--just because he wanted those trivial +drawings," he added, changing the termination of his sentence, but quite +sure, meanwhile, that "Sophy" would never discover what he had begun to +say. + +Mrs. Lenox's remark was this. Blake had come in to speak to her about +some necessary directions concerning the funeral, and when she had given +them she said: "It will be a grief to Stephen when he comes back that he +could not have seen the little boy, even if but for once more. And I +hoped so that he would see him! I expected you back at eight--you know +that was the first arrangement--and towards seven he seemed easier. Once +he even smiled, and talked a little about that legend of St. Mark and +St. Theodore, of which, you remember, he was so fond. Then it was +half-past seven, and I still hoped. And then it grew towards eight, and +he was in pain again. Still I kept listening for the sound of your +gondola. But it did not come. And at half-past eight he died. But +perhaps it was as well so," she continued, although her voice trembled a +little. "Stephen would have felt his suffering so much. I was more used +to it, you know, than he was." + +"Yes," answered Blake. + +But she seemed to know that he was not quite in accord with her. "Of +course I feel it very deeply, Mr. Blake, on my own account, that my +husband is not here; I depend upon him for everything, and feel utterly +lonely without him. But his absence is one of those accidents which we +must all encounter sometimes, and as to everything else--the outside +help I needed--you have done all that even he could have done. You have +been very good to me," and she held out her hand. + +Blake took it, and thanked her. And in his words this time he put +something that contented her. It was the sacrifice he made to his liking +for Stephen Lenox's wife. + +The evening after the funeral Mrs. Marcy, who had been made nervous and +ill by all that had happened, went out at sunset for a change of air, +and Blake accompanied her. Claudia preferred to stay at home. But five +minutes after the departure of their gondola she went up the stairs and +across the hall bridge that led to Mrs. Lenox's apartment. Mrs. Lenox +was there, lying on the sofa. It was the first time since the return +that the two had been alone together. She looked pale and ill, and there +were dark shadows under her eyes; but she smiled and spoke in her usual +voice, asking Claudia to sit beside her in an easy-chair that stood +there. Claudia sat down, and they spoke on one or two unimportant +subjects. But the girl soon paused in this. + +"I have come to say," she began again, in a voice that showed the effort +she made to keep it calm, "that I shall never forgive myself, Mrs. +Lenox, for--for a great deal that I have thought about you, but +especially for having had a part in the absence of your husband at such +a time. If it had not been for me he would not have gone off on that +foolish expedition. But I wanted those miserable drawings, or at least +sketches of them, and so I kept talking about it. When I think of what +you have had to go through, alone, in consequence of it, I am +overwhelmed." Here her voice nearly broke down. + +"You must not take it all upon yourself, Miss Marcy," answered the wife. +"No doubt Stephen wanted to please you; no doubt he wanted to very +much--to get you the drawings, if it was possible; of that I am quite +sure." + +But Claudia was not quieted. "If you knew how I have suffered--how I +suffer now as I see you lying there so pale and ill"--here she stopped +again. "I come to tell you how I feel your suffering, and I spend the +time talking about my own," she added, abruptly. "I am a worthless +creature!" And covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears. + +Mrs. Lenox put out her hand and stroked the beautiful bowed head +caressingly. "Do not feel so badly," she said. "You must not; it is not +necessary." + +"But it is--it is," said the girl, amid her tears. "If you knew--" + +"I do know, Claudia. I know _you_." + +"Oh, if you really do," said Claudia, lifting her head, her wet eyes +turned eagerly upon the wife, "then it is better." + +"It is better; it is well. My dear, I think I have understood you all +along." + +"But--I have not understood myself," replied Claudia. She had nerved +herself to say it; but after it was spoken a deep blush rose slowly over +her whole face until it was in a flame. Through all its heat, however, +she kept her eyes bravely upon those of the wife. + +"That I knew, too," rejoined Mrs. Lenox. "But I also knew that there was +no danger," she added. + +"There was not. It was unconscious. In any case, I should in time have +recognized it. And destroyed it, as I do now." These short sentences +were brought out, each with a fresh effort. "I do not speak of--of the +other side," the girl went on, with abrupt, heavy awkwardness of phrase. +"There never was any other side--it was all mine." And then came the +flaming blush again. + +"But you are very beautiful, Claudia?" said the other woman, not as if +disturbed at all in her own quiet calm, but half tentatively. + +"Yes, I am beautiful," replied Claudia, with a sort of scorn. "But he is +not that kind of man," she added, a quick, involuntary pride coming into +her eyes. Then she turned her head away, shading her face with her hand. +She said no more; it seemed as if she had stopped herself shortly there. + +After a moment or two Mrs. Lenox began to speak. "All this life, here in +Venice, has been so much to Stephen," she said, in her sweet, quiet +voice. "You know he has worked very hard--he was obliged to; just so +many hours of each long day, for long, hard years. He never had any +rest; and the work was always distasteful to him, too. It was a slavery. +And it was beginning to tell upon him; he could not have kept it up +without being worn out both in body and mind. Judge, then, how glad I am +that he has had all this change and pleasure--he needed it so! There is +that side to his nature--a love of the beautiful, and a strong one. This +has been always repressed and bound down; it is natural that it should +break forth here. I have not the feeling myself--at least, not like his; +but I understand it in him, and sympathize with it fully." She paused. +Claudia did not speak. + +"You have not been a wife, Claudia, and therefore there are some things +you do not know," pursued the voice. "A wife becomes in time to her +husband such a part of himself (that is, if he loves her) that she isn't +a separate person to him any more, and he hardly thinks of her as one; +she is himself. Many things become a matter of course to him--are taken +for granted--on this very account. It does not occur to him that she may +feel differently. He supposes that they feel alike. Often they do. +Still, a woman's thoughts do not always run in the same channel as those +of a man; we are more timid, more limited, more--afraid of things, you +know; but the husband does not always remember that. But there are some +things in which a husband and wife do feel alike, always and forever; +there are ties which are eternal. And my own life holds them--ties and +memories so precious that I can hardly explain them to you; memories of +those early years of ours when we were so alone and poor, but so dear to +each other that we did not mind it. We love each other just the same; +but then we had nothing but our love--and it was enough. The coming, the +short stay with us, and the fading away of our two little children, +Claudia--these are ties deep down in our hearts which nothing can ever +sunder. Stephen will go back to all that old grief of his when he comes +home to find the little boy gone. For the greatest sorrow of his life, +one he has never at heart overcome, was that he felt when we lost our +own little boy. Stephen had loved the child passionately, and would not +believe that he must go; and when he did he bowed his head in a silence +so long that I was frightened. I had never seen him give up before. But +even that is a dear tie between us, for then he had only me. Those +early years of ours, with their joys and sorrows--I often think of them. +A man does not dwell upon such memories, one by one, as a woman does. +But they are none the less there, a part of his life and of him." She +stopped. "Do not mind," she added, in a changed voice. "I am only--a +little tired, I think." + +Claudia, who had not moved, turned quickly. Mrs. Lenox's eyes were +closed; she was very pale. But she did not faint; owing to Claudia's +quick, efficient help, she was soon herself again. "You know what to do, +don't you?" she said, smiling, when the faint feeling had passed. + +"It is not that I know, so much as that I long to help you," answered +Claudia. "I wish you would let me unbraid your hair, and make you ready +for bed; you look so tired, and perhaps I could do it with a lighter +touch than Bianca," she added, humbly. + +"Very well," said the other, assentingly. + +And with much care and skill the girl performed her task. "I will even +put out the light," she said. "I will tell Bianca that you have gone to +bed, and are not to be disturbed." When all was done and the light out, +she paused for a moment by the bedside. "I am not going to talk any +more," she said, "but I will just say this: aunt and I are going away. +To-morrow, probably, or the day after. You will not be left alone, for +Mr. Blake will stay." + +There was a silence. Then Mrs. Lenox's voice said: "That is a mistake. +It would be better to stay." + +"I do not see it in that way," answered the girl. Then, "You must not +ask too much," she added, in a lower voice. + +Mrs. Lenox took her hands, which were hanging before her, tightly +clasped. The touch shook Claudia; she sank down beside the bed and hid +her face. + +"Stay; it is far better," whispered the wife. "Then it will be over. By +going away you will only think about it the more." + +"Yes, I know. But--" + +"I will answer for all. I know you better than--you know yourself. When +you see us together, it will be different to you. Stay, to please me." + +"Very well," murmured the girl. + +They kissed each other, and she rose. When she had reached the door Mrs. +Lenox spoke again. "Of course, you know that I quite understand that it +is only a girl's fancy," she said, with a tender lightness. This was her +offering to Claudia. + +On the evening of the seventh day after the funeral Stephen Lenox came +back; he had sent a despatch to his wife from Conegliano, and Blake was +therefore able to meet him at Mestre, and tell him what had happened. He +went directly home, and the others did not see him until the next +evening. Then he came across to the larger palace. Blake was there; he +kept himself rather constantly with Mrs. Marcy now, perhaps to direct +that lady's somewhat wandering inspirations. For this occasion he had +warned her that she must not be too sympathetic, that she must be on her +guard. So Mrs. Marcy was "on her guard;" she only took out her +handkerchief four times; she even talked of the weather. Claudia +scarcely spoke. Blake himself conducted the conversation, and filled all +the gaps. They could naturally say a good deal about the health of Mrs. +Lenox, as that lady had been obliged to keep her room for the three +preceding days. Lenox did not stay long; he said he must go back to his +wife. As he rose he gave the small portfolio he had brought with him to +Claudia. "I don't think they were Titians," he said. "But I sketched +them for you as well as I could." + +Mrs. Marcy thought this an opportunity; she took the portfolio, and +exclaimed over each picture. Blake, too, put up his eye-glass to look at +them. Lenox said a word or two about them and waited a moment longer; +then he went away. Claudia had not glanced at them. + +He never knew of her visit to his wife; those are the secrets women keep +for each other, unto and beyond the grave. + +What passed when he came home was simple enough. His wife cried when she +saw him; she had not cried before. She told him the history of the +little boy's last hours, and of all he had said, and of the funeral. +Then they had talked a while of her health, and then of future plans. + +"I ought to have remembered that you were anxious about him even before +I went away," said Lenox, going back abruptly to the first subject. He +was standing by the window, looking out; this was an hour after his +return. + +"But he had been ill so many times. No, it was something we could not +foresee, and as such we must accept it. I wanted you to go--don't you +remember? I urged your going. You must not blame yourself about it." + +"But I do," answered her husband. + +"I cannot allow you to; I shall never allow it. To me, Stephen, all you +do is right; I wish to hear nothing that could even seem otherwise. I +trust you entirely, and always shall." + +He turned. She was lying back in an easy-chair, supported by pillows. He +came across and sat down beside her, his head bent forward, his elbows +resting on his knees, his face in his hands. He did not speak. + +"Because I know that I can," added the wife. + +That was all. + +They stayed on together in Venice through another two weeks. Mrs. Lenox +improved daily, and was soon able to go about with them. She seemed, +indeed, to bloom into a new youth. "It is the reaction after the long, +wearing care of that child," explained Mrs. Marcy. "And isn't it +beautiful to see how devoted he is to her, and how careful of her in +every way? But I have always noticed what a devoted husband he was, +haven't you?" + +These two ladies and Mr. Blake were going to Baden-Baden. But the others +were going back to America. "We may return some time," said Lenox; "but +at present I think we want a home." + +"I wish we could have stayed on together always, just as we are now," +sighed the sentimental lily, smoothing the embroidered edge of her +handkerchief. "_Such_ a pleasant party, and of just the right size; +these last two weeks have been so perfect!" + +The time for parting came. The three who were going to Baden-Baden were +to leave at dawn, and they had come across to Mrs. Lenox's parlor to +spend a last hour. Claudia talked more than usual, and talked well; she +looked brilliant. + +At the end of the second hour the good-byes began in earnest. +Everything that was appropriate was said, Blake, in particular, +delivering himself unblushingly of one long fluent commonplace after +another. They were to meet again--oh, very soon; they were to visit each +other; they were to write frequently--one would have supposed, indeed, +that Blake intended to send a daily telegraphic despatch. At last the +lily, having kept them all standing for twenty minutes, bestowed upon +Mrs. Lenox a final kiss, and really did start, the two gentlemen and +Claudia accompanying her down the long hall. But the hall was dark, and +Claudia was behind; without the knowledge of the others she slipped +back. + +Mrs. Lenox was standing where they had left her. When she saw the girl +returning, pale, repressed, all the sparkle gone, she went to her, and +put her arms round her; Claudia laid her head down upon the other's +shoulder. Thus they stood for several moments in silence. Then, still +without speaking, Claudia went away. + +When Mrs. Marcy reached the stairway which led down to her own +apartment, on the other side of the hall bridge, "Why, where is +Claudia?" she said. + +"Here I am," said her niece, appearing from the darkness. + +"You will come down with us for a moment, won't you, Mr. Lenox?" +suggested the lily. "Just for one _last_ look?" + +"Do not ask him," said Claudia, smiling; "he is worn out! We have +already extended that look over two long hours. Good-bye, Mr. Lenox; and +this time, I think, is really the last." + + * * * * * + + +BY CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON. + +HORACE CHASE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +JUPITER LIGHTS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +CASTLE NOWHERE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +RODMAN THE KEEPER. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson's writing which +invests all her characters with lovable qualities.--_Jewish Advocate, N. +Y._ + +Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting magazine +stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the delineation of +her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of local +life.--_Jewish Messenger, N. Y._ + +Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist +laureate.--_Boston Globe._ + +Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and +conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a +story is very remarkable.--_London Life._ + +Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox +novelist, but strikes a new and richly-loaded vein which, so far, is all +her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh +sensation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant +task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to +her in very pleasant places; or she has, perhaps, within herself the +wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she +writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the +day--a quality sadly wanting in novels of the time.--_Whitehall Review, +London._ + + * * * * * + +PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. + +_The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the +publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, +or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ + + +BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + +THE GOLDEN HOUSE. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. Post 8vo, Ornamental +Half Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00. + +It is a strong, individual, and very serious consideration of life; much +more serious, much deeper in thought, than the New York novel is wont to +be. It is worthy of companionship with its predecessor, "A Little +Journey in the World," and keeps Mr. Warner well in the front rank of +philosophic students of the tendencies of our +civilization.--_Springfield Republican._ + +A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD. A Novel. Post 8vo, Half Leather, Uncut +Edges and Gilt Top, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents. + +THEIR PILGRIMAGE. Illustrated by C. S. REINHART. Post 8vo, Half Leather, +Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00. + +STUDIES IN THE SOUTH AND WEST, with Comments on Canada. Post 8vo, Half +Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 75. + +OUR ITALY. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt +Top, $2 50. + +AS WE GO. With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 +00. ("Harper's American Essayists.") + +AS WE WERE SAYING. With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 00. ("Harper's American Essayists.") + +THE WORK OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 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Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 25. + +STUDIES OF THE STAGE. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. + +THE ROYAL MARINE. An Idyl of Narragansett Pier. Illustrated. 32mo, +Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. + +THIS PICTURE AND THAT. A Comedy. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, +50 cents. + +THE DECISION OF THE COURT. A Comedy. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, 50 cents. IN THE VESTIBULE LIMITED. A Story. Illustrated. +12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50 cents. + + * * * * * + +PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. + +==>_The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by +the publishers by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United +States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ + + +WILLIAM BLACK'S NOVELS + +LIBRARY EDITION + +Mr. Black knows so well just what to describe, and to what length, that +the scenery of his novels--by comparison with that of many we are +obliged to read--seems to have been freshened by soft spring rains. His +painting of character, his conversations and situations, are never +strongly dramatic and exciting, but they are thoroughly good. He never +gives us a tame or a tiresome chapter, and this is something for which +readers will be profoundly grateful.--_N. Y. Tribune._ + + A DAUGHTER OF HETH. + A PRINCESS OF THULE. + DONALD ROSS OF HEIMRA. + GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. + IN FAR LOCHABER. + IN SILK ATTIRE. + JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. Illustrated. + KILMENY. + MACLEOD OF DARE. Ill'd. + MADCAP VIOLET. + PRINCE FORTUNATUS. Ill'd. + SABINA ZEMBRA. + SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated. + STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! Illustrated. + SUNRISE. + THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Illustrated. + THE MAGIC INK, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated. + THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A HOUSE-BOAT. Ill'd. + THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. + THREE FEATHERS. + WHITE HEATHER. + WHITE WINGS. Illustrated. + YOLANDE. 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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: The Front Yard + +Author: Constance Fenimore Woolson + +Release Date: January 7, 2012 [EBook #38517] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRONT YARD *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet +Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="cb">THE FRONT YARD<br /> +AND<br /> +OTHER ITALIAN STORIES<br /><br /> +CONSTANCE<br /> +FENIMORE<br /> +WOOLSON</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="372" height="550" alt="image of the book's cover" title="image of the book's cover" /></a> +</p> + +<p><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a></p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/frontispiece_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/frontispiece_sml.jpg" width="402" height="550" alt="Page 202 +"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'"" title="" /></a></p> +<p class="caption1">[Page 202</p> +<p class="caption">"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'"</p> + +<h1>THE FRONT YARD<br /> +<small>AND<br /> +OTHER ITALIAN STORIES</small></h1> + +<p class="cb"><br /><br /><br /> +BY<br /> +CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON<br /> +<small>AUTHOR OF "ANNE" "HORACE CHASE" ETC.</small><br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-family:sans-serif, serif;"><small>ILLUSTRATED</small></span><br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +<img src="images/colophon.jpg" width="100" height="119" alt="colophon" title="colophon" /> +<br /><br /><br /> +<small>NEW YORK<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> +1895</small> +</p> + +<p class="c"><br /><br />Copyright, 1895, by<br /> +H<small>ARPER</small> & B<small>ROTHERS</small>.<br /> +——<br /> +<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c">NOTE</p> + +<p>O<small>F</small> the stories contained in this volume, "In Venice" was originally +published in the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, "The Street of the Hyacinth" in the +<i>Century Magazine</i>, and the other four stories in <i>Harper's Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary="table of contents" +style="font-size:90%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;"> +<tr><th colspan="2" align="center"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a><big>CONTENTS</big></th></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_FRONT_YARD">THE FRONT YARD</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_001">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#NEPTUNES_SHORE">NEPTUNE'S SHORE</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_050">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#A_PINK_VILLA">A PINK VILLA</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_STREET_OF_THE_HYACINTH">THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH</a> </td><td align="right"><a href="#page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_PARTY">A CHRISTMAS PARTY</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#IN_VENICE">IN VENICE</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_234">234</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary="ILLUSTRATIONS" +style="font-size:90%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;"> +<tr><th colspan="2" align="center"><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><big>ILLUSTRATIONS</big></th></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> +<tr><td>"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'"</td><td align="right" colspan="2" valign="bottom"><a href="#frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT WOULD'"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom"><i>Facing p.</i></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_002">2</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, LISTENING"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_022">22</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_058">58</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>AZUBAH ASH</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_068">68</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>THE OLD WATCH-TOWER</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_086">86</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_088">88</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100">100</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>SORRENTO</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>AT THE DESERTO</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_114">114</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_128">128</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_134">134</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"</td><td align="center" valign="bottom">"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_214">214</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_FRONT_YARD" id="THE_FRONT_YARD"></a>THE FRONT YARD</h2> + +<p>"W<small>ELL</small>, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper settled at +last as help in a good family, and Parlo and Squawly gone to Perugia, +and Soonter taken by the nuns, and Jo Vanny learning the carpenter's +trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone Granmar, of +course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos seem, it really doos, as if I +might get it done <i>sometime</i>; say next Fourth of July, now; that's only +ten months off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, that +would; something like!"</p> + +<p>The woman through whose mind these thoughts were passing was sitting on +a low stone-wall, a bundle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid +carefully beside her. On her back was strapped a large deep basket, +almost as long as herself; she had loosened the straps so that she could +sit down. This basket was heavy; one could tell that from the relaxed +droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the moment, as its +end rested on a fallen block on the other side of the wall. Her feet +were bare, her dress a narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem +by a dark cotton apron; on her head was a straw bonnet, which had behind +a little cape of brown ribbon three inches deep, and in front broad +strings of the same brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops +pulled<a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a> out to their full width and pinned on each side of her chin. +This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons had evidently been +washed more than once), was of old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond +the wearer's forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could be +seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregular features, +smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, still bright, set amid a bed of +wrinkles. She was sixty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had +once been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had been consumed +more by constant toil than by the approach of old age; it was not all +gone yet; the great basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a +language which told of energy that would last as long as her breath.</p> + +<p>These eyes were fixed now upon a low building that stood at a little +distance directly across the path. It was small and ancient, built of +stone, with a sloping roof and black door. There were no windows; +through this door entered the only light and air. Outside were two large +heaps of refuse, one of which had been there so long that thick matted +herbage was growing vigorously over its top. Bars guarded the entrance; +it was impossible to see what was within. But the woman knew without +seeing; she always knew. It had been a cow; it had been goats; it had +been pigs, and then goats again; for the past two years it had been pigs +steadily—always pigs. Her eyes were fixed upon this door as if held +there by a magnet; her mouth fell open a little as she gazed; her hands +lay loose in her lap. There was nothing new in the picture, certainly. +But the intensity of her feeling made it in one way always new. If love +wakes freshly every morning, so does<a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a> hate, and Prudence Wilkin had +hated that cow-shed for years.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p002_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p002_sml.jpg" width="372" height="550" alt=""''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT +WOULD'"" title="" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT +WOULD'"</span> +</p> + +<p>The bells down in the town began to ring the Angelus. She woke from her +reverie, rebuckled the straps of the basket, and adjusting it by a jerk +of her shoulders in its place on her back, she took the fagot in one +hand, the bundle of herbs in the other, and carrying the sickle under +her arm, toiled slowly up the ascent, going round the cow-shed, as the +interrupted path too went round it, in an unpaved, provisional sort of +way (which had, however, lasted fifty years), and giving a wave of her +herbs towards the offending black door as she passed—a gesture that was +almost triumphant. "Jest you wait till next Fourth of July, you indecent +old Antiquity, you!" This is what she was thinking.</p> + +<p>Prudence Wilkin's idea of Antiquity was everything that was old and +dirty; indecent Antiquity meant the same qualities increased to a degree +that was monstrous, a degree that the most profligate imagination of +Ledham (New Hampshire) would never have been able to conceive. There was +naturally a good deal of this sort of Antiquity in Assisi, her present +abode; it was all she saw when she descended to that picturesque town; +the great triple church of St. Francis she never entered; the +magnificent view of the valley, the serene vast Umbrian plain, she never +noticed; but the steep, narrow streets, with garbage here and there, the +crowding stone houses, centuries old, from whose court-yard doors issued +odors indescribable—these she knew well, and detested with all her +soul. Her deepest degree of loathing, however, was reserved for the +especial Antiquity that blocked her own front path, that elbowed her own +front door, this noisome stable or sty—for it<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> was now one, now the +other—which she had hated and abhorred for sixteen long years.</p> + +<p>For it was just sixteen years ago this month since she had first entered +the hill town of St. Francis. She had not entered it alone, but in the +company of a handsome bridegroom, Antonio Guadagni by name, and so happy +was she that everything had seemed to her enchanting—these same steep +streets with their ancient dwellings, the same dirt, the same +yellowness, the same continuous leisure and causeless beatitude. And +when her Tonio took her through the town and up this second ascent to +the squalid little house, where, staring and laughing and crowding +nearer to look at her, she found his family assembled, innumerable +children (they seemed innumerable then), a bedridden grandam, a +disreputable old uncle (who began to compliment her), even this did not +appear a burden, though of course it was a surprise. For Tonio had told +her, sadly, that he was "all alone in the world." It had been one of the +reasons why she had wished to marry him—that she might make a home for +so desolate a man.</p> + +<p>The home was already made, and it was somewhat full. Desolate Tonio +explained, with shouts of laughter, in which all the assemblage joined, +that seven of the children were his, the eighth being an orphan nephew +left to his care; his wife had died eight months before, and this was +her grandmother—on the bed there; this her good old uncle, a very +accomplished man, who had written sonnets. Mrs. Guadagni number two had +excellent powers of vision, but she was never able to discover the +goodness of this accomplished uncle; it was a quality which, like the +beneficence of angels, one is obliged to take on trust.<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a></p> + +<p>She was forty-five, a New England woman, with some small savings, who +had come to Italy as companion and attendant to a distant cousin, an +invalid with money. The cousin had died suddenly at Perugia, and +Prudence had allowed the chance of returning to Ledham with her effects +to pass by unnoticed—a remarkable lapse of the quality of which her +first name was the exponent, regarding which her whole life hitherto had +been one sharply outlined example. This lapse was due to her having +already become the captive of this handsome, this irresistible, this +wholly unexpected Tonio, who was serving as waiter in the Perugian inn. +Divining her savings, and seeing with his own eyes her wonderful +strength and energy, this good-natured reprobate had made love to her a +little in the facile Italian way, and the poor plain simple-hearted +spinster, to whom no one had ever spoken a word of gallantry in all her +life before, had been completely swept off her balance by the novelty of +it, and by the thronging new sensations which his few English words, his +speaking dark eyes, and ardent entreaties roused in her maiden breast. +It was her one moment of madness (who has not had one?). She married +him, marvelling a little inwardly when he required her to walk to +Assisi, but content to walk to China if that should be his pleasure. +When she reached the squalid house on the height and saw its crowd of +occupants, when her own money was demanded to send down to Assisi to +purchase the wedding dinner, then she understood—why they had walked.</p> + +<p>But she never understood anything else. She never permitted herself to +understand. Tonio, plump and idle, enjoyed a year of paradisiacal +opulence under her<a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a> ministrations (and in spite of some of them); he was +eighteen years younger than she was; it was natural that he should wish +to enjoy on a larger scale than hers—so he told her. At the end of +twelve months a fever carried him off, and his widow, who mourned for +him with all her heart, was left to face the world with the eight +children, the grandmother, the good old uncle, and whatever courage she +was able to muster after counting over and over the eighty-five dollars +that alone remained to her of the six hundred she had brought him.</p> + +<p>Of course she could have gone back to her own country. But that idea +never once occurred to her; she had married Tonio for better or worse; +she could not in honor desert the worst now that it had come. It had +come in force; on the very day of the funeral she had been obliged to +work eight hours; on every day that had followed through all these +years, the hours had been on an average fourteen; sometimes more.</p> + +<p>Bent under her basket, the widow now arrived at the back door of her +home. It was a small narrow house, built of rough stones plastered over +and painted bright yellow. But though thus gay without, it was dark +within; the few windows were very small, and their four little panes of +thick glass were covered with an iron grating; there was no elevation +above the ground, the brick floor inside being of the same level as the +flagging of the path without, so that there was always a sense of +groping when one entered the low door. There were but four rooms, the +kitchen, with a bedroom opening from it, and two chambers above under +the sloping roof.<a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></p> + +<p>Prudence unstrapped her basket and placed it in a wood-shed which she +had constructed with her own hands. For she could not comprehend a house +without a wood-shed; she called it a wood-shed, though there was very +little wood to put in it: in Assisi no one made a fire for warmth; for +cooking they burned twigs. She hung up the fagot (it was a fagot of +twigs), the herbs, and the sickle; then, after giving her narrow skirts +a shake, she entered the kitchen.</p> + +<p>There was a bed in this room. Granmar would not allow it to be moved +elsewhere; her bed had always been in the kitchen, and in the kitchen it +should remain; no one but Denza, indeed, would wish to shove her off; +Annunziata had liked to have her dear old granmar there, where she could +see for herself that she was having everything she needed; but +Annunziata had been an angel of goodness, as well as of the dearest +beauty; whereas Denza—but any one could see what Denza was! As +Granmar's tongue was decidedly a thing to be reckoned with, her bed +remained where it always had been; from its comfortable cleanliness the +old creature could overlook and criticise to her heart's content the +entire household economy of Annunziata's successor. Not only the +kitchen, but the whole house and garden, had been vigorously purified by +this successor; single-handed she had attacked and carried away +accumulations which had been there since Columbus discovered America. +Even Granmar was rescued from her squalor and coaxed to wear a clean cap +and neat little shawl, her withered brown hands reposing meanwhile upon +a sheet which, though coarse, was spotless.</p> + +<p>Granmar was a very terrible old woman; she had a<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> beak-like nose, round +glittering black eyes set in broad circles of yellow wrinkles, no mouth +to speak of, and a receding chin; her voice was now a gruff bass, now a +shrill yell.</p> + +<p>"How late you are! you do it on purpose," she said as Prudence entered. +"And me—as haven't had a thing I've wanted since you went away hours +upon hours ago. Nunziata there has been as stupid as a stone—behold +her!"</p> + +<p>She spoke in peasant Italian, a tongue which Mrs. Guadagni the second +(called Denza by the family, from Prudenza, the Italian form of her +first name) now spoke readily enough, though after a fashion of her own. +She remained always convinced that Italian was simply lunatic English, +English spoiled. One of the children, named Pasquale, she called +Squawly, and she always believed that the title came from the strength +of his infant lungs; many other words impressed her in the same way.</p> + +<p>She now made no reply to Granmar's complaints save to give one +business-like look towards the bed to see whether the pillows were +properly adjusted for the old creature's comfort; then she crossed the +room towards the stove, a large ancient construction of bricks, with two +or three small depressions over which an iron pot could be set.</p> + +<p>"Well, Nounce," she said to a girl who was sitting there on a little +bench. The tone of her voice was kindly; she looked to see if a fire had +been made. A few coals smouldered in one of the holes. "Good girl," said +Prudence, commendingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very good!" cried Granmar from the bed—"very good, when I told her +forty times, and fifty, to<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> make me an omelet, a wee fat one with a drop +of fig in it, and I so faint, and she wouldn't, the snake! she wouldn't, +the toad!—toadest of toads!"</p> + +<p>The dark eyes of the girl turned slowly towards Prudence. Prudence, as +she busied herself with the coals, gave her a little nod of approbation, +which Granmar could not see. The girl looked pleased for a moment; then +her face sank into immobility again. She was not an idiot, but wanting, +as it was called; a delicate, pretty young creature, who, with her +cousin Pippo, had been only a year old when the second wife came to +Assisi. It was impossible for any one to be fond of Pippo, who even at +that age had been selfish and gluttonous to an abnormal degree; but +Prudence had learned to love the helpless little girl committed to her +care, as she had also learned to love very dearly the child's brother +Giovanni, who was but a year older; they had been but babies, both of +them. The girl was now seventeen. Her name was Annunziata, but Prudence +called her Nounce. "If it means 'Announce,' Nounce is near enough, I +guess," she said to herself, aggressively. The truth was that she hated +the name; it had belonged to Tonio's first wife, and of the memory of +that comely young mother, poor Prudence, with her sixty years, her white +hair, and wrinkled skin, was burningly jealous even now. Giovanni's name +she pronounced as though it were two words—Jo Vanny; she really thought +there were two. Jo she knew well, of course; it was a good New England +name; Vanny was probably some senseless Italian addition. The name of +the eldest son, Augusto, became on her lips Gooster; Paolo was Parlo, +Assunta was Soonter.</p> + +<p>The nuns had finally taken Soonter. The step-mother<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> had been unable to +conceal from herself her own profound relief. True, the girl had gone to +a "papish" convent; but she had always been a mystery in the house, and +the constant presence of a mystery is particularly trying to the New +England mind. Soonter spent hours in meditation; she was very quiet; she +believed that she saw angels; her face wore often a far-away smile.</p> + +<p>On this September evening she prepared a heavily abundant supper for +Granmar, and a simple one for Nounce, who ate at any time hardly more +than a bird; Granmar, on the contrary, was gifted with an appetite of +extraordinary capacities, the amount of food which was necessary to keep +her, not in good-humor (she was never in good-humor), but in passable +bodily tranquillity, through the twenty-four hours being equal to that +which would have been required (so Prudence often thought) for three +hearty New England harvesters at home. Not that Granmar would touch New +England food; none of the family would eat the home dishes which +Prudence in the earlier years had hopefully tried to prepare from such +materials as seemed to her the least "onreasonable"; Granmar, indeed, +had declared each and all fit only for the hogs. Prudence never tried +them now, and she had learned the art of Italian cooking; for she felt +that she could not afford to make anything that was to be for herself +alone; the handful of precious twigs must serve for the family as a +whole. But every now and then, in spite of her natural abstemiousness, +she would be haunted by a vision of a "boiled dinner," the boiled +corned-beef, the boiled cabbage, turnips, and potatoes, and the boiled +Indian pudding of her youth. She should never taste these<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> dainties on +earth again. More than once she caught herself hoping that at least the +aroma of them would be given to her some time in heaven.</p> + +<p>When Granmar was gorged she became temporarily more tranquil. Prudence +took this time to speak of a plan which she had had in her mind for +several days. "Now that Gooster and the other boys are doing for +themselves, Granmar, and Bepper too at last, and Jo Vanny only needing a +trifle of help now and then (he's so young yet, you know), I feel as +though I might be earning more money," she began.</p> + +<p>"Money's a very good thing; we've never had half enough since my sainted +Annunziata joined the angels," responded Granmar, with a pious air.</p> + +<p>"Well, it seems a good time to try and earn some more. Soonter's gone to +the convent; and as it's a long while since Pipper's been here, I really +begin to think he has gone off to get work somewhere, as he always said he +was going to."</p> + +<p>"Don't you be too sure of Pippo," said Granmar, shaking her owl-like +head ominously.</p> + +<p>"'Tany rate he hasn't been here, and I always try to hope the best about +him—"</p> + +<p>"And <i>that's</i> what you call the best?" interrupted Granmar, with one of +her sudden flank movements, "to have him gone away off no one knows +where—Annunziata's own precious little nephew—taken by the +pirates—yam! Sold as a slave—yam! Killed in the war! Oh, Pippo! poor +Pippo! poor little Pipp, Pipp, Pipp!"</p> + +<p>"And so I thought I'd try to go to the shop by the day," Prudence went +on, when this yell had ceased; "they want me to come and cut out. I +shouldn't go until after your breakfast, of course; and I could leave<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a> +cold things out, and Nounce would cook you something hot at noon; then I +should be home myself every night in time to get your supper."</p> + +<p>"And so that's the plan—I'm to be left alone here with an idiot while +you go flouncing your heels round Assisi! Flounce, cat! It's a wonder +the dead don't rise in their graves to hear it. But we buried my +Annunziata too deep for that—yam!—otherwise she'd 'a been here to tear +your eyes out. An old woman left to starve alone, her own precious +grandmother, growing weaker and weaker, and pining and pining. Blessed +stomach, do you hear—do you hear, my holy, blessed stomach, always +asking for so little, and now not even to get that? It's turned all a +mumble of cold just thinking of it—yam! I, poor sufferer, who have had +to stand your ugly face so long—I <i>so</i> fond of beauty! You haven't got +but twenty-four hairs now; you know you haven't—yam! I've got more than +you twenty times over—hey! <i>that</i> I have." And Granmar, tearing off her +cap, pulled loose her coarse white hair, and grasping the ends of the +long locks with her crooked fingers, threw them aloft with a series of +shrill halloos.</p> + +<p>"I won't go to the shop," said Prudence. "Mercy on us, what a noise! I +say I won't go to the shop. There! do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Will you be here every day of your life at twelve o'clock to cook me +something that won't poison me?" demanded Granmar, still hallooing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I promise you."</p> + +<p>Even Granmar believed Prudence's yes; her yea was yea and her nay nay to +all the family. "You cook me something this very minute," she said, +sullenly, putting on her cap askew.<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a></p> + +<p>"Why, you've only just got through your supper!" exclaimed Prudence, +astonished, used though she was to Granmar's abdominal capacities, by +this sudden demand.</p> + +<p>"You won't? Then I'll yell again," said Granmar. And yell she did.</p> + +<p>"Hold up—do; I believe you now," said Prudence. She fanned the dying +coals with a straw fan, made up the fire, and prepared some +griddle-cakes. Granmar demanded fig syrup to eat with them; and devoured +six. Filled to repletion, she then suffered Prudence to change her day +cap for a nightcap, falling asleep almost before her head touched the +pillow.</p> + +<p>During this scene Nounce had sat quietly in her corner. Prudence now +went to her to see if she was frightened, for the girl was sometimes +much terrified by Granmar's outcries; she stroked her soft hair. She was +always looking for signs of intelligence in Nounce, and fancying that +she discovered them. Taking the girl's hand, she went with her to the +next room, where were their two narrow pallet beds. "You were very smart +to save the eggs for me to-day when Granmar wanted that omerlet," she +whispered, as she helped her to undress.</p> + +<p>Memory came back to Nounce; she smiled comprehendingly.</p> + +<p>Prudence waited until she was in bed; then she kissed her good-night, +and put out the candle.</p> + +<p>Her two charges asleep, Mrs. Guadagni the second opened the back door +softly and went out. It was not yet nine o'clock, a warm dark night; +though still September, the odors of autumn were already in the air, +coming from the September flowers, which have a pungency<a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> mingled with +their perfume, from the rank ripeness of the vegetables, from the aroma +of the ground after the first rains.</p> + +<p>"I could have made thirty cents a week more at the shop," she said to +herself, regretfully (she always translated the Italian money into +American or French). "In a month that would have been a dollar and +twenty cents! Well, there's no use thinking about it sence I can't go." +She bent over her vegetables, feeling of their leaves, and estimating +anew how many she could afford to sell, now that the family was so much +reduced in size. Then she paid a visit to her fig-trees. She had planted +these trees herself, and watched over their infancy with anxious care; +at the present moment they were loaded with fruit, and it seemed as if +she knew the position of each fig, so many times had she stood under the +boughs looking up at the slowly swelling bulbs. She had never before +been able to sell the fruit. But now she should be able, and the sale +would add a good many cents to the store of savings kept in her +work-box. This work-box, a possession of her youth, was lined with vivid +green paper, and had a colored lithograph of the Honorable Mrs. Norton +(taken as a Muse) on the inside of the cover; it held already three +francs and a half, that is seventy cents—an excellent sum when one +considered that only three weeks had passed since the happy day when she +had at last beheld the way open to saving regularly, laying by +regularly; many times had she begun to save, but she had never been able +to continue it. Now, with this small household, she should be able to +continue. The sale of the figs would probably double the savings already +in the work-box; she might even get eighty cents for them; and that +would make a dollar and fifty<a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a> cents in all! A fig fell to the ground. +"They're ripe," she thought; "they must be picked to-morrow." She felt +for the fallen fig in the darkness, and carrying it to the garden wall, +placed it in a dry niche where it would keep its freshness until she +could send it to town with the rest. Then she went to the hen-house. +"Smart of Nounce to save the eggs for me," she thought, laughing +delightedly to herself over this proof of the girl's intelligence. +"Granmar didn't need that omerlet one bit; I left out two tremenjous +lunches for her." She peered in; but could not see the hens in the +darkness. "If Granmar'd only eat the things we do!" her thoughts went +on. "But she's always possessed after everything that takes eggs. And +then she wants the very best coffee, and white sugar, and the best wine, +and fine flour and meal and oil—my! how much oil! But I wonder if <i>I</i> +couldn't stop eating something or other, steader pestering myself about +her? Let's see. I don't take wine nor coffee, so I can't stop them; but +I could stop soup meat, just for myself; and I will." Thus meditating, +she went slowly round to the open space before the house.</p> + +<p>To call it a space was a misnomer. The house stood at the apex of the +hill, and its garden by right extended as far down the descent in front +as it extended down the opposite descent behind, where Prudence had +planted her long rows of vegetables. But in this front space, not ten +feet distant from the house door, planted directly across the paved path +which came up from below, was the cow-shed, the intruding offensive +neighbor whose odors, gruntings (for it was now a pig-sty), and refuse +were constantly making themselves perceptible to one sense and another +through the open windows of the<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> dwelling behind. For the house had no +back windows; the small apertures which passed for windows were all in +front; in that climate it was impossible that they should be always +closed. How those odors choked Prudence Wilkin! It seemed as if she +could not respect herself while obliged to breathe them, as if she had +not respected herself (in the true Ledham way) since the pig-sty became +her neighbor.</p> + +<p>For fifty francs the owners would take it away; for another twenty or +thirty she could have "a front yard." But though she had made many +beginnings, she had never been able to save a tenth of the sum. None of +the family shared her feelings in the least; to spend precious money for +such a whim as that—only an American could be capable of it; but then, +as everybody knew, most Americans were mad. And why should Denza object +to pigs?</p> + +<p>Prudence therefore had been obliged to keep her longings to herself. But +this had only intensified them. And now when at last, after thinking of +it for sixteen years, she was free to begin to save daily and regularly, +she saw as in a vision her front yard completed as she would like to +have it: the cow-shed gone; "a nice straight path going down to the +front gate, set in a new paling fence; along the sides currant bushes; +and in the open spaces to the right and left a big flowerin' +shrub—snowballs, or Missouri currant; near the house a clump of +matrimony, perhaps; and in the flower beds on each side of the path +bachelor's-buttons, Chiny-asters, lady's-slippers, and pinks; the edges +bordered with box." She heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction as she +finished her mental review. But it was hardly mental after all; she saw +the gate, she saw the<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> straight path, she saw the currant bushes and the +box-bordered flower beds as distinctly as though they had really been +there.</p> + +<p>Cheered, almost joyous, she went within, locking the door behind her; +then, after softly placing the usual store of provisions beside +Granmar's bed (for Granmar had a habit of waking in the night to eat), +she sought her own couch. It was hard, but she stretched herself upon it +luxuriously. "The figs'll double the money," she thought, "and by this +time to-morrow I shall have a dollar and forty cents; mebby a dollar +fifty!" She fell asleep happily.</p> + +<p>Her contentment made her sleep soundly. Still it was not long after dawn +when she hurried down the hill to the town to get her supply of work +from the shop. Hastening back with it, she found Granmar clamoring for +her coffee, and Nounce, neatly dressed and clean (for so much Prudence +had succeeded in teaching her), sitting patiently in her corner. +Prudence's mind was full of a sale she had made; but she prepared the +coffee and Nounce's broth with her usual care; she washed her dishes, +and made Granmar tidy for the day; finally she arranged all her sewing +implements on the table by the window beside her pile of work. Now she +could give herself the luxury of one last look, one last estimate; for +she had made a miracle of a bargain for her figs. By ten o'clock the men +would be up to gather them.</p> + +<p>It was a hazy morning; butterflies danced before her as she hastened +towards the loaded trees. Reaching them, she looked up. The boughs were +bare. All the figs had been gathered in the night, or at earliest dawn.<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a></p> + +<p>"Pipper!" she murmured to herself.</p> + +<p>The ground under the trees was trampled.</p> + +<p>Seven weeks later, on the 16th of November, this same Prudence was +adding to her secreted store the fifteen cents needed to make the sum +ten francs exactly—that is, two dollars. "Ten francs, a fifth of the +whole! It seems 'most too lucky that I've got on so well, spite of +Pipper's taking the figs. If I can keep along this way, it'll <i>all</i> be +done by the Fourth of July; not just the cow-shed taken away, but the +front yard done too. My!" She sat down on a fagot to think it over. The +thought was rapture; she laughed to herself and at herself for being so +happy.</p> + +<p>Some one called, "Mamma." She came out, and found Jo Vanny looking for +her. Nounce and Jo Vanny were the only ones among the children who had +ever called her mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're up there in the shed, are you?" said Jo Vanny. "Somehow, +mamma, you look very gay."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm gay," answered Prudence. "Perhaps some of these days I'll tell +you why." In her heart she thought: "Jo Vanny, now, <i>he'd</i> understand; +he'd feel as I do if I should explain it to him. A nice front yard he +has never seen in all his life, for they don't have 'em <i>here</i>. But once +he knew what it was, he'd care about it as much as I do; I know he +would. He's sort of American, anyhow." It was the highest praise she +could give. The boy had his cap off; she smoothed his hair. "'Pears to +me you must have lost your comb," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have it all cut off as short as can be," announced Jo +Vanny, with a resolute air.</p> + +<p>"Oh no."<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a></p> + +<p>"Yes, I am. Some of the other fellows have had theirs cut that way, and +I'm going to, too," pursued the young stoic.</p> + +<p>He was eighteen, rather undersized and slender, handsome as to his face, +with large dark long-lashed eyes, well-cut features, white teeth, and +the curly hair which Prudence had smoothed. Though he had vowed them to +destruction, these love-locks were for the present arranged in the style +most approved in Assisi, one thick glossy flake being brought down low +over the forehead, so that it showed under his cap in a sentimental +wave. He did not look much like a hard-working carpenter as he stood +there dressed in dark clothes made in that singular exaggeration of the +fashions which one sees only in Italy. His trousers, small at the knee, +were large and wing-like at the ankle, half covering the tight shabby +shoes run down at the heel and absurdly short, which, however, as they +were made of patent-leather and sharply pointed at the toes, Jo Vanny +considered shoes of gala aspect. His low flaring collar was surrounded +by a red-satin cravat ornamented by a gilt horseshoe. He wore a ring on +the little finger of each hand. In his own eyes his attire was splendid.</p> + +<p>In the eyes of some one else also. To Prudence, as he stood there, he +looked absolutely beautiful; she felt all a mother's pride rise in her +heart as she surveyed him. But she must not let him see it, and she must +scold him for wearing his best clothes every day.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it was a festa," she began.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't. But one of the fellows has had a sister married, and they've +invited us all to a big supper to-night."</p> + +<p>"To-night isn't to-day, that I know of."<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a></p> + +<p>"Do you wish me to go all covered with sawdust?" said the little dandy, +with a disdainful air. "Besides, I wanted to come up here."</p> + +<p>"It is a good while sence we've seen you," Prudence admitted. In her +heart she was delighted that he had wished to come. "Have you had your +dinner, Jo Vanny?"</p> + +<p>"All I want. I'll take a bit of bread and some wine by-and-by. But you +needn't go to cooking for me, mamma. I say, tell me what it was that +made you look so glad?" said the boy, curiously.</p> + +<p>"Never you mind <i>now</i>," said Prudence, the gleam of content coming again +into her eyes, and lighting up her brown, wrinkled face. She was glad +that she had the ten francs; she was glad to see the boy; she was +touched by his unselfishness in declining her offer of a second dinner. +No other member of the family would have declined or waited to decline; +the others would have demanded some freshly cooked dish immediately upon +entering; Uncle Patro would have demanded three or four.</p> + +<p>"I've brought my mandolin," Jo Vanny went on. "I've got to take it to +the supper, of course, because they always want me to sing—I never can +get rid of 'em! And so you can hear me, if you like. I know the new +songs, and one of them I composed myself. Well, it's rather heavenly."</p> + +<p>All Tonio's children sang like birds. Poor Prudence, who had no ear for +music, had never been able to comprehend either the pleasure or the +profit of the hours they gave to their carollings. But when, in his +turn, her little Jo Vanny began his pipings, then she listened, or tried +to listen. "Real purty, Jo Vanny," she would<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a> say, when the silence of a +moment or two had assured her that his song was ended; it was her only +way of knowing—the silence.</p> + +<p>So now she brought her work out to the garden, and sewed busily while Jo +Vanny sang and thrummed. Nounce, too, came out, and sat on the wall near +by, listening.</p> + +<p>At length the little singer took himself off—took himself off with his +red-satin cravat, his horseshoe pin, and his mandolin under his arm. +Nounce went back to the house, but Prudence sat awhile longer, using, as +she always did, the very last rays of the sunset light for her sewing.</p> + +<p>After a while she heard a step, and looked up. "Why, Gooster!—anything +the matter?" she said, in surprise.</p> + +<p>Unlike the slender little Jo Vanny, Gooster was a large, stoutly built +young man, as slow in his motions as Jo Vanny was quick. He was a +lethargic fellow with sombre eyes, eyes which sometimes had a gleam in +them.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing especial the matter," he answered, dully. "I think I'll +go for a soldier, Denza."</p> + +<p>"Go for a soldier? And the per-dairy?"</p> + +<p>"I can't never go back to the podere. <i>She's</i> there, and she has taken +up with Matteo. I've had my heart trampled upon, and so I've got a big +hankering either to kill somebody or get killed myself; and I'll either +do it here, or I'll go for a soldier and get knifed in the war."</p> + +<p>"Mercy on us! there isn't any war now," said Prudence, dazed by these +sanguinary suggestions.</p> + +<p>"There's always a war. What else are there soldiers<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> for? And there's +lots of soldiers. But I could get knifed here easy enough; Matteo and +I—already we've had one tussle; I gave him a pretty big cut, you may +depend."</p> + +<p>Seventeen years earlier Prudence Wilkin would have laughed at the idea +of being frightened by such words as these. But Mrs. Tonio Guadagni had +heard of wild deeds in Assisi, and wilder ones still among the peasants +of the hill country roundabout; these singing, indolent Umbrians dealt +sometimes in revenges that were very direct and primitive.</p> + +<p>"You let Matteo alone, Gooster," she said, putting her hand on his arm; +"you go straight over to Perugia and stay there. Perhaps you can get +work where Parlo and Squawly are."</p> + +<p>"I shall have it out with Matteo here, or else go for a soldier +to-morrow," answered Gooster, in his lethargic tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, go for a soldier, then."</p> + +<p>"It don't make much difference to me which I do," Gooster went on, as if +only half awake. "If I go for a soldier, I shall have to get to Florence +somehow, I suppose; I shall have to have ten francs for the railroad."</p> + +<p>"Is it ten exactly?" said Prudence. Her mind flew to her work-box, which +held just that sum.</p> + +<p>"It's ten."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you got any money at all, Gooster?" She meant to help him on +his way; but she thought that she should like to keep, if possible, a +nest-egg to begin with again—say twenty cents, or ten.</p> + +<p>Gooster felt in his pockets. "Three soldi," he replied, producing some +copper coins and counting them over.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p022_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p022_sml.jpg" width="550" height="342" alt=""NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, +LISTENING"" title="NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, +LISTENING" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, +LISTENING"</span> +</p> + +<p><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a></p> + +<p>"And there's nothing due you at the per-dairy?"</p> + +<p>There was no necessity for answering such a foolish question as this, +and Gooster did not answer it.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will give you the money," said Prudence. "But to-morrow'll do, +won't it? Stay here a day or two, and we'll talk it over."</p> + +<p>While she was speaking, Gooster had turned and walked towards the garden +wall. The sight of his back going from her—as though she should never +see it again—threw her into a sudden panic; she ran after him and +seized his arm. "I'll give you the money, Gooster; I told you I would; +I've got it all ready, and it won't take a minute; promise me that you +won't leave this garden till I come back."</p> + +<p>Gooster had had no thought of leaving the garden; he had espied a last +bunch of grapes still hanging on the vine, and was going to get it; that +was all. "All right," he said.</p> + +<p>Prudence disappeared. He gathered the grapes and began to eat them, +turning over the bunch to see which were best. Before he had finished, +Prudence came back, breathless with the haste she had made. "Here," she +said; "and now you'll go straight to Florence, won't you? There's a +train to-night, very soon now; you must hurry down and take that."</p> + +<p>He let her put the money in his coat-pocket while he finished the +grapes. Then he threw the stem carefully over the garden wall.</p> + +<p>"And no doubt you'll be a brave soldier," Prudence went on, trying to +speak hopefully. "Brave soldiers are thought a heap of everywhere."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I care what's thought," answered Gooster, +indifferently. He took up his cap and put it<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> on. "Well, good-bye, +Denza. Best wishes to you. Every happiness." He shook hands with her.</p> + +<p>Prudence stood waiting where she was for five minutes; then she followed +him. It was already dark; she went down the hill rapidly, and turned +into the narrow main street. A few lamps were lighted. She hastened +onward, hoping every minute to distinguish somewhere in front a tall +figure with slouching gait. At last, where the road turns to begin the +long descent to the plain, she did distinguish it. Yes, that was +certainly Gooster; he was going down the hill towards the railway +station. All was well, then; she could dismiss her anxiety. She returned +through the town. Stopping for a moment at an open space, she gazed down +upon the vast valley, now darkening into night; here suddenly a fear +came over her—he might have turned round and come back! She hurried +through the town a second time, and not meeting him, started down the +hill. The road went down in long zigzags. As she turned each angle she +expected to see him; but she did not see him, and finally she reached +the plain: there were the lights of the station facing her. She drew +near cautiously, nearer and nearer, until, herself unseen in the +darkness, she could peer through the window into the lighted +waiting-room. If he was there, she could see him; but if he was on the +platform on the other side—No; he was there. She drew a long breath of +relief, and stole away.</p> + +<p>A short distance up the hill a wheelbarrow loaded with stones had been +left by the side of the road; she sat down on the stones to rest, for +the first time realizing how tired she was. The train came rushing +along; stopped; went on again. She watched it as long as<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> she could see +its lights. Then she rose and turned slowly up the hill, beginning her +long walk home. "My," she thought, "won't Granmar be in a tantrum, +though!"</p> + +<p>When she reached the house she made a circuit, and came through the +garden behind towards the back door. "I don't want to see the front yard +<i>to-night</i>!" she thought.</p> + +<p>But she was rather ashamed of this egotism.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>"And they say they'll put me in prison—oh—ow!—an old man, a good old +man, a suffering son of humanity like me!" moaned Uncle Pietro.</p> + +<p>"An old man, a good old man, a suffering son of humanity like <i>him</i>," +repeated Granmar, shrilly, proud of this fine language.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she brandished her lean arms. "You Denza there, with your +stored-up money made from <i>my</i> starvation—yam!—mine, how dare you be +so silent, figure of a mule? Starvation! yes, indeed. Wait and I'll show +you my arms, Pietro; wait and I'll show you my ribs—yam!"</p> + +<p>"You keep yourself covered up, Granmar," said Prudence, tucking her in; +"you'll do yourself a mischief in this cold weather."</p> + +<p>"Ahi!" said Granmar, "and do I care? If I could live to see you drowned, +I'd freeze and be glad. Stored-up money! stored-up money!"</p> + +<p>"What do you know of my money?" said Prudence. Her voice trembled a +little.</p> + +<p>"She confesses it!" announced Granmar, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"An old ma—an," said Pietro, crouching over<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> Nounce's scaldino. "A good +old ma—an. But—accommodate yourself."</p> + +<p>Prudence sat down and took up her sewing. "I don't believe they'll put +you in jail at all, Patro," she said; "'twon't do 'em any good, and what +they want is their money. You just go to 'em and say that you'll do +day's work for 'em till it's made up, and they'll let you off, I'll bet. +Nine francs, is it? Well, at half a franc a day you can make it up full +in eighteen days; or call it twenty-four with the festas."</p> + +<p>"The Americans are all mercenary," remarked old Pietro, waving his hand +in scorn. "Being themselves always influenced by gain, they cannot +understand lofty motives nor the cold, glittering anger of the nobility. +The Leoncinis are noble; they are of the old Count's blood. They do not +want their money; they want revenge—they want to rack my bones."</p> + +<p>Granmar gave a long howl.</p> + +<p>"Favor me, my niece, with no more of your mistakes," concluded Pietro, +with dignity.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe they'd refuse," said Prudence, unmoved. "I'll go and +ask 'em myself, if you like; that'll be the best way. I'll go right away +now." She began to fold up her work.</p> + +<p>At this Pietro, after putting the scaldino safely on the stove, fell +down in a round heap on the floor. Never were limbs so suddenly +contorted and tangled; he clawed the bricks so fiercely with his fingers +that Nounce, frightened, left her bench and ran into the next room.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you? I never saw such a man," said Prudence, +trying to raise him.</p> + +<p>"Let be! let be!" called out Granmar; "it's a stroke;<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> and you've +brought it on, talking to him about working, working all day long like a +horse—a good old man like that."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it's a stroke," said Prudence, still trying to get him +up.</p> + +<p>"My opinion is," said Granmar, sinking into sudden calm, "that he will +die in ten minutes—exactly ten."</p> + +<p>His face had indeed turned very red.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! I suppose I shall have to run down for the doctor," said +Prudence, desisting. "Perhaps he'd ought to be bled."</p> + +<p>"You leave the doctor alone, and ease his mind," directed Granmar; +"that's what he needs, sensitive as he is, and poetical too, poor +fellow. You just shout in his ear that you'll pay that money, and you'll +be surprised to see how it'll loosen his joints."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Guadagni surveyed the good old uncle for a moment. Then she bent +over him and shouted in his ear, "I'll make you a hot fig-tart right +away now, Patro, if you'll set up."</p> + +<p>As she finished these words Granmar threw her scaldino suddenly into the +centre of the kitchen, where it broke with a crash upon the bricks.</p> + +<p>"He's going to get up," announced Prudence, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"He isn't any such thing; 'twas the scaldino shook him," responded +Granmar, in a loud, admonitory tone. "He'll never get up again in <i>this</i> +world unless you shout in his ear that you'll pay that money."</p> + +<p>And in truth Pietro was now more knotted than ever.</p> + +<p>At this moment the door opened and Jo Vanny came in. "Why, what's the +matter with uncle?" he said, seeing<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> the figure on the floor. He bent +over him and tried to ease his position.</p> + +<p>"It's a stroke," said Granmar, in a soft voice. "It'll soon be over. +Hush! leave him in peace. He's dying; Denza there, she did it."</p> + +<p>"They want me to pay the nine francs he has—lost," said Prudence. +"Perhaps you have heard, Jo Vanny, that he has—lost nine francs that +belonged to the Leoncinis? Nine whole francs." She looked at the lad, +and he understood the look; for only the day before she had confided to +him at last her long-cherished dream, and (as she had been sure he +would) he had sympathized with it warmly.</p> + +<p>"I declare I wish I had even a franc!" he said, searching his pockets +desperately; "but I've only got a cigarette. Will you try a cigarette, +uncle?" he shouted in the heap's ear.</p> + +<p>"Don't you mock him," ordered Granmar (but Jo Vanny had been entirely in +earnest). "He'll die soon, and Denza will be rid of him; that's what she +wants. 'Twill be murder, of course; and he'll haunt us—he's always said +he'd haunt somebody. But <i>I</i> ain't long for this world, so I ain't +disturbed. Heaven's waiting wide open for <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>Jo Vanny looked a little frightened. He hesitated a moment, surveying +the motionless Pietro; then he drew Prudence aside. "He's an awful +wicked old man, and might really do it," he whispered; "'specially as +you ain't a Catholic, mamma. I think you'd better give him the money if +it'll stop him off; <i>I</i> don't mind, but it would be bad for you if he +should come rapping on your windows and showing corpse-lights in the +garden by-and-by."<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a></p> + +<p>Prudence brought her hands together sharply—a gesture of exasperation. +"He ain't going to die any more than I am," she said. But she knew what +life would be in that house with such a threat hanging over it, even +though the execution were deferred to some vague future time. Angrily +she left the room.</p> + +<p>Jo Vanny followed her. "Come along, if you want to," she said, half +impatient, half glad. She felt a sudden desire that some one besides +herself should see the sacrifice, see the actual despoiling of the +little box she had labored to fill. She went to the wood-shed. It was a +gloomy December day, and the vegetables hanging on the walls had a +dreary, stone-like look; she climbed up on a barrel, and removed the hay +which filled a rough shelf; in a niche behind was her work-box; with it +in her hand she climbed down again.</p> + +<p>She gave him the box to hold while she counted out the money—nine +francs. "There are twelve in all," she said.</p> + +<p>"Then you'll have three left," said Jo Vanny.</p> + +<p>"Yes, three." She could not help a sigh of retrospect, the outgoing nine +represented so many long hours of toil.</p> + +<p>"Let me put the box back," said the boy. It was quickly and deftly done. +"Never mind about it, mamma," he said, as he jumped down. "<i>I</i>'ll help +you to make it up again. I want that front yard as much as you do, now +you've told me about it; I think it will be beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Prudence, "when the flower-beds are all fixed up, and the +new front path and swing gate, it <i>will</i> be kind of nice, I reckon."<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a></p> + +<p>"Nice?" said Jo Vanny. "That's not the word. 'Twill be an ecstasy! a +smile! a dream!"</p> + +<p>"Bless the boy, what nonsense he talks!" said the step-mother. But she +loved to hear his romantic phrases all the same.</p> + +<p>They went back to the kitchen. The sacrifice had now become a cheerful +one. She bent over the heap. "Here's your nine francs, Patro," she +shouted. "Come, now, come!"</p> + +<p>Pietro felt the money in his hand. He rose quietly. "I'm nearly killed +with all your yelling," he said. Then he took his hat and left the +house.</p> + +<p>"We did yell," said Prudence, picking up the fragments of the broken +scaldino. "I don't quite know why we did."</p> + +<p>"Never mind why-ing, but get supper," said Granmar. "Then go down on +your knees and thank the Virgin for giving us such a merciful, mild old +man as Pietro. You brought on his stroke; but what did he do? He just +took what you gave him, and went away so forgivingly—the soul of a +dove, the spice-cake soul!"</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>In January, the short, sharp winter of Italy had possession of Assisi.</p> + +<p>One day towards the last of the month a bitter wind was driving through +the bleak, stony little street, sending clouds of gritty, frozen dust +before it. The dark, fireless dwellings were colder than the outside +air, and the people, swathed in heavy layers of clothing, to which all +sorts of old cloaks and shawls and mufflers had been added, were +standing about near the open doors of their shops and dwellings, various +prominences under apron or coat betraying the hidden scaldino, the +earthen dish<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> which Italians tightly hug in winter with the hope that +the few coals it contains will keep their benumbed fingers warm. All +faces were reddened and frost-bitten. The hands of the children who were +too young to hold a scaldino were purple-black.</p> + +<p>Prudence Guadagni, with her great basket strapped on her back, came +along, receiving but two or three greetings as she passed. Few knew her; +fewer still liked her, for was she not a foreigner and a pagan? Besides, +what could you do with a woman who drank water, simple water, like a +toad, and never touched wine—a woman who did not like oil, good, sweet, +wholesome oil! Tonio's children were much commiserated for having fallen +into such hands.</p> + +<p>Prudence was dressed as she had been in September, save that she now +wore woollen stockings and coarse shoes, and tightly pinned round her +spare person a large shawl. This shawl (she called it "my Highland +shawl") had come with her from America; it was green in hue, plaided; +she thought it still very handsome. Her step was not as light as it had +been; rheumatism had crippled her sorely.</p> + +<p>As she left the town and turned up the hill towards home, some one who +had been waiting there joined her. "Is that you, Bepper? Were you coming +up to the house?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Beppa, showing her white teeth in a smile. "I'm bringing +you some news, Denza."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? I hope you're not going to leave your place?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to leave it, and that's my news: I'm going to be married."</p> + +<p>"My! it's sudden, isn't it?" said Prudence, stopping.<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a></p> + +<p>"Giuseppe doesn't think it's sudden," said Beppa, laughing and tossing +her head; "he thinks I've been ages making up my mind. Come on, Denza, +do; it's so cold!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know Giuseppe, do I?" said Prudence, trudging on again; "I +don't remember the name."</p> + +<p>"No; I've never brought him up to the house. But the boys know +him—Paolo and Pasquale; Augusto, too. He's well off, Giuseppe is; he's +got beautiful furniture. He's a first-rate mason, and gets good wages, +so I sha'n't have to work any more—I mean go out to work as I do now."</p> + +<p>"Bepper, do you <i>like</i> him?" said Prudence, stopping again. She took +hold of the girl's wrist and held it tightly.</p> + +<p>"Of course I like him," said Beppa, freeing herself. "How cold your +hands are, Denza—ugh!"</p> + +<p>"You ain't marrying him for his furniture? You love him for himself—and +better than any one else in the whole world?" Prudence went on, +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how comical you do look, standing there talking about love, with +your white hair and your great big basket!" said Beppa, breaking into +irrepressible laughter. The cold had not made her hideous, as it makes +so many Italians hideous; her face was not empurpled, her fine features +were not swollen. She looked handsome. What was even more attractive on +such a day, she looked warm. As her merriment ceased, a sudden change +came over her. "Sainted Maria! she doubts whether I love him! Love him? +Why, you poor old woman, I'd die for him to-morrow. I'd cut myself in +pieces for him this minute." Her great black eyes<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> gleamed; the color +flamed in her oval cheeks; she gave a rich, angry laugh.</p> + +<p>It was impossible to doubt her, and Prudence did not doubt. "Well, I'm +right down glad, Bepper," she said, in a softened tone—"right down +glad, my dear." She was thinking of her own love for the girl's father.</p> + +<p>"I was coming up," continued Beppa, "because I thought I'd better talk +it over with you."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Prudence, cordially. "A girl can't get married all +alone; nobody ever heard of that."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't be much alone, for Giuseppe's family's a very big one; too +big, I tell him—ten brothers and sisters. But they're all well off, +that's one comfort. Of course I don't want to shame 'em."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Prudence, assenting again. Then, with the awakened +memories still stirring in her heart: "It's a pity your father isn't +here now," she said, in a moved tone; "he'd have graced a wedding, +Bepper, he was so handsome." She seldom spoke of Tonio; the subject was +too sacred; but it seemed to her as if she might venture a few words to +this his daughter on the eve of her own marriage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a pity, I suppose," answered Beppa. "Still, he would have +been an old man now. And 'tain't likely he would have had a good coat +either—that is, not such a one as I should call good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he would; I'd have made him one," responded Prudence, with a spark +of anger. "This whole basket's full of coats now."</p> + +<p>"I know you're wonderful clever with your needle," said the girl, +glancing carelessly at the basket that weighed down her step-mother's +shoulders. "I can't<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> think how you can sew so steadily, year in, year +out; I never could."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've had to get stronger spectacles," Prudence confessed. "And +they wouldn't take my old ones in exchange, neither, though they were +perfectly good."</p> + +<p>"They're robbers, all of them, at that shop," commented Beppa, +agreeingly.</p> + +<p>"Now, about your clothes, Bepper—when are you going to begin? I suppose +you'll come home for a while, so as to have time to do 'em; I can help +you some, and Nounce too; Nounce can sew a little."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I'll come home; 'twouldn't pay me. About the +clothes—I'm going to buy 'em."</p> + +<p>"They won't be half so good," Prudence began. Then she stopped. "I'm +very glad you've got the money laid up, my dear," she said, +commendingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I haven't," answered Beppa, laughing. "I want to borrow it of +you; that is what I came up for to-day—to tell you about it."</p> + +<p>Prudence, her heart still softened, looked at the handsome girl with +gentle eyes. "Why, of course I'll lend it to you, Bepper," she said. +"How much do you want?"</p> + +<p>"All you've got won't be any too much, I reckon," answered Beppa, with +pride. "I shall have to have things nice, you know; I don't want to +shame 'em."</p> + +<p>"I've got twenty-five francs," said Prudence; "I mean I've got that +amount saved and put away; 'twas for—for a purpose—something I was +going to do; but 'tain't important; you can have it and welcome." Her +old face, as she said this, looked almost young again. "You see, I'm so +glad to have you happy," she went on. "And I can't help thinking—if +your father had<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a> only lived—the first wedding in his family! However, +<i>I'll</i> come—just as though I was your real mother, dear; you sha'n't +miss that. I've got my Sunday gown, and five francs will buy me a pair +of new shoes; I can earn 'em before the day comes, I guess."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you can't," said Beppa, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Why, when's the wedding? Not for two or three weeks, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"It's day after to-morrow," answered Beppa. "Everything's bought, and +all I want is the money to pay for 'em; I knew I could get it of you."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! how quick! And these shoes are really too bad; they're clear +wore out, and all the cleaning in the world won't make 'em decent."</p> + +<p>"Well, Denza, why do you want to come? You don't know any of Giuseppe's +family. To tell the truth, I never supposed you'd care about coming, and +the table's all planned out for (at Giuseppe's sister's), and there +ain't no place for you."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't have one saved?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought you'd care to come. You see they're different, they're +all well off, and you don't like people who are well off—who wear nice +clothes. You never wanted us to have nice clothes, and you like to go +barefoot."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't!" said Prudence.</p> + +<p>"'Tany rate, one would think you did; you always go so in summer. But +even if you had new shoes, none of your clothes would be good enough; +that bonnet, now—"</p> + +<p>"My bonnet? Surely my <i>bonnet's</i> good?" said the New England woman; her +voice faltered, she was struck on a tender point.<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a></p> + +<p>"Well, people laugh at it," answered Beppa, composedly.</p> + +<p>They had now reached the house. "You go in," said Prudence; "I'll come +presently."</p> + +<p>She went round to the wood-shed, unstrapped her basket, and set it down; +then she climbed up on the barrel, removed the hay, and took out her +work-box. Emptying its contents into her handkerchief, she descended, +and, standing there, counted the sum—twenty-seven francs, thirty +centimes. "'Twon't be any too much; she don't want to shame 'em." She +made a package of the money with a piece of brown paper, and, entering +the kitchen, she slipped it unobserved into Beppa's hand.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me," announced Granmar from the bed, "that when a girl comes +to tell her own precious Granmar of her <i>wedding</i>, she ought in decency +to be offered a bite of something to eat. Any one but Denza would think +so. Not that it's anything to me."</p> + +<p>"Very well, what will you have?" asked Prudence, wearily. Freed from her +bonnet and shawl, it could be seen that her once strong figure was much +bent; her fingers had grown knotted, enlarged at the joints, and clumsy; +years of toil had not aged her so much as these recent nights—such long +nights!—of cruel rheumatic pain.</p> + +<p>Granmar, in a loud voice, immediately named a succulent dish; Prudence +began to prepare it. Before it was ready, Jo Vanny came in.</p> + +<p>"You knew I was up here, and you've come mousing up for an invitation," +said Beppa, in high good-humor. "I was going to stop and invite you on +my<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> way back, Giovanni; there's a nice place saved for you at the +supper."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I knew you were up here, and I've brought you a wedding-present," +answered the boy. "I've brought one for mamma, too." And he produced two +silk handkerchiefs, one of bright colors, the other of darker hue.</p> + +<p>"Is the widow going to be married, too?" said Beppa. "Who under heaven's +the man?"</p> + +<p>In spite of the jesting, Prudence's face showed that she was pleased; +she passed her toil-worn hand over the handkerchief softly, almost as +though its silk were the cheek of a little child. The improvised feast +was turned into a festival now, and of her own accord she added a second +dish; the party, Granmar at the head, devoured unknown quantities. When +at last there was nothing left, Beppa, carrying her money, departed.</p> + +<p>"You know, Jo Vanny, you hadn't ought to leave your work so often," said +Prudence, following the boy into the garden when he took leave; she +spoke in an expostulating tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've got money," said Jo Vanny, loftily; "<i>I</i> needn't crawl." And +carelessly he showed her a gold piece.</p> + +<p>But this sudden opulence only alarmed the step-mother. "Why, where did +you get that?" she said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"How frightened you look! Your doubts offend me," pursued Jo Vanny, +still with his grand air. "Haven't I capacities?—hasn't Heaven sent me +a swarming genius? Wasn't I the acclaimed, even to laurel crowns, of my +entire class?"</p> + +<p><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>This was true: Jo Vanny was the only one of Tonio's children who had +profited by the new public schools.</p> + +<p>"And now what shall I get for you, mamma?" the boy went on, his tone +changing to coaxing; "I want to get you something real nice; what will +you have? A new dress to go to Beppa's wedding in?"</p> + +<p>For an instant Prudence's eyes were suffused. "I ain't going, Jo Vanny; +they don't want me."</p> + +<p>"They <i>shall</i> want you!" declared Jo Vanny, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that; I don't want to go anyhow; I've got too much +rheumatism. You don't know," she went on, drawn out of herself for a +moment by the need of sympathy—"you don't know how it does grip me at +night sometimes, Jo Vanny! No; you go to the supper, and tell me all +about it afterwards; I like to hear you tell about things just as well +as to go myself."</p> + +<p>Jo Vanny passed his hand through his curly locks with an air of +desperation. "There it is again—my gift of relating, of narrative; it +follows me wherever I go. What will become of me with such talents? I +shall never die in my bed; nor have my old age in peace."</p> + +<p>"You go 'long!" said Prudence (or its Italian equivalent). She gave him +a push, laughing.</p> + +<p>Jo Vanny drew down his cap, put his hands deep in his pockets, and thus +close-reefed scudded down the hill in the freezing wind to the shelter +of the streets below.</p> + +<p>By seven o'clock Nounce and Granmar were both asleep; it was the most +comfortable condition in such weather. Prudence adjusted her lamp, put +on her strong spectacles, and sat down to sew. The great brick stove +gave out no warmth; it was not intended<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a> to heat the room; its three +yards of length and one yard of breadth had apparently been constructed +for the purpose of holding and heating one iron pot. The scaldino at her +feet did not keep her warm; she put on her Highland shawl. After a +while, as her head (scantily covered with thin white hair) felt the cold +also, she went to get her bonnet. As she took it from the box she +remembered Beppa's speech, and the pang came back; in her own mind that +bonnet had been the one link that still united her with her old Ledham +respectability, the one possession that distinguished her from all these +"papish" peasants, with their bare heads and frowzy hair. It was not +new, of course, as it had come with her from home. But what signified an +old-fashioned shape in a community where there were no shapes of any +kind, new or old? At least it was always a bonnet. She put it on, even +now from habit pulling out the strings carefully, and pinning the loops +on each side of her chin. Then she went back and sat down to her work +again.</p> + +<p>At eleven o'clock Granmar woke. "Yam! how cold my legs are! Denza, are +you there? You give me that green shawl of yours directly; precisely, I +am dying."</p> + +<p>Prudence came out from behind her screen, lamp in hand. "I've got it on, +Granmar; it's so cold setting up sewing. I'll get you the blanket from +my bed."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it; it's as hard as a brick. You give me that shawl; if +you've got it on, it'll be so much the warmer."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you my other flannel petticoat," suggested Prudence.</p> + +<p>"And I'll tear it into a thousand pieces," responded<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> Granmar, +viciously. "You give me that shawl, or the next time you leave Nounce +alone here, <i>she</i> shall pay for it."</p> + +<p>Granmar was capable of frightening poor little Nounce into spasms. +Prudence took off the shawl and spread it over the bed, while Granmar +grinned silently.</p> + +<p>Carrying the lamp, Prudence went into the bedroom to see what else she +could find to put on. She first tried the blanket from her bed; but as +it was a very poor one, partly cotton, it was stiff (as Granmar had +said), and would not stay pinned; the motion of her arms in sewing would +constantly loosen it. In the way of wraps, except her shawl, she +possessed almost nothing; so she put on another gown over the one she +wore, pinned her second flannel petticoat round her shoulders, and over +that a little cloak that belonged to Nounce; then she tied a woollen +stocking round her throat, and crowned with her bonnet, and carrying the +blanket to put over her knees, she returned to her work.</p> + +<p>"I declare I'm clean tired out," she said to herself; "my feet are like +ice. I wouldn't sew any longer such a bitter night if it warn't that +that work-box 'ain't got a thing in it. I can't bear to think of it +empty. But as soon as I've got a franc or two to begin with again, I'll +stop these extry hours."</p> + +<p>But they lasted on this occasion until two o'clock.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>"It don't seem as if I'd ever known it <i>quite</i> so baking as it is +to-night." It was Prudence who spoke; she spoke to Nounce; she must +speak to some one.</p> + +<p>Nounce answered with one of her patient smiles. She often smiled +patiently, as though it were something which she was expected to do.<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a></p> + +<p>Prudence was sitting in the wood-shed resting; she had been down to town +to carry home some work. Now the narrow streets there, thrown into shade +by the high buildings on each side, were a refuge from the heat; now the +dark houses, like burrows, gave relief to eyes blinded by the yellow +glare. It was the 30th of August. From the first day of April the broad +valley and this brown hill had simmered in the hot light, which filled +the heavens and lay over the earth day after day, without a change, +without a cloud, relentless, splendid; each month the ground had grown +warmer and drier, the roads more white, more deep in dust; insect life, +myriad legged and winged, had been everywhere; under the stones lurked +the scorpions.</p> + +<p>In former summers here this never-ending light, the long days of burning +sunshine, the nights with the persistent moon, the importunate +nightingales, and the magnificent procession of the stars had sometimes +driven the New England woman almost mad; she had felt as if she must +bury her head in the earth somewhere to find the blessed darkness again, +to feel its cool pressure against her tired eyes. But this year these +things had not troubled her; the possibility of realizing her +long-cherished hope at last had made the time seem short, had made the +heat nothing, the light forgotten; each day, after fifteen hours of +toil, she had been sorry that she could not accomplish more.</p> + +<p>But she had accomplished much; the hope was now almost a reality. +"Nounce," she said, "do you know I'm 'most too happy to live. I shall +have to tell you: I've got <i>all</i> the money saved up at last, and the +men<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a> are coming to-morrow to take away the cow-shed. Think of that!"</p> + +<p>Nounce thought of it; she nodded appreciatively.</p> + +<p>Prudence took the girl's slender hand in hers and went on: "Yes, +to-morrow. And it'll cost forty-eight francs. But with the two francs +for wine-money it will come to fifty in all. By this time to-morrow +night it will be gone!" She drew in her breath with a satisfied sound. +"I've got seventy-five francs in all, Nounce. When Bepper married, of +course I knew I couldn't get it done for Fourth of July. And so I +thought I'd try for Thanksgiving—that is, Thanksgiving <i>time</i>; I never +know the exact day now. Well, here it's only the last day of August, and +the cow-shed will be gone to-morrow. Then will come the new fence; and +then the fun, the real fun, Nounce, of laying out our front yard! It'll +have a nice straight path down to the gate, currant bushes in neat rows +along the sides, two big flowerin' shrubs, and little flower beds +bordered with box. I tell you you won't know your own house when you +come in a decent gate and up a nice path to the front door; all these +years we've been slinking in and out of a back door, just as though we +didn't have no front one. I don't believe myself in tramping in and out +of a front door <i>every</i> day; but on Sundays, now, when we have on our +best clothes, we shall come in and out respectably. You'll feel like +another person, Nounce; and I'm sure <i>I</i> shall—I shall feel like Ledham +again—my!" And Prudence actually laughed.</p> + +<p>Still holding Nounce's hand, she went round to the front of the house.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p042_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p042_sml.jpg" width="368" height="550" alt=""STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT +OF THE HOUSE"" title="STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT +OF THE HOUSE" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT +OF THE HOUSE"</span> +</p> + +<p>The cow-shed was shedding forth its usual odors; Prudence took a stone +and struck a great resounding<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> blow on its side. She struck with so +much force that she hurt her hand. "Never mind—it done me good!" she +said, laughing again.</p> + +<p>She took little Nounce by the arm and led her down the descent. "I shall +have to make the front walk all over," she explained. "And here'll be +the gate, down here—a swing one. And the path will go from here +straight up to the door. Then the fence will go along here—palings, you +know, painted white; a good clean American white, with none of these +yellows in it, you may depend. And over there—and there—along the +sides, the fence will be just plain boards, notched at the top; the +currant bushes will run along there. In the middle, here—and here—will +be the big flowerin' shrubs. And then the little flower-beds bordered +with box. Oh, Nounce, I can't hardly believe it—it will be so +beautiful! I really can't!"</p> + +<p>Nounce waited a moment. Then she came closer to her step-mother, and +after looking quickly all about her, whispered, "You needn't if you +don't want to; there's here yet to believe."</p> + +<p>"It's just as good as here," answered Prudence, almost indignantly. +"I've got the money, and the bargain's all made; nothing could be surer +than that."</p> + +<p>The next morning Nounce was awakened by the touch of a hand on her +shoulder. It was her step-mother. "I've got to go down to town," she +said, in a low tone. "You must try to get Granmar's breakfast yourself, +Nounce; do it as well as you can. And—and I've changed my mind about +the front yard; it'll be done some time, but not now. And we won't talk +any more about it for the present, Nounce; that'll please me<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> most; and +you're a good girl, and always want to please me, I know."</p> + +<p>She kissed her, and went out softly.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>In October three Americans came to Assisi. Two came to sketch the Giotto +frescos in the church of St. Francis; the third came for her own +entertainment; she read Symonds, and wandered about exploring the +ancient town.</p> + +<p>One day her wanderings led her to the little Guadagni house on the +height. The back gate was open, and through it she saw an old woman +staggering, then falling, under the weight of a sack of potatoes which +she was trying to carry on her back.</p> + +<p>The American rushed in to help her. "It's much too heavy for you," she +said, indignantly, after she had given her assistance. "Oh dear—I mean, +<i>è troppo grave</i>," she added, elevating her voice.</p> + +<p>"Are you English?" said the old woman. "I'm an American myself; but I +ain't deef. The sack warn't too heavy; it's only that I ain't so strong +as I used to be—it's perfectly redeculous!"</p> + +<p>"You're not strong at all," responded the stranger, still indignantly, +looking at the wasted old face and trembling hands.</p> + +<p>A week later Prudence was in bed, and an American nurse was in charge.</p> + +<p>This nurse, whose name was Baily, was a calm woman with long strong +arms, monotonous voice, and distinct New England pronunciation; her +Italian (which was grammatically correct) was delivered in the vowels of +Vermont.</p> + +<p>One day, soon after her arrival, she remarked to Granmar,<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> "That yell of +yours, now—that yam—is a very unusual thing."</p> + +<p>"My sufferings draw it from me," answered Granmar, flattered by the +adjective used. "I'm a very pious woman; I don't want to swear."</p> + +<p>"I think I have never heard it equalled, except possibly in lunatic +asylums," Marilla Baily went on. "I have had a great deal to do with +lunatic asylums; I am what is called an expert; that is, I find out +people who are troublesome, and send them there; I never say much about +it, but just make my observations; then, when I've got the papers out, +whiff!—off they go."</p> + +<p>Granmar put her hand over her mouth apprehensively, and surveyed her in +silence. From that time the atmosphere of the kitchen was remarkably +quiet.</p> + +<p>Marilla Baily had come from Florence at the bidding of the American who +had helped to carry the potatoes. This American was staying at the +Albergo del Subasio with her friends who were sketching Giotto; but she +spent most of her time with Prudence Wilkin.</p> + +<p>"You see, I minded it because it was <i>him</i>," Prudence explained to her +one day, at the close of a long conversation. "For I'd always been so +fond of the boy; I had him first when he warn't but two years old—just +a baby—and <i>so</i> purty and cunning! He always called me mamma—the only +one of the children, 'cept poor Nounce there, that really seemed to care +for me. And I cared everything for him. I went straight down to town and +hunted all over. But he warn't to be found. I tried it the next day, and +the next, not saying what I wanted, of course; but nobody knew where he +was, and at last I made up my mind that he'd gone away. For three weeks +I waited; I was almost dead; I couldn't<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> do nothing; I felt as if I was +broke in two, and only the skin held me together. Every morning I'd say +to myself, 'There'll certainly come a letter to-day, and he'll tell me +all about it.' But the letter didn't come, and didn't come. From the +beginning, of course, I knew it was him—I couldn't help but know; Jo +Vanny was the only person in the whole world that knew where it was. For +I'd showed it to him one day—the work-box, I mean—and let him put it +back in the hole behind the hay—'twas the time I took the money out for +Patro. At last I did get a letter, and he said as how he'd meant to put +it back the very next morning, sure. But something had happened, so he +couldn't, and so he'd gone away. And now he was working just as hard as +he could, he said, so as to be able to pay it back soon; he hardly +played on his mandolin at all now, he said, he was working so hard. You +see, he wasn't bad himself, poor little fellow, but he was led away by +bad men; gambling's an awful thing, once you get started in it, and he +was sort of <i>drove</i> to take that money, meaning all the while to pay it +back. Well, of course I felt ever so much better just as soon as I got +that letter. And I began to work again. But I didn't get on as well as +I'd oughter; I can't understand why. That day, now, when I first saw +you—when you ran in to help me—I hadn't been feeling sick at all; +there warn't no sense in my tumbling down that way all of a sudden."</p> + +<p>One lovely afternoon in November Prudence's bed was carried out to the +front of the dark little house.</p> + +<p>The cow-shed was gone. A straight path, freshly paved, led down to a +swing gate set in a new paling fence, flower beds bordered the path, and +in the centre of the open spaces on each side there was a large rose<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> +bush. The fence was painted a glittering white; there had been an +attempt at grass; currant bushes in straight rows bordered the two +sides.</p> + +<p>Prudence lay looking at it all in peaceful silence. "It's mighty purty," +she said at last, with grateful emphasis. "It's everything I planned to +have, and a great deal nicer than I could have done it myself, though I +thought about it goodness knows how many years!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not surprised that you thought about it," the American answered. +"It was the view you were longing for—fancy its having been cut off so +long by that miserable stable! But now you have it in perfection."</p> + +<p>"You mean the view of the garden," said Prudence. "There wasn't much to +look at before; but now it's real sweet."</p> + +<p>"No; I mean the great landscape all about us here," responded the +American, surprised. She paused. Then seeing that Prudence did not lift +her eyes, she began to enumerate its features, to point them out with +her folded parasol. "That broad Umbrian plain, Prudence, with those tall +slender trees; the other towns shining on their hills, like Perugia over +there; the gleam of the river; the velvety blue of the mountains; the +color of it all—I do believe it is the very loveliest view in the whole +world!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I've ever noticed it much—the view," Prudence +answered. She turned her eyes towards the horizon for a moment. "You see +I was always thinking about my front yard."</p> + +<p>"The front yard is very nice now," said the American. "I am so glad you +are pleased; we couldn't get snowballs or Missouri currant, so we had to +take roses." She paused; but she could not give up the subject without<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> +one more attempt. "You have probably noticed the view without being +aware of it," she went on; "it is so beautiful that you must have +noticed it. If you should leave it you would find yourself missing it +very much, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe," responded Prudence. "Still, I ain't so sure. The truth is, I +don't care much for these Eyetalian views; it seems to me a poor sort of +country, and always did." Then, wishing to be more responsive to the +tastes of this new friend, if she could be so honestly, she added, "But +I like views, as a general thing; there was a very purty view from +Sage's Hill, I remember."</p> + +<p>"Sage's Hill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; the hill near Ledham. You told me you knew Ledham. You could see +all the fields and medders of Josiah Strong's farm, and Deacon +Mayberry's too; perfectly level, and not a stone in 'em. And the +turnpike for miles and miles, with three toll-gates in sight. Then, on +the other side, there were the factories to make it lively. It was a +sweet view."</p> + +<p>A few days afterwards she said: "People tell us that we never get what +we want in this world, don't they? But I'm fortunate. I think I've +always been purty fortunate. I got my front yard, after all."</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>A week later, when they told her that death was near, "My! I'd no idea I +was so sick as that," she whispered. Then, looking at them anxiously, +"What'll become of Nounce?"</p> + +<p>They assured her that Nounce should be provided for. "You know you have +to be sorter patient with her," she explained; "but she's growing +quicker-witted every day."<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a></p> + +<p>Later, "I should like so much to see Jo Vanny," she murmured, longingly; +"but of course I can't. You must get Bepper to send him my love, my +dearest, dearest love."</p> + +<p>Last of all, as her dulled eyes turned from the little window and rested +upon her friend: "It seems a pity—But perhaps I shall find—"<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="NEPTUNES_SHORE" id="NEPTUNES_SHORE"></a>NEPTUNE'S SHORE</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>O<small>LD</small> Mrs. Preston had not been able to endure the hotel at Salerno. She +had therefore taken, for two months, this house on the shore.</p> + +<p>"I might as well be here as anywhere, saddled as I am with the +Abercrombies," she remarked to her cousin, Isabella Holland. "Arthur may +really do something: I have hopes of Arthur. But as to Rose, Hildegarde, +and Dorothea, I shall plainly have to drag them about with me, and drag +them about with me, year after year, in the hope that the constant +seeing of so many straight statues, to say nothing of pictures, may at +last teach them to have spines. Here they are now; did you ever see such +shoulders, or rather such a lack of them? Hildegarde, child, come here a +moment," she added, as the three girls drew near. "I have an idea. Don't +you think you could <i>hold</i> your shoulders up a little? Try it now; put +them up high, as though you were shrugging them; and expand your chest +too; you mustn't cramp that. There!—that is what I mean; don't you +think, my dear, that you could keep yourself so?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde, with her shoulders elevated and her long chin run out, began +to blush painfully, until her milk-white face was dyed red. "I am afraid +I could not<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a> keep myself so <i>long</i>, aunt," she answered, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Never mind; let them down, then: it's of no use," commented Mrs. +Preston, despairingly. "Go and dance for twenty-five minutes in the +upper hall, all of you. And dance as hard as you can."</p> + +<p>The three girls, moving lifelessly, went down the echoing vaulted +corridor. They were sisters, the eldest not quite sixteen, all three +having the same lank figures with sloping shoulders and long thin +throats, and the same curiously white, milk-white skin. Orphans, they +had been sent with their brother Arthur to their aunt, Mrs. Octavia +Preston, five years before, having come to her from one of the West +India Islands, their former home.</p> + +<p>"Those girls have done nothing but eat raw meat, take sea baths, and +practise calisthenics and dancing ever since I first took charge of +them," Mrs. Preston was accustomed to remark to intimate friends; "yet +look at them now! Of course I could not send them to school—they would +only grow lanker. So I take them about with me patiently, governess and +all."</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Preston was not very patient.</p> + +<p>The three girls having disappeared, Isabella thought the occasion +favorable for a few words upon another subject. "Do you like to have +Paulie riding so often with Mr. Ash, Cousin Octavia? I can't help being +distressed about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't be Mistering John Ash, I beg; no one in the world but you, +Isabella, would dream of doing it—a great swooping creature like +that—the horseman in 'Heliodorus.'"</p> + +<p>"You mean Raphael's fresco? Oh, Cousin Octavia,<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> how can you think so? +Raphael—such a religious painter, and John Ash, who looks so +dissipated!"</p> + +<p>"Did I say he didn't look dissipated? I said he could ride. John Ash is +one of the most dissipated-looking youths I have ever met," pursued Mrs. +Preston, comfortably. "The clever sort, not the brutal."</p> + +<p>"And you don't mind Paulie's being with him?"</p> + +<p>"Pauline Euphemia Graham has been married, Pauline Euphemia Graham is a +widow; it ill becomes those who have not had a tithe of her experience +(though they may be <i>much</i> older) to set themselves up as judges of her +conduct."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Preston had a deep rich voice, and slow enunciation; her simplest +sentences, therefore, often took on the tone of declamation, and when +she held forth at any length, it was like a Gregorian chant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't mean to judge, I'm sure," said Isabella; "I only meant +that it would be such a pity—such a bad match for dear Paulie in case +she should be thinking of marrying again. Even if one were sure of John +Ash—and certainly the reverse is the case—look at his mother! I am +interested, naturally, as Paulie is my first cousin, you know."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that your first cousin's becoming Mrs. John Ash might +endanger your own matrimonial prospects?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no," said poor little Isabella, shrinking back to her +embroidery. She was fifty, small, plain, extremely good. In her heart +she wished that people would take the tone that Isabella had "never +cared to marry."</p> + +<p>"Here is Pauline now, I think," said Mrs. Preston, as a figure appeared +at the end of the hall.<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a></p> + +<p>Isabella was afraid to add, "And going out to ride again!" But it was +evident that Mrs. Graham intended to ride: she wore her habit.</p> + +<p>"I wish you were going, too," she said to Mrs. Preston, pausing in the +doorway with her skirt uplifted. Her graceful figure in the closely +fitting habit was a pleasant sight to see.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, my dear; I should enjoy going very much if I were a little more +slender."</p> + +<p>"You are magnificent as you are," responded Pauline, admiringly.</p> + +<p>And in truth the old lady was very handsome, with her thick silver hair, +fine eyes with heavy black eyebrows, and well-cut aquiline profile. Her +straight back, noble shoulders, and beautiful hands took from her +massive form the idea of unwieldiness.</p> + +<p>"Isabella—you who are always posing for enthusiasm—when will you learn +to say anything so genuine as that?" chanted Cousin Octavia's deep +voice. "I mention it merely on your account, as a question of styles +conversational. Here is Isabella, who thinks John Ash so dissipated, +Pauline; she fears that it may injure the family connection if you marry +him. I have told her that no one here was thinking of marrying or of +giving in marriage; if she has such ideas, she must have brought them +with her from Florence. There are a great many old maids in Florence."</p> + +<p>"I can only answer for myself: I certainly am not thinking of marriage," +said Pauline, laughing, as she went down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Cousin Octavia, you have set Pauline against me!" exclaimed +Isabella, in distress.