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diff --git a/78660-h/78660-h.htm b/78660-h/78660-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aac9594 --- /dev/null +++ b/78660-h/78660-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,27813 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Knight-Errant, by Edna Lyall +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: 1.5em ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.intro2 {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: 0 ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 1.5em ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.report {text-indent: 1.5em ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78660 ***</div> + + +<h1> +<br><br> + KNIGHT-ERRANT<br> +</h1> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + EDNA LYALL<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + AUTHOR OF "DONOVAN," "WE TWO," "A HARDY NORSEMAN,"<br> + "IN THE GOLDEN DAYS," ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + NEW YORK:<br> + W. L. ALLISON COMPANY,<br> + PUBLISHERS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + TO<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + EVANGELINE JAMESON<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + "Searching my heart for all that touches you,<br> + I find there only love and love's good-will."<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + CONTENTS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + CHAPTER<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent" style="line-height: 1.5"> + I.—<a href="#chap01">"The Happiest Man in Naples"</a><br> + II.—<a href="#chap02">A Goodly Heritage</a><br> + III.—<a href="#chap03">Francesca</a><br> + IV.—<a href="#chap04">A Cloudless Betrothal</a><br> + V.—<a href="#chap05">A Threatening Sky</a><br> + VI.—<a href="#chap06">The Storm Breaks</a><br> + VII.—<a href="#chap07">"No one but You"</a><br> + VIII.—<a href="#chap08">Piale Schemes</a><br> + IX.—<a href="#chap09">The Olive Garden</a><br> + X.—<a href="#chap10">The "Pilgrim"</a><br> + XI.—<a href="#chap11">A First Encounter</a><br> + XII.—<a href="#chap12">A Troubled Night</a><br> + XIII.—<a href="#chap13">"Pazienza"</a><br> + XIV.—<a href="#chap14">The New Baritone</a><br> + XV.—<a href="#chap15">A Dear Adventure</a><br> + XVI.—<a href="#chap16">On the Stage</a><br> + XVII.—<a href="#chap17">A Farewell</a><br> + XVIII.—<a href="#chap18">Francesca's Autumn</a><br> + XIX.—<a href="#chap19">In England</a><br> + XX.—<a href="#chap20">A Return</a><br> + XXI.—<a href="#chap21">Wintry Weather</a><br> + XXII.—<a href="#chap22">A Rescuer</a><br> + XXIII.—<a href="#chap23">"Clare"</a><br> + XXIV.—<a href="#chap24">An English Home</a><br> + XXV.—<a href="#chap25">A Last Struggle</a><br> + XXVI.—<a href="#chap26">Behind the Scenes</a><br> + XXVII.—<a href="#chap27">"High Failure"</a><br> + XXVIII.—<a href="#chap28">A Restoration</a><br> + XXIX.—<a href="#chap29">Convalescent</a><br> + XXX.—<a href="#chap30