</p> + +<p>"Don't be an idiot; Pauline isn't against any one:<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> she doesn't care +enough about it. She is a good deal for herself, I acknowledge; but +she's not against any one. Pauline bears no malice; she is delightfully +uncertain; she hasn't a theory in the world to live up to; in addition, +to have her in the house is like going to the play all the time—she +<i>is</i> such a stupendous liar!"</p> + +<p>Isabella, who was punching round holes in a linen band with an implement +of ivory, stopped punching. "I am sure poor Paulie—"</p> + +<p>"Am I to sit through a defence of Pauline Euphemia Graham, born Preston, +at your hands, Isabella? Pray spare me that. I am much more Pauline's +friend than you ever can be. Did I say that she lied? Nature has given +her a face that speaks one language and a mind that speaks another; she, +of course, follows the language of her mind; but others follow that of +her face, and this makes the play. Eh!—what noise is that?"</p> + +<p>"We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia," called a boyish voice; +its owner was evidently mounting the stairs three at a time: now he was +in the room. "They're all down at the door—Freemantle and Gates and +Beckett. And what do you think—we've got Griff!"</p> + +<p>"Griff himself?" said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, as the lad, with a +very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss her hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Griff himself; you may be sure we're drawing like mad. Griff has +come down from Paris for only three weeks, and he says he will go with +us to Pæstum, and all about here—to Amalfi, Ravello, and everywhere. +But of course Pæstum's the stunner."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course Pæstum's the stunner," repeated Aunt Octavia, as if +trying it in Shakespearian tones.<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a></p> + +<p>"I say, may they come up?" Arthur went on.</p> + +<p>They came up—three boys of seventeen and eighteen, and Griffith Carew, +who was ten years older. These three youths, with Arthur Abercrombie, +were studying architecture at the Beaux-Arts, Paris; this spring they +had given to a tour in Italy for the purpose of making architectural +drawings. Griffith Carew was also an architect, but a full-fledged one. +His indomitable perseverance and painstaking accuracy caused all the +younger men to respect him; the American students went further; they +were sure that Griff had only to "let himself go," and the United States +would bloom from end to end with City Halls of beauty unparalleled. In +the mean time Griff, while waiting for the City Halls perhaps, was so +kind-hearted and jovial and unselfish that they all adored him for that +too. It was a master-treat, therefore, to Arthur and his companions, to +have their paragon to themselves for a while on this temple-haunted +shore.</p> + +<p>Griff sat down placidly, and began to talk to Aunt Octavia. He was of +medium height, his figure heavy and strong; he had a dark complexion and +thick features, lighted by pleasant brown eyes, and white teeth that +gleamed when he smiled.</p> + +<p>Aunt Octavia was gracious to Griff; she had always distinguished him +from "Arthur's horde." This was not in the least because the horde +considered him the architect of the future. Aunt Octavia did not care +much about the future; her tests were those of the past. She had known +Griff's mother, and the persons whose mothers Aunt Octavia had +known—ah, that was a certificate!<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a></p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In the meanwhile Pauline Graham had left Salerno behind her, and was +flying over the plain with John Ash.</p> + +<p>Pauline all her life had had a passion for riding at breakneck speed; +one of the explanations of her fancy for Ash lay in the fact that, +having the same passion himself, he enabled her to gratify her own. +Whenever she had felt in the mood during the past five weeks there had +always been a horse and a mounted escort at her door. Upon this +occasion, after what they called an inspiring ride (to any one else a +series of mad gallops), they had dismounted at a farm-house, and leaving +their horses, had strolled down to the shore. It was a lovely day, +towards the last of March; the sea, of the soft misty blue of the +southern Mediterranean, stretched out before them without a sail; at +their feet the same clear water laved the shore in long smooth wavelets, +hardly a foot high, whose gentle roll upon the sands had an +indescribably caressing sound. There was no one in sight. It is a lonely +coast. Pauline stood, gazing absently over the blue.</p> + +<p>"Sit down for a moment," suggested Ash.</p> + +<p>"Not now."</p> + +<p>"Not now? When do you expect to be here again?"</p> + +<p>She came back to the present, laughing. "True; but I did not mean that; +I meant that you were not the ideal companion for sea-side musing; you +never meditate. I venture to say you have never quoted poetry in your +life."</p> + +<p>"No; I live my poetry," John Ash responded.<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a></p> + +<p>"But for a ride you are perfect; for a rush over the plain, in the teeth +of the wind, I have never had any one approaching you. You are a +cavalier of the gods."</p> + +<p>"Have you had many?"</p> + +<p>"Cavaliers?—plenty. Of the gods?—no."</p> + +<p>"Plenty! I reckon you have," said Ash, half to himself.</p> + +<p>"Would you wish me to have had few? You must remember that I have been +in many countries and have seen many peoples. I shouldn't have +appreciated <i>you</i> otherwise; I should have thought you +dangerous—horrible! There is Isabella, who has not been in many +countries; Isabella is sure that you are 'so dissipated.'"</p> + +<p>"Dissipated!—mild term!"</p> + +<p>"Then you acknowledge it?"</p> + +<p>"Freely."</p> + +<p>Pauline looked about for a rock of the right height, and finding one, +seated herself, and began to draw off her gloves. "Some time—in some +other existence—will you come and tell me how it has paid you, please? +You are so preternaturally intelligent, and you have such a will of your +own, that you cannot have fallen into it from stupidity, as so many do." +Her gloves off, she began to tighten the braids of her hair, loosened by +the gallop.</p> + +<p>"It pays as it goes; it makes one forget for a moment the hideous +tiresomeness of existence. But you put your question off to some other +life; you have no intention, then, of redeeming me in this?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't succeed. In the first place, I have no influence—"</p> + +<p>"You know I am your slave," said Ash; his voice suddenly deepened.<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a></p> + +<p>"And how much of a slave shall you be to the next pretty peasant girl +you meet?" Mrs. Graham demanded, turning towards him, both hands still +occupied with her hair.</p> + +<p>"I don't deny that. But it has nothing to do with the subject."</p> + +<p>"In one way I know it has not," she answered, after she had fastened the +last braid in its place with a long gold pin.</p> + +<p>"How right I was to like you! You understand of yourself the thing that +so few women can ever be brought to comprehend. Well, if you acknowledge +that it makes no difference—I mean about the peasant girls—we're just +where we were; I am your slave, yet you have no desire to reclaim me. I +believe you like me better as I am," he added, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to tell you that you are impertinent?" demanded Pauline, +with her lovely smile, that always contradicted in its sweetness any +apparent rebuke expressed by her words. "Do I know what you are in +reality, or care to know? I know what you seem, and what you seem is +admirable, perfect, for these rides of ours, the most enchanting rides I +have ever had."</p> + +<p>"And the rides are to be the end of it? You wouldn't care for me +elsewhere?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Pauline, rising and drawing on her gloves, "you wouldn't care +for <i>me</i>. In Paris I am altogether another person; I am not at all as +you see me here. In Paris you would call me a doll. Come, don't dissect +the happy present; enjoy it as I do. 'He only is rich who owns the day,' +and we own this—for our ride."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p058_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p058_sml.jpg" width="416" height="550" alt=""'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"" title=""'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"</span> +</p> + +<p><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"‘I hear the hoofs upon the hill;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .55em;">I hear them fainter, fainter still,’"</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind">she sang in her clear voice. "The idea of that old Virginia song coming +to me here!"</p> + +<p>"This talk about reclaiming and reforming is all bosh," remarked Ash, +leaning back against a high fragment of rock, with his hands in his +pockets. "I am what I am because I choose to be, that's all. The usual +successes of American life, what are they? I no longer care a rap about +them, because I've had them, or at least have seen them within my reach. +I came up from nothing; I got an education—no matter now how I got it; +I studied law. In ten years I had won such a position in my profession +(my branch of it—I was never an office lawyer) that everything lay open +before me. It was only a question of a certain number of years. Not only +was this generally prophesied, but I knew it myself. But by that time I +had found out the unutterable stupidity of people and their pursuits; I +couldn't help despising them. I had made enough to make my mother +comfortable, and there came over me a horror of a plodding life. I said +to myself, 'What is the use of it?' Of pleasure there was no question. +But I could go back to that plodding life to-morrow if I chose. Don't +you believe it, Pauline?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Yet you don't say—try?"</p> + +<p>"Try, by all means."</p> + +<p>"At a safe distance from you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at a safe distance from me," Pauline answered. "I should do you no +good; I am not enough in earnest. I am never in earnest long about +anything. I am<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> changeable, too—you have no idea how changeable. There +has been no opportunity to show you."</p> + +<p>"Is that a threat? You know that I am deeply in love with you." He did +not move as he said this, but his eyes were fixed passionately upon her +face.</p> + +<p>"I neither know it nor believe it; it is with you simply as it is with +me—there is no one else here." She stood there watching the wavelets +break at her feet. Nothing in her countenance corresponded in the least +with the description she had just given of herself.</p> + +<p>"How you say that! What am I to think of you? You have a face to +worship: does it lie?" said Ash.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my face!" She turned, and began to cross the field towards the +farm.</p> + +<p>"It shouldn't have that expression, then," he said, joining her, and +walking by her side. "I don't believe you know what it is yourself, +Pauline—that expression. It seems to say as you talk, coming straight +from those divine lips, those sweet eyes: 'I could love you. Be good and +I will.' Why, you have almost made <i>me</i> determine to be 'good' again, +almost made <i>me</i> begin to dream of going back to that plodding life that +I loathe. And you don't know what I am."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham did not answer; she did not look up, though she knew that +his head was bent beseechingly towards her.</p> + +<p>John Ash was obliged to bend; he was very tall. His figure was rather +thin, and he had a slouching gait; his broad shoulders and well-knit +muscles showed that he had plenty of force, and his slouching step +seemed to come from laziness, as though he found it too much trouble to +plant his feet firmly, to carry his long length erect. He was holding +his hat in his hand, and the<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> light from the sea showed his face +clearly, its good points and its bad. His head was well shaped, covered +with thick brown hair, closely cut; but, in spite of the shortness, many +silver threads could be seen on the brown—a premature silver, as he was +not yet thirty-five. His face was beardless, thin, with a bold +eagle-like outline, and strong, warm blue eyes, the blue eyes that go +with a great deal of color. Ordinarily, Ash had now but little color; +that is, there was but little red; his complexion had a dark brown hue; +there were many deep lines. The mouth, the worst feature, had a cynical +droop; the jaw conveyed suggestions that were not agreeable. The +expression of the whole countenance was that of recklessness and +cleverness, both of no common order. Of late the recklessness had often +changed into a more happy merriment when he was with Pauline, the +careless merriment of a boy; one could see then plainly how handsome he +must have been before the lines, and the heaviness, and, alas! the evil, +had come to darken his youth, and to sadden (for so it must have been) +his silent, frightened-looking mother.</p> + +<p>They reached the farm; he led out the horses, and mounted her. She +gathered up the reins; but he still held the bridle. "How tired you +look!" he said.</p> + +<p>Her face was flushed slightly, high on the cheeks close under the eyes; +between the fair eyebrows a perpendicular line was visible; for the +moment, she showed to the full her thirty years.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am tired; and it's dangerous to tire me," she answered, smiling. +She had recovered her light-hearted carelessness.</p> + +<p>Ash still looked at her. A sudden conviction seemed to seize him. "Don't +throw me over, Pauline," he pleaded.<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> And as he spoke, on his brown, +deeply lined face there was an expression which was boyishly young and +trusting.</p> + +<p>"As I told you, so long as there is no one else," Pauline answered.</p> + +<p>The next moment they were flying over the plain.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The <i>table d'hôte</i> of the Star of Italy, the Salerno inn from whose +mysteries (of eels and chestnuts) Mrs. Preston had fled—this unctuous +<i>table d'hôte</i> had been unusually brilliant during this month of March; +upon several occasions there had been no less than fifteen travellers +present, and the operatic young landlord himself, with his affectionate +smile, had come in to hand the peas.</p> + +<p>The most unnoticed person was always a tall woman of fifty-five, who, +entering with noiseless step, slipped into her chair so quickly and +furtively that it seemed as if she were afraid of being seen standing +upon her feet. Once in her place, she ate sparingly, looking neither to +the right nor the left, holding her knife and fork with care, and laying +them down cautiously, as though she were trying not to waken some one +who was asleep. But the <i>table d'hôte</i> of the Star of Italy was never +asleep; the travellers, English and American, could not help feeling +that they were far from home on this shore where so recently brigands +had prowled. It is well known that this feeling promotes conversation.</p> + +<p>One evening a pink-cheeked woman, who wore a little round lace cap +perched on the top of her smooth<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> gray hair, addressed the silent +stranger at her left hand. "You have been to Pæstum, I dare say?" she +said, in her pleasant English voice.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"But you are going, probably? Directly we came, yesterday morning, we +engaged horses and started at once."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I care about going."</p> + +<p>"Not to see the temples?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know as there were temples," murmured the other, shyly.</p> + +<p>"Fancy! But you really ought to go, you know," the pleasant voice +resumed, doing a little missionary work (which can never come amiss). +"The temples are well worth seeing; they are Greek."</p> + +<p>"I've been ter see a good many buildings already: in Paris there were a +good many; my son took me," the tall woman answered, her tone becoming +more assured as she mentioned "my son."</p> + +<p>"But these temples are—are rather different. I was saying to our +neighbor here that she really ought on no account to miss going down to +Pæstum," the fresh-faced Englishwoman continued, addressing her husband, +who sat next to her on the right, for the moment very busy with his peas +(which were good, but a little oily). "The drive is not difficult. And +we found it most interesting."</p> + +<p>"Interesting? It may well be interesting; finest Greek remains outside +of Athens," answered the husband, a portly Warwickshire vicar. He bent +forward a little to glance past his wife at this ignorer of temples at +her other hand. "American," he said to himself, and returned to his +peas.</p> + +<p><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a></p> + +<p>The friendly vicaress offered a few words more the next day. Coming in +from her walk, in her stout shoes, and broad straw hat garnished with +white muslin, she was entering the inn by the back door, when she espied +her neighbor of the dinner-table sitting near by on a bench. There was +nothing to see but a paling fence; she was unoccupied, unless a basket +with Souvenir de Lucerne on one side, and a flat bouquet of artificial +flowers on the other, represented occupation.</p> + +<p>"Do you prefer this to the garden in front?" the English woman asked, in +some surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I do."</p> + +<p>"I must differ from you, then, because there we have the sea, you know; +'tis such a pretty view."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I care about the sea; it's all water—nothing to look +at."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I dare say it makes you ill. We had a very nasty day when we +crossed from Folkestone."</p> + +<p>"No; it ain't that exactly. I sit here because I like ter see the things +grow," hazarded the American, timidly, as if she felt that some +explanation was expected.</p> + +<p>"The things?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in there." (She pointed to the paling fence.) "There's peas, and +asparagus, and beans, and some sorts I don't know; you wouldn't believe +how they do push up, day after day."</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed! I dare say they do," the Englishwoman answered, a little +bewildered, looking at the lines of green behind the palings.</p> + +<p>"Her name is Ash, Azubah Ash—fancy!" she said to her husband, later. "I +saw it written on a Swiss basket in which she keeps her crewel-work. She +is extremely odd. She has no maid, yet she wears those <a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>very good +diamonds; and she always appears in that Paris gown of rich black +silk—the very richest quality, I assure you, Augustas: she wears it and +the diamonds at breakfast. She has spoken of a son, but apparently he +never turns up. And she spends all her time on a bench behind the house +watching the beans grow."</p> + +<p>"I should think she would bore herself to extinction," said the +easy-going vicar.</p> + +<p>"I dare say she <i>is</i> having rather a hard time of it, she is so +<i>bornée</i>. I would offer her a book, but I don't think she ever reads. +And when I told her that I should be very pleased to show her some of +the pretty walks about here, she said that she never walked. She must be +sadly lonely, poor thing!"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Ash was not lonely; or, if she was, she did not know the name +of her malady. The comings and goings of her son were without doubt very +uncertain; but the mother had been born among people who believe that +the "men-folks" of a family have an existence apart from that of mothers +and sisters, and that it is right that they should have it. Her son, who +never went himself to a public table, had taken it for granted that his +mother would prefer to have her meals served privately in one of the +four large rooms which he had engaged for her at the inn.</p> + +<p>"I think I like it better in the big dining-room, John," Mrs. Ash had +replied. She did not tell him that she found it less difficult to eat +her dinner when the attention of the waiter was distracted by the +necessity of attending to the wants of ten persons than when his gaze +was concentrated upon her solitary knife and fork alone.</p> + +<p>John Ash was fond of his mother. It did not occur<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> to him that this +nomad life abroad was causing her any suffering. Her shyness, her dread +of being looked at, her dread of foreign servants, he did not fully see, +because when he was present she controlled them; when he was present, +also, in a great measure, they disappeared. He knew that she would not +have had one moment's content had he left her behind him, even if he had +left her in the finest house his money could purchase; so he took her +with him, and travelled slowly, for her sake, making no journeys that +she could not make, sending forward to engage the best rooms for her at +the inns where he intended to stop.</p> + +<p>That he had not taken her to Pæstum was not an evidence of neglect. +During the first months of their wanderings he had been at pains to take +her everywhere he had thought that she would enjoy it. But Mrs. Ash had +enjoyed nothing—save the going about on her son's arm. If he left her +alone amid the most exquisite scenery in the world, she did not even see +the scenery; she thought a dusty jaunt in a horse-car "very pleasant" if +John was there. So at last John gave her his simple presence often, but +troubled her with descriptions and excursions no more.</p> + +<p>Dumb, shy, hopelessly out of her element as she was, this mother had, on +the whole, enjoyed her two years abroad. The reason was found in the +fact that she could say to herself, or rather could hope to herself, +that John was more "steady" over here.</p> + +<p>The rustic term covered much—the days and the nights when John had not +been "steady."</p> + +<p>These six weeks at Salerno particularly had been a season of blessed +repose to Azubah Ash; the days had gone by so peacefully that life had +become almost comfortable<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> to her again, in spite of the ordeal of +dinner. She had even been beguiled into thinking a little of the +future—of the farm she should like to have some day, with fruit and +cream and vegetables—yes, especially vegetables; and she dreamed of an +old pleasure of her youth, that of hunting for little round artichokes +in the cool brown earth. John had been contented all the time, and his +mood had been very tranquil. His mother liked this much better than high +spirits. There was an element sometimes in John's high spirits that had +made her tremble.</p> + +<p>But on the day succeeding that last ride with Mrs. Graham, when they had +dismounted and walked down to the shore, John had come back to the inn +with a darkened face. The dark mood had lasted now for ten days. His +mother began to lead her old sleepless, restless life again. Her awkward +crochet-needle had stopped of itself; she went no more to her bench +beside the asparagus. Instead, she remained in her room—her four +rooms—every now and then peeping anxiously through the blinds. Nothing +happened—so any one would have said; the sea continued blue and misty, +the sky blue and clear; every one came and went as usual in the divine +weather of the Italian spring. But John Ash's mother had, to use an old +expression, her heart in her mouth all the time.</p> + +<p>It choked her, and she gave up going to the <i>table d'hôte</i>; she let her +son suppose that the meal was served in her sitting-room, but in reality +she took no dinner at all. When he came in she was always there, always +carefully dressed in the black silk whose rich texture the vicar's wife +had noticed, with the "very good" diamonds fastening her collar and on +her thin<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> hands. She made a constant effort that her son should notice +no change in her.</p> + +<p>Azubah Ash had a gaunt frame with large bones; her chest was hollow, and +she stooped a little as she walked. Yet, looking at her, one felt sure +that she would live to be an old woman. Her large features were roughly +moulded, her cheeks thin; her thick dusky hair was put plainly back from +her face, and arranged with a high comb after a fashion of her youth. +Her eyes, large, dark, and appealing, were sunken; they were beautiful +eyes, if one could have removed from them their expression of +apprehension, but that seemed now to have grown a part of them, to have +become fixed by time. Observers of physiognomy who met Azubah during +these two years of her sojourn abroad never forgot her—that tall gaunt +woman with the awkward step and bearing, with the rich dress and +diamonds, from whose timid face with its rough features those beautiful +eyes looked appealingly out.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I am going to Pæstum to-morrow," announced Ash on that eleventh +day. "Perhaps you had better go with me." He had come in and thrown +himself down upon the sofa, where he sat staring at the wall.</p> + +<p>"Pæstum—yes, that's where that English lady said I'd oughter go," +answered Mrs. Ash. Then, after a moment, "She said there were temples +there." She had her hands folded tightly as she looked at her son.</p> + +<p>"They're all going—old lady Preston, with her ghosts of Abercrombies, +little Miss Holland, Mrs. Graham, and all. Those boys are sketching down +there; they've been there some time."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p068_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p068_sml.jpg" width="331" height="550" alt="AZUBAH ASH" title="AZUBAH ASH" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">AZUBAH ASH</span> +</p> + +<p>"I shall be very glad ter go, John, if you are going.<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> Would you like +ter have me—ter have me ride horseback?"</p> + +<p>Ash, coming out of his abstraction, broke into a laugh. "I shall take +you in the finest landau in Salerno, marmer," he said, coming across to +kiss her; "old lady Preston will have to put up with the second best. +You haven't forgotten, then, that you used to ride, marmer, have you?"</p> + +<p>The mother's eyes had filled upon hearing the old name, the "marmer" of +the days when he had been her devoted, constantly following, tyrannical, +but very loving little boy. But she did not let the tears drop: she +never made scenes of any kind before John. "Well, you've been riding +horseback every day now for a long while; you haven't seemed to care at +all for carriages. And I did use to ride horseback a good deal when I +was a girl; I used to ride to the mill."</p> + +<p>"I know you did. And carry the grist to be ground." He kissed her again. +"Don't be afraid of anything or anybody to-morrow, marmer, I beg. You're +the bravest and most sensible woman I know, and I want you to look what +you are."</p> + +<p>"Shall I wear my India shawl, then?"</p> + +<p>"Wear the best you have; I wish it were a hundred times bester. You are +handsomer than any of them as it is."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, John; I ain't good-looking; I never was," said his mother, +blushing. She put her hand up for a moment, nervously, over her mouth—a +gesture habitual with her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are, marmer. Look at your eyes. It's only that you have got +into a way of not thinking so.<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> But I think so, and others shall." He +went back to the sofa, and sank into abstraction again.</p> + +<p>At length his mother broke the silence, which had lasted very long. "I +hope they are all well over there to-day?" she asked, hesitatingly. +"Over there" was her name for the house on the shore, the house where +she knew her son had for many weeks spent all his time.</p> + +<p>"Well? They're extraordinarily well," said Ash. He got up and walked +restlessly about the room. After a while he stopped, and now he seemed +to have forgotten his mother's presence, for his eyes rested upon her +without seeing her. "One of them is a little too well," he said, +menacingly; "let him look to himself—that's all." And then into his +face, his mother, watching him, saw coming slowly something she knew. +The expression changed him so completely that the ladies who had seen so +much of him would not have recognized their visitor. His mother +recognized him. That expression on her son's face was her life's long +terror.</p> + +<p>He left the room. She listened as long as she could hear his steps; +then, after sitting for some time with her head upon her arms on the +table before her, she rose, and went slowly to put on her bonnet and +shawl. Coming back, still slowly, she paused, and for five minutes stood +there motionless. Then her hands dropped desparingly by her sides, and +her worn face quivered. "O God, O our Father, I really don't know what +ter do!" she murmured, breaking into helpless sobs, the stifled, +difficult sobs of a person unaccustomed to self-expression, even the +self-expression of grief.</p> + +<p>She did not go out. Instead of that, she went back to the inner room and +knelt down.<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a></p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The next morning three carriages and two persons on horseback were +following the long road that stretches southward from Salerno to Pæstum.</p> + +<p>In the first carriage old Mrs. Preston sat enthroned amid cushions and +shawls; opposite she had placed her nephew Arthur, first because he was +slim, second because he was a man (Mrs. Preston was accustomed to say, +"Too much lady talk dries my brain"); the second carriage held Isabella +Holland and the Abercrombie girls; in the third, a landau drawn by two +spirited horses, were Mrs. Ash and her son. The two persons on horseback +were Pauline Graham and Griffith Carew.</p> + +<p>In the soft spring air the mountains that rise all the way on the left +at no great distance from the road had in perfection the vague, dreamy +outlines and violet hues that form so characteristic a feature of the +Italian landscape. Up in the sky their peaks shone whitely, powdered +with snow. The flat plain that stretches from the base of the mountains +to the sea had beauty of another kind; often a fever-swept marsh, it +possessed at this season all a marsh's luxuriance of waving reeds and +flowers and tasselled jungles, with water birds rising from their +feeding-places, and flying along, low down, with a slow motion of their +broad wings, their feet stretched out behind. Troops of buffalo could be +seen here and there. At rare intervals there was an oasis of cultivated +ground, with a solitary farm-house. On the right, all the way, the +Mediterranean, meeting the flat land flatly, stretched forward from +thence into space, going on bluely, and rising a little<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> on the horizon +line, as though it were surmounting a low hill.</p> + +<p>Occasionally the carriages passed a little band of the small, +quick-stepping Italian soldiers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, did you know, aunt, that people were murdered by brigands on +this very bridge only ten years ago?" said Arthur, as they rolled across +a stone causeway raised in the form of an arch over a sluggish stream.</p> + +<p>"I should like very much to see the brigands who did it!" Mrs. Preston +answered, smacking her lips contemptuously.</p> + +<p>Arthur at least was very sure that no ten brigands could have vanquished +his aunt.</p> + +<p>"This, girls, is the ancient Tyrrhenian Gulf," began Isabella to her +companions, waving one neatly gloved hand towards the sea. Isabella, +owing to the singularly incessant death of relatives, was always in +mourning; her neat gloves therefore were sable. "The temples we are +about to visit are very ancient also, having been built ages ago by +Greeks, who came from—from Greece, of course, naturally; and never +ceased to regret it. And all this shore, and the temples also, were +sacred to Neptune, or Poseidon, as he was called in Greek. And the +Greeks lamented—but I will read you that later at the threshold of the +temples; you cannot fail to be interested."</p> + +<p>"I shall not be interested at all," said Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," said Rose.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> had nothing to lament about; <i>they</i> had no dancing to do," added +Dorothea. And the three white faces glared suddenly and sullenly at +their astonished companion.<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a></p> + +<p>"I am shocked," began Isabella.</p> + +<p>"Shocked yourself," said Rose.</p> + +<p>"You are a busybody," said Dorothea.</p> + +<p>"And a gormandizer," added Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"And a <i>Worm</i>!" said Rose, with decision. "We have decided not to +pretend any more before <i>you</i>, Worm! Dance yourself till your legs drop +off, and see how you like it."</p> + +<p>The three girls had weak soft voices; they possessed no other tones; the +strong words they used, therefore, were all the more startling because +so gently, almost sighingly, spoken.</p> + +<p>In the landau there had been silence. Mrs. Ash, after respecting her +son's sombre mood for more than an hour, at last spoke: "I guess you +don't care very much about those triflin' temples, after all, do you, +John? And it's going to be very long. Supposing we turn back?" She wore +her India shawl and a Paris bonnet; she was sitting without touching the +cushions of the carriage behind her. She had looked neither at the +mountains nor at the sea; most of the time her eyes had rested on the +blue cloth of the empty seat opposite. Occasionally, however, they had +followed the two figures on horseback, and it was after these figures +had passed them a second time, pushing on ahead in order to get a free +space of road for a gallop, that she had offered her suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Go back? Not for ten thousand dollars—not for ten thousand devils!" +said John Ash. "What a lazy girl you are, marmer!" And he became gay and +talkative.</p> + +<p>His mother responded to his gayety as well as she could: she laughed +when he did. Her laugh was eager. It was almost obsequious.<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a></p> + +<p>By-and-by the three temples loomed into view, standing in all their +beauty on the barren waste, majestic, uninjured, extraordinary. Their +rows of fluted columns, their brilliant tawny hues, their perfect Doric +architecture, made the loneliness surrounding them even more lonely, +made the sound of the sea breaking near by on the lifeless shore a +melancholy dirge. When the party reached the great colonnades there were +exclamations; there was even declamation, Mrs. Preston having been +fitted by nature for that. Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett had come +rushing forward to meet their arriving friends. In reality, however, it +was Griff whom they had rushed to meet. Griff to their minds was the +only important person present, even though the unimportant included +Pauline.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Griff, old fellow! how are you?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you stay, Griff? We've got a tent for you."</p> + +<p>They laughed, and made jokes, and hovered about him, longing to drag him +off immediately to show him their drawings, and to discuss with him a +hundred disputed points. But though they thus paid small attention to +Pauline, they were obliged to form part of her train; for as Griff +remained with her, and they remained with Griff, naturally, as Isabella +would have said, they made the tour of inspection in her company.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Isabella, who had it upon her strictly kept conscience +not to neglect her own duties in spite of the Abercrombie revolt, had +taken her stand before the great temple of Neptune, with her instructive +little book in her hand. "'The men of Poseidonia,'" she began, "'having +been at first true Greeks, had in process of time gradually become +barbarized, changing<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> to Romans.' Poseidonia, girls, was the ancient +name of Pæstum," she interpolated in explanation, glancing over her +glasses at her silent audience.</p> + +<p>The Abercrombies could not retort this time, because Aunt Octavia was +very near them, sitting at the base of one of the great columns of +travertine with the air and manner of Neptune's only lawful wife. But +their backs were towards her; she could not see their faces; they were +able, therefore, to make grimaces at Isabella, and this they immediately +proceeded to do in unison, flattening their thin lips over their teeth +in a very ghastly way, and turning up their eyes so unnaturally far that +Isabella was afraid the pupils would never come down again.</p> + +<p>"'Yet they still observed one Hellenic festival,'" she read stumblingly +on—stumblingly because she felt obliged from a sort of fascination to +glance every now and then at the distorted countenances before +her—"'one Hellenic festival, when they met together here to call to +remembrance the old days and the old customs, and to weep upon each +other's necks, and to lament drearily. And then, when the time of their +mourning was over, they departed, each man in silence to his Roman +home.'"</p> + +<p>"Very fine," said Mrs. Preston, commendingly, from her column.</p> + +<p>But Isabella had closed her book, and was walking away, wiping her +forehead: those girls' faces were really too horrible.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, Isabella?" Mrs. Preston called.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I may gather some asphodel?" Isabella responded, with some +asperity.<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a></p> + +<p>But she did not gather much asphodel. Coming upon Mrs. Ash wandering +about over the fallen stones, she stayed her steps to speak to her. She +was not interested in Mrs. Ash, but she was so "happily relieved" that +dear Paulie lately had given up her rides with the son, that she, as +Paulie's cousin (first), could afford to be civil to the mother, in +spite of that mother's bad judgment as to English and diamonds. Isabella +disapproved of Mrs. Ash; she thought that "such persons" did great harm +by their display of "mere vulgar affluence." No vulgar affluence +oppressed Isabella. She had six hundred dollars a year of her own, and +each dollar was well bred.</p> + +<p>"We shall soon be having lunch, I suppose," she began, in a gracious +tone. "It seems almost a desecration, doesn't it, to have it in the +shrine itself, for I see they are arranging it there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is that a shrine?" said Mrs. Ash, vaguely. "I didn't know. But then +I'm not a Catholic. They seem very large buildings. They seem wasted +here."</p> + +<p>Little Isabella looked up at her—she was obliged to look up, her +companion was so tall. The anxious expression in Mrs. Ash's eyes had +grown into anguish: she was watching her son, who had now joined Pauline +and her train. Pauline had Carew on her right hand and John Ash on her +left; the four boys walked stragglingly, now in front, now behind, but +never far from Carew.</p> + +<p>"You are not well," said Isabella; "the drive was too long for you. Pray +take my smelling-salts; they are sometimes refreshing." And she detached +from its black chain a minute funereal bottle.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," answered Mrs. Ash, gazing down uncomprehendingly<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> at the +offering; "I am very well indeed. I was jest looking at your cousin, +Mrs. Graham; she's very handsome."</p> + +<p>"Yes," responded Isabella, gladly seizing this opportunity to convey to +the Ash household a little light, "Pauline is handsome—in her own way. +It is not the style that I myself admire. But then I know that my taste +is severe. By ordinary people Pauline is considered attractive; it is +therefore all the more to be deplored that she should be such a sad, sad +flirt."</p> + +<p>"A flirt?" said Mrs. Ash.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I am sorry to say it. No matter how far she may go, it means +nothing, absolutely nothing; she has not the slightest intention of +allowing herself either to fall in love or to marry again; she prefers +her position as it is. And I don't think she realizes sufficiently that +what is but pastime to her may be taken more seriously by others; and +naturally, I must say, after the way she sometimes goes on. <i>I</i> could +never do so, no matter what the temptations were, and I must say I have +never been able to understand it in Pauline. At present it is Mr. Carew; +she is going to Naples with him to-morrow for the day. As you may +imagine, it is against our wish—Cousin Octavia Preston's and mine. But +Pauline being a widow, which <i>she</i> considers an advantage, and no longer +young (she is thirty, though you may not think it; she shows her age +very fully in the morning)—Pauline, under these circumstances, has for +some time refused a chaperon. I don't think myself that she needs a +chaperon exactly, but she might take a lady friend."</p> + +<p>"Going to Naples with him to-morrow," murmured Mrs. Ash. She put her +gloved hand over her mouth for<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> a moment, the large kid expanse very +different from Isabella's little black paw. "I might as well go over +there," she said, starting off with a rapid step towards Pauline.</p> + +<p>Pauline received her smilingly; Ash frowned a little. He frowned not at +his mother—she was always welcome; he frowned at her persistence in +standing so near Pauline, in dogging her steps. Mrs. Ash kept this up; +she sat near Pauline at lunch; she followed her when she strolled down +to the beach; she gathered flowers for her; in her India shawl and Paris +bonnet she hovered constantly near.</p> + +<p>Only once did John Ash find opportunity to speak to Pauline alone. The +boys had at last carried off Griff by force to their camp; Griff was +willing enough to go, the "force" applied to the intellectual effort +necessary on the boys' part to detach him from a lady who wished to keep +him by her side. They had all been strolling up and down in the shade of +the so-called Basilica, amid the fern and acanthus. Left alone with her +son and Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Ash, after remaining with them a few moments, +turned aside, and entering the temple, sat down there. She was out of +hearing, but still near.</p> + +<p>"Ride with me to-morrow, Pauline," Ash said, immediately. "I have not +had a chance to speak to you before. Don't refuse."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I must. I have an engagement."</p> + +<p>"With Carew?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I am very good-natured to tell you. I am going to Naples with him for +the day."</p> + +<p>"You are going— Damnation!"<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a></p> + +<p>"You forget yourself," said Pauline. Then, when she saw the look on his +face—the face of this man with whom she had played—she was startled.</p> + +<p>"Forget myself! I wish I could. You shall not go to Naples."</p> + +<p>"And how can you prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"Are you daring me?"</p> + +<p>"By no means," answered Pauline; and this time she really tried to speak +gently. "I was calling to your remembrance the fact that there is no tie +between us, Mr. Ash; you have no shadow of authority over my actions; I +am free to do as I please."</p> + +<p>"I know you are; that is the worst of it," he said, almost with a groan. +"Pauline, don't play with me now. I have given up hoping for anything +for myself—if I ever really did hope; I am not worthy of you. Whether +you could make me worthy I don't know; but I don't ask you that; I don't +ask you to try; it would be too much. I only ask you to be as you have +been; as you were, I mean, during all those many weeks, not as you have +been lately. Only a few days are left when I can see you freely; be kind +to me, then, during those few days, and then I will take myself off."</p> + +<p>"I mean to be kind; I am kind."</p> + +<p>"Then ride with me to-morrow; just this once more."</p> + +<p>"But I told you it was impossible; I told you I was going to Naples."</p> + +<p>The pleading vanished from Ash's face and voice. "<i>I</i> never asked you to +do that—to go off with me for a whole day."</p> + +<p>Pauline did not answer; she was arranging the flowers which Mrs. Ash had +industriously gathered.<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a></p> + +<p>"So much the greater fool I!—is that what you are thinking?" Ash went +on, laughing discordantly.</p> + +<p>For the moment Pauline forgot to be angry in the vague feeling, +something like fear, which took possession of her. All fear is +uncomfortable, and she hated discomfort; she gave herself a little +inward shake as if to shake it off. "I shall ask Cousin Oc to go back to +Paris next week," was her thought. "I have had enough of Italy for the +present—Italy and madmen!"</p> + +<p>"You won't go?" asked Ash, bending forward eagerly, as though he had +gained hope from her silence.</p> + +<p>"To Paris?"</p> + +<p>"Are we speaking of Paris? To Naples—to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I must go to Naples," she answered, gayly. In spite of her gayety +she turned towards the Basilica; Mrs. Ash was the nearest person.</p> + +<p>"You are going to my mother? She, at least, is a good woman; she would +never have tarnished herself with such an expedition as you are +planning!" cried Ash, in a fury.</p> + +<p>Pauline turned white. "I am well paid for ever having endured you, ever +having liked you," she said, in a low voice, as she hastened on. "I +might have known—I might have known."</p> + +<p>There was not much to choose now between the expression of the two +faces, for the woman's sweet countenance showed in its pallor an anger +as vivid as that which had flushed the face of the man beside her, with +a red so dark that his blue eyes looked unnaturally light by contrast, +as though they had been set in the face of an Indian.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ash had come hurriedly out to meet them. Her<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> son paid no attention +to her; all his powers were evidently concentrated upon holding himself +in check. "I shouldn't have said it, even if it were the plain brutal +truth," he said. "But you madden me, Pauline. I mean what I say—you +really do drive me into a kind of madness."</p> + +<p>"I have no desire to drive you into anything; I have no desire to talk +with you further," she answered.</p> + +<p>"No, no, dearie, don't say that; talk ter him a little longer," said +Mrs. Ash, coming forward, her face set in a tremulous smile. "I'm sure +it's very pleasant here—beside these buildings. And John thinks so much +of you; he means no harm."</p> + +<p>"Poor mother!" said Ash, his voice softening. "She does not dare to say +to you what she longs to say; she would whisper it if she could; and +that is, 'Don't provoke him!' She has some pretty bad memories—haven't +you, mother?—of times when I've—when I've gone a-hunting, as one may +say. She'll tell you about them if you like."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear about them; I don't want to hear about anything," +answered Mrs. Graham, troubled out of all her composure, troubled even +out of her anger by the strangeness of this strange pair. She looked +about for some one, and, seeing Carew coming from the tents of the camp, +she waved her hand to attract his attention and beckoned to him; then +she went forward to meet him as he hastened towards her.</p> + +<p>Ash disengaged himself from his mother, who, however, had only touched +his arm entreatingly, for she had learned to be very cautious where her +son was concerned; he strode forward to Pauline's side.<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a></p> + +<p>"I should rather see you dead before me than go with that man +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't kill me, at least till the day is over," Pauline answered, +her courage, and her unconquerable carelessness too, returning in the +approach of Carew. "It would be quite too great a disappointment to lose +my day."</p> + +<p>"You <i>shall</i> lose it!" said Ash, with a loud coarse oath.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said the woman, all her lovely delicate person shrinking away from +him.</p> + +<p>Her intonation had been one of disgust. She held the skirt of her habit +closer, as if to avoid all contact.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>At five o'clock of the same afternoon Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett, +with Arthur Abercrombie, came running along the narrow streets of a +village some miles from Pæstum.</p> + +<p>The stone houses of which this village was composed stood like two solid +walls facing each other, rising directly from the stone-paved road, +which was barely ten feet wide; down this conduit water was pouring like +a brook. The houses were about forty in number, twenty on each side, and +this one short street was all there was of the town.</p> + +<p>It was raining, not in drops, but in torrents, with great pats of water +coming over, almost like stones, and striking upon the heads of those +who were passing below; every two or three minutes there came a glare of +blindingly white lightning, followed immediately by the crash<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> of +thunder, which seemed to be rolling on the very roofs of the houses +themselves. The four boys must have been out in the storm for some time, +for they paid no attention to it. Their faces were set, excited. Every +thread of their clothing was wet through.</p> + +<p>"This is the house," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>They looked up, sheltering their eyes with their arms from the blows of +the rain-balls. From the closed windows above, the faces of Isabella +Holland and the three Abercrombie girls looked down at them, pressed +flatly against the small panes, in order to see; for the storm had made +the air so dark that the street lay in gloom.</p> + +<p>The next moment the boys entered.</p> + +<p>"No, we haven't found him," said Arthur, in answer to his white sisters' +look. "But we're going to."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we're going to," said the others. And then, walking on tiptoe in +their soaked shoes, they went softly into an inner room.</p> + +<p>Here on a couch lay Griffith Carew, dying.</p> + +<p>An Italian doctor was still trying to do something for the unconscious +man. He had an assistant, and the two were at work together. Near by, +old Mrs. Preston sat waiting, her hands folded upon the knob of a cane +which stood on the floor before her, her chin resting upon her hands. In +this bent position, with her disordered white hair and great black eyes, +she looked witch-like. Three candles burned on a table at the head of +the bed, illumining Carew and the two doctors and the waiting old woman. +The room was long, and its far end was in shadow. Was there another +person present—sitting there silent and motionless? Yes—Pauline. The +boys came to the foot of the bed and gazed with full hearts at Griff.<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a></p> + +<p>Griff had been shot by John Ash two hours before. The deed had been done +just as they had reached the shelter of this village, swept into it +almost by a tornado, which, preceding the darker storm, had driven them +far from their rightful road. The darker storm had broken upon them +immediately afterwards with a terrible sound and fury; but the boys had +barely heard the crash in the sky above them as they carried Griff +through the stony little street. They had found a doctor—two of them; +they had done everything possible. Then they had been told that Griff +must die, and they had gone out to look for the murderer.</p> + +<p>He could not be far, for the village was small, and he could not have +quitted the village, because the half-broken young horses that had +brought him from Salerno, frightened by the incessant glare of the +lightning, had become unmanageable, dragged their fastenings loose, and +disappeared. In any case the plain was impassable; the roar of the sea, +with the night coming on, indicated that the floods were out; they had +covered the shore, and would soon be creeping inland; the road would be +drowned and lost. Ash, therefore, could not be far.</p> + +<p>Yet they had been unable to find him, though they had searched every +house. And they had found no trace of his mother.</p> + +<p>During these long hours four times the boys had sallied forth and hunted +the street up and down. The Italians, crowded into their narrow dark +dwellings from fear of the storm, had allowed them to pass freely in and +out, to go from floor to floor; some of the men had even lighted their +little oil lamps and gone down with them to search the shallow cellars. +But the<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> women did not look up; they were telling their beads or +kneeling before their little in-door shrines, the frightened children +clinging to their skirts and crying. For both the street and the dark +houses were lighted every minute or two by that unearthly blinding +glare.</p> + +<p>The village version of the story was that the two <i>forestieri</i> had +sprung at each other's throats, maddened by jealousy; poniards had been +drawn, and one of them had fallen. One had fallen, indeed, but only one +had attacked. And there had been no poniards: it was a well-aimed bullet +from an American revolver that had struck down Griffith Carew.</p> + +<p>The four boys, brought back each time from their search by a sudden hope +that perhaps Griff might have rallied, and forced each time to yield up +their hope at the sight of his death-like face, were animated in their +grief by one burning determination: they would bring the murderer to +justice. It was a foreign land and a remote shore; they were boys; and +he was a bold, bad man with a wonderful brain—for they had always +appreciated Ash's cleverness, though they had never liked him. In spite +of all this he should not escape; they would hunt him like +hounds—blood-hounds; and though it should take months, even years, of +their lives, they would bring him to justice at the last.</p> + +<p>This hot vow kept the poor lads from crying. They were very young, and +their heads were throbbing with their unshed tears; there were big lumps +in their throats when poor Griff, opening his dull eyes for a moment, +knew them, and tried to smile in his cheery old way. But he relapsed +into unconsciousness immediately. And the watch went on.</p> + +<p>The gloomy day drew to its close; by the clocks,<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> evening had come. +There was more breathing-space now between the lightning flashes and the +following thunder; the wind was no longer violent; the rain still fell +heavily; its torrent, striking the pavement below, sent up a loud hollow +sound. One of the doctors left the house, and came back with a fresh +supply of candles and various things, vaguely frightful, because hidden, +concealed in a sheet. Then the other doctor went out to get something to +eat. Finally they were both on guard again. And the real night began.</p> + +<p>Then, to the waiting group in the lighted silent room, there entered a +tall figure—Azubah Ash; drenched, without bonnet or shawl, she stood +there before them. Her frightened look was gone forever: she faced them +with unconscious majesty. "My son is dead"—this was her announcement.</p> + +<p>She walked forward to the bed, and gazed at the man lying there. +"Perhaps he will not die," she said, turning her head to glance at the +others. "God is kind—sometimes; perhaps he will not die." She bent over +and stroked his hair tenderly with her large hand. "Dear heart, live! +Try ter live!" she said; "we want yer to, so much!"</p> + +<p>Then she left him, and faced them again. "I thought of warning you," she +began; "you"—and she looked at Mrs. Preston; "and you"—she turned +towards the figure at the end of the room. "My son was not himself when +he was in a passion—I have known it ever sence he was born. Even when +he was a little fellow of two and three I used ter try ter guard him; +but I couldn't do much—his will was stronger than mine. And he was +always very clever, my son was—much cleverer than me. Twice before, +three times before,<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> I've ben afraid he'd take some one's life. You +see, he didn't care about life so much as some people do; and now he has +taken his own."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p086_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p086_sml.jpg" width="527" height="550" alt="THE OLD WATCH-TOWER" title="THE OLD WATCH-TOWER" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">THE OLD WATCH-TOWER</span> +</p> + +<p>There was an involuntary stir among the boys.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ash turned her eyes towards them. "Would you like ter see him, so's +ter be sure? In one moment."</p> + +<p>She went towards the bed again, and clasped her hands; then she knelt +down, and began to pray beside the unconscious man in hushed tones. "O +God, O our Father, give us back this life: do, Lord—O do. It's so dear +ter these poor boys, and it's so dear ter many; and perhaps there's a +mother too. O Lord, give it back to us! And when he's well again, help +him ter be all that my poor son was not. For Christ's sake."</p> + +<p>She rose and crossed to where the boys were standing. "Will you come +now?" she said. "I'm taking him away at dawn." Then, very simply, she +offered her hand to Mrs. Preston. "He was a great deal at your house; he +told me that. I thank you for having ben so kind ter him. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"But I too will go with you," answered Mrs. Preston, in her deep tones. +She rose, leaning on her cane. Mrs. Ash was already crossing the room +towards the door.</p> + +<p>The boys followed her; then came Mrs. Preston, looking bent and old. The +figure of Pauline in her dark corner rose as they approached.</p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Ash, seeing the movement. She paused. "Don't come, my +dear; I really can't let you; you'd think of it all the rest of your +life if you was ter see him now, and 'twould make you feel so bad. I +know you didn't mean no harm. But you mustn't come."<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a></p> + +<p>And Pauline, shrinking back into the shadow, was held there by the +compassion of this mother—this mother whose nobler nature, and large +glance quiet in the majesty of sorrow, made her, made all the women +present, fade into nothingness beside her. In the outer room Isabella +and the excited, peering Abercrombies were like four unimportant, +unnoticed ghosts, as the little procession went by them in silence, and +descended the stairs. Then it passed out into the storm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ash walked first, leading the way, the rain falling on her hair; +the three boys followed; behind them came Mrs. Preston, leaning on her +nephew's arm and helping herself with her cane. They passed down the +narrow street, and the people brought their small lamps to the doorways +to aid them in the darkness. The street ended, but the mother went on: +apparently she was going out on the broad waste. They all followed, Mrs. +Preston merely shaking her head when Arthur proposed that she should +turn back.</p> + +<p>At some distance beyond the town there was a grove of oaks; they went +round an angle of this grove, stumbling in the darkness, and came to a +mound behind it; on the summit of the mound there was something—a +square structure of stone. Mrs. Ash went up, and entered a low door. +Within there was but one room, empty save for a small lighted lamp +standing on the dirt floor; a stairway, or rather a flight of stone +steps, ascended to a room above. Mrs. Ash took the lamp and led the way +up; Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the stones as she followed.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p088_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p088_sml.jpg" width="550" height="315" alt=""THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE +ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED."" title="THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE +ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED." /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE +ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED."</span> +</p> + +<p>The room above was square, like the one below; it was the whole interior +of the ancient house, or rather the ancient watch-tower; its roof of +beams was broken;<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> the rain came through in several places and dropped +upon the floor. There was a second small lamp in the room besides the +one which Mrs. Ash had brought; the two shed a dim ray over a peasant's +rude bed, where something long and dark and straight was stretched out. +Mrs. Ash went up to the bed, and motioning away the old peasant who was +keeping watch there, she took both lamps and held them high above the +still face. The others drew near. And then they saw that it was John +Ash—dead!</p> + +<p>There were no signs of the horror of it; his mother had removed them +all; he lay as if asleep.</p> + +<p>The mother held the lights up steadily for a long moment. Then she +placed them on a table, and coming back, took her son's lifeless hand in +hers.</p> + +<p>"Now that you've seen him, seen that he's really gone, will you leave me +alone with him?" she said. "I think there's nothing more."</p> + +<p>There was a dignity in her face as she stood there beside her child +which made the others feel suddenly conscious of the wantonness of +further intrusion. As they looked at her, too, they perceived that she +no longer thought of them, no longer even saw them: her task was ended.</p> + +<p>Without a word they went out. Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the +stairway again; then there was silence.</p> + +<p>At dawn they saw her drive away. Griff might live, the doctors had said. +But for the moment the gazing group of Americans forgot even that. She +was in a cart, with a man walking beside the horse; the cart was going +slowly across the fields, for the road was over-flowed. The storm had +ceased; the sky was blue; the sun, rising, shed his fresh golden light +on the tall, lonely<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a> figure with its dark hair uncovered, and on the +long rough box at its feet.</p> + +<p>Looking the other way, one could see in the south the beautiful temples +of Pæstum, that have gazed over that plain for more than two thousand +years.<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="A_PINK_VILLA" id="A_PINK_VILLA"></a>A PINK VILLA</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>"Y<small>ES</small>, of the three, I liked Pierre best," said Mrs. Churchill. "Yet it +was hard to choose. I have lived so long in Italy that I confess it +would have been a pleasure to see Eva at court; it's a very pretty +little court they have now at Rome, I assure you, with that lovely Queen +Margherita at the head. The old Marchese is to resign his post this +month, and the King has already signified his intention of giving it to +Gino. Eva, as the Marchesa Lamberti, living in that ideal old Lamberti +palace, you know—Eva, I flatter myself, would have shone in her small +way as brightly as Queen Margherita in hers. You may think I am assuming +a good deal, Philip. But you have no idea how much pain has been taken +with that child; she literally is fitted for a court or for any other +high position. Yet at the same time she is very childlike. I have kept +her so purposely; she has almost never been out of my sight. The +Lambertis are one of the best among the old Roman families, and there +could not be a more striking proof of Gino's devotion than his having +persuaded his father to say (as he did to me two months ago) that he +should be proud to welcome Eva 'as she is,' which meant that her very +small dowry would not be considered an objection. As to Eva herself, of +course the<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> Lambertis, or any other family, would be proud to receive +her," pursued Mrs. Churchill, with the quiet pride which in its +unruffled serenity became her well. "But not to hesitate over her mere +pittance of a portion, that is very remarkable; for the marriage-portion +is considered a sacred point by all Italians; they are brought up to +respect it—as we respect the Constitution."</p> + +<p>"It's a very pretty picture," answered Philip Dallas—"the court and +Queen Margherita, the handsome Gino and the old Lamberti palace. But I'm +a little bewildered, Fanny; you speak of it all so appreciatively, yet +Gino was certainly not the name you mentioned; Pierre, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Pierre," answered Mrs. Churchill, laughing and sighing with the +same breath. "I've strayed far. But the truth is, I did like Gino, and I +wanted to tell you about him. No, Eva will not be the Marchesa Lamberti, +and live in the old palace; I have declined that offer. Well, then, the +next was Thornton Stanley."</p> + +<p>"Thornton Stanley? Has he turned up here? I used to know him very well."</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps you might."</p> + +<p>"He is a capital fellow—when he can forget his first editions."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Churchill folded her arms, placing one hand on each elbow, and +slightly hugging herself. "He has forgotten them more than once in +<i>this</i> house," she said, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"He is not only a capital fellow, but he has a large fortune—ten times +as large, I venture to say, as your Lambertis have."</p> + +<p>"I know that. But—"</p> + +<p>"But you prefer an old palace. I am afraid Stanley<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a> could not build Eva +an old castle. Couldn't you manage to jog on with half a dozen new +ones?"</p> + +<p>"The trouble with Thornton Stanley was his own uncertainty," said Fanny; +"he was not in the least firm about staying over here, though he +pretended he was. I could see that he would be always going home. More +than that, I should not be at all surprised if at the end of five +years—three even—he should have bought or built a house in New York, +and settled down there forever."</p> + +<p>"And you don't want that for your American daughter, renegade?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Churchill unfolded her arms. "No one can be a warmer American than +I am, Philip—no one. During the war I nearly cried my eyes out; have +you forgotten that? I scraped lint; I wanted to go to the front as +nurse—everything. What days they were! We <i>lived</i> then. I sometimes +think we have never lived since."</p> + +<p>Dallas felt a little bored. He was of the same age as Fanny Churchill; +but the school-girl, whose feelings were already those of a woman, had +had her nature stirred to its depths by events which the lad had been +too young to take seriously to heart. His heart had never caught up with +them, though, of course, his reason had.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you are flamingly patriotic," he said. "All the same, you +don't want Eva to live in Fiftieth Street."</p> + +<p>"In Fiftieth Street?"</p> + +<p>"I chose the name at random. In New York."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should be sarcastic," said Fanny. "Of course I +expect to go back myself some time; I could not be content without that. +But Eva—Eva is<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> different; she has been brought up over here entirely; +she was only three when I came abroad. It seems such a pity that all +that should be wasted."</p> + +<p>"And why should it be wasted in Fiftieth Street?"</p> + +<p>"The very qualities that are admired here would be a drawback to her +there," replied Mrs. Churchill. "A shy girl who cannot laugh and talk +with everybody, who has never been out alone a step in her life, where +would she be in New York?—I ask you that. While here, as you see, +before she is eighteen—"</p> + +<p>"Isn't the poor child eighteen yet? Why in the world do you want to +marry her to any one for five years more at least?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Churchill threw up her pretty hands. "How little you have learned +about some things, Philip, in spite of your winters on the Nile and your +Scotch shooting-box! I suppose it is because you have had no daughters +to consider."</p> + +<p>"Daughters?—I should think not!" was Dallas's mental exclamation. +Fanny, then, with all her sense, was going to make that same old mistake +of supposing that a bachelor of thirty-seven and a mother of +thirty-seven were of the same age.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's infinitely better in every way that a nice girl like Eva +should be married as soon as possible after her school-books are closed, +Philip," Mrs. Churchill went on; "for then, don't you see, she can enter +society—which is always so dangerous—safely; well protected, and yet +quite at liberty as well. I mean, of course, in case she has a good +husband. That is the mother's business, the mother's responsibility, and +I think a mother who does not give her heart to it, her whole soul and +energy, and choose <i>well</i>—I think such<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> a mother an infamous woman. In +this case I am sure I have chosen well; I am sure Eva will be happy with +Pierre de Verneuil. They have the same ideas; they have congenial +tastes, both being fond of music and art. And Pierre is a very lovable +fellow; you will think so yourself when you see him."</p> + +<p>"And you say she likes him?"</p> + +<p>"Very much. I should not have gone on with it, of course, if there had +been any dislike. They are not formally betrothed as yet; that is to +come soon; but the old Count (Pierre's father) has been to see me, and +everything is virtually arranged—a delightful man, the old Count. They +are to make handsome settlements; not only are they rich, but they are +not in the least narrow—as even the best Italians are, I am sorry to +say. The Verneuils are cosmopolitans; they have been everywhere; their +estate is near Brussels, but they spend most of their time in Paris. +They will never tie Eva down in any small way. In addition, both father +and son are extremely nice to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Dallas, approvingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes; they have the French ideas about mothers; you know that in France +the mother is and remains the most important person in the family." As +she said this, Mrs. Churchill unconsciously lifted herself and threw +back her shoulders. Ordinarily the line from the knot of her hair behind +to her waist was long and somewhat convex, while correspondingly the +distance between her chin and her belt in front was surprisingly short: +she was a plump woman, and she had fallen into the habit of leaning upon +a certain beguiling steel board, which leads a happy existence in +wrappings of white kid and perfumed lace.<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a></p> + +<p>"Not only will they never wish to separate me from Eva," she went on, +still abnormally erect, "but such a thought would never enter their +minds; they think it an honor and a pleasure to have me with them; the +old Count assured me of it in those very words."</p> + +<p>"And now we have the secret of the Belgian success," said Dallas.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I have not been selfish; I have tried to consider everything; +I have investigated carefully. If you will stay half an hour longer you +can see Pierre for yourself; and then I know that you will agree with +me."</p> + +<p>In less than half an hour the Belgian appeared—a slender, handsome +young man of twenty-two, with an ease of manner and grace in movement +which no American of that age ever had. With all his grace, however, and +his air of being a man of the world, there was such a charming +expression of kindliness and purity in his still boyish eyes that any +mother, with her young daughter's happiness at heart, might have been +pardoned for coveting him as a son-in-law. This Dallas immediately +comprehended. "You have chosen well," he said to Fanny, when they were +left for a moment alone; "the boy's a jewel."</p> + +<p>Before the arrival of Pierre, Eva Churchill, followed by her governess, +had come out to join her mother on the terrace; Eva's daily lessons were +at an end, save that the music went on; Mlle. Legrand was retained as a +useful companion.</p> + +<p>Following Pierre, two more visitors appeared, not together; one was an +Englishman of fifty, small, meagre, plain in face; the other an +American, somewhat<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> younger, a short, ruddy man, dressed like an +Englishman. Mrs. Churchill mentioned their names to Dallas: "Mr. +Gordon-Gray." "Mr. Ferguson."</p> + +<p>It soon appeared that Mr. Gordon-Gray and Mr. Ferguson were in the habit +of looking in every afternoon, at about that hour, for a cup of tea. +Dallas, who hated tea, leaned back in his chair and watched the scene, +watched Fanny especially, with the amused eyes of a contemporary who +remembers a different past. Fanny was looking dimpled and young; her tea +was excellent, her tea-service elaborate (there was a samovar); her +daughter was docile, her future son-in-law a Count and a pearl; in +addition, her terrace was an enchanting place for lounging, attached as +it was to a pink-faced villa that overlooked the sea.</p> + +<p>Nor were there wanting other soft pleasures. "Dear Mrs. +Murray-Churchill, how delicious is this nest of yours!" said the +Englishman, with quiet ardor; "I never come here without admiring it."</p> + +<p>Fanny answered him in a steady voice, though there was a certain +flatness in its tone: "Yes, it's very pretty indeed." Her face was red; +she knew that Dallas was laughing; she would not look in his direction. +Dallas, however, had taken himself off to the parapet, where he could +have his laugh out at ease: to be called Mrs. Murray-Churchill as a +matter of course in that way—what joy for Fanny!</p> + +<p>Eva was listening to the busy Mark Ferguson; he was showing her a little +silver statuette which he had unearthed that morning in Naples, "in a +dusty out-of-the-way shop, if you will believe it, where there was +nothing else but rubbish—literally nothing. From the chasing I am +inclined to think it's fifteenth century.<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> But you will need glasses to +see it well; I can lend you a pair of mine."</p> + +<p>"I can see it perfectly—thanks," said Eva. "It is very pretty, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Pretty, Miss Churchill? Surely it's a miracle!" Ferguson protested.</p> + +<p>Pierre, who was sitting near the mother, glanced across and smiled. Eva +did not smile in reply; she was looking vaguely at the blackened silver; +but when he came over to see for himself the miracle, then she smiled +very pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Pierre was evidently deeply in love; he took no pains to conceal it; but +during the two hours he spent there he made no effort to lure the young +girl into the drawing-room, or even as far as the parapet. He was very +well bred. At present he stood beside her and beside Mark Ferguson, and +talked about the statuette. "It seems to me old Vienna," he said.</p> + +<p>"Signor Bartalama," announced Angelo, Mrs. Churchill's man-servant, +appearing at the long window of the drawing-room which served as one of +the terrace doors; he held the lace curtains apart eagerly, with the +smiling Italian welcome.</p> + +<p>Fanny had looked up, puzzled. But when her eyes fell upon the figure +emerging from the lace she recognized it instantly. "Horace Bartholomew! +Now from what quarter of the heavens do you drop <i>this</i> time?"</p> + +<p>"So glad you call it heaven," said the new-comer, as she gave him her +hand. "But from heaven indeed this time, Mrs. Churchill—I say so +emphatically; from our own great, grand country—with the permission of +the present company be it spoken." And he bowed slightly<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> to the +Englishman and Pierre, his discriminating glance including even the +little French governess, who smiled (though non-comprehendingly) in +reply. "May I present to you a compatriot, Mrs. Churchill?" he went on. +"I have taken the liberty of bringing him without waiting for formal +permission; he is, in fact, in your drawing-room now. His credentials, +however, are small and puny; they consist entirely of the one item—that +I like him."</p> + +<p>"That will do perfectly," said Fanny, smiling.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew went back to the window and parted the curtains. "Come," he +said. A tall man appeared. "Mrs. Churchill, let me present to you Mr. +David Rod."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Churchill was gracious to the stranger; she offered him a chair +near hers, which he accepted; a cup of tea, which he declined; and the +usual small questions of a first meeting, which only very original minds +are bold enough to jump over. The stranger answered the questions +promptly; he was evidently not original. He had arrived two days before; +this was his first visit to Italy; the Bay of Naples was beautiful; he +had not been up Vesuvius; he had not visited Pompeii; he was not afraid +of fever; and he had met Horace Bartholomew in Florida the year before.</p> + +<p>"I am told they are beginning to go a great deal to Florida," remarked +Fanny.</p> + +<p>"I don't go there; I live there," Rod answered.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! in what part?" (She brought forward the only names she knew.) +"St. Augustine, perhaps? Or Tallahassee?"</p> + +<p>"No; I live on the southern coast; at Punta Palmas?"<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a></p> + +<p>"How Spanish that is! Perhaps you have one of those old Spanish +plantations?" She had now exhausted all her knowledge of the State save +a vague memory of her school geography: "Where are the Everglades?" +"They are in the southern part of Florida. They are shallow lakes filled +with trees." But the stranger could hardly live in such a place as that.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Rod; "my plantation isn't old and it isn't Spanish; it's +a farm, and quite new. I am over here now to get hands for it."</p> + +<p>"Hands?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, laborers—Italians. They work very well in Florida."</p> + +<p>Eva and Mademoiselle Legrand had turned with Pierre to look at the +magnificent sunset. "Did you receive the flowers I sent this morning?" +said Pierre, bending his head so that if Eva should glance up when she +answered, he should be able to look into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes; they were beautiful," said Eva, giving the hoped-for glance.</p> + +<p>"Yet they are not in the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"You noticed that?" she said, smiling. "They are in the music-room; +Mademoiselle put them there."</p> + +<p>"They are the flowers for Mozart, are they not?" said +Mademoiselle—"heliotrope and white lilies; and we have been studying +Mozart this morning. The drawing-room, as you know, Monsieur le Comte, +is always full of roses."</p> + +<p>"And how do you come on with Mozart?" asked Pierre.</p> + +<p>"As usual," answered Eva. "Not very well, I suppose."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p100_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p100_sml.jpg" width="550" height="386" alt=""'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"" title=""'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"</span> +</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle twisted her handkerchief round her<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> fingers. She was +passionately fond of music; it seemed to her that her pupil, who played +accurately, was not. Pierre also was fond of music, and played with +taste. He had not perceived Eva's coldness in this respect simply +because he saw no fault in her.</p> + +<p>"I want to make up a party for the Deserto," he went on, "to lunch +there. Do you think Madame Churchill will consent?"</p> + +<p>"Probably," said Eva.</p> + +<p>"I hope she will. For when we are abroad together, under the open sky, +then it sometimes happens I can stay longer by your side."</p> + +<p>"Yes; we never have very long talks, do we?" remarked Eva, reflectively.</p> + +<p>"Do you desire them?" said Pierre, with ardor. "Ah, if you could know +how I do! With me it is one long thirst. Say that you share the feeling, +even if only a little; give me that pleasure."</p> + +<p>"No," said Eva laughing, "I don't share it at all. Because, if we should +have longer talks, you would find out too clearly that I am not clever."</p> + +<p>"Not clever!" said Pierre, with all his heart in his eyes. Then, with +his unfailing politeness, he included Mademoiselle. "She is clever, +Mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>"She is good," answered Mademoiselle, gravely. "Her heart has a +depth—but a depth!"</p> + +<p>"I shall fill it all," murmured Pierre to Eva. "It is not that I myself +am anything, but my love is so great, so vast; it holds you as the sea +holds Capri. Some time—some time, you must let me try to tell you!"</p> + +<p>Eva glanced at him. Her eyes had for the moment a vague expression of +curiosity.</p> + +<p>This little conversation had been carried on in French;<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> Mademoiselle +spoke no English, and Pierre would have been incapable of the rudeness +of excluding her by means of a foreign tongue.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The pink villa was indeed a delicious nest, to use the Englishman's +phrase. It crowned one of the perpendicular cliffs of Sorrento, its rosy +façade overlooking what is perhaps the most beautiful expanse of water +in the world—the Bay of Naples. The broad terrace stretched from the +drawing room windows to the verge of the precipice; leaning against its +strong stone parapet, with one's elbows comfortably supported on the +flat top (which supported also several battered goddesses of marble), +enjoying the shade of a lemon-tree set in a great vase of tawny +terra-cotta—leaning thus, one could let one's idle gaze drop straight +down into the deep blue water below, or turn it to the white line of +Naples opposite, shining under castled heights, to Vesuvius with its +plume of smoke, or to beautiful dark Ischia rising from the waves in the +west, guarding the entrance to the sea. On each side, close at hand, the +cliffs of Sorrento stretched away, tipped with their villas, with their +crowded orange and lemon groves. Each villa had its private stairway +leading to the beach below; strange dark passages, for the most part cut +in the solid rock, winding down close to the face of the cliff, so that +every now and then a little rock-window can let in a gleam of light to +keep up the spirits of those who are descending. For every one does +descend: to sit and read among the rocks; to bathe from the +bathing-house<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> on the fringe of beach; to embark for a row to the +grottos or a sail to Capri.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p102_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p102_sml.jpg" width="550" height="341" alt="SORRENTO" title="SORRENTO" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">SORRENTO</span> +</p> + +<p>The afternoon which followed the first visit of Philip Dallas to the +pink villa found him there a second time; again he was on the terrace +with Fanny. The plunging sea-birds of the terrace's mosaic floor were +partially covered by a large Persian rug, and it was upon this rich +surface that the easy-chairs were assembled, and also the low tea-table, +which was of a construction so solid that no one could possibly knock it +over. A keen observer had once said that that table was in itself a +sufficient indication that Fanny's house was furnished to attract +masculine, not feminine, visitors (a remark which was perfectly true).</p> + +<p>"You are the sun of a system of masculine planets, Fanny," said Dallas. +"After long years, that is how I find you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip—we who live so quietly!"</p> + +<p>"So is the sun quiet, I suppose; I have never heard that he howled. Mr. +Gordon-Gray, Mark Ferguson, Pierre de Vernueil, Horace Bartholomew, +unknown Americans. Do they come to see Eva or you?"</p> + +<p>"They come to see the view—as you do; to sit in the shade and talk. I +give very good dinners too," Fanny added, with simplicity.</p> + +<p>"O romance! good dinners on the Bay of Naples!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you may laugh; but nothing draws men of a certain age—of a +certain kind, I mean; the most satisfactory men, in short—nothing draws +them so surely as a good dinner delicately served," announced Fanny, +with decision. "Please go and ring for the tea."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder that they all hang about you," remarked Dallas as he +came back, his eyes turning from<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> the view to his hostess in her +easy-chair. "Your villa is admirable, and you yourself, as you sit +there, are the personification of comfort, the personification, too, of +gentle, sweet, undemonstrative affectionateness. Do you know that, +Fanny?"</p> + +<p>Fanny, with a very pink blush, busied herself in arranging the table for +the coming cups.</p> + +<p>Dallas smiled inwardly. "She thinks I am in love with her because I said +that about affectionateness," he thought. "Oh, the fatuity of women!"</p> + +<p>At this moment Eva came out, and presently appeared Mr. Gordon-Gray and +Mark Ferguson. A little later came Horace Bartholomew. The tea had been +brought; Eva handed the cups. Dallas, looking at her, was again struck +by something in the manner and bearing of Fanny's daughter. Or rather he +was not struck by it; it was an impression that made itself felt by +degrees, as it had done the day before—a slow discovery that the girl +was unusual.</p> + +<p>She was tall, dressed very simply in white. Her thick smooth flaxen hair +was braided in two long flat tresses behind, which were doubled and +gathered up with a ribbon, so that they only reached her shoulders. This +school-girl coiffure became her young face well. Yes, it was a very +young face. Yet it was a serious face too. "Our American girls are often +serious, and when they are brought up under the foreign system it really +makes them too quiet," thought Dallas. Eva had a pair of large gray eyes +under dark lashes: these eyes were thoughtful; sometimes they were dull. +Her smooth complexion was rather brown. The oval of her face was +perfect. Though her dress was so child-like, her figure was womanly; the +poise of her head<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> was noble, her step light and free. Nothing could be +more unlike the dimpled, smiling mother than was this tall, serious +daughter who followed in her train. Dallas tried to recall Edward +Churchill (Edward Murray Churchill), but could not; he had only seen him +once. "He must have been an obstinate sort of fellow," he said to +himself. The idea had come to him suddenly from something in Eva's +expression. Yet it was a sweet expression; the curve of the lips was +sweet.</p> + +<p>"She isn't such a very pretty girl, after all," he reflected, summing +her up finally before he dismissed her. "Fanny is a clever woman to have +made it appear that she is."</p> + +<p>At this moment Eva, having finished her duties as cup-bearer, walked +across the terrace and stood by the parapet, outlined against the light.</p> + +<p>"By Jove she's beautiful!" thought Dallas.</p> + +<p>Fanny's father had not liked Edward Churchill; he had therefore left his +money tied up in such a way that neither Churchill nor any children whom +he might have should be much benefited by it; Fanny herself, though she +had a comfortable income for life, could not dispose of it. This +accounted for the very small sum belonging to Eva: she had only the few +hundreds that came to her from her father.</p> + +<p>But she had been brought up as though she had many thousands; studiedly +quiet as her life had been, studiedly simple as her attire always was, +in every other respect her existence had been arranged as though a large +fortune certainly awaited her. This had been the mother's idea; she had +been sure from the beginning that a large fortune did await her +daughter. It now appeared that she had been right.<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a></p> + +<p>"I don't know what you thought of me for bringing a fellow-countryman +down upon you yesterday in that unceremonious way, Mrs. Churchill," +Bartholomew was saying. "But I wanted to do something for him—I met him +at the top of your lane by accident; it was an impulse."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure—any friend of yours—" said Fanny, looking into the +teapot.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew glanced round the little circle on the rug, with an +expression of dry humor in his brown eyes. "You didn't any of you like +him—I see that," he said.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence.</p> + +<p>"Well, he is rather a commonplace individual, isn't he?" said Dallas, +unconsciously assuming the leadership of this purely feminine household.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by commonplace; but yes, I do, coming from +<i>you</i>, Dallas. Rod has never been abroad in his life until now; and he's +a man with convictions."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, don't take that tone," said Mark Ferguson; "I've got +convictions too; I'm as obstinate about them as an Englishman."</p> + +<p>"What did your convictions tell you about Rod, then, may I ask?" pursued +Bartholomew.</p> + +<p>"I didn't have much conversation with him, you may remember; I thought +he had plenty of intelligence. His clothes were—were a little peculiar, +weren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Made in Tampa, probably. And I've no doubt but that he took pains with +them—wanted to have them appropriate."</p> + +<p>"That is where he disappointed me," said Gordon-Gray—"that very +appearance of having taken pains.<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> When I learned that he came from +that—that place in the States you have just named—a wild part of the +country, is it not?—I thought he would be more—more interesting. But +he might as well have come from Clerkenwell."</p> + +<p>"You thought he would be more wild, you mean; trousers in his boots; +long hair; knives."</p> + +<p>All the Americans laughed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I dare say you cannot at all comprehend our penchant for that sort +of thing," said the Englishman, composedly. "And—er—I am afraid there +would be little use in attempting to explain it to you. But this Mr. Rod +seemed to me painfully unconscious of his opportunities; he told me +(when I asked) that there was plenty of game there—deer, and even bears +and panthers—royal game; yet he never hunts."</p> + +<p>"He never hunts, because he has something better to do," retorted +Bartholomew.</p> + +<p>"Ah, better?" murmured the Englishman, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew got up and took a chair which was nearer Fanny. "No—no +tea," he said, as she made a motion towards a cup; then, without further +explaining his change of position, he gave her a little smile. Dallas, +who caught this smile on the wing, learned from it unexpectedly that +there was a closer intimacy between his hostess and Bartholomew than he +had suspected. "Bartholomew!" he thought, contemptuously. +"Gray—spectacles—stout." Then suddenly recollecting the increasing +plumpness of his own person, he drew in his out-stretched legs, and +determined, from that instant, to walk fifteen miles a day.</p> + +<p>"Rod knows how to shoot, even though he doesn't<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> hunt," said +Bartholomew, addressing the Englishman. "I saw him once bring down a mad +bull, who was charging directly upon an old man—the neatest sort of a +hit."</p> + +<p>"He himself being in a safe place meanwhile," said Dallas.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, he had to rush forward into an open field. If he had +missed his aim by an eighth of an inch, the beast—a terrible +creature—would have made an end of him."</p> + +<p>"And the poor old man?" said Eva.</p> + +<p>"He was saved, of course; he was a rather disreputable old darky. +Another time Rod went out in a howling gale—the kind they have down +there—to rescue two men whose boat had capsized in the bay. They were +clinging to the bottom; no one else would stir; they said it was certain +death; but Rod went out—he's a capital sailor—and got them in. I +didn't see that myself, as I saw the bull episode; I was told about it."</p> + +<p>"By Rod?" said Dallas.</p> + +<p>"By one of the men he saved. As you've never been saved yourself, +Dallas, you probably don't know how it feels."</p> + +<p>"He seems to be a modern Chevalier Bayard, doesn't he?" said +good-natured Mark Ferguson.</p> + +<p>"He's modern, but no Bayard. He's a modern and a model pioneer—"</p> + +<p>"Pioneers! oh, pioneers!" murmured Gordon-Gray, half chanting it.</p> + +<p>None of the Americans recognized his quotation.</p> + +<p>"He's the son of a Methodist minister," Bartholomew went on. "His +father, a missionary, wandered down<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> to Florida in the early days, and +died there, leaving a sickly wife and seven children. You know the sort +of man—a linen duster for a coat, prunella shoes, always smiling and +hopeful—a great deal about 'Brethren.' Fortunately they could at least +be warm in that climate, and fish were to be had for the catching; but I +suspect it was a struggle for existence while the boys were small. David +was the youngest; his five brothers, who had come up almost laborers, +were determined to give this lad a chance if they could; together they +managed to send him to school, and later to a forlorn little Methodist +college somewhere in Georgia. David doesn't call it forlorn, mind you; +he still thinks it an important institution. For nine years now—he is +thirty—he has taken care of himself; he and a partner have cleared this +large farm, and have already done well with it. Their hope is to put it +all into sugar in time, and a Northern man with capital has advanced +them the money for this Italian colonization scheme: it has been tried +before in Florida, and has worked well. They have been very +enterprising, David and his partner; they have a saw-mill running, and +two school-houses already—one for whites, one for blacks. You ought to +see the little darkies, with their wool twisted into twenty tails, going +proudly in when the bell rings," he added, turning to Fanny.</p> + +<p>"And the white children, do they go too?" said Eva.</p> + +<p>"Yes, to their own school-house—lank girls, in immense sun-bonnets, +stalking on long bare feet. He has got a brisk little Yankee +school-mistress for them. In ten years more I declare he will have +civilized that entire neighborhood."<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a></p> + +<p>"You are evidently the Northern man with capital," said Dallas.</p> + +<p>"I don't care in the least for your sneers, Dallas; I'm not the Northern +man, but I should like to be. If I admire Rod, with his constant driving +action, his indomitable pluck, his simple but tremendous belief in the +importance of what he has undertaken to do, that's my own affair. I do +admire him just as he stands, clothes and all; I admire his creaking +saw-mill; I admire his groaning dredge; I even admire his two hideously +ugly new school-houses, set staring among the stumps."</p> + +<p>"Tell me one thing, does he preach in the school-houses on Sundays and +Friday evenings, say?" asked Ferguson. "Because if he does he will make +no money, whatever else he may make. They never do if they preach."</p> + +<p>"It's his father who was the minister, not he," said Bartholomew. "David +never preached in his life; he wouldn't in the least know how. In fact, +he's no talker at all; he says very little at any time; he's a +doer—David is; he <i>does</i> things. I declare it used to make me sick of +myself to see how much that fellow accomplished every day of his life +down there, and thought nothing of it at all."</p> + +<p>"And what were you doing 'down there,' besides making yourself sick, if +I may ask?" said Ferguson.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I went down for the hunting, of course. What else does one go to +such a place for?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me a little about that, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, +interested for the first time.</p> + +<p>"M. de Verneuil wants us all to go to the Deserto<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> some day soon," said +Fanny; "a lunch party. We shall be sure to enjoy it; M. de Verneuil's +parties are always delightful."</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The end of the week had been appointed for Pierre's excursion.</p> + +<p>The morning opened fair and warm, with the veiled blue that belongs to +the Bay of Naples, the soft hazy blue which is so different from the dry +glittering clearness of the Riviera.</p> + +<p>Fanny was mounted on a donkey; Eva preferred to walk, and Mademoiselle +accompanied her. Pierre had included in his invitation the usual +afternoon assemblage at the villa—Dallas, Mark Ferguson, Bartholomew, +Gordon-Gray, and David Rod.</p> + +<p>For Fanny had, as Dallas expressed it, "taken up" Rod; she had invited +him twice to dinner. The superfluous courtesy had annoyed Dallas, for of +course, as Rod himself was nothing, less than nothing, the explanation +must lie in the fact that Horace Bartholomew had suggested it. +"Bartholomew was always wrong-headed; always picking up some perfectly +impossible creature, and ramming him down people's throats," he thought, +with vexation.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew was walking now beside Fanny's donkey.</p> + +<p>Mark Ferguson led the party, as it moved slowly along the narrow paved +road that winds in zigzags up the mountain; Eva, Mademoiselle, Pierre, +Dallas, and Rod came next. Fanny and Bartholomew were behind;<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> and +behind still, walking alone and meditatively, came Gordon-Gray, who +looked at life (save for the hunting) from the standpoint of the Italian +Renaissance. Gordon-Gray knew a great deal about the Malatesta family; +he had made a collection of Renaissance cloak clasps; he had written an +essay on the colors of the long hose worn in the battling, +leg-displaying days which had aroused his admiration, aroused it rather +singularly, since he himself was as far as possible from having been +qualified by nature to shine in such vigorous society.</p> + +<p>Pierre went back to give some directions to one of the men in the rear +of their small procession.</p> + +<p>When he returned, "So the bears sometimes get among the canes?" Eva was +saying.</p> + +<p>"But then, how very convenient," said Pierre; "for they can take the +canes and chastise them punctually." He spoke in his careful English.</p> + +<p>"They're sugar-canes," said Rod.</p> + +<p>"It's his plantation we are talking about," said Eva. "Once it was a +military post, he says. Perhaps like Ehrenbreitstein."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Dallas, from behind; "the same massive frowning stone +walls."</p> + +<p>"There were four one-story wooden barracks once," said Rod; +"whitewashed; flag-pole in the centre. There's nothing now but a +chimney; we've taken the boards for our mill."</p> + +<p>"See the cyclamen, good folk," called out Gordon-Gray.</p> + +<p>On a small plateau near by a thousand cyclamen, white and pink, had +lifted their wings as if to fly away. Off went Pierre to get them for +Eva.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p112_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p112_sml.jpg" width="439" height="550" alt="ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO" title="ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO</span> +</p> + +<p><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a></p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen the bears in the canes yourself?" pursued Eva.</p> + +<p>"I've seen them in many places besides canes," answered Rod, grimly.</p> + +<p>"I too have seen bears," Eva went on. "At Berne, you know."</p> + +<p>"The Punta Palmas bears are quite the same," commented Dallas. "When +they see Mr. Rod coming they sit up on their hind legs politely. And he +throws them apples."</p> + +<p>"No apples; they won't grow there," said Rod, regretfully. "Only +oranges."</p> + +<p>"Do you make the saw-mill go yourself—with your own hands?" pursued +Eva.</p> + +<p>"Not now. I did once."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it very hard work?"</p> + +<p>"That? Nothing at all. You should have seen us grubbing up the +stumps—Tipp and I!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tipp is perhaps your partner?" said Dallas.</p> + +<p>"Yes; Jim Tipp. Tipp and Rod is the name of the firm."</p> + +<p>"Tipp—and Rod," repeated Dallas, slowly. Then with quick utterance, as +if trying it, "Tippandrod."</p> + +<p>Pierre was now returning with his flowers. As he joined them, round the +corner of their zigzag, from a pasture above came a troop of ponies that +had escaped from their driver, and were galloping down to Sorrento; two +and two they came rushing on, too rapidly to stop, and everybody pressed +to one side to give them room to pass on the narrow causeway.</p> + +<p>Pierre jumped up on the low stone wall and extended his hand to Eva. +"Come!" he said, hastily.</p> + +<p>Rod put out his arm and pushed each outside pony,<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> as he passed Eva, +forcibly against his mate who had the inside place; a broad space was +thus left beside her, and she had no need to leave the causeway. She had +given one hand to Pierre as a beginning; he held it tightly. +Mademoiselle meanwhile had climbed the wall like a cat. There were +twenty of the galloping little nags; they took a minute or two to pass. +Rod's out-stretched hands, as he warded them off, were seen to be large +and brown.</p> + +<p>Eva imagined them "grubbing up" the stumps. "What is grubbing?" she +said.</p> + +<p>"It is writing for the newspapers in a street in London," said Pierre, +jumping down. "And you must wear a torn coat, I believe." Pierre was +proud of his English.</p> + +<p>He presented his flowers.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle admired them volubly. "They are like souls just ready to +wing their way to another world," she said, sentimentally, with her head +on one side. She put her well-gloved hand in Eva's arm, summoned Pierre +with an amiable gesture to the vacant place at Eva's left hand, and the +three walked on together.</p> + +<p>The Deserto, though disestablished and dismantled, like many another +monastery, by the rising young kingdom, held still a few monks; their +brown-robed brethren had aided Pierre's servant in arranging the table +in the high room which commands the wonderful view of the sea both to +the north and the south of the Sorrento peninsula, with Capri lying at +its point too fair to be real—like an island in a dream.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"O la douce folie—</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0.25em;">Aimable Capri!"</span></td></tr> +</table> +<p><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a></p> + +<p class="nind">said Mark Ferguson. No one knew what he meant; he did not know himself. +It was a poetical inspiration—so he said.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p114_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p114_sml.jpg" width="550" height="479" alt="AT THE DESERTO" title="AT THE DESERTO" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">AT THE DESERTO</span> +</p> + +<p>The lunch was delicate, exquisite; everything save the coffee (which the +monks wished to provide: coffee, black-bread, and grapes which were half +raisins was the monks' idea of a lunch) had been sent up from Sorrento. +Dallas, who was seated beside Fanny, gave her a congratulatory nod.</p> + +<p>"Yes, all Pierre does is well done," she answered, in a low tone, unable +to deny herself this expression of maternal content.</p> + +<p>Pierre was certainly a charming host. He gave them a toast; he gave them +two; he gave them a song: he had a tenor voice which had been admirably +cultivated, and his song was gay and sweet. He looked very handsome; he +wore one of the cyclamen in his button-hole; Eva wore the rest, arranged +by the deft fingers of Mademoiselle in a knot at her belt. But at the +little feast Fanny was much more prominent than her daughter: this was +Pierre's idea of what was proper; he asked her opinion, he referred +everything to her with a smile which was homage in itself. Dallas, after +a while, was seized with a malicious desire to take down for a moment +this too prosperous companion of his boyhood. It was after Pierre had +finished his little song. "Do you ever sing now, Fanny?" he asked, +during a silence. "I remember how you used to sing Trancadillo."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I don't know what you refer to," answered Fanny, coldly.</p> + +<p>Another week passed. They sailed to Capri; they sailed to Ischia; they +visited Pompeii. Bartholomew suggested these excursions. Eva too showed +an almost<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> passionate desire for constant movement, constant action. +"Where shall we go to-day, mamma?" she asked every morning.</p> + +<p>One afternoon they were strolling through an orange grove on the +outskirts of Sorrento. Under the trees the ground was ploughed and +rough; low stone copings, from whose interstices innumerable violets +swung, ran hither and thither, and the paths followed the copings. The +fruit hung thickly on the trees. Above the high wall which surrounded +the place loomed the campanile of an old church. While they were +strolling the bells rang the Angelus, swinging far out against the blue.</p> + +<p>Rod, who was of the party, was absent-minded; he looked a little at the +trees, but said nothing, and after a while he became absent-bodied as +well, for he fell behind the others, and pursued his meditations, +whatever they were, in solitude.</p> + +<p>"He is bothered about his Italians," said Bartholomew; "he has only +secured twenty so far."</p> + +<p>Pierre joined Fanny; he had not talked with her that afternoon, and he +now came to fulfil the pleasant duty. Eva, who had been left with +Mademoiselle, turned round, and walking rapidly across the ploughed +ground, joined Rod, who was sitting on one of the low stone walls at +some distance from the party. Mademoiselle followed her, putting on her +glasses as she went, in order to see her way over the heaped ridges. She +held up her skirts, and gave ineffectual little leaps, always landing in +the wrong spot, and tumbling up hill, as Dallas called it. "Blue," he +remarked, meditatively. Every one glanced in that direction, and it was +perceived that the adjective described the hue of Mademoiselle's +birdlike ankles.<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a></p> + +<p>"For shame!" said Fanny.</p> + +<p>But Dallas continued his observations. "Do look across," he said, after +a while; "it's too funny. The French woman evidently thinks that Rod +should rise, or else that Eva should be seated also. But her pantomime +passes unheeded; neither Eva nor the backwoodsman is conscious of her +existence."</p> + +<p>"Eva is so fond of standing," explained Fanny. "I often say to her, 'Do +sit down, child; it tires me to see you.' But Eva is never tired."</p> + +<p>Pierre, who had a spray of orange buds in his hand, pressed it to his +lips, and waved it imperceptibly towards his betrothed. "In everything +she is perfect—perfect," he murmured to the pretty mother.</p> + +<p>"Rod doesn't in the least mean to be rude," began Bartholomew.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't explain that importation of yours at this late day," +interposed Dallas; "it isn't necessary. He is accustomed to sitting on +fences probably; he belongs to the era of the singing-school."</p> + +<p>This made Fanny angry. For as to singing-schools, there had been a +time—a remote time long ago—and Dallas knew it. She had smiled in +answer to Pierre's murmured rapture; she now took his arm. To punish +Dallas she turned her steps—on her plump little feet in their delicate +kid boots—towards the still seated Rod, with the intention of asking +him (for the fifth time) to dinner. This would not only exasperate +Dallas, but it would please Bartholomew at the same stroke. Two birds, +etc.</p> + +<p>When they came up to the distant three, Mademoiselle glanced at Mrs. +Churchill anxiously. But in the presence of the mistress of the villa, +Rod did at last lift his long length from the wall.<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a></p> + +<p>This seemed, however, to be because he supposed they were about to leave +the grove. "Is the walk over?" he said.</p> + +<p>Pierre looked at Eva adoringly. He gave her the spray of orange buds.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>A week later Fanny's daughter entered the bedroom which she shared with +her mother.</p> + +<p>From the girl's babyhood the mother had had her small white-curtained +couch placed close beside her own. She could not have slept unless able +at any moment to stretch out her hand and touch her sleeping child.</p> + +<p>Fanny was in the dressing-room; hearing Eva's step, she spoke. "Do you +want me, Eva?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, please."</p> + +<p>Fanny appeared, a vision of white arms, lace, and embroidery.</p> + +<p>"I thought that Rosine would not be here yet," said Eva. Rosine was +their maid; her principal occupation was the elaborate arrangement of +Fanny's brown hair.</p> + +<p>"No, she isn't there—if you mean in the dressing-room," answered Fanny, +nodding her head towards the open door.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see you alone, mamma, for a moment. I wanted to tell you +that I shall not marry Pierre."</p> + +<p>Fanny, who had sunk into an easy-chair, at these words sprang up. "What +is the matter? Are you ill?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, mamma; I am only telling you that I cannot marry +Pierre."<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a></p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> be ill," pursued Fanny. "You have fever. Don't deny it." And +anxiously she took the girl's hands. But Eva's hands were cooler than +her own.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I have any fever," replied Eva. She had been taught to +answer all her mother's questions in fullest detail. "I sleep and eat as +usual; I have no headache."</p> + +<p>Fanny still looked at her anxiously. "Then if you are not ill, what can +be the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>"I have only told you, mamma, that I could not marry Pierre; it seems to +me very simple."</p> + +<p>She was so quiet that Fanny began at last to realize that she was in +earnest. "My dearest, you know you like Pierre. You have told me so +yourself."</p> + +<p>"I don't like him now."</p> + +<p>"What has he done—poor Pierre? He will explain, apologize; you may be +sure of that."</p> + +<p>"He has done nothing; I don't want him to apologize. He is as he always +is. It is I who have changed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is you who have changed," repeated Fanny, bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Eva.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit down and tell mamma all about it. You are tired of poor +Pierre—is that it? It is very natural, he has been here so often, and +stayed so long. But I will tell him that he must go away—leave +Sorrento. And he shall stay away as long as you like, Eva; just as long +as you like."</p> + +<p>"Then he will stay away forever," the girl answered, calmly.</p> + +<p>Fanny waited a moment. "Did you like Gino better? Is that it?" she said, +softly, watching Eva's face.<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a></p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Thornton Stanley?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no!"</p> + +<p>"Dear child, explain this a little to your mother. You know I think only +of your happiness," said Fanny, with tender solicitude.</p> + +<p>Eva evidently tried to obey. "It was this morning. It came over me +suddenly that I could not possibly marry him. Now or a year from now. +Never." She spoke tranquilly; she even seemed indifferent. But this one +decision was made.</p> + +<p>"You know that I have given my word to the old Count," began Fanny, in +perplexity.</p> + +<p>Eva was silent.</p> + +<p>"And everything was arranged."</p> + +<p>Eva still said nothing. She looked about the room with wandering +attention, as though this did not concern her.</p> + +<p>"Of course I would never force you into anything," Fanny went on. "But I +thought Pierre would be so congenial." In her heart she was asking +herself what the young Belgian could have done. "Well, dear," she +continued, with a little sigh, "you must always tell mamma everything." +And she kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Of course," Eva answered. And then she went away.</p> + +<p>Fanny immediately rang the bell, and asked for Mademoiselle. But +Mademoiselle knew nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with surprise +and dismay. She greatly admired Pierre; even more she admired the old +Count, whom she thought the most distinguished of men. Fanny dismissed +the afflicted little woman, and sat pondering. While she was thinking, +Eva re-entered.<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a></p> + +<p>"Mamma, I forgot to say that I should like to have you tell Pierre +immediately. To-day."</p> + +<p>Fanny was almost irritated. "You have never taken that tone before, my +daughter. Have you no longer confidence in my judgment?"</p> + +<p>"If you do not want to tell him this afternoon, it can be easily +arranged, mamma; I will not come to the dinner-table; that is all. I do +not wish to see him until he knows."</p> + +<p>Pierre was to dine at the villa that evening.</p> + +<p>"What can he have done?" thought Fanny again.</p> + +<p>She rang for Rosine; half an hour later she was in the drawing-room. +"Excuse me to every one but M. de Verneuil," she said to Angelo. She was +very nervous, but she had decided upon her course: Pierre must leave +Sorrento, and remain away until she herself should call him back.</p> + +<p>"At the end of a month, perhaps even at the end of a week, she will miss +you so much that I shall have to issue the summons," she said, speaking +as gayly as she could, as if to make it a sort of joke. It was very hard +for her, at best, to send away the frank, handsome boy.</p> + +<p>Poor Pierre could not understand it at all. He declared over and over +again that nothing he had said, nothing he had done, could possibly have +offended his betrothed. "But surely you know yourself that it is +impossible!" he added, clasping his hands beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"It is a girlish freak," explained the mother. "She is so young, you +know."</p> + +<p>"But that is the very reason. I thought it was only older women who say +what they wish to do in that decided way; who have freaks, as you call +it," said the<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> Belgian, his voice for a moment much older, more like the +voice of a man who has spent half his life in Paris.</p> + +<p>This was so true that Fanny was driven to a defence that scarcely +anything else would have made her use.</p> + +<p>"Eva is different from the young girls here," she said. "You must not +forget that she is an American."</p> + +<p>At last Pierre went away; he had tried to bear himself as a gentleman +should; but the whole affair was a mystery to him, and he was very +unhappy. He went as far as Rome, and there he waited, writing to Fanny +an anxious letter almost every day.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile life at the villa went on; there were many excursions. +Fanny's thought was that Eva would miss Pierre more during these +expeditions than at other times, for Pierre had always arranged them, +and he had enjoyed them so much himself that his gay spirits and his gay +wit had made all the party gay. Eva, however, seemed very happy, and at +length the mother could not help being touched to see how light-hearted +her serious child had become, now that she was entirely free. And yet +how slight the yoke had been, and how pleasant! thought Fanny. At the +end of two weeks there were still no signs of the "missing" upon which +she had counted. She thought that she would try the effect of briefly +mentioning the banished man. "I hear from Pierre almost every day, poor +fellow. He is in Rome."</p> + +<p>"Why does he stay in Rome?" said Eva. "Why doesn't he return home?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he doesn't want to go so far away," answered Fanny, vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Far away from what? Home should always be the first place," responded +the young moralist. "Of course<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a> you have told him, mamma, that I shall +never be his wife? That it is forever?" And she turned her gray eyes +towards her mother, for the first time with a shade of suspicion in +them.</p> + +<p>"Never is a long word, Eva."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma!" The girl rose. "I shall write to him myself, then."</p> + +<p>"How you speak! Do you wish to disobey me, my own little girl?"</p> + +<p>"No; but it is so dishonest; it is like a lie."</p> + +<p>"My dear, trust your mother. You have changed once; you may change +again."</p> + +<p>"Not about this, mamma. Will you please write this very hour, and make +an end of it?"</p> + +<p>"You are hard, Eva. You do not think of poor Pierre at all."</p> + +<p>"No, I do not think of Pierre."</p> + +<p>"And is there any one else you think of? I must ask you that once more," +said Fanny, drawing her daughter down beside her caressingly. Her +thoughts could not help turning again towards Gino, and in her supreme +love for her child she now accomplished the mental somerset of believing +that on the whole she preferred the young Italian to all the liberty, +all the personal consideration for herself, which had been embodied in +the name of Verneuil.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is some one else I think of," Eva replied, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"In Rome?" said Fanny.</p> + +<p>Eva made a gesture of denial that was fairly contemptuous.</p> + +<p>Fanny's mind flew wildly from Bartholomew to Dallas, from Ferguson to +Gordon-Gray: Eva had no<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a> acquaintances save those which were her +mother's also.</p> + +<p>"It is David Rod," Eva went on, in the same low tone. Then, with sudden +exaltation, her eyes gleaming, "I have never seen any one like him."</p> + +<p>It was a shock so unexpected that Mrs. Churchill drew her breath under +it audibly, as one does under an actual blow. But instantly she rallied. +She said to herself that she had got a romantic idealist for a +daughter—that was all. She had not suspected it; she had thought of Eva +as a lovely child who would develop into what she herself had been. +Fanny, though far-seeing and intelligent, had not been endowed with +imagination. But now that she did realize it, she should know how to +deal with it. A disposition like that, full of visionary fancies, was +not so uncommon as some people supposed. Horace Bartholomew should take +the Floridian away out of Eva's sight forever, and the girl would soon +forget him; in the meanwhile not one word that was harsh should be +spoken on the subject, for that would be the worst policy of all.</p> + +<p>This train of thought had passed through her mind like a flash. "My +dear," she began, as soon as she had got her breath back, "you are right +to be so honest with me. Mr. Rod has not—has not said anything to you +on the subject, has he?"</p> + +<p>"No. Didn't I tell you that he cares nothing for me? I think he despises +me—I am so useless!" And then suddenly the girl began to sob; a passion +of tears.</p> + +<p>Fanny was at her wits' end; Eva had not wept since the day of her baby +ills, for life had been happy to her, loved, caressed, and protected as +she had been always, like a hot-house flower.<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a></p> + +<p>"My darling," said the mother, taking her in her arms.</p> + +<p>But Eva wept on and on, as if her heart would break. It ended in Fanny's +crying too.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Early the next morning her letter to Bartholomew was sent. Bartholomew +had gone to Munich for a week. The letter begged, commanded, that he +should make some pretext that would call David Rod from Sorrento at the +earliest possible moment. She counted upon her fingers; four days for +the letter to go and the answer to return. Those four days she would +spend at Capri.</p> + +<p>Eva went with her quietly. There had been no more conversation between +mother and daughter about Rod; Fanny thought that this was best.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day there came a letter from Bartholomew. Fanny returned +to Sorrento almost gayly: the man would be gone.</p> + +<p>But he was not gone. Tranquillized, glad to be at home again, Mrs. +Churchill was enjoying her terrace and her view, when Angelo appeared at +the window: "Signor Ra."</p> + +<p>Angelo's mistress made him a peremptory sign. "Ask the gentleman to wait +in the drawing-room," she said. Then crossing to Eva, who had risen, "Go +round by the other door to our own room, Eva," she whispered.</p> + +<p>The girl did not move; her face had an excited look. "But why—"<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a></p> + +<p>"Go, child; go."</p> + +<p>Still Eva stood there, her eyes fixed upon the long window veiled in +lace; she scarcely seemed to breathe.</p> + +<p>Her mother was driven to stronger measures. "You told me yourself that +he cared nothing for you."</p> + +<p>A deep red rose in Eva's cheeks; she turned and left the terrace by the +distant door.</p> + +<p>The mother crossed slowly to the long window and parted the curtains. +"Mr. Rod, are you there? Won't you come out? Or stay—I will join you." +She entered the drawing-room and took a seat.</p> + +<p>Rod explained that he was about to leave Sorrento; Bartholomew had +summoned him so urgently that he did not like to refuse, though it was +very inconvenient to go at such short notice.</p> + +<p>"Then you leave to-morrow?" said Fanny; "perhaps to-night?"</p> + +<p>"No; on Monday. I could not arrange my business before."</p> + +<p>"Three days more," Fanny thought.</p> + +<p>She talked of various matters; she hoped that some one else would come +in; but, by a chance, no one appeared that day, neither Dallas, nor +Ferguson, nor Gordon-Gray. "What can have become of them?" she thought, +with irritation. After a while she gave an inward start; she had become +conscious of a foot-fall passing to and fro behind the half-open door +near her—a door which led into the dining-room. It was a very soft +foot-fall upon a thick carpet, but she recognized it: it was Eva. She +was there—why? The mother could think of no good reason. Her heart +began to beat more quickly; for the first time in her life she did not +know her child. This person walking up and down behind<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> that door so +insistently, this was not Eva. Eva was docile; this person was not +docile. What would be done next? She felt strangely frightened. It was a +proof of her terror that she did not dare to close the door lest it +should be instantly reopened. She began to watch every word she said to +Rod, who had not perceived the foot-fall. She began to be +extraordinarily polite to him; she stumbled through the most irrelevant +complimentary sentences. Her dread was, every minute, lest Eva should +appear.</p> + +<p>But Eva did not appear; and at last, after long lingering, Rod went +away. Fanny, who had hoped to bid him a final farewell, had not dared to +go through that ceremony. He said that he should come again.</p> + +<p>When at last he was gone the mother pushed open the half-closed door. +"Eva," she began. She had intended to be severe, as severe as she +possibly could be; but the sight of Eva stopped her. The girl had flung +herself down upon the floor, her bowed head resting upon her arms on a +chair. Her attitude expressed a hopeless desolation.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said Fanny, rushing to her.</p> + +<p>Eva raised her head. "He never once spoke of me—asked for me," she +murmured, looking at her mother with eyes so dreary with grief that any +one must have pitied her.</p> + +<p>Her mother pitied her, though it was an angry pity, too—a +non-comprehending, jealous, exasperated feeling. She sat down and +gathered her child to her breast with a gesture that was almost fierce. +That Eva should suffer so cruelly when she, Fanny, would have made any +sacrifice to save her from it, would have died for her gladly, were it +not that she was the girl's only protector<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>—oh, what fate had come over +their happy life together! She had not the heart to be stern. All she +said was, "We will go away, dear; we will go away."</p> + +<p>"No," said Eva, rising; "let me stay here. You need not be afraid."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am not afraid," answered Fanny, gravely. "My daughter will +never do anything unseemly; she has too much pride."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I have no pride—that is, not as you have it, mamma. Pride +doesn't seem to me at all important compared with—— But of course I +know that there is nothing I can do. He is perfectly indifferent. Only +do not take me away again—do not."</p> + +<p>"Why do you wish to stay?"</p> + +<p>"Because then I can think—for three days more—that he is at least as +near me as that." She trembled as she said this; there was a spot of +sombre red in each cheek; her fair face looked strange amid her +disordered hair.</p> + +<p>Her mother watched her helplessly. All her beliefs, all her creed, all +her precedents, the experience of her own life and her own nature even, +failed to explain such a phenomenon as this. And it was her own child +who was saying these things.</p> + +<p>The next day Eva was passive. She wandered about the terrace, or sat for +hours motionless staring blankly at the sea. Her mother left her to +herself. She had comprehended that words were useless. She pretended to +be embroidering, but in reality as she drew her stitches she was +counting the hours as they passed: seventy-two hours; forty-eight hours. +Would he ever be gone?</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p128_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p128_sml.jpg" width="550" height="516" alt=""SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"" title=""SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"</span> +</p> + +<p>On the second day, in the afternoon, she discovered<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a> that Eva had +disappeared. The girl had been on the terrace with Mademoiselle; +Mademoiselle had gone to her room for a moment, and when she returned +her pupil could not be found. She had not passed through the +drawing-room, where Fanny was sitting with her pretended industry; nor +through the other door, for Rosine was at work there, and had seen +nothing of her. There remained only the rock stairway to the beach. +Mademoiselle ran down it swiftly: no one. But there was a small boat not +far off, she said. Fanny, who was near-sighted, got the glass. In a +little boat with a broad sail there were two figures; one was certainly +David Rod, and the other—yes, the other was Eva. There was a breeze, +the boat was rapidly going westward round the cliffs; in two minutes +more it was out of sight.</p> + +<p>Fanny wrung her hands. The French woman, to whom the event wore a much +darker hue than it did to the American mother, turned yellowly pale.</p> + +<p>At this moment Horace Bartholomew came out on the terrace; uneasy, for +Fanny's missive had explained nothing, he had followed his letter +himself. "What is it?" he said, as he saw the agitation of the two +women.</p> + +<p>"Your friend—<i>yours</i>—the man you brought here, has Eva with him at +this moment out on the bay!" said Fanny, vehemently.</p> + +<p>"Well, what of that? You must look at it with Punta Palmas eyes, Fanny; +at Punta Palmas it would be an ordinary event."</p> + +<p>"But my Eva is not a Punta Palmas girl, Horace Bartholomew!"</p> + +<p>"She is as innocent as one, and I'll answer for Rod.<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> Come, be sensible, +Fanny. They will be back before sunset, and no one in Sorrento—if that +is what is troubling you so—need be any the wiser."</p> + +<p>"You do not know all," said Fanny. "Oh, Horace—I must tell +somebody—she fancies she cares for that man!" She wrung her hands +again. "Couldn't we follow them? Get a boat."</p> + +<p>"It would take an hour. And it would be a very conspicuous thing to do. +Leave them alone—it's much better; I tell you I'll answer for Rod. +Fancies she cares for him, does she? Well, he is a fine fellow; on the +whole, the finest I know."</p> + +<p>The mother's eyes flashed through her tears. "This from <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I can't help it; he is. Of course you do not think so. He has got no +money; he has never been anywhere that you call anywhere; he doesn't +know anything about the only life you care for nor the things you think +important. All the same, he is a man in a million. He is a man—not a +puppet."</p> + +<p>Gentle Mrs. Churchill appeared for the moment transformed. She looked as +though she could strike him. "Never mind your Quixotic ideas. Tell me +whether he is in love with Eva; it all depends upon that."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I am sure," answered Bartholomew. He began to think. "I +can't say at all; he would conceal it from me."</p> + +<p>"Because he felt his inferiority. I am glad he has that grace."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't be conscious of any inferiority save that he is poor. It +would be that, probably, if anything; of course he supposes that Eva is +rich."<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a></p> + +<p>"Would to Heaven she were!" said the mother. "Added to every other +horror of it, poverty, miserable poverty, for my poor child!" She sat +down and hid her face.</p> + +<p>"It may not be as bad as you fear, nor anything like it. Do cheer up a +little, Fanny. When Eva comes back, ten to one you will find that +nothing at all has happened—that it has been a mere ordinary excursion. +And I promise you I will take Rod away with me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Churchill rose and began to pace to and fro, biting her lips, and +watching the water. Mademoiselle, who was still hovering near, she waved +impatiently away. "Let no one in," she called to her.</p> + +<p>There seemed, indeed, to be nothing else to do, as Bartholomew had said, +save to wait. He sat down and discussed the matter a little.</p> + +<p>Fanny paid no attention to what he was saying. Every now and then broken +phrases of her own burst from her: "How much good will her perfect +French and Italian, her German, Spanish, and even Russian, do her down +in that barbarous wilderness?"—"In her life she has never even buttoned +her boots. Do they think she can make bread?"—"And there was Gino. And +poor Pierre." Then, suddenly, "But it <i>shall</i> not be!"</p> + +<p>"I have been wondering why you did not take that tone from the first," +said Bartholomew. "She is very young. She has been brought up to obey +you implicitly. It would be easy enough, I should fancy, if you could +once make up your mind to it."</p> + +<p>"Make up my mind to save her, you mean," said the mother, bitterly. She +did not tell him that she<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> was afraid of her daughter. "Should you +expect <i>me</i> to live at Punta Palmas?" she demanded, contemptuously, of +her companion.</p> + +<p>"That would depend upon Rod, wouldn't it?" answered Bartholomew, rather +unamiably. He was tired—he had been there an hour—of being treated +like a door-mat.</p> + +<p>At this Fanny broke down again, and completely. For it was only too +true; it would depend upon that stranger, that farmer, that unknown +David Rod, whether she, the mother, should or should not be with her own +child.</p> + +<p>A little before sunset the boat came into sight again round the western +cliffs. Fanny dried her eyes. She was very pale. Little Mademoiselle, +rigid with anxiety, watched from an upper window. Bartholomew rose to go +down to the beach to receive the returning fugitives. "No," said Fanny, +catching his arm, "don't go; no one must know before I do—no one." So +they waited in silence.</p> + +<p>Down below, the little boat had rapidly approached. Eva had jumped out, +and was now running up the rock stairway; she was always light-footed, +but to her mother it seemed that the ascent took an endless time. At +length there was the vision of a young, happy, rushing figure—rushing +straight to Fanny's arms. "Oh, mamma, mamma," the girl whispered, seeing +that there was no one there but Bartholomew, "he loves me! He has told +me so! he has told me so!"</p> + +<p>For an instant the mother drew herself away. Eva, left alone, and +mindful of nothing but her own bliss, looked so radiant with happiness +that Bartholomew (being a man) could not help sympathizing with her.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> +"You will have to give it up," he said to Fanny, significantly. Then he +took his hat and went away.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later his place was filled by David Rod.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you have come. I must have a few words of conversation with you, +Mr. Rod," said Fanny, in an icy tone. "Eva, leave us now."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, mamma, not now; never again, I hope," answered the girl. She +spoke with secure confidence; her eyes were fixed upon her lover's face.</p> + +<p>"Do you call this honorable behavior, Mr. Rod?" Fanny began. She saw +that Eva would not go.</p> + +<p>"Why, I hope so," answered Rod, surprised. "I have come at once, as soon +as I possibly could, Mrs. Churchill (I had to take the boat back first, +you know), to tell you that we are engaged; it isn't an hour old yet—is +it, Eva?" He looked at Eva smilingly, his eyes as happy as her own.</p> + +<p>"It is the custom to ask permission," said Fanny, stiffly.</p> + +<p>"I have never heard of the custom, then; that is all I can say," +answered Rod, with good-natured tranquillity, still looking at the +girl's face, with its rapt expression, its enchanting joy.</p> + +<p>"Please to pay attention; I decline to consent, Mr. Rod; you cannot have +my daughter."</p> + +<p>"Mamma—" said Eva, coming up to her.</p> + +<p>"No, Eva; if you will remain here—which is most improper—you will have +to hear it all. You are so much my daughter's inferior, Mr. Rod, that I +cannot, and I shall not, consent."</p> + +<p>At the word "inferior," a slight shock passed over Eva from head to +foot. She went swiftly to her lover,<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> knelt down and pressed her lips to +his brown hand, hiding her face upon it.</p> + +<p>He raised her tenderly in his arms, and thus embraced, they stood there +together, confronting the mother—confronting the world.</p> + +<p>Fanny put out her hands with a bitter cry. "Eva!"</p> + +<p>The girl ran to her, clung to her. "Oh, mamma, I love you dearly. But +you must not try to separate me from David. I could not leave him—I +never will."</p> + +<p>"Let us go in, to our own room," said the mother, in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but speak to David first, mamma."</p> + +<p>Rod came forward and offered his arm. He was sorry for the mother's +grief, which, however, in such intensity as this, he could not at all +understand. But though he was sorry, he was resolute, he was even stern; +in his dark beauty, his height and strength, he looked indeed, as +Bartholomew had said, a man.</p> + +<p>At the sight of his offered arm Mrs. Churchill recoiled; she glanced all +round the terrace as though to get away from it; she even glanced at the +water; it almost seemed as if she would have liked to take her child and +plunge with her to the depths below. But one miserable look at Eva's +happy, trustful eyes still watching her lover's face cowed her; she took +the offered arm. And then Rod went with her, supporting her gently into +the house, and through it to her own room, where he left her with her +daughter. That night the mother rose from her sleepless couch, lit a +shaded taper, and leaving it on a distant table, stole softly to Eva's +side. The girl was in a deep slumber, her head pillowed on her arm. +Fanny, swallowing her tears,<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> gazed at her sleeping child. She still +saw in the face the baby outlines of years before, her mother's eye +could still distinguish in the motionless hand the dimpled fingers of +the child. The fair hair, lying on the pillow, recalled to her the short +flossy curls of the little girl who had clung to her skirts, who had had +but one thought—"mamma."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p134_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p134_sml.jpg" width="550" height="549" alt=""FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"" title=""FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"</span> +</p> + +<p>"What will her life be now? What must she go through, perhaps—what +pain, privation—my darling, my own little child!"</p> + +<p>The wedding was to take place within the month; Rod said that he could +not be absent longer from his farm. Fanny, breaking her silence, +suggested to Bartholomew that the farm might be given up; there were +other occupations.</p> + +<p>"I advise you not to say a word of that sort to Rod," Bartholomew +answered. "His whole heart is in that farm, that colony he has built up +down there. You must remember that he was brought up there himself, or +rather came up. It's all he knows, and he thinks it the most important +thing in life; I was going to say it's all he cares for, but of course +now he has added Eva."</p> + +<p>Pierre came once. He saw only the mother.</p> + +<p>When he left her he went round by way of the main street of Sorrento in +order to pass a certain small inn. His carriage was waiting to take him +back to Castellamare, but there was some one he wished to look at first. +It was after dark; he could see into the lighted house through the low +uncurtained windows, and he soon came upon the tall outline of the young +farmer seated at a table, his eyes bent upon a column of figures. The +Belgian surveyed him from head to foot<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> slowly. He stood there gazing +for five minutes. Then he turned away. "<i>That</i>, for Americans!" he +murmured in French, snapping his fingers in the darkness. But there was +a mist in his boyish eyes all the same.</p> + +<p>The pink villa witnessed the wedding. Fanny never knew how she got +through that day. She was calm; she did not once lose her self-control.</p> + +<p>They were to sail directly for New York from Naples, and thence to +Florida; the Italian colonists were to go at the same time.</p> + +<p>"Mamma comes next year," Eva said to everybody. She looked indescribably +beautiful; it was the radiance of a complete happiness, like a halo.</p> + +<p>By three o'clock they were gone, they were crossing the bay in the +little Naples steamer. No one was left at the villa with Fanny—it was +her own arrangement—save Horace Bartholomew.</p> + +<p>"She won't mind being poor," he said, consolingly, "she won't mind +anything—with <i>him</i>. It is one of those sudden, overwhelming loves that +one sometimes sees; and after all, Fanny, it is the sweetest thing life +offers."</p> + +<p>"And the mother?" said Fanny.<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_STREET_OF_THE_HYACINTH" id="THE_STREET_OF_THE_HYACINTH"></a>THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>I<small>T</small> was a street in Rome—narrow, winding, not over-clean. Two vehicles +meeting there could pass only by grazing the doors and windows on either +side, after the usual excited whip-cracking and shouts which make the +new-comer imagine, for his first day or two, that he is proceeding at a +perilous speed through the sacred city of the soul.</p> + +<p>But two vehicles did not often meet in the street of the Hyacinth. It +was not a thoroughfare, not even a convenient connecting link; it +skirted the back of the Pantheon, the old buildings on either side +rising so high against the blue that the sun never came down lower than +the fifth line of windows, and looking up from the pavement was like +looking up from the bottom of a well. There was no foot-walk, of course; +even if there had been one no one would have used it, owing to the easy +custom of throwing from the windows a few ashes and other light trifles +for the city refuse-carts, instead of carrying them down the long stairs +to the door below. They must be in the street at an appointed hour, must +they not? Very well, then—there they were; no one but an unreasonable +foreigner would dream of objecting.<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a></p> + +<p>But unreasonable foreigners seldom entered the street of the Hyacinth. +There were, however, two who lived there one winter not long ago, and +upon a certain morning in the January of that winter a third came to see +these two. At least he asked for them, and gave two cards to the Italian +maid who answered his ring; but when, before he had time to even seat +himself, the little curtain over the parlor door was raised again, and +Miss Macks entered, she came alone. Her mother did not appear. The +visitor was not disturbed by being obliged to begin conversation +immediately; he was an old Roman sojourner, and had stopped fully three +minutes at the end of the fourth flight of stairs to re-gain his breath +before he mounted the fifth and last to ring Miss Macks's bell. Her card +was tacked upon the door: "Miss Ettie F. Macks." He surveyed it with +disfavor, while the little, loose-hung bell rang a small but exceedingly +shrill and ill-tempered peal, like the barking of a small cur. "Why in +the world doesn't she put her mother's card here instead of her own?" he +said to himself. "Or, if her own, why not simply 'Miss Macks,' without +that nickname?"</p> + +<p>But Miss Macks's mother had never possessed a visiting-card in her life. +Miss Macks was the visiting member of the family; and this was so well +understood at home, that she had forgotten that it might not be the same +abroad. As to the "Ettie," having been called so always, it had not +occurred to her to make a change. Her name was Ethelinda Faith, Mrs. +Macks having thus combined euphony and filial respect—the first title +being her tribute to æsthetics, the second her tribute to the memory of +her mother.</p> + +<p>"I am so very glad to see you, Mr. Noel," said Miss<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> Macks, greeting her +visitor with much cordial directness of voice and eyes. "I have been +expecting you. But you have waited so long—three days!"</p> + +<p>Raymond Noel, who thought that under the circumstances he had been +unusually courteous and prompt, was rather surprised to find himself +thus put at once upon the defensive.</p> + +<p>"We are not always able to carry out our wishes immediately, Miss +Macks," he replied, smiling a little. "I was hampered by several +previously made engagements."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but this was a little different, wasn't it? This was something +important—not like an invitation to lunch or dinner, or the usual idle +society talk."</p> + +<p>He looked at her; she was quite in earnest.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it to be different," he answered. "You must remember how +little you have told me."</p> + +<p>"I thought I told you a good deal! However, the atmosphere of a +reception is no place for such subjects, and I can understand that you +did not take it in. That is the reason I asked you to come and see me +here. Shall I begin at once? It seems rather abrupt."</p> + +<p>"I enjoy abruptness; I have not heard any for a long time."</p> + +<p>"That I can understand, too; I suppose the society here is all finished +off—there are no rough ends."</p> + +<p>"There are ends. If not rough, they are often sharp."</p> + +<p>But Miss Macks did not stop to analyze this; she was too much occupied +with her own subject.</p> + +<p>"I will begin immediately, then," she said. "It will be rather long; but +if you are to understand me you ought, of course, to know the whole."<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a></p> + +<p>"My chair is very comfortable," replied Noel, placing his hat and gloves +on the sofa near him, and taking an easy position with his head back.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks thought that he ought to have said, "The longer it is, the +more interesting," or something of that sort. She had already described +him to her mother as "not over-polite. Not rude in the least, you +know—as far as possible from that; wonderfully smooth-spoken; but yet, +somehow—awfully indifferent." However, he was Raymond Noel; and that, +not his politeness or impoliteness, was her point.</p> + +<p>"To begin with, then, Mr. Noel, a year ago I had never read one word you +have written; I had never even heard of you. I suppose you think it +strange that I should tell you this so frankly; but, in the first place, +it will give you a better idea of my point of view; and, in the second, +I feel a friendly interest in your taking measures to introduce your +writings into the community where I lived. It is a very intelligent +community. Naturally, a writer wants his articles read. What else does +he write them for?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a little for his own entertainment," suggested her listener.</p> + +<p>"Oh no! He would never take so much trouble just for that."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, many would take any amount just for that. Successfully +to entertain one's self—that is one of the great successes of life."</p> + +<p>Miss Macks gazed at him; she had a very direct gaze.</p> + +<p>"This is just mere talk," she said, not impatiently, but in a +business-like tone. "We shall never get anywhere if you take me up so. +It is not that your remarks<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> are not very cultivated and interesting, +and all that, but simply that I have so much to tell you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I can be cultivated and interesting dumbly. I will try."</p> + +<p>"You are afraid I am going to be diffuse; I see that. So many women are +diffuse! But I shall not be, because I have been thinking for six months +just what I should say to you. It was very lucky that I went with Mrs. +Lawrence to that reception where I met you. But if it had not happened +as it did I should have found you out all the same. I should have looked +for your address at all the bankers', and if it was not there I should +have inquired at all the hotels. But it was delightful luck getting hold +of you in this way almost the very minute I enter Rome!"</p> + +<p>She spoke so simply and earnestly that Noel did not say that he was +immensely honored, and so forth, but merely bowed his acknowledgments.</p> + +<p>"To go back. I shall give you simply heads," pursued Miss Macks. "If you +want details, ask, and I will fill them in. I come from the West. +Tuscolee Falls is the name of our town. We had a farm there, but we did +not do well with it after Mr. Spurr's death, so we rented it out. That +is how I come to have so much leisure. I have always had a great deal of +ambition; by that I mean that I did not see why things that had once +been done could not be done again. It seemed to me that the point +was—just determination. And then, of course, I always had the talent. I +made pictures when I was a very little girl. Mother has them still, and +I can show them to you. It is just like all the biographies, you know. +They always begin in childhood, and astonish the family. Well, I had my +first<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> lessons from a drawing-teacher who spent a summer in Tuscolee. I +can show you what I did while with him. Then I attended, for four years, +the Young Ladies' Seminary in the county-town, and took lessons while +there. I may as well be perfectly frank and tell the whole, which is +that everybody was astonished at my progress, and that I was myself. All +sorts of things are prophesied out there about my future. You see, the +neighborhood is a very generous-spirited one, and they like to think +they have discovered a genius at their own doors. My telling you all +this sounds, I know, rather conceited, Mr. Noel. But if you could see my +motive, and how entirely without conceit my idea of myself really is, +you would hold me free from that charge. It is only that I want you to +know absolutely the whole."</p> + +<p>"I quite understand," answered her visitor.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you do. I went on at home after that by myself, and I did +a good deal. I work pretty rapidly, you see. Then came my last lessons, +from a third teacher. He was a young man from New York. He had +consumption, poor fellow! and cannot last long. He wasn't of much use to +me in actual work. His ideas were completely different from those of my +other teachers, and, indeed, from my own. He was unreliable, too, and +his temper was uneven. However, I had a good deal of respect for his +opinion, and <i>he</i> told me to get your art-articles and read them. It +wasn't easy. Some of them are scattered about in the magazines and +papers, you know. However, I am pretty determined, and I kept at it +until I got them all. Well, they made a great impression upon me. You +see, they were new." She paused. "But I doubt,<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> Mr. Noel, whether we +should ever entirely agree," she added, looking at him reflectively.</p> + +<p>"That is very probable, Miss Macks."</p> + +<p>Miss Macks thought this an odd reply. "He is so queer, with all his +smoothness!" she said to her mother afterwards. "He never says what you +think he will say. Now, any one would suppose that he would have +answered that he would try to make me agree, or something like that. +Instead, he just gave it right up without trying! But I expect he sees +how independent I am, and that I don't intend to <i>reflect any</i> one."</p> + +<p>"Well, they made a great impression," she resumed. "And as you seemed to +think, Mr. Noel, that no one could do well in painting who had not seen +and studied the old pictures over here, I made up my mind to come over +at any cost, if it was a possible thing to bring it about. It wasn't +easy, but—here we are. In the lives of all—almost all—artists, I have +noticed—haven't you?—that there comes a time when they have to live on +hope and their own pluck more than upon anything tangible that the +present has to offer. They have to take that risk. Well, I have taken +it; I took it when we left America. And now I will tell you what it is I +want from <i>you</i>. I haven't any hesitation in asking, because I am sure +you will feel interested in a case like mine, and because it was your +writings really that brought me here, you know. And so, then, first: I +would like your opinion of all that I have done so far. I have brought +everything with me to show you. Second: I want your advice as to the +best teacher; I suppose there is a great choice in Rome. Third: I should +be glad if you would give a general oversight to all I do<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> for the next +year. And last, if you would be so kind, I should much enjoy making +visits with you to all the galleries and hearing your opinions again by +word of mouth, because that is always so much more vivid, you know, than +the printed page."</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Macks! you altogether over-estimate my powers," said Noel, +astounded by these far-reaching demands, so calmly and confidently made.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. Of course it strikes you so—strikes you as a great +compliment that I should wish to put myself so entirely in your hands," +answered Miss Macks, smiling. "But you must give up thinking of me as +the usual young lady; you must not think of me in that way any more than +I shall think of you as the usual young gentleman. You will never meet +me at a reception again; now that I have found <i>you</i>, I shall devote +myself entirely to my work."</p> + +<p>"An alarming girl!" said Noel to himself. But, even as he said it, he +knew that, in the ordinary acceptation of the term at least, Miss Macks +was not alarming.</p> + +<p>She was twenty-two; in some respects she looked older, in others much +younger, than most girls of that age. She was tall, slender, erect, but +not especially graceful. Her hands were small and finely shaped, but +thin. Her features were well cut; her face oval. Her gray eyes had a +clear directness in their glance, which, combined with the other +expressions of her face, told the experienced observer at once that she +knew little of what is called "the world." For, although calm, it was a +deeply confident glance; it showed that the girl was sure that she could +take care of herself, and even several others also, through any +contingencies<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> that might arise. She had little color; but her smooth +complexion was not pale—it was slightly brown. Her mouth was small, her +teeth small and very white. Her light-brown hair was drawn back smoothly +from her forehead, and drawn up smoothly behind, its thickness braided +in a close knot on the top of her head. This compact coiffure, at a time +when most feminine foreheads in Rome and elsewhere were shaded almost to +the eyebrows by curling locks, and when the arched outline of the head +was left unbroken, the hair being coiled in a low knot behind, made Miss +Macks look somewhat peculiar. But she was not observant of fashion's +changes. That had been the mode in Tuscolee; she had grown accustomed to +it; and, as her mind was full of other things, she had not considered +this one. One or two persons, who noticed her on the voyage over, said +to themselves, "If that girl had more color, and if she was graceful, +and if she was a little more womanly—that is, if she would not look at +everything in such a direct, calm, impartial, impersonal sort of +way—she would be almost pretty."</p> + +<p>But Miss Macks continued without color and without grace, and went on +looking at things as impersonally and impartially as ever.</p> + +<p>"I shall be most happy, of course, to do anything that I can," Noel had +answered. Then to make a diversion, "Shall I not have the pleasure of +seeing Mrs. Macks?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Macks? Oh, you mean mother. My mother's name is Spurr—Mrs. Spurr. +My father died when I was a baby, and some years afterwards she married +Mr. Spurr. She is now again a widow. Her health is not good, and she +sees almost no one, thank you."<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a></p> + +<p>"I suppose you are much pleased with the picturesqueness of Roman life, +and—ah—your apartment?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"Pleased?" said Miss Macks, looking at him in wonder. "With our +apartment? We get along with it because we must; there seems to be no +other way to live in Rome. The idea of having only a story of a house, +and not a whole house to ourselves, is dreadful to mother; she cannot +get used to it. And with so many families below us—we have a +clock-mender, a dress-maker, an engraver, a print-seller, and a +cobbler—and only one pair of stairs, it does seem to me dreadfully +public."</p> + +<p>"You must look upon the stairway as a street," said Noel. "You have +established yourselves in a very short time."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. I got an agent, and looked at thirty places the very first day. +I speak Italian a little, so I can manage the house-keeping; I began to +study it as soon as we thought of coming, and I studied hard. But all +this is of secondary importance; the real thing is to get to work. Will +you look at my paintings now?" she said, rising as if to go for them.</p> + +<p>"Thanks; I fear I have hardly time to-day," said Noel. He was thinking +whether it would be better to decline clearly and in so many words the +office she had thrust upon him, or trust to time to effect the same +without an open refusal. He decided upon the latter course; it seemed +the easier, and also the kinder to her.</p> + +<p>"Well, another day, then," said Miss Macks, cheerfully, taking her seat +again. "But about a teacher?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know—"<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Noel! you <i>must</i> know."</p> + +<p>And, in truth, he did know. It came into his mind to give her the name +of a good teacher, and then put all further responsibilities upon him.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks wrote down the name in a clear, ornamental handwriting.</p> + +<p>"I am glad it isn't a foreigner," she said. "I don't believe I should +get on with a foreigner."</p> + +<p>"But it is a foreigner."</p> + +<p>"Why, it's an English name, isn't it?—Jackson."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is an Englishman. But isn't an Englishman a foreigner in Rome?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you take that view? Now, to me, America and—well, yes, perhaps +England, too, are the nations. Everything else is foreign."</p> + +<p>"The English would be very much obliged to you," said Noel, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know I am more liberal than most Americans; I really like the +English," said Miss Macks, calmly. "But we keep getting off the track. +Let me see—Oh yes. As I shall go to see this Mr. Jackson this +afternoon, and as it is not likely that he will be ready to begin +to-morrow, will you come then and look at my pictures? Or would you +rather commence with a visit to one of the galleries?"</p> + +<p>Raymond Noel was beginning to be amused. If she had shown the faintest +indication of knowing how much she was asking, if she had betrayed the +smallest sign of a desire to secure his attention as Raymond Noel +personally, and not simply the art authority upon whom she had pinned +her faith, his disrelish for various other things about her would have +been heightened into utter dislike, and it is probable that he would<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> +never have entered the street of the Hyacinth again. But she was so +unaware of any intrusion, or any exorbitance in her demands, probably so +ignorant of—certainly so indifferent to—the degree of perfection +(perfection of the most quiet kind, however) visible in the general +appearance and manner of the gentleman before her, that (he said to +himself) he might as well have been one of her own Tuscolee farmers, for +all she knew to the contrary. The whole affair was unusual; and Noel +rather liked the unusual, if it was not loud—and Miss Macks was, at +least, not loud; she was dressed plainly in black, and she had the gift +of a sweet voice, which, although very clear, was low-toned. Noel was an +observer of voices, and he had noticed hers the first time he heard her +speak. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he was +answering that he feared his engagements for the next day would, +unfortunately, keep him from putting himself at her service.</p> + +<p>Her face fell; she looked much disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Is it going to be like this all the time?" she asked, anxiously. "Are +you always engaged?"</p> + +<p>"In Rome, in the winter, one generally has small leisure. It will be the +same with you, Miss Macks, when you have been here a while longer; you +will see. As to the galleries, Mr. Jackson has a class, I think, and +probably the pupils will visit them all under his charge; you will find +that very satisfactory."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want Mr. Jackson for the galleries; I want <i>you</i>," said +Miss Macks. "I have studied your art criticisms until I know them by +heart, and I have a thousand questions to ask about every picture you +have mentioned. Why, Mr. Noel, I came to Europe to see you!"<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a></p> + +<p>Raymond Noel was rather at a loss what to answer to this statement, made +by a girl who looked at him so soberly and earnestly with clear gray +eyes. It would be of no avail again to assure her that his opinions +would be of small use to her; as she had said herself, she was very +determined, and she had made up her mind that they would be of great use +instead of small. Her idea must wear itself out by degrees. He would try +to make the degrees easy. He decided that he would have a little private +talk with Jackson, who was a very honest fellow; and, for the present, +he would simply take leave.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," he said, rising. "I appreciate it, I assure you. It +has made me stay an unconscionable time. I hope you will find Rome all +you expected, and I am sure you will; all people of imagination like +Rome. As to the galleries, yes, certainly; a—ah—little later. You must +not forget the various small precautions necessary here as regards the +fever, you know."</p> + +<p>"Rome will not be at all what I expected if <i>you</i> desert me," answered +Miss Macks, paying no attention to his other phrases. She had risen, +also, and was now confronting him at a distance of less than two feet; +as she was tall, her eyes were not much below the level of his own.</p> + +<p>"How can a man desert when he has never enlisted?" thought Noel, +humorously. But he kept his thought to himself, and merely replied, as +he took his hat: "Probably you will desert me; you will find out how +useless I am. You must not be too hard upon us, Miss Macks; we Americans +lose much of our native energy if we stay long over here."<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a></p> + +<p>"Hard?" she answered—"hard? Why, Mr. Noel, I am absolutely at your +feet!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her, slightly startled, although his face showed nothing of +it; was she, after all, going to—But no; her sentence had been as +impersonal as those which had preceded it.</p> + +<p>"All I said about having contrary opinions, and all that, amounts to +nothing," she went on, thereby relieving him from the necessity of +making reply. "I desire but one thing, and that is to have you guide me. +And I don't believe you are really going to refuse. You haven't an +unkind face, although you <i>have</i> got such a cold way! Why, think of it: +here I have come all this long distance, bringing mother, too, just to +study, and to see you. I shall study hard; I have a good deal of +perseverance. It took a good deal to get here in the first place, for we +are poor. But I don't mind that at all; the only thing I should mind, +the only thing that would take my courage away, would be to have you +desert me. In all the troubles that I thought might happen, I assure +you, I never once thought of <i>that</i>, Mr. Noel. I thought, of course, you +would be interested. Why, in your books you are all interest. Are you +different from your books?"</p> + +<p>"I fear, Miss Macks, that writers are seldom good illustrations of their +own doctrines," replied Noel.</p> + +<p>"That would make them hypocrites. I don't believe you are a hypocrite. I +expect you have a habit of running yourself down. Many gentlemen do +that, and then they think they will be cried up. I don't believe you are +going to be unkind; you <i>will</i> look at the pictures I have brought with +me, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jackson's opinion is worth a hundred of mine,<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> Miss Macks; my +knowledge is not technical. But, of course, if you wish it, I shall take +pleasure in obeying." He added several conventional remarks as +filling-up, and then, leaving his compliments for "your mother"—he +could not recall the name she had given—he went towards the little +curtained door.</p> + +<p>She had brightened over his promise.</p> + +<p>"You will come Monday, then, to see them, won't you?—as you cannot come +to-morrow," she said, smiling happily.</p> + +<p>When she smiled (and she did not smile often), showing her little white, +child-like teeth, she looked very young. He was fairly caught, and +answered, "Yes." But he immediately qualified it with a "That is, if it +is possible."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>make</i> it possible," she answered, still smiling and going with him +herself to the outer door instead of summoning the maid. The last he saw +of her she was standing in the open doorway, her face bright and +contented, watching him as he went down. He did not go to see her +pictures on the following Monday; he sent a note of excuse.</p> + +<p>Some days later he met her.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are taking one of the delightful walks?" he said. "I envy you +your first impressions of Rome."</p> + +<p>"I am not taking a walk—that is, for pleasure," she answered. "I am +trying to find some vegetables that mother can eat; the vegetables here +are so foreign! You don't know how disappointed I was, Mr. Noel, when I +got your note. It was such a setback! Why couldn't you come right home +with me now—that is, after I have got the vegetables—and see the +pictures? It wouldn't take you fifteen minutes."<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a></p> + +<p>It was only nine o'clock, and a beautiful morning. He thought her such a +novelty, with her urgent invitations, her earnest eyes, and her basket +on her arm, that he felt the impulse to walk beside her a while through +the old streets of Rome; he was very fond of the old streets, and was +curious to see whether she would notice the colors and outlines that +made their picturesqueness. She noticed nothing but the +vegetable-stalls, and talked of nothing but her pictures.</p> + +<p>He still went on with her, however, amused by the questions she put to +the vegetable-dealers (questions compiled from the phrase-books), and +the calm contempt with which she surveyed the Roman artichokes they +offered. At last she secured some beans, but of sadly Italian aspect, +and Noel took the basket. He was much entertained by the prospect of +carrying it home. He remarked to himself that of all the various things +he had done in Rome this was the freshest. They reached the street of +the Hyacinth and walked down its dark centre.</p> + +<p>"I see you have the sun," he said, looking up.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is the reason we took the top floor. We will go right up. +Everything is ready."</p> + +<p>He excused himself.</p> + +<p>"Some other time."</p> + +<p>They had entered the dusky hallway. She looked at him without replying; +then held out her hand for the basket. He gave it to her.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have seen Mr. Jackson?" he said, before taking leave.</p> + +<p>She nodded, but did not speak. Then he saw two tears rise in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My dear young lady, you have been doing too<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> much! You are tired. Don't +you know that that is very dangerous in Rome?"</p> + +<p>"It is nothing. Mother has been sick, and I have been up with her two +nights. Then, as she did not like our servant, I dismissed her, and as +we have not got any one else yet, I have had a good deal to do. But I +don't mind that at all, beyond being a little tired; it was only your +refusing to come up, when it seemed so easy. But never mind; you will +come another day." And, repressing the tears, she smiled faintly, and +held out her hand for good-bye.</p> + +<p>"I will come now," said Noel. He took the basket again, and went up the +stairs. He was touched by the two tears, but, at the same time, vexed +with himself for being there at all. There was not one chance in five +hundred that her work was worth anything; and, in the four hundred and +ninety-nine, pray what was he to say?</p> + +<p>She brought him everything. They were all in the four hundred and +ninety-nine. In his opinion they were all extremely and essentially bad.</p> + +<p>It was one of Raymond Noel's beliefs that, where women were concerned, a +certain amount of falsity was sometimes indispensable. There were +occasions when a man could no more tell the bare truth to a woman than +he could strike her; the effect would be the same as a blow. He was an +excellent evader when he chose to exert himself, and he finally got away +from the little high-up apartment without disheartening or offending its +young mistress, and without any very black record of direct +untruth—what is more, without any positive promise as to the exact date +of his next visit. But all<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> this was a good deal of trouble to take for +a girl he did not know or care for.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards he met, at a small party, Mrs. Lawrence.</p> + +<p>"Tell me a little, please, about the young lady to whom you presented me +at Mrs. Dudley's reception—Miss Macks," he said, after some +conversation.</p> + +<p>"A little is all I can tell," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She brought a +letter of introduction to me from a far-away cousin of mine, who lives +out West somewhere, and whom I have not seen for twenty years; my home, +you know, is in New Jersey. How they learned I was in Rome I cannot +imagine; but, knowing it, I suppose they thought that Miss Macks and I +would meet, as necessarily as we should if together in their own +village. The letter assures me that the girl is a great genius; that all +she needs is an opportunity. They even take the ground that it will be a +privilege for me to know her! But I am mortally tired of young geniuses; +we have so many here in Rome! So I told her at once that I knew nothing +of modern art—in fact, detested it—but that in any other way I should +be delighted to be of use. And I took her to Mrs. Dudley's <i>omnium +gatherum</i>."</p> + +<p>"Then you have not been to see her?"</p> + +<p>"No; she came to see me. I sent cards, of course; I seldom call. What +did you think of her?"</p> + +<p>"I thought her charming," replied Noel, remembering the night-vigils, +the vegetables, the dismissed servant, and the two tears of the young +stranger—remembering, also, her extremely bad pictures.</p> + +<p>"I am glad she has found a friend in you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She +was very anxious to meet you;<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a> she looks upon you as a great authority. +If she really has talent—of course <i>you</i> would know—you must tell me. +It is not talent I am so tired of, but the pretence of it. She struck +me, although wofully unformed and awkward, of course, as rather +intelligent."</p> + +<p>"She is intelligence personified," replied Noel, qualifying it mentally +with "intelligence without cultivation." He perceived that the young +stranger would have no help from Mrs. Lawrence, and he added to himself: +"And totally inexperienced purity alone in Rome." To be sure, there was +the mother; but he had a presentiment that this lady, as guardian, would +not be of much avail.</p> + +<p>The next day he went down to Naples for a week with some friends. Upon +his return he stopped at Horace Jackson's studio one afternoon as he +happened to be passing. His time was really much occupied; he was a +favorite in Rome. To his surprise, Jackson seemed to think that Miss +Macks had talent. Her work was very crude, of course; she had been +brutally taught; teachers of that sort should simply be put out of +existence with the bowstring. He had turned her back to the alphabet; +and, in time, in time, they—would see what she could do.</p> + +<p>Horace Jackson was English by birth, but he had lived in Italy almost +all his life. He was a man of forty-five—short, muscular, his thick, +rather shaggy, beard and hair mixed with gray; there was a permanent +frown over his keen eyes, and his rugged face had marked lines. He was a +man of strong individuality. He had the reputation of being the most +incorruptibly honest teacher in Rome. Noel had known him a long time, +and liked him, ill-tempered though he was. Jackson,<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a> however, had not +shown any especial signs of a liking for Noel in return. Perhaps he +thought that, in the nature of things, there could not be much in common +between a middle-aged, morose teacher, who worked hard, who knew nothing +of society, and did not want to know, and a man like Raymond Noel. True, +Noel was also an artist—that is, a literary one. But he had been highly +successful in his own field, and it was understood, also, that he had an +income of his own by inheritance, which, if not opulence, was yet +sufficiently large to lift him quite above the usual <i>res angusta</i> of +his brethren in the craft. In addition, Jackson considered Noel a +fashionable man; and that would have been a barrier, even if there had +been no other.</p> + +<p>As the Englishman seemed to have some belief in Miss Macks, Noel did not +say all he had intended to say; he did, however, mention that the young +lady had a mistaken idea regarding any use he could be to her; he should +be glad if she could be undeceived.</p> + +<p>"I think she will be," said Jackson, with a grim smile, giving his guest +a glance of general survey that took him in from head to foot; "she +isn't dull."</p> + +<p>Noel understood the glance, and smiled at Jackson's idea of him.</p> + +<p>"She is not dull, certainly," he answered. "But she is +rather—inexperienced." He dismissed the subject, went home, dressed, +and went out to dinner.</p> + +<p>One morning, a week later, he was strolling through the Doria gallery. +He was in a bad humor. There were many people in the gallery that day, +but he was not noticing them; he detested a crowd. After a while some +one touched his coat-sleeve from behind. He turned, with his calmest +expression upon his face; when<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> he was in an ill-humor he was +impassively calm. It was Miss Macks, her eyes eager, her face flushed +with pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what good luck!" she said. "And to think that I almost went to the +Borghese, and might have missed you! I am so delighted that I don't know +what to do. I am actually trembling." And she was. "I have so longed to +see these pictures with you," she went on. "I have had a real aching +disappointment about it, Mr. Noel."</p> + +<p>Again Noel felt himself slightly touched by her earnestness. She looked +prettier than usual, too, on account of the color.</p> + +<p>"I always feel a self-reproach when with you, Miss Macks," he +answered—"you so entirely over-estimate me."</p> + +<p>"Well, if I do, live up to it," she said, brightly.</p> + +<p>"Only an archangel could do that."</p> + +<p>"An archangel who knows about Art! I have been looking at the Caraccis; +what do you think of them?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the Caraccis; there are better things to look at here." And +then he made the circuit of the gallery with her slowly, pointing out +the best pictures. During this circuit he talked to her as he would have +talked to an intelligent child who had been put in his charge in order +to learn something of the paintings; he used the simplest terms, +mentioned the marked characteristics, and those only of the different +schools, and spoke a few words of unshaded condemnation here and there. +All he said was in broad, plain outlines. His companion listened +earnestly. She gave him a close attention, almost always a +comprehension, but seldom agreement. Her disagreement she did not +express in<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> words, but he could read it in her eyes. When they had seen +everything—and it took some time—</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "I want you to tell me frankly, and without reference to +anything I have said, your real opinion of several pictures I shall +name—that is, if you can remember?"</p> + +<p>"I remember everything. I always remember."</p> + +<p>"Very well. What do you think, then, of the Raphael double portrait?"</p> + +<p>"I think it very ugly."</p> + +<p>"And the portrait of Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del Piombo?"</p> + +<p>"Uglier still."</p> + +<p>"And the Velasquez?"</p> + +<p>"Ugliest of all."</p> + +<p>"And the two large Claude Lorraines?"</p> + +<p>"Rather pretty; but insipid. There isn't any reality or meaning in +them."</p> + +<p>"The Memling?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that</i> is absolutely hideous, Mr. Noel; it hasn't a redeeming +point."</p> + +<p>Raymond Noel laughed with real amusement, and almost forgot his +ill-humor.</p> + +<p>"When you have found anything you really admire in the galleries here, +Miss Macks, will you tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. I should wish to do so in any case, because, if you +are to help me, you ought to thoroughly understand me. There is one +thing more I should like to ask," she added, as they turned towards the +door, "and that is that you would not call me Miss Macks. I am not used +to it, and it sounds strangely; no one ever called me that in Tuscolee."</p> + +<p>"What did they call you in Tuscolee?"<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a></p> + +<p>"They called me Miss Ettie; my name is Ethelinda Faith. But my friends +and older people called me just 'Ettie'; I wish you would, too."</p> + +<p>"I am certainly older," replied Noel, gravely (he was thirty-three); +"but I do not like Ettie. With your permission, I will call you Faith."</p> + +<p>"Do you like it? It's so old-fashioned! It was my grandmother's name."</p> + +<p>"I like it immensely," he answered, leading the way down-stairs.</p> + +<p>"You can't think how I've enjoyed it," she said, warmly, at the door.</p> + +<p>"Yet you do not agree with my opinions?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. But all the same it was perfectly delightful. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He had signalled for a carriage, as he had, as usual, an engagement. She +preferred to walk. He drove off, and did not see her for ten days.</p> + +<p>Then he came upon her again and again in the Doria gallery. He was fond +of the Doria, and often went there, but he had no expectation of meeting +Miss Macks this time; he fancied that she followed a system, going +through her list of galleries in regular order, one by one, and in that +case she would hardly have reached the Doria on a second round. Her list +was a liberal one; it included twenty. Noel had supposed that there were +but nine in Rome.</p> + +<p>This time she did not see him; she had some sheets of manuscript in her +hand, and was alternately reading from them and looking at one of the +pictures. She was much absorbed. After a while he went up.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Miss Macks."</p> + +<p>She started; her face changed, and the color rose.<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> She was as delighted +as before. She immediately showed him her manuscript. There he beheld, +written out in her clear handwriting, all he had said of the Doria +pictures, page after page of it; she had actually reproduced from memory +his entire discourse of an hour.</p> + +<p>There were two blank spaces left.</p> + +<p>"There, I could not exactly remember," said Miss Macks, apologetically. +"If you would tell me, I should be so glad; then it would be quite +complete."</p> + +<p>"I shall never speak again. I am frightened," said Noel. He had taken +the manuscript, and was looking it over with inward wonder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please do."</p> + +<p>"Why do you care for my opinions, Miss Macks, when you do not agree with +them?" he asked, his eyes still on the pages.</p> + +<p>"You said you would call me Faith. Why do I care? Because they are +yours, of course."</p> + +<p>"Then you think I know?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure you do."</p> + +<p>"But it follows, then, that you do not."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and there is where my work comes in; I have got to study up to +you. I am afraid it will take a long time, won't it?"</p> + +<p>"That depends upon you. It would take very little if you would simply +accept noncombatively."</p> + +<p>"Without being convinced? That I could never do."</p> + +<p>"You want to be convinced against your will?"</p> + +<p>"No; my will itself must be convinced to its lowest depths."</p> + +<p>"This manuscript won't help you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, it has helped me greatly already. I have<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a> been here twice with +it. I wrote it out the evening after I saw you. I only wish I had one +for each of the galleries! But I feel differently now about asking you +to go."</p> + +<p>"I told you you would desert me."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not that. But Mr. Jackson says you are much taken up with the +fashionable society here, and that I must not expect you to give me so +much of your time as I had hoped for. He says, too, that your art +articles will do me quite as much good as you yourself, and more; +because you have a way, he says, like all society men, of talking as if +you had no real convictions at all, and that would unsettle me."</p> + +<p>"Jackson is an excellent fellow," replied Noel; "I like him extremely. +And when would you like to go to the Borghese?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, will you take me?" she said, joyfully. "Any time. To-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Mrs.—your mother, will go, also," he suggested, still unable +to recall the name; he could think of nothing but "stirrup," and of +course it was not that.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe she would care about it," answered the daughter.</p> + +<p>"She might. You know we make more of mothers here than we do in +America," he ventured to remark.</p> + +<p>"That is impossible," said Miss Macks, calmly. Evidently she thought his +remark frivolous.</p> + +<p>He abandoned the subject, and did not take it up again. It was not his +duty to instruct Miss Macks in foreign customs. In addition, she was not +only not "in society," but she was an art student, and art students had, +or took, privileges of their own in Rome.</p> + +<p>"At what hour shall I come for you?" he said.<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a></p> + +<p>"It will be out of your way to come for me; I will meet you at the +gallery," she answered, radiant at the prospect.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, then accepted her arrangement of things. He would take her +way, not his own. The next morning he went to the Borghese Palace ten +minutes before the appointed time. But she was already there.</p> + +<p>"Mother thought she would not come out—the galleries tire her so," she +said; "but she was pleased to be remembered."</p> + +<p>They spent an hour and a half among the pictures. She listened to all he +said with the same earnest attention.</p> + +<p>Within the next five weeks Raymond Noel met Miss Macks at other +galleries. It was always very business-like—they talked of nothing but +the pictures; in truth, her systematic industry kept him strictly down +to the subject in hand. He learned that she made the same manuscript +copies of all he said, and, when he was not with her, she went alone, +armed with these documents, and worked hard. Her memory was remarkable; +she soon knew the names and the order of all the pictures in all the +galleries, and had made herself acquainted with an outline, at least, of +the lives of all the artists who had painted them. During this time she +was, of course, going on with her lessons; but as he had not been again +to see Jackson, or to the street of the Hyacinth, he knew nothing of her +progress. He did not want to know; she was in Jackson's hands, and +Jackson was quite competent to attend to her.</p> + +<p>In these five weeks he gave to Miss Macks only the odd hours of his +leisure. He made her no promises;<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> but when he found that he should have +a morning or half-morning unoccupied, he sent a note to the street of +the Hyacinth, naming a gallery and an hour. She was always promptly +there, and so pleased, that there was a sort of fresh aroma floating +through the time he spent with her, after all—but a mild one.</p> + +<p>To give the proper position to the place the young art student's light +figure occupied on the canvas of Raymond Noel's winter, it should be +mentioned that he was much interested in a French lady who was spending +some months in Rome. He had known her and admired her for a long time; +but this winter he was seeing more of her, some barriers which had +heretofore stood in the way being down. Madame B—— was a charming +product of the effects of finished cultivation and fashionable life upon +a natural foundation of grace, wit, and beauty of the French kind. She +was not artificial, because she was art itself. Real art is as real as +real nature is natural. Raymond Noel had a highly artistic nature. He +admired art. This did not prevent him from taking up occasionally, as a +contrast to this lady, the society of the young girl he called "Faith." +Most men of imagination, artistic or not, do the same thing once in a +while; it seems a necessity. With Noel it was not the contrast alone. +The French lady led him an uneasy life, and now and then he took an hour +of Faith, as a gentle soothing draught of safe quality. She believed in +him so perfectly! Now Madame appeared to believe in him not at all.</p> + +<p>It must be added that, in his conversations with Miss Macks, he had +dropped entirely even the very small amount of conventional gallantry +that he had bestowed upon her in the beginning. He talked to her not as<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> +though she was a boy exactly, or an old woman, but as though he himself +was a relative of mature age—say an uncle of benevolent disposition and +a taste for art.</p> + +<p>February gave way to March. And now, owing to a new position of his own +affairs, Noel saw no more of Faith Macks. She had been a contrast, and +he did not now wish for a contrast or a soothing draught, and a soothing +draught was not at present required. He simply forgot all about her.</p> + +<p>In April he decided rather suddenly to leave Rome. This was because +Madame B—— had gone to Paris, and had not forbidden her American +suitor to follow her a few days later. He made his preparations for +departure, and these, of course, included farewell calls. Then he +remembered Faith Macks; he had not seen her for six weeks. He drove to +the street of the Hyacinth, and went up the dark stairs. Miss Macks was +at home, and came in without delay; apparently, in her trim neatness, +she was always ready for visitors.</p> + +<p>She was very glad to see him; but did not, as he expected, ask why he +had not come before. This he thought a great advance; evidently she was +learning. When she heard that he had come to say good-bye her face fell.</p> + +<p>"I am so very sorry; please sit as long as you can, then," she said, +simply. "I suppose it will be six months before I see you again; you +will hardly return to Rome before October." That he would come at that +time she did not question.</p> + +<p>"My plans are uncertain," replied Noel. "But probably I shall come back. +One always comes back to Rome. And you—where do you go? To +Switzerland?"<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a></p> + +<p>"Why—we go nowhere, of course; we stay here. That is what we came for, +and we are all settled."</p> + +<p>He made some allusion to the heat and unhealthiness.</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," replied Miss Macks. "Plenty of people stay; Mr. +Jackson says so. It is only the rich who go away, and we are not rich. +We have been through hot summers in Tuscolee, I can tell you!" Then, +without asking leave this time, as if she was determined to have an +opinion from him before he departed, she took from a portfolio some of +the work she had done under Mr. Jackson's instruction.</p> + +<p>Noel saw at once that the Englishman had not kept his word. He had not +put her back upon the alphabet, or, if he had done so, he had soon +released her, and allowed her to pursue her own way again. The original +faults were as marked as ever. In his opinion all was essentially bad.</p> + +<p>He looked in silence. But she talked on hopefully, explaining, +comparing, pointing out.</p> + +<p>"What does Mr. Jackson think of this?" he said, selecting the one he +thought the worst.</p> + +<p>"He admires the idea greatly; he thinks it very original. He says that +my strongest point is originality," she answered, with her confident +frankness.</p> + +<p>"He means—ah—originality of subject?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; my execution is not much yet. But that will come in time. Of +course, the subject, the idea, is the important thing; the execution is +secondary." Here she paused; something seemed to come into her mind. "I +know <i>you</i> do not think so," she added, thoughtfully, "because, you +know, you said"—and here she quoted a page from one of his art +articles<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> with her clear accuracy. "I have never understood what you +meant by that, Mr. Noel; or why you wrote it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him questioningly. He did not reply; his eyes were upon +one of the sketches.</p> + +<p>"It would be dreadful for me if you were right!" she added, with slow +conviction.</p> + +<p>"I thought you believed that I was always right," he said, smiling, as +he placed the sketches on the table.</p> + +<p>But she remained very serious.</p> + +<p>"You are—in everything but that."</p> + +<p>He made some unimportant reply, and turned the conversation. But she +came back to it.</p> + +<p>"It would be dreadful," she repeated, earnestly, with the utmost gravity +in her gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"I hope the long summer will not tire you," he answered, irrelevantly. +"Shall I not have the pleasure of saying good-bye—although that, of +course, is not a pleasure—to Mrs.—to your mother?"</p> + +<p>He should have made the speech in any case, as it was the proper one to +make; but as he sat there he had thought that he really would like to +have a look at the one guardian this young girl was to have during her +long, lonely summer in Rome.</p> + +<p>"I will tell her. Perhaps when she hears that you are going away she +will feel like coming in," said Miss Macks.</p> + +<p>She came back after some delay, and with her appeared a matron of +noticeable aspect.</p> + +<p>"My mother," she said, introducing her (evidently Noel was never to get +the name); "this is Mr. Noel, mother."</p> + +<p>"And very glad I am to see you, sir, I'm sure," said<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> Mrs. Spurr, +extending her hand with much cordiality. "I said to Ettie that I'd come +in, seeing as 'twas you, though I don't often see strangers nowadays on +account of poor health for a long time past; rheumatism and asthma. But +I feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul, because you've been so good to Ettie. +You've been real kind."</p> + +<p>Ettie's mother was a very portly matron of fifty-five, with a broad +face, indistinct features, very high color, and a breathless, panting +voice. Her high color—it really was her most noticeable feature—was +surmounted by an imposing cap, adorned with large bows of scarlet +ribbon; a worsted shawl, of the hue known as "solferino," decked her +shoulders; under her low-necked collar reposed a bright blue necktie, +its ends embroidered in red and yellow; and her gown was of a vivid dark +green. But although her colors swore at each other, she seemed amiable. +She was also voluble.</p> + +<p>Noel, while shaking hands, was considering, mentally, with some +retrospective amusement, his condition of mind if this lady had accepted +his invitations to visit the galleries.</p> + +<p>"You must sit down, mother," said Miss Macks, bringing forward an +easy-chair. "She has not been so well as usual, lately," she said, +explanatorily, to Noel, as she stood for a moment beside her mother's +chair.</p> + +<p>"It's this queer Eye-talian air," said Mrs. Spurr. "You see I ain't used +to it. Not but what I ain't glad to be here on Ettie's account—real +glad. It's just what she needs and oughter have."</p> + +<p>The girl put her hand on her mother's shoulder with a little caressing +touch. Then she left the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul. But,<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> then, she'll be a +credit to you, to whatever you've done for her," said Mrs. Spurr, when +they were left alone. "Her talunts are very remarkable. She was the head +scholar of the Young Ladies' Seminary through four whole years, and all +the teachers took a lot of pride in her. And then her paintings, too! +I'm sorry you're going off so soon. You see, she sorter depends upon +your opinion."</p> + +<p>Noel felt a little stir at the edges of his conscience; he knew +perfectly that his opinion was that Miss Macks, as an artist, would +never do anything worth the materials she used.</p> + +<p>"I leave her in good hands," he said.</p> + +<p>After all, it was Jackson's responsibility, not his.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Jackson thinks a deal of her. I can see that plain!" answered +Mrs. Spurr, proudly.</p> + +<p>Here the daughter returned, bringing a little note-book and pencil.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what these are for?" she said. "I want you to write down a +list of the best books for me to read this summer, while you are gone. I +am going to work hard; but if I have books, too, the time won't seem so +long."</p> + +<p>Noel considered a moment. In one way her affairs were certainly none of +his business; in another way they were, because she had thrust them upon +him.</p> + +<p>"I will not give you a list, Miss Macks; probably you would not be able +to find the books here. But I will send you, from Paris or London, some +things that are rather good, if you will permit me to do so."</p> + +<p>She said he was very kind. Her face brightened.</p> + +<p>"If she has appreciation enough to comprehend what<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> I send her," he +thought, "perhaps in the end she will have a different opinion about my +'kindness'!"</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards he took leave. The next day he went to Paris.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The events of Raymond Noel's life, after he left Rome that spring, were +various. Some were pleasant, some unpleasant; several were quite +unexpected. Their combinations and results kept him from returning to +Italy the following winter, and the winter after that he spent in Egypt. +When he again beheld the dome of St. Peter's he remembered that it +lacked but a month of two full years since he had said good-bye to it; +it was then April, and now it was March. He established himself in some +pleasant rooms, looked about him, and then began to take up, one by one, +the old threads of his Roman life—such, at least, as remained unbroken. +He found a good many. Threads do not break in Rome. He had once said +himself that the air was so soft and historic that nothing broke +there—not even hearts. But this was only one of his little speeches. In +reality he did not believe much in the breaking of hearts; he had seen +them stretch so!</p> + +<p>It may be said with truth that Noel had not thought of Miss Macks for +months. This was because he had had other things to think of. He had +sent her the books from Paris, with an accompanying note, a charming +little note—which gave no address for reply. Since then his mind had +been otherwise occupied. But as he never entirely forgot anything that +had once interested him, even although but slightly (this was in +reality<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> a system of his; it gave him many holds on life, and kept +stored up a large supply of resources ready for use when wanted), he +came, after a while, on the canvas of his Roman impressions, to the +figure of Miss Macks. When he came to it he went to see her; that is, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth.</p> + +<p>Of course, she might not be there; a hundred things might have happened +to her. He could have hunted up Horace Jackson; but, on the whole, he +rather preferred to see the girl herself first—that is, if she was +there. Mrs. Lawrence, the only person among his acquaintances who had +known her, was not in Rome. Reaching the street of the Hyacinth, he +interrogated the old woman who acted as portress at the lower door, +keeping up at the same time a small commerce in fritters; yes, the +Americans were still on the fourth floor. He ascended the dark stairway. +The confiding little "Ettie" card was no longer upon the door. In its +place was a small framed sign: "Miss Macks' School."</p> + +<p>This told a story!</p> + +<p>However, he rang. It was the same shrill, ill-tempered little bell, and +when the door opened it was Miss Macks herself who opened it. She was +much changed.</p> + +<p>The parlor had been turned into a school-room—at present empty of +pupils. But even as a school-room it was more attractive than it had +been before. He took a seat, and spoke the usual phrases of a renewal of +acquaintance with his accustomed ease and courtesy; Miss Macks responded +briefly. She said that her mother was not very well; she herself quite +well. No, they had not left Italy, nor indeed the neighborhood of Rome; +they had been a while at Albano.</p> + +<p>The expression of her face had greatly altered. The<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> old direct, wide +glance was gone; gone also what he had called her over-confidence; she +looked much older. On the other hand, there was more grace in her +bearing, more comprehension of life in her voice and eyes. She was +dressed as plainly as before; but everything, including the arrangement +of her hair, was in the prevalent style.</p> + +<p>She did not speak of her school, and therefore he did not. But after a +while he asked how the painting came on. Her face changed a little; but +it was more in the direction of a greater calm than hesitation or +emotion.</p> + +<p>"I am not painting now," she answered.</p> + +<p>"You have given it up temporarily?"</p> + +<p>"Permanently."</p> + +<p>"Ah—isn't that rather a pity?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and a gleam of scorn filtered into the glance.</p> + +<p>"You know it is not a pity," she said.</p> + +<p>He was a little disgusted at the scorn. Of course, the only ground for +him to take was the ground upon which she stood when he last saw her; at +that time she proposed to pass her life in painting, and it was but good +manners for him to accept her intentions as she had presented them.</p> + +<p>"I never assumed to be a judge, you know," he answered. "When I last had +the pleasure of seeing you, painting was, you remember, your cherished +occupation!"</p> + +<p>"When you last had the pleasure of seeing me, Mr. Noel," said Miss +Macks, still with unmoved calm, "I was a fool."</p> + +<p>Did she wish to go into the subject at length? Or was that merely an +exclamation?<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a></p> + +<p>"When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you were taking lessons of +Mr. Jackson," he said, to give a practical turn to the conversation. "Is +he still here? How is he?"</p> + +<p>"He is very well, now. He is dead."</p> + +<p>(She was going to be dramatic then, in any case.)</p> + +<p>He expressed his regret, and it was a sincere one; he had always liked +and respected the honest, morose Englishman. He asked a question or two. +Miss Macks replied that he had died here in the street of the +Hyacinth—in the next room. He had fallen ill during the autumn +following Noel's departure, and when his illness grew serious, they—her +mother and herself—had persuaded him to come to them. He had lived a +month longer, and died peacefully on Christmas Eve.</p> + +<p>"He was one of the most honest men I ever knew," said Noel. Then, as she +did not reply, he ventured this: "That was the reason I recommended him +when you asked me to select a teacher for you."</p> + +<p>"Your plan was made useless by an unfortunate circumstance," she +answered, with an evident effort.</p> + +<p>"A circumstance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he fell in love with me. If I did not consider his pure, deep, and +devoted affection the greatest honor of my life I would not mention it. +I tell you because it will explain to you his course."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it explains," said Noel. As he spoke there came across him a +realization of the whole of the strength of the love such a man as +Horace Jackson would feel, and the way in which it would influence him. +Of course, he saw to the full the imperfection of her work, the utter +lack of the artist's conception, the artist's eye and touch; but +probably he had loved her<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> from the beginning, and had gone on hoping to +win her love in return. She was not removed from him by any distance; +she was young, but she was also poor, friendless, and alone. When she +was his wife he would tell her the truth, and in the greatness of his +love the revelation would be naught. "He was a good man," he said. "He +was always lonely. I am glad that at last he was with your mother and +you."</p> + +<p>"His goodness was simply unbounded. If he had lived he would have +remained always a faithful, kind, and respectful son to my dear mother. +That, of course, would have been everything to me." She said this +quietly, yet her tone seemed to hold intention.</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought that perhaps she had married the Englishman, and +was now his widow. The sign on the door bore her maiden name, but that +might have been an earlier venture.</p> + +<p>"Had you opened your school at that time?" he asked. "I may speak of it, +since, of course, I saw the sign upon the door."</p> + +<p>"Not until two months later; I had the sign made then. But it was of +little use; day-schools do not prosper in Rome; they are not the custom. +I have a small class twice a week, but I live by going out as +day-governess. I have a number of pupils of that kind; I have been very +successful. The old Roman families have a fancy for English-speaking +governesses, you know. Last summer I was with the Princess C——, at +Albano; her children are my pupils."</p> + +<p>"Her villa is a delightful one," said Noel; "you must have enjoyed +that."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I enjoyed, but I learned. I<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> have learned a great +deal in many ways since I saw you last, Mr. Noel. I have grown very +old."</p> + +<p>"As you were especially young when you saw me last it does not matter +much," he answered, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was especially young." She looked at him soberly. "I do not feel +bitterly towards you," she continued. "Strange! I thought I should. But +now that I see you in person it comes over me that, probably, you did +not intend to deceive me; that not only you tried to set me right by +selecting Mr. Jackson as my teacher, but again you tried when you sent +me those books. It was not much to do! But knowing the world as I now +know it, I see that it was all that could have been expected. At first, +however, I did not see this. After I went to Mr. Bellot, and, later, to +Mr. Salviati, there were months when I felt very bitterly towards you. +My hopes were false ones, and had been so from the beginning; you knew +that they were, yet you did not set me right."</p> + +<p>"I might have done more than I did," answered Noel. "I have a habit of +not assuming responsibility; I suppose I have grown selfish. But if you +went to Bellot, then it was not Jackson who told you?"</p> + +<p>"He intimated something when he asked me to marry him; after that his +illness came on, and we did not speak of it again. But I did not believe +him. I was very obstinate. I went to Mr. Bellot the 1st of January; I +wished him to take me as pupil. In answer he told me that I had not a +particle of talent; that all my work was insufferably bad; that I better +throw away my brushes and take in sewing."</p> + +<p>"Bellot is always a brute!" said Noel.</p> + +<p>"If he told the truth brutally, it was still the truth;<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> and it was the +truth I needed. But even then I was not convinced, and I went to Mr. +Salviati. He was more gentle; he explained to me my lacks; but his +judgment was the same. I came home; it was the 10th of January, a +beautiful Roman winter day. I left my pictures, went over to St. +Peter's, and walked there under its bright mosaics all the afternoon. +The next day I had advertisements of a day-school placed at the bankers' +and in the newspapers. I thought that I could teach better than I could +sew." All this she said with perfect calm.</p> + +<p>"I greatly admire your bravery, Miss Macks. Permit me to add that I +admire, even more, the clear, strong, good sense which has carried you +through."</p> + +<p>"I had my mother to think of; my—good sense might not have been so +faithful otherwise."</p> + +<p>"You do not think of returning to America?"</p> + +<p>"Probably not; I doubt if my mother could bear the voyage now. We have +no one to call us back but my brother, and he has not been with us for +years, and would not be if we should return; he lives in California. We +sold the farm, too, before we came. No; for the present, at least, it is +better for us to remain here."</p> + +<p>"There is one more question I should like to ask," said Noel, later. +"But I have no possible right to do so."</p> + +<p>"I will give you the right. When I remember the things I asked you to do +for me, the demands I made upon your time, I can well answer a few +questions in return. I was a miracle of ignorance."</p> + +<p>"I always did you justice in those respects, Miss Macks; all that I +understood at once. My question refers to Horace Jackson: I see you +appreciated his<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> worth—which was rare—yet you would not marry him."</p> + +<p>"I did not love him."</p> + +<p>"Did any of his relatives come out from England?" he said, after a +moment of silence.</p> + +<p>"After his death a cousin came."</p> + +<p>"As heir to what was left?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"He should have left it to you."</p> + +<p>"He wished to do so. Of course, I would not accept it."</p> + +<p>"I thank you for answering. My curiosity was not an idle one." He +paused. "If you will permit me to express it, your course has been very +brave and true. I greatly admire it."</p> + +<p>"You are kind," said Miss Macks.</p> + +<p>There was not in her voice any indication of sarcasm. Yet the fact that +he immediately thought of it made him suspect that it was there. He took +leave soon afterwards. He was smarting a little under the sarcasm he had +divined, and, as he was, it was like him to request permission to come +again.</p> + +<p>For Raymond Noel lived up with a good deal of determination to his own +standard of what was manly; if his standard was not set on any very fine +elevation of self-sacrifice or heroism, it was at least firmly +established where it did stand, and he kept himself fairly near it. If +Miss Macks was sarcastic, he had been at fault somewhere; he would try +to atone.</p> + +<p>He saw her four times during the five weeks of his stay in Rome; upon +three other occasions when he went to the street of the Hyacinth she was +not at home. The third week in April he decided to go to<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> Venice. Before +going he asked if there was not something he could do for her; but she +said there was nothing, and he himself could think of nothing. She was +well established in her new life and occupations, and needed nothing—at +least, nothing that he could bestow.</p> + +<p>The next winter he came back to Rome early in the season, before +Christmas. By chance one of the first persons he encountered was Mrs. +Lawrence. She began immediately to tell him a piece of American news, in +which he, as an American, would of course be interested; the news was +that "the brother of the Princess C—— —that is Count L——, you +know—is determined to marry Ettie Macks. You remember her, don't you? I +introduced you to her at the Dudley reception, three years ago."</p> + +<p>Noel thought that probably he remembered her better than Mrs. Lawrence +did, seeing that that lady had never troubled herself to enter the +street of the Hyacinth. But he did her injustice. Mrs. Lawrence had +troubled herself—lately.</p> + +<p>"It seems that she has been out at Albano for two summers, as governess +to his sister's children; it was there that he saw her. He has announced +his determination to the family, and they are immensely disturbed and +frightened; they had it all arranged for him to marry a second cousin +down at Naples, who is rich—these Italians are so worldly, you know! +But he is very determined, they say, and will do as he pleases in spite +of them. He hasn't much money, but of course it's a great match for +Ettie Macks. She will be a countess, and now, I suppose, more American +girls will come over than ever before! Of course, as soon as I<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> heard of +it, I went to see her. I felt that she would need advice about a hundred +things. In the beginning she brought a letter of introduction to me from +a dear cousin of mine, and, naturally, she would rely upon me as her +chief friend now. She is very much improved. She was rather silent; but, +of course, I shall go again. The count is willing to take the mother, +too, and that, under the circumstances, is not a small matter; she is a +good deal to take. Until the other day I had not seen Mrs. Spurr! +However, I suppose that her deficiencies are not apparent in a language +she cannot speak. If her daughter would only insist upon her dressing in +black! But the old lady told me herself, in the most cheerful way, that +she liked 'a sprinkling of color.' And at the moment, I assure you, she +had on five different shades of red!"</p> + +<p>Noel had intended to present himself immediately at the street of the +Hyacinth; but a little attack of illness kept him in for a while, and +ten days had passed before he went up the dark stairway. The maid said +that Miss Macks was at home; presently she came in. They had ten minutes +of conversation upon ordinary topics, and then he took up the especial +one.</p> + +<p>"I am told that you are soon to be a countess," he said, "and I have +come to give you my best good wishes. My congratulations I reserve for +Count L——, with whom I have a slight acquaintance; he is, in my +opinion, a very fortunate man."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think he is fortunate; fortunate in my refusal. I shall not +marry Count L——."</p> + +<p>"He is not a bad fellow."</p> + +<p>"Isn't your praise somewhat faint?" This time the sarcasm was visible.<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, I am by no means his advocate! All I meant was that, as these +modern Romans go, he was not among the worst. Of course I should have +expressed myself very differently if you had said you were to marry +him."</p> + +<p>"Yes; you would then have honored me with your finest compliments."</p> + +<p>He did not deny this.</p> + +<p>"Shall you continue to live in Rome?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I shall have more pupils and patronage now than I know what +to do with; the whole family connection is deeply obliged to me."</p> + +<p>They talked awhile longer.</p> + +<p>"We have always been unusually frank with each other, Miss Macks," he +said, towards the end of his visit. "We have never stopped at +conventionalities. I wonder if you will tell me why you refused him?"</p> + +<p>"You are too curious. As to frankness, I have been frank with you; not +you with me. And there was no conventionality, simply because I did not +know what it was."</p> + +<p>"I believe you are in love with some one in America," he said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I am," answered Miss Macks. She had certainly gained greatly in +self-possession during the past year.</p> + +<p>He saw her quite frequently after this. Her life was no longer solitary. +As she had said, she was overwhelmed with pupils and patronage from the +friends of the Princess C——; in addition, the American girl who had +refused a fairly-indorsed and well-appearing count was now something of +a celebrity among the American visitors in Rome. That they knew of her +<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>refusal was not her fault; the relatives of Count L—— had announced +their objections as loud and widely as the count had announced his +determination. Apparently neither side had thought of a non-acceptance. +Cards, not a few, were sent to the street of the Hyacinth; some persons +even climbed the five flights of stairs. Mrs. Spurr saw a good deal of +company—and enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>Noel was very fond of riding; when in Rome he always rode on the +Campagna. He had acted as escort to various ladies, and one day he +invited Miss Macks to accompany him—that is, if she were fond of +riding. She had ridden in America, and enjoyed it; she would like to go +once, if he would not be troubled by an improvised habit. They went +once. Then a second time, an interval of three weeks between. Then, +after a while, a third time.</p> + +<p>Upon this occasion an accident happened, the first of Noel's life; his +horse became frightened, and, skilled rider though he was, he was +thrown. He was dragged, too, for a short distance. His head came against +some stones, and he lost consciousness. When it came back it did not +come wholly. He seemed to himself to be far away, and the girl who was +weeping and calling his name to be upon the other side of a wide space +like an ocean, over which, without volition of his own, he was being +slowly wafted. As he came nearer, still slowly, he perceived that in +some mysterious way she was holding in her arms something that seemed to +be himself, although he had not yet reached her. Then, gradually, spirit +and body were reunited, he heard what she was saying, and felt her +touch. Even then it was only after several minutes that he was able to +move and unclose his heavy eyes.<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a></p> + +<p>When she saw that he was not dead, her wild grief was at once merged in +the thought of saving him. She had jumped from her horse, she knew not +how; but he had not strayed far; a shepherd had seen him, and was now +coming towards them. He signalled to another, and the two carried Noel +to a house which was not far distant. A messenger was sent to the city; +aid came, and before night Noel was in his own rooms at the head of the +Via Sistina, near the Spanish steps.</p> + +<p>His injuries proved to be not serious; he had lost consciousness from +the shock, and this, with his pallor and the blood from the cuts made by +the stones, had given him the look of death. The cuts, however, were not +deep; the effect of the shock passed away. He kept his bed for a week +under his physician's advice; he had a good deal of time to think during +that week. Later his friends were admitted. As has been said before, +Noel was a favorite in Rome, and he had friends not a few. Those who +could not come in person sent little notes and baskets of flowers. Among +these Miss Macks was not numbered. But then she was not fashionable.</p> + +<p>At the end of two weeks the patient was allowed to go out. He took a +short walk to try his strength, and, finding that it held out well, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks was at home. She was "so glad" to see him out again; and was +he "really strong enough;" and he "should be very prudent for a while;" +and so forth and so forth. She talked more than usual, and, for her, +quite rapidly.</p> + +<p>He let her go on for a time. Then he took the conversation into his own +hands. With few preliminaries,<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> and with much feeling in his voice and +eyes, he asked her to be his wife.</p> + +<p>She was overwhelmed with astonishment; she turned very white, and did +not answer. He thought she was going to burst into tears. But she did +not; she only sat gazing at him, while her lips trembled. He urged his +point; he spoke strongly.</p> + +<p>"You are worth a hundred of me," he said. "You are true and sincere; I +am a dilettante in everything. But, dilettante as I am, in one way I +have always appreciated you, and, lately, all other ways have become +merged in that one. I am much in earnest; I know what I am doing; I have +thought of it searchingly and seriously, and I beg you to say yes."</p> + +<p>He paused. Still she did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do not ask you to separate yourself from your mother," he +went on, his eyes dropping for the moment to the brim of his hat, which +he held in his hand; "I shall be glad if she will always make her home +with us."</p> + +<p>Then she did speak. And as her words came forth, the red rose in her +face until it was deeply colored.</p> + +<p>"With what an effort you said that! But you will not be tried. One gray +hair in my mother's head is worth more to me, Mr. Noel, than anything +you can offer."</p> + +<p>"I knew before I began that this would be the point of trouble between +us, Faith," he answered. "I can only assure you that she will find in me +always a most respectful son."</p> + +<p>"And when you were thinking so searchingly and seriously, it was <i>this</i> +that you thought of—whether you could endure her! Do you suppose that I +do not<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> see the effort? Do you suppose I would ever place my mother in +such a position? Do you suppose that you are of any consequence beside +her, or that anything in this world weighs in my mind for one moment +compared with her happiness?"</p> + +<p>"We can make her happy; I suppose that. And I suppose another thing, and +that is that we could be very happy ourselves if we were married."</p> + +<p>"The Western girl, the girl from Tuscolee! The girl who thought she +could paint, and could not! The girl who knew so little of social rules +that she made a fool of herself every time she saw you!"</p> + +<p>"All this is of no consequence, since it is the girl I love," answered +Noel.</p> + +<p>"You do not. It is a lie. Oh, of course, a very unselfish and noble one; +but a lie, all the same. You have thought of it seriously and +searchingly? Yes, but only for the last fourteen days! I understand it +all now. At first I did not, I was confused; but now I see the whole. +You were not unconscious out there on the Campagna; you heard what I +said when I thought you were dying, or dead. And so you come—come very +generously and self-sacrificingly, I acknowledge that—and ask me to be +your wife." She rose; her eyes were brilliant as she faced him. "I might +tell you that it was only the excitement, that I did not know or mean +what I was saying; I might tell you that I did not know that I had said +anything. But I am not afraid. I will not, like you, tell a lie, even +for a good purpose. I did love you; there, you have it! I have loved you +for a long time, to my sorrow and shame. For I do not respect you or +admire you; you have been completely spoiled, and will always remain so. +I shall<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> make it the one purpose of my life from this moment to overcome +the feeling I have had for you; and I shall succeed. Nothing could make +me marry you, though you should ask me a thousand times."</p> + +<p>"I shall ask but once," said Noel. He had risen also; and, as he did, he +remembered the time when they had stood in the same place and position, +facing each other, and she had told him that she was at his feet. "I did +hear what you said. And it is of that I have been seriously thinking +during the days of my confinement to the house. It is also true that it +is what you said which has brought me here to-day. But the reason is +that it has become precious to me—this knowledge that you love me. As I +said before, in one way I have always done you justice, and it is that +way which makes me realize to the full now what such a love as yours +would be to me. If it is true that I am spoiled, as you say I am, a love +like yours would make me better, if anything can." He paused. "I have +not said much about my own feelings," he added; "I know you will not +credit me with having any. But I think I have. I think that I love you."</p> + +<p>"It is of little moment to me whether you do or not."</p> + +<p>"You are making a mistake," he said, after a pause, during which their +eyes had met in silence.</p> + +<p>"The mistake would be to consent."</p> + +<p>She had now recovered her self-possession. She even smiled a little.</p> + +<p>"Imagine Mr. Raymond Noel in the street of the Hyacinth!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I should hardly wish to live here; and my wife would naturally be +with me."<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a></p> + +<p>"I hope so. And I hope she will be very charming and obedient and +sweet." Then she dropped her sarcasms, and held out her hand in +farewell. "There is no use in prolonging this, Mr. Noel. Do not think, +however, that I do not appreciate your action; I do appreciate it. I +said that I did not respect you, and I have not until now; but now I do. +You will understand, of course, that I would rather not see you again, +and refrain from seeking me. Go your way, and forget me; you can do so +now with a clear conscience, for you have behaved well."</p> + +<p>"It is not very likely that I shall forget you," answered Noel, +"although I go my way. I see you are firmly resolved. For the present, +therefore, all I can do is to go."</p> + +<p>They shook hands, and he left her. As he passed through the small hall +on his way to the outer door he met Mrs. Spurr; she was attired as +opulently, in respect to colors, as ever, and she returned his greeting +with much cordiality. He glanced back; Miss Macks had witnessed the +meeting through the parlor door. Her color had faded; she looked sad and +pale.</p> + +<p>She kept her word; she did not see him again. If he went to the street +of the Hyacinth, as he did two or three times, the little maid presented +him with the Italian equivalent of "begs to be excused," which was +evidently a standing order. If he wrote to her, as he did more than two +or three times, she returned what he wrote, not unread, but without +answer. He thought perhaps he should meet her, and was at some pains to +find out her various engagements. But all was in vain; the days passed, +and she remained invisible. Towards the last of May he left Rome. After +leaving, he continued<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> to write to her, but he gave no address for +reply; she would now be obliged either to burn his letters or keep them, +since she could no longer send them back. They could not have been +called love-letters; they were friendly epistles, not long—pleasant, +easy, sometimes amusing, like his own conversation. They came once a +week. In addition he sent new books, and occasionally some other small +remembrance.</p> + +<p>In early September of that year there came to the street of the Hyacinth +a letter from America. It was from one of Mrs. Spurr's old neighbors at +Tuscolee, and she wrote to say that John Macks had come home—had come +home broken in health and spirits, and, as he himself said, to die. He +did not wish his mother to know; she could not come to him, and it would +only distress her. He had money enough for the short time that was left +him, and when she heard it would be only that he had passed away; he had +passed from her life in reality years before. In this John Macks was +sincere. He had been a ne'er-do-well, a rolling stone; he had not been a +dutiful son. The only good that could be said of him, as far as his +mother was concerned, was contained in the fact that he had not made +demands upon her small purse since the sum he took from her when he +first went away. He had written to her at intervals, briefly. His last +letter had come eight months before.</p> + +<p>But the Tuscolee neighbor was a mother herself, and, doing as she would +be done by, she wrote to Rome. When her letter came Mrs. Spurr was +overwhelmed with grief; but she was also stirred to an energy and +determination which she had never shown before. For the first time in +years she took the leadership, put her<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> daughter decisively back into a +subordinate place, and assumed the control. She would go to America. She +must see her boy (the dearest child of the two, as the prodigal always +is) again. But even while she was planning her journey illness seized +her—her old rheumatic troubles, only more serious than before; it was +plain that she could not go. She then required that her daughter should +go in her place—go and bring her boy to Rome; this soft Italian air +would give new life to his lungs. Oh, she should not die! Ettie need not +be afraid of that. She would live for years just to get one look at him! +And so it ended in the daughter's departure, an efficient nurse being +left in charge; the physician said that although Mrs. Spurr would +probably be crippled, she was in no danger otherwise.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks left Rome on the 15th of September. On the 2d of December she +again beheld the dome of St. Peter's rising in the blue sky. She saw it +alone. John Macks had lived three weeks after her arrival at Tuscolee, +and those three weeks were the calmest and the happiest of his +unsuccessful—unworthy it may be—but also bitterly unhappy life. His +sister did not judge him. She kissed him good-bye as he lost +consciousness, and soon afterwards closed his eyes tenderly, with tears +in her own. Although he was her brother, she had never known him; he +went away when she was a child. She sat beside him a long time after he +was dead, watching the strange, youthful peace come back to his worn +face.</p> + +<p>When she reached the street of the Hyacinth a carriage was before the +door; carriages of that sort were not often required by the dwellers on +the floors below<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> their own, and she was rather surprised. She had heard +from her mother in London, the nurse acting as amanuensis; at that time +Mrs. Spurr was comfortable, although still confined to her bed most of +the day. As she was paying her driver she heard steps on the stairway +within. Then she beheld this: The nurse, carrying a pillow and shawls; +next, her mother, in an invalid-chair, borne by two men; and last, +Raymond Noel.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Spurr saw her daughter she began to cry. She had not expected +her until the next day. Her emotion was so great that the drive was +given up, and she was carried back to her room. Noel did not follow her; +he shook hands with the new-comer, said that he would not detain her, +and then, lifting his hat, he stepped into the carriage which was +waiting and was driven away.</p> + +<p>For two days Mrs. Spurr wished for nothing but to hear, over and over +again, every detail of her boy's last hours. Then the excitement and +renewed grief made her dangerously ill. After ten days she began to +improve; but two weeks passed before she came back to the present +sufficiently to describe to her daughter all "Mr. No-ul's kind +attentions." He had returned to Rome the first of October, and had come +at once to the street of the Hyacinth. Learning what had happened, he +had devoted himself to her "most as if he was my real son, Ettie, I do +declare! Of course, he couldn't never be like my own darling boy," +continued the poor mother, overlooking entirely, with a mother's sublime +forgetfulness, the small amount of devotion her boy had ever bestowed; +"but he's just done everything he could, and there's no denying that."</p> + +<p>"He has not been mentioned in your letters, mother."<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a></p> + +<p>"Well, child, I just told Mrs. Bowler not to. For he said himself, +frankly, that you might not like it; but that he'd make his peace with +you when you come back. I let him have his way about it, and I <i>have</i> +enjoyed seeing him. He's the only person I've seen but Mrs. Bowler and +the doctor, and I'm mortal tired of both."</p> + +<p>During Mrs. Spurr's second illness Noel had not come in person to the +street of the Hyacinth; he had sent to inquire, and fruits and flowers +came in his name. Miss Macks learned that these had come from the +beginning.</p> + +<p>When three weeks had passed Mrs. Spurr was back in her former place as +regarded health. One of her first requests was to be taken out to drive; +during her daughter's absence Mr. Noel had taken her five times, and she +had greatly enjoyed the change. It was not so simple a matter for the +daughter as it had been for Mr. Noel; her purse was almost empty; the +long journeys and her mother's illness had exhausted her store. Still +she did it. Mrs. Spurr wished to go to the Pincio. Her daughter thought +the crowd there would be an objection.</p> + +<p>"It didn't tire me one bit when Mr. No-ul took me," said Mrs. Spurr, in +an aggrieved tone; "and we went there every single time—just as soon as +he found out that I liked it. What a lot of folks he does know, to be +sure! They kept him a-bowing every minute."</p> + +<p>The day after this drive Mr. Noel came to the street of the Hyacinth. He +saw Miss Macks. Her manner was quiet, a little distant; but she thanked +him, with careful acknowledgment of every item, for his kind attentions +to her mother. He said little. After learning<a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> that Mrs. Spurr was much +better he spoke of her own health.</p> + +<p>"You have had two long, fatiguing journeys, and you have been acting as +nurse; it would be well for you to give yourself entire rest for several +weeks at least."</p> + +<p>She replied, coldly, that she was perfectly well, and turned the +conversation to subjects less personal. He did not stay long. As he rose +to take leave, he said:</p> + +<p>"You will let me come again, I hope? You will not repeat the 'not at +home' of last spring?"</p> + +<p>"I would really much rather not see you, Mr. Noel," she answered, after +hesitating.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry. But of course I must submit." Then he went away.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks now resumed her burdens. She was obliged to take more pupils +than she had ever accepted before, and to work harder. She had not only +to support their little household, but there were now debts to pay. She +was out almost the whole of every day.</p> + +<p>After she had entered upon her winter's work Raymond Noel began to come +again to the street of the Hyacinth. But he did not come to see her; his +visits were to her mother. He came two or three times a week, and always +during the hours when the daughter was absent. He sat and talked to Mrs. +Spurr, or rather listened to her, in a way that greatly cheered that +lady's monotonous days. She told him her whole history; she minutely +described Tuscolee and its society; and, finally, he heard the whole +story of "John." In addition, he sent her various little delicacies, +taking pains to find something she had not had.</p> + +<p>Miss Macks would have put an end to this if she had known how. But +certainly Mr. Noel was not <a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>troubling <i>her</i>, and Mrs. Spurr resented any +attempt at interference.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should object, Ettie. He seems to like to come, and +there's but few pleasures left to me, I'm sure! You oughtn't to grudge +them!"</p> + +<p>In this way two months passed, Noel continuing his visits, and Miss +Macks continuing her lessons. She was working very hard. She now looked +not only pale, but much worn. Count L——, who had been long absent, +returned to Rome about this time. He saw her one day, although she did +not see him. The result of this vision of her was that he went down to +Naples, and, before long, the desirable second cousin with the fortune +was the sister of the Princess C——.</p> + +<p>One afternoon in March Miss Macks was coming home from the broad, new, +tiresome piazza Indipendenza; the distance was long, and she walked with +weariness. As she drew near the dome of the Pantheon she met Raymond +Noel. He stopped, turned, and accompanied her homeward. She had three +books.</p> + +<p>"Give them to me," he said, briefly, taking them from her.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I have heard to-day?" he went on. "They are going to +tear down your street of the Hyacinth. The Government has at last +awakened to the shame of allowing all those modern accretions to +disfigure longer the magnificent old Pagan temple. All the streets in +the rear, up to a certain point, are to be destroyed. And the street of +the Hyacinth goes first. You will be driven out."</p> + +<p>"I presume we can find another like it."</p> + +<p>He went on talking about the Pantheon until they entered the doomed +street; it was as obstinately narrow<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a> and dark as ever. Then he dropped +his Pagan temple.</p> + +<p>"How much longer are you going to treat me in this way, Faith?" he said. +"You make me very unhappy. You are wearing yourself out, and it troubles +me greatly. If you should fall ill I think that would be the end. I +should then take matters into my own hands, and I don't believe you +would be able to keep me off. But why should we wait for illness? It is +too great a risk."</p> + +<p>They were approaching her door. She said nothing, only hastened her +steps.</p> + +<p>"I have been doing my best to convince you, without annoying you, that +you were mistaken about me. And the reason I have been doing it is that +I am convinced myself. If I was not entirely sure last spring that I +loved you, I certainly am sure now. I spent the summer thinking of it. I +know now, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that I love you above all +and everything. There is no 'duty' or 'generosity' in this, but simply +my own feelings. I could perfectly well have let the matter drop; you +gave me every opportunity to do so. That I have not done it should show +you—a good deal. For I am not of the stuff of which heroes are made. I +should not be here unless I wanted to; my motive is the selfish one of +my own happiness."</p> + +<p>They had entered the dark hallway.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the morning when you stood here, with two tears in your +eyes, saying 'Never mind; you will come another time'?" (Here the +cobbler came down the stairs.) "Why not let the demolition of the street +of the Hyacinth be the crisis of our fate?" he went on, returning the +cobbler's bow. (Here the cobbler departed.) "If you refuse, I shall not +give you<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> up; I shall go on in the same way. But—haven't I been tried +long enough?"</p> + +<p>"You have not," she answered. "But, unless you will leave Rome, and—me, +I cannot bear it longer."</p> + +<p>It was a great downfall, of course; Noel always maintained that it was.</p> + +<p>"But the heights upon which you had placed yourself, my dear, were too +superhuman," he said, excusingly.</p> + +<p>The street of the Hyacinth experienced a great downfall, also. During +the summer it was demolished.</p> + +<p>Before its demolition Mrs. Lawrence, after three long breaths of +astonishment, had come to offer her congratulations—in a new direction +this time.</p> + +<p>"It is the most fortunate thing in the world," she said to everybody, +"that Mrs. Spurr is now confined to her bed for life, and is obliged to +wear mourning."</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Spurr is not confined to her bed; she drives out with her +daughter whenever the weather is favorable. She wears black, but is now +beginning to vary it with purple and lavender.<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="A_CHRISTMAS_PARTY" id="A_CHRISTMAS_PARTY"></a>A CHRISTMAS PARTY</h2> + +<p>I<small>N</small> 188- the American Consul at Venice was occupying the second story of +an old palace on the Grand Canal. It was the story which is called by +Italians the <i>piano nobile</i>, or noble floor. Beneath this <i>piano nobile</i> +there is a large low ground, or rather water, floor, whose stone +pavement, only slightly above the level of the canal outside, is always +damp and often wet. At the time of the Consul's residence this +water-floor was held by another tenant, a dealer in antiquities, who had +partitioned off a shallow space across its broad front for a show-room. +As this dealer had the ground-floor, he possessed, of course, the +principal entrance of the palace, with its broad marble steps descending +into the rippling wavelets of the splendid azure street outside, and +with the tall, slender poles, irregularly placed in the water, which +bore testimony to the aristocracy of the venerable pile they guarded. +One could say that these blue wands, ornamented with heraldic devices, +were like the spears of knights; this is what Miss Senter said. Or one +could notice their strong resemblance to barbers' poles; and this was +what Peter Senter always mentioned.</p> + +<p>Peter Senter was the American Consul, and his sister Barbara was the +Consuless; for she kept house for her brother, who was a bachelor. And +she not only kept<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> house for him, but she assisted him in other ways, +owing to her knowledge of Italian. The Consul, a man of fifty-seven, +spoke only the language of his native place—Rochester, New York. That +he could not understand the speech (gibberish, he called it) of the +people with whom he was supposed to hold official relations did not +disturb him; he thought it patriotic not to understand. There was a +vice-consul, an Italian, who could attend to the business matters; and +as for the rest, wasn't Barbara there—Barbara, who could chatter not +only in Italian, but in French and German also, with true feminine +glibness? (For Peter, in his heart, thought it unmasculine to have a +polyglot tongue.) He knew how well his sister could speak, because he +had paid her bills during the six years of her education abroad. These +bills had been large; of course, therefore, the knowledge must be large +as well.</p> + +<p>Miss Senter was always chronically annoyed that she and her brother did +not possess the state entrance. As the palace was at present divided, +the tenants of the noble floor descended by an outside stairway to a +large inner court, and from this court opened the second water-door. +Their staircase was a graceful construction of white marble, and the +court, with the blue sky above, one or two fretted balconies, and a +sculptured marble well-curb in the centre, was highly picturesque. But +this did not reconcile the American lady to the fact that their door was +at the side of the palace; she thought that by right the gondola of the +Consul should lie among the heraldic poles on the Grand Canal. But, in +spite of right, nothing could be done; the antiquity-dealer held his +premises on a long lease. Miss Senter, therefore, disliked the dealer.<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a></p> + +<p>Her dislike, however, had not prevented her from paying a visit to his +establishment soon after she had taken possession of the high-ceilinged +rooms above. For she was curious about the old palace, and wished to see +every inch of it; if there had been cellars, she would have gone down to +inspect them, and she was fully determined to walk "all over the roof." +The dealer's name was Pelham—"Z. Pelham" was inscribed on his sign. How +he came by this English title no one but himself could have told. He was +supposed to be either a Pole or an Armenian, and he spoke many languages +with equal fluency and incorrectness. He appeared to have feeble health, +and he always wore large arctic over-shoes; he was short and thin, and +the most noticeable expression of his plain, small face was resignation. +Z. Pelham conducted the Consuless through the dusky space behind his +show-room, a vast, low, open hall with massive squat columns and arches, +and the skeletons of two old gondolas decaying in a corner. At the back +he opened a small door, and pointed out a flight of stone steps going up +steeply in a spiral, enclosed in a circular shaft like a round tower. +"It leads to the attic floor. Her Excellency wishes to mount?" he +inquired, patiently. For, owing to the wares in which he dealt, he had +had a large acquaintance with eccentric characters of all nations.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," replied Miss Senter. "Carmela, you can stay below, if you +like," she said to the servant who accompanied her.</p> + +<p>But no; Carmela also wished to mount. Z. Pelham preceded them, +therefore, carrying his small oil-lamp. They went slowly, for the steps +were narrow, the spiral sharp. The attic, when they reached it, was a +queer,<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> ghostly place; but there was a skylight with a ladder, and the +Consuless carried out her intention of traversing the roof, while Mr. +Pelham waited calmly, seated on the open scuttle door. Carmela followed +her mistress. She gave little cries of admiration; there never were such +wonderful ladies anywhere as those of America, she declared. On the way +down, the stairs were so much like a corkscrew that Miss Senter, feeling +dizzy, was obliged to pause for a moment where there was a landing. +"Isn't there a secret chamber?" she demanded of the dealer.</p> + +<p>Z. Pelham shook his head. "I have not one found."</p> + +<p>"Try again," said Miss Senter, laughing. "I'll make it worth your while, +Mr. Pelham."</p> + +<p>Z. Pelham surveyed the walls, as if to see where he could have one +built. His eye passed over a crack, and, raising his lamp, he showed it +to the Consuless. "One time was there a door, opening into the rooms of +her Excellency. But it opens not ever now; it is covered on inside."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that</i> isn't a secret chamber," answered Miss Senter; "we have +doors that have been shut up at home. What I want is something +mysterious—behind a picture, or a sliding panel."</p> + +<p>Partly in return for this expedition to the roof, and partly because she +had a liking for wood-carvings, Miss Senter purchased from Mr. Pelham, +shortly afterwards, his best antique cabinet. It was eight feet high, +and its whole surface was beautifully sculptured in odd designs, no two +alike. Within were many ingenious receptacles, and, better than these, a +concealed drawer. "You see I have my secret chamber, after all," said +the Consuless, making a joke. And there was a best even<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> to this better; +for after the cabinet had been placed in her own room, Miss Senter +discovered within it a second hiding-place, even more perfectly +concealed than the first. This was delightful, and she confided to its +care all her loose money. She thought with disgust of the ugly green +safe, built into the wall of Peter's Rochester house, where she was +obliged to keep her gold and silver when at home. Not only was Miss +Senter's own room in the old palace handsomely furnished, but all the +others belonging to the apartment were rich in beautiful things. The +Consuless had used her own taste, which was great, and her brother's +fortune, which was greater, deferring to him only on one point—namely, +warmth. In Peter's mind the temperature of his Rochester house remained +a fixed standard, and his sister therefore provided in every room a +place for a generous open fire, while in the great drawing-room, in +addition to this fire, two large white Vienna stoves, like monuments, +were set up, hidden behind screens. As this salon was eighty feet long +and thirty feet high, it required all this if it was to be used—used by +Peter, at least—in December, January, and February; for the Venetian +winter, though short, is often sharp and raw.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Eve of their third year in Venice this drawing-room was +lighted for a party. At one end, concealed by a curtain, stood a +Christmas-tree; for there were thirty children among their invited +guests, who would number in all over fifty. After the tree had bestowed +its fruit the children were to have a dance, and an odd little +projection like a very narrow balcony high on the wall was to be +occupied by five musicians. These musicians would have been much more +comfortable below. But Miss Senter was sure that this shelf<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> was +intended for musicians; her musicians, therefore, were to sit there, +though their knees would be well squeezed between the wall and the +balustrade. Fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, which was an +early one on account of the children, the Consuless appeared. She found +her brother standing before the fire, surveying the room, with his hands +behind him.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it look pretty?" said the sister, with pride; for she had a +great faith in all her pots and pans, carvings and tapestries. Any one, +however, could have had faith in the chandeliers of Venetian glass, from +which came the soft radiance of hundreds of wax candles, lighting up the +ancient gilding of the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, Barly, you know that personally I don't care much for all these +second-hand articles you have collected," replied Peter. "And you +haven't got the room very warm, after all—only 60°. However, I can +stand it if the supper is all right—plenty of it, and the hot things +really hot; not lukewarm, you know."</p> + +<p>"We can trust Giorgio. But I'll go and have a final word with him, if +you like," answered Miss Senter, crossing the beautiful salon, her train +sweeping over the floor behind her. The Consuless was no longer young +(the days when Peter had paid those school bills were now far distant), +and she had never been handsome. But she was tall and slender, with +pretty hands and feet, a pleasant expression in her blue eyes, and soft +brown hair, now heavily tinged with silver. Her brother's use of "Barly" +was a grief to her. She had tried to lead him towards the habit of +calling her Barbe, the French form of Barbara, if nickname he must have. +But he pronounced this Bob, and that was worse than the other.<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a></p> + +<p>On her way towards the kitchen the Consuless came upon Carmela. Carmela +was the servant who had the general oversight of everything excepting +the cooking. For Giorgio, the cook, allowed no interference in his +department; in the kitchen he must be Cæsar or nothing. Carmela was not +the house-keeper, for Miss Senter herself was the house-keeper. But the +American would have found her task twenty times, fifty times more +difficult if she had not had this skilful little deputy to carry out all +her orders. Carmela was said to be middle-aged. But her short, slender +figure was so erect, her little face so alert, her movements were so +brisk, and her small black eyes so bright, that she seemed full of +youthful fire; in fact, if one saw only her back, she looked younger +than Assunta and Beppa, who were Venetian girls of twenty. Carmela was +always attired in the French fashion, with tight corsets, a plain black +dress fitting like a glove round her little waist, and short enough to +show the neat shoes on her small feet; over this black dress there was a +jaunty white apron with pockets, and upon her beautifully braided +shining dark hair was perched a small spotless muslin cap. The younger +servants asserted that the slight pink tint on the tidy little woman's +cheeks was artificial. However that may have been, Carmela, as she +stood, was the personification of trimness and activity. Untiring and +energetic, she was a wonderful worker; Miss Senter, who had been much in +Italy, appreciated her good-fortune in having secured for her Venetian +house-keeping such a coadjutor as this. Carmela was scrupulously neat, +and she was even more scrupulously honest, never abstracting so much as +a pin; she economized for her mistress with her whole soul, and kept +watch over every<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> detail; she told the truth, she swept the corners, she +dusted under everything; she worked conscientiously, in one way and +another, all day long. Even Peter, who did not like foreign servants, +liked Carmela; he said she was "so spry!"</p> + +<p>"Is everything ready?" inquired Miss Senter, as she met her deputy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, signorina, everything," answered Carmela, briskly. She was looking +her very best and tightest, all black and white, with black silk +stockings showing above her little high-heeled shoes. As she spoke she +put her hands in their black lace mitts in the pockets of her apron, +and, middle-aged though she was said to be, she looked at that moment +like a smart French soubrette of the stage.</p> + +<p>"I am going to the kitchen to have a word with Giorgio," said the +Consuless, passing on.</p> + +<p>"If the signorina permits, I carry the train," answered Carmela, lifting +the satin folds from the floor. Thus they went on together, mistress and +maid, through various rooms and corridors, until finally the kitchen was +reached. It was a large, lofty place, brilliantly lighted, for Giorgio +was old and needed all the radiance that could be obtained to aid his +failing sight. He was a small man with a melancholy countenance. But +this melancholy was an accident of expression; in reality, old Giorgio +was cheerful and amiable, with a good deal of mild wit. He was the most +skilful cook in Venice. But his health had failed some years before, and +he had now very little strength; the Consul, who liked good dinners, +paid him high wages, and gave him a young assistant.</p> + +<p>"Well, Giorgio, all promises well, I trust?" said Miss<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> Senter as she +entered, her steps somewhat impeded by the tightness with which Carmela +held back her train. "The Consul is particular about having the hot +things really hot, and constantly renewed, as it is such a cold night. +The three men from Florian's will have charge of the ices and the other +cold things, and will do all that is necessary in the supper-room. But +for the hot dishes we depend upon you."</p> + +<p>Giorgio, who was dressed entirely in white, bowed and waved his hand. +"Mademoiselle need give herself no uneasiness," he said in French. For +Giorgio had learned his art in Paris, and whenever Carmela was present +he invariably answered his mistress in the language of that Northern +capital, even though her question had been couched in Italian; it was +one of his ways—and he had but few—of standing up, as it were, against +the indefatigable little deputy. For, clever though Carmela was, she had +never been out of her native land, and could speak no tongue but her +own.</p> + +<p>"Are you feeling well, Giorgio?" continued Miss Senter. "I see that you +look pale. I am afraid you have been doing too much. Where is Luigi?" +(Luigi was the cook's assistant.)</p> + +<p>"He has gone home; ten minutes ago. I let him go, as it is a festival. +He is young, and we can be young but once. <i>Che vuole!</i> In addition, all +was done."</p> + +<p>"No," said Miss Senter, who was now speaking French also; "there is +still much to do, and it was not wise to let Luigi go. You are certainly +very tired, Giorgio."</p> + +<p>"Let not mademoiselle think of it," said the old man, straightening +himself a little.<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a></p> + +<p>"But I <i>shall</i> think of it," said Miss Senter, kindly. "Carmela," she +continued, speaking now in Italian, "go to my room and get my case of +cordials."</p> + +<p>Carmela divined that the cordial was for the cook. "And the signorina's +train?" she said. "Surely I cannot leave it on this <i>dirty</i> floor! Will +not the signorina return to the drawing-room to take her cordial? Eh—it +is not for her? It is for Giorgio? A man? A <i>man</i> to be faint like a +girl? Ha, ha! it makes me laugh!"</p> + +<p>"Go and get it," repeated Miss Senter, taking the train over her own +arm. She knew that Carmela did not like the cook. Jealousy was the one +fault the hard-working little creature possessed. "She has tried to make +me dismiss Giorgio more than once," she said to her brother, in +confidence; "but I always pretend not to see the feeling that influences +her. It is only Giorgio she is jealous of; she gets on perfectly well +with Luigi, and with Assunta and Beppa; while for Ercole she can never +do enough. She is devoted to Ercole!"</p> + +<p>Giorgio had not taken up the slur cast upon his immaculate floor. All he +said was, "<i>Comme elle est méchante!</i>" with a shrug.</p> + +<p>"Where is Ercole?" said Miss Senter, while she waited.</p> + +<p>"He is dressing," answered Giorgio. "He makes himself beautiful for the +occasion."</p> + +<p>Ercole was the chief gondolier—a tall, athletic young man of thirty, +handsome and clever. Miss Senter had chosen Ercole to assist her with +the Christmas-tree. The second gondolier, Andrea, was to be stationed at +the end of the little quay or riva down below, outside of their own +water-door; for here on the small canal were the steps used by arriving +and departing gondolas,<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> and here also floated the handsome gondola of +the Consul, with its American flag. The two gondoliers also had +picturesque costumes of white (woollen in winter, linen in summer), with +blue collars, blue stockings, blue caps, and long fringed red sashes, +the combination representing the American national colors. To-night +Ercole, having to appear in the drawing-room, was making a longer stay +than usual before his little mirror.</p> + +<p>Carmela returned with the cordial-case. "Ah, yes, our cook <i>is</i> +pale—pale as a young virgin!" she commented, as Miss Senter, unlocking +the box, poured into one of the little glasses it contained a generous +portion of a restorative whose every drop was costly.</p> + +<p>Giorgio, taking off the white linen cap which covered his gray hair, +made a bow, and then drank the draught with much appreciation. "It is +true that I am pale," he remarked, slyly, in Italian. "I might, perhaps, +try some rouge?"</p> + +<p>And then the Consuless, to avert war, hastily bore her deputy away.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the guests had arrived; they included all the +Americans in Venice, with a sprinkling of English, Italians, and +Russians. The grown people assembled in the drawing-room. And presently +they heard singing. Through the anterooms came the children, entering +with measured step, two and two, led by three little boys in Oriental +costumes. These three boys were singing as follows:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"We three Kings of Orient are,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .55em;">Bearing gifts we've travelled from far,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .55em;">Field and fountain, moor and mountain,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .55em;">Following yonder star."</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Here, from the high top branch of the Christmas-tree which rose above +the concealing curtain, blazed out a splendid star. And then all the +procession took up the chorus, as they marched onward:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"Oh, star of wonder,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.55em;">Star of might,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0.55em;">Star with royal</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.55em;">Beauty bright!"</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Ercole, who was behind the curtain, now drew it aside, and there stood +the tree, blazing with fairy-lamps and glittering ornaments, while +beneath it was a mound composed entirely of toys. The children behaved +well; they kept their ranks and repeated their carol, as they had been +told to do, ranging themselves meanwhile in a half-circle before the +tree.</p> + +<p class="c">"We three Kings of Orient are,"</p> + +<p class="nind">chanted the three little kings a second time, though their eyes were +fixed upon a magnificent box of soldiers, with tents and flags and +cannon. The carol finished, Miss Senter, with the aid of her gondolier, +distributed the toys and bonbons, and the room was filled with happy +glee. When Ercole had detached the last package of sweets from the +sparkling branches he disappeared. His next duty was to conduct the +musicians up to their cage.</p> + +<p>Miss Senter had allowed an hour for the inspection and trial of the toys +before the dancing should begin. It was none too much, and the clamor +was still great as this hour drew towards its close, so great that she +herself was glad that the end was near. Looking up to see whether her +musicians had assembled on their shelf, she<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a> perceived some one at the +drawing-room door; it was Carmela, hiding herself modestly behind the +portière, but at the same time unmistakably beckoning to her mistress as +soon as she saw that she had caught her eye. Miss Senter went to the +doorway.</p> + +<p>"Will the signorina permit? A surprise of Ercole's," whispered Carmela, +eagerly, standing on tiptoe to reach her mistress's ear. "He has dressed +himself as a clown, and he <i>is</i> of a perfection! He has bells on his cap +and his elbows, and if the signorina graciously allows, he will come in +to amuse the children."</p> + +<p>"A clown!" answered Miss Senter, hesitating. "I don't know; he ought to +have told me."</p> + +<p>"He has been dancing to show <i>me</i>. And oh! so beautifully, with bounds +and leaps. He makes of himself also a statue," pursued Carmela.</p> + +<p>"But I cannot have any buffoonery here, you know," said Miss Senter. "It +would not do."</p> + +<p>"Buffoonery! Surely the signorina knows that Ercole has the soul of a +gentleman," whispered Carmela, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>And it was true that Miss Senter had always thought that her chief +gondolier possessed a great deal of natural refinement.</p> + +<p>"Will the signorina step out for a moment and look at him?" pursued the +deputy, her whisper now a little dejected. "If he is to be disappointed, +poor fellow, may he at least have <i>that</i> pleasure?"</p> + +<p>The idea of the gondolier's disappointment touched the amiable American. +She turned her head and glanced into the drawing-room; all was going on +gayly; no one had missed her. She slipped out under the portière, and +followed Carmela to a room at the side.<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> Here stood the gondolier. He +wore the usual white dress and white mask of a clown, and, as the +Consuless entered, he cut a splendid caper, ringing all his bells.</p> + +<p>"I had no idea that you were such a skilful acrobat, Ercole," said his +mistress.</p> + +<p>Ercole turned a light somerset, gave a high jump, and came down in the +attitude of the Mercury of John of Bologna.</p> + +<p>"Why, you are really wonderful!" said Miss Senter, admiringly.</p> + +<p>And now he was dancing with butterfly grace.</p> + +<p>Miss Senter was won. "But if I let you come in, Ercole, I hope you will +remember where you are?" she said, warningly. "Can you breathe quite at +ease in that mask?"</p> + +<p>The gondolier opened his grotesque painted lips a little to show that he +could part them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see. Now listen; in the drawing-room you must keep your eye on +me, and if at any time you see me raise my hand—so—you must dance out +of the room, Ercole. For the sign will mean that that is enough. But, +dear me! there's one thing we haven't thought of; who is to see to the +musicians up-stairs, and to go back and forth, telling them what to +play?"</p> + +<p>"I can do that," said Carmela, who was now all smiles. "Does the +signorina wish me to take them up? They are all ready. They are waiting +in the wood-room."</p> + +<p>The wood-room was a remote store-room for fuel; it was detached from the +rest of the apartment. "Why did you put them <i>there</i>?" inquired Miss +Senter, astonished.</p> + +<p>"They are musicians—yes; but who knows what<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> else they may be? Thieves, +perhaps!" said the deputy, shrewdly.</p> + +<p>"Get them out immediately and take them up to the gallery," said Miss +Senter. "And tell them to play something lively as a beginning."</p> + +<p>Carmela, quick as usual, was gone before the words were ended.</p> + +<p>"Now, Ercole, wait until you hear the music. Then come in," said the +Consuless.</p> + +<p>She returned to the drawing-room, making a motion with her hands as she +advanced, which indicated that her guests were to move a little more +towards the walls on each side, leaving the centre of the room free. And +then, as the music burst out above, Ercole came bounding in. His dress +was ordinary; Miss Senter was vexed anew that he had not told her of his +plan, for if he had she could have provided a perfectly fresh costume. +But no one noticed the costume; all eyes were fixed upon the gambols; +for, keeping time to the music, he was advancing up the room, dancing, +bounding, leaping, turning somersets, and every now and then striking an +attitude with extraordinary skill. He was so light that his white linen +feet made no sound, and so graceful that the fixed grin of his mask +became annoying, clashing as it did with the beauty of his poses. This +thought, however, came to the elders only; for to the children, +fascinated, shouting with delight, the broad red smile was an important +part.</p> + +<p>"It's our gondolier," explained Miss Senter. "It's Ercole," she had +whispered to her brother.</p> + +<p>"You are always so fortunate in servants," said Lady Kay. "That little +woman you have, too, Carmela—she is a miracle for an Italian."<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a></p> + +<p>Four times the clown made his pyrotechnic progress up and then down the +long salon, never twice repeating the same pose, but always something +new; then, after a final tremendous pigeon-wing, he let his white arms +fall and his white head droop on his breast, as if saying that he was +taking a moment for repose.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; give him time to breathe, children," cried Peter. "I'll tell +you what," he added to Sir William Kay; "I've never seen a better +performance on any stage." And he slapped his leg in confirmation. The +Consul was a man whose sole claim to beauty lay in the fact that he +always looked extremely clean. He was meagre and small, with very short +legs, but he was without consciousness of these deficiencies; in the +presence of the Apollo Belvedere, for instance, it had never occurred to +him to draw comparisons. Nature, however, will out in some way, and from +childhood Peter Senter had had a profound admiration for feats of +strength, vaulting, tumbling, and the like. "I'll tell you what," he +repeated to Sir William; "I'll have the fellow exhibited; I'll start him +at my own cost. Here all this time—two whole years—he has been our +gondolier, Ercoly has, and nothing more; for I hadn't a suspicion that +he had the least talent in this line. But, sir, he's a regular +high-flier! And A Number One!"</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the children were crowding closely round their clown, and +peering up in order still to see his grin, which was now partly hidden, +owing to his drooped head; the three Kings of Orient, especially, were +very pressing in their attentions, pinching his legs to see if they were +real.</p> + +<p>"Come, children, this will be a good time for our second song," said +Miss Senter, making a diversion.<a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a> "Take hands, now, in a circle; +yes—round the clown, if you wish. There—that's right." She signalled +to the music to stop, and then, beginning, led the little singers +herself:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Though we're here on foreign shores,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">We are all devotion</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To our land of Stars and Stripes,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Far across the ocean.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yankee doodle doodle doo,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yankee doodle dandy,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Buckwheat cakes are very good,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And so's molasses candy."</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Singing this gayly to the well-known fife-like tune, round and round +danced the children in a circle, holding each other's hands, the English +and Italians generously joining with the little Americans in praise of +the matutinal cakes which they had never seen; the Consuless had drilled +her choir beforehand, and they sang merrily and well. The first four +lines of this ditty had been composed by Peter himself for the occasion.</p> + +<p>"I hear <i>you</i> haf written this vurra fine piece!" said a Russian +princess, addressing him.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," answered the Consul; "I only wrote the first four lines; the +chorus is one of our national songs, you know."</p> + +<p>"But those first four lines—their sentiment ees so fine, so speerited!" +said the princess.</p> + +<p>"Well, they're <i>neat</i>," Peter admitted, modestly.</p> + +<p>The clown, having recovered his breath, cut a caper. Instantly "Yankee +Doodle" came to an end, and the children all stopped to watch him.</p> + +<p>"Tell them to play a waltz," said Miss Senter to Carmela, who was in +waiting at the door. The deputy<a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a> must have flown up the little stairway +leading to the gallery, for the waltz began in less than a minute. Then +Ercole, selecting a pretty American child from among the group, began to +dance with her in the most charming way, followed by all the little +ones, two and two. Those who could waltz, did so; those who could not, +held each other's hands and hopped about.</p> + +<p>Supper followed. The hot things were smoking and delicious, and the +supplies constantly renewed; old Giorgio was evidently on his mettle. It +was the gondolier, still in his clown's dress, who brought in these +supplies and handed them to the waiters from Florian's.</p> + +<p>"You need not do that, Ercole," said Miss Senter, in an undertone; +"these men can go to the kitchen for them."</p> + +<p>Ercole bowed; it would not have been respectful to reply with his +grinning linen lips. But he continued to fill the same office.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Giorgio won't have Florian's people in the kitchen!" the +Consuless reflected.</p> + +<p>As soon as supper was over, the children clamored for their clown, and +he came bounding in a second time, and, after several astonishing +capers, selected a beautiful English child with long golden curls and +led a galop, followed again by all the others, two and two. Peter, his +mind still occupied with his project of taking the young Italian to +America as a star performer, moved from point to point, in order to get +different views of him. One of these stations was in the doorway, and +here Carmela spoke to him in a low tone, and asked him to come to the +outer hall. He did not understand her words; but he comprehended her +gesture<a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> and followed her. She was talking angrily, almost spluttering, +as she led the way. But her talk was lost on her master, who, however, +opened his eyes when he saw four policemen standing at his outer door.</p> + +<p>"What do you want here?" he said. "This is a private residence, and you +are disturbing a Christmas party."</p> + +<p>The chief officer told his tale. But Peter did not comprehend him.</p> + +<p>"You should have gone to the Consulate," he went on. "The Consulate, you +know—Riva Skevony. The vice-consul won't be there so late as this; but +you'll find him early to-morrow morning, sure."</p> + +<p>The policemen, however, remained where they were.</p> + +<p>"There's no making them understand a word," said Peter to himself, in +irritation. "Here, you go and call my sister," he said to Carmela, who, +in her wrath over this intrusion, stood at a distance swallowing nothing +in a series of gulps that made her throat twitch. "Let's see; sister, +that's sorelly. Sorelly!" he repeated to Carmela. "Sorelly!"</p> + +<p>The enraged little deputy understood. And she got Miss Senter out of the +drawing-room without attracting notice. "The master wishes to see the +signorina," she said, in a concentrated undertone. "I burn with +indignation, for it is an insolent intrusion; it is an insult to his +Excellency, who no doubt is a prince in his own country. But they +<i>would</i> not go, in spite of all I could say. Nor would they tell me +their errand—brutes!" And with her skirts quivering she led the way to +the outer hall.</p> + +<p>"Find out what these men want, Barly," said Peter, when his sister +appeared.<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a></p> + +<p>And then the chief officer again told his story.</p> + +<p>"Mercy!" said Miss Senter, "how dreadful. Somebody was killed, Peter, +about seven o'clock this evening, in a café near the Rialto, and they +say they have just found a clew which appears to track the assassin to +this very door! And they wish to search."</p> + +<p>"What an absurd idea! With the whole place crowded and blazing with +lights, as it is to-night, a mouse couldn't hide," said Peter. "Tell +them so."</p> + +<p>"They repeat that they must search," said Miss Senter. "But if you will +exert your authority, Peter—make use of your official position—I am +sure we need not submit to such a thing."</p> + +<p>Peter, however, was helpless without his vice-consul; he had no clear +idea as to what his powers were or were not; he had never informed +himself.</p> + +<p>Carmela, greatly excited, had drawn Miss Senter aside. "There was a +sixth man with those musicians!" she whispered. "I saw him. He did not +play, but he sat behind them. And he has only just gone. Five minutes +ago."</p> + +<p>Miss Senter repeated the information to the chief officer. The officer +immediately detached two men to follow this important clew; he himself, +with the third, would remain to go through the apartment, as a matter of +form.</p> + +<p>"As the rooms are all open and lighted," said Miss Senter in English to +her brother, "it will only take a few minutes, if go they must, and no +one need know anything about it. But whom shall we send with them? If we +call Ercole, it will attract attention; and Florian's men, who were due +at another place, have already<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a> gone. We could have Andrea come up. But +no; Giorgio will do best of all. Call Giorgio to go with these men," she +added in Italian to Carmela.</p> + +<p>"Let <i>me</i> conduct them!" answered the deputy.</p> + +<p>"Yes; on the whole, she will be better than any one," said Miss Senter +to Peter. "She is so angry at what she calls the insult to you, and so +excited about the mysterious person who was with the musicians, that she +will bully them and hurry them off to look for him in no time. They can +begin with a peep into the drawing-room; I'll tell them to keep +themselves hidden." She turned and explained her idea in Italian to the +officer; they could glance into the drawing-room first, and then Carmela +would take them through all the other rooms; the Consul, though he had +the power of refusal, would permit this liberty in the cause of justice. +Their search, however, would be unavailing; under the circumstances, it +was impossible that any one should have taken refuge there, unless it +was that one extra man who had been admitted with the musicians to the +gallery. And he was already gone.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he only pretended to go?" suggested the officer. "With +permission, I will lock this door." And he did so.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/p214_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/p214_sml.jpg" width="351" height="550" alt=""A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"" title=""A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"</span> +</p> + +<p>They went to the drawing-room, the policemen moving quietly, close to +the wall. When the last anteroom was reached, the two men hid themselves +behind the tapestries that draped the door, and, making loop-holes among +the folds, peeped into the ball-room. For it was at that moment a +ball-room. The children had again taken up their whirling dance around +Ercole, and the gondolier, who had now a small child perched on each of +his shoulders, was singing with them in a clear<a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a> tenor, having caught +the syllables from having heard them shouted about fifty times:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"Yankee dooda dooda doo,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.55em;">Yankee dooda dandee,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0.55em;">Barkeet cakar vera goo,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1.55em;">Arso molarsa candee."</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Miss Senter had sent Peter back to his guests. She herself, standing +between the tapestries as though she were looking on from the doorway, +named to the hidden policemen, as well as she could amid the loud +singing within, all the persons present, one by one. Finally her list +came to a close. "And that is Mr. Barlow, the American who lives at the +Danieli; and the one near the Christmas-tree is Mr. Douglas, who has the +Palazzo Dario. And the tall, large gentleman with silver hair is Sir +William Kay. That is all, except the clown, who is our gondolier, and +the five musicians up in the gallery; can you see them from here? If +not, Carmela can take you up." And then she thought, with a sudden +little shudder, that perhaps the officer's idea was not, after all, +impossible; perhaps, indeed, that extra man had only pretended to go!</p> + +<p>The policemen signified that this was enough as regarded the +drawing-room; they withdrew softly, and waited outside the door.</p> + +<p>"Now take them through all the other rooms, Carmela," whispered the +Consuless. "Be as quiet about it as you can, so that no one need know. +And when they have finally gone, come and stand for a moment between +these curtains, as a sign. If, by any chance, they <i>should</i> discover any +one—"</p> + +<p>"The signorina need not be frightened; I saw the<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> man go myself! And he +could not have re-entered without my knowledge. As for these beasts of +policemen—" And Carmela's eyes flashed, while her set lips seemed to +say, "Trust <i>me</i> to hustle them out!"</p> + +<p>"Run up first and tell the musicians to play the music I sent them," +said the Consuless. And then she rejoined her guests.</p> + +<p>For the next dance was to be a Virginia Reel, and some of the elders +were to join the children; the two lines, when arranged, extended down +half the length of the long room. It began with great spirit, the clown +and the three Kings of Orient dancing at the end of the file.</p> + +<p>"It is really Sir Roger de Coverley, an English dance," said Lady Kay to +the Russian princess, who was looking on from the chair next her own. +"But the Senters like to call it a Virginia Reel, they are so patriotic. +And we never contradict the Senters, you know," added the English lady, +laughing; "we let them have their way."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me a vurra good way," answered the princess, who was a +plain-looking old woman with a charming smile. "I have nowhere seen so +many reech toyees" (here she glanced at the costly playthings heaped on +a table near by). "Nor haf I, in <i>Italy</i>, seen so many tings to eat. +With so moche champagne."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they always do that," answered the baronet's wife. "They are so +very lavish. And very kind."</p> + +<p>Miss Senter herself was dancing the reel. Once she thought there was a +quaver in the music, and, glancing up quickly towards the gallery, she +perceived the heads of the policemen behind the players. The players, +however, recovered themselves immediately, and upon<a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a> looking up again a +moment afterwards she saw with relief that the sinister apparition had +vanished. Ten minutes later the trim little figure of the deputy +appeared between the tapestries of the doorway. Miss Senter, still +dancing, nodded slightly, as a signal that she perceived her, and then +Carmela, with an answering nod and one admiring look at Ercole, +disappeared. After all, now that there had been a suspicion about that +extra man, it <i>was</i> a comfort to have had the apartment searched; it +would make the moment of going to bed easier, the American lady +reflected.</p> + +<p>It was now half-past eleven. By midnight the last sleepy child had been +carried down the marble stairway, the music ceased, and the musicians +departed. The elders, glad that the noise was over, remained half an +hour longer; then they took leave. Only Lady Kay and her husband were +left; they had waited to take a closer look at Miss Senter's Christmas +present to her brother, which was a large and beautifully executed copy +of Tintoretto's "Bacchus and Ariadne," from the Anticollegio of the +Doge's Palace. It had been placed temporarily on the wall behind the +Christmas-tree.</p> + +<p>"How exquisite!" said Lady Kay, with a long sigh. "You are most +fortunate, Mr. Senter."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. Though I don't quite know what they will think of it in +Rochester, New York," answered Peter, chuckling.</p> + +<p>Sir William and his wife intended to walk home. When it was cold they +preferred to walk rather than go to and fro in a gondola; and as they +were old residents, they knew every turn of the intricate burrowing +chinks in all the quarters that serve as footways. When they took leave +at one o'clock, Peter and Miss Senter, with<a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a> American friendliness, +accompanied them to the outer door. Peter was about to open this door +when it was swung back, and a figure reeled in—Ercole. He had taken off +his clown's dress, and wore now his gondolier's costume; but this +costume was in disorder, and his face was darkly red—a purple red.</p> + +<p>"Why, Ercole, is it you? What is the matter?" said Miss Senter, as he +staggered against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, her Excellency the Consuless, I have been <i>beaten</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Beaten? Where have you been? I thought you were down at the landing +with Andrea," said Miss Senter.</p> + +<p>"The antiquity-dealer suffocates," muttered Ercole. "And Giorgio—dead!"</p> + +<p>This "dead" (<i>morto!</i>) even Peter understood. "Dead! What is he saying, +Barly?"</p> + +<p>"The man is saying, Mr. Senter, that an antiquity-dealer is suffocating, +and that somebody he calls Giorgio is dead," translated the +pink-cheeked, portly Lady Kay, in her sweet voice. "It's your gondolier, +isn't it—the one who played the clown so nicely? What a pity! He has +been drinking, I fear."</p> + +<p>While she was saying this, Sir William was leading Ercole farther away +from the ladies.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is drunk," said Peter, looking at him. "Too bad! We must have +help. Let's see; Andrea is down at the landing. I'll get him. And you +call Giorgio, Barly."</p> + +<p>Here Ercole, held by Sir William, gave a maddened cry, and threw his +head about violently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't leave my husband alone with him, Mr. Senter," said Lady Kay, +alarmed. "He is a very powerful<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> young man, and his eyes are dreadful. +To me he looks as if he were mad. Those somersaults have affected his +head."</p> + +<p>And the gondolier's eyes were indeed strangely bloodshot and wild. Miss +Senter had hurried to the kitchen. But Giorgio was not there. She came +back, and found Ercole struggling with the Englishman and her brother.</p> + +<p>"Let me try," she said. "I am not afraid of him. Ercole," she continued, +speaking gently in Italian, "go to your room now, and go to bed quietly; +everything will be all right to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Ercole writhed in Sir William's grasp. "The antiquity-dealer! And +Giorgio—dead!"</p> + +<p>"Where is Giorgio, Barly?" said Peter, angrily, as he helped Sir William +in securing the gondolier. "And where are the other servants? Where's +Carmela? Find them, and send one down to the landing for Andrea, and the +other for Giorgio. Quick!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter, I've been, and I couldn't find Giorgio or any one."</p> + +<p>"Carmela was in your bedroom not long ago," said Lady Kay, watching the +gondolier's contortions nervously; "she helped me put on my cloak."</p> + +<p>Miss Senter ran to her bedroom, her train flying in the haste she made. +But in a moment she was back again. "There is no one there. Oh, where +are they all?"</p> + +<p>Ercole, hearing her voice, peered at her with his crimsoned eyes, and +then, breaking loose suddenly, he came and caught hold of her arm. "The +antiquity-room. <i>Will</i> she come?"</p> + +<p>Peter and Sir William dragged him away by main force.<a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a></p> + +<p>"The gentlemen, then. Will <i>they</i> come?" said the gondolier, hoarsely. +And again freeing himself with two strokes of his powerful arms, he +passed out (for the door was still open), and began to descend the +outside staircase.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank Heaven, he has gone!" "Oh, lock the door!" cried the two +ladies together.</p> + +<p>"We must follow him, Mr. Senter," said Sir William. "He is plainly mad +from drink, and may do some harm."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and down there Andrea can help us," answered Peter.</p> + +<p>And the two gentlemen hastened down the staircase. It was a very long +flight with three turns. The court below was brilliantly lighted by many +wall lamps.</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> like my husband's going down," said Lady Kay, in a tremor, as +she stood on the landing outside. "If they are going to seize him, the +more of us the better; don't you think so? For while they are holding +him, you and I could run across and get that other man in from the +riva."</p> + +<p>But Miss Senter was not there. She had rushed back into the house, and +was now calling with all her strength: "Giorgio! Carmela! Assunta! +Beppa!" There was no answer, and, seized with a fresh panic by the +strangeness of this silence, she hastened out again and joined Lady Kay, +who was already half-way down the stairs. The gondolier had not turned +towards the water entrance; he had crossed the court in the opposite +direction, and now he was passing through a broad, low door which led +into the hall on the ground-floor behind the show-room of Z. Pelham, +throwing open as he did so both wings of this entrance, so that the +light<a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a> from the court entered in a broad beam across the stone pavement.</p> + +<p>"My dear, <i>don't</i> go in!" "Oh, Peter, stop! stop!" cried the two ladies, +as they breathlessly descended the last flight.</p> + +<p>But Peter and Sir William had paid no attention. Quickly detaching two +of the lamps from the wall, they had followed the madman.</p> + +<p>"The other gondolier!" gasped Lady Kay.</p> + +<p>And the two women ran swiftly to the water-door and threw it open, Miss +Senter calling, in Italian: "Andrea! come <i>instantly</i>!"</p> + +<p>The little riva along the small canal was also brightly lighted. But +there was no one there. And opposite there was only a long blank wall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we must not leave them a moment longer," said Lady Kay.</p> + +<p>And again they rushed across the broad court, this time entering the +dark water-story; for it was better to enter, dreadful though it was, +than to remain outside, not knowing what might be happening within. +Ercole meanwhile had made his way into Mr. Pelham's show-room, and here +he had struck a match and lighted a candle. As he had left the door of +the show-room open, those who were without could see him, and they +stopped for a moment to watch what he would do next. It was now a group +of four, for the ladies had joined the other two, Miss Senter whispering +to her brother:</p> + +<p>"Andrea isn't there!"</p> + +<p>The gondolier bent down, and began to drag something across the floor +and out to the open space behind. "Here!" he said, turning his purple +face towards their lamps. "I can no more." And he sat down<a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a> suddenly on +the pavement, and let his head and arms fall forward over his knees.</p> + +<p>Peter and Sir William, giving their lamps to the ladies, were +approaching cautiously, in order to secure him while he was quiet, when +they saw, to their horror, two human legs and feet protruding from the +object which he had dragged forth.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's the second-hand dealer; it's Z. Pelham!" said Peter, in fresh +excitement. "I know his arctics. Bring the lamp, Barly. Quick!"</p> + +<p>The two ladies came nearer, keeping one eye upon Ercole. Peter and Sir +William with some difficulty cut the rope, and unwound two woollen +coverlids and a sheet. Within, almost suffocated, with his hands tied +behind him, was the dealer.</p> + +<p>"I suppose <i>he</i> did this!" whispered Lady Kay to Miss Senter, her pink +face white, as she indicated the motionless gondolier.</p> + +<p>Sir William lifted the dealer's head, while Peter loosened his collar.</p> + +<p>"Now will Excellencies look for Giorgio," muttered Ercole, without +changing his position.</p> + +<p>"He says now will you look for Giorgio," translated Lady Kay. "That he +<i>tells</i> his crimes shows that he really <i>is</i> mad!" she added, in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"No; I think he has come to for the moment, and that's why he tells," +said Peter, hastily rubbing Z. Pelham's chest. "Ask him where we shall +look, Barly; ask while he's lucid."</p> + +<p>"Where must we look for Giorgio, Ercole?" quavered Miss Senter, her +Italian coming out with the oddest pronunciation.</p> + +<p>"Back stairs," answered the gondolier.<a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a></p> + +<p>"Back stairs, he says," translated Lady Kay.</p> + +<p>"There are no back stairs," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>"I'll put this coverlid under his back. That will make him breathe +better," said the Englishman, his sympathies roused by the forlorn +plight of the little dealer, whose carefully strapped arctic shoes gave +ironical emphasis to his helplessness.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miss Senter, saying "Yes, there <i>are</i> stairs," had run across +the pavement with her lamp, found the door at the back of the hall, and +opened it. Z. Pelham began to breathe more regularly, although he had +not yet opened his eyes. Sir William drew him farther away from the +gondolier, and then he and Peter hastened across and looked up the +spiral. "It goes to the attics," explained Miss Senter.</p> + +<p>"You two stand here at the bottom with one lamp, and Sir William and I +will go up with the other," said Peter. "Keep your eye on Ercole, Barly, +and if he so much as <i>moves</i>, come right up and join us."</p> + +<p>"Wait an instant," said the Englishman. "Stay here with Mr. Senter, +Gertrude." Making a détour so as not to rouse the gondolier, he entered +the antiquity-dealer's show-room and tried to open the outer door. But +it was locked, and the key was not there. "No use," he said, coming +hurriedly back; "I had hoped to get help from outside to watch him while +we go up. Now remember, Gertrude, you and Miss Senter are to come up and +join us <i>instantly</i> if he leaves his place." And then he and Peter +ascended the winding steps, carrying one of the lamps. Round and round +went the gleam of their light, and the two ladies at the bottom, +standing with their skirts caught up ready to run, watched the still +form of the gondolier in the distance,<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> visible in the gleam of the +candle burning in the show-room. It seemed an hour. But a full minute +had not gone when Peter's voice above cried out:</p> + +<p>"It's Giorgio! Good God! Killed! Bring up the other light."</p> + +<p>And the two ladies rushed up together. There on the landing lay the poor +old cook, his eyes closed, his face ghastly, his white jacket deeply +stained with blood. Miss Senter, who was really attached to the old man, +began to cry.</p> + +<p>"He isn't quite dead," said Peter, who had been listening for the heart. +"But we must get him out of this icy place. Then we'll tie up Ercoly—we +can use that rope—and after he is secured, I can go for help. Here, you +take his head and shoulders, Sir William; you are the strongest. And +I'll take his body. Barly can take the feet."</p> + +<p>"It will be difficult," said the Englishman. "These steep stairs—"</p> + +<p>But Peter, when roused, was a veritable little lion. "Come on," he said; +"we can do it."</p> + +<p>"Please go down first and see if Ercole is still quiet," begged Miss +Senter of Lady Kay. And the Englishwoman, who now had both lamps, went +down and came back in thirty seconds; she never knew how she did it. "He +has not stirred," she said. And then old Giorgio was borne down, and out +to the brilliantly lighted court beyond.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Peter, whose face was bathed with great drops of +perspiration, "we'll first secure him," and he indicated Ercole by +pointing his thumb backward over his shoulder towards the water-story, +"and then I'll go for a doctor and the police."<a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a></p> + +<p>But as he spoke, coming out of the door upon his hands and knees, +appeared Z. Pelham, who, as soon as he saw the cook's prostrate body, +called back, hoarsely, in Italian: "Ercole, get my brandy-flask."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't call him!" said Lady Kay, in terror, clapping a fold of her +skirt tightly over the dealer's mouth and holding it there. "He is +mad—quite mad!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Pelham collapsed.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! Gertrude, don't suffocate the poor creature a second +time," said Sir William, pulling his wife away.</p> + +<p>Z. Pelham, released, raised his head. "Ercole has been bad beat, and +that makes him not genteel," he explained. "Ercole, bring my +brandy-flask," he called again, in Italian, and the effort he made to +break through his hoarseness brought out the words in a sudden wild +yell. "My voice a little deranged is," he added, apologetically, in +English.</p> + +<p>They could now hear the steps of the gondolier within, and the ladies +moved to a distance as he appeared, walking unsteadily, the flask in his +hand. "Not dead?" he said, trying to see Giorgio. But his eyes closed +convulsively, and as soon as the dealer had taken the flask, down he +went, or half fell, on the pavement as before, with his head thrown +forward over his knees. Sir William placed himself promptly by his side, +while Peter ran within to get the rope. Z. Pelham, uncorking the flask, +poured a little brandy between Giorgio's pale lips. "You have all +mistake," he said to Sir William as he did this. "Ercole was bad beat by +a third partee who has done it all—me and he and this died cook; a +third partee was done it all." And he chafed the cook's temples with +brandy.<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a></p> + +<p>"A third party?" said Peter, who had returned with the rope. "Who?"</p> + +<p>"I know not; they knocked me from behind. It was lightning to me, in +<i>my</i> head also," answered Z. Pelham, going on with his chafing.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Barly," said Peter, taking command. "Say what I tell you. +Don't be afraid; Sir William and I will grab him if he stirs. Say, +'Ercoly, who hurt you?'"</p> + +<p>"Ercole, who hurt you?" said Miss Senter, tremulously.</p> + +<p>"<i>Non so. Un demonio</i>," answered the gondolier, his head still on his +knees.</p> + +<p>"He says he doesn't know. A demon," said Lady Kay.</p> + +<p>"Ask when it happened."</p> + +<p>"It was after he had taken the presents from the tree," translated Lady +Kay again. "He was struck, dragged down the back stairs, gagged, and +left in the antiquity-room. He has only just now been able to free +himself."</p> + +<p>"How could he act the clown, then?" pursued Peter.</p> + +<p>"He says he hasn't been a clown or seen a clown. Oh, Peter, it was some +one else disguised! Who could it have been?" cried Miss Senter, running +away as if to fly up the staircase, and then in her terror running back +again.</p> + +<p>The cook's eyes had now opened. "He says see what is stoled," said Mr. +Pelham, administering more brandy. Mr. Pelham was seated, tailor +fashion, on the pavement, his feet in their arctics under him.</p> + +<p>"Giorgio knows something about it, too," said Peter. "Ask him, Barly."<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a></p> + +<p>But Miss Senter was incapable of speaking; she had hidden her face on +Lady Kay's shoulder, shuddering. The clown with whom she had talked, who +had danced all the evening with the children, was an assassin! A strange +and savage murderer!</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," said the Englishman. And bending over Giorgio, he asked, +in correct, stiff Italian: "Do you know who hurt you?"</p> + +<p>"A tall, dark man. I never saw him before," answered the cook, or rather +his lips formed those words. "He stabbed me after he had struck down +Ercole."</p> + +<p>"Now he is again gone," soliloquized Z. Pelham, as Giorgio's eyes +closed; "I have fear this time he is truly died!" And he chafed the +cook's temples anew.</p> + +<p>"It's all clear now," said Peter, "and Ercoly isn't mad; only hurt in +some way. So I'll go for help at once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter, you always get lost!" moaned his sister.</p> + +<p>And it was true that the Consul almost invariably lost his way in the +labyrinth of chinks behind the palace.</p> + +<p>"I'll go," said the Englishman. "It's not very late" (he looked at his +watch); "I shall be sure to find some one."</p> + +<p>"You must let me go with you, my dear," urged Lady Kay.</p> + +<p>In three minutes they were back with two men. "I've brought these two, +and there's a doctor coming. And I sent word to the police," said the +Englishman.</p> + +<p>And following very soon came a half-dressed youth, a young American +doctor, who had been roused by<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> somebody. The cook was borne up the +stairway and into the salon, where the chandeliers were shedding their +soft radiance calmly, and where all the fairy-lamps were still burning +on the Christmas-tree; for only twenty minutes had passed since the host +and his guests had left the room. Behind the group of the two men from +outside, who with Peter and the doctor were carrying Giorgio, came Sir +William leading the gondolier, who seemed now entirely blind, while Z. +Pelham followed, last of all, on his hands and knees.</p> + +<p>"This old man has a deep cut—done with a knife; he has lost a good deal +of blood; pretty bad case," said the doctor. "Your gondolier has been +dreadfully beaten about the head, but it won't kill him; he is young and +strong. This third man seems to be only sprained. Get me something for +bandages and compresses, and bring cold water."</p> + +<p>"Get towels, Barly," said the Consul.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter, I'm afraid to go," said Miss Senter, faintly. "The man may +still be hidden here somewhere. And I know he has murdered Carmela and +the other servants, too!"</p> + +<p>Peter ran to his own chamber, and came back with a pile of towels, a +sheet from his bed, a large jug of water, and a scissors. "Now, doctor, +you stay here and do what you can for all three," he said, as he hurried +round the great drawing-room, locking all the doors but one. "And the +ladies will stay here with you. The rest of us will search the whole +apartment immediately! Lock this last door as soon as we're out, will +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter, don't go!" cried his sister. "Let those two men do it. Or +wait for the police."<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a></p> + +<p>"My dear, pray consider," said Lady Kay to her husband; "if any one <i>is</i> +hidden, it is some desperate character—"</p> + +<p>But the Englishman and Peter were already gone, and the ladies were left +with the doctor, who, comprehending everything quickly, locked the last +door, and then hurried back to the cook. Old Giorgio's mind was now +wandering; he muttered incoherently, and seemed to be suffering greatly. +The gondolier, his head enveloped in wet towels, was lying in a stupor +on one of the sofas. Z. Pelham quietly tied up his own sprained ankles +with a portion of the torn sheet, and then assisted with much +intelligence in the making of the bandages which the doctor needed for +Giorgio.</p> + +<p>Sir William, Peter, and the two men from outside began with the kitchen; +no one. The pantries and store-rooms; no one. The supper-room; no one. +The bedrooms; no one. The anterooms and small drawing-room; no one. As +the whole house was still brightly lighted, this did not take long. They +now crossed to four rooms on the north side; no one. Then came a large +store-room for linen. This was not lighted, so they took in a lamp; no +one.</p> + +<p>"There's a second door here," said Sir William, perceiving one of those +masked flat portals common in Italy, which are painted or frescoed so +exactly like the wall that they seem a part of it.</p> + +<p>"It opens into a little recess only a foot deep," said Peter, going on +with the lamp to the second store-room. "No one could possibly hide +there. Now after we have finished on this side, there is only the +wood-room left; that is off by itself in a wing."</p> + +<p><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>The Englishman had accompanied his host. But having a strong bent +towards thoroughness, he was not satisfied, and he quietly returned +alone and opened that masked door. There, flattened against the wall, +not clearly visible in the semi-darkness, was the outline of a woman's +figure. His exclamation brought back the others with the lamp. It was +Carmela.</p> + +<p>She stood perfectly still for an instant or two, so motionless, and with +such bright eyes staring at them, that she looked like a wax figure. +Then she sprang from her hiding-place and made a swift rush down the +corridor towards the outer door. They caught her. She fought and +struggled dreadfully, still without a sound. So frantic were her +writhings that her apron and cap were torn away, and the braids of her +hair fell down and finally fell off, leaving only, to Peter's +astonishment, a few locks of thin white hair in their place. It took the +four men to hold her, for she threw herself from side to side like a +wild-cat; she even dragged the four as far as the anteroom nearest the +drawing-room in her desperate efforts to reach that outer door. But +here, as she felt herself at last over-powered, a terrible shriek burst +from her, her face became distorted, her eyes rolled up, and froth +appeared on her lips.</p> + +<p>The shriek, an unmistakably feminine one, had brought the doctor and two +ladies from the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"A fit!" exclaimed the doctor as soon as he saw the froth. "Here, get +open that tight dress." He unbuttoned a few buttons of the black bodice, +and tore off the rest. "Gracious! corsets like steel." He took out his +knife, and hastily cutting the cashmere across the shoulders, he got his +hand in and severed the corset<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> strings. "Now, ladies, just help me to +get her out of this harness."</p> + +<p>And with trembling fingers Lady Kay and Miss Senter gave their aid, and +after a moment the whole edifice—for it was an edifice—sank to the +floor. What was left was an old, old woman, small and withered, her +feeble chest rising and falling in convulsions under her coarse chemise, +and the rest of her little person scantily covered with a patched, +poverty-stricken under-skirt.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>poor</i> creature!" said Lady Kay, the tears filling her eyes as all +the ribs of the meagre, wasted body showed in the straining, spasmodic +effort of the lungs to get breath.</p> + +<p>"Bring something to cover her, Barly," said Peter.</p> + +<p>And Miss Senter, forgetting her fears, ran to her room, and brought back +the first thing she could find—a large white shawl.</p> + +<p>"All right now; she's coming to," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>The convulsions gradually ceased, and Carmela's eyes opened. She looked +at them all in silence as she sat, muffled in the shawl, where they had +placed her. Finally she spoke. "The Consul is too late," she said, with +mock respect. "The Consuless also. Did they admire the dancing of the +clown? A fine fellow that clown! You need not hold me," she added to the +two men from outside, who were acting as guards. "I have nothing more to +do. My son is safe, and that was all I cared for. They will never find +him; he is far from here now. He is very clever, and he has, besides, to +help him, all the money which the Consuless so kindly provided for him +by keeping it in a secret drawer, whose 'secret' every Italian not an +idiot<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a> knows. But the Consuless has always had a singular self-conceit. +I had only to mention that extra man with the musicians—poor little +Tonio the tailor it was—and she swallowed him down whole. I could have +got away myself if I had cared to. But I waited, in order to keep back +the alarm as long as possible; I waited. Oh yes, I helped all the ladies +to put on their cloaks; I helped this English ladyship to put on hers +last of all, as she knows. When their Excellencies went down to the +water-story, I then tried to go; but I found that they could still see +the staircase, so I came back. What matters it? They may do with me what +they please. For myself I care not. My son is safe." On her old cheeks, +under the falling white hair, were still the faint pink tinges of rouge, +and from beneath the wretched petticoat came the two young-looking +high-heeled shoes. She folded her thin hands on her lap, and refused to +say more.</p> + +<p>Assunta and Beppa were found in the wood-room, gagged and bound like the +others, but not hurt. And in the morning the Consul's gondola was +discovered floating out with the tide, and within it Andrea in the same +helpless state. The man, who was an ex-convict, a burglar, suspected of +worse crimes, after committing the murder at the café, had fled to the +palace. Here he and his intrepid little mother had invented and carried +out the whole scheme in the one hour which had followed the distribution +of the presents from the tree, before the dancing began. Carmela had +even left the house to obtain a clown's costume from a dealer in +masquerade dresses who lived near by. And she had herself opened for her +son's use the disused door which led to the spiral steps.<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a></p> + +<p>That son was never caught. His mother, who had worked for him +indefatigably through her whole life—worked so hard that her hands were +worn almost to claws—who had supported him and supplied him, who had +made herself young and active like a girl, though she was seventy-four, +in order to be able to send him money—his mother, who had allowed +herself nothing in the world but the few smart clothes necessary for her +disguise, who was absolutely honest, but who had stolen for him three +thousand francs from the secret drawer, and had stood by and aided him +when he beat, stabbed, and gagged her fellow-servants—this mother was +not arrested. She should have been, of course. But somehow, very +strangely, she escaped from the palace before morning.</p> + +<p>Poor old Giorgio was never able to work again. But as Peter pensioned +him handsomely, he led an easy life, while Ercole became a magnate among +gondoliers.</p> + +<p>It was not until three years afterwards, in Rochester, New York, that +Peter, surrounded by Z. Pelham's entire collection (which he had +purchased, though thinking it hideous, at large prices), confessed to +his sister that he had connived at Carmela's escape. "Somehow I couldn't +stand it, Barly. That thin white hair and those poor old arms of hers, +and that wretched, wasted, gasping little chest—in prison!"<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="IN_VENICE" id="IN_VENICE"></a>IN VENICE</h2> + +<p>"Y<small>ES</small>, we came over again in February, and have been here in Venice since +the last of March. For some reasons I was sorry to come back—one <i>is</i> +so much more comfortable at home! What I have suffered in these +wretchedly cold houses over here words, Mr. Blake, can never express. +For in England, you know, they consider fifty-eight Fahrenheit quite +warm enough for their drawing-rooms, while here in Italy—well, one +never <i>is</i> so cold, I think, as in a warm climate. Yes, we should have +been more comfortable, as far as <i>that</i> goes, in my own house in New +York, reading all those delightful books on Art in a properly warmed +atmosphere (and I must say a properly warmed spirit too), and looking at +photographs of the pictures (you can have them as large as you like, you +know), instead of freezing our feet over the originals, which half the +time the eyes of a lynx could not see. But it is not always winter, of +course. And then I have lived over here so long that I have, it seems, +acquired foreign ways that are very unpopular at home. You may smile, +and it <i>is</i> too ridiculous; but it is so. For instance, last summer we +went to Carley Ledge (you know Carley; pretty little place), and we +found out afterwards that the people came near mobbing us! Not exactly +that, of course, but they took the most violent dislike to us;<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> and why? +It is too comical. Because we had innocently treated Carley as we treat +a pretty village over here. One lady said, and, I am told, with +indignation, that we had been stopping, 'more than once, right in the +main street, and standing there, in that <i>public</i> place, to look at a +cloud passing over the mountain!' And another reported that she had +herself discovered us 'sitting on the <i>grass</i>, no farther away from the +main street than the open space in front of Deacon Seymour's, just as +though it was out in the country!' That 'out in the country' is rather +good, isn't it? Always that poor little main street!"</p> + +<p>"Still, I think, on the whole, that the cold houses are worse than the +village comments," replied Mrs. Marcy's visitor. "A New-Yorker I know, a +confirmed European too, always goes home to spend the three months of +winter. When he comes back in the spring his English friends say, 'I +hear you have had so many degrees of frost over there—fancy!'—meaning, +perhaps, zero or under. To which he assents, but always inflexibly goes +back. They look upon him as a kind of Esquimau. But how does Miss Marcy +like exile?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Claudia is very fond of Italy. You have not seen her, by-the-way, +since she was a child, and she is now twenty. Do you find her altered?"</p> + +<p>"Greatly."</p> + +<p>"At home she was never thought pretty—when she was younger, I mean. She +was thought too—too—vigorous is perhaps the best word; she had not +that graceful slenderness one expects to see in a young girl. But over +here, I notice, the opinion seems to be different," continued the lady, +half questioningly. "And, of course, too, she has improved."<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a></p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Sophy—improved? Miss Marcy is a wonderfully beautiful +woman."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know; Mr. Lenox thinks so too, I believe," answered Mrs. +Marcy, half pleased, half irritated. "It seems she is a Venetian—that +is, of the sixteenth century; and dressed in dark-green velvet, with +those great puffed Venetian sleeves coming down over her knuckles, a +gold chain, and her hair closely braided, she would be, they tell me, a +perfect Bonifazio. In fact, Mr. Lenox is painting her as one. Only he +has to imagine the dress."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Marcy was a widow, and fifty-five. It had pleased her to hear again +the old "Miss Sophy" of their youth from Rodney Blake; but as she had +been one of those tall, slender, faintly lined girls who are called +lilies, and who are associated with pale blues and lavender, she +naturally found it difficult to realize a beauty, even if it was that of +a niece, so unlike her own. Mrs. Marcy was now less than slender; the +blue eyes which had once mildly lighted her countenance were faded. But +she still remained lily-like and willowy, and her attire adapted itself +to that style; there was a gleam of the lavender still—she wore long +shawls and scarfs.</p> + +<p>In the easy-chair opposite, Rodney Blake leaned back. He was fifty-six, +long and thin, with a permanent expression on his face of half-weary, +half-amused cynicism, which, however, seemed to concern itself more with +life in general than with people in particular, and thus prevented +personal applications. He was well-to-do, well dressed. There was a +generally received legend that he was rather brilliant. This was the +more remarkable because he seldom said much. But perhaps<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a> that was the +reason. Miss Marcy had entered as her aunt finished her sentence.</p> + +<p>"The sitting is over, then," said the elder lady. "Has Mr. Lenox gone?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," answered the niece, giving her hand to Mr. Blake as he rose +to greet her.</p> + +<p>She was, as he had said, a beautiful woman. Yet at home there were still +those who would have dissented from this opinion, as, secretly, her aunt +dissented. She was of about medium height, with the form of a Juno. She +had a rich complexion, slowly moving eyes of deep brown, and very thick, +curling, low-growing hair of a bright gold color, which showed a warmer +reddish tinge in the light. She was the personification of healthy life +and vigor, but not of the nervous or active sort; of the reflective. +Wherever the sun touched her it struck a color: whether the red of cheek +or lip, or the beautiful tint of her forehead and throat, which was not +fair but clear; whether the brown of her eyes, or the gold of eyebrows, +eyelashes, and the heavy, low-coiled hair. Her features were fairly +regular, but not of the pointed type; they were short rather than long, +clearly, almost boldly, outlined. Her forehead was low; her mouth not +small, the lips beautifully cut. She was attired in black velvet—she +affected rich materials—and as she talked she twisted and untwisted a +string of large pearls which hung loosely round her throat and down upon +the velvet of her dress.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lenox does not have to imagine much, after all," observed Mr. Blake +in his slow way to Mrs. Marcy. "In velvet, with those pearls, she does +very well as it is."</p> + +<p>"They are only Roman beads," said Claudia. "I don't know what you mean, +of course."<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a></p> + +<p>"I had been telling Mr. Blake that they say that if you had a green +velvet, with those big sleeves, you know, and your hair braided close to +the head, to make it look too small in comparison with the shoulders, it +would be a Bonifazio," explained the aunt.</p> + +<p>"Your pearls are not so effective as they might be, Miss Marcy," +continued the visitor, scanning her as she took a seat.</p> + +<p>"I do not wear them in this way, but so." She unfastened the clasp, and +rewound the long string in three close rows, one above the other, round +her throat, above the high-coming black of her dress.</p> + +<p>"That is better," said her critic.</p> + +<p>"It feels like a piece of armor, so I unloosen it as soon as I can," she +answered.</p> + +<p>Here the artist came in, hat in hand. "I am on my way home," he said. +"Good-morning, Mr. Blake. I have only stopped to ask about our +expedition this afternoon, Mrs. Marcy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose we shall go," answered that lady, "the day is so fine. +How are they at home this morning, Mr. Lenox?"</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth is quite well, thanks; Theocritus as usual. Shall I order +gondolas, then?"</p> + +<p>"If you will be so good; at four. Mr. Blake will, I hope, go with us."</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Lenox bowed, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>"Does the—the idyllic personage accompany us?" asked the gentleman in +the easy-chair.</p> + +<p>"It is only a child appended to the name," said Claudia, laughing. "For +some reason Mrs. Lenox always pronounces it in full; she could just as +well call him Theo."<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a></p> + +<p>"It is her nephew, and she is devoted to him," explained Mrs. Marcy. "He +is nearly ten years old, but does not look more than five. His health is +extremely delicate, and he is at times rather—rather babyish."</p> + +<p>"Peevish, isn't it?" said Claudia. She had taken up two long black +needles entangled in a mass of crimson worsted, and, disengaging them, +was beginning to knit another row on an unfinished stripe. Her +beautifully moulded hands, full and white, with one antique gem on each, +contrasted with the tint of the wool. The thin fingers of Mrs. Marcy +were decked with fine diamonds, and diamonds alone; in spite of the +"foreign ways" of which that lady had accused herself, she remained +sufficiently American for that. She could buy diamonds, and Claudia an +antique ring or two; both aunt and niece enjoyed inherited incomes, that +of Claudia being comfortable, that of Mrs. Marcy large.</p> + +<p>These ladies occupied rooms on the third floor of a palace on the Grand +Canal, not far below the Piazzetta. The palace was a stately example of +Renaissance architecture, with three rows of majestic polished columns +extending one above the other across its front. Between these columns +the American tenant, who had once been called "the lily," and her niece, +who was so like a Bonifazio, looked out upon the golden Venetian +light—a light whose shadows are colors: mother-of-pearl, emerald, +orange, amber, and all the changing gradations between them—thrown +against and between the reds, browns, and fretted white marbles of the +buildings rising from the water; that ever-moving water which mirrors it +all—here a sparkling, glancing surface, there a mysterious darkness, +both of them contrasting with the serene blue of the sky above,<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a> which +is barred towards the riva by the long, lean, sharply defined lateen +spars of the moored barks, and made even more deep in its hue over the +harbor by the broad sails of the fishing-sloops outlined against it, as +they come slowly up the channel, rich, unlighted sheets of tawny yellow +and red, with a great cross vaguely defined upon them.</p> + +<p>Next to the Renaissance palace was a smaller one, narrow and high, of +mediæval Gothic, ancient and weather-stained; it had lancet-windows, +adorned above with trefoil, and a little carved balcony like old +Venetian lace cut in marble. Here Mr. and Mrs. Lenox occupied the floor +above that occupied by the ladies in the larger palace. Communication +was direct, however, owing to a hallway, like a little covered bridge, +that crossed the canal which flowed between—a canal narrow, dark, and +still, that worked away silently all day and all night at its life-long +task of undermining the ponderous walls on each side; gaining perhaps a +half-inch in a century, together with the lighter achievement of eating +out the painted wooden columns which, like lances set upright in the +sand at a tent's door, the old Venetians were accustomed to plant in the +tide round their water-washed entrances. At four o'clock the little +company started, the three from the Gothic palace having come across the +hall bridge to join the others. Two gondolas were in waiting; as the +afternoon was warm, they had light awnings instead of the antique black +tops, with the sombre drapery sweeping out behind.</p> + +<p>"I like the black tops better," observed Claudia. "Any one can have an +awning, but the black tops are Venetian."<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a></p> + +<p>"They can easily be changed," said Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Oh no; not in this heat," objected Mrs. Marcy. "We should stifle. Mr. +Blake, shall you and I, as the selfish elders, take this one, and let +the younger people go together in that?"</p> + +<p>"I want to go in the one with the red awning—the <i>bright</i> red," said +Theocritus. This was the one Mrs. Marcy had selected.</p> + +<p>"No, no, my boy; the other will do quite as well for you," said Lenox.</p> + +<p>"It won't," replied the child, in a decided little voice.</p> + +<p>"It is not of the slightest consequence," graciously interposed Mrs. +Marcy, signalling to the other gondola, and, with Blake's assistance, +taking her place within it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lenox glanced at his wife. She was occupied in folding a shawl +closely over the boy's little overcoat. "Come, then," he said, giving +his hand first to Miss Marcy, then to his wife and the child. The +gondolas floated out on the broad stream.</p> + +<p>Claudia talked; she talked well, and took the Venetian tone. "The only +thing that jars upon me," she said, after a while, "is that these +Venetians of to-day—those men and women we are passing on the riva now, +for instance—do not appreciate in the least their wonderful +water-city—scarcely know what it is."</p> + +<p>"They don't study 'Venice' because they are Venice—isn't that it?" said +Mrs. Lenox. She had soothed the little boy into placidity, and he sat +beside her quietly, with one gloved hand in hers, a small muffled +figure, with a pale face whose delicate skin was lined like that of an +old man. His eyes were narrow, deep-set, and dark under his faintly +outlined fair eyebrows; his thin<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a> hair so light in hue and cut so +closely to his head that it could scarcely be distinguished.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said Claudia, answering Mrs. Lenox's remark—"at least, I +hope the old Venetians were not so; I like to think that they felt, down +to their very finger-tips, all the richness and beauty about them."</p> + +<p>"You may be sure the feeling was unconscious compared with ours," +replied Mrs. Lenox. "They did not consult authorities about the +pictures; they were the pictures. They did not study history; they made +it. They did not read romances; they lived them."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could have lived then," murmured Miss Marcy, her eyes resting +thoughtfully on the red tower of San Giorgio, rising from the blue. No +veil obscured the beautiful tints of her face; Claudia's complexion +could brave the brightest light, the wind, and the sun. The dark-blue +plume of the round hat she wore curled down over the rippled sunny +braids of her hair. Mr. Lenox was looking at her. But Mr. Lenox was +often looking at her.</p> + +<p>"That would not be at all nice for us," said Mrs. Lenox, in her pleasant +voice, answering the young lady's wish. "If you, Miss Marcy, can step +back into the fifteenth century without trouble, we cannot; Stephen and +I are very completely of this poor nineteenth."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Claudia, slowly; she looked at "Stephen" with +meditative eyes. "He could have been one of the soldiers. You remember +that Venetian portrait in the Uffizi at Florence—General Gattamelata? +Mr. Lenox does not look like it; but in armor he would look quite as +well."</p> + +<p>"I don't remember it," said Mrs. Lenox, turning to<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a> see why Theocritus +was beating upon her knees with his right fist.</p> + +<p>"You must remember—it is so superb!" said Claudia.</p> + +<p>"I want to sit on the other side," announced Theocritus.</p> + +<p>"When we come back, dear. See, the church is quite near; we shall soon +be there now," answered his aunt.</p> + +<p>"You remember it, don't you?" said Claudia to Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"No—<i>now</i>," piped Theocritus. "The wind is blowing down my back."</p> + +<p>"If he is cold, Stephen—" said Mrs. Lenox.</p> + +<p>"I will change places with him," replied her husband. "Do not move, Miss +Marcy."</p> + +<p>"No; Aunt Lizzie must go too!" said the boy. He had wrinkled up his +little face until he looked like an aged dwarf in a temper; he stretched +back his lips over his little square white teeth, and glared at his +uncle and Miss Marcy.</p> + +<p>"Let me change—do," said Claudia, rising as she spoke. And Mrs. Lenox +accepted the offer.</p> + +<p>"When you have finished my portrait, suppose you paint yourself as a +fifteenth-century Venetian general," continued Miss Marcy, taking up +again the thread of conversation which had been broken by Theocritus's +obstinacy. "The portrait of a man painted by himself is always +interesting; you can see then what he thinks he is."</p> + +<p>"And is not?" said Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Possibly. Still, what he might be. It is his ideal<a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a> view of himself, +and I believe in ideals. It is only our real, purified—what we shall +all attain, I hope, in another world."</p> + +<p>Thus she talked on. And the man to whom she talked thought it a +loveliness of nature that she passed so naturally and unnoticingly over +the demeanor of the spoiled child who accompanied them. Mrs. Lenox +could, for the present take no further part in the conversation, as +Theocritus had demanded that she should relate to him the legend of St. +Mark, St. George, and St. Theodore climbing down from their places over +the church porch, the palace window, and the crocodile column to fight +the demons of the lagoons. This she did, but in so low a tone that the +conversation of the others was not interrupted.</p> + +<p>They reached the island and landed; Mrs. Marcy and Blake were already +there, sitting on the sun-warmed steps of the church whose smooth white +façade and red campanile are so conspicuous from Venice. "We were +discussing the shape of the prow of the gondola," said Mrs. Marcy, as +they came up. "To me it looks like the neck of a swan." Mrs. Marcy never +sought for new terms; if the old ones were only poetical—she was a +stickler for that—she used them as they were, contentedly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blake, who always took the key-note of the conversation in which he +found himself, advanced the equally veteran comparison of the neck of a +violin.</p> + +<p>"It is the shining blade of St. Theodore, the patron of the gondolas," +suggested Claudia.</p> + +<p>"To me it looks a good deal like the hammer of a sewing-machine," +observed Mrs. Lenox, lightly. This was so true that they all had to +laugh.<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a></p> + +<p>"But this will never do, Mrs. Lenox," said Blake, turning to look at her +as she stood on the broad marble step, holding the little boy's hand; +"you will destroy all our carefully prepared atmosphere with your modern +terms. Here we have all been reading up for this expedition, and we know +just what Ruskin thinks; wait a bit, and you will hear us talk! And not +one will be so rude as to recognize a single adjective."</p> + +<p>"You admire him, then—Ruskin?" said the lady.</p> + +<p>"Admire? That is not the word; he is the divinest madman! Ah, but he +makes us work! In some always inaccessible spot he discovers an +inscrutably beautiful thing, and then he goes to work and writes about +it fiercely, with all his nouns in capitals, and his adjectives after +the nouns instead of before them—which naturally awes us. But what +produces an even deeper thrill is his rich way of spreading his +possessive cases over two words instead of one, as, 'In the eager heart +of him,' instead of 'In his eager heart.' This cows us completely."</p> + +<p>"I want to go in the church. I don't want to stay out here any longer," +announced Theocritus. And, as his aunt let him have his way, the others +followed her, and they all went in together.</p> + +<p>Compared with the warm sunshine without, the silent aisles seemed cool. +After ten minutes or so Mrs. Marcy and Blake came out, and seated +themselves on the step again. "You have known her for some time?" Blake +was saying.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Lenox? No; only since we first met here, six—I mean seven—weeks +ago. But Stephen Lenox I have always known, or rather known about; he is +a distant connection of mine. His history has been rather<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a> unusual. His +mother, a widow, managed to educate him, but that was all; they were +really very poor, and Stephen was hard at work before he was twenty. He +had some sort of a clerkship in an iron-mill, and was kept at it, I was +told, twelve and thirteen hours a day. Before he was twenty-two he +married. He worked harder than ever then, although he had, I believe, in +time a better place. His wife had no money, either, and she was not +strong. Their two little children died. Well, after twelve years of +this, most unexpectedly, by the will of an uncle by marriage, he came +into quite a nice little fortune; the uncle said, I was told, that he +admired a man who, in these days, had never had or asked for the least +help from his relatives. And so Stephen could at last do as he pleased, +and very soon afterwards they came abroad. For he had been an artist at +heart all this time, it seems—at least, he has a great liking for +painting, and even, I think, some skill."</p> + +<p>"I doubt if he is a creative artist," answered Blake. "He is too well +balanced for that—a strong, quiet fellow. His wife is of about his age, +I presume?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is thirty-six, and she the same. They have been over here +already nearly two years. She is a very nice little woman" (Mrs. Lenox +was tall and slender; but Mrs. Marcy always patronized Mrs. Lenox), +"although one <i>does</i> get extremely tired of that spoiled boy she drags +about. Do you know," added the lady, deeply, "I feel sure it would be +much better for Elizabeth Lenox if she would remember her present +circumstances more; there is no longer any necessity for an invariable +untrimmed gray gown."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't she dress well?" said Blake. "I thought she always looked very +neat."<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a></p> + +<p>"That is the very word—neat. But there is no flow, no richness. She has +been rather pretty once; that is, in that style—gray eyes and dark +hair; and she might be so still if she had the proper costumes. Of +course, going about Venice in this way one does not want to dress much; +but she has not even got anything put away."</p> + +<p>"If one does not wear it, what difference does that make?" asked the +gentleman.</p> + +<p>"All the difference in the world!" replied Mrs. Marcy. "Let me tell you +that the very <i>step</i> of a woman who knows she has two or three nice +dresses in the bottom of her trunk is different from that of a woman who +knows she hasn't."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps Mrs. Lenox does not know that she 'hasn't,'" remarked +Blake. This, however, went over Mrs. Marcy's head.</p> + +<p>Within, the others were looking at the beautiful Tintorettos in the +choir. After a while the ill-favored but gravely serene young monk who +had admitted them approached and mentioned solemnly "the view from the +campanile;" this not because he cared whether they went up or not, but +simply as part of his duty.</p> + +<p>"I should like to go," said Claudia; "I love to look off over the +lagoons."</p> + +<p>They turned to leave the choir. "<i>I</i> don't want to go," said Theocritus, +holding back. "I want to stay here and see that picture some more; and +I'm going to!"</p> + +<p>This time Miss Marcy did not yield her wish. "Do not come with me," she +said to Mr. and Mrs. Lenox; "it is not in the least necessary. I have +been up before, and know the way. I will not be gone fifteen minutes."<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a></p> + +<p>"I really think that he ought not to climb all those stairs," said Mrs. +Lenox to her husband, looking at the child, who had gone back to his +station before the picture.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," answered Lenox. Then, after a moment, "I will stay with +him," he added; "you go up with Miss Marcy."</p> + +<p>"I want Aunt Lizzie to stay—not Uncle Stephen!" called the boy, +overhearing this, and turning round to scowl at them.</p> + +<p>"He will not be good with any one but me," said Mrs. Lenox, in a low +tone. "You two go up; I will wait for you here."</p> + +<p>"The question is, Is he ever good, even with her?" said Claudia, +following Lenox up the long flight of steps that winds in square turns +up, up, to the top of the campanile.</p> + +<p>"She says he is sometimes very sweet and docile—even affectionate," +replied Lenox. "She thinks he has quite a remarkable mind, and will +distinguish himself some day if we can only tide his poor, puny little +body safely over its childish weakness, and give him a fair start."</p> + +<p>"She is very fond of him."</p> + +<p>"Yes; his mother was her dearest friend, his father her only brother."</p> + +<p>Claudia considered that she had now given sufficient time to this +subject (not an interesting one), and they talked of other things, but +in short sentences, for they were still ascending. Twice she stopped to +rest for a minute or two; then Lenox came down a step, and stood beside +her. There was no danger; still, if a person should be seized with +giddiness, the thought<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> of the near open well in the centre, going +darkly down, was a dizzy one.</p> + +<p>At the top they had the view: wide green flatness towards the east, +northeast, southeast, with myriad gleaming, silvery channels; the Lido +and the soft line of the Adriatic beyond; towns shining whitely in the +north; to the west, Venice, with its long bridge stretching to the +mainland; in port, at their feet, a large Italian man-of-war; on the +south side, the point of the Giudecca.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"‘À Saint-Blaise, à la Zuecca,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .6em;">Vous étiez bien aise;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .6em;">À Saint-Blaise, à la Zuecca,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .6em;">Nous étions bien là!’"</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind">quoted Claudia. "I chant it because I have just discovered that the +Zuecca means the Giudecca yonder."</p> + +<p>"What is the verse?" said Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know it? It is Musset."</p> + +<p>"I have read but little, Miss Marcy."</p> + +<p>"You have not had <i>time</i> to read," said Claudia, with a shade of +emphasis; "your time has been given to better things."</p> + +<p>"Yes, to iron rails!"</p> + +<p>"To energy and to duty," she answered. Then she turned the subject, and +talked of the tints on the water.</p> + +<p>Down below, in the still church, the little boy sat beside his aunt, her +arm round him, his head leaning against her. The monk had withdrawn.</p> + +<p>"The angels were all there, no doubt," she was saying; "but only a few +painters have ever tried to represent them in the picture. It is not +easy to paint an angel if you have never seen one."<a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a></p> + +<p>"Pooh! I have seen them," said Theocritus, "hundreds of times. I have +seen their wings. They come floating in when the sunshine comes through +a crack—all dusty, you know. How many of them there do you suppose saw +the angels? Not that big girl with the plate, anyhow, <i>I</i> know!" Thus +they talked on.</p> + +<p>When the two from the campanile returned, and they went out to embark, a +slight breeze had risen. The little boy lifted his shoulders uneasily, +and seemed almost to shiver. Mrs. Lenox felt of his head and hands. "I +think I had better take him back in one of those covered gondolas, +Stephen," she said. "He seems to be cold; he might have a chill."</p> + +<p>"Surely it is very warm," said Mrs. Marcy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he is so delicate," replied the other lady.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you, Mrs. Lenox," said Claudia.</p> + +<p>"Oh no; the gondolas here are the small ones, I see, and Stephen could +not come with us. Do not leave him to go back alone; if one of us sees +to the child, that is enough."</p> + +<p>It ended, therefore, according to her arrangement: she went back with +Theocritus in a covered gondola, Mrs. Marcy and Blake returned as they +had come, while Claudia and Lenox had the third boat to themselves.</p> + +<p>Rodney Blake being added, this little party continued its Venetian life. +Lenox made some progress with his portrait of Claudia, but it was not +thought, at least by the others, that his wife made any with Theocritus, +that child remaining as delicate as ever, and, if possible, more +troublesome. In Mrs. Marcy's mind there had sprung up, since Mr. Blake's +arrival, an aftermath of interest in Venetian art and architecture which +was<a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a> richer even than the first crop; she went contentedly to see the +pictures, churches, and palaces a fourth and even fifth time.</p> + +<p>Claudia had a great liking for St. Mark's. "But who has not?" said Mrs. +Marcy, reproachfully, when Blake commented upon the younger lady's +fancy.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but it is not every liking that is strong enough to take its +possessor there every day through eight long, slow weeks," answered the +gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Not so slow," said Claudia. "But how do you know? You have been here +through only one of them."</p> + +<p>"That leanest mosaic in the central dome is an old friend of mine; he +has told me many things in his time (I am an inveterate Venetian +lounger, you know), bending down from his curved abode, his glassy eyes +on mine, and a long, thin finger pointed. Be careful; he has noticed +you."</p> + +<p>Several days later, strolling into the church, he found her there. "As +usual," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, as usual," she answered. Miss Marcy liked Blake; his slow remarks +often amused her. And she liked to be amused—perhaps because she was +not one of those young ladies who find everything amusing. She was +sitting at the base of the last of the great pillars of the nave, where +she could see the north transept with the star-lights of the chapel at +the end, the old pulpit of colored marbles with its fretted top and +angel, and the deep, gold-lined dimness of the choir-dome, into which +the first horizontal ray of sunset light was now stealing—a light which +would soon turn into miraculous splendor its whole expanse.</p> + +<p>"It always seems to me like a cave set with gold and<a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a> gems," said Blake, +taking a seat beside her. "And, in reality, that is what it is, you +know—a wonderful robbers' cavern. As somebody has said, it is the +church of pirates—of the greatest sea-robbers the world has ever known; +and they have adorned it with the magnificent mass of treasure they +stole from the whole Eastern hemisphere."</p> + +<p>"I wish they had stolen a little for me—one of those Oriental chains, +for instance. But what pleases me best here is the light. It isn't the +bright, vast clearness of St. Peter's that makes one's small sins of no +sort of consequence; it isn't the sombreness of the Duomo at Florence, +where one soon feels such a dreadful repentance that the new virtue +becomes acute depression. It is a darkness, I admit, but of such a warm, +rich hue that one feels sumptuous just by sitting in it. I do believe +that if some of our thin, anxious-faced American women could only be +induced to come and sit here quietly several hours a day they would soon +grow serene and physically opulent, like—"</p> + +<p>"Like yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Like the women of Veronese. (Of course I shall have to admit that I do +not need this process. Unfortunately, I love it.) But those Veronese +pictures, Mr. Blake—after all, what do they tell us? Blue sky and +balconies, feasts and brocades, pages and dogs, colors and splendor, and +those great fair women, with no expression in their faces—what does it +all mean?"</p> + +<p>"Simply beauty."</p> + +<p>"Beauty without mind, then."</p> + +<p>"A picture does not need mind. But, to be worth anything, beauty it must +have."</p> + +<p>"I don't know; a picture is a sort of companion.<a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a> One of those pictures +would not be that; you might as well have a beautiful idiot."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but a <i>picture</i> is silent," replied Blake.</p> + +<p>Claudia laughed. "You are incorrigible." Then, going back to her first +subject, "I wish Mrs. Lenox would come here more," she said.</p> + +<p>"You think she needs this enriching process you have suggested?"</p> + +<p>"In one way—yes. All this beauty here in Venice is so much to her +husband; while she—is forever with that child!"</p> + +<p>"But she does not keep him from the beauty."</p> + +<p>"No; but she might make it so much more to him if she would."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you suggest it to her?"</p> + +<p>"There is no use. She does not understand me, I think. We speak a +different language."</p> + +<p>"That may be. But I fancy she understands you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she does," answered Claudia, with the untroubled frankness +which was one of her noticeable traits. She spoke as though she thought, +indeed, that Claudia Marcy's nature was a thing which Mrs. Lenox, or any +one, might observe. Claudia rather admired her nature. It was not +perfect, of course, but at least it was large in its boundaries, and +above the usual feminine pettinesses; she felt a calm pride in that. She +was silent for a while. The first sunset ray had now been joined by +others, and together they had lighted up one-half of the choir-dome; its +gold was all awake and glistening superbly, and the great mosaic figure +enthroned there began to glow with a solemn, mysterious life.</p> + +<p>"Men should not marry until they are at least thirty,<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> I think," resumed +Claudia; "and especially those of the imaginative or artistic +temperament. Three-quarters of the incongruous marriages one sees were +made when the husband was very young. It is not the wife's fault; at the +time of the marriage she is generally the superior, the generous one; +the benefit is conferred by her. But—she does not advance, and he +does."</p> + +<p>"What would you propose in the way of—of an amelioration?" asked her +listener.</p> + +<p>"There can, of course, be no amelioration in actual cases. But there +might be a prevention. I think that a law could be passed—such as now +exists, for instance, against the marriage of minors. If a man could not +marry until he was thirty or older, he would at that time naturally +select a wife who was ten years or so his junior rather than one of his +own age."</p> + +<p>"And the women of thirty?"</p> + +<p>"They would be already married to the men of fifty, you know."</p> + +<p>Here a figure emerging from the heavy red-brown shadows of the north +aisle, and seeming to bring some of them with it, as it advanced, +crossed the billowy pavement, and stopped before them. It was Mr. Lenox. +He took a seat on the other side of Blake, and they talked for a while +of the way the chocolate-hued walls met the gold of the domes solidly, +without shading, and of the total absence of white—two of the marked +features of the rich interior of the old pirate cathedral. At length +Blake rose, giving up his place beside Miss Marcy to the younger man. "I +think we have still a half-hour before that jailer of a janitor jangles +his keys," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but for the men of fifty it is time to be going,"<a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> answered Blake. +"They take cold rather easily, you know, those poor fellows of fifty."</p> + +<p>He went away. Claudia and Lenox remained until the keys jangled.</p> + +<p>Every day the weather and the water-city grew more divinely fair. June +began. And now even Mrs. Marcy saw no objection to their utilizing the +moonlight, and no longer spoke of "wraps." The evenings were haunted by +music; everybody seemed to be floating about singing or touching +guitars. The effect of the mingled light and shadows across the fronts +of the palaces was enchanting; they could not say enough in its praise.</p> + +<p>"Still, do you know sometimes I would give it all for the fresh odor of +the fields at home, in the country, and the old scent of lilacs," said +Mrs. Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Do you care for lilacs?" said Claudia. "If you had said roses—"</p> + +<p>"No, I mean lilacs—the simple country lilacs. And I want to see some +currant bushes, too; yes, and even an old wooden garden fence," replied +Mrs. Lenox, laughing, but nevertheless as if she meant what she said. +She went with them only that once in the evening, for when she reached +home she found that the little boy had been wakeful, and that he had +refused to go to sleep again because she was not there. After this the +others went without her in a gondola holding four. At last, although the +moonlight lingers longer in Venice than anywhere else, there was, for +that month at least, no more. Yet still the evening air was delicious, +and the music did not cease; the effect of the shadows was even more +marvellous than the mingled light and shade had been. They continued to +go out and float about<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a> for an hour or two in the warm, peopled +darkness. They went also, but by daylight, to Torcello, and this time +Theocritus was of the party. During half of the day he was more despotic +than he had ever been, but later he seemed very tired; he slept in his +aunt's arms all the way home. Once she made an effort to transfer him to +her husband, as the weight of his little muffled figure lay heavily on +her slender arm; but Theocritus was awake immediately, and began to beat +off his uncle's hands with all his might.</p> + +<p>"Do let me take him, Elizabeth; he will soon fall asleep again," said +Lenox. He looked annoyed. "You are overtaxing your strength; I can see +that you are tired out."</p> + +<p>"It will not harm me; I know when I am really too tired," answered his +wife. She gave him a little trusting smile as she spoke, and his frown +passed off.</p> + +<p>They were all together in one of the large gondolas; Blake noted this +little side-scene.</p> + +<p>That night Theocritus had a slight attack of fever. Mrs. Lenox said that +it came from over-fatigue, and that he must not go on any of the longer +expeditions. When they went to Murano, therefore, and down to Chioggia, +she did not accompany them, but remained at home with her charge.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Marcy was enjoying this last month in Venice greatly. "Naturally, +it is much pleasanter when one has some one to attend to one, and one +too who knows one's tastes and looks after one's little comforts," she +remarked to her niece, with some intricacy of impersonal pronouns. The +lily did not observe that the attentions she found so agreeable were +being offered to her niece also by another impersonal pronoun. As she<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a> +would herself have said, "naturally," when they went here and there +together, the two elders often sat down to rest awhile when Claudia and +Lenox did not feel the need of it.</p> + +<p>"Of course, with her beauty, her attractive qualities, and her fortune, +Miss Marcy has had many suitors," said Blake to the aunt during one of +these rests.</p> + +<p>"Several," answered that lady, moderately. "But Claudia is not at all +susceptible. Neither is she so—so generally attractive as you might +suppose. She has too little thought for the opinions of others. She +says, for instance, just what she thinks, and that, you know, is seldom +agreeable."</p> + +<p>"True; we much prefer that people should say what they don't. I have +myself noticed some plainly evident faults in her: a most impolitic +honesty; and, when stirred, an impulsiveness which is sure to be +unremunerative in the long-run. I should say, too, that she had an +empyrean sort of pride."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the lily, not knowing what he meant, but concluding on +the whole that he spoke in reprobation. "As I said before, she has not +<i>quite</i> enough of that true feminine softness one likes so much to +see—I mean, of course, in a woman."</p> + +<p>"Her pride will be her bane yet. It will make her blind to the most +obvious pitfall. However, I'll back her courage against it when once she +sees where she has dropped."</p> + +<p>"What?" said the lily.</p> + +<p>"She will in time learn from you; she could not follow a more lovely +example," said Blake, coming back from his reflections.</p> + +<p>Towards the last of June a long expedition was<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a> planned, an expedition +into "Titian's country," which was to last three days. This little +pilgrimage had been talked about for a long time, Mrs. Lenox being as +much interested in it as the others. Whether she would have had the +courage to take Theocritus, even in his best estate, is a question; but +after the time was finally set and all the arrangements made, his worst +asserted itself, and so markedly that it was plain to all that she could +not go. Something was said about postponement, but it was equally plain +that if they were to go at all they should go at once, as the weather +was rapidly approaching a too great heat. Claudia wished particularly to +take this little journey; she had set her heart upon seeing the Titians +and reputed Titians said to be still left in that unvisited +neighborhood. Blake asserted that she even expected to discover one. It +was next proposed (although rather faintly) that Mr. Lenox should be +excused from the pilgrimage. But it could not be denied that the little +boy had been quite as ill (and irritable) several times before in +Venice, and that he had always recovered in a day or two. Not that Mrs. +Lenox denied it; on the contrary, she was the one to mention it. She +urged her husband's going; it was the excursion of all others to please +him the most. It ended in his consenting; it seemed, indeed, too much to +give up for so slight a cause.</p> + +<p>"She looks a little anxious," observed Blake, as they waited for him in +the gondola which was to take them to the railway station. Lenox had +said good-bye to her, and was now coming down the long stairway within, +while she had stepped out on her balcony to see them start.</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Marcy. "To me she always looks just the +same, always so unmoved."<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a></p> + +<p>Lenox now came out, and the gondola started. Claudia looked back and +waved her hand, Mrs. Lenox returning the salutation.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the third day, at eleven o'clock, a gondola from the +railway station stopped at the larger palace's lower door, and three +persons ascended the dimly lighted stairs.</p> + +<p>At the top Mrs. Lenox's servant was waiting for them. "Oh, where is +signore? Is he not with you? He has not come? Oh, the poor signora—may +the sweet Madonna help her now!" cried the girl, with tears in her +sympathetic Italian eyes. "The poor little boy is dead."</p> + +<p>They rushed up the higher stairway and across the hall bridge. But it +was as the woman had said. There, on his little white bed, lay the +child; he would be troublesome no more on this earth; he was quiet at +last. Mrs. Lenox stood in the lighted doorway of her room as they came +towards her. When she saw that her husband was not with them, when they +began hurriedly to explain that he had not come, that he had stayed +behind, that he had sent a note, she swayed over without a word and +fainted away.</p> + +<p>It was only over-fatigue, she explained later. The child had lain in her +arms for thirty hours, most of the time in great pain, and she had +suffered with him. She soon recovered consciousness and was quite +calm—more calm than they had feared she would be. They were anxiously +watchful; they tended her with the most devoted care. Blake did what he +could, and then waited. After a while, when Mrs. Lenox had in a measure +recovered, he softly beckoned Mrs. Marcy out.</p> + +<p>"You must tell her that her husband will not be<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a> back in time for—that +he will not be back for at least six days, and very likely longer. And +as his route was quite uncertain, we cannot reach him; there is no +telegraph, of course, and even if I were to go after him I could only +follow his track from village to village, and probably come back to +Venice behind him."</p> + +<p>"How can I tell her!" said the tearful lady. "Perhaps Claudia—"</p> + +<p>"No, on no account. You are the one, and you must do it," replied Blake, +and with so much decision that she obeyed him. Thus the wife was told.</p> + +<p>What Blake had said was true; it was hopeless to try to reach Lenox +before the time when he would probably be back of his own accord. He had +started on a hunt after some early drawings of Titian's, of which they +had unearthed dim legends. One was said to be in an old monastery, among +others of no importance; two more were vaguely reported as now here, now +there. Lenox had not been certain of his own route, but expected to be +guided from village to village according to indications. It was not even +certain whether he would come back by Conegliano or strike the railway +at another point. "It certainly is an inexorable fate!" exclaimed poor +Mrs. Marcy, in the emergency driven to unusual expressions.</p> + +<p>But when Stephen Lenox's wife understood the position in which she was +placed, she at once decided upon all that was to be done, and gave her +directions clearly and calmly—directions which Blake executed with an +attention and thoughtful care as complete as any one could possibly have +bestowed.</p> + +<p>The little boy was to be buried at Venice, in the<a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> cemetery on the +island opposite, early in the morning of the second day.</p> + +<p>"She is <i>so</i> sensible!" Mrs. Marcy commented, admiringly. "Of course, +under all the circumstances, it is the thing to do. But so many women +would have insisted upon—all sorts of plans; and it would have been +<i>so</i> hard."</p> + +<p>"I would willingly carry out anything she wished for, no matter how +difficult," replied Blake. "I greatly respect and admire Mrs. Lenox. +But, as you say, the perfect balance of her character, her clear +judgment and beautiful goodness, have at once decided upon the best +course." (The lily had not quite said this; but in her present state of +distressed sympathy she accepted it.)</p> + +<p>Claudia, meanwhile, remained through all very silent. She assisted, and +ably, in everything that was done, but said almost nothing.</p> + +<p>The evening before the funeral the two ladies went across to Mrs. +Lenox's rooms; they had left her some hours before, as she had promised +to lie down for a while, but they thought that she was now probably +awake again. They found her sitting beside the little white-shrouded +form.</p> + +<p>"Now this is not wise, Elizabeth," began Mrs. Marcy, chidingly.</p> + +<p>"I think it is; I like to look at him," replied the watcher. "See, the +peaceful expression I have been hoping for has come; it is not often +needed on the face of a child, but it was with my poor little boy. +Look."</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, there shone upon the small, still countenance a lovely +sweetness which had never been there in life. The face did not even seem +thin; its<a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a> lines had all passed away; it looked very fair and young, and +very peacefully at rest.</p> + +<p>"His mother would know him now at once; he was a very pretty little +fellow the last time she saw him, when he was about a year old," she +went on. "I was very fond of his mother, and his father, as probably you +know, was my only brother. Their child was very dear to me," she +resumed, after a short silence, which the others did not break. "His +constant suffering made him unlike stronger, happier children, and I +think that was the very reason I loved him the more. I wanted to make it +up to him. But I could not. I suppose he never knew what it was to be +entirely without pain—the doctors have told me so. He did not know +anything else, or any other way, but to suffer more or less, and to be +tired all the time. And he was so used to it, poor little fellow, that I +suppose he thought that every one suffered too—that that was life. He +has found a better now." Leaning forward, she took the small hands in +hers. "All my loving care, dear child, was not enough to keep you here," +she said, smoothing them tenderly. "But you are with your mother now; +that is far better."</p> + +<p>The funeral took place early the next morning. Then Mrs. Lenox came back +to her empty rooms, and entered them alone. She preferred it so.</p> + +<p>After the first explanation, the only allusion she had made to her +husband's absence was to Rodney Blake. That gentleman had not expressed +the shadow of a disapprobation. He had not told her that he had objected +to Lenox's lengthened absence, and had done what he could to prevent it; +he had stopped Mrs. Marcy sharply when she spoke of telling.<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a></p> + +<p>"Can't you see, Sophy, that that would be the worst of all for her?" he +said; "to know that Lenox would go, in spite of my unconcealed +opposition, just because Clau—just because he wanted those trivial +drawings," he added, changing the termination of his sentence, but quite +sure, meanwhile, that "Sophy" would never discover what he had begun to +say.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lenox's remark was this. Blake had come in to speak to her about +some necessary directions concerning the funeral, and when she had given +them she said: "It will be a grief to Stephen when he comes back that he +could not have seen the little boy, even if but for once more. And I +hoped so that he would see him! I expected you back at eight—you know +that was the first arrangement—and towards seven he seemed easier. Once +he even smiled, and talked a little about that legend of St. Mark and +St. Theodore, of which, you remember, he was so fond. Then it was +half-past seven, and I still hoped. And then it grew towards eight, and +he was in pain again. Still I kept listening for the sound of your +gondola. But it did not come. And at half-past eight he died. But +perhaps it was as well so," she continued, although her voice trembled a +little. "Stephen would have felt his suffering so much. I was more used +to it, you know, than he was."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Blake.</p> + +<p>But she seemed to know that he was not quite in accord with her. "Of +course I feel it very deeply, Mr. Blake, on my own account, that my +husband is not here; I depend upon him for everything, and feel utterly +lonely without him. But his absence is one of those accidents which we +must all encounter sometimes, and as<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a> to everything else—the outside +help I needed—you have done all that even he could have done. You have +been very good to me," and she held out her hand.</p> + +<p>Blake took it, and thanked her. And in his words this time he put +something that contented her. It was the sacrifice he made to his liking +for Stephen Lenox's wife.</p> + +<p>The evening after the funeral Mrs. Marcy, who had been made nervous and +ill by all that had happened, went out at sunset for a change of air, +and Blake accompanied her. Claudia preferred to stay at home. But five +minutes after the departure of their gondola she went up the stairs and +across the hall bridge that led to Mrs. Lenox's apartment. Mrs. Lenox +was there, lying on the sofa. It was the first time since the return +that the two had been alone together. She looked pale and ill, and there +were dark shadows under her eyes; but she smiled and spoke in her usual +voice, asking Claudia to sit beside her in an easy-chair that stood +there. Claudia sat down, and they spoke on one or two unimportant +subjects. But the girl soon paused in this.</p> + +<p>"I have come to say," she began again, in a voice that showed the effort +she made to keep it calm, "that I shall never forgive myself, Mrs. +Lenox, for—for a great deal that I have thought about you, but +especially for having had a part in the absence of your husband at such +a time. If it had not been for me he would not have gone off on that +foolish expedition. But I wanted those miserable drawings, or at least +sketches of them, and so I kept talking about it. When I think of what +you have had to go through,<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> alone, in consequence of it, I am +overwhelmed." Here her voice nearly broke down.</p> + +<p>"You must not take it all upon yourself, Miss Marcy," answered the wife. +"No doubt Stephen wanted to please you; no doubt he wanted to very +much—to get you the drawings, if it was possible; of that I am quite +sure."</p> + +<p>But Claudia was not quieted. "If you knew how I have suffered—how I +suffer now as I see you lying there so pale and ill"—here she stopped +again. "I come to tell you how I feel your suffering, and I spend the +time talking about my own," she added, abruptly. "I am a worthless +creature!" And covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lenox put out her hand and stroked the beautiful bowed head +caressingly. "Do not feel so badly," she said. "You must not; it is not +necessary."</p> + +<p>"But it is—it is," said the girl, amid her tears. "If you knew—"</p> + +<p>"I do know, Claudia. I know <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you really do," said Claudia, lifting her head, her wet eyes +turned eagerly upon the wife, "then it is better."</p> + +<p>"It is better; it is well. My dear, I think I have understood you all +along."</p> + +<p>"But—I have not understood myself," replied Claudia. She had nerved +herself to say it; but after it was spoken a deep blush rose slowly over +her whole face until it was in a flame. Through all its heat, however, +she kept her eyes bravely upon those of the wife.</p> + +<p>"That I knew, too," rejoined Mrs. Lenox. "But I also knew that there was +no danger," she added.</p> + +<p>"There was not. It was unconscious. In any case,<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> I should in time have +recognized it. And destroyed it, as I do now." These short sentences +were brought out, each with a fresh effort. "I do not speak of—of the +other side," the girl went on, with abrupt, heavy awkwardness of phrase. +"There never was any other side—it was all mine." And then came the +flaming blush again.</p> + +<p>"But you are very beautiful, Claudia?" said the other woman, not as if +disturbed at all in her own quiet calm, but half tentatively.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am beautiful," replied Claudia, with a sort of scorn. "But he is +not that kind of man," she added, a quick, involuntary pride coming into +her eyes. Then she turned her head away, shading her face with her hand. +She said no more; it seemed as if she had stopped herself shortly there.</p> + +<p>After a moment or two Mrs. Lenox began to speak. "All this life, here in +Venice, has been so much to Stephen," she said, in her sweet, quiet +voice. "You know he has worked very hard—he was obliged to; just so +many hours of each long day, for long, hard years. He never had any +rest; and the work was always distasteful to him, too. It was a slavery. +And it was beginning to tell upon him; he could not have kept it up +without being worn out both in body and mind. Judge, then, how glad I am +that he has had all this change and pleasure—he needed it so! There is +that side to his nature—a love of the beautiful, and a strong one. This +has been always repressed and bound down; it is natural that it should +break forth here. I have not the feeling myself—at least, not like his; +but I understand it in him, and sympathize with it fully." She paused. +Claudia did not speak.<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a></p> + +<p>"You have not been a wife, Claudia, and therefore there are some things +you do not know," pursued the voice. "A wife becomes in time to her +husband such a part of himself (that is, if he loves her) that she isn't +a separate person to him any more, and he hardly thinks of her as one; +she is himself. Many things become a matter of course to him—are taken +for granted—on this very account. It does not occur to him that she may +feel differently. He supposes that they feel alike. Often they do. +Still, a woman's thoughts do not always run in the same channel as those +of a man; we are more timid, more limited, more—afraid of things, you +know; but the husband does not always remember that. But there are some +things in which a husband and wife do feel alike, always and forever; +there are ties which are eternal. And my own life holds them—ties and +memories so precious that I can hardly explain them to you; memories of +those early years of ours when we were so alone and poor, but so dear to +each other that we did not mind it. We love each other just the same; +but then we had nothing but our love—and it was enough. The coming, the +short stay with us, and the fading away of our two little children, +Claudia—these are ties deep down in our hearts which nothing can ever +sunder. Stephen will go back to all that old grief of his when he comes +home to find the little boy gone. For the greatest sorrow of his life, +one he has never at heart overcome, was that he felt when we lost our +own little boy. Stephen had loved the child passionately, and would not +believe that he must go; and when he did he bowed his head in a silence +so long that I was frightened. I had never seen him give up before. But +even that is a dear tie<a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a> between us, for then he had only me. Those +early years of ours, with their joys and sorrows—I often think of them. +A man does not dwell upon such memories, one by one, as a woman does. +But they are none the less there, a part of his life and of him." She +stopped. "Do not mind," she added, in a changed voice. "I am only—a +little tired, I think."</p> + +<p>Claudia, who had not moved, turned quickly. Mrs. Lenox's eyes were +closed; she was very pale. But she did not faint; owing to Claudia's +quick, efficient help, she was soon herself again. "You know what to do, +don't you?" she said, smiling, when the faint feeling had passed.</p> + +<p>"It is not that I know, so much as that I long to help you," answered +Claudia. "I wish you would let me unbraid your hair, and make you ready +for bed; you look so tired, and perhaps I could do it with a lighter +touch than Bianca," she added, humbly.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the other, assentingly.</p> + +<p>And with much care and skill the girl performed her task. "I will even +put out the light," she said. "I will tell Bianca that you have gone to +bed, and are not to be disturbed." When all was done and the light out, +she paused for a moment by the bedside. "I am not going to talk any +more," she said, "but I will just say this: aunt and I are going away. +To-morrow, probably, or the day after. You will not be left alone, for +Mr. Blake will stay."</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Then Mrs. Lenox's voice said: "That is a mistake. +It would be better to stay."</p> + +<p>"I do not see it in that way," answered the girl. Then, "You must not +ask too much," she added, in a lower voice.<a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a></p> + +<p>Mrs. Lenox took her hands, which were hanging before her, tightly +clasped. The touch shook Claudia; she sank down beside the bed and hid +her face.</p> + +<p>"Stay; it is far better," whispered the wife. "Then it will be over. By +going away you will only think about it the more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. But—"</p> + +<p>"I will answer for all. I know you better than—you know yourself. When +you see us together, it will be different to you. Stay, to please me."</p> + +<p>"Very well," murmured the girl.</p> + +<p>They kissed each other, and she rose. When she had reached the door Mrs. +Lenox spoke again. "Of course, you know that I quite understand that it +is only a girl's fancy," she said, with a tender lightness. This was her +offering to Claudia.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the seventh day after the funeral Stephen Lenox came +back; he had sent a despatch to his wife from Conegliano, and Blake was +therefore able to meet him at Mestre, and tell him what had happened. He +went directly home, and the others did not see him until the next +evening. Then he came across to the larger palace. Blake was there; he +kept himself rather constantly with Mrs. Marcy now, perhaps to direct +that lady's somewhat wandering inspirations. For this occasion he had +warned her that she must not be too sympathetic, that she must be on her +guard. So Mrs. Marcy was "on her guard;" she only took out her +handkerchief four times; she even talked of the weather. Claudia +scarcely spoke. Blake himself conducted the conversation, and filled all +the gaps. They could naturally say a good deal about the health of Mrs. +Lenox, as that lady had been obliged to keep her<a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> room for the three +preceding days. Lenox did not stay long; he said he must go back to his +wife. As he rose he gave the small portfolio he had brought with him to +Claudia. "I don't think they were Titians," he said. "But I sketched +them for you as well as I could."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Marcy thought this an opportunity; she took the portfolio, and +exclaimed over each picture. Blake, too, put up his eye-glass to look at +them. Lenox said a word or two about them and waited a moment longer; +then he went away. Claudia had not glanced at them.</p> + +<p>He never knew of her visit to his wife; those are the secrets women keep +for each other, unto and beyond the grave.</p> + +<p>What passed when he came home was simple enough. His wife cried when she +saw him; she had not cried before. She told him the history of the +little boy's last hours, and of all he had said, and of the funeral. +Then they had talked a while of her health, and then of future plans.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have remembered that you were anxious about him even before +I went away," said Lenox, going back abruptly to the first subject. He +was standing by the window, looking out; this was an hour after his +return.</p> + +<p>"But he had been ill so many times. No, it was something we could not +foresee, and as such we must accept it. I wanted you to go—don't you +remember? I urged your going. You must not blame yourself about it."</p> + +<p>"But I do," answered her husband.</p> + +<p>"I cannot allow you to; I shall never allow it. To<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a> me, Stephen, all you +do is right; I wish to hear nothing that could even seem otherwise. I +trust you entirely, and always shall."</p> + +<p>He turned. She was lying back in an easy-chair, supported by pillows. He +came across and sat down beside her, his head bent forward, his elbows +resting on his knees, his face in his hands. He did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Because I know that I can," added the wife.</p> + +<p>That was all.</p> + +<p>They stayed on together in Venice through another two weeks. Mrs. Lenox +improved daily, and was soon able to go about with them. She seemed, +indeed, to bloom into a new youth. "It is the reaction after the long, +wearing care of that child," explained Mrs. Marcy. "And isn't it +beautiful to see how devoted he is to her, and how careful of her in +every way? But I have always noticed what a devoted husband he was, +haven't you?"</p> + +<p>These two ladies and Mr. Blake were going to Baden-Baden. But the others +were going back to America. "We may return some time," said Lenox; "but +at present I think we want a home."</p> + +<p>"I wish we could have stayed on together always, just as we are now," +sighed the sentimental lily, smoothing the embroidered edge of her +handkerchief. "<i>Such</i> a pleasant party, and of just the right size; +these last two weeks have been so perfect!"</p> + +<p>The time for parting came. The three who were going to Baden-Baden were +to leave at dawn, and they had come across to Mrs. Lenox's parlor to +spend a last hour. Claudia talked more than usual, and talked well; she +looked brilliant.</p> + +<p>At the end of the second hour the good-byes began<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a> in earnest. +Everything that was appropriate was said, Blake, in particular, +delivering himself unblushingly of one long fluent commonplace after +another. They were to meet again—oh, very soon; they were to visit each +other; they were to write frequently—one would have supposed, indeed, +that Blake intended to send a daily telegraphic despatch. At last the +lily, having kept them all standing for twenty minutes, bestowed upon +Mrs. Lenox a final kiss, and really did start, the two gentlemen and +Claudia accompanying her down the long hall. But the hall was dark, and +Claudia was behind; without the knowledge of the others she slipped +back.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lenox was standing where they had left her. When she saw the girl +returning, pale, repressed, all the sparkle gone, she went to her, and +put her arms round her; Claudia laid her head down upon the other's +shoulder. Thus they stood for several moments in silence. Then, still +without speaking, Claudia went away.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Marcy reached the stairway which led down to her own +apartment, on the other side of the hall bridge, "Why, where is +Claudia?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Here I am," said her niece, appearing from the darkness.</p> + +<p>"You will come down with us for a moment, won't you, Mr. Lenox?" +suggested the lily. "Just for one <i>last</i> look?"</p> + +<p>"Do not ask him," said Claudia, smiling; "he is worn out! We have +already extended that look over two long hours. Good-bye, Mr. Lenox; and +this time, I think, is really the last."<a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c">B<small>Y</small> CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON.</p> + +<p>HORACE CHASE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25.</p> + +<p>JUPITER LIGHTS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25.</p> + +<p>EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25.</p> + +<p>ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25.</p> + +<p>FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.</p> + +<p>CASTLE NOWHERE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.</p> + +<p>RODMAN THE KEEPER. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.</p> + +<p>There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson's writing which +invests all her characters with lovable qualities.—<i>Jewish Advocate, N. +Y.</i></p> + +<p>Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting magazine +stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the delineation of +her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of local +life.—<i>Jewish Messenger, N. Y.</i></p> + +<p>Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist +laureate.—<i>Boston Globe.</i></p> + +<p>Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and +conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a +story is very remarkable.—<i>London Life.</i></p> + +<p>Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox +novelist, but strikes a new and richly-loaded vein which, so far, is all +her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh +sensation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant +task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to +her in very pleasant places; or she has, perhaps, within herself the +wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she +writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the +day—a quality sadly wanting in novels of the time.—<i>Whitehall Review, +London.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">New York</span>.</p> + +<p>☞<i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the +publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, +or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c">B<small>Y</small> CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Golden House.</span> Illustrated by <span class="smcap">W. T. Smedley</span>. Post 8vo, Ornamental +Half Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00.</p> + +<p>It is a strong, individual, and very serious consideration of life; much +more serious, much deeper in thought, than the New York novel is wont to +be. It is worthy of companionship with its predecessor, "A Little +Journey in the World," and keeps Mr. Warner well in the front rank of +philosophic students of the tendencies of our +civilization.—<i>Springfield Republican.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Little Journey in the World.</span> A Novel. Post 8vo, Half Leather, Uncut +Edges and Gilt Top, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Their Pilgrimage.</span> Illustrated by <span class="smcap">C. S. Reinhart</span>. Post 8vo, Half Leather, +Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Studies in the South and West</span>, with Comments on Canada. Post 8vo, Half +Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 75.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Our Italy.</span> Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt +Top, $2 50.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">As We Go.</span> With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 +00. ("Harper's American Essayists.")</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">As We Were Saying.</span> With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 00. ("Harper's American Essayists.")</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Work of Washington Irving.</span> With Portraits. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, +50 cents.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">New York</span>.</p> + +<p>☞<i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by +the publishers by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United +States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">By</span> BRANDER MATTHEWS</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Vignettes of Manhattan.</span> Illustrated by <span class="smcap">W. T. Smedley</span>. Post 8vo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 50.</p> + +<p>In "Vignettes of Manhattan" Mr. Matthews renders twelve impressions of +New York with admirable clearness and much grace. From the collection a +vivid picture may be drawn of the great city.—<i>N. Y. Evening Post.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Americanisms and Briticisms</span>, with Other Essays on Other Isms. With +Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.</p> + +<p>A racy, delightful little book.... It is a long time since we have met +with such a combination of keen yet fair criticism, genuine wit, and +literary grace.—<i>Congregationalist</i>, Boston.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Story of a Story</span>, and Other Stories. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 25.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Studies of the Stage.</span> With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Royal Marine.</span> An Idyl of Narragansett Pier. Illustrated. 32mo, +Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">This Picture and That.</span> A Comedy. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, +50 cents.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Decision of the Court.</span> A Comedy. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, 50 cents. <span class="smcap"> In the Vestibule Limited.</span> A Story. Illustrated. +12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50 cents.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">New York</span>.</p> + +<p>☞<i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by +the publishers by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United +States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c">WILLIAM BLACK'S NOVELS<br /> +LIBRARY EDITION</p> + +<p>Mr. Black knows so well just what to describe, and to what length, that +the scenery of his novels—by comparison with that of many we are +obliged to read—seems to have been freshened by soft spring rains. His +painting of character, his conversations and situations, are never +strongly dramatic and exciting, but they are thoroughly good. He never +gives us a tame or a tiresome chapter, and this is something for which +readers will be profoundly grateful.—<i>N. Y. Tribune.</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="" +style="font-size:90%;"> +<tr><td>A DAUGHTER OF HETH.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td>A PRINCESS OF THULE.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">SUNRISE.</td></tr> +<tr><td>DONALD ROSS OF HEIMRA.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td>GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">THE MAGIC INK, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td>IN FAR LOCHABER.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A HOUSE-BOAT. Ill'd.</td></tr> +<tr><td>IN SILK ATTIRE.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON.</td></tr> +<tr><td>JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. Illustrated.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">THREE FEATHERS.</td></tr> +<tr><td>KILMENY.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">WHITE HEATHER.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MACLEOD OF DARE. Ill'd.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">WHITE WINGS. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MADCAP VIOLET.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;">YOLANDE. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td>PRINCE FORTUNATUS. Ill'd.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;"> </td></tr> +<tr><td>SABINA ZEMBRA.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;"> </td></tr> +<tr><td>SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated.</td><td style="border-left:1px solid black;"> </td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="c"> +12mo, Cloth, $1 25 per volume.<br /> +WOLFENBERG.—THE HANDSOME HUMES.<br /> +Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 per volume.<br /> +HIGHLAND COUSINS.<br /> +Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75.<br /> +Complete Sets, 26 volumes, Cloth, $30 00: Half Calf, $57 00.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">New York</span>.</p> + +<p>☞<i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by +the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, +Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a></p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Front Yard, by Constance Fenimore Woolson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRONT YARD *** + +***** This file should be named 38517-h.htm or 38517-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/5/1/38517/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet +Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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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: The Front Yard + +Author: Constance Fenimore Woolson + +Release Date: January 7, 2012 [EBook #38517] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRONT YARD *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet +Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + +THE +FRONT YARD +AND +OTHER +ITALIAN STORIES + +CONSTANCE +FENIMORE +WOOLSON + +[Illustration: image of the book's cover] + +[Illustration: + +Page 202 + +"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'"] + + + + +THE FRONT YARD + +AND + +OTHER ITALIAN STORIES + +BY + +CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON + +AUTHOR OF "ANNE" "HORACE CHASE" ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED + +[Illustration: colophon] + +NEW YORK +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS +1895 + +Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. + +_All rights reserved._ + + +NOTE + +Of the stories contained in this volume, "In Venice" was originally +published in the _Atlantic Monthly_, "The Street of the Hyacinth" in the +_Century Magazine_, and the other four stories in _Harper's Magazine_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE +THE FRONT YARD 1 + +NEPTUNE'S SHORE 50 + +A PINK VILLA 91 + +THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 137 + +A CHRISTMAS PARTY 194 + +IN VENICE 234 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'" _Frontispiece_ + +"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY +WITH, THAT WOULD'" _Facing p._ 2 + +"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR +BY, LISTENING" " 22 + +"STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO +THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE" " 42 + +"'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'" " 58 + +AZUBAH ASH " 68 + +THE OLD WATCH-TOWER " 86 + +"THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, +FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED" " 88 + +"'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID +ROD'" " 100 + +SORRENTO " 102 + +ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO " 112 + +AT THE DESERTO " 114 + +"SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER +BREAST" " 128 + +"FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY" " 134 + +"A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS" " 214 + + + + +THE FRONT YARD + + +"Well, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper settled at +last as help in a good family, and Parlo and Squawly gone to Perugia, +and Soonter taken by the nuns, and Jo Vanny learning the carpenter's +trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone Granmar, of +course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos seem, it really doos, as if I +might get it done _sometime_; say next Fourth of July, now; that's only +ten months off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, that +would; something like!" + +The woman through whose mind these thoughts were passing was sitting on +a low stone-wall, a bundle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid +carefully beside her. On her back was strapped a large deep basket, +almost as long as herself; she had loosened the straps so that she could +sit down. This basket was heavy; one could tell that from the relaxed +droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the moment, as its +end rested on a fallen block on the other side of the wall. Her feet +were bare, her dress a narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem +by a dark cotton apron; on her head was a straw bonnet, which had behind +a little cape of brown ribbon three inches deep, and in front broad +strings of the same brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops +pulled out to their full width and pinned on each side of her chin. +This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons had evidently been +washed more than once), was of old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond +the wearer's forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could be +seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregular features, +smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, still bright, set amid a bed of +wrinkles. She was sixty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had +once been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had been consumed +more by constant toil than by the approach of old age; it was not all +gone yet; the great basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a +language which told of energy that would last as long as her breath. + +These eyes were fixed now upon a low building that stood at a little +distance directly across the path. It was small and ancient, built of +stone, with a sloping roof and black door. There were no windows; +through this door entered the only light and air. Outside were two large +heaps of refuse, one of which had been there so long that thick matted +herbage was growing vigorously over its top. Bars guarded the entrance; +it was impossible to see what was within. But the woman knew without +seeing; she always knew. It had been a cow; it had been goats; it had +been pigs, and then goats again; for the past two years it had been pigs +steadily--always pigs. Her eyes were fixed upon this door as if held +there by a magnet; her mouth fell open a little as she gazed; her hands +lay loose in her lap. There was nothing new in the picture, certainly. +But the intensity of her feeling made it in one way always new. If love +wakes freshly every morning, so does hate, and Prudence Wilkin had +hated that cow-shed for years. + +[Illustration: "''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT +WOULD'"] + +The bells down in the town began to ring the Angelus. She woke from her +reverie, rebuckled the straps of the basket, and adjusting it by a jerk +of her shoulders in its place on her back, she took the fagot in one +hand, the bundle of herbs in the other, and carrying the sickle under +her arm, toiled slowly up the ascent, going round the cow-shed, as the +interrupted path too went round it, in an unpaved, provisional sort of +way (which had, however, lasted fifty years), and giving a wave of her +herbs towards the offending black door as she passed--a gesture that was +almost triumphant. "Jest you wait till next Fourth of July, you indecent +old Antiquity, you!" This is what she was thinking. + +Prudence Wilkin's idea of Antiquity was everything that was old and +dirty; indecent Antiquity meant the same qualities increased to a degree +that was monstrous, a degree that the most profligate imagination of +Ledham (New Hampshire) would never have been able to conceive. There was +naturally a good deal of this sort of Antiquity in Assisi, her present +abode; it was all she saw when she descended to that picturesque town; +the great triple church of St. Francis she never entered; the +magnificent view of the valley, the serene vast Umbrian plain, she never +noticed; but the steep, narrow streets, with garbage here and there, the +crowding stone houses, centuries old, from whose court-yard doors issued +odors indescribable--these she knew well, and detested with all her +soul. Her deepest degree of loathing, however, was reserved for the +especial Antiquity that blocked her own front path, that elbowed her own +front door, this noisome stable or sty--for it was now one, now the +other--which she had hated and abhorred for sixteen long years. + +For it was just sixteen years ago this month since she had first entered +the hill town of St. Francis. She had not entered it alone, but in the +company of a handsome bridegroom, Antonio Guadagni by name, and so happy +was she that everything had seemed to her enchanting--these same steep +streets with their ancient dwellings, the same dirt, the same +yellowness, the same continuous leisure and causeless beatitude. And +when her Tonio took her through the town and up this second ascent to +the squalid little house, where, staring and laughing and crowding +nearer to look at her, she found his family assembled, innumerable +children (they seemed innumerable then), a bedridden grandam, a +disreputable old uncle (who began to compliment her), even this did not +appear a burden, though of course it was a surprise. For Tonio had told +her, sadly, that he was "all alone in the world." It had been one of the +reasons why she had wished to marry him--that she might make a home for +so desolate a man. + +The home was already made, and it was somewhat full. Desolate Tonio +explained, with shouts of laughter, in which all the assemblage joined, +that seven of the children were his, the eighth being an orphan nephew +left to his care; his wife had died eight months before, and this was +her grandmother--on the bed there; this her good old uncle, a very +accomplished man, who had written sonnets. Mrs. Guadagni number two had +excellent powers of vision, but she was never able to discover the +goodness of this accomplished uncle; it was a quality which, like the +beneficence of angels, one is obliged to take on trust. + +She was forty-five, a New England woman, with some small savings, who +had come to Italy as companion and attendant to a distant cousin, an +invalid with money. The cousin had died suddenly at Perugia, and +Prudence had allowed the chance of returning to Ledham with her effects +to pass by unnoticed--a remarkable lapse of the quality of which her +first name was the exponent, regarding which her whole life hitherto had +been one sharply outlined example. This lapse was due to her having +already become the captive of this handsome, this irresistible, this +wholly unexpected Tonio, who was serving as waiter in the Perugian inn. +Divining her savings, and seeing with his own eyes her wonderful +strength and energy, this good-natured reprobate had made love to her a +little in the facile Italian way, and the poor plain simple-hearted +spinster, to whom no one had ever spoken a word of gallantry in all her +life before, had been completely swept off her balance by the novelty of +it, and by the thronging new sensations which his few English words, his +speaking dark eyes, and ardent entreaties roused in her maiden breast. +It was her one moment of madness (who has not had one?). She married +him, marvelling a little inwardly when he required her to walk to +Assisi, but content to walk to China if that should be his pleasure. +When she reached the squalid house on the height and saw its crowd of +occupants, when her own money was demanded to send down to Assisi to +purchase the wedding dinner, then she understood--why they had walked. + +But she never understood anything else. She never permitted herself to +understand. Tonio, plump and idle, enjoyed a year of paradisiacal +opulence under her ministrations (and in spite of some of them); he was +eighteen years younger than she was; it was natural that he should wish +to enjoy on a larger scale than hers--so he told her. At the end of +twelve months a fever carried him off, and his widow, who mourned for +him with all her heart, was left to face the world with the eight +children, the grandmother, the good old uncle, and whatever courage she +was able to muster after counting over and over the eighty-five dollars +that alone remained to her of the six hundred she had brought him. + +Of course she could have gone back to her own country. But that idea +never once occurred to her; she had married Tonio for better or worse; +she could not in honor desert the worst now that it had come. It had +come in force; on the very day of the funeral she had been obliged to +work eight hours; on every day that had followed through all these +years, the hours had been on an average fourteen; sometimes more. + +Bent under her basket, the widow now arrived at the back door of her +home. It was a small narrow house, built of rough stones plastered over +and painted bright yellow. But though thus gay without, it was dark +within; the few windows were very small, and their four little panes of +thick glass were covered with an iron grating; there was no elevation +above the ground, the brick floor inside being of the same level as the +flagging of the path without, so that there was always a sense of +groping when one entered the low door. There were but four rooms, the +kitchen, with a bedroom opening from it, and two chambers above under +the sloping roof. + +Prudence unstrapped her basket and placed it in a wood-shed which she +had constructed with her own hands. For she could not comprehend a house +without a wood-shed; she called it a wood-shed, though there was very +little wood to put in it: in Assisi no one made a fire for warmth; for +cooking they burned twigs. She hung up the fagot (it was a fagot of +twigs), the herbs, and the sickle; then, after giving her narrow skirts +a shake, she entered the kitchen. + +There was a bed in this room. Granmar would not allow it to be moved +elsewhere; her bed had always been in the kitchen, and in the kitchen it +should remain; no one but Denza, indeed, would wish to shove her off; +Annunziata had liked to have her dear old granmar there, where she could +see for herself that she was having everything she needed; but +Annunziata had been an angel of goodness, as well as of the dearest +beauty; whereas Denza--but any one could see what Denza was! As +Granmar's tongue was decidedly a thing to be reckoned with, her bed +remained where it always had been; from its comfortable cleanliness the +old creature could overlook and criticise to her heart's content the +entire household economy of Annunziata's successor. Not only the +kitchen, but the whole house and garden, had been vigorously purified by +this successor; single-handed she had attacked and carried away +accumulations which had been there since Columbus discovered America. +Even Granmar was rescued from her squalor and coaxed to wear a clean cap +and neat little shawl, her withered brown hands reposing meanwhile upon +a sheet which, though coarse, was spotless. + +Granmar was a very terrible old woman; she had a beak-like nose, round +glittering black eyes set in broad circles of yellow wrinkles, no mouth +to speak of, and a receding chin; her voice was now a gruff bass, now a +shrill yell. + +"How late you are! you do it on purpose," she said as Prudence entered. +"And me--as haven't had a thing I've wanted since you went away hours +upon hours ago. Nunziata there has been as stupid as a stone--behold +her!" + +She spoke in peasant Italian, a tongue which Mrs. Guadagni the second +(called Denza by the family, from Prudenza, the Italian form of her +first name) now spoke readily enough, though after a fashion of her own. +She remained always convinced that Italian was simply lunatic English, +English spoiled. One of the children, named Pasquale, she called +Squawly, and she always believed that the title came from the strength +of his infant lungs; many other words impressed her in the same way. + +She now made no reply to Granmar's complaints save to give one +business-like look towards the bed to see whether the pillows were +properly adjusted for the old creature's comfort; then she crossed the +room towards the stove, a large ancient construction of bricks, with two +or three small depressions over which an iron pot could be set. + +"Well, Nounce," she said to a girl who was sitting there on a little +bench. The tone of her voice was kindly; she looked to see if a fire had +been made. A few coals smouldered in one of the holes. "Good girl," said +Prudence, commendingly. + +"Oh, very good!" cried Granmar from the bed--"very good, when I told her +forty times, and fifty, to make me an omelet, a wee fat one with a drop +of fig in it, and I so faint, and she wouldn't, the snake! she wouldn't, +the toad!--toadest of toads!" + +The dark eyes of the girl turned slowly towards Prudence. Prudence, as +she busied herself with the coals, gave her a little nod of approbation, +which Granmar could not see. The girl looked pleased for a moment; then +her face sank into immobility again. She was not an idiot, but wanting, +as it was called; a delicate, pretty young creature, who, with her +cousin Pippo, had been only a year old when the second wife came to +Assisi. It was impossible for any one to be fond of Pippo, who even at +that age had been selfish and gluttonous to an abnormal degree; but +Prudence had learned to love the helpless little girl committed to her +care, as she had also learned to love very dearly the child's brother +Giovanni, who was but a year older; they had been but babies, both of +them. The girl was now seventeen. Her name was Annunziata, but Prudence +called her Nounce. "If it means 'Announce,' Nounce is near enough, I +guess," she said to herself, aggressively. The truth was that she hated +the name; it had belonged to Tonio's first wife, and of the memory of +that comely young mother, poor Prudence, with her sixty years, her white +hair, and wrinkled skin, was burningly jealous even now. Giovanni's name +she pronounced as though it were two words--Jo Vanny; she really thought +there were two. Jo she knew well, of course; it was a good New England +name; Vanny was probably some senseless Italian addition. The name of +the eldest son, Augusto, became on her lips Gooster; Paolo was Parlo, +Assunta was Soonter. + +The nuns had finally taken Soonter. The step-mother had been unable to +conceal from herself her own profound relief. True, the girl had gone to +a "papish" convent; but she had always been a mystery in the house, and +the constant presence of a mystery is particularly trying to the New +England mind. Soonter spent hours in meditation; she was very quiet; she +believed that she saw angels; her face wore often a far-away smile. + +On this September evening she prepared a heavily abundant supper for +Granmar, and a simple one for Nounce, who ate at any time hardly more +than a bird; Granmar, on the contrary, was gifted with an appetite of +extraordinary capacities, the amount of food which was necessary to keep +her, not in good-humor (she was never in good-humor), but in passable +bodily tranquillity, through the twenty-four hours being equal to that +which would have been required (so Prudence often thought) for three +hearty New England harvesters at home. Not that Granmar would touch New +England food; none of the family would eat the home dishes which +Prudence in the earlier years had hopefully tried to prepare from such +materials as seemed to her the least "onreasonable"; Granmar, indeed, +had declared each and all fit only for the hogs. Prudence never tried +them now, and she had learned the art of Italian cooking; for she felt +that she could not afford to make anything that was to be for herself +alone; the handful of precious twigs must serve for the family as a +whole. But every now and then, in spite of her natural abstemiousness, +she would be haunted by a vision of a "boiled dinner," the boiled +corned-beef, the boiled cabbage, turnips, and potatoes, and the boiled +Indian pudding of her youth. She should never taste these dainties on +earth again. More than once she caught herself hoping that at least the +aroma of them would be given to her some time in heaven. + +When Granmar was gorged she became temporarily more tranquil. Prudence +took this time to speak of a plan which she had had in her mind for +several days. "Now that Gooster and the other boys are doing for +themselves, Granmar, and Bepper too at last, and Jo Vanny only needing a +trifle of help now and then (he's so young yet, you know), I feel as +though I might be earning more money," she began. + +"Money's a very good thing; we've never had half enough since my sainted +Annunziata joined the angels," responded Granmar, with a pious air. + +"Well, it seems a good time to try and earn some more. Soonter's gone to +the convent; and as it's a long while since Pipper's been here, I really +begin to think he has gone off to get work somewhere, as he always said he +was going to." + +"Don't you be too sure of Pippo," said Granmar, shaking her owl-like +head ominously. + +"'Tany rate he hasn't been here, and I always try to hope the best about +him--" + +"And _that's_ what you call the best?" interrupted Granmar, with one of +her sudden flank movements, "to have him gone away off no one knows +where--Annunziata's own precious little nephew--taken by the +pirates--yam! Sold as a slave--yam! Killed in the war! Oh, Pippo! poor +Pippo! poor little Pipp, Pipp, Pipp!" + +"And so I thought I'd try to go to the shop by the day," Prudence went +on, when this yell had ceased; "they want me to come and cut out. I +shouldn't go until after your breakfast, of course; and I could leave +cold things out, and Nounce would cook you something hot at noon; then I +should be home myself every night in time to get your supper." + +"And so that's the plan--I'm to be left alone here with an idiot while +you go flouncing your heels round Assisi! Flounce, cat! It's a wonder +the dead don't rise in their graves to hear it. But we buried my +Annunziata too deep for that--yam!--otherwise she'd 'a been here to tear +your eyes out. An old woman left to starve alone, her own precious +grandmother, growing weaker and weaker, and pining and pining. Blessed +stomach, do you hear--do you hear, my holy, blessed stomach, always +asking for so little, and now not even to get that? It's turned all a +mumble of cold just thinking of it--yam! I, poor sufferer, who have had +to stand your ugly face so long--I _so_ fond of beauty! You haven't got +but twenty-four hairs now; you know you haven't--yam! I've got more than +you twenty times over--hey! _that_ I have." And Granmar, tearing off her +cap, pulled loose her coarse white hair, and grasping the ends of the +long locks with her crooked fingers, threw them aloft with a series of +shrill halloos. + +"I won't go to the shop," said Prudence. "Mercy on us, what a noise! I +say I won't go to the shop. There! do you hear?" + +"Will you be here every day of your life at twelve o'clock to cook me +something that won't poison me?" demanded Granmar, still hallooing. + +"Yes, yes, I promise you." + +Even Granmar believed Prudence's yes; her yea was yea and her nay nay to +all the family. "You cook me something this very minute," she said, +sullenly, putting on her cap askew. + +"Why, you've only just got through your supper!" exclaimed Prudence, +astonished, used though she was to Granmar's abdominal capacities, by +this sudden demand. + +"You won't? Then I'll yell again," said Granmar. And yell she did. + +"Hold up--do; I believe you now," said Prudence. She fanned the dying +coals with a straw fan, made up the fire, and prepared some +griddle-cakes. Granmar demanded fig syrup to eat with them; and devoured +six. Filled to repletion, she then suffered Prudence to change her day +cap for a nightcap, falling asleep almost before her head touched the +pillow. + +During this scene Nounce had sat quietly in her corner. Prudence now +went to her to see if she was frightened, for the girl was sometimes +much terrified by Granmar's outcries; she stroked her soft hair. She was +always looking for signs of intelligence in Nounce, and fancying that +she discovered them. Taking the girl's hand, she went with her to the +next room, where were their two narrow pallet beds. "You were very smart +to save the eggs for me to-day when Granmar wanted that omerlet," she +whispered, as she helped her to undress. + +Memory came back to Nounce; she smiled comprehendingly. + +Prudence waited until she was in bed; then she kissed her good-night, +and put out the candle. + +Her two charges asleep, Mrs. Guadagni the second opened the back door +softly and went out. It was not yet nine o'clock, a warm dark night; +though still September, the odors of autumn were already in the air, +coming from the September flowers, which have a pungency mingled with +their perfume, from the rank ripeness of the vegetables, from the aroma +of the ground after the first rains. + +"I could have made thirty cents a week more at the shop," she said to +herself, regretfully (she always translated the Italian money into +American or French). "In a month that would have been a dollar and +twenty cents! Well, there's no use thinking about it sence I can't go." +She bent over her vegetables, feeling of their leaves, and estimating +anew how many she could afford to sell, now that the family was so much +reduced in size. Then she paid a visit to her fig-trees. She had planted +these trees herself, and watched over their infancy with anxious care; +at the present moment they were loaded with fruit, and it seemed as if +she knew the position of each fig, so many times had she stood under the +boughs looking up at the slowly swelling bulbs. She had never before +been able to sell the fruit. But now she should be able, and the sale +would add a good many cents to the store of savings kept in her +work-box. This work-box, a possession of her youth, was lined with vivid +green paper, and had a colored lithograph of the Honorable Mrs. Norton +(taken as a Muse) on the inside of the cover; it held already three +francs and a half, that is seventy cents--an excellent sum when one +considered that only three weeks had passed since the happy day when she +had at last beheld the way open to saving regularly, laying by +regularly; many times had she begun to save, but she had never been able +to continue it. Now, with this small household, she should be able to +continue. The sale of the figs would probably double the savings already +in the work-box; she might even get eighty cents for them; and that +would make a dollar and fifty cents in all! A fig fell to the ground. +"They're ripe," she thought; "they must be picked to-morrow." She felt +for the fallen fig in the darkness, and carrying it to the garden wall, +placed it in a dry niche where it would keep its freshness until she +could send it to town with the rest. Then she went to the hen-house. +"Smart of Nounce to save the eggs for me," she thought, laughing +delightedly to herself over this proof of the girl's intelligence. +"Granmar didn't need that omerlet one bit; I left out two tremenjous +lunches for her." She peered in; but could not see the hens in the +darkness. "If Granmar'd only eat the things we do!" her thoughts went +on. "But she's always possessed after everything that takes eggs. And +then she wants the very best coffee, and white sugar, and the best wine, +and fine flour and meal and oil--my! how much oil! But I wonder if _I_ +couldn't stop eating something or other, steader pestering myself about +her? Let's see. I don't take wine nor coffee, so I can't stop them; but +I could stop soup meat, just for myself; and I will." Thus meditating, +she went slowly round to the open space before the house. + +To call it a space was a misnomer. The house stood at the apex of the +hill, and its garden by right extended as far down the descent in front +as it extended down the opposite descent behind, where Prudence had +planted her long rows of vegetables. But in this front space, not ten +feet distant from the house door, planted directly across the paved path +which came up from below, was the cow-shed, the intruding offensive +neighbor whose odors, gruntings (for it was now a pig-sty), and refuse +were constantly making themselves perceptible to one sense and another +through the open windows of the dwelling behind. For the house had no +back windows; the small apertures which passed for windows were all in +front; in that climate it was impossible that they should be always +closed. How those odors choked Prudence Wilkin! It seemed as if she +could not respect herself while obliged to breathe them, as if she had +not respected herself (in the true Ledham way) since the pig-sty became +her neighbor. + +For fifty francs the owners would take it away; for another twenty or +thirty she could have "a front yard." But though she had made many +beginnings, she had never been able to save a tenth of the sum. None of +the family shared her feelings in the least; to spend precious money for +such a whim as that--only an American could be capable of it; but then, +as everybody knew, most Americans were mad. And why should Denza object +to pigs? + +Prudence therefore had been obliged to keep her longings to herself. But +this had only intensified them. And now when at last, after thinking of +it for sixteen years, she was free to begin to save daily and regularly, +she saw as in a vision her front yard completed as she would like to +have it: the cow-shed gone; "a nice straight path going down to the +front gate, set in a new paling fence; along the sides currant bushes; +and in the open spaces to the right and left a big flowerin' +shrub--snowballs, or Missouri currant; near the house a clump of +matrimony, perhaps; and in the flower beds on each side of the path +bachelor's-buttons, Chiny-asters, lady's-slippers, and pinks; the edges +bordered with box." She heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction as she +finished her mental review. But it was hardly mental after all; she saw +the gate, she saw the straight path, she saw the currant bushes and the +box-bordered flower beds as distinctly as though they had really been +there. + +Cheered, almost joyous, she went within, locking the door behind her; +then, after softly placing the usual store of provisions beside +Granmar's bed (for Granmar had a habit of waking in the night to eat), +she sought her own couch. It was hard, but she stretched herself upon it +luxuriously. "The figs'll double the money," she thought, "and by this +time to-morrow I shall have a dollar and forty cents; mebby a dollar +fifty!" She fell asleep happily. + +Her contentment made her sleep soundly. Still it was not long after dawn +when she hurried down the hill to the town to get her supply of work +from the shop. Hastening back with it, she found Granmar clamoring for +her coffee, and Nounce, neatly dressed and clean (for so much Prudence +had succeeded in teaching her), sitting patiently in her corner. +Prudence's mind was full of a sale she had made; but she prepared the +coffee and Nounce's broth with her usual care; she washed her dishes, +and made Granmar tidy for the day; finally she arranged all her sewing +implements on the table by the window beside her pile of work. Now she +could give herself the luxury of one last look, one last estimate; for +she had made a miracle of a bargain for her figs. By ten o'clock the men +would be up to gather them. + +It was a hazy morning; butterflies danced before her as she hastened +towards the loaded trees. Reaching them, she looked up. The boughs were +bare. All the figs had been gathered in the night, or at earliest dawn. + +"Pipper!" she murmured to herself. + +The ground under the trees was trampled. + +Seven weeks later, on the 16th of November, this same Prudence was +adding to her secreted store the fifteen cents needed to make the sum +ten francs exactly--that is, two dollars. "Ten francs, a fifth of the +whole! It seems 'most too lucky that I've got on so well, spite of +Pipper's taking the figs. If I can keep along this way, it'll _all_ be +done by the Fourth of July; not just the cow-shed taken away, but the +front yard done too. My!" She sat down on a fagot to think it over. The +thought was rapture; she laughed to herself and at herself for being so +happy. + +Some one called, "Mamma." She came out, and found Jo Vanny looking for +her. Nounce and Jo Vanny were the only ones among the children who had +ever called her mother. + +"Oh, you're up there in the shed, are you?" said Jo Vanny. "Somehow, +mamma, you look very gay." + +"Yes, I'm gay," answered Prudence. "Perhaps some of these days I'll tell +you why." In her heart she thought: "Jo Vanny, now, _he'd_ understand; +he'd feel as I do if I should explain it to him. A nice front yard he +has never seen in all his life, for they don't have 'em _here_. But once +he knew what it was, he'd care about it as much as I do; I know he +would. He's sort of American, anyhow." It was the highest praise she +could give. The boy had his cap off; she smoothed his hair. "'Pears to +me you must have lost your comb," she said. + +"I'm going to have it all cut off as short as can be," announced Jo +Vanny, with a resolute air. + +"Oh no." + +"Yes, I am. Some of the other fellows have had theirs cut that way, and +I'm going to, too," pursued the young stoic. + +He was eighteen, rather undersized and slender, handsome as to his face, +with large dark long-lashed eyes, well-cut features, white teeth, and +the curly hair which Prudence had smoothed. Though he had vowed them to +destruction, these love-locks were for the present arranged in the style +most approved in Assisi, one thick glossy flake being brought down low +over the forehead, so that it showed under his cap in a sentimental +wave. He did not look much like a hard-working carpenter as he stood +there dressed in dark clothes made in that singular exaggeration of the +fashions which one sees only in Italy. His trousers, small at the knee, +were large and wing-like at the ankle, half covering the tight shabby +shoes run down at the heel and absurdly short, which, however, as they +were made of patent-leather and sharply pointed at the toes, Jo Vanny +considered shoes of gala aspect. His low flaring collar was surrounded +by a red-satin cravat ornamented by a gilt horseshoe. He wore a ring on +the little finger of each hand. In his own eyes his attire was splendid. + +In the eyes of some one else also. To Prudence, as he stood there, he +looked absolutely beautiful; she felt all a mother's pride rise in her +heart as she surveyed him. But she must not let him see it, and she must +scold him for wearing his best clothes every day. + +"I didn't know it was a festa," she began. + +"'Tain't. But one of the fellows has had a sister married, and they've +invited us all to a big supper to-night." + +"To-night isn't to-day, that I know of." + +"Do you wish me to go all covered with sawdust?" said the little dandy, +with a disdainful air. "Besides, I wanted to come up here." + +"It is a good while sence we've seen you," Prudence admitted. In her +heart she was delighted that he had wished to come. "Have you had your +dinner, Jo Vanny?" + +"All I want. I'll take a bit of bread and some wine by-and-by. But you +needn't go to cooking for me, mamma. I say, tell me what it was that +made you look so glad?" said the boy, curiously. + +"Never you mind _now_," said Prudence, the gleam of content coming again +into her eyes, and lighting up her brown, wrinkled face. She was glad +that she had the ten francs; she was glad to see the boy; she was +touched by his unselfishness in declining her offer of a second dinner. +No other member of the family would have declined or waited to decline; +the others would have demanded some freshly cooked dish immediately upon +entering; Uncle Patro would have demanded three or four. + +"I've brought my mandolin," Jo Vanny went on. "I've got to take it to +the supper, of course, because they always want me to sing--I never can +get rid of 'em! And so you can hear me, if you like. I know the new +songs, and one of them I composed myself. Well, it's rather heavenly." + +All Tonio's children sang like birds. Poor Prudence, who had no ear for +music, had never been able to comprehend either the pleasure or the +profit of the hours they gave to their carollings. But when, in his +turn, her little Jo Vanny began his pipings, then she listened, or tried +to listen. "Real purty, Jo Vanny," she would say, when the silence of a +moment or two had assured her that his song was ended; it was her only +way of knowing--the silence. + +So now she brought her work out to the garden, and sewed busily while Jo +Vanny sang and thrummed. Nounce, too, came out, and sat on the wall near +by, listening. + +At length the little singer took himself off--took himself off with his +red-satin cravat, his horseshoe pin, and his mandolin under his arm. +Nounce went back to the house, but Prudence sat awhile longer, using, as +she always did, the very last rays of the sunset light for her sewing. + +After a while she heard a step, and looked up. "Why, Gooster!--anything +the matter?" she said, in surprise. + +Unlike the slender little Jo Vanny, Gooster was a large, stoutly built +young man, as slow in his motions as Jo Vanny was quick. He was a +lethargic fellow with sombre eyes, eyes which sometimes had a gleam in +them. + +"There's nothing especial the matter," he answered, dully. "I think I'll +go for a soldier, Denza." + +"Go for a soldier? And the per-dairy?" + +"I can't never go back to the podere. _She's_ there, and she has taken +up with Matteo. I've had my heart trampled upon, and so I've got a big +hankering either to kill somebody or get killed myself; and I'll either +do it here, or I'll go for a soldier and get knifed in the war." + +"Mercy on us! there isn't any war now," said Prudence, dazed by these +sanguinary suggestions. + +"There's always a war. What else are there soldiers for? And there's +lots of soldiers. But I could get knifed here easy enough; Matteo and +I--already we've had one tussle; I gave him a pretty big cut, you may +depend." + +Seventeen years earlier Prudence Wilkin would have laughed at the idea +of being frightened by such words as these. But Mrs. Tonio Guadagni had +heard of wild deeds in Assisi, and wilder ones still among the peasants +of the hill country roundabout; these singing, indolent Umbrians dealt +sometimes in revenges that were very direct and primitive. + +"You let Matteo alone, Gooster," she said, putting her hand on his arm; +"you go straight over to Perugia and stay there. Perhaps you can get +work where Parlo and Squawly are." + +"I shall have it out with Matteo here, or else go for a soldier +to-morrow," answered Gooster, in his lethargic tone. + +"Well, go for a soldier, then." + +"It don't make much difference to me which I do," Gooster went on, as if +only half awake. "If I go for a soldier, I shall have to get to Florence +somehow, I suppose; I shall have to have ten francs for the railroad." + +"Is it ten exactly?" said Prudence. Her mind flew to her work-box, which +held just that sum. + +"It's ten." + +"Haven't you got any money at all, Gooster?" She meant to help him on +his way; but she thought that she should like to keep, if possible, a +nest-egg to begin with again--say twenty cents, or ten. + +Gooster felt in his pockets. "Three soldi," he replied, producing some +copper coins and counting them over. + +[Illustration: "NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, +LISTENING"] + +"And there's nothing due you at the per-dairy?" + +There was no necessity for answering such a foolish question as this, +and Gooster did not answer it. + +"Well, I will give you the money," said Prudence. "But to-morrow'll do, +won't it? Stay here a day or two, and we'll talk it over." + +While she was speaking, Gooster had turned and walked towards the garden +wall. The sight of his back going from her--as though she should never +see it again--threw her into a sudden panic; she ran after him and +seized his arm. "I'll give you the money, Gooster; I told you I would; +I've got it all ready, and it won't take a minute; promise me that you +won't leave this garden till I come back." + +Gooster had had no thought of leaving the garden; he had espied a last +bunch of grapes still hanging on the vine, and was going to get it; that +was all. "All right," he said. + +Prudence disappeared. He gathered the grapes and began to eat them, +turning over the bunch to see which were best. Before he had finished, +Prudence came back, breathless with the haste she had made. "Here," she +said; "and now you'll go straight to Florence, won't you? There's a +train to-night, very soon now; you must hurry down and take that." + +He let her put the money in his coat-pocket while he finished the +grapes. Then he threw the stem carefully over the garden wall. + +"And no doubt you'll be a brave soldier," Prudence went on, trying to +speak hopefully. "Brave soldiers are thought a heap of everywhere." + +"I don't know as I care what's thought," answered Gooster, +indifferently. He took up his cap and put it on. "Well, good-bye, +Denza. Best wishes to you. Every happiness." He shook hands with her. + +Prudence stood waiting where she was for five minutes; then she followed +him. It was already dark; she went down the hill rapidly, and turned +into the narrow main street. A few lamps were lighted. She hastened +onward, hoping every minute to distinguish somewhere in front a tall +figure with slouching gait. At last, where the road turns to begin the +long descent to the plain, she did distinguish it. Yes, that was +certainly Gooster; he was going down the hill towards the railway +station. All was well, then; she could dismiss her anxiety. She returned +through the town. Stopping for a moment at an open space, she gazed down +upon the vast valley, now darkening into night; here suddenly a fear +came over her--he might have turned round and come back! She hurried +through the town a second time, and not meeting him, started down the +hill. The road went down in long zigzags. As she turned each angle she +expected to see him; but she did not see him, and finally she reached +the plain: there were the lights of the station facing her. She drew +near cautiously, nearer and nearer, until, herself unseen in the +darkness, she could peer through the window into the lighted +waiting-room. If he was there, she could see him; but if he was on the +platform on the other side--No; he was there. She drew a long breath of +relief, and stole away. + +A short distance up the hill a wheelbarrow loaded with stones had been +left by the side of the road; she sat down on the stones to rest, for +the first time realizing how tired she was. The train came rushing +along; stopped; went on again. She watched it as long as she could see +its lights. Then she rose and turned slowly up the hill, beginning her +long walk home. "My," she thought, "won't Granmar be in a tantrum, +though!" + +When she reached the house she made a circuit, and came through the +garden behind towards the back door. "I don't want to see the front yard +_to-night_!" she thought. + +But she was rather ashamed of this egotism. + + * * * * * + +"And they say they'll put me in prison--oh--ow!--an old man, a good old +man, a suffering son of humanity like me!" moaned Uncle Pietro. + +"An old man, a good old man, a suffering son of humanity like _him_," +repeated Granmar, shrilly, proud of this fine language. + +Suddenly she brandished her lean arms. "You Denza there, with your +stored-up money made from _my_ starvation--yam!--mine, how dare you be +so silent, figure of a mule? Starvation! yes, indeed. Wait and I'll show +you my arms, Pietro; wait and I'll show you my ribs--yam!" + +"You keep yourself covered up, Granmar," said Prudence, tucking her in; +"you'll do yourself a mischief in this cold weather." + +"Ahi!" said Granmar, "and do I care? If I could live to see you drowned, +I'd freeze and be glad. Stored-up money! stored-up money!" + +"What do you know of my money?" said Prudence. Her voice trembled a +little. + +"She confesses it!" announced Granmar, triumphantly. + +"An old ma--an," said Pietro, crouching over Nounce's scaldino. "A good +old ma--an. But--accommodate yourself." + +Prudence sat down and took up her sewing. "I don't believe they'll put +you in jail at all, Patro," she said; "'twon't do 'em any good, and what +they want is their money. You just go to 'em and say that you'll do +day's work for 'em till it's made up, and they'll let you off, I'll bet. +Nine francs, is it? Well, at half a franc a day you can make it up full +in eighteen days; or call it twenty-four with the festas." + +"The Americans are all mercenary," remarked old Pietro, waving his hand +in scorn. "Being themselves always influenced by gain, they cannot +understand lofty motives nor the cold, glittering anger of the nobility. +The Leoncinis are noble; they are of the old Count's blood. They do not +want their money; they want revenge--they want to rack my bones." + +Granmar gave a long howl. + +"Favor me, my niece, with no more of your mistakes," concluded Pietro, +with dignity. + +"I don't believe they'd refuse," said Prudence, unmoved. "I'll go and +ask 'em myself, if you like; that'll be the best way. I'll go right away +now." She began to fold up her work. + +At this Pietro, after putting the scaldino safely on the stove, fell +down in a round heap on the floor. Never were limbs so suddenly +contorted and tangled; he clawed the bricks so fiercely with his fingers +that Nounce, frightened, left her bench and ran into the next room. + +"What's the matter with you? I never saw such a man," said Prudence, +trying to raise him. + +"Let be! let be!" called out Granmar; "it's a stroke; and you've +brought it on, talking to him about working, working all day long like a +horse--a good old man like that." + +"I don't believe it's a stroke," said Prudence, still trying to get him +up. + +"My opinion is," said Granmar, sinking into sudden calm, "that he will +die in ten minutes--exactly ten." + +His face had indeed turned very red. + +"Dear me! I suppose I shall have to run down for the doctor," said +Prudence, desisting. "Perhaps he'd ought to be bled." + +"You leave the doctor alone, and ease his mind," directed Granmar; +"that's what he needs, sensitive as he is, and poetical too, poor +fellow. You just shout in his ear that you'll pay that money, and you'll +be surprised to see how it'll loosen his joints." + +Mrs. Guadagni surveyed the good old uncle for a moment. Then she bent +over him and shouted in his ear, "I'll make you a hot fig-tart right +away now, Patro, if you'll set up." + +As she finished these words Granmar threw her scaldino suddenly into the +centre of the kitchen, where it broke with a crash upon the bricks. + +"He's going to get up," announced Prudence, triumphantly. + +"He isn't any such thing; 'twas the scaldino shook him," responded +Granmar, in a loud, admonitory tone. "He'll never get up again in _this_ +world unless you shout in his ear that you'll pay that money." + +And in truth Pietro was now more knotted than ever. + +At this moment the door opened and Jo Vanny came in. "Why, what's the +matter with uncle?" he said, seeing the figure on the floor. He bent +over him and tried to ease his position. + +"It's a stroke," said Granmar, in a soft voice. "It'll soon be over. +Hush! leave him in peace. He's dying; Denza there, she did it." + +"They want me to pay the nine francs he has--lost," said Prudence. +"Perhaps you have heard, Jo Vanny, that he has--lost nine francs that +belonged to the Leoncinis? Nine whole francs." She looked at the lad, +and he understood the look; for only the day before she had confided to +him at last her long-cherished dream, and (as she had been sure he +would) he had sympathized with it warmly. + +"I declare I wish I had even a franc!" he said, searching his pockets +desperately; "but I've only got a cigarette. Will you try a cigarette, +uncle?" he shouted in the heap's ear. + +"Don't you mock him," ordered Granmar (but Jo Vanny had been entirely in +earnest). "He'll die soon, and Denza will be rid of him; that's what she +wants. 'Twill be murder, of course; and he'll haunt us--he's always said +he'd haunt somebody. But _I_ ain't long for this world, so I ain't +disturbed. Heaven's waiting wide open for _me_." + +Jo Vanny looked a little frightened. He hesitated a moment, surveying +the motionless Pietro; then he drew Prudence aside. "He's an awful +wicked old man, and might really do it," he whispered; "'specially as +you ain't a Catholic, mamma. I think you'd better give him the money if +it'll stop him off; _I_ don't mind, but it would be bad for you if he +should come rapping on your windows and showing corpse-lights in the +garden by-and-by." + +Prudence brought her hands together sharply--a gesture of exasperation. +"He ain't going to die any more than I am," she said. But she knew what +life would be in that house with such a threat hanging over it, even +though the execution were deferred to some vague future time. Angrily +she left the room. + +Jo Vanny followed her. "Come along, if you want to," she said, half +impatient, half glad. She felt a sudden desire that some one besides +herself should see the sacrifice, see the actual despoiling of the +little box she had labored to fill. She went to the wood-shed. It was a +gloomy December day, and the vegetables hanging on the walls had a +dreary, stone-like look; she climbed up on a barrel, and removed the hay +which filled a rough shelf; in a niche behind was her work-box; with it +in her hand she climbed down again. + +She gave him the box to hold while she counted out the money--nine +francs. "There are twelve in all," she said. + +"Then you'll have three left," said Jo Vanny. + +"Yes, three." She could not help a sigh of retrospect, the outgoing nine +represented so many long hours of toil. + +"Let me put the box back," said the boy. It was quickly and deftly done. +"Never mind about it, mamma," he said, as he jumped down. "_I_'ll help +you to make it up again. I want that front yard as much as you do, now +you've told me about it; I think it will be beautiful." + +"Well," said Prudence, "when the flower-beds are all fixed up, and the +new front path and swing gate, it _will_ be kind of nice, I reckon." + +"Nice?" said Jo Vanny. "That's not the word. 'Twill be an ecstasy! a +smile! a dream!" + +"Bless the boy, what nonsense he talks!" said the step-mother. But she +loved to hear his romantic phrases all the same. + +They went back to the kitchen. The sacrifice had now become a cheerful +one. She bent over the heap. "Here's your nine francs, Patro," she +shouted. "Come, now, come!" + +Pietro felt the money in his hand. He rose quietly. "I'm nearly killed +with all your yelling," he said. Then he took his hat and left the +house. + +"We did yell," said Prudence, picking up the fragments of the broken +scaldino. "I don't quite know why we did." + +"Never mind why-ing, but get supper," said Granmar. "Then go down on +your knees and thank the Virgin for giving us such a merciful, mild old +man as Pietro. You brought on his stroke; but what did he do? He just +took what you gave him, and went away so forgivingly--the soul of a +dove, the spice-cake soul!" + + * * * * * + +In January, the short, sharp winter of Italy had possession of Assisi. + +One day towards the last of the month a bitter wind was driving through +the bleak, stony little street, sending clouds of gritty, frozen dust +before it. The dark, fireless dwellings were colder than the outside +air, and the people, swathed in heavy layers of clothing, to which all +sorts of old cloaks and shawls and mufflers had been added, were +standing about near the open doors of their shops and dwellings, various +prominences under apron or coat betraying the hidden scaldino, the +earthen dish which Italians tightly hug in winter with the hope that +the few coals it contains will keep their benumbed fingers warm. All +faces were reddened and frost-bitten. The hands of the children who were +too young to hold a scaldino were purple-black. + +Prudence Guadagni, with her great basket strapped on her back, came +along, receiving but two or three greetings as she passed. Few knew her; +fewer still liked her, for was she not a foreigner and a pagan? Besides, +what could you do with a woman who drank water, simple water, like a +toad, and never touched wine--a woman who did not like oil, good, sweet, +wholesome oil! Tonio's children were much commiserated for having fallen +into such hands. + +Prudence was dressed as she had been in September, save that she now +wore woollen stockings and coarse shoes, and tightly pinned round her +spare person a large shawl. This shawl (she called it "my Highland +shawl") had come with her from America; it was green in hue, plaided; +she thought it still very handsome. Her step was not as light as it had +been; rheumatism had crippled her sorely. + +As she left the town and turned up the hill towards home, some one who +had been waiting there joined her. "Is that you, Bepper? Were you coming +up to the house?" she said. + +"Yes," answered Beppa, showing her white teeth in a smile. "I'm bringing +you some news, Denza." + +"Well, what is it? I hope you're not going to leave your place?" + +"I'm going to leave it, and that's my news: I'm going to be married." + +"My! it's sudden, isn't it?" said Prudence, stopping. + +"Giuseppe doesn't think it's sudden," said Beppa, laughing and tossing +her head; "he thinks I've been ages making up my mind. Come on, Denza, +do; it's so cold!" + +"I don't know Giuseppe, do I?" said Prudence, trudging on again; "I +don't remember the name." + +"No; I've never brought him up to the house. But the boys know +him--Paolo and Pasquale; Augusto, too. He's well off, Giuseppe is; he's +got beautiful furniture. He's a first-rate mason, and gets good wages, +so I sha'n't have to work any more--I mean go out to work as I do now." + +"Bepper, do you _like_ him?" said Prudence, stopping again. She took +hold of the girl's wrist and held it tightly. + +"Of course I like him," said Beppa, freeing herself. "How cold your +hands are, Denza--ugh!" + +"You ain't marrying him for his furniture? You love him for himself--and +better than any one else in the whole world?" Prudence went on, +solemnly. + +"Oh, how comical you do look, standing there talking about love, with +your white hair and your great big basket!" said Beppa, breaking into +irrepressible laughter. The cold had not made her hideous, as it makes +so many Italians hideous; her face was not empurpled, her fine features +were not swollen. She looked handsome. What was even more attractive on +such a day, she looked warm. As her merriment ceased, a sudden change +came over her. "Sainted Maria! she doubts whether I love him! Love him? +Why, you poor old woman, I'd die for him to-morrow. I'd cut myself in +pieces for him this minute." Her great black eyes gleamed; the color +flamed in her oval cheeks; she gave a rich, angry laugh. + +It was impossible to doubt her, and Prudence did not doubt. "Well, I'm +right down glad, Bepper," she said, in a softened tone--"right down +glad, my dear." She was thinking of her own love for the girl's father. + +"I was coming up," continued Beppa, "because I thought I'd better talk +it over with you." + +"Of course," said Prudence, cordially. "A girl can't get married all +alone; nobody ever heard of that." + +"I sha'n't be much alone, for Giuseppe's family's a very big one; too +big, I tell him--ten brothers and sisters. But they're all well off, +that's one comfort. Of course I don't want to shame 'em." + +"Of course not," said Prudence, assenting again. Then, with the awakened +memories still stirring in her heart: "It's a pity your father isn't +here now," she said, in a moved tone; "he'd have graced a wedding, +Bepper, he was so handsome." She seldom spoke of Tonio; the subject was +too sacred; but it seemed to her as if she might venture a few words to +this his daughter on the eve of her own marriage. + +"Yes, it's a pity, I suppose," answered Beppa. "Still, he would have +been an old man now. And 'tain't likely he would have had a good coat +either--that is, not such a one as I should call good." + +"Yes, he would; I'd have made him one," responded Prudence, with a spark +of anger. "This whole basket's full of coats now." + +"I know you're wonderful clever with your needle," said the girl, +glancing carelessly at the basket that weighed down her step-mother's +shoulders. "I can't think how you can sew so steadily, year in, year +out; I never could." + +"Well, I've had to get stronger spectacles," Prudence confessed. "And +they wouldn't take my old ones in exchange, neither, though they were +perfectly good." + +"They're robbers, all of them, at that shop," commented Beppa, +agreeingly. + +"Now, about your clothes, Bepper--when are you going to begin? I suppose +you'll come home for a while, so as to have time to do 'em; I can help +you some, and Nounce too; Nounce can sew a little." + +"No, I don't think I'll come home; 'twouldn't pay me. About the +clothes--I'm going to buy 'em." + +"They won't be half so good," Prudence began. Then she stopped. "I'm +very glad you've got the money laid up, my dear," she said, +commendingly. + +"Oh, but I haven't," answered Beppa, laughing. "I want to borrow it of +you; that is what I came up for to-day--to tell you about it." + +Prudence, her heart still softened, looked at the handsome girl with +gentle eyes. "Why, of course I'll lend it to you, Bepper," she said. +"How much do you want?" + +"All you've got won't be any too much, I reckon," answered Beppa, with +pride. "I shall have to have things nice, you know; I don't want to +shame 'em." + +"I've got twenty-five francs," said Prudence; "I mean I've got that +amount saved and put away; 'twas for--for a purpose--something I was +going to do; but 'tain't important; you can have it and welcome." Her +old face, as she said this, looked almost young again. "You see, I'm so +glad to have you happy," she went on. "And I can't help thinking--if +your father had only lived--the first wedding in his family! However, +_I'll_ come--just as though I was your real mother, dear; you sha'n't +miss that. I've got my Sunday gown, and five francs will buy me a pair +of new shoes; I can earn 'em before the day comes, I guess." + +"I'm afraid you can't," said Beppa, laughing. + +"Why, when's the wedding? Not for two or three weeks, I suppose?" + +"It's day after to-morrow," answered Beppa. "Everything's bought, and +all I want is the money to pay for 'em; I knew I could get it of you." + +"Dear me! how quick! And these shoes are really too bad; they're clear +wore out, and all the cleaning in the world won't make 'em decent." + +"Well, Denza, why do you want to come? You don't know any of Giuseppe's +family. To tell the truth, I never supposed you'd care about coming, and +the table's all planned out for (at Giuseppe's sister's), and there +ain't no place for you." + +"And you didn't have one saved?" + +"I never thought you'd care to come. You see they're different, they're +all well off, and you don't like people who are well off--who wear nice +clothes. You never wanted us to have nice clothes, and you like to go +barefoot." + +"No, I don't!" said Prudence. + +"'Tany rate, one would think you did; you always go so in summer. But +even if you had new shoes, none of your clothes would be good enough; +that bonnet, now--" + +"My bonnet? Surely my _bonnet's_ good?" said the New England woman; her +voice faltered, she was struck on a tender point. + +"Well, people laugh at it," answered Beppa, composedly. + +They had now reached the house. "You go in," said Prudence; "I'll come +presently." + +She went round to the wood-shed, unstrapped her basket, and set it down; +then she climbed up on the barrel, removed the hay, and took out her +work-box. Emptying its contents into her handkerchief, she descended, +and, standing there, counted the sum--twenty-seven francs, thirty +centimes. "'Twon't be any too much; she don't want to shame 'em." She +made a package of the money with a piece of brown paper, and, entering +the kitchen, she slipped it unobserved into Beppa's hand. + +"Seems to me," announced Granmar from the bed, "that when a girl comes +to tell her own precious Granmar of her _wedding_, she ought in decency +to be offered a bite of something to eat. Any one but Denza would think +so. Not that it's anything to me." + +"Very well, what will you have?" asked Prudence, wearily. Freed from her +bonnet and shawl, it could be seen that her once strong figure was much +bent; her fingers had grown knotted, enlarged at the joints, and clumsy; +years of toil had not aged her so much as these recent nights--such long +nights!--of cruel rheumatic pain. + +Granmar, in a loud voice, immediately named a succulent dish; Prudence +began to prepare it. Before it was ready, Jo Vanny came in. + +"You knew I was up here, and you've come mousing up for an invitation," +said Beppa, in high good-humor. "I was going to stop and invite you on +my way back, Giovanni; there's a nice place saved for you at the +supper." + +"Yes, I knew you were up here, and I've brought you a wedding-present," +answered the boy. "I've brought one for mamma, too." And he produced two +silk handkerchiefs, one of bright colors, the other of darker hue. + +"Is the widow going to be married, too?" said Beppa. "Who under heaven's +the man?" + +In spite of the jesting, Prudence's face showed that she was pleased; +she passed her toil-worn hand over the handkerchief softly, almost as +though its silk were the cheek of a little child. The improvised feast +was turned into a festival now, and of her own accord she added a second +dish; the party, Granmar at the head, devoured unknown quantities. When +at last there was nothing left, Beppa, carrying her money, departed. + +"You know, Jo Vanny, you hadn't ought to leave your work so often," said +Prudence, following the boy into the garden when he took leave; she +spoke in an expostulating tone. + +"Oh, I've got money," said Jo Vanny, loftily; "_I_ needn't crawl." And +carelessly he showed her a gold piece. + +But this sudden opulence only alarmed the step-mother. "Why, where did +you get that?" she said, anxiously. + +"How frightened you look! Your doubts offend me," pursued Jo Vanny, +still with his grand air. "Haven't I capacities?--hasn't Heaven sent me +a swarming genius? Wasn't I the acclaimed, even to laurel crowns, of my +entire class?" + +This was true: Jo Vanny was the only one of Tonio's children who had +profited by the new public schools. + +"And now what shall I get for you, mamma?" the boy went on, his tone +changing to coaxing; "I want to get you something real nice; what will +you have? A new dress to go to Beppa's wedding in?" + +For an instant Prudence's eyes were suffused. "I ain't going, Jo Vanny; +they don't want me." + +"They _shall_ want you!" declared Jo Vanny, fiercely. + +"I didn't mean that; I don't want to go anyhow; I've got too much +rheumatism. You don't know," she went on, drawn out of herself for a +moment by the need of sympathy--"you don't know how it does grip me at +night sometimes, Jo Vanny! No; you go to the supper, and tell me all +about it afterwards; I like to hear you tell about things just as well +as to go myself." + +Jo Vanny passed his hand through his curly locks with an air of +desperation. "There it is again--my gift of relating, of narrative; it +follows me wherever I go. What will become of me with such talents? I +shall never die in my bed; nor have my old age in peace." + +"You go 'long!" said Prudence (or its Italian equivalent). She gave him +a push, laughing. + +Jo Vanny drew down his cap, put his hands deep in his pockets, and thus +close-reefed scudded down the hill in the freezing wind to the shelter +of the streets below. + +By seven o'clock Nounce and Granmar were both asleep; it was the most +comfortable condition in such weather. Prudence adjusted her lamp, put +on her strong spectacles, and sat down to sew. The great brick stove +gave out no warmth; it was not intended to heat the room; its three +yards of length and one yard of breadth had apparently been constructed +for the purpose of holding and heating one iron pot. The scaldino at her +feet did not keep her warm; she put on her Highland shawl. After a +while, as her head (scantily covered with thin white hair) felt the cold +also, she went to get her bonnet. As she took it from the box she +remembered Beppa's speech, and the pang came back; in her own mind that +bonnet had been the one link that still united her with her old Ledham +respectability, the one possession that distinguished her from all these +"papish" peasants, with their bare heads and frowzy hair. It was not +new, of course, as it had come with her from home. But what signified an +old-fashioned shape in a community where there were no shapes of any +kind, new or old? At least it was always a bonnet. She put it on, even +now from habit pulling out the strings carefully, and pinning the loops +on each side of her chin. Then she went back and sat down to her work +again. + +At eleven o'clock Granmar woke. "Yam! how cold my legs are! Denza, are +you there? You give me that green shawl of yours directly; precisely, I +am dying." + +Prudence came out from behind her screen, lamp in hand. "I've got it on, +Granmar; it's so cold setting up sewing. I'll get you the blanket from +my bed." + +"I don't want it; it's as hard as a brick. You give me that shawl; if +you've got it on, it'll be so much the warmer." + +"I'll give you my other flannel petticoat," suggested Prudence. + +"And I'll tear it into a thousand pieces," responded Granmar, +viciously. "You give me that shawl, or the next time you leave Nounce +alone here, _she_ shall pay for it." + +Granmar was capable of frightening poor little Nounce into spasms. +Prudence took off the shawl and spread it over the bed, while Granmar +grinned silently. + +Carrying the lamp, Prudence went into the bedroom to see what else she +could find to put on. She first tried the blanket from her bed; but as +it was a very poor one, partly cotton, it was stiff (as Granmar had +said), and would not stay pinned; the motion of her arms in sewing would +constantly loosen it. In the way of wraps, except her shawl, she +possessed almost nothing; so she put on another gown over the one she +wore, pinned her second flannel petticoat round her shoulders, and over +that a little cloak that belonged to Nounce; then she tied a woollen +stocking round her throat, and crowned with her bonnet, and carrying the +blanket to put over her knees, she returned to her work. + +"I declare I'm clean tired out," she said to herself; "my feet are like +ice. I wouldn't sew any longer such a bitter night if it warn't that +that work-box 'ain't got a thing in it. I can't bear to think of it +empty. But as soon as I've got a franc or two to begin with again, I'll +stop these extry hours." + +But they lasted on this occasion until two o'clock. + + * * * * * + +"It don't seem as if I'd ever known it _quite_ so baking as it is +to-night." It was Prudence who spoke; she spoke to Nounce; she must +speak to some one. + +Nounce answered with one of her patient smiles. She often smiled +patiently, as though it were something which she was expected to do. + +Prudence was sitting in the wood-shed resting; she had been down to town +to carry home some work. Now the narrow streets there, thrown into shade +by the high buildings on each side, were a refuge from the heat; now the +dark houses, like burrows, gave relief to eyes blinded by the yellow +glare. It was the 30th of August. From the first day of April the broad +valley and this brown hill had simmered in the hot light, which filled +the heavens and lay over the earth day after day, without a change, +without a cloud, relentless, splendid; each month the ground had grown +warmer and drier, the roads more white, more deep in dust; insect life, +myriad legged and winged, had been everywhere; under the stones lurked +the scorpions. + +In former summers here this never-ending light, the long days of burning +sunshine, the nights with the persistent moon, the importunate +nightingales, and the magnificent procession of the stars had sometimes +driven the New England woman almost mad; she had felt as if she must +bury her head in the earth somewhere to find the blessed darkness again, +to feel its cool pressure against her tired eyes. But this year these +things had not troubled her; the possibility of realizing her +long-cherished hope at last had made the time seem short, had made the +heat nothing, the light forgotten; each day, after fifteen hours of +toil, she had been sorry that she could not accomplish more. + +But she had accomplished much; the hope was now almost a reality. +"Nounce," she said, "do you know I'm 'most too happy to live. I shall +have to tell you: I've got _all_ the money saved up at last, and the +men are coming to-morrow to take away the cow-shed. Think of that!" + +Nounce thought of it; she nodded appreciatively. + +Prudence took the girl's slender hand in hers and went on: "Yes, +to-morrow. And it'll cost forty-eight francs. But with the two francs +for wine-money it will come to fifty in all. By this time to-morrow +night it will be gone!" She drew in her breath with a satisfied sound. +"I've got seventy-five francs in all, Nounce. When Bepper married, of +course I knew I couldn't get it done for Fourth of July. And so I +thought I'd try for Thanksgiving--that is, Thanksgiving _time_; I never +know the exact day now. Well, here it's only the last day of August, and +the cow-shed will be gone to-morrow. Then will come the new fence; and +then the fun, the real fun, Nounce, of laying out our front yard! It'll +have a nice straight path down to the gate, currant bushes in neat rows +along the sides, two big flowerin' shrubs, and little flower beds +bordered with box. I tell you you won't know your own house when you +come in a decent gate and up a nice path to the front door; all these +years we've been slinking in and out of a back door, just as though we +didn't have no front one. I don't believe myself in tramping in and out +of a front door _every_ day; but on Sundays, now, when we have on our +best clothes, we shall come in and out respectably. You'll feel like +another person, Nounce; and I'm sure _I_ shall--I shall feel like Ledham +again--my!" And Prudence actually laughed. + +Still holding Nounce's hand, she went round to the front of the house. + +[Illustration: "STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT +OF THE HOUSE"] + +The cow-shed was shedding forth its usual odors; Prudence took a stone +and struck a great resounding blow on its side. She struck with so +much force that she hurt her hand. "Never mind--it done me good!" she +said, laughing again. + +She took little Nounce by the arm and led her down the descent. "I shall +have to make the front walk all over," she explained. "And here'll be +the gate, down here--a swing one. And the path will go from here +straight up to the door. Then the fence will go along here--palings, you +know, painted white; a good clean American white, with none of these +yellows in it, you may depend. And over there--and there--along the +sides, the fence will be just plain boards, notched at the top; the +currant bushes will run along there. In the middle, here--and here--will +be the big flowerin' shrubs. And then the little flower-beds bordered +with box. Oh, Nounce, I can't hardly believe it--it will be so +beautiful! I really can't!" + +Nounce waited a moment. Then she came closer to her step-mother, and +after looking quickly all about her, whispered, "You needn't if you +don't want to; there's here yet to believe." + +"It's just as good as here," answered Prudence, almost indignantly. +"I've got the money, and the bargain's all made; nothing could be surer +than that." + +The next morning Nounce was awakened by the touch of a hand on her +shoulder. It was her step-mother. "I've got to go down to town," she +said, in a low tone. "You must try to get Granmar's breakfast yourself, +Nounce; do it as well as you can. And--and I've changed my mind about +the front yard; it'll be done some time, but not now. And we won't talk +any more about it for the present, Nounce; that'll please me most; and +you're a good girl, and always want to please me, I know." + +She kissed her, and went out softly. + + * * * * * + +In October three Americans came to Assisi. Two came to sketch the Giotto +frescos in the church of St. Francis; the third came for her own +entertainment; she read Symonds, and wandered about exploring the +ancient town. + +One day her wanderings led her to the little Guadagni house on the +height. The back gate was open, and through it she saw an old woman +staggering, then falling, under the weight of a sack of potatoes which +she was trying to carry on her back. + +The American rushed in to help her. "It's much too heavy for you," she +said, indignantly, after she had given her assistance. "Oh dear--I mean, +_e troppo grave_," she added, elevating her voice. + +"Are you English?" said the old woman. "I'm an American myself; but I +ain't deef. The sack warn't too heavy; it's only that I ain't so strong +as I used to be--it's perfectly redeculous!" + +"You're not strong at all," responded the stranger, still indignantly, +looking at the wasted old face and trembling hands. + +A week later Prudence was in bed, and an American nurse was in charge. + +This nurse, whose name was Baily, was a calm woman with long strong +arms, monotonous voice, and distinct New England pronunciation; her +Italian (which was grammatically correct) was delivered in the vowels of +Vermont. + +One day, soon after her arrival, she remarked to Granmar, "That yell of +yours, now--that yam--is a very unusual thing." + +"My sufferings draw it from me," answered Granmar, flattered by the +adjective used. "I'm a very pious woman; I don't want to swear." + +"I think I have never heard it equalled, except possibly in lunatic +asylums," Marilla Baily went on. "I have had a great deal to do with +lunatic asylums; I am what is called an expert; that is, I find out +people who are troublesome, and send them there; I never say much about +it, but just make my observations; then, when I've got the papers out, +whiff!--off they go." + +Granmar put her hand over her mouth apprehensively, and surveyed her in +silence. From that time the atmosphere of the kitchen was remarkably +quiet. + +Marilla Baily had come from Florence at the bidding of the American who +had helped to carry the potatoes. This American was staying at the +Albergo del Subasio with her friends who were sketching Giotto; but she +spent most of her time with Prudence Wilkin. + +"You see, I minded it because it was _him_," Prudence explained to her +one day, at the close of a long conversation. "For I'd always been so +fond of the boy; I had him first when he warn't but two years old--just +a baby--and _so_ purty and cunning! He always called me mamma--the only +one of the children, 'cept poor Nounce there, that really seemed to care +for me. And I cared everything for him. I went straight down to town and +hunted all over. But he warn't to be found. I tried it the next day, and +the next, not saying what I wanted, of course; but nobody knew where he +was, and at last I made up my mind that he'd gone away. For three weeks +I waited; I was almost dead; I couldn't do nothing; I felt as if I was +broke in two, and only the skin held me together. Every morning I'd say +to myself, 'There'll certainly come a letter to-day, and he'll tell me +all about it.' But the letter didn't come, and didn't come. From the +beginning, of course, I knew it was him--I couldn't help but know; Jo +Vanny was the only person in the whole world that knew where it was. For +I'd showed it to him one day--the work-box, I mean--and let him put it +back in the hole behind the hay--'twas the time I took the money out for +Patro. At last I did get a letter, and he said as how he'd meant to put +it back the very next morning, sure. But something had happened, so he +couldn't, and so he'd gone away. And now he was working just as hard as +he could, he said, so as to be able to pay it back soon; he hardly +played on his mandolin at all now, he said, he was working so hard. You +see, he wasn't bad himself, poor little fellow, but he was led away by +bad men; gambling's an awful thing, once you get started in it, and he +was sort of _drove_ to take that money, meaning all the while to pay it +back. Well, of course I felt ever so much better just as soon as I got +that letter. And I began to work again. But I didn't get on as well as +I'd oughter; I can't understand why. That day, now, when I first saw +you--when you ran in to help me--I hadn't been feeling sick at all; +there warn't no sense in my tumbling down that way all of a sudden." + +One lovely afternoon in November Prudence's bed was carried out to the +front of the dark little house. + +The cow-shed was gone. A straight path, freshly paved, led down to a +swing gate set in a new paling fence, flower beds bordered the path, and +in the centre of the open spaces on each side there was a large rose +bush. The fence was painted a glittering white; there had been an +attempt at grass; currant bushes in straight rows bordered the two +sides. + +Prudence lay looking at it all in peaceful silence. "It's mighty purty," +she said at last, with grateful emphasis. "It's everything I planned to +have, and a great deal nicer than I could have done it myself, though I +thought about it goodness knows how many years!" + +"I'm not surprised that you thought about it," the American answered. +"It was the view you were longing for--fancy its having been cut off so +long by that miserable stable! But now you have it in perfection." + +"You mean the view of the garden," said Prudence. "There wasn't much to +look at before; but now it's real sweet." + +"No; I mean the great landscape all about us here," responded the +American, surprised. She paused. Then seeing that Prudence did not lift +her eyes, she began to enumerate its features, to point them out with +her folded parasol. "That broad Umbrian plain, Prudence, with those tall +slender trees; the other towns shining on their hills, like Perugia over +there; the gleam of the river; the velvety blue of the mountains; the +color of it all--I do believe it is the very loveliest view in the whole +world!" + +"I don't know as I've ever noticed it much--the view," Prudence +answered. She turned her eyes towards the horizon for a moment. "You see +I was always thinking about my front yard." + +"The front yard is very nice now," said the American. "I am so glad you +are pleased; we couldn't get snowballs or Missouri currant, so we had to +take roses." She paused; but she could not give up the subject without +one more attempt. "You have probably noticed the view without being +aware of it," she went on; "it is so beautiful that you must have +noticed it. If you should leave it you would find yourself missing it +very much, I dare say." + +"Mebbe," responded Prudence. "Still, I ain't so sure. The truth is, I +don't care much for these Eyetalian views; it seems to me a poor sort of +country, and always did." Then, wishing to be more responsive to the +tastes of this new friend, if she could be so honestly, she added, "But +I like views, as a general thing; there was a very purty view from +Sage's Hill, I remember." + +"Sage's Hill?" + +"Yes; the hill near Ledham. You told me you knew Ledham. You could see +all the fields and medders of Josiah Strong's farm, and Deacon +Mayberry's too; perfectly level, and not a stone in 'em. And the +turnpike for miles and miles, with three toll-gates in sight. Then, on +the other side, there were the factories to make it lively. It was a +sweet view." + +A few days afterwards she said: "People tell us that we never get what +we want in this world, don't they? But I'm fortunate. I think I've +always been purty fortunate. I got my front yard, after all." + + * * * * * + +A week later, when they told her that death was near, "My! I'd no idea I +was so sick as that," she whispered. Then, looking at them anxiously, +"What'll become of Nounce?" + +They assured her that Nounce should be provided for. "You know you have +to be sorter patient with her," she explained; "but she's growing +quicker-witted every day." + +Later, "I should like so much to see Jo Vanny," she murmured, longingly; +"but of course I can't. You must get Bepper to send him my love, my +dearest, dearest love." + +Last of all, as her dulled eyes turned from the little window and rested +upon her friend: "It seems a pity--But perhaps I shall find--" + + + + +NEPTUNE'S SHORE + + +I + +Old Mrs. Preston had not been able to endure the hotel at Salerno. She +had therefore taken, for two months, this house on the shore. + +"I might as well be here as anywhere, saddled as I am with the +Abercrombies," she remarked to her cousin, Isabella Holland. "Arthur may +really do something: I have hopes of Arthur. But as to Rose, Hildegarde, +and Dorothea, I shall plainly have to drag them about with me, and drag +them about with me, year after year, in the hope that the constant +seeing of so many straight statues, to say nothing of pictures, may at +last teach them to have spines. Here they are now; did you ever see such +shoulders, or rather such a lack of them? Hildegarde, child, come here a +moment," she added, as the three girls drew near. "I have an idea. Don't +you think you could _hold_ your shoulders up a little? Try it now; put +them up high, as though you were shrugging them; and expand your chest +too; you mustn't cramp that. There!--that is what I mean; don't you +think, my dear, that you could keep yourself so?" + +Hildegarde, with her shoulders elevated and her long chin run out, began +to blush painfully, until her milk-white face was dyed red. "I am afraid +I could not keep myself so _long_, aunt," she answered, in a low voice. + +"Never mind; let them down, then: it's of no use," commented Mrs. +Preston, despairingly. "Go and dance for twenty-five minutes in the +upper hall, all of you. And dance as hard as you can." + +The three girls, moving lifelessly, went down the echoing vaulted +corridor. They were sisters, the eldest not quite sixteen, all three +having the same lank figures with sloping shoulders and long thin +throats, and the same curiously white, milk-white skin. Orphans, they +had been sent with their brother Arthur to their aunt, Mrs. Octavia +Preston, five years before, having come to her from one of the West +India Islands, their former home. + +"Those girls have done nothing but eat raw meat, take sea baths, and +practise calisthenics and dancing ever since I first took charge of +them," Mrs. Preston was accustomed to remark to intimate friends; "yet +look at them now! Of course I could not send them to school--they would +only grow lanker. So I take them about with me patiently, governess and +all." + +But Mrs. Preston was not very patient. + +The three girls having disappeared, Isabella thought the occasion +favorable for a few words upon another subject. "Do you like to have +Paulie riding so often with Mr. Ash, Cousin Octavia? I can't help being +distressed about it." + +"Don't be Mistering John Ash, I beg; no one in the world but you, +Isabella, would dream of doing it--a great swooping creature like +that--the horseman in 'Heliodorus.'" + +"You mean Raphael's fresco? Oh, Cousin Octavia, how can you think so? +Raphael--such a religious painter, and John Ash, who looks so +dissipated!" + +"Did I say he didn't look dissipated? I said he could ride. John Ash is +one of the most dissipated-looking youths I have ever met," pursued Mrs. +Preston, comfortably. "The clever sort, not the brutal." + +"And you don't mind Paulie's being with him?" + +"Pauline Euphemia Graham has been married, Pauline Euphemia Graham is a +widow; it ill becomes those who have not had a tithe of her experience +(though they may be _much_ older) to set themselves up as judges of her +conduct." + +Mrs. Preston had a deep rich voice, and slow enunciation; her simplest +sentences, therefore, often took on the tone of declamation, and when +she held forth at any length, it was like a Gregorian chant. + +"Oh, I didn't mean to judge, I'm sure," said Isabella; "I only meant +that it would be such a pity--such a bad match for dear Paulie in case +she should be thinking of marrying again. Even if one were sure of John +Ash--and certainly the reverse is the case--look at his mother! I am +interested, naturally, as Paulie is my first cousin, you know." + +"Do you mean that your first cousin's becoming Mrs. John Ash might +endanger your own matrimonial prospects?" + +"Oh dear no," said poor little Isabella, shrinking back to her +embroidery. She was fifty, small, plain, extremely good. In her heart +she wished that people would take the tone that Isabella had "never +cared to marry." + +"Here is Pauline now, I think," said Mrs. Preston, as a figure appeared +at the end of the hall. + +Isabella was afraid to add, "And going out to ride again!" But it was +evident that Mrs. Graham intended to ride: she wore her habit. + +"I wish you were going, too," she said to Mrs. Preston, pausing in the +doorway with her skirt uplifted. Her graceful figure in the closely +fitting habit was a pleasant sight to see. + +"Thanks, my dear; I should enjoy going very much if I were a little more +slender." + +"You are magnificent as you are," responded Pauline, admiringly. + +And in truth the old lady was very handsome, with her thick silver hair, +fine eyes with heavy black eyebrows, and well-cut aquiline profile. Her +straight back, noble shoulders, and beautiful hands took from her +massive form the idea of unwieldiness. + +"Isabella--you who are always posing for enthusiasm--when will you learn +to say anything so genuine as that?" chanted Cousin Octavia's deep +voice. "I mention it merely on your account, as a question of styles +conversational. Here is Isabella, who thinks John Ash so dissipated, +Pauline; she fears that it may injure the family connection if you marry +him. I have told her that no one here was thinking of marrying or of +giving in marriage; if she has such ideas, she must have brought them +with her from Florence. There are a great many old maids in Florence." + +"I can only answer for myself: I certainly am not thinking of marriage," +said Pauline, laughing, as she went down the stairs. + +"Oh, Cousin Octavia, you have set Pauline against me!" exclaimed +Isabella, in distress. + +"Don't be an idiot; Pauline isn't against any one: she doesn't care +enough about it. She is a good deal for herself, I acknowledge; but +she's not against any one. Pauline bears no malice; she is delightfully +uncertain; she hasn't a theory in the world to live up to; in addition, +to have her in the house is like going to the play all the time--she +_is_ such a stupendous liar!" + +Isabella, who was punching round holes in a linen band with an implement +of ivory, stopped punching. "I am sure poor Paulie--" + +"Am I to sit through a defence of Pauline Euphemia Graham, born Preston, +at your hands, Isabella? Pray spare me that. I am much more Pauline's +friend than you ever can be. Did I say that she lied? Nature has given +her a face that speaks one language and a mind that speaks another; she, +of course, follows the language of her mind; but others follow that of +her face, and this makes the play. Eh!--what noise is that?" + +"We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia," called a boyish voice; +its owner was evidently mounting the stairs three at a time: now he was +in the room. "They're all down at the door--Freemantle and Gates and +Beckett. And what do you think--we've got Griff!" + +"Griff himself?" said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, as the lad, with a +very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss her hand. + +"Yes, Griff himself; you may be sure we're drawing like mad. Griff has +come down from Paris for only three weeks, and he says he will go with +us to Paestum, and all about here--to Amalfi, Ravello, and everywhere. +But of course Paestum's the stunner." + +"Yes, of course Paestum's the stunner," repeated Aunt Octavia, as if +trying it in Shakespearian tones. + +"I say, may they come up?" Arthur went on. + +They came up--three boys of seventeen and eighteen, and Griffith Carew, +who was ten years older. These three youths, with Arthur Abercrombie, +were studying architecture at the Beaux-Arts, Paris; this spring they +had given to a tour in Italy for the purpose of making architectural +drawings. Griffith Carew was also an architect, but a full-fledged one. +His indomitable perseverance and painstaking accuracy caused all the +younger men to respect him; the American students went further; they +were sure that Griff had only to "let himself go," and the United States +would bloom from end to end with City Halls of beauty unparalleled. In +the mean time Griff, while waiting for the City Halls perhaps, was so +kind-hearted and jovial and unselfish that they all adored him for that +too. It was a master-treat, therefore, to Arthur and his companions, to +have their paragon to themselves for a while on this temple-haunted +shore. + +Griff sat down placidly, and began to talk to Aunt Octavia. He was of +medium height, his figure heavy and strong; he had a dark complexion and +thick features, lighted by pleasant brown eyes, and white teeth that +gleamed when he smiled. + +Aunt Octavia was gracious to Griff; she had always distinguished him +from "Arthur's horde." This was not in the least because the horde +considered him the architect of the future. Aunt Octavia did not care +much about the future; her tests were those of the past. She had known +Griff's mother, and the persons whose mothers Aunt Octavia had +known--ah, that was a certificate! + + +II + +In the meanwhile Pauline Graham had left Salerno behind her, and was +flying over the plain with John Ash. + +Pauline all her life had had a passion for riding at breakneck speed; +one of the explanations of her fancy for Ash lay in the fact that, +having the same passion himself, he enabled her to gratify her own. +Whenever she had felt in the mood during the past five weeks there had +always been a horse and a mounted escort at her door. Upon this +occasion, after what they called an inspiring ride (to any one else a +series of mad gallops), they had dismounted at a farm-house, and leaving +their horses, had strolled down to the shore. It was a lovely day, +towards the last of March; the sea, of the soft misty blue of the +southern Mediterranean, stretched out before them without a sail; at +their feet the same clear water laved the shore in long smooth wavelets, +hardly a foot high, whose gentle roll upon the sands had an +indescribably caressing sound. There was no one in sight. It is a lonely +coast. Pauline stood, gazing absently over the blue. + +"Sit down for a moment," suggested Ash. + +"Not now." + +"Not now? When do you expect to be here again?" + +She came back to the present, laughing. "True; but I did not mean that; +I meant that you were not the ideal companion for sea-side musing; you +never meditate. I venture to say you have never quoted poetry in your +life." + +"No; I live my poetry," John Ash responded. + +"But for a ride you are perfect; for a rush over the plain, in the teeth +of the wind, I have never had any one approaching you. You are a +cavalier of the gods." + +"Have you had many?" + +"Cavaliers?--plenty. Of the gods?--no." + +"Plenty! I reckon you have," said Ash, half to himself. + +"Would you wish me to have had few? You must remember that I have been +in many countries and have seen many peoples. I shouldn't have +appreciated _you_ otherwise; I should have thought you dangerous--horrible! +There is Isabella, who has not been in many countries; Isabella is sure +that you are 'so dissipated.'" + +"Dissipated!--mild term!" + +"Then you acknowledge it?" + +"Freely." + +Pauline looked about for a rock of the right height, and finding one, +seated herself, and began to draw off her gloves. "Some time--in some +other existence--will you come and tell me how it has paid you, please? +You are so preternaturally intelligent, and you have such a will of your +own, that you cannot have fallen into it from stupidity, as so many do." +Her gloves off, she began to tighten the braids of her hair, loosened by +the gallop. + +"It pays as it goes; it makes one forget for a moment the hideous +tiresomeness of existence. But you put your question off to some other +life; you have no intention, then, of redeeming me in this?" + +"I shouldn't succeed. In the first place, I have no influence--" + +"You know I am your slave," said Ash; his voice suddenly deepened. + +"And how much of a slave shall you be to the next pretty peasant girl +you meet?" Mrs. Graham demanded, turning towards him, both hands still +occupied with her hair. + +"I don't deny that. But it has nothing to do with the subject." + +"In one way I know it has not," she answered, after she had fastened the +last braid in its place with a long gold pin. + +"How right I was to like you! You understand of yourself the thing that +so few women can ever be brought to comprehend. Well, if you acknowledge +that it makes no difference--I mean about the peasant girls--we're just +where we were; I am your slave, yet you have no desire to reclaim me. I +believe you like me better as I am," he added, abruptly. + +"Do you want me to tell you that you are impertinent?" demanded Pauline, +with her lovely smile, that always contradicted in its sweetness any +apparent rebuke expressed by her words. "Do I know what you are in +reality, or care to know? I know what you seem, and what you seem is +admirable, perfect, for these rides of ours, the most enchanting rides I +have ever had." + +"And the rides are to be the end of it? You wouldn't care for me +elsewhere?" + +"Ah!" said Pauline, rising and drawing on her gloves, "you wouldn't care +for _me_. In Paris I am altogether another person; I am not at all as +you see me here. In Paris you would call me a doll. Come, don't dissect +the happy present; enjoy it as I do. 'He only is rich who owns the day,' +and we own this--for our ride." + +[Illustration: "'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'"] + + "'I hear the hoofs upon the hill; + I hear them fainter, fainter still,'" + +she sang in her clear voice. "The idea of that old Virginia song coming +to me here!" + +"This talk about reclaiming and reforming is all bosh," remarked Ash, +leaning back against a high fragment of rock, with his hands in his +pockets. "I am what I am because I choose to be, that's all. The usual +successes of American life, what are they? I no longer care a rap about +them, because I've had them, or at least have seen them within my reach. +I came up from nothing; I got an education--no matter now how I got it; +I studied law. In ten years I had won such a position in my profession +(my branch of it--I was never an office lawyer) that everything lay open +before me. It was only a question of a certain number of years. Not only +was this generally prophesied, but I knew it myself. But by that time I +had found out the unutterable stupidity of people and their pursuits; I +couldn't help despising them. I had made enough to make my mother +comfortable, and there came over me a horror of a plodding life. I said +to myself, 'What is the use of it?' Of pleasure there was no question. +But I could go back to that plodding life to-morrow if I chose. Don't +you believe it, Pauline?" + +"Yes." + +"Yet you don't say--try?" + +"Try, by all means." + +"At a safe distance from you!" + +"Yes, at a safe distance from me," Pauline answered. "I should do you no +good; I am not enough in earnest. I am never in earnest long about +anything. I am changeable, too--you have no idea how changeable. There +has been no opportunity to show you." + +"Is that a threat? You know that I am deeply in love with you." He did +not move as he said this, but his eyes were fixed passionately upon her +face. + +"I neither know it nor believe it; it is with you simply as it is with +me--there is no one else here." She stood there watching the wavelets +break at her feet. Nothing in her countenance corresponded in the least +with the description she had just given of herself. + +"How you say that! What am I to think of you? You have a face to +worship: does it lie?" said Ash. + +"Oh, my face!" She turned, and began to cross the field towards the +farm. + +"It shouldn't have that expression, then," he said, joining her, and +walking by her side. "I don't believe you know what it is yourself, +Pauline--that expression. It seems to say as you talk, coming straight +from those divine lips, those sweet eyes: 'I could love you. Be good and +I will.' Why, you have almost made _me_ determine to be 'good' again, +almost made _me_ begin to dream of going back to that plodding life that +I loathe. And you don't know what I am." + +Mrs. Graham did not answer; she did not look up, though she knew that +his head was bent beseechingly towards her. + +John Ash was obliged to bend; he was very tall. His figure was rather +thin, and he had a slouching gait; his broad shoulders and well-knit +muscles showed that he had plenty of force, and his slouching step +seemed to come from laziness, as though he found it too much trouble to +plant his feet firmly, to carry his long length erect. He was holding +his hat in his hand, and the light from the sea showed his face +clearly, its good points and its bad. His head was well shaped, covered +with thick brown hair, closely cut; but, in spite of the shortness, many +silver threads could be seen on the brown--a premature silver, as he was +not yet thirty-five. His face was beardless, thin, with a bold +eagle-like outline, and strong, warm blue eyes, the blue eyes that go +with a great deal of color. Ordinarily, Ash had now but little color; +that is, there was but little red; his complexion had a dark brown hue; +there were many deep lines. The mouth, the worst feature, had a cynical +droop; the jaw conveyed suggestions that were not agreeable. The +expression of the whole countenance was that of recklessness and +cleverness, both of no common order. Of late the recklessness had often +changed into a more happy merriment when he was with Pauline, the +careless merriment of a boy; one could see then plainly how handsome he +must have been before the lines, and the heaviness, and, alas! the evil, +had come to darken his youth, and to sadden (for so it must have been) +his silent, frightened-looking mother. + +They reached the farm; he led out the horses, and mounted her. She +gathered up the reins; but he still held the bridle. "How tired you +look!" he said. + +Her face was flushed slightly, high on the cheeks close under the eyes; +between the fair eyebrows a perpendicular line was visible; for the +moment, she showed to the full her thirty years. + +"Yes, I am tired; and it's dangerous to tire me," she answered, smiling. +She had recovered her light-hearted carelessness. + +Ash still looked at her. A sudden conviction seemed to seize him. "Don't +throw me over, Pauline," he pleaded. And as he spoke, on his brown, +deeply lined face there was an expression which was boyishly young and +trusting. + +"As I told you, so long as there is no one else," Pauline answered. + +The next moment they were flying over the plain. + + +III + +The _table d'hote_ of the Star of Italy, the Salerno inn from whose +mysteries (of eels and chestnuts) Mrs. Preston had fled--this unctuous +_table d'hote_ had been unusually brilliant during this month of March; +upon several occasions there had been no less than fifteen travellers +present, and the operatic young landlord himself, with his affectionate +smile, had come in to hand the peas. + +The most unnoticed person was always a tall woman of fifty-five, who, +entering with noiseless step, slipped into her chair so quickly and +furtively that it seemed as if she were afraid of being seen standing +upon her feet. Once in her place, she ate sparingly, looking neither to +the right nor the left, holding her knife and fork with care, and laying +them down cautiously, as though she were trying not to waken some one +who was asleep. But the _table d'hote_ of the Star of Italy was never +asleep; the travellers, English and American, could not help feeling +that they were far from home on this shore where so recently brigands +had prowled. It is well known that this feeling promotes conversation. + +One evening a pink-cheeked woman, who wore a little round lace cap +perched on the top of her smooth gray hair, addressed the silent +stranger at her left hand. "You have been to Paestum, I dare say?" she +said, in her pleasant English voice. + +"No." + +"But you are going, probably? Directly we came, yesterday morning, we +engaged horses and started at once." + +"I don't know as I care about going." + +"Not to see the temples?" + +"I didn't know as there were temples," murmured the other, shyly. + +"Fancy! But you really ought to go, you know," the pleasant voice +resumed, doing a little missionary work (which can never come amiss). +"The temples are well worth seeing; they are Greek." + +"I've been ter see a good many buildings already: in Paris there were a +good many; my son took me," the tall woman answered, her tone becoming +more assured as she mentioned "my son." + +"But these temples are--are rather different. I was saying to our +neighbor here that she really ought on no account to miss going down to +Paestum," the fresh-faced Englishwoman continued, addressing her husband, +who sat next to her on the right, for the moment very busy with his peas +(which were good, but a little oily). "The drive is not difficult. And +we found it most interesting." + +"Interesting? It may well be interesting; finest Greek remains outside +of Athens," answered the husband, a portly Warwickshire vicar. He bent +forward a little to glance past his wife at this ignorer of temples at +her other hand. "American," he said to himself, and returned to his +peas. + +The friendly vicaress offered a few words more the next day. Coming in +from her walk, in her stout shoes, and broad straw hat garnished with +white muslin, she was entering the inn by the back door, when she espied +her neighbor of the dinner-table sitting near by on a bench. There was +nothing to see but a paling fence; she was unoccupied, unless a basket +with Souvenir de Lucerne on one side, and a flat bouquet of artificial +flowers on the other, represented occupation. + +"Do you prefer this to the garden in front?" the English woman asked, in +some surprise. + +"Yes, I think I do." + +"I must differ from you, then, because there we have the sea, you know; +'tis such a pretty view." + +"I don't know as I care about the sea; it's all water--nothing to look +at." + +"Ah! I dare say it makes you ill. We had a very nasty day when we +crossed from Folkestone." + +"No; it ain't that exactly. I sit here because I like ter see the things +grow," hazarded the American, timidly, as if she felt that some +explanation was expected. + +"The things?" + +"Yes, in there." (She pointed to the paling fence.) "There's peas, and +asparagus, and beans, and some sorts I don't know; you wouldn't believe +how they do push up, day after day." + +"Ah, indeed! I dare say they do," the Englishwoman answered, a little +bewildered, looking at the lines of green behind the palings. + +"Her name is Ash, Azubah Ash--fancy!" she said to her husband, later. "I +saw it written on a Swiss basket in which she keeps her crewel-work. She +is extremely odd. She has no maid, yet she wears those very good +diamonds; and she always appears in that Paris gown of rich black +silk--the very richest quality, I assure you, Augustas: she wears it and +the diamonds at breakfast. She has spoken of a son, but apparently he +never turns up. And she spends all her time on a bench behind the house +watching the beans grow." + +"I should think she would bore herself to extinction," said the +easy-going vicar. + +"I dare say she _is_ having rather a hard time of it, she is so +_bornee_. I would offer her a book, but I don't think she ever reads. +And when I told her that I should be very pleased to show her some of +the pretty walks about here, she said that she never walked. She must be +sadly lonely, poor thing!" + +But Mrs. Ash was not lonely; or, if she was, she did not know the name +of her malady. The comings and goings of her son were without doubt very +uncertain; but the mother had been born among people who believe that +the "men-folks" of a family have an existence apart from that of mothers +and sisters, and that it is right that they should have it. Her son, who +never went himself to a public table, had taken it for granted that his +mother would prefer to have her meals served privately in one of the +four large rooms which he had engaged for her at the inn. + +"I think I like it better in the big dining-room, John," Mrs. Ash had +replied. She did not tell him that she found it less difficult to eat +her dinner when the attention of the waiter was distracted by the +necessity of attending to the wants of ten persons than when his gaze +was concentrated upon her solitary knife and fork alone. + +John Ash was fond of his mother. It did not occur to him that this +nomad life abroad was causing her any suffering. Her shyness, her dread +of being looked at, her dread of foreign servants, he did not fully see, +because when he was present she controlled them; when he was present, +also, in a great measure, they disappeared. He knew that she would not +have had one moment's content had he left her behind him, even if he had +left her in the finest house his money could purchase; so he took her +with him, and travelled slowly, for her sake, making no journeys that +she could not make, sending forward to engage the best rooms for her at +the inns where he intended to stop. + +That he had not taken her to Paestum was not an evidence of neglect. +During the first months of their wanderings he had been at pains to take +her everywhere he had thought that she would enjoy it. But Mrs. Ash had +enjoyed nothing--save the going about on her son's arm. If he left her +alone amid the most exquisite scenery in the world, she did not even see +the scenery; she thought a dusty jaunt in a horse-car "very pleasant" if +John was there. So at last John gave her his simple presence often, but +troubled her with descriptions and excursions no more. + +Dumb, shy, hopelessly out of her element as she was, this mother had, on +the whole, enjoyed her two years abroad. The reason was found in the +fact that she could say to herself, or rather could hope to herself, +that John was more "steady" over here. + +The rustic term covered much--the days and the nights when John had not +been "steady." + +These six weeks at Salerno particularly had been a season of blessed +repose to Azubah Ash; the days had gone by so peacefully that life had +become almost comfortable to her again, in spite of the ordeal of +dinner. She had even been beguiled into thinking a little of the +future--of the farm she should like to have some day, with fruit and +cream and vegetables--yes, especially vegetables; and she dreamed of an +old pleasure of her youth, that of hunting for little round artichokes +in the cool brown earth. John had been contented all the time, and his +mood had been very tranquil. His mother liked this much better than high +spirits. There was an element sometimes in John's high spirits that had +made her tremble. + +But on the day succeeding that last ride with Mrs. Graham, when they had +dismounted and walked down to the shore, John had come back to the inn +with a darkened face. The dark mood had lasted now for ten days. His +mother began to lead her old sleepless, restless life again. Her awkward +crochet-needle had stopped of itself; she went no more to her bench +beside the asparagus. Instead, she remained in her room--her four +rooms--every now and then peeping anxiously through the blinds. Nothing +happened--so any one would have said; the sea continued blue and misty, +the sky blue and clear; every one came and went as usual in the divine +weather of the Italian spring. But John Ash's mother had, to use an old +expression, her heart in her mouth all the time. + +It choked her, and she gave up going to the _table d'hote_; she let her +son suppose that the meal was served in her sitting-room, but in reality +she took no dinner at all. When he came in she was always there, always +carefully dressed in the black silk whose rich texture the vicar's wife +had noticed, with the "very good" diamonds fastening her collar and on +her thin hands. She made a constant effort that her son should notice +no change in her. + +Azubah Ash had a gaunt frame with large bones; her chest was hollow, and +she stooped a little as she walked. Yet, looking at her, one felt sure +that she would live to be an old woman. Her large features were roughly +moulded, her cheeks thin; her thick dusky hair was put plainly back from +her face, and arranged with a high comb after a fashion of her youth. +Her eyes, large, dark, and appealing, were sunken; they were beautiful +eyes, if one could have removed from them their expression of +apprehension, but that seemed now to have grown a part of them, to have +become fixed by time. Observers of physiognomy who met Azubah during +these two years of her sojourn abroad never forgot her--that tall gaunt +woman with the awkward step and bearing, with the rich dress and +diamonds, from whose timid face with its rough features those beautiful +eyes looked appealingly out. + +"Mother, I am going to Paestum to-morrow," announced Ash on that eleventh +day. "Perhaps you had better go with me." He had come in and thrown +himself down upon the sofa, where he sat staring at the wall. + +"Paestum--yes, that's where that English lady said I'd oughter go," +answered Mrs. Ash. Then, after a moment, "She said there were temples +there." She had her hands folded tightly as she looked at her son. + +"They're all going--old lady Preston, with her ghosts of Abercrombies, +little Miss Holland, Mrs. Graham, and all. Those boys are sketching down +there; they've been there some time." + +[Illustration: AZUBAH ASH] + +"I shall be very glad ter go, John, if you are going. Would you like +ter have me--ter have me ride horseback?" + +Ash, coming out of his abstraction, broke into a laugh. "I shall take +you in the finest landau in Salerno, marmer," he said, coming across to +kiss her; "old lady Preston will have to put up with the second best. +You haven't forgotten, then, that you used to ride, marmer, have you?" + +The mother's eyes had filled upon hearing the old name, the "marmer" of +the days when he had been her devoted, constantly following, tyrannical, +but very loving little boy. But she did not let the tears drop: she +never made scenes of any kind before John. "Well, you've been riding +horseback every day now for a long while; you haven't seemed to care at +all for carriages. And I did use to ride horseback a good deal when I +was a girl; I used to ride to the mill." + +"I know you did. And carry the grist to be ground." He kissed her again. +"Don't be afraid of anything or anybody to-morrow, marmer, I beg. You're +the bravest and most sensible woman I know, and I want you to look what +you are." + +"Shall I wear my India shawl, then?" + +"Wear the best you have; I wish it were a hundred times bester. You are +handsomer than any of them as it is." + +"Oh no, John; I ain't good-looking; I never was," said his mother, +blushing. She put her hand up for a moment, nervously, over her mouth--a +gesture habitual with her. + +"Yes, you are, marmer. Look at your eyes. It's only that you have got +into a way of not thinking so. But I think so, and others shall." He +went back to the sofa, and sank into abstraction again. + +At length his mother broke the silence, which had lasted very long. "I +hope they are all well over there to-day?" she asked, hesitatingly. +"Over there" was her name for the house on the shore, the house where +she knew her son had for many weeks spent all his time. + +"Well? They're extraordinarily well," said Ash. He got up and walked +restlessly about the room. After a while he stopped, and now he seemed +to have forgotten his mother's presence, for his eyes rested upon her +without seeing her. "One of them is a little too well," he said, +menacingly; "let him look to himself--that's all." And then into his +face, his mother, watching him, saw coming slowly something she knew. +The expression changed him so completely that the ladies who had seen so +much of him would not have recognized their visitor. His mother +recognized him. That expression on her son's face was her life's long +terror. + +He left the room. She listened as long as she could hear his steps; +then, after sitting for some time with her head upon her arms on the +table before her, she rose, and went slowly to put on her bonnet and +shawl. Coming back, still slowly, she paused, and for five minutes stood +there motionless. Then her hands dropped desparingly by her sides, and +her worn face quivered. "O God, O our Father, I really don't know what +ter do!" she murmured, breaking into helpless sobs, the stifled, +difficult sobs of a person unaccustomed to self-expression, even the +self-expression of grief. + +She did not go out. Instead of that, she went back to the inner room and +knelt down. + + +IV + +The next morning three carriages and two persons on horseback were +following the long road that stretches southward from Salerno to Paestum. + +In the first carriage old Mrs. Preston sat enthroned amid cushions and +shawls; opposite she had placed her nephew Arthur, first because he was +slim, second because he was a man (Mrs. Preston was accustomed to say, +"Too much lady talk dries my brain"); the second carriage held Isabella +Holland and the Abercrombie girls; in the third, a landau drawn by two +spirited horses, were Mrs. Ash and her son. The two persons on horseback +were Pauline Graham and Griffith Carew. + +In the soft spring air the mountains that rise all the way on the left +at no great distance from the road had in perfection the vague, dreamy +outlines and violet hues that form so characteristic a feature of the +Italian landscape. Up in the sky their peaks shone whitely, powdered +with snow. The flat plain that stretches from the base of the mountains +to the sea had beauty of another kind; often a fever-swept marsh, it +possessed at this season all a marsh's luxuriance of waving reeds and +flowers and tasselled jungles, with water birds rising from their +feeding-places, and flying along, low down, with a slow motion of their +broad wings, their feet stretched out behind. Troops of buffalo could be +seen here and there. At rare intervals there was an oasis of cultivated +ground, with a solitary farm-house. On the right, all the way, the +Mediterranean, meeting the flat land flatly, stretched forward from +thence into space, going on bluely, and rising a little on the horizon +line, as though it were surmounting a low hill. + +Occasionally the carriages passed a little band of the small, +quick-stepping Italian soldiers. + +"Oh, I say, did you know, aunt, that people were murdered by brigands on +this very bridge only ten years ago?" said Arthur, as they rolled across +a stone causeway raised in the form of an arch over a sluggish stream. + +"I should like very much to see the brigands who did it!" Mrs. Preston +answered, smacking her lips contemptuously. + +Arthur at least was very sure that no ten brigands could have vanquished +his aunt. + +"This, girls, is the ancient Tyrrhenian Gulf," began Isabella to her +companions, waving one neatly gloved hand towards the sea. Isabella, +owing to the singularly incessant death of relatives, was always in +mourning; her neat gloves therefore were sable. "The temples we are +about to visit are very ancient also, having been built ages ago by +Greeks, who came from--from Greece, of course, naturally; and never +ceased to regret it. And all this shore, and the temples also, were +sacred to Neptune, or Poseidon, as he was called in Greek. And the +Greeks lamented--but I will read you that later at the threshold of the +temples; you cannot fail to be interested." + +"I shall not be interested at all," said Hildegarde. + +"Nor I," said Rose. + +"_They_ had nothing to lament about; _they_ had no dancing to do," added +Dorothea. And the three white faces glared suddenly and sullenly at +their astonished companion. + +"I am shocked," began Isabella. + +"Shocked yourself," said Rose. + +"You are a busybody," said Dorothea. + +"And a gormandizer," added Hildegarde. + +"And a _Worm_!" said Rose, with decision. "We have decided not to +pretend any more before _you_, Worm! Dance yourself till your legs drop +off, and see how you like it." + +The three girls had weak soft voices; they possessed no other tones; the +strong words they used, therefore, were all the more startling because +so gently, almost sighingly, spoken. + +In the landau there had been silence. Mrs. Ash, after respecting her +son's sombre mood for more than an hour, at last spoke: "I guess you +don't care very much about those triflin' temples, after all, do you, +John? And it's going to be very long. Supposing we turn back?" She wore +her India shawl and a Paris bonnet; she was sitting without touching the +cushions of the carriage behind her. She had looked neither at the +mountains nor at the sea; most of the time her eyes had rested on the +blue cloth of the empty seat opposite. Occasionally, however, they had +followed the two figures on horseback, and it was after these figures +had passed them a second time, pushing on ahead in order to get a free +space of road for a gallop, that she had offered her suggestion. + +"Go back? Not for ten thousand dollars--not for ten thousand devils!" +said John Ash. "What a lazy girl you are, marmer!" And he became gay and +talkative. + +His mother responded to his gayety as well as she could: she laughed +when he did. Her laugh was eager. It was almost obsequious. + +By-and-by the three temples loomed into view, standing in all their +beauty on the barren waste, majestic, uninjured, extraordinary. Their +rows of fluted columns, their brilliant tawny hues, their perfect Doric +architecture, made the loneliness surrounding them even more lonely, +made the sound of the sea breaking near by on the lifeless shore a +melancholy dirge. When the party reached the great colonnades there were +exclamations; there was even declamation, Mrs. Preston having been +fitted by nature for that. Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett had come +rushing forward to meet their arriving friends. In reality, however, it +was Griff whom they had rushed to meet. Griff to their minds was the +only important person present, even though the unimportant included +Pauline. + +"Hallo, Griff, old fellow! how are you?" + +"Couldn't you stay, Griff? We've got a tent for you." + +They laughed, and made jokes, and hovered about him, longing to drag him +off immediately to show him their drawings, and to discuss with him a +hundred disputed points. But though they thus paid small attention to +Pauline, they were obliged to form part of her train; for as Griff +remained with her, and they remained with Griff, naturally, as Isabella +would have said, they made the tour of inspection in her company. + +In the meanwhile Isabella, who had it upon her strictly kept conscience +not to neglect her own duties in spite of the Abercrombie revolt, had +taken her stand before the great temple of Neptune, with her instructive +little book in her hand. "'The men of Poseidonia,'" she began, "'having +been at first true Greeks, had in process of time gradually become +barbarized, changing to Romans.' Poseidonia, girls, was the ancient +name of Paestum," she interpolated in explanation, glancing over her +glasses at her silent audience. + +The Abercrombies could not retort this time, because Aunt Octavia was +very near them, sitting at the base of one of the great columns of +travertine with the air and manner of Neptune's only lawful wife. But +their backs were towards her; she could not see their faces; they were +able, therefore, to make grimaces at Isabella, and this they immediately +proceeded to do in unison, flattening their thin lips over their teeth +in a very ghastly way, and turning up their eyes so unnaturally far that +Isabella was afraid the pupils would never come down again. + +"'Yet they still observed one Hellenic festival,'" she read stumblingly +on--stumblingly because she felt obliged from a sort of fascination to +glance every now and then at the distorted countenances before +her--"'one Hellenic festival, when they met together here to call to +remembrance the old days and the old customs, and to weep upon each +other's necks, and to lament drearily. And then, when the time of their +mourning was over, they departed, each man in silence to his Roman +home.'" + +"Very fine," said Mrs. Preston, commendingly, from her column. + +But Isabella had closed her book, and was walking away, wiping her +forehead: those girls' faces were really too horrible. + +"Where are you going, Isabella?" Mrs. Preston called. + +"I suppose I may gather some asphodel?" Isabella responded, with some +asperity. + +But she did not gather much asphodel. Coming upon Mrs. Ash wandering +about over the fallen stones, she stayed her steps to speak to her. She +was not interested in Mrs. Ash, but she was so "happily relieved" that +dear Paulie lately had given up her rides with the son, that she, as +Paulie's cousin (first), could afford to be civil to the mother, in +spite of that mother's bad judgment as to English and diamonds. Isabella +disapproved of Mrs. Ash; she thought that "such persons" did great harm +by their display of "mere vulgar affluence." No vulgar affluence +oppressed Isabella. She had six hundred dollars a year of her own, and +each dollar was well bred. + +"We shall soon be having lunch, I suppose," she began, in a gracious +tone. "It seems almost a desecration, doesn't it, to have it in the +shrine itself, for I see they are arranging it there." + +"Oh, is that a shrine?" said Mrs. Ash, vaguely. "I didn't know. But then +I'm not a Catholic. They seem very large buildings. They seem wasted +here." + +Little Isabella looked up at her--she was obliged to look up, her +companion was so tall. The anxious expression in Mrs. Ash's eyes had +grown into anguish: she was watching her son, who had now joined Pauline +and her train. Pauline had Carew on her right hand and John Ash on her +left; the four boys walked stragglingly, now in front, now behind, but +never far from Carew. + +"You are not well," said Isabella; "the drive was too long for you. Pray +take my smelling-salts; they are sometimes refreshing." And she detached +from its black chain a minute funereal bottle. + +"Thank you," answered Mrs. Ash, gazing down uncomprehendingly at the +offering; "I am very well indeed. I was jest looking at your cousin, +Mrs. Graham; she's very handsome." + +"Yes," responded Isabella, gladly seizing this opportunity to convey to +the Ash household a little light, "Pauline is handsome--in her own way. +It is not the style that I myself admire. But then I know that my taste +is severe. By ordinary people Pauline is considered attractive; it is +therefore all the more to be deplored that she should be such a sad, sad +flirt." + +"A flirt?" said Mrs. Ash. + +"Yes--I am sorry to say it. No matter how far she may go, it means +nothing, absolutely nothing; she has not the slightest intention of +allowing herself either to fall in love or to marry again; she prefers +her position as it is. And I don't think she realizes sufficiently that +what is but pastime to her may be taken more seriously by others; and +naturally, I must say, after the way she sometimes goes on. _I_ could +never do so, no matter what the temptations were, and I must say I have +never been able to understand it in Pauline. At present it is Mr. Carew; +she is going to Naples with him to-morrow for the day. As you may +imagine, it is against our wish--Cousin Octavia Preston's and mine. But +Pauline being a widow, which _she_ considers an advantage, and no longer +young (she is thirty, though you may not think it; she shows her age +very fully in the morning)--Pauline, under these circumstances, has for +some time refused a chaperon. I don't think myself that she needs a +chaperon exactly, but she might take a lady friend." + +"Going to Naples with him to-morrow," murmured Mrs. Ash. She put her +gloved hand over her mouth for a moment, the large kid expanse very +different from Isabella's little black paw. "I might as well go over +there," she said, starting off with a rapid step towards Pauline. + +Pauline received her smilingly; Ash frowned a little. He frowned not at +his mother--she was always welcome; he frowned at her persistence in +standing so near Pauline, in dogging her steps. Mrs. Ash kept this up; +she sat near Pauline at lunch; she followed her when she strolled down +to the beach; she gathered flowers for her; in her India shawl and Paris +bonnet she hovered constantly near. + +Only once did John Ash find opportunity to speak to Pauline alone. The +boys had at last carried off Griff by force to their camp; Griff was +willing enough to go, the "force" applied to the intellectual effort +necessary on the boys' part to detach him from a lady who wished to keep +him by her side. They had all been strolling up and down in the shade of +the so-called Basilica, amid the fern and acanthus. Left alone with her +son and Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Ash, after remaining with them a few moments, +turned aside, and entering the temple, sat down there. She was out of +hearing, but still near. + +"Ride with me to-morrow, Pauline," Ash said, immediately. "I have not +had a chance to speak to you before. Don't refuse." + +"I am afraid I must. I have an engagement." + +"With Carew?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"I am very good-natured to tell you. I am going to Naples with him for +the day." + +"You are going-- Damnation!" + +"You forget yourself," said Pauline. Then, when she saw the look on his +face--the face of this man with whom she had played--she was startled. + +"Forget myself! I wish I could. You shall not go to Naples." + +"And how can you prevent it?" + +"Are you daring me?" + +"By no means," answered Pauline; and this time she really tried to speak +gently. "I was calling to your remembrance the fact that there is no tie +between us, Mr. Ash; you have no shadow of authority over my actions; I +am free to do as I please." + +"I know you are; that is the worst of it," he said, almost with a groan. +"Pauline, don't play with me now. I have given up hoping for anything +for myself--if I ever really did hope; I am not worthy of you. Whether +you could make me worthy I don't know; but I don't ask you that; I don't +ask you to try; it would be too much. I only ask you to be as you have +been; as you were, I mean, during all those many weeks, not as you have +been lately. Only a few days are left when I can see you freely; be kind +to me, then, during those few days, and then I will take myself off." + +"I mean to be kind; I am kind." + +"Then ride with me to-morrow; just this once more." + +"But I told you it was impossible; I told you I was going to Naples." + +The pleading vanished from Ash's face and voice. "_I_ never asked you to +do that--to go off with me for a whole day." + +Pauline did not answer; she was arranging the flowers which Mrs. Ash had +industriously gathered. + +"So much the greater fool I!--is that what you are thinking?" Ash went +on, laughing discordantly. + +For the moment Pauline forgot to be angry in the vague feeling, +something like fear, which took possession of her. All fear is +uncomfortable, and she hated discomfort; she gave herself a little +inward shake as if to shake it off. "I shall ask Cousin Oc to go back to +Paris next week," was her thought. "I have had enough of Italy for the +present--Italy and madmen!" + +"You won't go?" asked Ash, bending forward eagerly, as though he had +gained hope from her silence. + +"To Paris?" + +"Are we speaking of Paris? To Naples--to-morrow." + +"Oh, I must go to Naples," she answered, gayly. In spite of her gayety +she turned towards the Basilica; Mrs. Ash was the nearest person. + +"You are going to my mother? She, at least, is a good woman; she would +never have tarnished herself with such an expedition as you are +planning!" cried Ash, in a fury. + +Pauline turned white. "I am well paid for ever having endured you, ever +having liked you," she said, in a low voice, as she hastened on. "I +might have known--I might have known." + +There was not much to choose now between the expression of the two +faces, for the woman's sweet countenance showed in its pallor an anger +as vivid as that which had flushed the face of the man beside her, with +a red so dark that his blue eyes looked unnaturally light by contrast, +as though they had been set in the face of an Indian. + +Mrs. Ash had come hurriedly out to meet them. Her son paid no attention +to her; all his powers were evidently concentrated upon holding himself +in check. "I shouldn't have said it, even if it were the plain brutal +truth," he said. "But you madden me, Pauline. I mean what I say--you +really do drive me into a kind of madness." + +"I have no desire to drive you into anything; I have no desire to talk +with you further," she answered. + +"No, no, dearie, don't say that; talk ter him a little longer," said +Mrs. Ash, coming forward, her face set in a tremulous smile. "I'm sure +it's very pleasant here--beside these buildings. And John thinks so much +of you; he means no harm." + +"Poor mother!" said Ash, his voice softening. "She does not dare to say +to you what she longs to say; she would whisper it if she could; and +that is, 'Don't provoke him!' She has some pretty bad memories--haven't +you, mother?--of times when I've--when I've gone a-hunting, as one may +say. She'll tell you about them if you like." + +"I don't want to hear about them; I don't want to hear about anything," +answered Mrs. Graham, troubled out of all her composure, troubled even +out of her anger by the strangeness of this strange pair. She looked +about for some one, and, seeing Carew coming from the tents of the camp, +she waved her hand to attract his attention and beckoned to him; then +she went forward to meet him as he hastened towards her. + +Ash disengaged himself from his mother, who, however, had only touched +his arm entreatingly, for she had learned to be very cautious where her +son was concerned; he strode forward to Pauline's side. + +"I should rather see you dead before me than go with that man +to-morrow." + +"Pray don't kill me, at least till the day is over," Pauline answered, +her courage, and her unconquerable carelessness too, returning in the +approach of Carew. "It would be quite too great a disappointment to lose +my day." + +"You _shall_ lose it!" said Ash, with a loud coarse oath. + +"Oh!" said the woman, all her lovely delicate person shrinking away from +him. + +Her intonation had been one of disgust. She held the skirt of her habit +closer, as if to avoid all contact. + + +V + +At five o'clock of the same afternoon Freemantle, Gates, and Beckett, +with Arthur Abercrombie, came running along the narrow streets of a +village some miles from Paestum. + +The stone houses of which this village was composed stood like two solid +walls facing each other, rising directly from the stone-paved road, +which was barely ten feet wide; down this conduit water was pouring like +a brook. The houses were about forty in number, twenty on each side, and +this one short street was all there was of the town. + +It was raining, not in drops, but in torrents, with great pats of water +coming over, almost like stones, and striking upon the heads of those +who were passing below; every two or three minutes there came a glare of +blindingly white lightning, followed immediately by the crash of +thunder, which seemed to be rolling on the very roofs of the houses +themselves. The four boys must have been out in the storm for some time, +for they paid no attention to it. Their faces were set, excited. Every +thread of their clothing was wet through. + +"This is the house," said Arthur. + +They looked up, sheltering their eyes with their arms from the blows of +the rain-balls. From the closed windows above, the faces of Isabella +Holland and the three Abercrombie girls looked down at them, pressed +flatly against the small panes, in order to see; for the storm had made +the air so dark that the street lay in gloom. + +The next moment the boys entered. + +"No, we haven't found him," said Arthur, in answer to his white sisters' +look. "But we're going to." + +"Yes, we're going to," said the others. And then, walking on tiptoe in +their soaked shoes, they went softly into an inner room. + +Here on a couch lay Griffith Carew, dying. + +An Italian doctor was still trying to do something for the unconscious +man. He had an assistant, and the two were at work together. Near by, +old Mrs. Preston sat waiting, her hands folded upon the knob of a cane +which stood on the floor before her, her chin resting upon her hands. In +this bent position, with her disordered white hair and great black eyes, +she looked witch-like. Three candles burned on a table at the head of +the bed, illumining Carew and the two doctors and the waiting old woman. +The room was long, and its far end was in shadow. Was there another +person present--sitting there silent and motionless? Yes--Pauline. The +boys came to the foot of the bed and gazed with full hearts at Griff. + +Griff had been shot by John Ash two hours before. The deed had been done +just as they had reached the shelter of this village, swept into it +almost by a tornado, which, preceding the darker storm, had driven them +far from their rightful road. The darker storm had broken upon them +immediately afterwards with a terrible sound and fury; but the boys had +barely heard the crash in the sky above them as they carried Griff +through the stony little street. They had found a doctor--two of them; +they had done everything possible. Then they had been told that Griff +must die, and they had gone out to look for the murderer. + +He could not be far, for the village was small, and he could not have +quitted the village, because the half-broken young horses that had +brought him from Salerno, frightened by the incessant glare of the +lightning, had become unmanageable, dragged their fastenings loose, and +disappeared. In any case the plain was impassable; the roar of the sea, +with the night coming on, indicated that the floods were out; they had +covered the shore, and would soon be creeping inland; the road would be +drowned and lost. Ash, therefore, could not be far. + +Yet they had been unable to find him, though they had searched every +house. And they had found no trace of his mother. + +During these long hours four times the boys had sallied forth and hunted +the street up and down. The Italians, crowded into their narrow dark +dwellings from fear of the storm, had allowed them to pass freely in and +out, to go from floor to floor; some of the men had even lighted their +little oil lamps and gone down with them to search the shallow cellars. +But the women did not look up; they were telling their beads or +kneeling before their little in-door shrines, the frightened children +clinging to their skirts and crying. For both the street and the dark +houses were lighted every minute or two by that unearthly blinding +glare. + +The village version of the story was that the two _forestieri_ had +sprung at each other's throats, maddened by jealousy; poniards had been +drawn, and one of them had fallen. One had fallen, indeed, but only one +had attacked. And there had been no poniards: it was a well-aimed bullet +from an American revolver that had struck down Griffith Carew. + +The four boys, brought back each time from their search by a sudden hope +that perhaps Griff might have rallied, and forced each time to yield up +their hope at the sight of his death-like face, were animated in their +grief by one burning determination: they would bring the murderer to +justice. It was a foreign land and a remote shore; they were boys; and +he was a bold, bad man with a wonderful brain--for they had always +appreciated Ash's cleverness, though they had never liked him. In spite +of all this he should not escape; they would hunt him like +hounds--blood-hounds; and though it should take months, even years, of +their lives, they would bring him to justice at the last. + +This hot vow kept the poor lads from crying. They were very young, and +their heads were throbbing with their unshed tears; there were big lumps +in their throats when poor Griff, opening his dull eyes for a moment, +knew them, and tried to smile in his cheery old way. But he relapsed +into unconsciousness immediately. And the watch went on. + +The gloomy day drew to its close; by the clocks, evening had come. +There was more breathing-space now between the lightning flashes and the +following thunder; the wind was no longer violent; the rain still fell +heavily; its torrent, striking the pavement below, sent up a loud hollow +sound. One of the doctors left the house, and came back with a fresh +supply of candles and various things, vaguely frightful, because hidden, +concealed in a sheet. Then the other doctor went out to get something to +eat. Finally they were both on guard again. And the real night began. + +Then, to the waiting group in the lighted silent room, there entered a +tall figure--Azubah Ash; drenched, without bonnet or shawl, she stood +there before them. Her frightened look was gone forever: she faced them +with unconscious majesty. "My son is dead"--this was her announcement. + +She walked forward to the bed, and gazed at the man lying there. +"Perhaps he will not die," she said, turning her head to glance at the +others. "God is kind--sometimes; perhaps he will not die." She bent over +and stroked his hair tenderly with her large hand. "Dear heart, live! +Try ter live!" she said; "we want yer to, so much!" + +Then she left him, and faced them again. "I thought of warning you," she +began; "you"--and she looked at Mrs. Preston; "and you"--she turned +towards the figure at the end of the room. "My son was not himself when +he was in a passion--I have known it ever sence he was born. Even when +he was a little fellow of two and three I used ter try ter guard him; +but I couldn't do much--his will was stronger than mine. And he was +always very clever, my son was--much cleverer than me. Twice before, +three times before, I've ben afraid he'd take some one's life. You +see, he didn't care about life so much as some people do; and now he has +taken his own." + +[Illustration: THE OLD WATCH-TOWER] + +There was an involuntary stir among the boys. + +Mrs. Ash turned her eyes towards them. "Would you like ter see him, so's +ter be sure? In one moment." + +She went towards the bed again, and clasped her hands; then she knelt +down, and began to pray beside the unconscious man in hushed tones. "O +God, O our Father, give us back this life: do, Lord--O do. It's so dear +ter these poor boys, and it's so dear ter many; and perhaps there's a +mother too. O Lord, give it back to us! And when he's well again, help +him ter be all that my poor son was not. For Christ's sake." + +She rose and crossed to where the boys were standing. "Will you come +now?" she said. "I'm taking him away at dawn." Then, very simply, she +offered her hand to Mrs. Preston. "He was a great deal at your house; he +told me that. I thank you for having ben so kind ter him. Good-bye." + +"But I too will go with you," answered Mrs. Preston, in her deep tones. +She rose, leaning on her cane. Mrs. Ash was already crossing the room +towards the door. + +The boys followed her; then came Mrs. Preston, looking bent and old. The +figure of Pauline in her dark corner rose as they approached. + +"No," said Mrs. Ash, seeing the movement. She paused. "Don't come, my +dear; I really can't let you; you'd think of it all the rest of your +life if you was ter see him now, and 'twould make you feel so bad. I +know you didn't mean no harm. But you mustn't come." + +And Pauline, shrinking back into the shadow, was held there by the +compassion of this mother--this mother whose nobler nature, and large +glance quiet in the majesty of sorrow, made her, made all the women +present, fade into nothingness beside her. In the outer room Isabella +and the excited, peering Abercrombies were like four unimportant, +unnoticed ghosts, as the little procession went by them in silence, and +descended the stairs. Then it passed out into the storm. + +Mrs. Ash walked first, leading the way, the rain falling on her hair; +the three boys followed; behind them came Mrs. Preston, leaning on her +nephew's arm and helping herself with her cane. They passed down the +narrow street, and the people brought their small lamps to the doorways +to aid them in the darkness. The street ended, but the mother went on: +apparently she was going out on the broad waste. They all followed, Mrs. +Preston merely shaking her head when Arthur proposed that she should +turn back. + +At some distance beyond the town there was a grove of oaks; they went +round an angle of this grove, stumbling in the darkness, and came to a +mound behind it; on the summit of the mound there was something--a +square structure of stone. Mrs. Ash went up, and entered a low door. +Within there was but one room, empty save for a small lighted lamp +standing on the dirt floor; a stairway, or rather a flight of stone +steps, ascended to a room above. Mrs. Ash took the lamp and led the way +up; Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the stones as she followed. + +[Illustration: "THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE +ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED."] + +The room above was square, like the one below; it was the whole interior +of the ancient house, or rather the ancient watch-tower; its roof of +beams was broken; the rain came through in several places and dropped +upon the floor. There was a second small lamp in the room besides the +one which Mrs. Ash had brought; the two shed a dim ray over a peasant's +rude bed, where something long and dark and straight was stretched out. +Mrs. Ash went up to the bed, and motioning away the old peasant who was +keeping watch there, she took both lamps and held them high above the +still face. The others drew near. And then they saw that it was John +Ash--dead! + +There were no signs of the horror of it; his mother had removed them +all; he lay as if asleep. + +The mother held the lights up steadily for a long moment. Then she +placed them on a table, and coming back, took her son's lifeless hand in +hers. + +"Now that you've seen him, seen that he's really gone, will you leave me +alone with him?" she said. "I think there's nothing more." + +There was a dignity in her face as she stood there beside her child +which made the others feel suddenly conscious of the wantonness of +further intrusion. As they looked at her, too, they perceived that she +no longer thought of them, no longer even saw them: her task was ended. + +Without a word they went out. Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the +stairway again; then there was silence. + +At dawn they saw her drive away. Griff might live, the doctors had said. +But for the moment the gazing group of Americans forgot even that. She +was in a cart, with a man walking beside the horse; the cart was going +slowly across the fields, for the road was over-flowed. The storm had +ceased; the sky was blue; the sun, rising, shed his fresh golden light +on the tall, lonely figure with its dark hair uncovered, and on the +long rough box at its feet. + +Looking the other way, one could see in the south the beautiful temples +of Paestum, that have gazed over that plain for more than two thousand +years. + + + + +A PINK VILLA + + +I + +"Yes, of the three, I liked Pierre best," said Mrs. Churchill. "Yet it +was hard to choose. I have lived so long in Italy that I confess it +would have been a pleasure to see Eva at court; it's a very pretty +little court they have now at Rome, I assure you, with that lovely Queen +Margherita at the head. The old Marchese is to resign his post this +month, and the King has already signified his intention of giving it to +Gino. Eva, as the Marchesa Lamberti, living in that ideal old Lamberti +palace, you know--Eva, I flatter myself, would have shone in her small +way as brightly as Queen Margherita in hers. You may think I am assuming +a good deal, Philip. But you have no idea how much pain has been taken +with that child; she literally is fitted for a court or for any other +high position. Yet at the same time she is very childlike. I have kept +her so purposely; she has almost never been out of my sight. The +Lambertis are one of the best among the old Roman families, and there +could not be a more striking proof of Gino's devotion than his having +persuaded his father to say (as he did to me two months ago) that he +should be proud to welcome Eva 'as she is,' which meant that her very +small dowry would not be considered an objection. As to Eva herself, of +course the Lambertis, or any other family, would be proud to receive +her," pursued Mrs. Churchill, with the quiet pride which in its +unruffled serenity became her well. "But not to hesitate over her mere +pittance of a portion, that is very remarkable; for the marriage-portion +is considered a sacred point by all Italians; they are brought up to +respect it--as we respect the Constitution." + +"It's a very pretty picture," answered Philip Dallas--"the court and +Queen Margherita, the handsome Gino and the old Lamberti palace. But I'm +a little bewildered, Fanny; you speak of it all so appreciatively, yet +Gino was certainly not the name you mentioned; Pierre, wasn't it?" + +"Yes, Pierre," answered Mrs. Churchill, laughing and sighing with the +same breath. "I've strayed far. But the truth is, I did like Gino, and I +wanted to tell you about him. No, Eva will not be the Marchesa Lamberti, +and live in the old palace; I have declined that offer. Well, then, the +next was Thornton Stanley." + +"Thornton Stanley? Has he turned up here? I used to know him very well." + +"I thought perhaps you might." + +"He is a capital fellow--when he can forget his first editions." + +Mrs. Churchill folded her arms, placing one hand on each elbow, and +slightly hugging herself. "He has forgotten them more than once in +_this_ house," she said, triumphantly. + +"He is not only a capital fellow, but he has a large fortune--ten times +as large, I venture to say, as your Lambertis have." + +"I know that. But--" + +"But you prefer an old palace. I am afraid Stanley could not build Eva +an old castle. Couldn't you manage to jog on with half a dozen new +ones?" + +"The trouble with Thornton Stanley was his own uncertainty," said Fanny; +"he was not in the least firm about staying over here, though he +pretended he was. I could see that he would be always going home. More +than that, I should not be at all surprised if at the end of five +years--three even--he should have bought or built a house in New York, +and settled down there forever." + +"And you don't want that for your American daughter, renegade?" + +Mrs. Churchill unfolded her arms. "No one can be a warmer American than +I am, Philip--no one. During the war I nearly cried my eyes out; have +you forgotten that? I scraped lint; I wanted to go to the front as +nurse--everything. What days they were! We _lived_ then. I sometimes +think we have never lived since." + +Dallas felt a little bored. He was of the same age as Fanny Churchill; +but the school-girl, whose feelings were already those of a woman, had +had her nature stirred to its depths by events which the lad had been +too young to take seriously to heart. His heart had never caught up with +them, though, of course, his reason had. + +"Yes, I know you are flamingly patriotic," he said. "All the same, you +don't want Eva to live in Fiftieth Street." + +"In Fiftieth Street?" + +"I chose the name at random. In New York." + +"I don't see why you should be sarcastic," said Fanny. "Of course I +expect to go back myself some time; I could not be content without that. +But Eva--Eva is different; she has been brought up over here entirely; +she was only three when I came abroad. It seems such a pity that all +that should be wasted." + +"And why should it be wasted in Fiftieth Street?" + +"The very qualities that are admired here would be a drawback to her +there," replied Mrs. Churchill. "A shy girl who cannot laugh and talk +with everybody, who has never been out alone a step in her life, where +would she be in New York?--I ask you that. While here, as you see, +before she is eighteen--" + +"Isn't the poor child eighteen yet? Why in the world do you want to +marry her to any one for five years more at least?" + +Mrs. Churchill threw up her pretty hands. "How little you have learned +about some things, Philip, in spite of your winters on the Nile and your +Scotch shooting-box! I suppose it is because you have had no daughters +to consider." + +"Daughters?--I should think not!" was Dallas's mental exclamation. +Fanny, then, with all her sense, was going to make that same old mistake +of supposing that a bachelor of thirty-seven and a mother of +thirty-seven were of the same age. + +"Why, it's infinitely better in every way that a nice girl like Eva +should be married as soon as possible after her school-books are closed, +Philip," Mrs. Churchill went on; "for then, don't you see, she can enter +society--which is always so dangerous--safely; well protected, and yet +quite at liberty as well. I mean, of course, in case she has a good +husband. That is the mother's business, the mother's responsibility, and +I think a mother who does not give her heart to it, her whole soul and +energy, and choose _well_--I think such a mother an infamous woman. In +this case I am sure I have chosen well; I am sure Eva will be happy with +Pierre de Verneuil. They have the same ideas; they have congenial +tastes, both being fond of music and art. And Pierre is a very lovable +fellow; you will think so yourself when you see him." + +"And you say she likes him?" + +"Very much. I should not have gone on with it, of course, if there had +been any dislike. They are not formally betrothed as yet; that is to +come soon; but the old Count (Pierre's father) has been to see me, and +everything is virtually arranged--a delightful man, the old Count. They +are to make handsome settlements; not only are they rich, but they are +not in the least narrow--as even the best Italians are, I am sorry to +say. The Verneuils are cosmopolitans; they have been everywhere; their +estate is near Brussels, but they spend most of their time in Paris. +They will never tie Eva down in any small way. In addition, both father +and son are extremely nice to _me_." + +"Ah!" said Dallas, approvingly. + +"Yes; they have the French ideas about mothers; you know that in France +the mother is and remains the most important person in the family." As +she said this, Mrs. Churchill unconsciously lifted herself and threw +back her shoulders. Ordinarily the line from the knot of her hair behind +to her waist was long and somewhat convex, while correspondingly the +distance between her chin and her belt in front was surprisingly short: +she was a plump woman, and she had fallen into the habit of leaning upon +a certain beguiling steel board, which leads a happy existence in +wrappings of white kid and perfumed lace. + +"Not only will they never wish to separate me from Eva," she went on, +still abnormally erect, "but such a thought would never enter their +minds; they think it an honor and a pleasure to have me with them; the +old Count assured me of it in those very words." + +"And now we have the secret of the Belgian success," said Dallas. + +"Yes. But I have not been selfish; I have tried to consider everything; +I have investigated carefully. If you will stay half an hour longer you +can see Pierre for yourself; and then I know that you will agree with +me." + +In less than half an hour the Belgian appeared--a slender, handsome +young man of twenty-two, with an ease of manner and grace in movement +which no American of that age ever had. With all his grace, however, and +his air of being a man of the world, there was such a charming +expression of kindliness and purity in his still boyish eyes that any +mother, with her young daughter's happiness at heart, might have been +pardoned for coveting him as a son-in-law. This Dallas immediately +comprehended. "You have chosen well," he said to Fanny, when they were +left for a moment alone; "the boy's a jewel." + +Before the arrival of Pierre, Eva Churchill, followed by her governess, +had come out to join her mother on the terrace; Eva's daily lessons were +at an end, save that the music went on; Mlle. Legrand was retained as a +useful companion. + +Following Pierre, two more visitors appeared, not together; one was an +Englishman of fifty, small, meagre, plain in face; the other an +American, somewhat younger, a short, ruddy man, dressed like an +Englishman. Mrs. Churchill mentioned their names to Dallas: "Mr. +Gordon-Gray." "Mr. Ferguson." + +It soon appeared that Mr. Gordon-Gray and Mr. Ferguson were in the habit +of looking in every afternoon, at about that hour, for a cup of tea. +Dallas, who hated tea, leaned back in his chair and watched the scene, +watched Fanny especially, with the amused eyes of a contemporary who +remembers a different past. Fanny was looking dimpled and young; her tea +was excellent, her tea-service elaborate (there was a samovar); her +daughter was docile, her future son-in-law a Count and a pearl; in +addition, her terrace was an enchanting place for lounging, attached as +it was to a pink-faced villa that overlooked the sea. + +Nor were there wanting other soft pleasures. "Dear Mrs. +Murray-Churchill, how delicious is this nest of yours!" said the +Englishman, with quiet ardor; "I never come here without admiring it." + +Fanny answered him in a steady voice, though there was a certain +flatness in its tone: "Yes, it's very pretty indeed." Her face was red; +she knew that Dallas was laughing; she would not look in his direction. +Dallas, however, had taken himself off to the parapet, where he could +have his laugh out at ease: to be called Mrs. Murray-Churchill as a +matter of course in that way--what joy for Fanny! + +Eva was listening to the busy Mark Ferguson; he was showing her a little +silver statuette which he had unearthed that morning in Naples, "in a +dusty out-of-the-way shop, if you will believe it, where there was +nothing else but rubbish--literally nothing. From the chasing I am +inclined to think it's fifteenth century. But you will need glasses to +see it well; I can lend you a pair of mine." + +"I can see it perfectly--thanks," said Eva. "It is very pretty, I +suppose." + +"Pretty, Miss Churchill? Surely it's a miracle!" Ferguson protested. + +Pierre, who was sitting near the mother, glanced across and smiled. Eva +did not smile in reply; she was looking vaguely at the blackened silver; +but when he came over to see for himself the miracle, then she smiled +very pleasantly. + +Pierre was evidently deeply in love; he took no pains to conceal it; but +during the two hours he spent there he made no effort to lure the young +girl into the drawing-room, or even as far as the parapet. He was very +well bred. At present he stood beside her and beside Mark Ferguson, and +talked about the statuette. "It seems to me old Vienna," he said. + +"Signor Bartalama," announced Angelo, Mrs. Churchill's man-servant, +appearing at the long window of the drawing-room which served as one of +the terrace doors; he held the lace curtains apart eagerly, with the +smiling Italian welcome. + +Fanny had looked up, puzzled. But when her eyes fell upon the figure +emerging from the lace she recognized it instantly. "Horace Bartholomew! +Now from what quarter of the heavens do you drop _this_ time?" + +"So glad you call it heaven," said the new-comer, as she gave him her +hand. "But from heaven indeed this time, Mrs. Churchill--I say so +emphatically; from our own great, grand country--with the permission of +the present company be it spoken." And he bowed slightly to the +Englishman and Pierre, his discriminating glance including even the +little French governess, who smiled (though non-comprehendingly) in +reply. "May I present to you a compatriot, Mrs. Churchill?" he went on. +"I have taken the liberty of bringing him without waiting for formal +permission; he is, in fact, in your drawing-room now. His credentials, +however, are small and puny; they consist entirely of the one item--that +I like him." + +"That will do perfectly," said Fanny, smiling. + +Bartholomew went back to the window and parted the curtains. "Come," he +said. A tall man appeared. "Mrs. Churchill, let me present to you Mr. +David Rod." + +Mrs. Churchill was gracious to the stranger; she offered him a chair +near hers, which he accepted; a cup of tea, which he declined; and the +usual small questions of a first meeting, which only very original minds +are bold enough to jump over. The stranger answered the questions +promptly; he was evidently not original. He had arrived two days before; +this was his first visit to Italy; the Bay of Naples was beautiful; he +had not been up Vesuvius; he had not visited Pompeii; he was not afraid +of fever; and he had met Horace Bartholomew in Florida the year before. + +"I am told they are beginning to go a great deal to Florida," remarked +Fanny. + +"I don't go there; I live there," Rod answered. + +"Indeed! in what part?" (She brought forward the only names she knew.) +"St. Augustine, perhaps? Or Tallahassee?" + +"No; I live on the southern coast; at Punta Palmas?" + +"How Spanish that is! Perhaps you have one of those old Spanish +plantations?" She had now exhausted all her knowledge of the State save +a vague memory of her school geography: "Where are the Everglades?" +"They are in the southern part of Florida. They are shallow lakes filled +with trees." But the stranger could hardly live in such a place as that. + +"No," answered Rod; "my plantation isn't old and it isn't Spanish; it's +a farm, and quite new. I am over here now to get hands for it." + +"Hands?" + +"Yes, laborers--Italians. They work very well in Florida." + +Eva and Mademoiselle Legrand had turned with Pierre to look at the +magnificent sunset. "Did you receive the flowers I sent this morning?" +said Pierre, bending his head so that if Eva should glance up when she +answered, he should be able to look into her eyes. + +"Yes; they were beautiful," said Eva, giving the hoped-for glance. + +"Yet they are not in the drawing-room." + +"You noticed that?" she said, smiling. "They are in the music-room; +Mademoiselle put them there." + +"They are the flowers for Mozart, are they not?" said +Mademoiselle--"heliotrope and white lilies; and we have been studying +Mozart this morning. The drawing-room, as you know, Monsieur le Comte, +is always full of roses." + +"And how do you come on with Mozart?" asked Pierre. + +"As usual," answered Eva. "Not very well, I suppose." + +[Illustration: "'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'"] + +Mademoiselle twisted her handkerchief round her fingers. She was +passionately fond of music; it seemed to her that her pupil, who played +accurately, was not. Pierre also was fond of music, and played with +taste. He had not perceived Eva's coldness in this respect simply +because he saw no fault in her. + +"I want to make up a party for the Deserto," he went on, "to lunch +there. Do you think Madame Churchill will consent?" + +"Probably," said Eva. + +"I hope she will. For when we are abroad together, under the open sky, +then it sometimes happens I can stay longer by your side." + +"Yes; we never have very long talks, do we?" remarked Eva, reflectively. + +"Do you desire them?" said Pierre, with ardor. "Ah, if you could know +how I do! With me it is one long thirst. Say that you share the feeling, +even if only a little; give me that pleasure." + +"No," said Eva laughing, "I don't share it at all. Because, if we should +have longer talks, you would find out too clearly that I am not clever." + +"Not clever!" said Pierre, with all his heart in his eyes. Then, with +his unfailing politeness, he included Mademoiselle. "She is clever, +Mademoiselle?" + +"She is good," answered Mademoiselle, gravely. "Her heart has a +depth--but a depth!" + +"I shall fill it all," murmured Pierre to Eva. "It is not that I myself +am anything, but my love is so great, so vast; it holds you as the sea +holds Capri. Some time--some time, you must let me try to tell you!" + +Eva glanced at him. Her eyes had for the moment a vague expression of +curiosity. + +This little conversation had been carried on in French; Mademoiselle +spoke no English, and Pierre would have been incapable of the rudeness +of excluding her by means of a foreign tongue. + + +II + +The pink villa was indeed a delicious nest, to use the Englishman's +phrase. It crowned one of the perpendicular cliffs of Sorrento, its rosy +facade overlooking what is perhaps the most beautiful expanse of water +in the world--the Bay of Naples. The broad terrace stretched from the +drawing room windows to the verge of the precipice; leaning against its +strong stone parapet, with one's elbows comfortably supported on the +flat top (which supported also several battered goddesses of marble), +enjoying the shade of a lemon-tree set in a great vase of tawny +terra-cotta--leaning thus, one could let one's idle gaze drop straight +down into the deep blue water below, or turn it to the white line of +Naples opposite, shining under castled heights, to Vesuvius with its +plume of smoke, or to beautiful dark Ischia rising from the waves in the +west, guarding the entrance to the sea. On each side, close at hand, the +cliffs of Sorrento stretched away, tipped with their villas, with their +crowded orange and lemon groves. Each villa had its private stairway +leading to the beach below; strange dark passages, for the most part cut +in the solid rock, winding down close to the face of the cliff, so that +every now and then a little rock-window can let in a gleam of light to +keep up the spirits of those who are descending. For every one does +descend: to sit and read among the rocks; to bathe from the +bathing-house on the fringe of beach; to embark for a row to the +grottos or a sail to Capri. + +[Illustration: SORRENTO] + +The afternoon which followed the first visit of Philip Dallas to the +pink villa found him there a second time; again he was on the terrace +with Fanny. The plunging sea-birds of the terrace's mosaic floor were +partially covered by a large Persian rug, and it was upon this rich +surface that the easy-chairs were assembled, and also the low tea-table, +which was of a construction so solid that no one could possibly knock it +over. A keen observer had once said that that table was in itself a +sufficient indication that Fanny's house was furnished to attract +masculine, not feminine, visitors (a remark which was perfectly true). + +"You are the sun of a system of masculine planets, Fanny," said Dallas. +"After long years, that is how I find you." + +"Oh, Philip--we who live so quietly!" + +"So is the sun quiet, I suppose; I have never heard that he howled. Mr. +Gordon-Gray, Mark Ferguson, Pierre de Vernueil, Horace Bartholomew, +unknown Americans. Do they come to see Eva or you?" + +"They come to see the view--as you do; to sit in the shade and talk. I +give very good dinners too," Fanny added, with simplicity. + +"O romance! good dinners on the Bay of Naples!" + +"Well, you may laugh; but nothing draws men of a certain age--of a +certain kind, I mean; the most satisfactory men, in short--nothing draws +them so surely as a good dinner delicately served," announced Fanny, +with decision. "Please go and ring for the tea." + +"I don't wonder that they all hang about you," remarked Dallas as he +came back, his eyes turning from the view to his hostess in her +easy-chair. "Your villa is admirable, and you yourself, as you sit +there, are the personification of comfort, the personification, too, of +gentle, sweet, undemonstrative affectionateness. Do you know that, +Fanny?" + +Fanny, with a very pink blush, busied herself in arranging the table for +the coming cups. + +Dallas smiled inwardly. "She thinks I am in love with her because I said +that about affectionateness," he thought. "Oh, the fatuity of women!" + +At this moment Eva came out, and presently appeared Mr. Gordon-Gray and +Mark Ferguson. A little later came Horace Bartholomew. The tea had been +brought; Eva handed the cups. Dallas, looking at her, was again struck +by something in the manner and bearing of Fanny's daughter. Or rather he +was not struck by it; it was an impression that made itself felt by +degrees, as it had done the day before--a slow discovery that the girl +was unusual. + +She was tall, dressed very simply in white. Her thick smooth flaxen hair +was braided in two long flat tresses behind, which were doubled and +gathered up with a ribbon, so that they only reached her shoulders. This +school-girl coiffure became her young face well. Yes, it was a very +young face. Yet it was a serious face too. "Our American girls are often +serious, and when they are brought up under the foreign system it really +makes them too quiet," thought Dallas. Eva had a pair of large gray eyes +under dark lashes: these eyes were thoughtful; sometimes they were dull. +Her smooth complexion was rather brown. The oval of her face was +perfect. Though her dress was so child-like, her figure was womanly; the +poise of her head was noble, her step light and free. Nothing could be +more unlike the dimpled, smiling mother than was this tall, serious +daughter who followed in her train. Dallas tried to recall Edward +Churchill (Edward Murray Churchill), but could not; he had only seen him +once. "He must have been an obstinate sort of fellow," he said to +himself. The idea had come to him suddenly from something in Eva's +expression. Yet it was a sweet expression; the curve of the lips was +sweet. + +"She isn't such a very pretty girl, after all," he reflected, summing +her up finally before he dismissed her. "Fanny is a clever woman to have +made it appear that she is." + +At this moment Eva, having finished her duties as cup-bearer, walked +across the terrace and stood by the parapet, outlined against the light. + +"By Jove she's beautiful!" thought Dallas. + +Fanny's father had not liked Edward Churchill; he had therefore left his +money tied up in such a way that neither Churchill nor any children whom +he might have should be much benefited by it; Fanny herself, though she +had a comfortable income for life, could not dispose of it. This +accounted for the very small sum belonging to Eva: she had only the few +hundreds that came to her from her father. + +But she had been brought up as though she had many thousands; studiedly +quiet as her life had been, studiedly simple as her attire always was, +in every other respect her existence had been arranged as though a large +fortune certainly awaited her. This had been the mother's idea; she had +been sure from the beginning that a large fortune did await her +daughter. It now appeared that she had been right. + +"I don't know what you thought of me for bringing a fellow-countryman +down upon you yesterday in that unceremonious way, Mrs. Churchill," +Bartholomew was saying. "But I wanted to do something for him--I met him +at the top of your lane by accident; it was an impulse." + +"Oh, I'm sure--any friend of yours--" said Fanny, looking into the +teapot. + +Bartholomew glanced round the little circle on the rug, with an +expression of dry humor in his brown eyes. "You didn't any of you like +him--I see that," he said. + +There was a moment's silence. + +"Well, he is rather a commonplace individual, isn't he?" said Dallas, +unconsciously assuming the leadership of this purely feminine household. + +"I don't know what you mean by commonplace; but yes, I do, coming from +_you_, Dallas. Rod has never been abroad in his life until now; and he's +a man with convictions." + +"Oh, come, don't take that tone," said Mark Ferguson; "I've got +convictions too; I'm as obstinate about them as an Englishman." + +"What did your convictions tell you about Rod, then, may I ask?" pursued +Bartholomew. + +"I didn't have much conversation with him, you may remember; I thought +he had plenty of intelligence. His clothes were--were a little peculiar, +weren't they?" + +"Made in Tampa, probably. And I've no doubt but that he took pains with +them--wanted to have them appropriate." + +"That is where he disappointed me," said Gordon-Gray--"that very +appearance of having taken pains. When I learned that he came from +that--that place in the States you have just named--a wild part of the +country, is it not?--I thought he would be more--more interesting. But +he might as well have come from Clerkenwell." + +"You thought he would be more wild, you mean; trousers in his boots; +long hair; knives." + +All the Americans laughed. + +"Yes. I dare say you cannot at all comprehend our penchant for that sort +of thing," said the Englishman, composedly. "And--er--I am afraid there +would be little use in attempting to explain it to you. But this Mr. Rod +seemed to me painfully unconscious of his opportunities; he told me +(when I asked) that there was plenty of game there--deer, and even bears +and panthers--royal game; yet he never hunts." + +"He never hunts, because he has something better to do," retorted +Bartholomew. + +"Ah, better?" murmured the Englishman, doubtfully. + +Bartholomew got up and took a chair which was nearer Fanny. "No--no +tea," he said, as she made a motion towards a cup; then, without further +explaining his change of position, he gave her a little smile. Dallas, +who caught this smile on the wing, learned from it unexpectedly that +there was a closer intimacy between his hostess and Bartholomew than he +had suspected. "Bartholomew!" he thought, contemptuously. +"Gray--spectacles--stout." Then suddenly recollecting the increasing +plumpness of his own person, he drew in his out-stretched legs, and +determined, from that instant, to walk fifteen miles a day. + +"Rod knows how to shoot, even though he doesn't hunt," said +Bartholomew, addressing the Englishman. "I saw him once bring down a mad +bull, who was charging directly upon an old man--the neatest sort of a +hit." + +"He himself being in a safe place meanwhile," said Dallas. + +"On the contrary, he had to rush forward into an open field. If he had +missed his aim by an eighth of an inch, the beast--a terrible +creature--would have made an end of him." + +"And the poor old man?" said Eva. + +"He was saved, of course; he was a rather disreputable old darky. +Another time Rod went out in a howling gale--the kind they have down +there--to rescue two men whose boat had capsized in the bay. They were +clinging to the bottom; no one else would stir; they said it was certain +death; but Rod went out--he's a capital sailor--and got them in. I +didn't see that myself, as I saw the bull episode; I was told about it." + +"By Rod?" said Dallas. + +"By one of the men he saved. As you've never been saved yourself, +Dallas, you probably don't know how it feels." + +"He seems to be a modern Chevalier Bayard, doesn't he?" said +good-natured Mark Ferguson. + +"He's modern, but no Bayard. He's a modern and a model pioneer--" + +"Pioneers! oh, pioneers!" murmured Gordon-Gray, half chanting it. + +None of the Americans recognized his quotation. + +"He's the son of a Methodist minister," Bartholomew went on. "His +father, a missionary, wandered down to Florida in the early days, and +died there, leaving a sickly wife and seven children. You know the sort +of man--a linen duster for a coat, prunella shoes, always smiling and +hopeful--a great deal about 'Brethren.' Fortunately they could at least +be warm in that climate, and fish were to be had for the catching; but I +suspect it was a struggle for existence while the boys were small. David +was the youngest; his five brothers, who had come up almost laborers, +were determined to give this lad a chance if they could; together they +managed to send him to school, and later to a forlorn little Methodist +college somewhere in Georgia. David doesn't call it forlorn, mind you; +he still thinks it an important institution. For nine years now--he is +thirty--he has taken care of himself; he and a partner have cleared this +large farm, and have already done well with it. Their hope is to put it +all into sugar in time, and a Northern man with capital has advanced +them the money for this Italian colonization scheme: it has been tried +before in Florida, and has worked well. They have been very +enterprising, David and his partner; they have a saw-mill running, and +two school-houses already--one for whites, one for blacks. You ought to +see the little darkies, with their wool twisted into twenty tails, going +proudly in when the bell rings," he added, turning to Fanny. + +"And the white children, do they go too?" said Eva. + +"Yes, to their own school-house--lank girls, in immense sun-bonnets, +stalking on long bare feet. He has got a brisk little Yankee +school-mistress for them. In ten years more I declare he will have +civilized that entire neighborhood." + +"You are evidently the Northern man with capital," said Dallas. + +"I don't care in the least for your sneers, Dallas; I'm not the Northern +man, but I should like to be. If I admire Rod, with his constant driving +action, his indomitable pluck, his simple but tremendous belief in the +importance of what he has undertaken to do, that's my own affair. I do +admire him just as he stands, clothes and all; I admire his creaking +saw-mill; I admire his groaning dredge; I even admire his two hideously +ugly new school-houses, set staring among the stumps." + +"Tell me one thing, does he preach in the school-houses on Sundays and +Friday evenings, say?" asked Ferguson. "Because if he does he will make +no money, whatever else he may make. They never do if they preach." + +"It's his father who was the minister, not he," said Bartholomew. "David +never preached in his life; he wouldn't in the least know how. In fact, +he's no talker at all; he says very little at any time; he's a +doer--David is; he _does_ things. I declare it used to make me sick of +myself to see how much that fellow accomplished every day of his life +down there, and thought nothing of it at all." + +"And what were you doing 'down there,' besides making yourself sick, if +I may ask?" said Ferguson. + +"Oh, I went down for the hunting, of course. What else does one go to +such a place for?" + +"Tell me a little about that, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, +interested for the first time. + +"M. de Verneuil wants us all to go to the Deserto some day soon," said +Fanny; "a lunch party. We shall be sure to enjoy it; M. de Verneuil's +parties are always delightful." + + +III + +The end of the week had been appointed for Pierre's excursion. + +The morning opened fair and warm, with the veiled blue that belongs to +the Bay of Naples, the soft hazy blue which is so different from the dry +glittering clearness of the Riviera. + +Fanny was mounted on a donkey; Eva preferred to walk, and Mademoiselle +accompanied her. Pierre had included in his invitation the usual +afternoon assemblage at the villa--Dallas, Mark Ferguson, Bartholomew, +Gordon-Gray, and David Rod. + +For Fanny had, as Dallas expressed it, "taken up" Rod; she had invited +him twice to dinner. The superfluous courtesy had annoyed Dallas, for of +course, as Rod himself was nothing, less than nothing, the explanation +must lie in the fact that Horace Bartholomew had suggested it. +"Bartholomew was always wrong-headed; always picking up some perfectly +impossible creature, and ramming him down people's throats," he thought, +with vexation. + +Bartholomew was walking now beside Fanny's donkey. + +Mark Ferguson led the party, as it moved slowly along the narrow paved +road that winds in zigzags up the mountain; Eva, Mademoiselle, Pierre, +Dallas, and Rod came next. Fanny and Bartholomew were behind; and +behind still, walking alone and meditatively, came Gordon-Gray, who +looked at life (save for the hunting) from the standpoint of the Italian +Renaissance. Gordon-Gray knew a great deal about the Malatesta family; +he had made a collection of Renaissance cloak clasps; he had written an +essay on the colors of the long hose worn in the battling, +leg-displaying days which had aroused his admiration, aroused it rather +singularly, since he himself was as far as possible from having been +qualified by nature to shine in such vigorous society. + +Pierre went back to give some directions to one of the men in the rear +of their small procession. + +When he returned, "So the bears sometimes get among the canes?" Eva was +saying. + +"But then, how very convenient," said Pierre; "for they can take the +canes and chastise them punctually." He spoke in his careful English. + +"They're sugar-canes," said Rod. + +"It's his plantation we are talking about," said Eva. "Once it was a +military post, he says. Perhaps like Ehrenbreitstein." + +"Exactly," said Dallas, from behind; "the same massive frowning stone +walls." + +"There were four one-story wooden barracks once," said Rod; +"whitewashed; flag-pole in the centre. There's nothing now but a +chimney; we've taken the boards for our mill." + +"See the cyclamen, good folk," called out Gordon-Gray. + +On a small plateau near by a thousand cyclamen, white and pink, had +lifted their wings as if to fly away. Off went Pierre to get them for +Eva. + +[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO] + +"Have you ever seen the bears in the canes yourself?" pursued Eva. + +"I've seen them in many places besides canes," answered Rod, grimly. + +"I too have seen bears," Eva went on. "At Berne, you know." + +"The Punta Palmas bears are quite the same," commented Dallas. "When +they see Mr. Rod coming they sit up on their hind legs politely. And he +throws them apples." + +"No apples; they won't grow there," said Rod, regretfully. "Only +oranges." + +"Do you make the saw-mill go yourself--with your own hands?" pursued +Eva. + +"Not now. I did once." + +"Wasn't it very hard work?" + +"That? Nothing at all. You should have seen us grubbing up the +stumps--Tipp and I!" + +"Mr. Tipp is perhaps your partner?" said Dallas. + +"Yes; Jim Tipp. Tipp and Rod is the name of the firm." + +"Tipp--and Rod," repeated Dallas, slowly. Then with quick utterance, as +if trying it, "Tippandrod." + +Pierre was now returning with his flowers. As he joined them, round the +corner of their zigzag, from a pasture above came a troop of ponies that +had escaped from their driver, and were galloping down to Sorrento; two +and two they came rushing on, too rapidly to stop, and everybody pressed +to one side to give them room to pass on the narrow causeway. + +Pierre jumped up on the low stone wall and extended his hand to Eva. +"Come!" he said, hastily. + +Rod put out his arm and pushed each outside pony, as he passed Eva, +forcibly against his mate who had the inside place; a broad space was +thus left beside her, and she had no need to leave the causeway. She had +given one hand to Pierre as a beginning; he held it tightly. +Mademoiselle meanwhile had climbed the wall like a cat. There were +twenty of the galloping little nags; they took a minute or two to pass. +Rod's out-stretched hands, as he warded them off, were seen to be large +and brown. + +Eva imagined them "grubbing up" the stumps. "What is grubbing?" she +said. + +"It is writing for the newspapers in a street in London," said Pierre, +jumping down. "And you must wear a torn coat, I believe." Pierre was +proud of his English. + +He presented his flowers. + +Mademoiselle admired them volubly. "They are like souls just ready to +wing their way to another world," she said, sentimentally, with her head +on one side. She put her well-gloved hand in Eva's arm, summoned Pierre +with an amiable gesture to the vacant place at Eva's left hand, and the +three walked on together. + +The Deserto, though disestablished and dismantled, like many another +monastery, by the rising young kingdom, held still a few monks; their +brown-robed brethren had aided Pierre's servant in arranging the table +in the high room which commands the wonderful view of the sea both to +the north and the south of the Sorrento peninsula, with Capri lying at +its point too fair to be real--like an island in a dream. + + "O la douce folie-- + Aimable Capri!" + +said Mark Ferguson. No one knew what he meant; he did not know himself. +It was a poetical inspiration--so he said. + +[Illustration: AT THE DESERTO] + +The lunch was delicate, exquisite; everything save the coffee (which the +monks wished to provide: coffee, black-bread, and grapes which were half +raisins was the monks' idea of a lunch) had been sent up from Sorrento. +Dallas, who was seated beside Fanny, gave her a congratulatory nod. + +"Yes, all Pierre does is well done," she answered, in a low tone, unable +to deny herself this expression of maternal content. + +Pierre was certainly a charming host. He gave them a toast; he gave them +two; he gave them a song: he had a tenor voice which had been admirably +cultivated, and his song was gay and sweet. He looked very handsome; he +wore one of the cyclamen in his button-hole; Eva wore the rest, arranged +by the deft fingers of Mademoiselle in a knot at her belt. But at the +little feast Fanny was much more prominent than her daughter: this was +Pierre's idea of what was proper; he asked her opinion, he referred +everything to her with a smile which was homage in itself. Dallas, after +a while, was seized with a malicious desire to take down for a moment +this too prosperous companion of his boyhood. It was after Pierre had +finished his little song. "Do you ever sing now, Fanny?" he asked, +during a silence. "I remember how you used to sing Trancadillo." + +"I am sure I don't know what you refer to," answered Fanny, coldly. + +Another week passed. They sailed to Capri; they sailed to Ischia; they +visited Pompeii. Bartholomew suggested these excursions. Eva too showed +an almost passionate desire for constant movement, constant action. +"Where shall we go to-day, mamma?" she asked every morning. + +One afternoon they were strolling through an orange grove on the +outskirts of Sorrento. Under the trees the ground was ploughed and +rough; low stone copings, from whose interstices innumerable violets +swung, ran hither and thither, and the paths followed the copings. The +fruit hung thickly on the trees. Above the high wall which surrounded +the place loomed the campanile of an old church. While they were +strolling the bells rang the Angelus, swinging far out against the blue. + +Rod, who was of the party, was absent-minded; he looked a little at the +trees, but said nothing, and after a while he became absent-bodied as +well, for he fell behind the others, and pursued his meditations, +whatever they were, in solitude. + +"He is bothered about his Italians," said Bartholomew; "he has only +secured twenty so far." + +Pierre joined Fanny; he had not talked with her that afternoon, and he +now came to fulfil the pleasant duty. Eva, who had been left with +Mademoiselle, turned round, and walking rapidly across the ploughed +ground, joined Rod, who was sitting on one of the low stone walls at +some distance from the party. Mademoiselle followed her, putting on her +glasses as she went, in order to see her way over the heaped ridges. She +held up her skirts, and gave ineffectual little leaps, always landing in +the wrong spot, and tumbling up hill, as Dallas called it. "Blue," he +remarked, meditatively. Every one glanced in that direction, and it was +perceived that the adjective described the hue of Mademoiselle's +birdlike ankles. + +"For shame!" said Fanny. + +But Dallas continued his observations. "Do look across," he said, after +a while; "it's too funny. The French woman evidently thinks that Rod +should rise, or else that Eva should be seated also. But her pantomime +passes unheeded; neither Eva nor the backwoodsman is conscious of her +existence." + +"Eva is so fond of standing," explained Fanny. "I often say to her, 'Do +sit down, child; it tires me to see you.' But Eva is never tired." + +Pierre, who had a spray of orange buds in his hand, pressed it to his +lips, and waved it imperceptibly towards his betrothed. "In everything +she is perfect--perfect," he murmured to the pretty mother. + +"Rod doesn't in the least mean to be rude," began Bartholomew. + +"Oh, don't explain that importation of yours at this late day," +interposed Dallas; "it isn't necessary. He is accustomed to sitting on +fences probably; he belongs to the era of the singing-school." + +This made Fanny angry. For as to singing-schools, there had been a +time--a remote time long ago--and Dallas knew it. She had smiled in +answer to Pierre's murmured rapture; she now took his arm. To punish +Dallas she turned her steps--on her plump little feet in their delicate +kid boots--towards the still seated Rod, with the intention of asking +him (for the fifth time) to dinner. This would not only exasperate +Dallas, but it would please Bartholomew at the same stroke. Two birds, +etc. + +When they came up to the distant three, Mademoiselle glanced at Mrs. +Churchill anxiously. But in the presence of the mistress of the villa, +Rod did at last lift his long length from the wall. + +This seemed, however, to be because he supposed they were about to leave +the grove. "Is the walk over?" he said. + +Pierre looked at Eva adoringly. He gave her the spray of orange buds. + + +IV + +A week later Fanny's daughter entered the bedroom which she shared with +her mother. + +From the girl's babyhood the mother had had her small white-curtained +couch placed close beside her own. She could not have slept unless able +at any moment to stretch out her hand and touch her sleeping child. + +Fanny was in the dressing-room; hearing Eva's step, she spoke. "Do you +want me, Eva?" + +"Yes, please." + +Fanny appeared, a vision of white arms, lace, and embroidery. + +"I thought that Rosine would not be here yet," said Eva. Rosine was +their maid; her principal occupation was the elaborate arrangement of +Fanny's brown hair. + +"No, she isn't there--if you mean in the dressing-room," answered Fanny, +nodding her head towards the open door. + +"I wanted to see you alone, mamma, for a moment. I wanted to tell you +that I shall not marry Pierre." + +Fanny, who had sunk into an easy-chair, at these words sprang up. "What +is the matter? Are you ill?" + +"Not in the least, mamma; I am only telling you that I cannot marry +Pierre." + +"You _must_ be ill," pursued Fanny. "You have fever. Don't deny it." And +anxiously she took the girl's hands. But Eva's hands were cooler than +her own. + +"I don't think I have any fever," replied Eva. She had been taught to +answer all her mother's questions in fullest detail. "I sleep and eat as +usual; I have no headache." + +Fanny still looked at her anxiously. "Then if you are not ill, what can +be the matter with you?" + +"I have only told you, mamma, that I could not marry Pierre; it seems to +me very simple." + +She was so quiet that Fanny began at last to realize that she was in +earnest. "My dearest, you know you like Pierre. You have told me so +yourself." + +"I don't like him now." + +"What has he done--poor Pierre? He will explain, apologize; you may be +sure of that." + +"He has done nothing; I don't want him to apologize. He is as he always +is. It is I who have changed." + +"Oh, it is you who have changed," repeated Fanny, bewildered. + +"Yes," answered Eva. + +"Come and sit down and tell mamma all about it. You are tired of poor +Pierre--is that it? It is very natural, he has been here so often, and +stayed so long. But I will tell him that he must go away--leave +Sorrento. And he shall stay away as long as you like, Eva; just as long +as you like." + +"Then he will stay away forever," the girl answered, calmly. + +Fanny waited a moment. "Did you like Gino better? Is that it?" she said, +softly, watching Eva's face. + +"No." + +"Thornton Stanley?" + +"Oh no!" + +"Dear child, explain this a little to your mother. You know I think only +of your happiness," said Fanny, with tender solicitude. + +Eva evidently tried to obey. "It was this morning. It came over me +suddenly that I could not possibly marry him. Now or a year from now. +Never." She spoke tranquilly; she even seemed indifferent. But this one +decision was made. + +"You know that I have given my word to the old Count," began Fanny, in +perplexity. + +Eva was silent. + +"And everything was arranged." + +Eva still said nothing. She looked about the room with wandering +attention, as though this did not concern her. + +"Of course I would never force you into anything," Fanny went on. "But I +thought Pierre would be so congenial." In her heart she was asking +herself what the young Belgian could have done. "Well, dear," she +continued, with a little sigh, "you must always tell mamma everything." +And she kissed her. + +"Of course," Eva answered. And then she went away. + +Fanny immediately rang the bell, and asked for Mademoiselle. But +Mademoiselle knew nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with surprise +and dismay. She greatly admired Pierre; even more she admired the old +Count, whom she thought the most distinguished of men. Fanny dismissed +the afflicted little woman, and sat pondering. While she was thinking, +Eva re-entered. + +"Mamma, I forgot to say that I should like to have you tell Pierre +immediately. To-day." + +Fanny was almost irritated. "You have never taken that tone before, my +daughter. Have you no longer confidence in my judgment?" + +"If you do not want to tell him this afternoon, it can be easily +arranged, mamma; I will not come to the dinner-table; that is all. I do +not wish to see him until he knows." + +Pierre was to dine at the villa that evening. + +"What can he have done?" thought Fanny again. + +She rang for Rosine; half an hour later she was in the drawing-room. +"Excuse me to every one but M. de Verneuil," she said to Angelo. She was +very nervous, but she had decided upon her course: Pierre must leave +Sorrento, and remain away until she herself should call him back. + +"At the end of a month, perhaps even at the end of a week, she will miss +you so much that I shall have to issue the summons," she said, speaking +as gayly as she could, as if to make it a sort of joke. It was very hard +for her, at best, to send away the frank, handsome boy. + +Poor Pierre could not understand it at all. He declared over and over +again that nothing he had said, nothing he had done, could possibly have +offended his betrothed. "But surely you know yourself that it is +impossible!" he added, clasping his hands beseechingly. + +"It is a girlish freak," explained the mother. "She is so young, you +know." + +"But that is the very reason. I thought it was only older women who say +what they wish to do in that decided way; who have freaks, as you call +it," said the Belgian, his voice for a moment much older, more like the +voice of a man who has spent half his life in Paris. + +This was so true that Fanny was driven to a defence that scarcely +anything else would have made her use. + +"Eva is different from the young girls here," she said. "You must not +forget that she is an American." + +At last Pierre went away; he had tried to bear himself as a gentleman +should; but the whole affair was a mystery to him, and he was very +unhappy. He went as far as Rome, and there he waited, writing to Fanny +an anxious letter almost every day. + +In the meanwhile life at the villa went on; there were many excursions. +Fanny's thought was that Eva would miss Pierre more during these +expeditions than at other times, for Pierre had always arranged them, +and he had enjoyed them so much himself that his gay spirits and his gay +wit had made all the party gay. Eva, however, seemed very happy, and at +length the mother could not help being touched to see how light-hearted +her serious child had become, now that she was entirely free. And yet +how slight the yoke had been, and how pleasant! thought Fanny. At the +end of two weeks there were still no signs of the "missing" upon which +she had counted. She thought that she would try the effect of briefly +mentioning the banished man. "I hear from Pierre almost every day, poor +fellow. He is in Rome." + +"Why does he stay in Rome?" said Eva. "Why doesn't he return home?" + +"I suppose he doesn't want to go so far away," answered Fanny, vaguely. + +"Far away from what? Home should always be the first place," responded +the young moralist. "Of course you have told him, mamma, that I shall +never be his wife? That it is forever?" And she turned her gray eyes +towards her mother, for the first time with a shade of suspicion in +them. + +"Never is a long word, Eva." + +"Oh, mamma!" The girl rose. "I shall write to him myself, then." + +"How you speak! Do you wish to disobey me, my own little girl?" + +"No; but it is so dishonest; it is like a lie." + +"My dear, trust your mother. You have changed once; you may change +again." + +"Not about this, mamma. Will you please write this very hour, and make +an end of it?" + +"You are hard, Eva. You do not think of poor Pierre at all." + +"No, I do not think of Pierre." + +"And is there any one else you think of? I must ask you that once more," +said Fanny, drawing her daughter down beside her caressingly. Her +thoughts could not help turning again towards Gino, and in her supreme +love for her child she now accomplished the mental somerset of believing +that on the whole she preferred the young Italian to all the liberty, +all the personal consideration for herself, which had been embodied in +the name of Verneuil. + +"Yes, there is some one else I think of," Eva replied, in a low voice. + +"In Rome?" said Fanny. + +Eva made a gesture of denial that was fairly contemptuous. + +Fanny's mind flew wildly from Bartholomew to Dallas, from Ferguson to +Gordon-Gray: Eva had no acquaintances save those which were her +mother's also. + +"It is David Rod," Eva went on, in the same low tone. Then, with sudden +exaltation, her eyes gleaming, "I have never seen any one like him." + +It was a shock so unexpected that Mrs. Churchill drew her breath under +it audibly, as one does under an actual blow. But instantly she rallied. +She said to herself that she had got a romantic idealist for a +daughter--that was all. She had not suspected it; she had thought of Eva +as a lovely child who would develop into what she herself had been. +Fanny, though far-seeing and intelligent, had not been endowed with +imagination. But now that she did realize it, she should know how to +deal with it. A disposition like that, full of visionary fancies, was +not so uncommon as some people supposed. Horace Bartholomew should take +the Floridian away out of Eva's sight forever, and the girl would soon +forget him; in the meanwhile not one word that was harsh should be +spoken on the subject, for that would be the worst policy of all. + +This train of thought had passed through her mind like a flash. "My +dear," she began, as soon as she had got her breath back, "you are right +to be so honest with me. Mr. Rod has not--has not said anything to you +on the subject, has he?" + +"No. Didn't I tell you that he cares nothing for me? I think he despises +me--I am so useless!" And then suddenly the girl began to sob; a passion +of tears. + +Fanny was at her wits' end; Eva had not wept since the day of her baby +ills, for life had been happy to her, loved, caressed, and protected as +she had been always, like a hot-house flower. + +"My darling," said the mother, taking her in her arms. + +But Eva wept on and on, as if her heart would break. It ended in Fanny's +crying too. + + +V + +Early the next morning her letter to Bartholomew was sent. Bartholomew +had gone to Munich for a week. The letter begged, commanded, that he +should make some pretext that would call David Rod from Sorrento at the +earliest possible moment. She counted upon her fingers; four days for +the letter to go and the answer to return. Those four days she would +spend at Capri. + +Eva went with her quietly. There had been no more conversation between +mother and daughter about Rod; Fanny thought that this was best. + +On the fourth day there came a letter from Bartholomew. Fanny returned +to Sorrento almost gayly: the man would be gone. + +But he was not gone. Tranquillized, glad to be at home again, Mrs. +Churchill was enjoying her terrace and her view, when Angelo appeared at +the window: "Signor Ra." + +Angelo's mistress made him a peremptory sign. "Ask the gentleman to wait +in the drawing-room," she said. Then crossing to Eva, who had risen, "Go +round by the other door to our own room, Eva," she whispered. + +The girl did not move; her face had an excited look. "But why--" + +"Go, child; go." + +Still Eva stood there, her eyes fixed upon the long window veiled in +lace; she scarcely seemed to breathe. + +Her mother was driven to stronger measures. "You told me yourself that +he cared nothing for you." + +A deep red rose in Eva's cheeks; she turned and left the terrace by the +distant door. + +The mother crossed slowly to the long window and parted the curtains. +"Mr. Rod, are you there? Won't you come out? Or stay--I will join you." +She entered the drawing-room and took a seat. + +Rod explained that he was about to leave Sorrento; Bartholomew had +summoned him so urgently that he did not like to refuse, though it was +very inconvenient to go at such short notice. + +"Then you leave to-morrow?" said Fanny; "perhaps to-night?" + +"No; on Monday. I could not arrange my business before." + +"Three days more," Fanny thought. + +She talked of various matters; she hoped that some one else would come +in; but, by a chance, no one appeared that day, neither Dallas, nor +Ferguson, nor Gordon-Gray. "What can have become of them?" she thought, +with irritation. After a while she gave an inward start; she had become +conscious of a foot-fall passing to and fro behind the half-open door +near her--a door which led into the dining-room. It was a very soft +foot-fall upon a thick carpet, but she recognized it: it was Eva. She +was there--why? The mother could think of no good reason. Her heart +began to beat more quickly; for the first time in her life she did not +know her child. This person walking up and down behind that door so +insistently, this was not Eva. Eva was docile; this person was not +docile. What would be done next? She felt strangely frightened. It was a +proof of her terror that she did not dare to close the door lest it +should be instantly reopened. She began to watch every word she said to +Rod, who had not perceived the foot-fall. She began to be +extraordinarily polite to him; she stumbled through the most irrelevant +complimentary sentences. Her dread was, every minute, lest Eva should +appear. + +But Eva did not appear; and at last, after long lingering, Rod went +away. Fanny, who had hoped to bid him a final farewell, had not dared to +go through that ceremony. He said that he should come again. + +When at last he was gone the mother pushed open the half-closed door. +"Eva," she began. She had intended to be severe, as severe as she +possibly could be; but the sight of Eva stopped her. The girl had flung +herself down upon the floor, her bowed head resting upon her arms on a +chair. Her attitude expressed a hopeless desolation. + +"What is it?" said Fanny, rushing to her. + +Eva raised her head. "He never once spoke of me--asked for me," she +murmured, looking at her mother with eyes so dreary with grief that any +one must have pitied her. + +Her mother pitied her, though it was an angry pity, too--a +non-comprehending, jealous, exasperated feeling. She sat down and +gathered her child to her breast with a gesture that was almost fierce. +That Eva should suffer so cruelly when she, Fanny, would have made any +sacrifice to save her from it, would have died for her gladly, were it +not that she was the girl's only protector--oh, what fate had come over +their happy life together! She had not the heart to be stern. All she +said was, "We will go away, dear; we will go away." + +"No," said Eva, rising; "let me stay here. You need not be afraid." + +"Of course I am not afraid," answered Fanny, gravely. "My daughter will +never do anything unseemly; she has too much pride." + +"I am afraid I have no pride--that is, not as you have it, mamma. Pride +doesn't seem to me at all important compared with---- But of course I +know that there is nothing I can do. He is perfectly indifferent. Only +do not take me away again--do not." + +"Why do you wish to stay?" + +"Because then I can think--for three days more--that he is at least as +near me as that." She trembled as she said this; there was a spot of +sombre red in each cheek; her fair face looked strange amid her +disordered hair. + +Her mother watched her helplessly. All her beliefs, all her creed, all +her precedents, the experience of her own life and her own nature even, +failed to explain such a phenomenon as this. And it was her own child +who was saying these things. + +The next day Eva was passive. She wandered about the terrace, or sat for +hours motionless staring blankly at the sea. Her mother left her to +herself. She had comprehended that words were useless. She pretended to +be embroidering, but in reality as she drew her stitches she was +counting the hours as they passed: seventy-two hours; forty-eight hours. +Would he ever be gone? + +[Illustration: "SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST"] + +On the second day, in the afternoon, she discovered that Eva had +disappeared. The girl had been on the terrace with Mademoiselle; +Mademoiselle had gone to her room for a moment, and when she returned +her pupil could not be found. She had not passed through the +drawing-room, where Fanny was sitting with her pretended industry; nor +through the other door, for Rosine was at work there, and had seen +nothing of her. There remained only the rock stairway to the beach. +Mademoiselle ran down it swiftly: no one. But there was a small boat not +far off, she said. Fanny, who was near-sighted, got the glass. In a +little boat with a broad sail there were two figures; one was certainly +David Rod, and the other--yes, the other was Eva. There was a breeze, +the boat was rapidly going westward round the cliffs; in two minutes +more it was out of sight. + +Fanny wrung her hands. The French woman, to whom the event wore a much +darker hue than it did to the American mother, turned yellowly pale. + +At this moment Horace Bartholomew came out on the terrace; uneasy, for +Fanny's missive had explained nothing, he had followed his letter +himself. "What is it?" he said, as he saw the agitation of the two +women. + +"Your friend--_yours_--the man you brought here, has Eva with him at +this moment out on the bay!" said Fanny, vehemently. + +"Well, what of that? You must look at it with Punta Palmas eyes, Fanny; +at Punta Palmas it would be an ordinary event." + +"But my Eva is not a Punta Palmas girl, Horace Bartholomew!" + +"She is as innocent as one, and I'll answer for Rod. Come, be sensible, +Fanny. They will be back before sunset, and no one in Sorrento--if that +is what is troubling you so--need be any the wiser." + +"You do not know all," said Fanny. "Oh, Horace--I must tell +somebody--she fancies she cares for that man!" She wrung her hands +again. "Couldn't we follow them? Get a boat." + +"It would take an hour. And it would be a very conspicuous thing to do. +Leave them alone--it's much better; I tell you I'll answer for Rod. +Fancies she cares for him, does she? Well, he is a fine fellow; on the +whole, the finest I know." + +The mother's eyes flashed through her tears. "This from _you_?" + +"I can't help it; he is. Of course you do not think so. He has got no +money; he has never been anywhere that you call anywhere; he doesn't +know anything about the only life you care for nor the things you think +important. All the same, he is a man in a million. He is a man--not a +puppet." + +Gentle Mrs. Churchill appeared for the moment transformed. She looked as +though she could strike him. "Never mind your Quixotic ideas. Tell me +whether he is in love with Eva; it all depends upon that." + +"I don't know, I am sure," answered Bartholomew. He began to think. "I +can't say at all; he would conceal it from me." + +"Because he felt his inferiority. I am glad he has that grace." + +"He wouldn't be conscious of any inferiority save that he is poor. It +would be that, probably, if anything; of course he supposes that Eva is +rich." + +"Would to Heaven she were!" said the mother. "Added to every other +horror of it, poverty, miserable poverty, for my poor child!" She sat +down and hid her face. + +"It may not be as bad as you fear, nor anything like it. Do cheer up a +little, Fanny. When Eva comes back, ten to one you will find that +nothing at all has happened--that it has been a mere ordinary excursion. +And I promise you I will take Rod away with me to-morrow." + +Mrs. Churchill rose and began to pace to and fro, biting her lips, and +watching the water. Mademoiselle, who was still hovering near, she waved +impatiently away. "Let no one in," she called to her. + +There seemed, indeed, to be nothing else to do, as Bartholomew had said, +save to wait. He sat down and discussed the matter a little. + +Fanny paid no attention to what he was saying. Every now and then broken +phrases of her own burst from her: "How much good will her perfect +French and Italian, her German, Spanish, and even Russian, do her down +in that barbarous wilderness?"--"In her life she has never even buttoned +her boots. Do they think she can make bread?"--"And there was Gino. And +poor Pierre." Then, suddenly, "But it _shall_ not be!" + +"I have been wondering why you did not take that tone from the first," +said Bartholomew. "She is very young. She has been brought up to obey +you implicitly. It would be easy enough, I should fancy, if you could +once make up your mind to it." + +"Make up my mind to save her, you mean," said the mother, bitterly. She +did not tell him that she was afraid of her daughter. "Should you +expect _me_ to live at Punta Palmas?" she demanded, contemptuously, of +her companion. + +"That would depend upon Rod, wouldn't it?" answered Bartholomew, rather +unamiably. He was tired--he had been there an hour--of being treated +like a door-mat. + +At this Fanny broke down again, and completely. For it was only too +true; it would depend upon that stranger, that farmer, that unknown +David Rod, whether she, the mother, should or should not be with her own +child. + +A little before sunset the boat came into sight again round the western +cliffs. Fanny dried her eyes. She was very pale. Little Mademoiselle, +rigid with anxiety, watched from an upper window. Bartholomew rose to go +down to the beach to receive the returning fugitives. "No," said Fanny, +catching his arm, "don't go; no one must know before I do--no one." So +they waited in silence. + +Down below, the little boat had rapidly approached. Eva had jumped out, +and was now running up the rock stairway; she was always light-footed, +but to her mother it seemed that the ascent took an endless time. At +length there was the vision of a young, happy, rushing figure--rushing +straight to Fanny's arms. "Oh, mamma, mamma," the girl whispered, seeing +that there was no one there but Bartholomew, "he loves me! He has told +me so! he has told me so!" + +For an instant the mother drew herself away. Eva, left alone, and +mindful of nothing but her own bliss, looked so radiant with happiness +that Bartholomew (being a man) could not help sympathizing with her. +"You will have to give it up," he said to Fanny, significantly. Then he +took his hat and went away. + +Fifteen minutes later his place was filled by David Rod. + +"Ah! you have come. I must have a few words of conversation with you, +Mr. Rod," said Fanny, in an icy tone. "Eva, leave us now." + +"Oh no, mamma, not now; never again, I hope," answered the girl. She +spoke with secure confidence; her eyes were fixed upon her lover's face. + +"Do you call this honorable behavior, Mr. Rod?" Fanny began. She saw +that Eva would not go. + +"Why, I hope so," answered Rod, surprised. "I have come at once, as soon +as I possibly could, Mrs. Churchill (I had to take the boat back first, +you know), to tell you that we are engaged; it isn't an hour old yet--is +it, Eva?" He looked at Eva smilingly, his eyes as happy as her own. + +"It is the custom to ask permission," said Fanny, stiffly. + +"I have never heard of the custom, then; that is all I can say," +answered Rod, with good-natured tranquillity, still looking at the +girl's face, with its rapt expression, its enchanting joy. + +"Please to pay attention; I decline to consent, Mr. Rod; you cannot have +my daughter." + +"Mamma--" said Eva, coming up to her. + +"No, Eva; if you will remain here--which is most improper--you will have +to hear it all. You are so much my daughter's inferior, Mr. Rod, that I +cannot, and I shall not, consent." + +At the word "inferior," a slight shock passed over Eva from head to +foot. She went swiftly to her lover, knelt down and pressed her lips to +his brown hand, hiding her face upon it. + +He raised her tenderly in his arms, and thus embraced, they stood there +together, confronting the mother--confronting the world. + +Fanny put out her hands with a bitter cry. "Eva!" + +The girl ran to her, clung to her. "Oh, mamma, I love you dearly. But +you must not try to separate me from David. I could not leave him--I +never will." + +"Let us go in, to our own room," said the mother, in a broken voice. + +"Yes; but speak to David first, mamma." + +Rod came forward and offered his arm. He was sorry for the mother's +grief, which, however, in such intensity as this, he could not at all +understand. But though he was sorry, he was resolute, he was even stern; +in his dark beauty, his height and strength, he looked indeed, as +Bartholomew had said, a man. + +At the sight of his offered arm Mrs. Churchill recoiled; she glanced all +round the terrace as though to get away from it; she even glanced at the +water; it almost seemed as if she would have liked to take her child and +plunge with her to the depths below. But one miserable look at Eva's +happy, trustful eyes still watching her lover's face cowed her; she took +the offered arm. And then Rod went with her, supporting her gently into +the house, and through it to her own room, where he left her with her +daughter. That night the mother rose from her sleepless couch, lit a +shaded taper, and leaving it on a distant table, stole softly to Eva's +side. The girl was in a deep slumber, her head pillowed on her arm. +Fanny, swallowing her tears, gazed at her sleeping child. She still +saw in the face the baby outlines of years before, her mother's eye +could still distinguish in the motionless hand the dimpled fingers of +the child. The fair hair, lying on the pillow, recalled to her the short +flossy curls of the little girl who had clung to her skirts, who had had +but one thought--"mamma." + +[Illustration: "FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"] + +"What will her life be now? What must she go through, perhaps--what +pain, privation--my darling, my own little child!" + +The wedding was to take place within the month; Rod said that he could +not be absent longer from his farm. Fanny, breaking her silence, +suggested to Bartholomew that the farm might be given up; there were +other occupations. + +"I advise you not to say a word of that sort to Rod," Bartholomew +answered. "His whole heart is in that farm, that colony he has built up +down there. You must remember that he was brought up there himself, or +rather came up. It's all he knows, and he thinks it the most important +thing in life; I was going to say it's all he cares for, but of course +now he has added Eva." + +Pierre came once. He saw only the mother. + +When he left her he went round by way of the main street of Sorrento in +order to pass a certain small inn. His carriage was waiting to take him +back to Castellamare, but there was some one he wished to look at first. +It was after dark; he could see into the lighted house through the low +uncurtained windows, and he soon came upon the tall outline of the young +farmer seated at a table, his eyes bent upon a column of figures. The +Belgian surveyed him from head to foot slowly. He stood there gazing +for five minutes. Then he turned away. "_That_, for Americans!" he +murmured in French, snapping his fingers in the darkness. But there was +a mist in his boyish eyes all the same. + +The pink villa witnessed the wedding. Fanny never knew how she got +through that day. She was calm; she did not once lose her self-control. + +They were to sail directly for New York from Naples, and thence to +Florida; the Italian colonists were to go at the same time. + +"Mamma comes next year," Eva said to everybody. She looked indescribably +beautiful; it was the radiance of a complete happiness, like a halo. + +By three o'clock they were gone, they were crossing the bay in the +little Naples steamer. No one was left at the villa with Fanny--it was +her own arrangement--save Horace Bartholomew. + +"She won't mind being poor," he said, consolingly, "she won't mind +anything--with _him_. It is one of those sudden, overwhelming loves that +one sometimes sees; and after all, Fanny, it is the sweetest thing life +offers." + +"And the mother?" said Fanny. + + + + +THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH + + +I + +It was a street in Rome--narrow, winding, not over-clean. Two vehicles +meeting there could pass only by grazing the doors and windows on either +side, after the usual excited whip-cracking and shouts which make the +new-comer imagine, for his first day or two, that he is proceeding at a +perilous speed through the sacred city of the soul. + +But two vehicles did not often meet in the street of the Hyacinth. It +was not a thoroughfare, not even a convenient connecting link; it +skirted the back of the Pantheon, the old buildings on either side +rising so high against the blue that the sun never came down lower than +the fifth line of windows, and looking up from the pavement was like +looking up from the bottom of a well. There was no foot-walk, of course; +even if there had been one no one would have used it, owing to the easy +custom of throwing from the windows a few ashes and other light trifles +for the city refuse-carts, instead of carrying them down the long stairs +to the door below. They must be in the street at an appointed hour, must +they not? Very well, then--there they were; no one but an unreasonable +foreigner would dream of objecting. + +But unreasonable foreigners seldom entered the street of the Hyacinth. +There were, however, two who lived there one winter not long ago, and +upon a certain morning in the January of that winter a third came to see +these two. At least he asked for them, and gave two cards to the Italian +maid who answered his ring; but when, before he had time to even seat +himself, the little curtain over the parlor door was raised again, and +Miss Macks entered, she came alone. Her mother did not appear. The +visitor was not disturbed by being obliged to begin conversation +immediately; he was an old Roman sojourner, and had stopped fully three +minutes at the end of the fourth flight of stairs to re-gain his breath +before he mounted the fifth and last to ring Miss Macks's bell. Her card +was tacked upon the door: "Miss Ettie F. Macks." He surveyed it with +disfavor, while the little, loose-hung bell rang a small but exceedingly +shrill and ill-tempered peal, like the barking of a small cur. "Why in +the world doesn't she put her mother's card here instead of her own?" he +said to himself. "Or, if her own, why not simply 'Miss Macks,' without +that nickname?" + +But Miss Macks's mother had never possessed a visiting-card in her life. +Miss Macks was the visiting member of the family; and this was so well +understood at home, that she had forgotten that it might not be the same +abroad. As to the "Ettie," having been called so always, it had not +occurred to her to make a change. Her name was Ethelinda Faith, Mrs. +Macks having thus combined euphony and filial respect--the first title +being her tribute to aesthetics, the second her tribute to the memory of +her mother. + +"I am so very glad to see you, Mr. Noel," said Miss Macks, greeting her +visitor with much cordial directness of voice and eyes. "I have been +expecting you. But you have waited so long--three days!" + +Raymond Noel, who thought that under the circumstances he had been +unusually courteous and prompt, was rather surprised to find himself +thus put at once upon the defensive. + +"We are not always able to carry out our wishes immediately, Miss +Macks," he replied, smiling a little. "I was hampered by several +previously made engagements." + +"Yes; but this was a little different, wasn't it? This was something +important--not like an invitation to lunch or dinner, or the usual idle +society talk." + +He looked at her; she was quite in earnest. + +"I suppose it to be different," he answered. "You must remember how +little you have told me." + +"I thought I told you a good deal! However, the atmosphere of a +reception is no place for such subjects, and I can understand that you +did not take it in. That is the reason I asked you to come and see me +here. Shall I begin at once? It seems rather abrupt." + +"I enjoy abruptness; I have not heard any for a long time." + +"That I can understand, too; I suppose the society here is all finished +off--there are no rough ends." + +"There are ends. If not rough, they are often sharp." + +But Miss Macks did not stop to analyze this; she was too much occupied +with her own subject. + +"I will begin immediately, then," she said. "It will be rather long; but +if you are to understand me you ought, of course, to know the whole." + +"My chair is very comfortable," replied Noel, placing his hat and gloves +on the sofa near him, and taking an easy position with his head back. + +Miss Macks thought that he ought to have said, "The longer it is, the +more interesting," or something of that sort. She had already described +him to her mother as "not over-polite. Not rude in the least, you +know--as far as possible from that; wonderfully smooth-spoken; but yet, +somehow--awfully indifferent." However, he was Raymond Noel; and that, +not his politeness or impoliteness, was her point. + +"To begin with, then, Mr. Noel, a year ago I had never read one word you +have written; I had never even heard of you. I suppose you think it +strange that I should tell you this so frankly; but, in the first place, +it will give you a better idea of my point of view; and, in the second, +I feel a friendly interest in your taking measures to introduce your +writings into the community where I lived. It is a very intelligent +community. Naturally, a writer wants his articles read. What else does +he write them for?" + +"Perhaps a little for his own entertainment," suggested her listener. + +"Oh no! He would never take so much trouble just for that." + +"On the contrary, many would take any amount just for that. Successfully +to entertain one's self--that is one of the great successes of life." + +Miss Macks gazed at him; she had a very direct gaze. + +"This is just mere talk," she said, not impatiently, but in a +business-like tone. "We shall never get anywhere if you take me up so. +It is not that your remarks are not very cultivated and interesting, +and all that, but simply that I have so much to tell you." + +"Perhaps I can be cultivated and interesting dumbly. I will try." + +"You are afraid I am going to be diffuse; I see that. So many women are +diffuse! But I shall not be, because I have been thinking for six months +just what I should say to you. It was very lucky that I went with Mrs. +Lawrence to that reception where I met you. But if it had not happened +as it did I should have found you out all the same. I should have looked +for your address at all the bankers', and if it was not there I should +have inquired at all the hotels. But it was delightful luck getting hold +of you in this way almost the very minute I enter Rome!" + +She spoke so simply and earnestly that Noel did not say that he was +immensely honored, and so forth, but merely bowed his acknowledgments. + +"To go back. I shall give you simply heads," pursued Miss Macks. "If you +want details, ask, and I will fill them in. I come from the West. +Tuscolee Falls is the name of our town. We had a farm there, but we did +not do well with it after Mr. Spurr's death, so we rented it out. That +is how I come to have so much leisure. I have always had a great deal of +ambition; by that I mean that I did not see why things that had once +been done could not be done again. It seemed to me that the point +was--just determination. And then, of course, I always had the talent. I +made pictures when I was a very little girl. Mother has them still, and +I can show them to you. It is just like all the biographies, you know. +They always begin in childhood, and astonish the family. Well, I had my +first lessons from a drawing-teacher who spent a summer in Tuscolee. I +can show you what I did while with him. Then I attended, for four years, +the Young Ladies' Seminary in the county-town, and took lessons while +there. I may as well be perfectly frank and tell the whole, which is +that everybody was astonished at my progress, and that I was myself. All +sorts of things are prophesied out there about my future. You see, the +neighborhood is a very generous-spirited one, and they like to think +they have discovered a genius at their own doors. My telling you all +this sounds, I know, rather conceited, Mr. Noel. But if you could see my +motive, and how entirely without conceit my idea of myself really is, +you would hold me free from that charge. It is only that I want you to +know absolutely the whole." + +"I quite understand," answered her visitor. + +"Well, I hope you do. I went on at home after that by myself, and I did +a good deal. I work pretty rapidly, you see. Then came my last lessons, +from a third teacher. He was a young man from New York. He had +consumption, poor fellow! and cannot last long. He wasn't of much use to +me in actual work. His ideas were completely different from those of my +other teachers, and, indeed, from my own. He was unreliable, too, and +his temper was uneven. However, I had a good deal of respect for his +opinion, and _he_ told me to get your art-articles and read them. It +wasn't easy. Some of them are scattered about in the magazines and +papers, you know. However, I am pretty determined, and I kept at it +until I got them all. Well, they made a great impression upon me. You +see, they were new." She paused. "But I doubt, Mr. Noel, whether we +should ever entirely agree," she added, looking at him reflectively. + +"That is very probable, Miss Macks." + +Miss Macks thought this an odd reply. "He is so queer, with all his +smoothness!" she said to her mother afterwards. "He never says what you +think he will say. Now, any one would suppose that he would have +answered that he would try to make me agree, or something like that. +Instead, he just gave it right up without trying! But I expect he sees +how independent I am, and that I don't intend to _reflect any_ one." + +"Well, they made a great impression," she resumed. "And as you seemed to +think, Mr. Noel, that no one could do well in painting who had not seen +and studied the old pictures over here, I made up my mind to come over +at any cost, if it was a possible thing to bring it about. It wasn't +easy, but--here we are. In the lives of all--almost all--artists, I have +noticed--haven't you?--that there comes a time when they have to live on +hope and their own pluck more than upon anything tangible that the +present has to offer. They have to take that risk. Well, I have taken +it; I took it when we left America. And now I will tell you what it is I +want from _you_. I haven't any hesitation in asking, because I am sure +you will feel interested in a case like mine, and because it was your +writings really that brought me here, you know. And so, then, first: I +would like your opinion of all that I have done so far. I have brought +everything with me to show you. Second: I want your advice as to the +best teacher; I suppose there is a great choice in Rome. Third: I should +be glad if you would give a general oversight to all I do for the next +year. And last, if you would be so kind, I should much enjoy making +visits with you to all the galleries and hearing your opinions again by +word of mouth, because that is always so much more vivid, you know, than +the printed page." + +"My dear Miss Macks! you altogether over-estimate my powers," said Noel, +astounded by these far-reaching demands, so calmly and confidently made. + +"Yes, I know. Of course it strikes you so--strikes you as a great +compliment that I should wish to put myself so entirely in your hands," +answered Miss Macks, smiling. "But you must give up thinking of me as +the usual young lady; you must not think of me in that way any more than +I shall think of you as the usual young gentleman. You will never meet +me at a reception again; now that I have found _you_, I shall devote +myself entirely to my work." + +"An alarming girl!" said Noel to himself. But, even as he said it, he +knew that, in the ordinary acceptation of the term at least, Miss Macks +was not alarming. + +She was twenty-two; in some respects she looked older, in others much +younger, than most girls of that age. She was tall, slender, erect, but +not especially graceful. Her hands were small and finely shaped, but +thin. Her features were well cut; her face oval. Her gray eyes had a +clear directness in their glance, which, combined with the other +expressions of her face, told the experienced observer at once that she +knew little of what is called "the world." For, although calm, it was a +deeply confident glance; it showed that the girl was sure that she could +take care of herself, and even several others also, through any +contingencies that might arise. She had little color; but her smooth +complexion was not pale--it was slightly brown. Her mouth was small, her +teeth small and very white. Her light-brown hair was drawn back smoothly +from her forehead, and drawn up smoothly behind, its thickness braided +in a close knot on the top of her head. This compact coiffure, at a time +when most feminine foreheads in Rome and elsewhere were shaded almost to +the eyebrows by curling locks, and when the arched outline of the head +was left unbroken, the hair being coiled in a low knot behind, made Miss +Macks look somewhat peculiar. But she was not observant of fashion's +changes. That had been the mode in Tuscolee; she had grown accustomed to +it; and, as her mind was full of other things, she had not considered +this one. One or two persons, who noticed her on the voyage over, said +to themselves, "If that girl had more color, and if she was graceful, +and if she was a little more womanly--that is, if she would not look at +everything in such a direct, calm, impartial, impersonal sort of +way--she would be almost pretty." + +But Miss Macks continued without color and without grace, and went on +looking at things as impersonally and impartially as ever. + +"I shall be most happy, of course, to do anything that I can," Noel had +answered. Then to make a diversion, "Shall I not have the pleasure of +seeing Mrs. Macks?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Macks? Oh, you mean mother. My mother's name is Spurr--Mrs. Spurr. +My father died when I was a baby, and some years afterwards she married +Mr. Spurr. She is now again a widow. Her health is not good, and she +sees almost no one, thank you." + +"I suppose you are much pleased with the picturesqueness of Roman life, +and--ah--your apartment?" he went on. + +"Pleased?" said Miss Macks, looking at him in wonder. "With our +apartment? We get along with it because we must; there seems to be no +other way to live in Rome. The idea of having only a story of a house, +and not a whole house to ourselves, is dreadful to mother; she cannot +get used to it. And with so many families below us--we have a +clock-mender, a dress-maker, an engraver, a print-seller, and a +cobbler--and only one pair of stairs, it does seem to me dreadfully +public." + +"You must look upon the stairway as a street," said Noel. "You have +established yourselves in a very short time." + +"Oh yes. I got an agent, and looked at thirty places the very first day. +I speak Italian a little, so I can manage the house-keeping; I began to +study it as soon as we thought of coming, and I studied hard. But all +this is of secondary importance; the real thing is to get to work. Will +you look at my paintings now?" she said, rising as if to go for them. + +"Thanks; I fear I have hardly time to-day," said Noel. He was thinking +whether it would be better to decline clearly and in so many words the +office she had thrust upon him, or trust to time to effect the same +without an open refusal. He decided upon the latter course; it seemed +the easier, and also the kinder to her. + +"Well, another day, then," said Miss Macks, cheerfully, taking her seat +again. "But about a teacher?" + +"I hardly know--" + +"Oh, Mr. Noel! you _must_ know." + +And, in truth, he did know. It came into his mind to give her the name +of a good teacher, and then put all further responsibilities upon him. + +Miss Macks wrote down the name in a clear, ornamental handwriting. + +"I am glad it isn't a foreigner," she said. "I don't believe I should +get on with a foreigner." + +"But it is a foreigner." + +"Why, it's an English name, isn't it?--Jackson." + +"Yes, he is an Englishman. But isn't an Englishman a foreigner in Rome?" + +"Oh, you take that view? Now, to me, America and--well, yes, perhaps +England, too, are the nations. Everything else is foreign." + +"The English would be very much obliged to you," said Noel, laughing. + +"Yes, I know I am more liberal than most Americans; I really like the +English," said Miss Macks, calmly. "But we keep getting off the track. +Let me see--Oh yes. As I shall go to see this Mr. Jackson this +afternoon, and as it is not likely that he will be ready to begin +to-morrow, will you come then and look at my pictures? Or would you +rather commence with a visit to one of the galleries?" + +Raymond Noel was beginning to be amused. If she had shown the faintest +indication of knowing how much she was asking, if she had betrayed the +smallest sign of a desire to secure his attention as Raymond Noel +personally, and not simply the art authority upon whom she had pinned +her faith, his disrelish for various other things about her would have +been heightened into utter dislike, and it is probable that he would +never have entered the street of the Hyacinth again. But she was so +unaware of any intrusion, or any exorbitance in her demands, probably so +ignorant of--certainly so indifferent to--the degree of perfection +(perfection of the most quiet kind, however) visible in the general +appearance and manner of the gentleman before her, that (he said to +himself) he might as well have been one of her own Tuscolee farmers, for +all she knew to the contrary. The whole affair was unusual; and Noel +rather liked the unusual, if it was not loud--and Miss Macks was, at +least, not loud; she was dressed plainly in black, and she had the gift +of a sweet voice, which, although very clear, was low-toned. Noel was an +observer of voices, and he had noticed hers the first time he heard her +speak. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he was +answering that he feared his engagements for the next day would, +unfortunately, keep him from putting himself at her service. + +Her face fell; she looked much disappointed. + +"Is it going to be like this all the time?" she asked, anxiously. "Are +you always engaged?" + +"In Rome, in the winter, one generally has small leisure. It will be the +same with you, Miss Macks, when you have been here a while longer; you +will see. As to the galleries, Mr. Jackson has a class, I think, and +probably the pupils will visit them all under his charge; you will find +that very satisfactory." + +"But I don't want Mr. Jackson for the galleries; I want _you_," said +Miss Macks. "I have studied your art criticisms until I know them by +heart, and I have a thousand questions to ask about every picture you +have mentioned. Why, Mr. Noel, I came to Europe to see you!" + +Raymond Noel was rather at a loss what to answer to this statement, made +by a girl who looked at him so soberly and earnestly with clear gray +eyes. It would be of no avail again to assure her that his opinions +would be of small use to her; as she had said herself, she was very +determined, and she had made up her mind that they would be of great use +instead of small. Her idea must wear itself out by degrees. He would try +to make the degrees easy. He decided that he would have a little private +talk with Jackson, who was a very honest fellow; and, for the present, +he would simply take leave. + +"You are very kind," he said, rising. "I appreciate it, I assure you. It +has made me stay an unconscionable time. I hope you will find Rome all +you expected, and I am sure you will; all people of imagination like +Rome. As to the galleries, yes, certainly; a--ah--little later. You must +not forget the various small precautions necessary here as regards the +fever, you know." + +"Rome will not be at all what I expected if _you_ desert me," answered +Miss Macks, paying no attention to his other phrases. She had risen, +also, and was now confronting him at a distance of less than two feet; +as she was tall, her eyes were not much below the level of his own. + +"How can a man desert when he has never enlisted?" thought Noel, +humorously. But he kept his thought to himself, and merely replied, as +he took his hat: "Probably you will desert me; you will find out how +useless I am. You must not be too hard upon us, Miss Macks; we Americans +lose much of our native energy if we stay long over here." + +"Hard?" she answered--"hard? Why, Mr. Noel, I am absolutely at your +feet!" + +He looked at her, slightly startled, although his face showed nothing of +it; was she, after all, going to--But no; her sentence had been as +impersonal as those which had preceded it. + +"All I said about having contrary opinions, and all that, amounts to +nothing," she went on, thereby relieving him from the necessity of +making reply. "I desire but one thing, and that is to have you guide me. +And I don't believe you are really going to refuse. You haven't an +unkind face, although you _have_ got such a cold way! Why, think of it: +here I have come all this long distance, bringing mother, too, just to +study, and to see you. I shall study hard; I have a good deal of +perseverance. It took a good deal to get here in the first place, for we +are poor. But I don't mind that at all; the only thing I should mind, +the only thing that would take my courage away, would be to have you +desert me. In all the troubles that I thought might happen, I assure +you, I never once thought of _that_, Mr. Noel. I thought, of course, you +would be interested. Why, in your books you are all interest. Are you +different from your books?" + +"I fear, Miss Macks, that writers are seldom good illustrations of their +own doctrines," replied Noel. + +"That would make them hypocrites. I don't believe you are a hypocrite. I +expect you have a habit of running yourself down. Many gentlemen do +that, and then they think they will be cried up. I don't believe you are +going to be unkind; you _will_ look at the pictures I have brought with +me, won't you?" + +"Mr. Jackson's opinion is worth a hundred of mine, Miss Macks; my +knowledge is not technical. But, of course, if you wish it, I shall take +pleasure in obeying." He added several conventional remarks as +filling-up, and then, leaving his compliments for "your mother"--he +could not recall the name she had given--he went towards the little +curtained door. + +She had brightened over his promise. + +"You will come Monday, then, to see them, won't you?--as you cannot come +to-morrow," she said, smiling happily. + +When she smiled (and she did not smile often), showing her little white, +child-like teeth, she looked very young. He was fairly caught, and +answered, "Yes." But he immediately qualified it with a "That is, if it +is possible." + +"Oh, _make_ it possible," she answered, still smiling and going with him +herself to the outer door instead of summoning the maid. The last he saw +of her she was standing in the open doorway, her face bright and +contented, watching him as he went down. He did not go to see her +pictures on the following Monday; he sent a note of excuse. + +Some days later he met her. + +"Ah, you are taking one of the delightful walks?" he said. "I envy you +your first impressions of Rome." + +"I am not taking a walk--that is, for pleasure," she answered. "I am +trying to find some vegetables that mother can eat; the vegetables here +are so foreign! You don't know how disappointed I was, Mr. Noel, when I +got your note. It was such a setback! Why couldn't you come right home +with me now--that is, after I have got the vegetables--and see the +pictures? It wouldn't take you fifteen minutes." + +It was only nine o'clock, and a beautiful morning. He thought her such a +novelty, with her urgent invitations, her earnest eyes, and her basket +on her arm, that he felt the impulse to walk beside her a while through +the old streets of Rome; he was very fond of the old streets, and was +curious to see whether she would notice the colors and outlines that +made their picturesqueness. She noticed nothing but the +vegetable-stalls, and talked of nothing but her pictures. + +He still went on with her, however, amused by the questions she put to +the vegetable-dealers (questions compiled from the phrase-books), and +the calm contempt with which she surveyed the Roman artichokes they +offered. At last she secured some beans, but of sadly Italian aspect, +and Noel took the basket. He was much entertained by the prospect of +carrying it home. He remarked to himself that of all the various things +he had done in Rome this was the freshest. They reached the street of +the Hyacinth and walked down its dark centre. + +"I see you have the sun," he said, looking up. + +"Yes; that is the reason we took the top floor. We will go right up. +Everything is ready." + +He excused himself. + +"Some other time." + +They had entered the dusky hallway. She looked at him without replying; +then held out her hand for the basket. He gave it to her. + +"I suppose you have seen Mr. Jackson?" he said, before taking leave. + +She nodded, but did not speak. Then he saw two tears rise in her eyes. + +"My dear young lady, you have been doing too much! You are tired. Don't +you know that that is very dangerous in Rome?" + +"It is nothing. Mother has been sick, and I have been up with her two +nights. Then, as she did not like our servant, I dismissed her, and as +we have not got any one else yet, I have had a good deal to do. But I +don't mind that at all, beyond being a little tired; it was only your +refusing to come up, when it seemed so easy. But never mind; you will +come another day." And, repressing the tears, she smiled faintly, and +held out her hand for good-bye. + +"I will come now," said Noel. He took the basket again, and went up the +stairs. He was touched by the two tears, but, at the same time, vexed +with himself for being there at all. There was not one chance in five +hundred that her work was worth anything; and, in the four hundred and +ninety-nine, pray what was he to say? + +She brought him everything. They were all in the four hundred and +ninety-nine. In his opinion they were all extremely and essentially bad. + +It was one of Raymond Noel's beliefs that, where women were concerned, a +certain amount of falsity was sometimes indispensable. There were +occasions when a man could no more tell the bare truth to a woman than +he could strike her; the effect would be the same as a blow. He was an +excellent evader when he chose to exert himself, and he finally got away +from the little high-up apartment without disheartening or offending its +young mistress, and without any very black record of direct +untruth--what is more, without any positive promise as to the exact date +of his next visit. But all this was a good deal of trouble to take for +a girl he did not know or care for. + +Soon afterwards he met, at a small party, Mrs. Lawrence. + +"Tell me a little, please, about the young lady to whom you presented me +at Mrs. Dudley's reception--Miss Macks," he said, after some +conversation. + +"A little is all I can tell," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She brought a +letter of introduction to me from a far-away cousin of mine, who lives +out West somewhere, and whom I have not seen for twenty years; my home, +you know, is in New Jersey. How they learned I was in Rome I cannot +imagine; but, knowing it, I suppose they thought that Miss Macks and I +would meet, as necessarily as we should if together in their own +village. The letter assures me that the girl is a great genius; that all +she needs is an opportunity. They even take the ground that it will be a +privilege for me to know her! But I am mortally tired of young geniuses; +we have so many here in Rome! So I told her at once that I knew nothing +of modern art--in fact, detested it--but that in any other way I should +be delighted to be of use. And I took her to Mrs. Dudley's _omnium +gatherum_." + +"Then you have not been to see her?" + +"No; she came to see me. I sent cards, of course; I seldom call. What +did you think of her?" + +"I thought her charming," replied Noel, remembering the night-vigils, +the vegetables, the dismissed servant, and the two tears of the young +stranger--remembering, also, her extremely bad pictures. + +"I am glad she has found a friend in you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "She +was very anxious to meet you; she looks upon you as a great authority. +If she really has talent--of course _you_ would know--you must tell me. +It is not talent I am so tired of, but the pretence of it. She struck +me, although wofully unformed and awkward, of course, as rather +intelligent." + +"She is intelligence personified," replied Noel, qualifying it mentally +with "intelligence without cultivation." He perceived that the young +stranger would have no help from Mrs. Lawrence, and he added to himself: +"And totally inexperienced purity alone in Rome." To be sure, there was +the mother; but he had a presentiment that this lady, as guardian, would +not be of much avail. + +The next day he went down to Naples for a week with some friends. Upon +his return he stopped at Horace Jackson's studio one afternoon as he +happened to be passing. His time was really much occupied; he was a +favorite in Rome. To his surprise, Jackson seemed to think that Miss +Macks had talent. Her work was very crude, of course; she had been +brutally taught; teachers of that sort should simply be put out of +existence with the bowstring. He had turned her back to the alphabet; +and, in time, in time, they--would see what she could do. + +Horace Jackson was English by birth, but he had lived in Italy almost +all his life. He was a man of forty-five--short, muscular, his thick, +rather shaggy, beard and hair mixed with gray; there was a permanent +frown over his keen eyes, and his rugged face had marked lines. He was a +man of strong individuality. He had the reputation of being the most +incorruptibly honest teacher in Rome. Noel had known him a long time, +and liked him, ill-tempered though he was. Jackson, however, had not +shown any especial signs of a liking for Noel in return. Perhaps he +thought that, in the nature of things, there could not be much in common +between a middle-aged, morose teacher, who worked hard, who knew nothing +of society, and did not want to know, and a man like Raymond Noel. True, +Noel was also an artist--that is, a literary one. But he had been highly +successful in his own field, and it was understood, also, that he had an +income of his own by inheritance, which, if not opulence, was yet +sufficiently large to lift him quite above the usual _res angusta_ of +his brethren in the craft. In addition, Jackson considered Noel a +fashionable man; and that would have been a barrier, even if there had +been no other. + +As the Englishman seemed to have some belief in Miss Macks, Noel did not +say all he had intended to say; he did, however, mention that the young +lady had a mistaken idea regarding any use he could be to her; he should +be glad if she could be undeceived. + +"I think she will be," said Jackson, with a grim smile, giving his guest +a glance of general survey that took him in from head to foot; "she +isn't dull." + +Noel understood the glance, and smiled at Jackson's idea of him. + +"She is not dull, certainly," he answered. "But she is +rather--inexperienced." He dismissed the subject, went home, dressed, +and went out to dinner. + +One morning, a week later, he was strolling through the Doria gallery. +He was in a bad humor. There were many people in the gallery that day, +but he was not noticing them; he detested a crowd. After a while some +one touched his coat-sleeve from behind. He turned, with his calmest +expression upon his face; when he was in an ill-humor he was +impassively calm. It was Miss Macks, her eyes eager, her face flushed +with pleasure. + +"Oh, what good luck!" she said. "And to think that I almost went to the +Borghese, and might have missed you! I am so delighted that I don't know +what to do. I am actually trembling." And she was. "I have so longed to +see these pictures with you," she went on. "I have had a real aching +disappointment about it, Mr. Noel." + +Again Noel felt himself slightly touched by her earnestness. She looked +prettier than usual, too, on account of the color. + +"I always feel a self-reproach when with you, Miss Macks," he +answered--"you so entirely over-estimate me." + +"Well, if I do, live up to it," she said, brightly. + +"Only an archangel could do that." + +"An archangel who knows about Art! I have been looking at the Caraccis; +what do you think of them?" + +"Never mind the Caraccis; there are better things to look at here." And +then he made the circuit of the gallery with her slowly, pointing out +the best pictures. During this circuit he talked to her as he would have +talked to an intelligent child who had been put in his charge in order +to learn something of the paintings; he used the simplest terms, +mentioned the marked characteristics, and those only of the different +schools, and spoke a few words of unshaded condemnation here and there. +All he said was in broad, plain outlines. His companion listened +earnestly. She gave him a close attention, almost always a +comprehension, but seldom agreement. Her disagreement she did not +express in words, but he could read it in her eyes. When they had seen +everything--and it took some time-- + +"Now," he said, "I want you to tell me frankly, and without reference to +anything I have said, your real opinion of several pictures I shall +name--that is, if you can remember?" + +"I remember everything. I always remember." + +"Very well. What do you think, then, of the Raphael double portrait?" + +"I think it very ugly." + +"And the portrait of Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del Piombo?" + +"Uglier still." + +"And the Velasquez?" + +"Ugliest of all." + +"And the two large Claude Lorraines?" + +"Rather pretty; but insipid. There isn't any reality or meaning in +them." + +"The Memling?" + +"Oh, _that_ is absolutely hideous, Mr. Noel; it hasn't a redeeming +point." + +Raymond Noel laughed with real amusement, and almost forgot his +ill-humor. + +"When you have found anything you really admire in the galleries here, +Miss Macks, will you tell me?" + +"Of course I will. I should wish to do so in any case, because, if you +are to help me, you ought to thoroughly understand me. There is one +thing more I should like to ask," she added, as they turned towards the +door, "and that is that you would not call me Miss Macks. I am not used +to it, and it sounds strangely; no one ever called me that in Tuscolee." + +"What did they call you in Tuscolee?" + +"They called me Miss Ettie; my name is Ethelinda Faith. But my friends +and older people called me just 'Ettie'; I wish you would, too." + +"I am certainly older," replied Noel, gravely (he was thirty-three); +"but I do not like Ettie. With your permission, I will call you Faith." + +"Do you like it? It's so old-fashioned! It was my grandmother's name." + +"I like it immensely," he answered, leading the way down-stairs. + +"You can't think how I've enjoyed it," she said, warmly, at the door. + +"Yet you do not agree with my opinions?" + +"Not yet. But all the same it was perfectly delightful. Good-bye." + +He had signalled for a carriage, as he had, as usual, an engagement. She +preferred to walk. He drove off, and did not see her for ten days. + +Then he came upon her again and again in the Doria gallery. He was fond +of the Doria, and often went there, but he had no expectation of meeting +Miss Macks this time; he fancied that she followed a system, going +through her list of galleries in regular order, one by one, and in that +case she would hardly have reached the Doria on a second round. Her list +was a liberal one; it included twenty. Noel had supposed that there were +but nine in Rome. + +This time she did not see him; she had some sheets of manuscript in her +hand, and was alternately reading from them and looking at one of the +pictures. She was much absorbed. After a while he went up. + +"Good-morning, Miss Macks." + +She started; her face changed, and the color rose. She was as delighted +as before. She immediately showed him her manuscript. There he beheld, +written out in her clear handwriting, all he had said of the Doria +pictures, page after page of it; she had actually reproduced from memory +his entire discourse of an hour. + +There were two blank spaces left. + +"There, I could not exactly remember," said Miss Macks, apologetically. +"If you would tell me, I should be so glad; then it would be quite +complete." + +"I shall never speak again. I am frightened," said Noel. He had taken +the manuscript, and was looking it over with inward wonder. + +"Oh, please do." + +"Why do you care for my opinions, Miss Macks, when you do not agree with +them?" he asked, his eyes still on the pages. + +"You said you would call me Faith. Why do I care? Because they are +yours, of course." + +"Then you think I know?" + +"I am sure you do." + +"But it follows, then, that you do not." + +"Yes; and there is where my work comes in; I have got to study up to +you. I am afraid it will take a long time, won't it?" + +"That depends upon you. It would take very little if you would simply +accept noncombatively." + +"Without being convinced? That I could never do." + +"You want to be convinced against your will?" + +"No; my will itself must be convinced to its lowest depths." + +"This manuscript won't help you." + +"Indeed, it has helped me greatly already. I have been here twice with +it. I wrote it out the evening after I saw you. I only wish I had one +for each of the galleries! But I feel differently now about asking you +to go." + +"I told you you would desert me." + +"No, it is not that. But Mr. Jackson says you are much taken up with the +fashionable society here, and that I must not expect you to give me so +much of your time as I had hoped for. He says, too, that your art +articles will do me quite as much good as you yourself, and more; +because you have a way, he says, like all society men, of talking as if +you had no real convictions at all, and that would unsettle me." + +"Jackson is an excellent fellow," replied Noel; "I like him extremely. +And when would you like to go to the Borghese?" + +"Oh, will you take me?" she said, joyfully. "Any time. To-morrow." + +"Perhaps Mrs.--your mother, will go, also," he suggested, still unable +to recall the name; he could think of nothing but "stirrup," and of +course it was not that. + +"I don't believe she would care about it," answered the daughter. + +"She might. You know we make more of mothers here than we do in +America," he ventured to remark. + +"That is impossible," said Miss Macks, calmly. Evidently she thought his +remark frivolous. + +He abandoned the subject, and did not take it up again. It was not his +duty to instruct Miss Macks in foreign customs. In addition, she was not +only not "in society," but she was an art student, and art students had, +or took, privileges of their own in Rome. + +"At what hour shall I come for you?" he said. + +"It will be out of your way to come for me; I will meet you at the +gallery," she answered, radiant at the prospect. + +He hesitated, then accepted her arrangement of things. He would take her +way, not his own. The next morning he went to the Borghese Palace ten +minutes before the appointed time. But she was already there. + +"Mother thought she would not come out--the galleries tire her so," she +said; "but she was pleased to be remembered." + +They spent an hour and a half among the pictures. She listened to all he +said with the same earnest attention. + +Within the next five weeks Raymond Noel met Miss Macks at other +galleries. It was always very business-like--they talked of nothing but +the pictures; in truth, her systematic industry kept him strictly down +to the subject in hand. He learned that she made the same manuscript +copies of all he said, and, when he was not with her, she went alone, +armed with these documents, and worked hard. Her memory was remarkable; +she soon knew the names and the order of all the pictures in all the +galleries, and had made herself acquainted with an outline, at least, of +the lives of all the artists who had painted them. During this time she +was, of course, going on with her lessons; but as he had not been again +to see Jackson, or to the street of the Hyacinth, he knew nothing of her +progress. He did not want to know; she was in Jackson's hands, and +Jackson was quite competent to attend to her. + +In these five weeks he gave to Miss Macks only the odd hours of his +leisure. He made her no promises; but when he found that he should have +a morning or half-morning unoccupied, he sent a note to the street of +the Hyacinth, naming a gallery and an hour. She was always promptly +there, and so pleased, that there was a sort of fresh aroma floating +through the time he spent with her, after all--but a mild one. + +To give the proper position to the place the young art student's light +figure occupied on the canvas of Raymond Noel's winter, it should be +mentioned that he was much interested in a French lady who was spending +some months in Rome. He had known her and admired her for a long time; +but this winter he was seeing more of her, some barriers which had +heretofore stood in the way being down. Madame B---- was a charming +product of the effects of finished cultivation and fashionable life upon +a natural foundation of grace, wit, and beauty of the French kind. She +was not artificial, because she was art itself. Real art is as real as +real nature is natural. Raymond Noel had a highly artistic nature. He +admired art. This did not prevent him from taking up occasionally, as a +contrast to this lady, the society of the young girl he called "Faith." +Most men of imagination, artistic or not, do the same thing once in a +while; it seems a necessity. With Noel it was not the contrast alone. +The French lady led him an uneasy life, and now and then he took an hour +of Faith, as a gentle soothing draught of safe quality. She believed in +him so perfectly! Now Madame appeared to believe in him not at all. + +It must be added that, in his conversations with Miss Macks, he had +dropped entirely even the very small amount of conventional gallantry +that he had bestowed upon her in the beginning. He talked to her not as +though she was a boy exactly, or an old woman, but as though he himself +was a relative of mature age--say an uncle of benevolent disposition and +a taste for art. + +February gave way to March. And now, owing to a new position of his own +affairs, Noel saw no more of Faith Macks. She had been a contrast, and +he did not now wish for a contrast or a soothing draught, and a soothing +draught was not at present required. He simply forgot all about her. + +In April he decided rather suddenly to leave Rome. This was because +Madame B---- had gone to Paris, and had not forbidden her American +suitor to follow her a few days later. He made his preparations for +departure, and these, of course, included farewell calls. Then he +remembered Faith Macks; he had not seen her for six weeks. He drove to +the street of the Hyacinth, and went up the dark stairs. Miss Macks was +at home, and came in without delay; apparently, in her trim neatness, +she was always ready for visitors. + +She was very glad to see him; but did not, as he expected, ask why he +had not come before. This he thought a great advance; evidently she was +learning. When she heard that he had come to say good-bye her face fell. + +"I am so very sorry; please sit as long as you can, then," she said, +simply. "I suppose it will be six months before I see you again; you +will hardly return to Rome before October." That he would come at that +time she did not question. + +"My plans are uncertain," replied Noel. "But probably I shall come back. +One always comes back to Rome. And you--where do you go? To +Switzerland?" + +"Why--we go nowhere, of course; we stay here. That is what we came for, +and we are all settled." + +He made some allusion to the heat and unhealthiness. + +"I am not afraid," replied Miss Macks. "Plenty of people stay; Mr. +Jackson says so. It is only the rich who go away, and we are not rich. +We have been through hot summers in Tuscolee, I can tell you!" Then, +without asking leave this time, as if she was determined to have an +opinion from him before he departed, she took from a portfolio some of +the work she had done under Mr. Jackson's instruction. + +Noel saw at once that the Englishman had not kept his word. He had not +put her back upon the alphabet, or, if he had done so, he had soon +released her, and allowed her to pursue her own way again. The original +faults were as marked as ever. In his opinion all was essentially bad. + +He looked in silence. But she talked on hopefully, explaining, +comparing, pointing out. + +"What does Mr. Jackson think of this?" he said, selecting the one he +thought the worst. + +"He admires the idea greatly; he thinks it very original. He says that +my strongest point is originality," she answered, with her confident +frankness. + +"He means--ah--originality of subject?" + +"Oh yes; my execution is not much yet. But that will come in time. Of +course, the subject, the idea, is the important thing; the execution is +secondary." Here she paused; something seemed to come into her mind. "I +know _you_ do not think so," she added, thoughtfully, "because, you +know, you said"--and here she quoted a page from one of his art +articles with her clear accuracy. "I have never understood what you +meant by that, Mr. Noel; or why you wrote it." + +She looked at him questioningly. He did not reply; his eyes were upon +one of the sketches. + +"It would be dreadful for me if you were right!" she added, with slow +conviction. + +"I thought you believed that I was always right," he said, smiling, as +he placed the sketches on the table. + +But she remained very serious. + +"You are--in everything but that." + +He made some unimportant reply, and turned the conversation. But she +came back to it. + +"It would be dreadful," she repeated, earnestly, with the utmost gravity +in her gray eyes. + +"I hope the long summer will not tire you," he answered, irrelevantly. +"Shall I not have the pleasure of saying good-bye--although that, of +course, is not a pleasure--to Mrs.--to your mother?" + +He should have made the speech in any case, as it was the proper one to +make; but as he sat there he had thought that he really would like to +have a look at the one guardian this young girl was to have during her +long, lonely summer in Rome. + +"I will tell her. Perhaps when she hears that you are going away she +will feel like coming in," said Miss Macks. + +She came back after some delay, and with her appeared a matron of +noticeable aspect. + +"My mother," she said, introducing her (evidently Noel was never to get +the name); "this is Mr. Noel, mother." + +"And very glad I am to see you, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Spurr, +extending her hand with much cordiality. "I said to Ettie that I'd come +in, seeing as 'twas you, though I don't often see strangers nowadays on +account of poor health for a long time past; rheumatism and asthma. But +I feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul, because you've been so good to Ettie. +You've been real kind." + +Ettie's mother was a very portly matron of fifty-five, with a broad +face, indistinct features, very high color, and a breathless, panting +voice. Her high color--it really was her most noticeable feature--was +surmounted by an imposing cap, adorned with large bows of scarlet +ribbon; a worsted shawl, of the hue known as "solferino," decked her +shoulders; under her low-necked collar reposed a bright blue necktie, +its ends embroidered in red and yellow; and her gown was of a vivid dark +green. But although her colors swore at each other, she seemed amiable. +She was also voluble. + +Noel, while shaking hands, was considering, mentally, with some +retrospective amusement, his condition of mind if this lady had accepted +his invitations to visit the galleries. + +"You must sit down, mother," said Miss Macks, bringing forward an +easy-chair. "She has not been so well as usual, lately," she said, +explanatorily, to Noel, as she stood for a moment beside her mother's +chair. + +"It's this queer Eye-talian air," said Mrs. Spurr. "You see I ain't used +to it. Not but what I ain't glad to be here on Ettie's account--real +glad. It's just what she needs and oughter have." + +The girl put her hand on her mother's shoulder with a little caressing +touch. Then she left the room. + +"Yes, I do feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul. But, then, she'll be a +credit to you, to whatever you've done for her," said Mrs. Spurr, when +they were left alone. "Her talunts are very remarkable. She was the head +scholar of the Young Ladies' Seminary through four whole years, and all +the teachers took a lot of pride in her. And then her paintings, too! +I'm sorry you're going off so soon. You see, she sorter depends upon +your opinion." + +Noel felt a little stir at the edges of his conscience; he knew +perfectly that his opinion was that Miss Macks, as an artist, would +never do anything worth the materials she used. + +"I leave her in good hands," he said. + +After all, it was Jackson's responsibility, not his. + +"Yes, Mr. Jackson thinks a deal of her. I can see that plain!" answered +Mrs. Spurr, proudly. + +Here the daughter returned, bringing a little note-book and pencil. + +"Do you know what these are for?" she said. "I want you to write down a +list of the best books for me to read this summer, while you are gone. I +am going to work hard; but if I have books, too, the time won't seem so +long." + +Noel considered a moment. In one way her affairs were certainly none of +his business; in another way they were, because she had thrust them upon +him. + +"I will not give you a list, Miss Macks; probably you would not be able +to find the books here. But I will send you, from Paris or London, some +things that are rather good, if you will permit me to do so." + +She said he was very kind. Her face brightened. + +"If she has appreciation enough to comprehend what I send her," he +thought, "perhaps in the end she will have a different opinion about my +'kindness'!" + +Soon afterwards he took leave. The next day he went to Paris. + + +II + +The events of Raymond Noel's life, after he left Rome that spring, were +various. Some were pleasant, some unpleasant; several were quite +unexpected. Their combinations and results kept him from returning to +Italy the following winter, and the winter after that he spent in Egypt. +When he again beheld the dome of St. Peter's he remembered that it +lacked but a month of two full years since he had said good-bye to it; +it was then April, and now it was March. He established himself in some +pleasant rooms, looked about him, and then began to take up, one by one, +the old threads of his Roman life--such, at least, as remained unbroken. +He found a good many. Threads do not break in Rome. He had once said +himself that the air was so soft and historic that nothing broke +there--not even hearts. But this was only one of his little speeches. In +reality he did not believe much in the breaking of hearts; he had seen +them stretch so! + +It may be said with truth that Noel had not thought of Miss Macks for +months. This was because he had had other things to think of. He had +sent her the books from Paris, with an accompanying note, a charming +little note--which gave no address for reply. Since then his mind had +been otherwise occupied. But as he never entirely forgot anything that +had once interested him, even although but slightly (this was in +reality a system of his; it gave him many holds on life, and kept +stored up a large supply of resources ready for use when wanted), he +came, after a while, on the canvas of his Roman impressions, to the +figure of Miss Macks. When he came to it he went to see her; that is, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth. + +Of course, she might not be there; a hundred things might have happened +to her. He could have hunted up Horace Jackson; but, on the whole, he +rather preferred to see the girl herself first--that is, if she was +there. Mrs. Lawrence, the only person among his acquaintances who had +known her, was not in Rome. Reaching the street of the Hyacinth, he +interrogated the old woman who acted as portress at the lower door, +keeping up at the same time a small commerce in fritters; yes, the +Americans were still on the fourth floor. He ascended the dark stairway. +The confiding little "Ettie" card was no longer upon the door. In its +place was a small framed sign: "Miss Macks' School." + +This told a story! + +However, he rang. It was the same shrill, ill-tempered little bell, and +when the door opened it was Miss Macks herself who opened it. She was +much changed. + +The parlor had been turned into a school-room--at present empty of +pupils. But even as a school-room it was more attractive than it had +been before. He took a seat, and spoke the usual phrases of a renewal of +acquaintance with his accustomed ease and courtesy; Miss Macks responded +briefly. She said that her mother was not very well; she herself quite +well. No, they had not left Italy, nor indeed the neighborhood of Rome; +they had been a while at Albano. + +The expression of her face had greatly altered. The old direct, wide +glance was gone; gone also what he had called her over-confidence; she +looked much older. On the other hand, there was more grace in her +bearing, more comprehension of life in her voice and eyes. She was +dressed as plainly as before; but everything, including the arrangement +of her hair, was in the prevalent style. + +She did not speak of her school, and therefore he did not. But after a +while he asked how the painting came on. Her face changed a little; but +it was more in the direction of a greater calm than hesitation or +emotion. + +"I am not painting now," she answered. + +"You have given it up temporarily?" + +"Permanently." + +"Ah--isn't that rather a pity?" + +She looked at him, and a gleam of scorn filtered into the glance. + +"You know it is not a pity," she said. + +He was a little disgusted at the scorn. Of course, the only ground for +him to take was the ground upon which she stood when he last saw her; at +that time she proposed to pass her life in painting, and it was but good +manners for him to accept her intentions as she had presented them. + +"I never assumed to be a judge, you know," he answered. "When I last had +the pleasure of seeing you, painting was, you remember, your cherished +occupation!" + +"When you last had the pleasure of seeing me, Mr. Noel," said Miss +Macks, still with unmoved calm, "I was a fool." + +Did she wish to go into the subject at length? Or was that merely an +exclamation? + +"When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you were taking lessons of +Mr. Jackson," he said, to give a practical turn to the conversation. "Is +he still here? How is he?" + +"He is very well, now. He is dead." + +(She was going to be dramatic then, in any case.) + +He expressed his regret, and it was a sincere one; he had always liked +and respected the honest, morose Englishman. He asked a question or two. +Miss Macks replied that he had died here in the street of the +Hyacinth--in the next room. He had fallen ill during the autumn +following Noel's departure, and when his illness grew serious, they--her +mother and herself--had persuaded him to come to them. He had lived a +month longer, and died peacefully on Christmas Eve. + +"He was one of the most honest men I ever knew," said Noel. Then, as she +did not reply, he ventured this: "That was the reason I recommended him +when you asked me to select a teacher for you." + +"Your plan was made useless by an unfortunate circumstance," she +answered, with an evident effort. + +"A circumstance?" + +"Yes; he fell in love with me. If I did not consider his pure, deep, and +devoted affection the greatest honor of my life I would not mention it. +I tell you because it will explain to you his course." + +"Yes, it explains," said Noel. As he spoke there came across him a +realization of the whole of the strength of the love such a man as +Horace Jackson would feel, and the way in which it would influence him. +Of course, he saw to the full the imperfection of her work, the utter +lack of the artist's conception, the artist's eye and touch; but +probably he had loved her from the beginning, and had gone on hoping to +win her love in return. She was not removed from him by any distance; +she was young, but she was also poor, friendless, and alone. When she +was his wife he would tell her the truth, and in the greatness of his +love the revelation would be naught. "He was a good man," he said. "He +was always lonely. I am glad that at last he was with your mother and +you." + +"His goodness was simply unbounded. If he had lived he would have +remained always a faithful, kind, and respectful son to my dear mother. +That, of course, would have been everything to me." She said this +quietly, yet her tone seemed to hold intention. + +For a moment he thought that perhaps she had married the Englishman, and +was now his widow. The sign on the door bore her maiden name, but that +might have been an earlier venture. + +"Had you opened your school at that time?" he asked. "I may speak of it, +since, of course, I saw the sign upon the door." + +"Not until two months later; I had the sign made then. But it was of +little use; day-schools do not prosper in Rome; they are not the custom. +I have a small class twice a week, but I live by going out as +day-governess. I have a number of pupils of that kind; I have been very +successful. The old Roman families have a fancy for English-speaking +governesses, you know. Last summer I was with the Princess C----, at +Albano; her children are my pupils." + +"Her villa is a delightful one," said Noel; "you must have enjoyed +that." + +"I don't know that I enjoyed, but I learned. I have learned a great +deal in many ways since I saw you last, Mr. Noel. I have grown very +old." + +"As you were especially young when you saw me last it does not matter +much," he answered, smiling. + +"Yes, I was especially young." She looked at him soberly. "I do not feel +bitterly towards you," she continued. "Strange! I thought I should. But +now that I see you in person it comes over me that, probably, you did +not intend to deceive me; that not only you tried to set me right by +selecting Mr. Jackson as my teacher, but again you tried when you sent +me those books. It was not much to do! But knowing the world as I now +know it, I see that it was all that could have been expected. At first, +however, I did not see this. After I went to Mr. Bellot, and, later, to +Mr. Salviati, there were months when I felt very bitterly towards you. +My hopes were false ones, and had been so from the beginning; you knew +that they were, yet you did not set me right." + +"I might have done more than I did," answered Noel. "I have a habit of +not assuming responsibility; I suppose I have grown selfish. But if you +went to Bellot, then it was not Jackson who told you?" + +"He intimated something when he asked me to marry him; after that his +illness came on, and we did not speak of it again. But I did not believe +him. I was very obstinate. I went to Mr. Bellot the 1st of January; I +wished him to take me as pupil. In answer he told me that I had not a +particle of talent; that all my work was insufferably bad; that I better +throw away my brushes and take in sewing." + +"Bellot is always a brute!" said Noel. + +"If he told the truth brutally, it was still the truth; and it was the +truth I needed. But even then I was not convinced, and I went to Mr. +Salviati. He was more gentle; he explained to me my lacks; but his +judgment was the same. I came home; it was the 10th of January, a +beautiful Roman winter day. I left my pictures, went over to St. +Peter's, and walked there under its bright mosaics all the afternoon. +The next day I had advertisements of a day-school placed at the bankers' +and in the newspapers. I thought that I could teach better than I could +sew." All this she said with perfect calm. + +"I greatly admire your bravery, Miss Macks. Permit me to add that I +admire, even more, the clear, strong, good sense which has carried you +through." + +"I had my mother to think of; my--good sense might not have been so +faithful otherwise." + +"You do not think of returning to America?" + +"Probably not; I doubt if my mother could bear the voyage now. We have +no one to call us back but my brother, and he has not been with us for +years, and would not be if we should return; he lives in California. We +sold the farm, too, before we came. No; for the present, at least, it is +better for us to remain here." + +"There is one more question I should like to ask," said Noel, later. +"But I have no possible right to do so." + +"I will give you the right. When I remember the things I asked you to do +for me, the demands I made upon your time, I can well answer a few +questions in return. I was a miracle of ignorance." + +"I always did you justice in those respects, Miss Macks; all that I +understood at once. My question refers to Horace Jackson: I see you +appreciated his worth--which was rare--yet you would not marry him." + +"I did not love him." + +"Did any of his relatives come out from England?" he said, after a +moment of silence. + +"After his death a cousin came." + +"As heir to what was left?" + +"Yes." + +"He should have left it to you." + +"He wished to do so. Of course, I would not accept it." + +"I thank you for answering. My curiosity was not an idle one." He +paused. "If you will permit me to express it, your course has been very +brave and true. I greatly admire it." + +"You are kind," said Miss Macks. + +There was not in her voice any indication of sarcasm. Yet the fact that +he immediately thought of it made him suspect that it was there. He took +leave soon afterwards. He was smarting a little under the sarcasm he had +divined, and, as he was, it was like him to request permission to come +again. + +For Raymond Noel lived up with a good deal of determination to his own +standard of what was manly; if his standard was not set on any very fine +elevation of self-sacrifice or heroism, it was at least firmly +established where it did stand, and he kept himself fairly near it. If +Miss Macks was sarcastic, he had been at fault somewhere; he would try +to atone. + +He saw her four times during the five weeks of his stay in Rome; upon +three other occasions when he went to the street of the Hyacinth she was +not at home. The third week in April he decided to go to Venice. Before +going he asked if there was not something he could do for her; but she +said there was nothing, and he himself could think of nothing. She was +well established in her new life and occupations, and needed nothing--at +least, nothing that he could bestow. + +The next winter he came back to Rome early in the season, before +Christmas. By chance one of the first persons he encountered was Mrs. +Lawrence. She began immediately to tell him a piece of American news, in +which he, as an American, would of course be interested; the news was +that "the brother of the Princess C---- --that is Count L----, you +know--is determined to marry Ettie Macks. You remember her, don't you? I +introduced you to her at the Dudley reception, three years ago." + +Noel thought that probably he remembered her better than Mrs. Lawrence +did, seeing that that lady had never troubled herself to enter the +street of the Hyacinth. But he did her injustice. Mrs. Lawrence had +troubled herself--lately. + +"It seems that she has been out at Albano for two summers, as governess +to his sister's children; it was there that he saw her. He has announced +his determination to the family, and they are immensely disturbed and +frightened; they had it all arranged for him to marry a second cousin +down at Naples, who is rich--these Italians are so worldly, you know! +But he is very determined, they say, and will do as he pleases in spite +of them. He hasn't much money, but of course it's a great match for +Ettie Macks. She will be a countess, and now, I suppose, more American +girls will come over than ever before! Of course, as soon as I heard of +it, I went to see her. I felt that she would need advice about a hundred +things. In the beginning she brought a letter of introduction to me from +a dear cousin of mine, and, naturally, she would rely upon me as her +chief friend now. She is very much improved. She was rather silent; but, +of course, I shall go again. The count is willing to take the mother, +too, and that, under the circumstances, is not a small matter; she is a +good deal to take. Until the other day I had not seen Mrs. Spurr! +However, I suppose that her deficiencies are not apparent in a language +she cannot speak. If her daughter would only insist upon her dressing in +black! But the old lady told me herself, in the most cheerful way, that +she liked 'a sprinkling of color.' And at the moment, I assure you, she +had on five different shades of red!" + +Noel had intended to present himself immediately at the street of the +Hyacinth; but a little attack of illness kept him in for a while, and +ten days had passed before he went up the dark stairway. The maid said +that Miss Macks was at home; presently she came in. They had ten minutes +of conversation upon ordinary topics, and then he took up the especial +one. + +"I am told that you are soon to be a countess," he said, "and I have +come to give you my best good wishes. My congratulations I reserve for +Count L----, with whom I have a slight acquaintance; he is, in my +opinion, a very fortunate man." + +"Yes, I think he is fortunate; fortunate in my refusal. I shall not +marry Count L----." + +"He is not a bad fellow." + +"Isn't your praise somewhat faint?" This time the sarcasm was visible. + +"Oh, I am by no means his advocate! All I meant was that, as these +modern Romans go, he was not among the worst. Of course I should have +expressed myself very differently if you had said you were to marry +him." + +"Yes; you would then have honored me with your finest compliments." + +He did not deny this. + +"Shall you continue to live in Rome?" he asked. + +"Certainly. I shall have more pupils and patronage now than I know what +to do with; the whole family connection is deeply obliged to me." + +They talked awhile longer. + +"We have always been unusually frank with each other, Miss Macks," he +said, towards the end of his visit. "We have never stopped at +conventionalities. I wonder if you will tell me why you refused him?" + +"You are too curious. As to frankness, I have been frank with you; not +you with me. And there was no conventionality, simply because I did not +know what it was." + +"I believe you are in love with some one in America," he said, laughing. + +"Perhaps I am," answered Miss Macks. She had certainly gained greatly in +self-possession during the past year. + +He saw her quite frequently after this. Her life was no longer solitary. +As she had said, she was overwhelmed with pupils and patronage from the +friends of the Princess C----; in addition, the American girl who had +refused a fairly-indorsed and well-appearing count was now something of +a celebrity among the American visitors in Rome. That they knew of her +refusal was not her fault; the relatives of Count L---- had announced +their objections as loud and widely as the count had announced his +determination. Apparently neither side had thought of a non-acceptance. +Cards, not a few, were sent to the street of the Hyacinth; some persons +even climbed the five flights of stairs. Mrs. Spurr saw a good deal of +company--and enjoyed it. + +Noel was very fond of riding; when in Rome he always rode on the +Campagna. He had acted as escort to various ladies, and one day he +invited Miss Macks to accompany him--that is, if she were fond of +riding. She had ridden in America, and enjoyed it; she would like to go +once, if he would not be troubled by an improvised habit. They went +once. Then a second time, an interval of three weeks between. Then, +after a while, a third time. + +Upon this occasion an accident happened, the first of Noel's life; his +horse became frightened, and, skilled rider though he was, he was +thrown. He was dragged, too, for a short distance. His head came against +some stones, and he lost consciousness. When it came back it did not +come wholly. He seemed to himself to be far away, and the girl who was +weeping and calling his name to be upon the other side of a wide space +like an ocean, over which, without volition of his own, he was being +slowly wafted. As he came nearer, still slowly, he perceived that in +some mysterious way she was holding in her arms something that seemed to +be himself, although he had not yet reached her. Then, gradually, spirit +and body were reunited, he heard what she was saying, and felt her +touch. Even then it was only after several minutes that he was able to +move and unclose his heavy eyes. + +When she saw that he was not dead, her wild grief was at once merged in +the thought of saving him. She had jumped from her horse, she knew not +how; but he had not strayed far; a shepherd had seen him, and was now +coming towards them. He signalled to another, and the two carried Noel +to a house which was not far distant. A messenger was sent to the city; +aid came, and before night Noel was in his own rooms at the head of the +Via Sistina, near the Spanish steps. + +His injuries proved to be not serious; he had lost consciousness from +the shock, and this, with his pallor and the blood from the cuts made by +the stones, had given him the look of death. The cuts, however, were not +deep; the effect of the shock passed away. He kept his bed for a week +under his physician's advice; he had a good deal of time to think during +that week. Later his friends were admitted. As has been said before, +Noel was a favorite in Rome, and he had friends not a few. Those who +could not come in person sent little notes and baskets of flowers. Among +these Miss Macks was not numbered. But then she was not fashionable. + +At the end of two weeks the patient was allowed to go out. He took a +short walk to try his strength, and, finding that it held out well, he +went to the street of the Hyacinth. + +Miss Macks was at home. She was "so glad" to see him out again; and was +he "really strong enough;" and he "should be very prudent for a while;" +and so forth and so forth. She talked more than usual, and, for her, +quite rapidly. + +He let her go on for a time. Then he took the conversation into his own +hands. With few preliminaries, and with much feeling in his voice and +eyes, he asked her to be his wife. + +She was overwhelmed with astonishment; she turned very white, and did +not answer. He thought she was going to burst into tears. But she did +not; she only sat gazing at him, while her lips trembled. He urged his +point; he spoke strongly. + +"You are worth a hundred of me," he said. "You are true and sincere; I +am a dilettante in everything. But, dilettante as I am, in one way I +have always appreciated you, and, lately, all other ways have become +merged in that one. I am much in earnest; I know what I am doing; I have +thought of it searchingly and seriously, and I beg you to say yes." + +He paused. Still she did not speak. + +"Of course I do not ask you to separate yourself from your mother," he +went on, his eyes dropping for the moment to the brim of his hat, which +he held in his hand; "I shall be glad if she will always make her home +with us." + +Then she did speak. And as her words came forth, the red rose in her +face until it was deeply colored. + +"With what an effort you said that! But you will not be tried. One gray +hair in my mother's head is worth more to me, Mr. Noel, than anything +you can offer." + +"I knew before I began that this would be the point of trouble between +us, Faith," he answered. "I can only assure you that she will find in me +always a most respectful son." + +"And when you were thinking so searchingly and seriously, it was _this_ +that you thought of--whether you could endure her! Do you suppose that I +do not see the effort? Do you suppose I would ever place my mother in +such a position? Do you suppose that you are of any consequence beside +her, or that anything in this world weighs in my mind for one moment +compared with her happiness?" + +"We can make her happy; I suppose that. And I suppose another thing, and +that is that we could be very happy ourselves if we were married." + +"The Western girl, the girl from Tuscolee! The girl who thought she +could paint, and could not! The girl who knew so little of social rules +that she made a fool of herself every time she saw you!" + +"All this is of no consequence, since it is the girl I love," answered +Noel. + +"You do not. It is a lie. Oh, of course, a very unselfish and noble one; +but a lie, all the same. You have thought of it seriously and +searchingly? Yes, but only for the last fourteen days! I understand it +all now. At first I did not, I was confused; but now I see the whole. +You were not unconscious out there on the Campagna; you heard what I +said when I thought you were dying, or dead. And so you come--come very +generously and self-sacrificingly, I acknowledge that--and ask me to be +your wife." She rose; her eyes were brilliant as she faced him. "I might +tell you that it was only the excitement, that I did not know or mean +what I was saying; I might tell you that I did not know that I had said +anything. But I am not afraid. I will not, like you, tell a lie, even +for a good purpose. I did love you; there, you have it! I have loved you +for a long time, to my sorrow and shame. For I do not respect you or +admire you; you have been completely spoiled, and will always remain so. +I shall make it the one purpose of my life from this moment to overcome +the feeling I have had for you; and I shall succeed. Nothing could make +me marry you, though you should ask me a thousand times." + +"I shall ask but once," said Noel. He had risen also; and, as he did, he +remembered the time when they had stood in the same place and position, +facing each other, and she had told him that she was at his feet. "I did +hear what you said. And it is of that I have been seriously thinking +during the days of my confinement to the house. It is also true that it +is what you said which has brought me here to-day. But the reason is +that it has become precious to me--this knowledge that you love me. As I +said before, in one way I have always done you justice, and it is that +way which makes me realize to the full now what such a love as yours +would be to me. If it is true that I am spoiled, as you say I am, a love +like yours would make me better, if anything can." He paused. "I have +not said much about my own feelings," he added; "I know you will not +credit me with having any. But I think I have. I think that I love you." + +"It is of little moment to me whether you do or not." + +"You are making a mistake," he said, after a pause, during which their +eyes had met in silence. + +"The mistake would be to consent." + +She had now recovered her self-possession. She even smiled a little. + +"Imagine Mr. Raymond Noel in the street of the Hyacinth!" she said. + +"Ah, I should hardly wish to live here; and my wife would naturally be +with me." + +"I hope so. And I hope she will be very charming and obedient and +sweet." Then she dropped her sarcasms, and held out her hand in +farewell. "There is no use in prolonging this, Mr. Noel. Do not think, +however, that I do not appreciate your action; I do appreciate it. I +said that I did not respect you, and I have not until now; but now I do. +You will understand, of course, that I would rather not see you again, +and refrain from seeking me. Go your way, and forget me; you can do so +now with a clear conscience, for you have behaved well." + +"It is not very likely that I shall forget you," answered Noel, +"although I go my way. I see you are firmly resolved. For the present, +therefore, all I can do is to go." + +They shook hands, and he left her. As he passed through the small hall +on his way to the outer door he met Mrs. Spurr; she was attired as +opulently, in respect to colors, as ever, and she returned his greeting +with much cordiality. He glanced back; Miss Macks had witnessed the +meeting through the parlor door. Her color had faded; she looked sad and +pale. + +She kept her word; she did not see him again. If he went to the street +of the Hyacinth, as he did two or three times, the little maid presented +him with the Italian equivalent of "begs to be excused," which was +evidently a standing order. If he wrote to her, as he did more than two +or three times, she returned what he wrote, not unread, but without +answer. He thought perhaps he should meet her, and was at some pains to +find out her various engagements. But all was in vain; the days passed, +and she remained invisible. Towards the last of May he left Rome. After +leaving, he continued to write to her, but he gave no address for +reply; she would now be obliged either to burn his letters or keep them, +since she could no longer send them back. They could not have been +called love-letters; they were friendly epistles, not long--pleasant, +easy, sometimes amusing, like his own conversation. They came once a +week. In addition he sent new books, and occasionally some other small +remembrance. + +In early September of that year there came to the street of the Hyacinth +a letter from America. It was from one of Mrs. Spurr's old neighbors at +Tuscolee, and she wrote to say that John Macks had come home--had come +home broken in health and spirits, and, as he himself said, to die. He +did not wish his mother to know; she could not come to him, and it would +only distress her. He had money enough for the short time that was left +him, and when she heard it would be only that he had passed away; he had +passed from her life in reality years before. In this John Macks was +sincere. He had been a ne'er-do-well, a rolling stone; he had not been a +dutiful son. The only good that could be said of him, as far as his +mother was concerned, was contained in the fact that he had not made +demands upon her small purse since the sum he took from her when he +first went away. He had written to her at intervals, briefly. His last +letter had come eight months before. + +But the Tuscolee neighbor was a mother herself, and, doing as she would +be done by, she wrote to Rome. When her letter came Mrs. Spurr was +overwhelmed with grief; but she was also stirred to an energy and +determination which she had never shown before. For the first time in +years she took the leadership, put her daughter decisively back into a +subordinate place, and assumed the control. She would go to America. She +must see her boy (the dearest child of the two, as the prodigal always +is) again. But even while she was planning her journey illness seized +her--her old rheumatic troubles, only more serious than before; it was +plain that she could not go. She then required that her daughter should +go in her place--go and bring her boy to Rome; this soft Italian air +would give new life to his lungs. Oh, she should not die! Ettie need not +be afraid of that. She would live for years just to get one look at him! +And so it ended in the daughter's departure, an efficient nurse being +left in charge; the physician said that although Mrs. Spurr would +probably be crippled, she was in no danger otherwise. + +Miss Macks left Rome on the 15th of September. On the 2d of December she +again beheld the dome of St. Peter's rising in the blue sky. She saw it +alone. John Macks had lived three weeks after her arrival at Tuscolee, +and those three weeks were the calmest and the happiest of his +unsuccessful--unworthy it may be--but also bitterly unhappy life. His +sister did not judge him. She kissed him good-bye as he lost +consciousness, and soon afterwards closed his eyes tenderly, with tears +in her own. Although he was her brother, she had never known him; he +went away when she was a child. She sat beside him a long time after he +was dead, watching the strange, youthful peace come back to his worn +face. + +When she reached the street of the Hyacinth a carriage was before the +door; carriages of that sort were not often required by the dwellers on +the floors below their own, and she was rather surprised. She had heard +from her mother in London, the nurse acting as amanuensis; at that time +Mrs. Spurr was comfortable, although still confined to her bed most of +the day. As she was paying her driver she heard steps on the stairway +within. Then she beheld this: The nurse, carrying a pillow and shawls; +next, her mother, in an invalid-chair, borne by two men; and last, +Raymond Noel. + +When Mrs. Spurr saw her daughter she began to cry. She had not expected +her until the next day. Her emotion was so great that the drive was +given up, and she was carried back to her room. Noel did not follow her; +he shook hands with the new-comer, said that he would not detain her, +and then, lifting his hat, he stepped into the carriage which was +waiting and was driven away. + +For two days Mrs. Spurr wished for nothing but to hear, over and over +again, every detail of her boy's last hours. Then the excitement and +renewed grief made her dangerously ill. After ten days she began to +improve; but two weeks passed before she came back to the present +sufficiently to describe to her daughter all "Mr. No-ul's kind +attentions." He had returned to Rome the first of October, and had come +at once to the street of the Hyacinth. Learning what had happened, he +had devoted himself to her "most as if he was my real son, Ettie, I do +declare! Of course, he couldn't never be like my own darling boy," +continued the poor mother, overlooking entirely, with a mother's sublime +forgetfulness, the small amount of devotion her boy had ever bestowed; +"but he's just done everything he could, and there's no denying that." + +"He has not been mentioned in your letters, mother." + +"Well, child, I just told Mrs. Bowler not to. For he said himself, +frankly, that you might not like it; but that he'd make his peace with +you when you come back. I let him have his way about it, and I _have_ +enjoyed seeing him. He's the only person I've seen but Mrs. Bowler and +the doctor, and I'm mortal tired of both." + +During Mrs. Spurr's second illness Noel had not come in person to the +street of the Hyacinth; he had sent to inquire, and fruits and flowers +came in his name. Miss Macks learned that these had come from the +beginning. + +When three weeks had passed Mrs. Spurr was back in her former place as +regarded health. One of her first requests was to be taken out to drive; +during her daughter's absence Mr. Noel had taken her five times, and she +had greatly enjoyed the change. It was not so simple a matter for the +daughter as it had been for Mr. Noel; her purse was almost empty; the +long journeys and her mother's illness had exhausted her store. Still +she did it. Mrs. Spurr wished to go to the Pincio. Her daughter thought +the crowd there would be an objection. + +"It didn't tire me one bit when Mr. No-ul took me," said Mrs. Spurr, in +an aggrieved tone; "and we went there every single time--just as soon as +he found out that I liked it. What a lot of folks he does know, to be +sure! They kept him a-bowing every minute." + +The day after this drive Mr. Noel came to the street of the Hyacinth. He +saw Miss Macks. Her manner was quiet, a little distant; but she thanked +him, with careful acknowledgment of every item, for his kind attentions +to her mother. He said little. After learning that Mrs. Spurr was much +better he spoke of her own health. + +"You have had two long, fatiguing journeys, and you have been acting as +nurse; it would be well for you to give yourself entire rest for several +weeks at least." + +She replied, coldly, that she was perfectly well, and turned the +conversation to subjects less personal. He did not stay long. As he rose +to take leave, he said: + +"You will let me come again, I hope? You will not repeat the 'not at +home' of last spring?" + +"I would really much rather not see you, Mr. Noel," she answered, after +hesitating. + +"I am sorry. But of course I must submit." Then he went away. + +Miss Macks now resumed her burdens. She was obliged to take more pupils +than she had ever accepted before, and to work harder. She had not only +to support their little household, but there were now debts to pay. She +was out almost the whole of every day. + +After she had entered upon her winter's work Raymond Noel began to come +again to the street of the Hyacinth. But he did not come to see her; his +visits were to her mother. He came two or three times a week, and always +during the hours when the daughter was absent. He sat and talked to Mrs. +Spurr, or rather listened to her, in a way that greatly cheered that +lady's monotonous days. She told him her whole history; she minutely +described Tuscolee and its society; and, finally, he heard the whole +story of "John." In addition, he sent her various little delicacies, +taking pains to find something she had not had. + +Miss Macks would have put an end to this if she had known how. But +certainly Mr. Noel was not troubling _her_, and Mrs. Spurr resented any +attempt at interference. + +"I don't see why you should object, Ettie. He seems to like to come, and +there's but few pleasures left to me, I'm sure! You oughtn't to grudge +them!" + +In this way two months passed, Noel continuing his visits, and Miss +Macks continuing her lessons. She was working very hard. She now looked +not only pale, but much worn. Count L----, who had been long absent, +returned to Rome about this time. He saw her one day, although she did +not see him. The result of this vision of her was that he went down to +Naples, and, before long, the desirable second cousin with the fortune +was the sister of the Princess C----. + +One afternoon in March Miss Macks was coming home from the broad, new, +tiresome piazza Indipendenza; the distance was long, and she walked with +weariness. As she drew near the dome of the Pantheon she met Raymond +Noel. He stopped, turned, and accompanied her homeward. She had three +books. + +"Give them to me," he said, briefly, taking them from her. + +"Do you know what I have heard to-day?" he went on. "They are going to +tear down your street of the Hyacinth. The Government has at last +awakened to the shame of allowing all those modern accretions to +disfigure longer the magnificent old Pagan temple. All the streets in +the rear, up to a certain point, are to be destroyed. And the street of +the Hyacinth goes first. You will be driven out." + +"I presume we can find another like it." + +He went on talking about the Pantheon until they entered the doomed +street; it was as obstinately narrow and dark as ever. Then he dropped +his Pagan temple. + +"How much longer are you going to treat me in this way, Faith?" he said. +"You make me very unhappy. You are wearing yourself out, and it troubles +me greatly. If you should fall ill I think that would be the end. I +should then take matters into my own hands, and I don't believe you +would be able to keep me off. But why should we wait for illness? It is +too great a risk." + +They were approaching her door. She said nothing, only hastened her +steps. + +"I have been doing my best to convince you, without annoying you, that +you were mistaken about me. And the reason I have been doing it is that +I am convinced myself. If I was not entirely sure last spring that I +loved you, I certainly am sure now. I spent the summer thinking of it. I +know now, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that I love you above all +and everything. There is no 'duty' or 'generosity' in this, but simply +my own feelings. I could perfectly well have let the matter drop; you +gave me every opportunity to do so. That I have not done it should show +you--a good deal. For I am not of the stuff of which heroes are made. I +should not be here unless I wanted to; my motive is the selfish one of +my own happiness." + +They had entered the dark hallway. + +"Do you remember the morning when you stood here, with two tears in your +eyes, saying 'Never mind; you will come another time'?" (Here the +cobbler came down the stairs.) "Why not let the demolition of the street +of the Hyacinth be the crisis of our fate?" he went on, returning the +cobbler's bow. (Here the cobbler departed.) "If you refuse, I shall not +give you up; I shall go on in the same way. But--haven't I been tried +long enough?" + +"You have not," she answered. "But, unless you will leave Rome, and--me, +I cannot bear it longer." + +It was a great downfall, of course; Noel always maintained that it was. + +"But the heights upon which you had placed yourself, my dear, were too +superhuman," he said, excusingly. + +The street of the Hyacinth experienced a great downfall, also. During +the summer it was demolished. + +Before its demolition Mrs. Lawrence, after three long breaths of +astonishment, had come to offer her congratulations--in a new direction +this time. + +"It is the most fortunate thing in the world," she said to everybody, +"that Mrs. Spurr is now confined to her bed for life, and is obliged to +wear mourning." + +But Mrs. Spurr is not confined to her bed; she drives out with her +daughter whenever the weather is favorable. She wears black, but is now +beginning to vary it with purple and lavender. + + + + +A CHRISTMAS PARTY + + +In 188- the American Consul at Venice was occupying the second story of +an old palace on the Grand Canal. It was the story which is called by +Italians the _piano nobile_, or noble floor. Beneath this _piano nobile_ +there is a large low ground, or rather water, floor, whose stone +pavement, only slightly above the level of the canal outside, is always +damp and often wet. At the time of the Consul's residence this +water-floor was held by another tenant, a dealer in antiquities, who had +partitioned off a shallow space across its broad front for a show-room. +As this dealer had the ground-floor, he possessed, of course, the +principal entrance of the palace, with its broad marble steps descending +into the rippling wavelets of the splendid azure street outside, and +with the tall, slender poles, irregularly placed in the water, which +bore testimony to the aristocracy of the venerable pile they guarded. +One could say that these blue wands, ornamented with heraldic devices, +were like the spears of knights; this is what Miss Senter said. Or one +could notice their strong resemblance to barbers' poles; and this was +what Peter Senter always mentioned. + +Peter Senter was the American Consul, and his sister Barbara was the +Consuless; for she kept house for her brother, who was a bachelor. And +she not only kept house for him, but she assisted him in other ways, +owing to her knowledge of Italian. The Consul, a man of fifty-seven, +spoke only the language of his native place--Rochester, New York. That +he could not understand the speech (gibberish, he called it) of the +people with whom he was supposed to hold official relations did not +disturb him; he thought it patriotic not to understand. There was a +vice-consul, an Italian, who could attend to the business matters; and +as for the rest, wasn't Barbara there--Barbara, who could chatter not +only in Italian, but in French and German also, with true feminine +glibness? (For Peter, in his heart, thought it unmasculine to have a +polyglot tongue.) He knew how well his sister could speak, because he +had paid her bills during the six years of her education abroad. These +bills had been large; of course, therefore, the knowledge must be large +as well. + +Miss Senter was always chronically annoyed that she and her brother did +not possess the state entrance. As the palace was at present divided, +the tenants of the noble floor descended by an outside stairway to a +large inner court, and from this court opened the second water-door. +Their staircase was a graceful construction of white marble, and the +court, with the blue sky above, one or two fretted balconies, and a +sculptured marble well-curb in the centre, was highly picturesque. But +this did not reconcile the American lady to the fact that their door was +at the side of the palace; she thought that by right the gondola of the +Consul should lie among the heraldic poles on the Grand Canal. But, in +spite of right, nothing could be done; the antiquity-dealer held his +premises on a long lease. Miss Senter, therefore, disliked the dealer. + +Her dislike, however, had not prevented her from paying a visit to his +establishment soon after she had taken possession of the high-ceilinged +rooms above. For she was curious about the old palace, and wished to see +every inch of it; if there had been cellars, she would have gone down to +inspect them, and she was fully determined to walk "all over the roof." +The dealer's name was Pelham--"Z. Pelham" was inscribed on his sign. How +he came by this English title no one but himself could have told. He was +supposed to be either a Pole or an Armenian, and he spoke many languages +with equal fluency and incorrectness. He appeared to have feeble health, +and he always wore large arctic over-shoes; he was short and thin, and +the most noticeable expression of his plain, small face was resignation. +Z. Pelham conducted the Consuless through the dusky space behind his +show-room, a vast, low, open hall with massive squat columns and arches, +and the skeletons of two old gondolas decaying in a corner. At the back +he opened a small door, and pointed out a flight of stone steps going up +steeply in a spiral, enclosed in a circular shaft like a round tower. +"It leads to the attic floor. Her Excellency wishes to mount?" he +inquired, patiently. For, owing to the wares in which he dealt, he had +had a large acquaintance with eccentric characters of all nations. + +"Certainly," replied Miss Senter. "Carmela, you can stay below, if you +like," she said to the servant who accompanied her. + +But no; Carmela also wished to mount. Z. Pelham preceded them, +therefore, carrying his small oil-lamp. They went slowly, for the steps +were narrow, the spiral sharp. The attic, when they reached it, was a +queer, ghostly place; but there was a skylight with a ladder, and the +Consuless carried out her intention of traversing the roof, while Mr. +Pelham waited calmly, seated on the open scuttle door. Carmela followed +her mistress. She gave little cries of admiration; there never were such +wonderful ladies anywhere as those of America, she declared. On the way +down, the stairs were so much like a corkscrew that Miss Senter, feeling +dizzy, was obliged to pause for a moment where there was a landing. +"Isn't there a secret chamber?" she demanded of the dealer. + +Z. Pelham shook his head. "I have not one found." + +"Try again," said Miss Senter, laughing. "I'll make it worth your while, +Mr. Pelham." + +Z. Pelham surveyed the walls, as if to see where he could have one +built. His eye passed over a crack, and, raising his lamp, he showed it +to the Consuless. "One time was there a door, opening into the rooms of +her Excellency. But it opens not ever now; it is covered on inside." + +"Oh, _that_ isn't a secret chamber," answered Miss Senter; "we have +doors that have been shut up at home. What I want is something +mysterious--behind a picture, or a sliding panel." + +Partly in return for this expedition to the roof, and partly because she +had a liking for wood-carvings, Miss Senter purchased from Mr. Pelham, +shortly afterwards, his best antique cabinet. It was eight feet high, +and its whole surface was beautifully sculptured in odd designs, no two +alike. Within were many ingenious receptacles, and, better than these, a +concealed drawer. "You see I have my secret chamber, after all," said +the Consuless, making a joke. And there was a best even to this better; +for after the cabinet had been placed in her own room, Miss Senter +discovered within it a second hiding-place, even more perfectly +concealed than the first. This was delightful, and she confided to its +care all her loose money. She thought with disgust of the ugly green +safe, built into the wall of Peter's Rochester house, where she was +obliged to keep her gold and silver when at home. Not only was Miss +Senter's own room in the old palace handsomely furnished, but all the +others belonging to the apartment were rich in beautiful things. The +Consuless had used her own taste, which was great, and her brother's +fortune, which was greater, deferring to him only on one point--namely, +warmth. In Peter's mind the temperature of his Rochester house remained +a fixed standard, and his sister therefore provided in every room a +place for a generous open fire, while in the great drawing-room, in +addition to this fire, two large white Vienna stoves, like monuments, +were set up, hidden behind screens. As this salon was eighty feet long +and thirty feet high, it required all this if it was to be used--used by +Peter, at least--in December, January, and February; for the Venetian +winter, though short, is often sharp and raw. + +On Christmas Eve of their third year in Venice this drawing-room was +lighted for a party. At one end, concealed by a curtain, stood a +Christmas-tree; for there were thirty children among their invited +guests, who would number in all over fifty. After the tree had bestowed +its fruit the children were to have a dance, and an odd little +projection like a very narrow balcony high on the wall was to be +occupied by five musicians. These musicians would have been much more +comfortable below. But Miss Senter was sure that this shelf was +intended for musicians; her musicians, therefore, were to sit there, +though their knees would be well squeezed between the wall and the +balustrade. Fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, which was an +early one on account of the children, the Consuless appeared. She found +her brother standing before the fire, surveying the room, with his hands +behind him. + +"Doesn't it look pretty?" said the sister, with pride; for she had a +great faith in all her pots and pans, carvings and tapestries. Any one, +however, could have had faith in the chandeliers of Venetian glass, from +which came the soft radiance of hundreds of wax candles, lighting up the +ancient gilding of the ceiling. + +"Well, Barly, you know that personally I don't care much for all these +second-hand articles you have collected," replied Peter. "And you +haven't got the room very warm, after all--only 60 deg.. However, I can +stand it if the supper is all right--plenty of it, and the hot things +really hot; not lukewarm, you know." + +"We can trust Giorgio. But I'll go and have a final word with him, if +you like," answered Miss Senter, crossing the beautiful salon, her train +sweeping over the floor behind her. The Consuless was no longer young +(the days when Peter had paid those school bills were now far distant), +and she had never been handsome. But she was tall and slender, with +pretty hands and feet, a pleasant expression in her blue eyes, and soft +brown hair, now heavily tinged with silver. Her brother's use of "Barly" +was a grief to her. She had tried to lead him towards the habit of +calling her Barbe, the French form of Barbara, if nickname he must have. +But he pronounced this Bob, and that was worse than the other. + +On her way towards the kitchen the Consuless came upon Carmela. Carmela +was the servant who had the general oversight of everything excepting +the cooking. For Giorgio, the cook, allowed no interference in his +department; in the kitchen he must be Caesar or nothing. Carmela was not +the house-keeper, for Miss Senter herself was the house-keeper. But the +American would have found her task twenty times, fifty times more +difficult if she had not had this skilful little deputy to carry out all +her orders. Carmela was said to be middle-aged. But her short, slender +figure was so erect, her little face so alert, her movements were so +brisk, and her small black eyes so bright, that she seemed full of +youthful fire; in fact, if one saw only her back, she looked younger +than Assunta and Beppa, who were Venetian girls of twenty. Carmela was +always attired in the French fashion, with tight corsets, a plain black +dress fitting like a glove round her little waist, and short enough to +show the neat shoes on her small feet; over this black dress there was a +jaunty white apron with pockets, and upon her beautifully braided +shining dark hair was perched a small spotless muslin cap. The younger +servants asserted that the slight pink tint on the tidy little woman's +cheeks was artificial. However that may have been, Carmela, as she +stood, was the personification of trimness and activity. Untiring and +energetic, she was a wonderful worker; Miss Senter, who had been much in +Italy, appreciated her good-fortune in having secured for her Venetian +house-keeping such a coadjutor as this. Carmela was scrupulously neat, +and she was even more scrupulously honest, never abstracting so much as +a pin; she economized for her mistress with her whole soul, and kept +watch over every detail; she told the truth, she swept the corners, she +dusted under everything; she worked conscientiously, in one way and +another, all day long. Even Peter, who did not like foreign servants, +liked Carmela; he said she was "so spry!" + +"Is everything ready?" inquired Miss Senter, as she met her deputy. + +"Yes, signorina, everything," answered Carmela, briskly. She was looking +her very best and tightest, all black and white, with black silk +stockings showing above her little high-heeled shoes. As she spoke she +put her hands in their black lace mitts in the pockets of her apron, +and, middle-aged though she was said to be, she looked at that moment +like a smart French soubrette of the stage. + +"I am going to the kitchen to have a word with Giorgio," said the +Consuless, passing on. + +"If the signorina permits, I carry the train," answered Carmela, lifting +the satin folds from the floor. Thus they went on together, mistress and +maid, through various rooms and corridors, until finally the kitchen was +reached. It was a large, lofty place, brilliantly lighted, for Giorgio +was old and needed all the radiance that could be obtained to aid his +failing sight. He was a small man with a melancholy countenance. But +this melancholy was an accident of expression; in reality, old Giorgio +was cheerful and amiable, with a good deal of mild wit. He was the most +skilful cook in Venice. But his health had failed some years before, and +he had now very little strength; the Consul, who liked good dinners, +paid him high wages, and gave him a young assistant. + +"Well, Giorgio, all promises well, I trust?" said Miss Senter as she +entered, her steps somewhat impeded by the tightness with which Carmela +held back her train. "The Consul is particular about having the hot +things really hot, and constantly renewed, as it is such a cold night. +The three men from Florian's will have charge of the ices and the other +cold things, and will do all that is necessary in the supper-room. But +for the hot dishes we depend upon you." + +Giorgio, who was dressed entirely in white, bowed and waved his hand. +"Mademoiselle need give herself no uneasiness," he said in French. For +Giorgio had learned his art in Paris, and whenever Carmela was present +he invariably answered his mistress in the language of that Northern +capital, even though her question had been couched in Italian; it was +one of his ways--and he had but few--of standing up, as it were, against +the indefatigable little deputy. For, clever though Carmela was, she had +never been out of her native land, and could speak no tongue but her +own. + +"Are you feeling well, Giorgio?" continued Miss Senter. "I see that you +look pale. I am afraid you have been doing too much. Where is Luigi?" +(Luigi was the cook's assistant.) + +"He has gone home; ten minutes ago. I let him go, as it is a festival. +He is young, and we can be young but once. _Che vuole!_ In addition, all +was done." + +"No," said Miss Senter, who was now speaking French also; "there is +still much to do, and it was not wise to let Luigi go. You are certainly +very tired, Giorgio." + +"Let not mademoiselle think of it," said the old man, straightening +himself a little. + +"But I _shall_ think of it," said Miss Senter, kindly. "Carmela," she +continued, speaking now in Italian, "go to my room and get my case of +cordials." + +Carmela divined that the cordial was for the cook. "And the signorina's +train?" she said. "Surely I cannot leave it on this _dirty_ floor! Will +not the signorina return to the drawing-room to take her cordial? Eh--it +is not for her? It is for Giorgio? A man? A _man_ to be faint like a +girl? Ha, ha! it makes me laugh!" + +"Go and get it," repeated Miss Senter, taking the train over her own +arm. She knew that Carmela did not like the cook. Jealousy was the one +fault the hard-working little creature possessed. "She has tried to make +me dismiss Giorgio more than once," she said to her brother, in +confidence; "but I always pretend not to see the feeling that influences +her. It is only Giorgio she is jealous of; she gets on perfectly well +with Luigi, and with Assunta and Beppa; while for Ercole she can never +do enough. She is devoted to Ercole!" + +Giorgio had not taken up the slur cast upon his immaculate floor. All he +said was, "_Comme elle est mechante!_" with a shrug. + +"Where is Ercole?" said Miss Senter, while she waited. + +"He is dressing," answered Giorgio. "He makes himself beautiful for the +occasion." + +Ercole was the chief gondolier--a tall, athletic young man of thirty, +handsome and clever. Miss Senter had chosen Ercole to assist her with +the Christmas-tree. The second gondolier, Andrea, was to be stationed at +the end of the little quay or riva down below, outside of their own +water-door; for here on the small canal were the steps used by arriving +and departing gondolas, and here also floated the handsome gondola of +the Consul, with its American flag. The two gondoliers also had +picturesque costumes of white (woollen in winter, linen in summer), with +blue collars, blue stockings, blue caps, and long fringed red sashes, +the combination representing the American national colors. To-night +Ercole, having to appear in the drawing-room, was making a longer stay +than usual before his little mirror. + +Carmela returned with the cordial-case. "Ah, yes, our cook _is_ +pale--pale as a young virgin!" she commented, as Miss Senter, unlocking +the box, poured into one of the little glasses it contained a generous +portion of a restorative whose every drop was costly. + +Giorgio, taking off the white linen cap which covered his gray hair, +made a bow, and then drank the draught with much appreciation. "It is +true that I am pale," he remarked, slyly, in Italian. "I might, perhaps, +try some rouge?" + +And then the Consuless, to avert war, hastily bore her deputy away. + +Half an hour later the guests had arrived; they included all the +Americans in Venice, with a sprinkling of English, Italians, and +Russians. The grown people assembled in the drawing-room. And presently +they heard singing. Through the anterooms came the children, entering +with measured step, two and two, led by three little boys in Oriental +costumes. These three boys were singing as follows: + + "We three Kings of Orient are, + Bearing gifts we've travelled from far, + Field and fountain, moor and mountain, + Following yonder star." + +Here, from the high top branch of the Christmas-tree which rose above +the concealing curtain, blazed out a splendid star. And then all the +procession took up the chorus, as they marched onward: + + "Oh, star of wonder, + Star of might, + Star with royal + Beauty bright!" + +Ercole, who was behind the curtain, now drew it aside, and there stood +the tree, blazing with fairy-lamps and glittering ornaments, while +beneath it was a mound composed entirely of toys. The children behaved +well; they kept their ranks and repeated their carol, as they had been +told to do, ranging themselves meanwhile in a half-circle before the +tree. + + "We three Kings of Orient are," + +chanted the three little kings a second time, though their eyes were +fixed upon a magnificent box of soldiers, with tents and flags and +cannon. The carol finished, Miss Senter, with the aid of her gondolier, +distributed the toys and bonbons, and the room was filled with happy +glee. When Ercole had detached the last package of sweets from the +sparkling branches he disappeared. His next duty was to conduct the +musicians up to their cage. + +Miss Senter had allowed an hour for the inspection and trial of the toys +before the dancing should begin. It was none too much, and the clamor +was still great as this hour drew towards its close, so great that she +herself was glad that the end was near. Looking up to see whether her +musicians had assembled on their shelf, she perceived some one at the +drawing-room door; it was Carmela, hiding herself modestly behind the +portiere, but at the same time unmistakably beckoning to her mistress as +soon as she saw that she had caught her eye. Miss Senter went to the +doorway. + +"Will the signorina permit? A surprise of Ercole's," whispered Carmela, +eagerly, standing on tiptoe to reach her mistress's ear. "He has dressed +himself as a clown, and he _is_ of a perfection! He has bells on his cap +and his elbows, and if the signorina graciously allows, he will come in +to amuse the children." + +"A clown!" answered Miss Senter, hesitating. "I don't know; he ought to +have told me." + +"He has been dancing to show _me_. And oh! so beautifully, with bounds +and leaps. He makes of himself also a statue," pursued Carmela. + +"But I cannot have any buffoonery here, you know," said Miss Senter. "It +would not do." + +"Buffoonery! Surely the signorina knows that Ercole has the soul of a +gentleman," whispered Carmela, reproachfully. + +And it was true that Miss Senter had always thought that her chief +gondolier possessed a great deal of natural refinement. + +"Will the signorina step out for a moment and look at him?" pursued the +deputy, her whisper now a little dejected. "If he is to be disappointed, +poor fellow, may he at least have _that_ pleasure?" + +The idea of the gondolier's disappointment touched the amiable American. +She turned her head and glanced into the drawing-room; all was going on +gayly; no one had missed her. She slipped out under the portiere, and +followed Carmela to a room at the side. Here stood the gondolier. He +wore the usual white dress and white mask of a clown, and, as the +Consuless entered, he cut a splendid caper, ringing all his bells. + +"I had no idea that you were such a skilful acrobat, Ercole," said his +mistress. + +Ercole turned a light somerset, gave a high jump, and came down in the +attitude of the Mercury of John of Bologna. + +"Why, you are really wonderful!" said Miss Senter, admiringly. + +And now he was dancing with butterfly grace. + +Miss Senter was won. "But if I let you come in, Ercole, I hope you will +remember where you are?" she said, warningly. "Can you breathe quite at +ease in that mask?" + +The gondolier opened his grotesque painted lips a little to show that he +could part them. + +"Yes, I see. Now listen; in the drawing-room you must keep your eye on +me, and if at any time you see me raise my hand--so--you must dance out +of the room, Ercole. For the sign will mean that that is enough. But, +dear me! there's one thing we haven't thought of; who is to see to the +musicians up-stairs, and to go back and forth, telling them what to +play?" + +"I can do that," said Carmela, who was now all smiles. "Does the +signorina wish me to take them up? They are all ready. They are waiting +in the wood-room." + +The wood-room was a remote store-room for fuel; it was detached from the +rest of the apartment. "Why did you put them _there_?" inquired Miss +Senter, astonished. + +"They are musicians--yes; but who knows what else they may be? Thieves, +perhaps!" said the deputy, shrewdly. + +"Get them out immediately and take them up to the gallery," said Miss +Senter. "And tell them to play something lively as a beginning." + +Carmela, quick as usual, was gone before the words were ended. + +"Now, Ercole, wait until you hear the music. Then come in," said the +Consuless. + +She returned to the drawing-room, making a motion with her hands as she +advanced, which indicated that her guests were to move a little more +towards the walls on each side, leaving the centre of the room free. And +then, as the music burst out above, Ercole came bounding in. His dress +was ordinary; Miss Senter was vexed anew that he had not told her of his +plan, for if he had she could have provided a perfectly fresh costume. +But no one noticed the costume; all eyes were fixed upon the gambols; +for, keeping time to the music, he was advancing up the room, dancing, +bounding, leaping, turning somersets, and every now and then striking an +attitude with extraordinary skill. He was so light that his white linen +feet made no sound, and so graceful that the fixed grin of his mask +became annoying, clashing as it did with the beauty of his poses. This +thought, however, came to the elders only; for to the children, +fascinated, shouting with delight, the broad red smile was an important +part. + +"It's our gondolier," explained Miss Senter. "It's Ercole," she had +whispered to her brother. + +"You are always so fortunate in servants," said Lady Kay. "That little +woman you have, too, Carmela--she is a miracle for an Italian." + +Four times the clown made his pyrotechnic progress up and then down the +long salon, never twice repeating the same pose, but always something +new; then, after a final tremendous pigeon-wing, he let his white arms +fall and his white head droop on his breast, as if saying that he was +taking a moment for repose. + +"Yes, yes; give him time to breathe, children," cried Peter. "I'll tell +you what," he added to Sir William Kay; "I've never seen a better +performance on any stage." And he slapped his leg in confirmation. The +Consul was a man whose sole claim to beauty lay in the fact that he +always looked extremely clean. He was meagre and small, with very short +legs, but he was without consciousness of these deficiencies; in the +presence of the Apollo Belvedere, for instance, it had never occurred to +him to draw comparisons. Nature, however, will out in some way, and from +childhood Peter Senter had had a profound admiration for feats of +strength, vaulting, tumbling, and the like. "I'll tell you what," he +repeated to Sir William; "I'll have the fellow exhibited; I'll start him +at my own cost. Here all this time--two whole years--he has been our +gondolier, Ercoly has, and nothing more; for I hadn't a suspicion that +he had the least talent in this line. But, sir, he's a regular +high-flier! And A Number One!" + +Meanwhile the children were crowding closely round their clown, and +peering up in order still to see his grin, which was now partly hidden, +owing to his drooped head; the three Kings of Orient, especially, were +very pressing in their attentions, pinching his legs to see if they were +real. + +"Come, children, this will be a good time for our second song," said +Miss Senter, making a diversion. "Take hands, now, in a circle; +yes--round the clown, if you wish. There--that's right." She signalled +to the music to stop, and then, beginning, led the little singers +herself: + + "Though we're here on foreign shores, + We are all devotion + To our land of Stars and Stripes, + Far across the ocean. + Yankee doodle doodle doo, + Yankee doodle dandy, + Buckwheat cakes are very good, + And so's molasses candy." + +Singing this gayly to the well-known fife-like tune, round and round +danced the children in a circle, holding each other's hands, the English +and Italians generously joining with the little Americans in praise of +the matutinal cakes which they had never seen; the Consuless had drilled +her choir beforehand, and they sang merrily and well. The first four +lines of this ditty had been composed by Peter himself for the occasion. + +"I hear _you_ haf written this vurra fine piece!" said a Russian +princess, addressing him. + +"Oh no," answered the Consul; "I only wrote the first four lines; the +chorus is one of our national songs, you know." + +"But those first four lines--their sentiment ees so fine, so speerited!" +said the princess. + +"Well, they're _neat_," Peter admitted, modestly. + +The clown, having recovered his breath, cut a caper. Instantly "Yankee +Doodle" came to an end, and the children all stopped to watch him. + +"Tell them to play a waltz," said Miss Senter to Carmela, who was in +waiting at the door. The deputy must have flown up the little stairway +leading to the gallery, for the waltz began in less than a minute. Then +Ercole, selecting a pretty American child from among the group, began to +dance with her in the most charming way, followed by all the little +ones, two and two. Those who could waltz, did so; those who could not, +held each other's hands and hopped about. + +Supper followed. The hot things were smoking and delicious, and the +supplies constantly renewed; old Giorgio was evidently on his mettle. It +was the gondolier, still in his clown's dress, who brought in these +supplies and handed them to the waiters from Florian's. + +"You need not do that, Ercole," said Miss Senter, in an undertone; +"these men can go to the kitchen for them." + +Ercole bowed; it would not have been respectful to reply with his +grinning linen lips. But he continued to fill the same office. + +"Perhaps Giorgio won't have Florian's people in the kitchen!" the +Consuless reflected. + +As soon as supper was over, the children clamored for their clown, and +he came bounding in a second time, and, after several astonishing +capers, selected a beautiful English child with long golden curls and +led a galop, followed again by all the others, two and two. Peter, his +mind still occupied with his project of taking the young Italian to +America as a star performer, moved from point to point, in order to get +different views of him. One of these stations was in the doorway, and +here Carmela spoke to him in a low tone, and asked him to come to the +outer hall. He did not understand her words; but he comprehended her +gesture and followed her. She was talking angrily, almost spluttering, +as she led the way. But her talk was lost on her master, who, however, +opened his eyes when he saw four policemen standing at his outer door. + +"What do you want here?" he said. "This is a private residence, and you +are disturbing a Christmas party." + +The chief officer told his tale. But Peter did not comprehend him. + +"You should have gone to the Consulate," he went on. "The Consulate, you +know--Riva Skevony. The vice-consul won't be there so late as this; but +you'll find him early to-morrow morning, sure." + +The policemen, however, remained where they were. + +"There's no making them understand a word," said Peter to himself, in +irritation. "Here, you go and call my sister," he said to Carmela, who, +in her wrath over this intrusion, stood at a distance swallowing nothing +in a series of gulps that made her throat twitch. "Let's see; sister, +that's sorelly. Sorelly!" he repeated to Carmela. "Sorelly!" + +The enraged little deputy understood. And she got Miss Senter out of the +drawing-room without attracting notice. "The master wishes to see the +signorina," she said, in a concentrated undertone. "I burn with +indignation, for it is an insolent intrusion; it is an insult to his +Excellency, who no doubt is a prince in his own country. But they +_would_ not go, in spite of all I could say. Nor would they tell me +their errand--brutes!" And with her skirts quivering she led the way to +the outer hall. + +"Find out what these men want, Barly," said Peter, when his sister +appeared. + +And then the chief officer again told his story. + +"Mercy!" said Miss Senter, "how dreadful. Somebody was killed, Peter, +about seven o'clock this evening, in a cafe near the Rialto, and they +say they have just found a clew which appears to track the assassin to +this very door! And they wish to search." + +"What an absurd idea! With the whole place crowded and blazing with +lights, as it is to-night, a mouse couldn't hide," said Peter. "Tell +them so." + +"They repeat that they must search," said Miss Senter. "But if you will +exert your authority, Peter--make use of your official position--I am +sure we need not submit to such a thing." + +Peter, however, was helpless without his vice-consul; he had no clear +idea as to what his powers were or were not; he had never informed +himself. + +Carmela, greatly excited, had drawn Miss Senter aside. "There was a +sixth man with those musicians!" she whispered. "I saw him. He did not +play, but he sat behind them. And he has only just gone. Five minutes +ago." + +Miss Senter repeated the information to the chief officer. The officer +immediately detached two men to follow this important clew; he himself, +with the third, would remain to go through the apartment, as a matter of +form. + +"As the rooms are all open and lighted," said Miss Senter in English to +her brother, "it will only take a few minutes, if go they must, and no +one need know anything about it. But whom shall we send with them? If we +call Ercole, it will attract attention; and Florian's men, who were due +at another place, have already gone. We could have Andrea come up. But +no; Giorgio will do best of all. Call Giorgio to go with these men," she +added in Italian to Carmela. + +"Let _me_ conduct them!" answered the deputy. + +"Yes; on the whole, she will be better than any one," said Miss Senter +to Peter. "She is so angry at what she calls the insult to you, and so +excited about the mysterious person who was with the musicians, that she +will bully them and hurry them off to look for him in no time. They can +begin with a peep into the drawing-room; I'll tell them to keep +themselves hidden." She turned and explained her idea in Italian to the +officer; they could glance into the drawing-room first, and then Carmela +would take them through all the other rooms; the Consul, though he had +the power of refusal, would permit this liberty in the cause of justice. +Their search, however, would be unavailing; under the circumstances, it +was impossible that any one should have taken refuge there, unless it +was that one extra man who had been admitted with the musicians to the +gallery. And he was already gone. + +"Perhaps he only pretended to go?" suggested the officer. "With +permission, I will lock this door." And he did so. + +[Illustration: "A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS"] + +They went to the drawing-room, the policemen moving quietly, close to +the wall. When the last anteroom was reached, the two men hid themselves +behind the tapestries that draped the door, and, making loop-holes among +the folds, peeped into the ball-room. For it was at that moment a +ball-room. The children had again taken up their whirling dance around +Ercole, and the gondolier, who had now a small child perched on each of +his shoulders, was singing with them in a clear tenor, having caught +the syllables from having heard them shouted about fifty times: + + "Yankee dooda dooda doo, + Yankee dooda dandee, + Barkeet cakar vera goo, + Arso molarsa candee." + +Miss Senter had sent Peter back to his guests. She herself, standing +between the tapestries as though she were looking on from the doorway, +named to the hidden policemen, as well as she could amid the loud +singing within, all the persons present, one by one. Finally her list +came to a close. "And that is Mr. Barlow, the American who lives at the +Danieli; and the one near the Christmas-tree is Mr. Douglas, who has the +Palazzo Dario. And the tall, large gentleman with silver hair is Sir +William Kay. That is all, except the clown, who is our gondolier, and +the five musicians up in the gallery; can you see them from here? If +not, Carmela can take you up." And then she thought, with a sudden +little shudder, that perhaps the officer's idea was not, after all, +impossible; perhaps, indeed, that extra man had only pretended to go! + +The policemen signified that this was enough as regarded the +drawing-room; they withdrew softly, and waited outside the door. + +"Now take them through all the other rooms, Carmela," whispered the +Consuless. "Be as quiet about it as you can, so that no one need know. +And when they have finally gone, come and stand for a moment between +these curtains, as a sign. If, by any chance, they _should_ discover any +one--" + +"The signorina need not be frightened; I saw the man go myself! And he +could not have re-entered without my knowledge. As for these beasts of +policemen--" And Carmela's eyes flashed, while her set lips seemed to +say, "Trust _me_ to hustle them out!" + +"Run up first and tell the musicians to play the music I sent them," +said the Consuless. And then she rejoined her guests. + +For the next dance was to be a Virginia Reel, and some of the elders +were to join the children; the two lines, when arranged, extended down +half the length of the long room. It began with great spirit, the clown +and the three Kings of Orient dancing at the end of the file. + +"It is really Sir Roger de Coverley, an English dance," said Lady Kay to +the Russian princess, who was looking on from the chair next her own. +"But the Senters like to call it a Virginia Reel, they are so patriotic. +And we never contradict the Senters, you know," added the English lady, +laughing; "we let them have their way." + +"It seems to me a vurra good way," answered the princess, who was a +plain-looking old woman with a charming smile. "I have nowhere seen so +many reech toyees" (here she glanced at the costly playthings heaped on +a table near by). "Nor haf I, in _Italy_, seen so many tings to eat. +With so moche champagne." + +"Yes, they always do that," answered the baronet's wife. "They are so +very lavish. And very kind." + +Miss Senter herself was dancing the reel. Once she thought there was a +quaver in the music, and, glancing up quickly towards the gallery, she +perceived the heads of the policemen behind the players. The players, +however, recovered themselves immediately, and upon looking up again a +moment afterwards she saw with relief that the sinister apparition had +vanished. Ten minutes later the trim little figure of the deputy +appeared between the tapestries of the doorway. Miss Senter, still +dancing, nodded slightly, as a signal that she perceived her, and then +Carmela, with an answering nod and one admiring look at Ercole, +disappeared. After all, now that there had been a suspicion about that +extra man, it _was_ a comfort to have had the apartment searched; it +would make the moment of going to bed easier, the American lady +reflected. + +It was now half-past eleven. By midnight the last sleepy child had been +carried down the marble stairway, the music ceased, and the musicians +departed. The elders, glad that the noise was over, remained half an +hour longer; then they took leave. Only Lady Kay and her husband were +left; they had waited to take a closer look at Miss Senter's Christmas +present to her brother, which was a large and beautifully executed copy +of Tintoretto's "Bacchus and Ariadne," from the Anticollegio of the +Doge's Palace. It had been placed temporarily on the wall behind the +Christmas-tree. + +"How exquisite!" said Lady Kay, with a long sigh. "You are most +fortunate, Mr. Senter." + +"Oh yes. Though I don't quite know what they will think of it in +Rochester, New York," answered Peter, chuckling. + +Sir William and his wife intended to walk home. When it was cold they +preferred to walk rather than go to and fro in a gondola; and as they +were old residents, they knew every turn of the intricate burrowing +chinks in all the quarters that serve as footways. When they took leave +at one o'clock, Peter and Miss Senter, with American friendliness, +accompanied them to the outer door. Peter was about to open this door +when it was swung back, and a figure reeled in--Ercole. He had taken off +his clown's dress, and wore now his gondolier's costume; but this +costume was in disorder, and his face was darkly red--a purple red. + +"Why, Ercole, is it you? What is the matter?" said Miss Senter, as he +staggered against the wall. + +"Oh, her Excellency the Consuless, I have been _beaten_!" + +"Beaten? Where have you been? I thought you were down at the landing +with Andrea," said Miss Senter. + +"The antiquity-dealer suffocates," muttered Ercole. "And Giorgio--dead!" + +This "dead" (_morto!_) even Peter understood. "Dead! What is he saying, +Barly?" + +"The man is saying, Mr. Senter, that an antiquity-dealer is suffocating, +and that somebody he calls Giorgio is dead," translated the +pink-cheeked, portly Lady Kay, in her sweet voice. "It's your gondolier, +isn't it--the one who played the clown so nicely? What a pity! He has +been drinking, I fear." + +While she was saying this, Sir William was leading Ercole farther away +from the ladies. + +"Yes, he is drunk," said Peter, looking at him. "Too bad! We must have +help. Let's see; Andrea is down at the landing. I'll get him. And you +call Giorgio, Barly." + +Here Ercole, held by Sir William, gave a maddened cry, and threw his +head about violently. + +"Oh, don't leave my husband alone with him, Mr. Senter," said Lady Kay, +alarmed. "He is a very powerful young man, and his eyes are dreadful. +To me he looks as if he were mad. Those somersaults have affected his +head." + +And the gondolier's eyes were indeed strangely bloodshot and wild. Miss +Senter had hurried to the kitchen. But Giorgio was not there. She came +back, and found Ercole struggling with the Englishman and her brother. + +"Let me try," she said. "I am not afraid of him. Ercole," she continued, +speaking gently in Italian, "go to your room now, and go to bed quietly; +everything will be all right to-morrow." + +Ercole writhed in Sir William's grasp. "The antiquity-dealer! And +Giorgio--dead!" + +"Where is Giorgio, Barly?" said Peter, angrily, as he helped Sir William +in securing the gondolier. "And where are the other servants? Where's +Carmela? Find them, and send one down to the landing for Andrea, and the +other for Giorgio. Quick!" + +"Oh, Peter, I've been, and I couldn't find Giorgio or any one." + +"Carmela was in your bedroom not long ago," said Lady Kay, watching the +gondolier's contortions nervously; "she helped me put on my cloak." + +Miss Senter ran to her bedroom, her train flying in the haste she made. +But in a moment she was back again. "There is no one there. Oh, where +are they all?" + +Ercole, hearing her voice, peered at her with his crimsoned eyes, and +then, breaking loose suddenly, he came and caught hold of her arm. "The +antiquity-room. _Will_ she come?" + +Peter and Sir William dragged him away by main force. + +"The gentlemen, then. Will _they_ come?" said the gondolier, hoarsely. +And again freeing himself with two strokes of his powerful arms, he +passed out (for the door was still open), and began to descend the +outside staircase. + +"Oh, thank Heaven, he has gone!" "Oh, lock the door!" cried the two +ladies together. + +"We must follow him, Mr. Senter," said Sir William. "He is plainly mad +from drink, and may do some harm." + +"Yes; and down there Andrea can help us," answered Peter. + +And the two gentlemen hastened down the staircase. It was a very long +flight with three turns. The court below was brilliantly lighted by many +wall lamps. + +"I _don't_ like my husband's going down," said Lady Kay, in a tremor, as +she stood on the landing outside. "If they are going to seize him, the +more of us the better; don't you think so? For while they are holding +him, you and I could run across and get that other man in from the +riva." + +But Miss Senter was not there. She had rushed back into the house, and +was now calling with all her strength: "Giorgio! Carmela! Assunta! +Beppa!" There was no answer, and, seized with a fresh panic by the +strangeness of this silence, she hastened out again and joined Lady Kay, +who was already half-way down the stairs. The gondolier had not turned +towards the water entrance; he had crossed the court in the opposite +direction, and now he was passing through a broad, low door which led +into the hall on the ground-floor behind the show-room of Z. Pelham, +throwing open as he did so both wings of this entrance, so that the +light from the court entered in a broad beam across the stone pavement. + +"My dear, _don't_ go in!" "Oh, Peter, stop! stop!" cried the two ladies, +as they breathlessly descended the last flight. + +But Peter and Sir William had paid no attention. Quickly detaching two +of the lamps from the wall, they had followed the madman. + +"The other gondolier!" gasped Lady Kay. + +And the two women ran swiftly to the water-door and threw it open, Miss +Senter calling, in Italian: "Andrea! come _instantly_!" + +The little riva along the small canal was also brightly lighted. But +there was no one there. And opposite there was only a long blank wall. + +"Oh, we must not leave them a moment longer," said Lady Kay. + +And again they rushed across the broad court, this time entering the +dark water-story; for it was better to enter, dreadful though it was, +than to remain outside, not knowing what might be happening within. +Ercole meanwhile had made his way into Mr. Pelham's show-room, and here +he had struck a match and lighted a candle. As he had left the door of +the show-room open, those who were without could see him, and they +stopped for a moment to watch what he would do next. It was now a group +of four, for the ladies had joined the other two, Miss Senter whispering +to her brother: + +"Andrea isn't there!" + +The gondolier bent down, and began to drag something across the floor +and out to the open space behind. "Here!" he said, turning his purple +face towards their lamps. "I can no more." And he sat down suddenly on +the pavement, and let his head and arms fall forward over his knees. + +Peter and Sir William, giving their lamps to the ladies, were +approaching cautiously, in order to secure him while he was quiet, when +they saw, to their horror, two human legs and feet protruding from the +object which he had dragged forth. + +"Why, it's the second-hand dealer; it's Z. Pelham!" said Peter, in fresh +excitement. "I know his arctics. Bring the lamp, Barly. Quick!" + +The two ladies came nearer, keeping one eye upon Ercole. Peter and Sir +William with some difficulty cut the rope, and unwound two woollen +coverlids and a sheet. Within, almost suffocated, with his hands tied +behind him, was the dealer. + +"I suppose _he_ did this!" whispered Lady Kay to Miss Senter, her pink +face white, as she indicated the motionless gondolier. + +Sir William lifted the dealer's head, while Peter loosened his collar. + +"Now will Excellencies look for Giorgio," muttered Ercole, without +changing his position. + +"He says now will you look for Giorgio," translated Lady Kay. "That he +_tells_ his crimes shows that he really _is_ mad!" she added, in a +whisper. + +"No; I think he has come to for the moment, and that's why he tells," +said Peter, hastily rubbing Z. Pelham's chest. "Ask him where we shall +look, Barly; ask while he's lucid." + +"Where must we look for Giorgio, Ercole?" quavered Miss Senter, her +Italian coming out with the oddest pronunciation. + +"Back stairs," answered the gondolier. + +"Back stairs, he says," translated Lady Kay. + +"There are no back stairs," replied Peter. + +"I'll put this coverlid under his back. That will make him breathe +better," said the Englishman, his sympathies roused by the forlorn +plight of the little dealer, whose carefully strapped arctic shoes gave +ironical emphasis to his helplessness. + +Meanwhile Miss Senter, saying "Yes, there _are_ stairs," had run across +the pavement with her lamp, found the door at the back of the hall, and +opened it. Z. Pelham began to breathe more regularly, although he had +not yet opened his eyes. Sir William drew him farther away from the +gondolier, and then he and Peter hastened across and looked up the +spiral. "It goes to the attics," explained Miss Senter. + +"You two stand here at the bottom with one lamp, and Sir William and I +will go up with the other," said Peter. "Keep your eye on Ercole, Barly, +and if he so much as _moves_, come right up and join us." + +"Wait an instant," said the Englishman. "Stay here with Mr. Senter, +Gertrude." Making a detour so as not to rouse the gondolier, he entered +the antiquity-dealer's show-room and tried to open the outer door. But +it was locked, and the key was not there. "No use," he said, coming +hurriedly back; "I had hoped to get help from outside to watch him while +we go up. Now remember, Gertrude, you and Miss Senter are to come up and +join us _instantly_ if he leaves his place." And then he and Peter +ascended the winding steps, carrying one of the lamps. Round and round +went the gleam of their light, and the two ladies at the bottom, +standing with their skirts caught up ready to run, watched the still +form of the gondolier in the distance, visible in the gleam of the +candle burning in the show-room. It seemed an hour. But a full minute +had not gone when Peter's voice above cried out: + +"It's Giorgio! Good God! Killed! Bring up the other light." + +And the two ladies rushed up together. There on the landing lay the poor +old cook, his eyes closed, his face ghastly, his white jacket deeply +stained with blood. Miss Senter, who was really attached to the old man, +began to cry. + +"He isn't quite dead," said Peter, who had been listening for the heart. +"But we must get him out of this icy place. Then we'll tie up Ercoly--we +can use that rope--and after he is secured, I can go for help. Here, you +take his head and shoulders, Sir William; you are the strongest. And +I'll take his body. Barly can take the feet." + +"It will be difficult," said the Englishman. "These steep stairs--" + +But Peter, when roused, was a veritable little lion. "Come on," he said; +"we can do it." + +"Please go down first and see if Ercole is still quiet," begged Miss +Senter of Lady Kay. And the Englishwoman, who now had both lamps, went +down and came back in thirty seconds; she never knew how she did it. "He +has not stirred," she said. And then old Giorgio was borne down, and out +to the brilliantly lighted court beyond. + +"Now," said Peter, whose face was bathed with great drops of +perspiration, "we'll first secure him," and he indicated Ercole by +pointing his thumb backward over his shoulder towards the water-story, +"and then I'll go for a doctor and the police." + +But as he spoke, coming out of the door upon his hands and knees, +appeared Z. Pelham, who, as soon as he saw the cook's prostrate body, +called back, hoarsely, in Italian: "Ercole, get my brandy-flask." + +"Oh, don't call him!" said Lady Kay, in terror, clapping a fold of her +skirt tightly over the dealer's mouth and holding it there. "He is +mad--quite mad!" + +Mr. Pelham collapsed. + +"Good heavens! Gertrude, don't suffocate the poor creature a second +time," said Sir William, pulling his wife away. + +Z. Pelham, released, raised his head. "Ercole has been bad beat, and +that makes him not genteel," he explained. "Ercole, bring my +brandy-flask," he called again, in Italian, and the effort he made to +break through his hoarseness brought out the words in a sudden wild +yell. "My voice a little deranged is," he added, apologetically, in +English. + +They could now hear the steps of the gondolier within, and the ladies +moved to a distance as he appeared, walking unsteadily, the flask in his +hand. "Not dead?" he said, trying to see Giorgio. But his eyes closed +convulsively, and as soon as the dealer had taken the flask, down he +went, or half fell, on the pavement as before, with his head thrown +forward over his knees. Sir William placed himself promptly by his side, +while Peter ran within to get the rope. Z. Pelham, uncorking the flask, +poured a little brandy between Giorgio's pale lips. "You have all +mistake," he said to Sir William as he did this. "Ercole was bad beat by +a third partee who has done it all--me and he and this died cook; a +third partee was done it all." And he chafed the cook's temples with +brandy. + +"A third party?" said Peter, who had returned with the rope. "Who?" + +"I know not; they knocked me from behind. It was lightning to me, in +_my_ head also," answered Z. Pelham, going on with his chafing. + +"Come here, Barly," said Peter, taking command. "Say what I tell you. +Don't be afraid; Sir William and I will grab him if he stirs. Say, +'Ercoly, who hurt you?'" + +"Ercole, who hurt you?" said Miss Senter, tremulously. + +"_Non so. Un demonio_," answered the gondolier, his head still on his +knees. + +"He says he doesn't know. A demon," said Lady Kay. + +"Ask when it happened." + +"It was after he had taken the presents from the tree," translated Lady +Kay again. "He was struck, dragged down the back stairs, gagged, and +left in the antiquity-room. He has only just now been able to free +himself." + +"How could he act the clown, then?" pursued Peter. + +"He says he hasn't been a clown or seen a clown. Oh, Peter, it was some +one else disguised! Who could it have been?" cried Miss Senter, running +away as if to fly up the staircase, and then in her terror running back +again. + +The cook's eyes had now opened. "He says see what is stoled," said Mr. +Pelham, administering more brandy. Mr. Pelham was seated, tailor +fashion, on the pavement, his feet in their arctics under him. + +"Giorgio knows something about it, too," said Peter. "Ask him, Barly." + +But Miss Senter was incapable of speaking; she had hidden her face on +Lady Kay's shoulder, shuddering. The clown with whom she had talked, who +had danced all the evening with the children, was an assassin! A strange +and savage murderer! + +"I'll do it," said the Englishman. And bending over Giorgio, he asked, +in correct, stiff Italian: "Do you know who hurt you?" + +"A tall, dark man. I never saw him before," answered the cook, or rather +his lips formed those words. "He stabbed me after he had struck down +Ercole." + +"Now he is again gone," soliloquized Z. Pelham, as Giorgio's eyes +closed; "I have fear this time he is truly died!" And he chafed the +cook's temples anew. + +"It's all clear now," said Peter, "and Ercoly isn't mad; only hurt in +some way. So I'll go for help at once." + +"Oh, Peter, you always get lost!" moaned his sister. + +And it was true that the Consul almost invariably lost his way in the +labyrinth of chinks behind the palace. + +"I'll go," said the Englishman. "It's not very late" (he looked at his +watch); "I shall be sure to find some one." + +"You must let me go with you, my dear," urged Lady Kay. + +In three minutes they were back with two men. "I've brought these two, +and there's a doctor coming. And I sent word to the police," said the +Englishman. + +And following very soon came a half-dressed youth, a young American +doctor, who had been roused by somebody. The cook was borne up the +stairway and into the salon, where the chandeliers were shedding their +soft radiance calmly, and where all the fairy-lamps were still burning +on the Christmas-tree; for only twenty minutes had passed since the host +and his guests had left the room. Behind the group of the two men from +outside, who with Peter and the doctor were carrying Giorgio, came Sir +William leading the gondolier, who seemed now entirely blind, while Z. +Pelham followed, last of all, on his hands and knees. + +"This old man has a deep cut--done with a knife; he has lost a good deal +of blood; pretty bad case," said the doctor. "Your gondolier has been +dreadfully beaten about the head, but it won't kill him; he is young and +strong. This third man seems to be only sprained. Get me something for +bandages and compresses, and bring cold water." + +"Get towels, Barly," said the Consul. + +"Oh, Peter, I'm afraid to go," said Miss Senter, faintly. "The man may +still be hidden here somewhere. And I know he has murdered Carmela and +the other servants, too!" + +Peter ran to his own chamber, and came back with a pile of towels, a +sheet from his bed, a large jug of water, and a scissors. "Now, doctor, +you stay here and do what you can for all three," he said, as he hurried +round the great drawing-room, locking all the doors but one. "And the +ladies will stay here with you. The rest of us will search the whole +apartment immediately! Lock this last door as soon as we're out, will +you?" + +"Oh, Peter, don't go!" cried his sister. "Let those two men do it. Or +wait for the police." + +"My dear, pray consider," said Lady Kay to her husband; "if any one _is_ +hidden, it is some desperate character--" + +But the Englishman and Peter were already gone, and the ladies were left +with the doctor, who, comprehending everything quickly, locked the last +door, and then hurried back to the cook. Old Giorgio's mind was now +wandering; he muttered incoherently, and seemed to be suffering greatly. +The gondolier, his head enveloped in wet towels, was lying in a stupor +on one of the sofas. Z. Pelham quietly tied up his own sprained ankles +with a portion of the torn sheet, and then assisted with much +intelligence in the making of the bandages which the doctor needed for +Giorgio. + +Sir William, Peter, and the two men from outside began with the kitchen; +no one. The pantries and store-rooms; no one. The supper-room; no one. +The bedrooms; no one. The anterooms and small drawing-room; no one. As +the whole house was still brightly lighted, this did not take long. They +now crossed to four rooms on the north side; no one. Then came a large +store-room for linen. This was not lighted, so they took in a lamp; no +one. + +"There's a second door here," said Sir William, perceiving one of those +masked flat portals common in Italy, which are painted or frescoed so +exactly like the wall that they seem a part of it. + +"It opens into a little recess only a foot deep," said Peter, going on +with the lamp to the second store-room. "No one could possibly hide +there. Now after we have finished on this side, there is only the +wood-room left; that is off by itself in a wing." + +The Englishman had accompanied his host. But having a strong bent +towards thoroughness, he was not satisfied, and he quietly returned +alone and opened that masked door. There, flattened against the wall, +not clearly visible in the semi-darkness, was the outline of a woman's +figure. His exclamation brought back the others with the lamp. It was +Carmela. + +She stood perfectly still for an instant or two, so motionless, and with +such bright eyes staring at them, that she looked like a wax figure. +Then she sprang from her hiding-place and made a swift rush down the +corridor towards the outer door. They caught her. She fought and +struggled dreadfully, still without a sound. So frantic were her +writhings that her apron and cap were torn away, and the braids of her +hair fell down and finally fell off, leaving only, to Peter's +astonishment, a few locks of thin white hair in their place. It took the +four men to hold her, for she threw herself from side to side like a +wild-cat; she even dragged the four as far as the anteroom nearest the +drawing-room in her desperate efforts to reach that outer door. But +here, as she felt herself at last over-powered, a terrible shriek burst +from her, her face became distorted, her eyes rolled up, and froth +appeared on her lips. + +The shriek, an unmistakably feminine one, had brought the doctor and two +ladies from the drawing-room. + +"A fit!" exclaimed the doctor as soon as he saw the froth. "Here, get +open that tight dress." He unbuttoned a few buttons of the black bodice, +and tore off the rest. "Gracious! corsets like steel." He took out his +knife, and hastily cutting the cashmere across the shoulders, he got his +hand in and severed the corset strings. "Now, ladies, just help me to +get her out of this harness." + +And with trembling fingers Lady Kay and Miss Senter gave their aid, and +after a moment the whole edifice--for it was an edifice--sank to the +floor. What was left was an old, old woman, small and withered, her +feeble chest rising and falling in convulsions under her coarse chemise, +and the rest of her little person scantily covered with a patched, +poverty-stricken under-skirt. + +"Oh, _poor_ creature!" said Lady Kay, the tears filling her eyes as all +the ribs of the meagre, wasted body showed in the straining, spasmodic +effort of the lungs to get breath. + +"Bring something to cover her, Barly," said Peter. + +And Miss Senter, forgetting her fears, ran to her room, and brought back +the first thing she could find--a large white shawl. + +"All right now; she's coming to," said the doctor. + +The convulsions gradually ceased, and Carmela's eyes opened. She looked +at them all in silence as she sat, muffled in the shawl, where they had +placed her. Finally she spoke. "The Consul is too late," she said, with +mock respect. "The Consuless also. Did they admire the dancing of the +clown? A fine fellow that clown! You need not hold me," she added to the +two men from outside, who were acting as guards. "I have nothing more to +do. My son is safe, and that was all I cared for. They will never find +him; he is far from here now. He is very clever, and he has, besides, to +help him, all the money which the Consuless so kindly provided for him +by keeping it in a secret drawer, whose 'secret' every Italian not an +idiot knows. But the Consuless has always had a singular self-conceit. +I had only to mention that extra man with the musicians--poor little +Tonio the tailor it was--and she swallowed him down whole. I could have +got away myself if I had cared to. But I waited, in order to keep back +the alarm as long as possible; I waited. Oh yes, I helped all the ladies +to put on their cloaks; I helped this English ladyship to put on hers +last of all, as she knows. When their Excellencies went down to the +water-story, I then tried to go; but I found that they could still see +the staircase, so I came back. What matters it? They may do with me what +they please. For myself I care not. My son is safe." On her old cheeks, +under the falling white hair, were still the faint pink tinges of rouge, +and from beneath the wretched petticoat came the two young-looking +high-heeled shoes. She folded her thin hands on her lap, and refused to +say more. + +Assunta and Beppa were found in the wood-room, gagged and bound like the +others, but not hurt. And in the morning the Consul's gondola was +discovered floating out with the tide, and within it Andrea in the same +helpless state. The man, who was an ex-convict, a burglar, suspected of +worse crimes, after committing the murder at the cafe, had fled to the +palace. Here he and his intrepid little mother had invented and carried +out the whole scheme in the one hour which had followed the distribution +of the presents from the tree, before the dancing began. Carmela had +even left the house to obtain a clown's costume from a dealer in +masquerade dresses who lived near by. And she had herself opened for her +son's use the disused door which led to the spiral steps. + +That son was never caught. His mother, who had worked for him +indefatigably through her whole life--worked so hard that her hands were +worn almost to claws--who had supported him and supplied him, who had +made herself young and active like a girl, though she was seventy-four, +in order to be able to send him money--his mother, who had allowed +herself nothing in the world but the few smart clothes necessary for her +disguise, who was absolutely honest, but who had stolen for him three +thousand francs from the secret drawer, and had stood by and aided him +when he beat, stabbed, and gagged her fellow-servants--this mother was +not arrested. She should have been, of course. But somehow, very +strangely, she escaped from the palace before morning. + +Poor old Giorgio was never able to work again. But as Peter pensioned +him handsomely, he led an easy life, while Ercole became a magnate among +gondoliers. + +It was not until three years afterwards, in Rochester, New York, that +Peter, surrounded by Z. Pelham's entire collection (which he had +purchased, though thinking it hideous, at large prices), confessed to +his sister that he had connived at Carmela's escape. "Somehow I couldn't +stand it, Barly. That thin white hair and those poor old arms of hers, +and that wretched, wasted, gasping little chest--in prison!" + + + + +IN VENICE + + +"Yes, we came over again in February, and have been here in Venice since +the last of March. For some reasons I was sorry to come back--one _is_ +so much more comfortable at home! What I have suffered in these +wretchedly cold houses over here words, Mr. Blake, can never express. +For in England, you know, they consider fifty-eight Fahrenheit quite +warm enough for their drawing-rooms, while here in Italy--well, one +never _is_ so cold, I think, as in a warm climate. Yes, we should have +been more comfortable, as far as _that_ goes, in my own house in New +York, reading all those delightful books on Art in a properly warmed +atmosphere (and I must say a properly warmed spirit too), and looking at +photographs of the pictures (you can have them as large as you like, you +know), instead of freezing our feet over the originals, which half the +time the eyes of a lynx could not see. But it is not always winter, of +course. And then I have lived over here so long that I have, it seems, +acquired foreign ways that are very unpopular at home. You may smile, +and it _is_ too ridiculous; but it is so. For instance, last summer we +went to Carley Ledge (you know Carley; pretty little place), and we +found out afterwards that the people came near mobbing us! Not exactly +that, of course, but they took the most violent dislike to us; and why? +It is too comical. Because we had innocently treated Carley as we treat +a pretty village over here. One lady said, and, I am told, with +indignation, that we had been stopping, 'more than once, right in the +main street, and standing there, in that _public_ place, to look at a +cloud passing over the mountain!' And another reported that she had +herself discovered us 'sitting on the _grass_, no farther away from the +main street than the open space in front of Deacon Seymour's, just as +though it was out in the country!' That 'out in the country' is rather +good, isn't it? Always that poor little main street!" + +"Still, I think, on the whole, that the cold houses are worse than the +village comments," replied Mrs. Marcy's visitor. "A New-Yorker I know, a +confirmed European too, always goes home to spend the three months of +winter. When he comes back in the spring his English friends say, 'I +hear you have had so many degrees of frost over there--fancy!'--meaning, +perhaps, zero or under. To which he assents, but always inflexibly goes +back. They look upon him as a kind of Esquimau. But how does Miss Marcy +like exile?" + +"Oh, Claudia is very fond of Italy. You have not seen her, by-the-way, +since she was a child, and she is now twenty. Do you find her altered?" + +"Greatly." + +"At home she was never thought pretty--when she was younger, I mean. She +was thought too--too--vigorous is perhaps the best word; she had not +that graceful slenderness one expects to see in a young girl. But over +here, I notice, the opinion seems to be different," continued the lady, +half questioningly. "And, of course, too, she has improved." + +"My dear Miss Sophy--improved? Miss Marcy is a wonderfully beautiful +woman." + +"Yes, yes, I know; Mr. Lenox thinks so too, I believe," answered Mrs. +Marcy, half pleased, half irritated. "It seems she is a Venetian--that +is, of the sixteenth century; and dressed in dark-green velvet, with +those great puffed Venetian sleeves coming down over her knuckles, a +gold chain, and her hair closely braided, she would be, they tell me, a +perfect Bonifazio. In fact, Mr. Lenox is painting her as one. Only he +has to imagine the dress." + +Mrs. Marcy was a widow, and fifty-five. It had pleased her to hear again +the old "Miss Sophy" of their youth from Rodney Blake; but as she had +been one of those tall, slender, faintly lined girls who are called +lilies, and who are associated with pale blues and lavender, she +naturally found it difficult to realize a beauty, even if it was that of +a niece, so unlike her own. Mrs. Marcy was now less than slender; the +blue eyes which had once mildly lighted her countenance were faded. But +she still remained lily-like and willowy, and her attire adapted itself +to that style; there was a gleam of the lavender still--she wore long +shawls and scarfs. + +In the easy-chair opposite, Rodney Blake leaned back. He was fifty-six, +long and thin, with a permanent expression on his face of half-weary, +half-amused cynicism, which, however, seemed to concern itself more with +life in general than with people in particular, and thus prevented +personal applications. He was well-to-do, well dressed. There was a +generally received legend that he was rather brilliant. This was the +more remarkable because he seldom said much. But perhaps that was the +reason. Miss Marcy had entered as her aunt finished her sentence. + +"The sitting is over, then," said the elder lady. "Has Mr. Lenox gone?" + +"Not yet," answered the niece, giving her hand to Mr. Blake as he rose +to greet her. + +She was, as he had said, a beautiful woman. Yet at home there were still +those who would have dissented from this opinion, as, secretly, her aunt +dissented. She was of about medium height, with the form of a Juno. She +had a rich complexion, slowly moving eyes of deep brown, and very thick, +curling, low-growing hair of a bright gold color, which showed a warmer +reddish tinge in the light. She was the personification of healthy life +and vigor, but not of the nervous or active sort; of the reflective. +Wherever the sun touched her it struck a color: whether the red of cheek +or lip, or the beautiful tint of her forehead and throat, which was not +fair but clear; whether the brown of her eyes, or the gold of eyebrows, +eyelashes, and the heavy, low-coiled hair. Her features were fairly +regular, but not of the pointed type; they were short rather than long, +clearly, almost boldly, outlined. Her forehead was low; her mouth not +small, the lips beautifully cut. She was attired in black velvet--she +affected rich materials--and as she talked she twisted and untwisted a +string of large pearls which hung loosely round her throat and down upon +the velvet of her dress. + +"Mr. Lenox does not have to imagine much, after all," observed Mr. Blake +in his slow way to Mrs. Marcy. "In velvet, with those pearls, she does +very well as it is." + +"They are only Roman beads," said Claudia. "I don't know what you mean, +of course." + +"I had been telling Mr. Blake that they say that if you had a green +velvet, with those big sleeves, you know, and your hair braided close to +the head, to make it look too small in comparison with the shoulders, it +would be a Bonifazio," explained the aunt. + +"Your pearls are not so effective as they might be, Miss Marcy," +continued the visitor, scanning her as she took a seat. + +"I do not wear them in this way, but so." She unfastened the clasp, and +rewound the long string in three close rows, one above the other, round +her throat, above the high-coming black of her dress. + +"That is better," said her critic. + +"It feels like a piece of armor, so I unloosen it as soon as I can," she +answered. + +Here the artist came in, hat in hand. "I am on my way home," he said. +"Good-morning, Mr. Blake. I have only stopped to ask about our +expedition this afternoon, Mrs. Marcy." + +"Oh, I suppose we shall go," answered that lady, "the day is so fine. +How are they at home this morning, Mr. Lenox?" + +"Elizabeth is quite well, thanks; Theocritus as usual. Shall I order +gondolas, then?" + +"If you will be so good; at four. Mr. Blake will, I hope, go with us." + +And then Mr. Lenox bowed, and withdrew. + +"Does the--the idyllic personage accompany us?" asked the gentleman in +the easy-chair. + +"It is only a child appended to the name," said Claudia, laughing. "For +some reason Mrs. Lenox always pronounces it in full; she could just as +well call him Theo." + +"It is her nephew, and she is devoted to him," explained Mrs. Marcy. "He +is nearly ten years old, but does not look more than five. His health is +extremely delicate, and he is at times rather--rather babyish." + +"Peevish, isn't it?" said Claudia. She had taken up two long black +needles entangled in a mass of crimson worsted, and, disengaging them, +was beginning to knit another row on an unfinished stripe. Her +beautifully moulded hands, full and white, with one antique gem on each, +contrasted with the tint of the wool. The thin fingers of Mrs. Marcy +were decked with fine diamonds, and diamonds alone; in spite of the +"foreign ways" of which that lady had accused herself, she remained +sufficiently American for that. She could buy diamonds, and Claudia an +antique ring or two; both aunt and niece enjoyed inherited incomes, that +of Claudia being comfortable, that of Mrs. Marcy large. + +These ladies occupied rooms on the third floor of a palace on the Grand +Canal, not far below the Piazzetta. The palace was a stately example of +Renaissance architecture, with three rows of majestic polished columns +extending one above the other across its front. Between these columns +the American tenant, who had once been called "the lily," and her niece, +who was so like a Bonifazio, looked out upon the golden Venetian +light--a light whose shadows are colors: mother-of-pearl, emerald, +orange, amber, and all the changing gradations between them--thrown +against and between the reds, browns, and fretted white marbles of the +buildings rising from the water; that ever-moving water which mirrors it +all--here a sparkling, glancing surface, there a mysterious darkness, +both of them contrasting with the serene blue of the sky above, which +is barred towards the riva by the long, lean, sharply defined lateen +spars of the moored barks, and made even more deep in its hue over the +harbor by the broad sails of the fishing-sloops outlined against it, as +they come slowly up the channel, rich, unlighted sheets of tawny yellow +and red, with a great cross vaguely defined upon them. + +Next to the Renaissance palace was a smaller one, narrow and high, of +mediaeval Gothic, ancient and weather-stained; it had lancet-windows, +adorned above with trefoil, and a little carved balcony like old +Venetian lace cut in marble. Here Mr. and Mrs. Lenox occupied the floor +above that occupied by the ladies in the larger palace. Communication +was direct, however, owing to a hallway, like a little covered bridge, +that crossed the canal which flowed between--a canal narrow, dark, and +still, that worked away silently all day and all night at its life-long +task of undermining the ponderous walls on each side; gaining perhaps a +half-inch in a century, together with the lighter achievement of eating +out the painted wooden columns which, like lances set upright in the +sand at a tent's door, the old Venetians were accustomed to plant in the +tide round their water-washed entrances. At four o'clock the little +company started, the three from the Gothic palace having come across the +hall bridge to join the others. Two gondolas were in waiting; as the +afternoon was warm, they had light awnings instead of the antique black +tops, with the sombre drapery sweeping out behind. + +"I like the black tops better," observed Claudia. "Any one can have an +awning, but the black tops are Venetian." + +"They can easily be changed," said Lenox. + +"Oh no; not in this heat," objected Mrs. Marcy. "We should stifle. Mr. +Blake, shall you and I, as the selfish elders, take this one, and let +the younger people go together in that?" + +"I want to go in the one with the red awning--the _bright_ red," said +Theocritus. This was the one Mrs. Marcy had selected. + +"No, no, my boy; the other will do quite as well for you," said Lenox. + +"It won't," replied the child, in a decided little voice. + +"It is not of the slightest consequence," graciously interposed Mrs. +Marcy, signalling to the other gondola, and, with Blake's assistance, +taking her place within it. + +Mr. Lenox glanced at his wife. She was occupied in folding a shawl +closely over the boy's little overcoat. "Come, then," he said, giving +his hand first to Miss Marcy, then to his wife and the child. The +gondolas floated out on the broad stream. + +Claudia talked; she talked well, and took the Venetian tone. "The only +thing that jars upon me," she said, after a while, "is that these +Venetians of to-day--those men and women we are passing on the riva now, +for instance--do not appreciate in the least their wonderful +water-city--scarcely know what it is." + +"They don't study 'Venice' because they are Venice--isn't that it?" said +Mrs. Lenox. She had soothed the little boy into placidity, and he sat +beside her quietly, with one gloved hand in hers, a small muffled +figure, with a pale face whose delicate skin was lined like that of an +old man. His eyes were narrow, deep-set, and dark under his faintly +outlined fair eyebrows; his thin hair so light in hue and cut so +closely to his head that it could scarcely be distinguished. + +"I hope not," said Claudia, answering Mrs. Lenox's remark--"at least, I +hope the old Venetians were not so; I like to think that they felt, down +to their very finger-tips, all the richness and beauty about them." + +"You may be sure the feeling was unconscious compared with ours," +replied Mrs. Lenox. "They did not consult authorities about the +pictures; they were the pictures. They did not study history; they made +it. They did not read romances; they lived them." + +"I wish I could have lived then," murmured Miss Marcy, her eyes resting +thoughtfully on the red tower of San Giorgio, rising from the blue. No +veil obscured the beautiful tints of her face; Claudia's complexion +could brave the brightest light, the wind, and the sun. The dark-blue +plume of the round hat she wore curled down over the rippled sunny +braids of her hair. Mr. Lenox was looking at her. But Mr. Lenox was +often looking at her. + +"That would not be at all nice for us," said Mrs. Lenox, in her pleasant +voice, answering the young lady's wish. "If you, Miss Marcy, can step +back into the fifteenth century without trouble, we cannot; Stephen and +I are very completely of this poor nineteenth." + +"I don't know," said Claudia, slowly; she looked at "Stephen" with +meditative eyes. "He could have been one of the soldiers. You remember +that Venetian portrait in the Uffizi at Florence--General Gattamelata? +Mr. Lenox does not look like it; but in armor he would look quite as +well." + +"I don't remember it," said Mrs. Lenox, turning to see why Theocritus +was beating upon her knees with his right fist. + +"You must remember--it is so superb!" said Claudia. + +"I want to sit on the other side," announced Theocritus. + +"When we come back, dear. See, the church is quite near; we shall soon +be there now," answered his aunt. + +"You remember it, don't you?" said Claudia to Lenox. + +"Perfectly." + +"No--_now_," piped Theocritus. "The wind is blowing down my back." + +"If he is cold, Stephen--" said Mrs. Lenox. + +"I will change places with him," replied her husband. "Do not move, Miss +Marcy." + +"No; Aunt Lizzie must go too!" said the boy. He had wrinkled up his +little face until he looked like an aged dwarf in a temper; he stretched +back his lips over his little square white teeth, and glared at his +uncle and Miss Marcy. + +"Let me change--do," said Claudia, rising as she spoke. And Mrs. Lenox +accepted the offer. + +"When you have finished my portrait, suppose you paint yourself as a +fifteenth-century Venetian general," continued Miss Marcy, taking up +again the thread of conversation which had been broken by Theocritus's +obstinacy. "The portrait of a man painted by himself is always +interesting; you can see then what he thinks he is." + +"And is not?" said Lenox. + +"Possibly. Still, what he might be. It is his ideal view of himself, +and I believe in ideals. It is only our real, purified--what we shall +all attain, I hope, in another world." + +Thus she talked on. And the man to whom she talked thought it a +loveliness of nature that she passed so naturally and unnoticingly over +the demeanor of the spoiled child who accompanied them. Mrs. Lenox +could, for the present take no further part in the conversation, as +Theocritus had demanded that she should relate to him the legend of St. +Mark, St. George, and St. Theodore climbing down from their places over +the church porch, the palace window, and the crocodile column to fight +the demons of the lagoons. This she did, but in so low a tone that the +conversation of the others was not interrupted. + +They reached the island and landed; Mrs. Marcy and Blake were already +there, sitting on the sun-warmed steps of the church whose smooth white +facade and red campanile are so conspicuous from Venice. "We were +discussing the shape of the prow of the gondola," said Mrs. Marcy, as +they came up. "To me it looks like the neck of a swan." Mrs. Marcy never +sought for new terms; if the old ones were only poetical--she was a +stickler for that--she used them as they were, contentedly. + +Mr. Blake, who always took the key-note of the conversation in which he +found himself, advanced the equally veteran comparison of the neck of a +violin. + +"It is the shining blade of St. Theodore, the patron of the gondolas," +suggested Claudia. + +"To me it looks a good deal like the hammer of a sewing-machine," +observed Mrs. Lenox, lightly. This was so true that they all had to +laugh. + +"But this will never do, Mrs. Lenox," said Blake, turning to look at her +as she stood on the broad marble step, holding the little boy's hand; +"you will destroy all our carefully prepared atmosphere with your modern +terms. Here we have all been reading up for this expedition, and we know +just what Ruskin thinks; wait a bit, and you will hear us talk! And not +one will be so rude as to recognize a single adjective." + +"You admire him, then--Ruskin?" said the lady. + +"Admire? That is not the word; he is the divinest madman! Ah, but he +makes us work! In some always inaccessible spot he discovers an +inscrutably beautiful thing, and then he goes to work and writes about +it fiercely, with all his nouns in capitals, and his adjectives after +the nouns instead of before them--which naturally awes us. But what +produces an even deeper thrill is his rich way of spreading his +possessive cases over two words instead of one, as, 'In the eager heart +of him,' instead of 'In his eager heart.' This cows us completely." + +"I want to go in the church. I don't want to stay out here any longer," +announced Theocritus. And, as his aunt let him have his way, the others +followed her, and they all went in together. + +Compared with the warm sunshine without, the silent aisles seemed cool. +After ten minutes or so Mrs. Marcy and Blake came out, and seated +themselves on the step again. "You have known her for some time?" Blake +was saying. + +"Mrs. Lenox? No; only since we first met here, six--I mean seven--weeks +ago. But Stephen Lenox I have always known, or rather known about; he is +a distant connection of mine. His history has been rather unusual. His +mother, a widow, managed to educate him, but that was all; they were +really very poor, and Stephen was hard at work before he was twenty. He +had some sort of a clerkship in an iron-mill, and was kept at it, I was +told, twelve and thirteen hours a day. Before he was twenty-two he +married. He worked harder than ever then, although he had, I believe, in +time a better place. His wife had no money, either, and she was not +strong. Their two little children died. Well, after twelve years of +this, most unexpectedly, by the will of an uncle by marriage, he came +into quite a nice little fortune; the uncle said, I was told, that he +admired a man who, in these days, had never had or asked for the least +help from his relatives. And so Stephen could at last do as he pleased, +and very soon afterwards they came abroad. For he had been an artist at +heart all this time, it seems--at least, he has a great liking for +painting, and even, I think, some skill." + +"I doubt if he is a creative artist," answered Blake. "He is too well +balanced for that--a strong, quiet fellow. His wife is of about his age, +I presume?" + +"Yes; he is thirty-six, and she the same. They have been over here +already nearly two years. She is a very nice little woman" (Mrs. Lenox +was tall and slender; but Mrs. Marcy always patronized Mrs. Lenox), +"although one _does_ get extremely tired of that spoiled boy she drags +about. Do you know," added the lady, deeply, "I feel sure it would be +much better for Elizabeth Lenox if she would remember her present +circumstances more; there is no longer any necessity for an invariable +untrimmed gray gown." + +"Doesn't she dress well?" said Blake. "I thought she always looked very +neat." + +"That is the very word--neat. But there is no flow, no richness. She has +been rather pretty once; that is, in that style--gray eyes and dark +hair; and she might be so still if she had the proper costumes. Of +course, going about Venice in this way one does not want to dress much; +but she has not even got anything put away." + +"If one does not wear it, what difference does that make?" asked the +gentleman. + +"All the difference in the world!" replied Mrs. Marcy. "Let me tell you +that the very _step_ of a woman who knows she has two or three nice +dresses in the bottom of her trunk is different from that of a woman who +knows she hasn't." + +"But perhaps Mrs. Lenox does not know that she 'hasn't,'" remarked +Blake. This, however, went over Mrs. Marcy's head. + +Within, the others were looking at the beautiful Tintorettos in the +choir. After a while the ill-favored but gravely serene young monk who +had admitted them approached and mentioned solemnly "the view from the +campanile;" this not because he cared whether they went up or not, but +simply as part of his duty. + +"I should like to go," said Claudia; "I love to look off over the +lagoons." + +They turned to leave the choir. "_I_ don't want to go," said Theocritus, +holding back. "I want to stay here and see that picture some more; and +I'm going to!" + +This time Miss Marcy did not yield her wish. "Do not come with me," she +said to Mr. and Mrs. Lenox; "it is not in the least necessary. I have +been up before, and know the way. I will not be gone fifteen minutes." + +"I really think that he ought not to climb all those stairs," said Mrs. +Lenox to her husband, looking at the child, who had gone back to his +station before the picture. + +"Of course not," answered Lenox. Then, after a moment, "I will stay with +him," he added; "you go up with Miss Marcy." + +"I want Aunt Lizzie to stay--not Uncle Stephen!" called the boy, +overhearing this, and turning round to scowl at them. + +"He will not be good with any one but me," said Mrs. Lenox, in a low +tone. "You two go up; I will wait for you here." + +"The question is, Is he ever good, even with her?" said Claudia, +following Lenox up the long flight of steps that winds in square turns +up, up, to the top of the campanile. + +"She says he is sometimes very sweet and docile--even affectionate," +replied Lenox. "She thinks he has quite a remarkable mind, and will +distinguish himself some day if we can only tide his poor, puny little +body safely over its childish weakness, and give him a fair start." + +"She is very fond of him." + +"Yes; his mother was her dearest friend, his father her only brother." + +Claudia considered that she had now given sufficient time to this +subject (not an interesting one), and they talked of other things, but +in short sentences, for they were still ascending. Twice she stopped to +rest for a minute or two; then Lenox came down a step, and stood beside +her. There was no danger; still, if a person should be seized with +giddiness, the thought of the near open well in the centre, going +darkly down, was a dizzy one. + +At the top they had the view: wide green flatness towards the east, +northeast, southeast, with myriad gleaming, silvery channels; the Lido +and the soft line of the Adriatic beyond; towns shining whitely in the +north; to the west, Venice, with its long bridge stretching to the +mainland; in port, at their feet, a large Italian man-of-war; on the +south side, the point of the Giudecca. + + "'A Saint-Blaise, a la Zuecca, + Vous etiez bien aise; + A Saint-Blaise, a la Zuecca, + Nous etions bien la!'" + +quoted Claudia. "I chant it because I have just discovered that the +Zuecca means the Giudecca yonder." + +"What is the verse?" said Lenox. + +"Don't you know it? It is Musset." + +"I have read but little, Miss Marcy." + +"You have not had _time_ to read," said Claudia, with a shade of +emphasis; "your time has been given to better things." + +"Yes, to iron rails!" + +"To energy and to duty," she answered. Then she turned the subject, and +talked of the tints on the water. + +Down below, in the still church, the little boy sat beside his aunt, her +arm round him, his head leaning against her. The monk had withdrawn. + +"The angels were all there, no doubt," she was saying; "but only a few +painters have ever tried to represent them in the picture. It is not +easy to paint an angel if you have never seen one." + +"Pooh! I have seen them," said Theocritus, "hundreds of times. I have +seen their wings. They come floating in when the sunshine comes through +a crack--all dusty, you know. How many of them there do you suppose saw +the angels? Not that big girl with the plate, anyhow, _I_ know!" Thus +they talked on. + +When the two from the campanile returned, and they went out to embark, a +slight breeze had risen. The little boy lifted his shoulders uneasily, +and seemed almost to shiver. Mrs. Lenox felt of his head and hands. "I +think I had better take him back in one of those covered gondolas, +Stephen," she said. "He seems to be cold; he might have a chill." + +"Surely it is very warm," said Mrs. Marcy. + +"Yes, but he is so delicate," replied the other lady. + +"I will go with you, Mrs. Lenox," said Claudia. + +"Oh no; the gondolas here are the small ones, I see, and Stephen could +not come with us. Do not leave him to go back alone; if one of us sees +to the child, that is enough." + +It ended, therefore, according to her arrangement: she went back with +Theocritus in a covered gondola, Mrs. Marcy and Blake returned as they +had come, while Claudia and Lenox had the third boat to themselves. + +Rodney Blake being added, this little party continued its Venetian life. +Lenox made some progress with his portrait of Claudia, but it was not +thought, at least by the others, that his wife made any with Theocritus, +that child remaining as delicate as ever, and, if possible, more +troublesome. In Mrs. Marcy's mind there had sprung up, since Mr. Blake's +arrival, an aftermath of interest in Venetian art and architecture which +was richer even than the first crop; she went contentedly to see the +pictures, churches, and palaces a fourth and even fifth time. + +Claudia had a great liking for St. Mark's. "But who has not?" said Mrs. +Marcy, reproachfully, when Blake commented upon the younger lady's +fancy. + +"Yes; but it is not every liking that is strong enough to take its +possessor there every day through eight long, slow weeks," answered the +gentleman. + +"Not so slow," said Claudia. "But how do you know? You have been here +through only one of them." + +"That leanest mosaic in the central dome is an old friend of mine; he +has told me many things in his time (I am an inveterate Venetian +lounger, you know), bending down from his curved abode, his glassy eyes +on mine, and a long, thin finger pointed. Be careful; he has noticed +you." + +Several days later, strolling into the church, he found her there. "As +usual," he said. + +"Yes, as usual," she answered. Miss Marcy liked Blake; his slow remarks +often amused her. And she liked to be amused--perhaps because she was +not one of those young ladies who find everything amusing. She was +sitting at the base of the last of the great pillars of the nave, where +she could see the north transept with the star-lights of the chapel at +the end, the old pulpit of colored marbles with its fretted top and +angel, and the deep, gold-lined dimness of the choir-dome, into which +the first horizontal ray of sunset light was now stealing--a light which +would soon turn into miraculous splendor its whole expanse. + +"It always seems to me like a cave set with gold and gems," said Blake, +taking a seat beside her. "And, in reality, that is what it is, you +know--a wonderful robbers' cavern. As somebody has said, it is the +church of pirates--of the greatest sea-robbers the world has ever known; +and they have adorned it with the magnificent mass of treasure they +stole from the whole Eastern hemisphere." + +"I wish they had stolen a little for me--one of those Oriental chains, +for instance. But what pleases me best here is the light. It isn't the +bright, vast clearness of St. Peter's that makes one's small sins of no +sort of consequence; it isn't the sombreness of the Duomo at Florence, +where one soon feels such a dreadful repentance that the new virtue +becomes acute depression. It is a darkness, I admit, but of such a warm, +rich hue that one feels sumptuous just by sitting in it. I do believe +that if some of our thin, anxious-faced American women could only be +induced to come and sit here quietly several hours a day they would soon +grow serene and physically opulent, like--" + +"Like yourself?" + +"Like the women of Veronese. (Of course I shall have to admit that I do +not need this process. Unfortunately, I love it.) But those Veronese +pictures, Mr. Blake--after all, what do they tell us? Blue sky and +balconies, feasts and brocades, pages and dogs, colors and splendor, and +those great fair women, with no expression in their faces--what does it +all mean?" + +"Simply beauty." + +"Beauty without mind, then." + +"A picture does not need mind. But, to be worth anything, beauty it must +have." + +"I don't know; a picture is a sort of companion. One of those pictures +would not be that; you might as well have a beautiful idiot." + +"Ah, but a _picture_ is silent," replied Blake. + +Claudia laughed. "You are incorrigible." Then, going back to her first +subject, "I wish Mrs. Lenox would come here more," she said. + +"You think she needs this enriching process you have suggested?" + +"In one way--yes. All this beauty here in Venice is so much to her +husband; while she--is forever with that child!" + +"But she does not keep him from the beauty." + +"No; but she might make it so much more to him if she would." + +"Why don't you suggest it to her?" + +"There is no use. She does not understand me, I think. We speak a +different language." + +"That may be. But I fancy she understands you." + +"Perhaps she does," answered Claudia, with the untroubled frankness +which was one of her noticeable traits. She spoke as though she thought, +indeed, that Claudia Marcy's nature was a thing which Mrs. Lenox, or any +one, might observe. Claudia rather admired her nature. It was not +perfect, of course, but at least it was large in its boundaries, and +above the usual feminine pettinesses; she felt a calm pride in that. She +was silent for a while. The first sunset ray had now been joined by +others, and together they had lighted up one-half of the choir-dome; its +gold was all awake and glistening superbly, and the great mosaic figure +enthroned there began to glow with a solemn, mysterious life. + +"Men should not marry until they are at least thirty, I think," resumed +Claudia; "and especially those of the imaginative or artistic +temperament. Three-quarters of the incongruous marriages one sees were +made when the husband was very young. It is not the wife's fault; at the +time of the marriage she is generally the superior, the generous one; +the benefit is conferred by her. But--she does not advance, and he +does." + +"What would you propose in the way of--of an amelioration?" asked her +listener. + +"There can, of course, be no amelioration in actual cases. But there +might be a prevention. I think that a law could be passed--such as now +exists, for instance, against the marriage of minors. If a man could not +marry until he was thirty or older, he would at that time naturally +select a wife who was ten years or so his junior rather than one of his +own age." + +"And the women of thirty?" + +"They would be already married to the men of fifty, you know." + +Here a figure emerging from the heavy red-brown shadows of the north +aisle, and seeming to bring some of them with it, as it advanced, +crossed the billowy pavement, and stopped before them. It was Mr. Lenox. +He took a seat on the other side of Blake, and they talked for a while +of the way the chocolate-hued walls met the gold of the domes solidly, +without shading, and of the total absence of white--two of the marked +features of the rich interior of the old pirate cathedral. At length +Blake rose, giving up his place beside Miss Marcy to the younger man. "I +think we have still a half-hour before that jailer of a janitor jangles +his keys," she said. + +"Yes; but for the men of fifty it is time to be going," answered Blake. +"They take cold rather easily, you know, those poor fellows of fifty." + +He went away. Claudia and Lenox remained until the keys jangled. + +Every day the weather and the water-city grew more divinely fair. June +began. And now even Mrs. Marcy saw no objection to their utilizing the +moonlight, and no longer spoke of "wraps." The evenings were haunted by +music; everybody seemed to be floating about singing or touching +guitars. The effect of the mingled light and shadows across the fronts +of the palaces was enchanting; they could not say enough in its praise. + +"Still, do you know sometimes I would give it all for the fresh odor of +the fields at home, in the country, and the old scent of lilacs," said +Mrs. Lenox. + +"Do you care for lilacs?" said Claudia. "If you had said roses--" + +"No, I mean lilacs--the simple country lilacs. And I want to see some +currant bushes, too; yes, and even an old wooden garden fence," replied +Mrs. Lenox, laughing, but nevertheless as if she meant what she said. +She went with them only that once in the evening, for when she reached +home she found that the little boy had been wakeful, and that he had +refused to go to sleep again because she was not there. After this the +others went without her in a gondola holding four. At last, although the +moonlight lingers longer in Venice than anywhere else, there was, for +that month at least, no more. Yet still the evening air was delicious, +and the music did not cease; the effect of the shadows was even more +marvellous than the mingled light and shade had been. They continued to +go out and float about for an hour or two in the warm, peopled +darkness. They went also, but by daylight, to Torcello, and this time +Theocritus was of the party. During half of the day he was more despotic +than he had ever been, but later he seemed very tired; he slept in his +aunt's arms all the way home. Once she made an effort to transfer him to +her husband, as the weight of his little muffled figure lay heavily on +her slender arm; but Theocritus was awake immediately, and began to beat +off his uncle's hands with all his might. + +"Do let me take him, Elizabeth; he will soon fall asleep again," said +Lenox. He looked annoyed. "You are overtaxing your strength; I can see +that you are tired out." + +"It will not harm me; I know when I am really too tired," answered his +wife. She gave him a little trusting smile as she spoke, and his frown +passed off. + +They were all together in one of the large gondolas; Blake noted this +little side-scene. + +That night Theocritus had a slight attack of fever. Mrs. Lenox said that +it came from over-fatigue, and that he must not go on any of the longer +expeditions. When they went to Murano, therefore, and down to Chioggia, +she did not accompany them, but remained at home with her charge. + +Mrs. Marcy was enjoying this last month in Venice greatly. "Naturally, +it is much pleasanter when one has some one to attend to one, and one +too who knows one's tastes and looks after one's little comforts," she +remarked to her niece, with some intricacy of impersonal pronouns. The +lily did not observe that the attentions she found so agreeable were +being offered to her niece also by another impersonal pronoun. As she +would herself have said, "naturally," when they went here and there +together, the two elders often sat down to rest awhile when Claudia and +Lenox did not feel the need of it. + +"Of course, with her beauty, her attractive qualities, and her fortune, +Miss Marcy has had many suitors," said Blake to the aunt during one of +these rests. + +"Several," answered that lady, moderately. "But Claudia is not at all +susceptible. Neither is she so--so generally attractive as you might +suppose. She has too little thought for the opinions of others. She +says, for instance, just what she thinks, and that, you know, is seldom +agreeable." + +"True; we much prefer that people should say what they don't. I have +myself noticed some plainly evident faults in her: a most impolitic +honesty; and, when stirred, an impulsiveness which is sure to be +unremunerative in the long-run. I should say, too, that she had an +empyrean sort of pride." + +"Yes," replied the lily, not knowing what he meant, but concluding on +the whole that he spoke in reprobation. "As I said before, she has not +_quite_ enough of that true feminine softness one likes so much to +see--I mean, of course, in a woman." + +"Her pride will be her bane yet. It will make her blind to the most +obvious pitfall. However, I'll back her courage against it when once she +sees where she has dropped." + +"What?" said the lily. + +"She will in time learn from you; she could not follow a more lovely +example," said Blake, coming back from his reflections. + +Towards the last of June a long expedition was planned, an expedition +into "Titian's country," which was to last three days. This little +pilgrimage had been talked about for a long time, Mrs. Lenox being as +much interested in it as the others. Whether she would have had the +courage to take Theocritus, even in his best estate, is a question; but +after the time was finally set and all the arrangements made, his worst +asserted itself, and so markedly that it was plain to all that she could +not go. Something was said about postponement, but it was equally plain +that if they were to go at all they should go at once, as the weather +was rapidly approaching a too great heat. Claudia wished particularly to +take this little journey; she had set her heart upon seeing the Titians +and reputed Titians said to be still left in that unvisited +neighborhood. Blake asserted that she even expected to discover one. It +was next proposed (although rather faintly) that Mr. Lenox should be +excused from the pilgrimage. But it could not be denied that the little +boy had been quite as ill (and irritable) several times before in +Venice, and that he had always recovered in a day or two. Not that Mrs. +Lenox denied it; on the contrary, she was the one to mention it. She +urged her husband's going; it was the excursion of all others to please +him the most. It ended in his consenting; it seemed, indeed, too much to +give up for so slight a cause. + +"She looks a little anxious," observed Blake, as they waited for him in +the gondola which was to take them to the railway station. Lenox had +said good-bye to her, and was now coming down the long stairway within, +while she had stepped out on her balcony to see them start. + +"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Marcy. "To me she always looks just the +same, always so unmoved." + +Lenox now came out, and the gondola started. Claudia looked back and +waved her hand, Mrs. Lenox returning the salutation. + +On the evening of the third day, at eleven o'clock, a gondola from the +railway station stopped at the larger palace's lower door, and three +persons ascended the dimly lighted stairs. + +At the top Mrs. Lenox's servant was waiting for them. "Oh, where is +signore? Is he not with you? He has not come? Oh, the poor signora--may +the sweet Madonna help her now!" cried the girl, with tears in her +sympathetic Italian eyes. "The poor little boy is dead." + +They rushed up the higher stairway and across the hall bridge. But it +was as the woman had said. There, on his little white bed, lay the +child; he would be troublesome no more on this earth; he was quiet at +last. Mrs. Lenox stood in the lighted doorway of her room as they came +towards her. When she saw that her husband was not with them, when they +began hurriedly to explain that he had not come, that he had stayed +behind, that he had sent a note, she swayed over without a word and +fainted away. + +It was only over-fatigue, she explained later. The child had lain in her +arms for thirty hours, most of the time in great pain, and she had +suffered with him. She soon recovered consciousness and was quite +calm--more calm than they had feared she would be. They were anxiously +watchful; they tended her with the most devoted care. Blake did what he +could, and then waited. After a while, when Mrs. Lenox had in a measure +recovered, he softly beckoned Mrs. Marcy out. + +"You must tell her that her husband will not be back in time for--that +he will not be back for at least six days, and very likely longer. And +as his route was quite uncertain, we cannot reach him; there is no +telegraph, of course, and even if I were to go after him I could only +follow his track from village to village, and probably come back to +Venice behind him." + +"How can I tell her!" said the tearful lady. "Perhaps Claudia--" + +"No, on no account. You are the one, and you must do it," replied Blake, +and with so much decision that she obeyed him. Thus the wife was told. + +What Blake had said was true; it was hopeless to try to reach Lenox +before the time when he would probably be back of his own accord. He had +started on a hunt after some early drawings of Titian's, of which they +had unearthed dim legends. One was said to be in an old monastery, among +others of no importance; two more were vaguely reported as now here, now +there. Lenox had not been certain of his own route, but expected to be +guided from village to village according to indications. It was not even +certain whether he would come back by Conegliano or strike the railway +at another point. "It certainly is an inexorable fate!" exclaimed poor +Mrs. Marcy, in the emergency driven to unusual expressions. + +But when Stephen Lenox's wife understood the position in which she was +placed, she at once decided upon all that was to be done, and gave her +directions clearly and calmly--directions which Blake executed with an +attention and thoughtful care as complete as any one could possibly have +bestowed. + +The little boy was to be buried at Venice, in the cemetery on the +island opposite, early in the morning of the second day. + +"She is _so_ sensible!" Mrs. Marcy commented, admiringly. "Of course, +under all the circumstances, it is the thing to do. But so many women +would have insisted upon--all sorts of plans; and it would have been +_so_ hard." + +"I would willingly carry out anything she wished for, no matter how +difficult," replied Blake. "I greatly respect and admire Mrs. Lenox. +But, as you say, the perfect balance of her character, her clear +judgment and beautiful goodness, have at once decided upon the best +course." (The lily had not quite said this; but in her present state of +distressed sympathy she accepted it.) + +Claudia, meanwhile, remained through all very silent. She assisted, and +ably, in everything that was done, but said almost nothing. + +The evening before the funeral the two ladies went across to Mrs. +Lenox's rooms; they had left her some hours before, as she had promised +to lie down for a while, but they thought that she was now probably +awake again. They found her sitting beside the little white-shrouded +form. + +"Now this is not wise, Elizabeth," began Mrs. Marcy, chidingly. + +"I think it is; I like to look at him," replied the watcher. "See, the +peaceful expression I have been hoping for has come; it is not often +needed on the face of a child, but it was with my poor little boy. +Look." + +And, sure enough, there shone upon the small, still countenance a lovely +sweetness which had never been there in life. The face did not even seem +thin; its lines had all passed away; it looked very fair and young, and +very peacefully at rest. + +"His mother would know him now at once; he was a very pretty little +fellow the last time she saw him, when he was about a year old," she +went on. "I was very fond of his mother, and his father, as probably you +know, was my only brother. Their child was very dear to me," she +resumed, after a short silence, which the others did not break. "His +constant suffering made him unlike stronger, happier children, and I +think that was the very reason I loved him the more. I wanted to make it +up to him. But I could not. I suppose he never knew what it was to be +entirely without pain--the doctors have told me so. He did not know +anything else, or any other way, but to suffer more or less, and to be +tired all the time. And he was so used to it, poor little fellow, that I +suppose he thought that every one suffered too--that that was life. He +has found a better now." Leaning forward, she took the small hands in +hers. "All my loving care, dear child, was not enough to keep you here," +she said, smoothing them tenderly. "But you are with your mother now; +that is far better." + +The funeral took place early the next morning. Then Mrs. Lenox came back +to her empty rooms, and entered them alone. She preferred it so. + +After the first explanation, the only allusion she had made to her +husband's absence was to Rodney Blake. That gentleman had not expressed +the shadow of a disapprobation. He had not told her that he had objected +to Lenox's lengthened absence, and had done what he could to prevent it; +he had stopped Mrs. Marcy sharply when she spoke of telling. + +"Can't you see, Sophy, that that would be the worst of all for her?" he +said; "to know that Lenox would go, in spite of my unconcealed +opposition, just because Clau--just because he wanted those trivial +drawings," he added, changing the termination of his sentence, but quite +sure, meanwhile, that "Sophy" would never discover what he had begun to +say. + +Mrs. Lenox's remark was this. Blake had come in to speak to her about +some necessary directions concerning the funeral, and when she had given +them she said: "It will be a grief to Stephen when he comes back that he +could not have seen the little boy, even if but for once more. And I +hoped so that he would see him! I expected you back at eight--you know +that was the first arrangement--and towards seven he seemed easier. Once +he even smiled, and talked a little about that legend of St. Mark and +St. Theodore, of which, you remember, he was so fond. Then it was +half-past seven, and I still hoped. And then it grew towards eight, and +he was in pain again. Still I kept listening for the sound of your +gondola. But it did not come. And at half-past eight he died. But +perhaps it was as well so," she continued, although her voice trembled a +little. "Stephen would have felt his suffering so much. I was more used +to it, you know, than he was." + +"Yes," answered Blake. + +But she seemed to know that he was not quite in accord with her. "Of +course I feel it very deeply, Mr. Blake, on my own account, that my +husband is not here; I depend upon him for everything, and feel utterly +lonely without him. But his absence is one of those accidents which we +must all encounter sometimes, and as to everything else--the outside +help I needed--you have done all that even he could have done. You have +been very good to me," and she held out her hand. + +Blake took it, and thanked her. And in his words this time he put +something that contented her. It was the sacrifice he made to his liking +for Stephen Lenox's wife. + +The evening after the funeral Mrs. Marcy, who had been made nervous and +ill by all that had happened, went out at sunset for a change of air, +and Blake accompanied her. Claudia preferred to stay at home. But five +minutes after the departure of their gondola she went up the stairs and +across the hall bridge that led to Mrs. Lenox's apartment. Mrs. Lenox +was there, lying on the sofa. It was the first time since the return +that the two had been alone together. She looked pale and ill, and there +were dark shadows under her eyes; but she smiled and spoke in her usual +voice, asking Claudia to sit beside her in an easy-chair that stood +there. Claudia sat down, and they spoke on one or two unimportant +subjects. But the girl soon paused in this. + +"I have come to say," she began again, in a voice that showed the effort +she made to keep it calm, "that I shall never forgive myself, Mrs. +Lenox, for--for a great deal that I have thought about you, but +especially for having had a part in the absence of your husband at such +a time. If it had not been for me he would not have gone off on that +foolish expedition. But I wanted those miserable drawings, or at least +sketches of them, and so I kept talking about it. When I think of what +you have had to go through, alone, in consequence of it, I am +overwhelmed." Here her voice nearly broke down. + +"You must not take it all upon yourself, Miss Marcy," answered the wife. +"No doubt Stephen wanted to please you; no doubt he wanted to very +much--to get you the drawings, if it was possible; of that I am quite +sure." + +But Claudia was not quieted. "If you knew how I have suffered--how I +suffer now as I see you lying there so pale and ill"--here she stopped +again. "I come to tell you how I feel your suffering, and I spend the +time talking about my own," she added, abruptly. "I am a worthless +creature!" And covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears. + +Mrs. Lenox put out her hand and stroked the beautiful bowed head +caressingly. "Do not feel so badly," she said. "You must not; it is not +necessary." + +"But it is--it is," said the girl, amid her tears. "If you knew--" + +"I do know, Claudia. I know _you_." + +"Oh, if you really do," said Claudia, lifting her head, her wet eyes +turned eagerly upon the wife, "then it is better." + +"It is better; it is well. My dear, I think I have understood you all +along." + +"But--I have not understood myself," replied Claudia. She had nerved +herself to say it; but after it was spoken a deep blush rose slowly over +her whole face until it was in a flame. Through all its heat, however, +she kept her eyes bravely upon those of the wife. + +"That I knew, too," rejoined Mrs. Lenox. "But I also knew that there was +no danger," she added. + +"There was not. It was unconscious. In any case, I should in time have +recognized it. And destroyed it, as I do now." These short sentences +were brought out, each with a fresh effort. "I do not speak of--of the +other side," the girl went on, with abrupt, heavy awkwardness of phrase. +"There never was any other side--it was all mine." And then came the +flaming blush again. + +"But you are very beautiful, Claudia?" said the other woman, not as if +disturbed at all in her own quiet calm, but half tentatively. + +"Yes, I am beautiful," replied Claudia, with a sort of scorn. "But he is +not that kind of man," she added, a quick, involuntary pride coming into +her eyes. Then she turned her head away, shading her face with her hand. +She said no more; it seemed as if she had stopped herself shortly there. + +After a moment or two Mrs. Lenox began to speak. "All this life, here in +Venice, has been so much to Stephen," she said, in her sweet, quiet +voice. "You know he has worked very hard--he was obliged to; just so +many hours of each long day, for long, hard years. He never had any +rest; and the work was always distasteful to him, too. It was a slavery. +And it was beginning to tell upon him; he could not have kept it up +without being worn out both in body and mind. Judge, then, how glad I am +that he has had all this change and pleasure--he needed it so! There is +that side to his nature--a love of the beautiful, and a strong one. This +has been always repressed and bound down; it is natural that it should +break forth here. I have not the feeling myself--at least, not like his; +but I understand it in him, and sympathize with it fully." She paused. +Claudia did not speak. + +"You have not been a wife, Claudia, and therefore there are some things +you do not know," pursued the voice. "A wife becomes in time to her +husband such a part of himself (that is, if he loves her) that she isn't +a separate person to him any more, and he hardly thinks of her as one; +she is himself. Many things become a matter of course to him--are taken +for granted--on this very account. It does not occur to him that she may +feel differently. He supposes that they feel alike. Often they do. +Still, a woman's thoughts do not always run in the same channel as those +of a man; we are more timid, more limited, more--afraid of things, you +know; but the husband does not always remember that. But there are some +things in which a husband and wife do feel alike, always and forever; +there are ties which are eternal. And my own life holds them--ties and +memories so precious that I can hardly explain them to you; memories of +those early years of ours when we were so alone and poor, but so dear to +each other that we did not mind it. We love each other just the same; +but then we had nothing but our love--and it was enough. The coming, the +short stay with us, and the fading away of our two little children, +Claudia--these are ties deep down in our hearts which nothing can ever +sunder. Stephen will go back to all that old grief of his when he comes +home to find the little boy gone. For the greatest sorrow of his life, +one he has never at heart overcome, was that he felt when we lost our +own little boy. Stephen had loved the child passionately, and would not +believe that he must go; and when he did he bowed his head in a silence +so long that I was frightened. I had never seen him give up before. But +even that is a dear tie between us, for then he had only me. Those +early years of ours, with their joys and sorrows--I often think of them. +A man does not dwell upon such memories, one by one, as a woman does. +But they are none the less there, a part of his life and of him." She +stopped. "Do not mind," she added, in a changed voice. "I am only--a +little tired, I think." + +Claudia, who had not moved, turned quickly. Mrs. Lenox's eyes were +closed; she was very pale. But she did not faint; owing to Claudia's +quick, efficient help, she was soon herself again. "You know what to do, +don't you?" she said, smiling, when the faint feeling had passed. + +"It is not that I know, so much as that I long to help you," answered +Claudia. "I wish you would let me unbraid your hair, and make you ready +for bed; you look so tired, and perhaps I could do it with a lighter +touch than Bianca," she added, humbly. + +"Very well," said the other, assentingly. + +And with much care and skill the girl performed her task. "I will even +put out the light," she said. "I will tell Bianca that you have gone to +bed, and are not to be disturbed." When all was done and the light out, +she paused for a moment by the bedside. "I am not going to talk any +more," she said, "but I will just say this: aunt and I are going away. +To-morrow, probably, or the day after. You will not be left alone, for +Mr. Blake will stay." + +There was a silence. Then Mrs. Lenox's voice said: "That is a mistake. +It would be better to stay." + +"I do not see it in that way," answered the girl. Then, "You must not +ask too much," she added, in a lower voice. + +Mrs. Lenox took her hands, which were hanging before her, tightly +clasped. The touch shook Claudia; she sank down beside the bed and hid +her face. + +"Stay; it is far better," whispered the wife. "Then it will be over. By +going away you will only think about it the more." + +"Yes, I know. But--" + +"I will answer for all. I know you better than--you know yourself. When +you see us together, it will be different to you. Stay, to please me." + +"Very well," murmured the girl. + +They kissed each other, and she rose. When she had reached the door Mrs. +Lenox spoke again. "Of course, you know that I quite understand that it +is only a girl's fancy," she said, with a tender lightness. This was her +offering to Claudia. + +On the evening of the seventh day after the funeral Stephen Lenox came +back; he had sent a despatch to his wife from Conegliano, and Blake was +therefore able to meet him at Mestre, and tell him what had happened. He +went directly home, and the others did not see him until the next +evening. Then he came across to the larger palace. Blake was there; he +kept himself rather constantly with Mrs. Marcy now, perhaps to direct +that lady's somewhat wandering inspirations. For this occasion he had +warned her that she must not be too sympathetic, that she must be on her +guard. So Mrs. Marcy was "on her guard;" she only took out her +handkerchief four times; she even talked of the weather. Claudia +scarcely spoke. Blake himself conducted the conversation, and filled all +the gaps. They could naturally say a good deal about the health of Mrs. +Lenox, as that lady had been obliged to keep her room for the three +preceding days. Lenox did not stay long; he said he must go back to his +wife. As he rose he gave the small portfolio he had brought with him to +Claudia. "I don't think they were Titians," he said. "But I sketched +them for you as well as I could." + +Mrs. Marcy thought this an opportunity; she took the portfolio, and +exclaimed over each picture. Blake, too, put up his eye-glass to look at +them. Lenox said a word or two about them and waited a moment longer; +then he went away. Claudia had not glanced at them. + +He never knew of her visit to his wife; those are the secrets women keep +for each other, unto and beyond the grave. + +What passed when he came home was simple enough. His wife cried when she +saw him; she had not cried before. She told him the history of the +little boy's last hours, and of all he had said, and of the funeral. +Then they had talked a while of her health, and then of future plans. + +"I ought to have remembered that you were anxious about him even before +I went away," said Lenox, going back abruptly to the first subject. He +was standing by the window, looking out; this was an hour after his +return. + +"But he had been ill so many times. No, it was something we could not +foresee, and as such we must accept it. I wanted you to go--don't you +remember? I urged your going. You must not blame yourself about it." + +"But I do," answered her husband. + +"I cannot allow you to; I shall never allow it. To me, Stephen, all you +do is right; I wish to hear nothing that could even seem otherwise. I +trust you entirely, and always shall." + +He turned. She was lying back in an easy-chair, supported by pillows. He +came across and sat down beside her, his head bent forward, his elbows +resting on his knees, his face in his hands. He did not speak. + +"Because I know that I can," added the wife. + +That was all. + +They stayed on together in Venice through another two weeks. Mrs. Lenox +improved daily, and was soon able to go about with them. She seemed, +indeed, to bloom into a new youth. "It is the reaction after the long, +wearing care of that child," explained Mrs. Marcy. "And isn't it +beautiful to see how devoted he is to her, and how careful of her in +every way? But I have always noticed what a devoted husband he was, +haven't you?" + +These two ladies and Mr. Blake were going to Baden-Baden. But the others +were going back to America. "We may return some time," said Lenox; "but +at present I think we want a home." + +"I wish we could have stayed on together always, just as we are now," +sighed the sentimental lily, smoothing the embroidered edge of her +handkerchief. "_Such_ a pleasant party, and of just the right size; +these last two weeks have been so perfect!" + +The time for parting came. The three who were going to Baden-Baden were +to leave at dawn, and they had come across to Mrs. Lenox's parlor to +spend a last hour. Claudia talked more than usual, and talked well; she +looked brilliant. + +At the end of the second hour the good-byes began in earnest. +Everything that was appropriate was said, Blake, in particular, +delivering himself unblushingly of one long fluent commonplace after +another. They were to meet again--oh, very soon; they were to visit each +other; they were to write frequently--one would have supposed, indeed, +that Blake intended to send a daily telegraphic despatch. At last the +lily, having kept them all standing for twenty minutes, bestowed upon +Mrs. Lenox a final kiss, and really did start, the two gentlemen and +Claudia accompanying her down the long hall. But the hall was dark, and +Claudia was behind; without the knowledge of the others she slipped +back. + +Mrs. Lenox was standing where they had left her. When she saw the girl +returning, pale, repressed, all the sparkle gone, she went to her, and +put her arms round her; Claudia laid her head down upon the other's +shoulder. Thus they stood for several moments in silence. Then, still +without speaking, Claudia went away. + +When Mrs. Marcy reached the stairway which led down to her own +apartment, on the other side of the hall bridge, "Why, where is +Claudia?" she said. + +"Here I am," said her niece, appearing from the darkness. + +"You will come down with us for a moment, won't you, Mr. Lenox?" +suggested the lily. "Just for one _last_ look?" + +"Do not ask him," said Claudia, smiling; "he is worn out! We have +already extended that look over two long hours. Good-bye, Mr. Lenox; and +this time, I think, is really the last." + + * * * * * + + +BY CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON. + +HORACE CHASE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +JUPITER LIGHTS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. + +FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +CASTLE NOWHERE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +RODMAN THE KEEPER. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + +There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson's writing which +invests all her characters with lovable qualities.--_Jewish Advocate, N. +Y._ + +Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting magazine +stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the delineation of +her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of local +life.--_Jewish Messenger, N. Y._ + +Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist +laureate.--_Boston Globe._ + +Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and +conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a +story is very remarkable.--_London Life._ + +Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox +novelist, but strikes a new and richly-loaded vein which, so far, is all +her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh +sensation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant +task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to +her in very pleasant places; or she has, perhaps, within herself the +wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she +writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the +day--a quality sadly wanting in novels of the time.--_Whitehall Review, +London._ + + * * * * * + +PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. + +_The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the +publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, +or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ + + +BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + +THE GOLDEN HOUSE. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. Post 8vo, Ornamental +Half Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00. + +It is a strong, individual, and very serious consideration of life; much +more serious, much deeper in thought, than the New York novel is wont to +be. It is worthy of companionship with its predecessor, "A Little +Journey in the World," and keeps Mr. Warner well in the front rank of +philosophic students of the tendencies of our +civilization.--_Springfield Republican._ + +A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD. A Novel. Post 8vo, Half Leather, Uncut +Edges and Gilt Top, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents. + +THEIR PILGRIMAGE. Illustrated by C. S. REINHART. Post 8vo, Half Leather, +Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 00. + +STUDIES IN THE SOUTH AND WEST, with Comments on Canada. Post 8vo, Half +Leather, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 75. + +OUR ITALY. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt +Top, $2 50. + +AS WE GO. With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 +00. ("Harper's American Essayists.") + +AS WE WERE SAYING. With Portrait and Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 00. ("Harper's American Essayists.") + +THE WORK OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 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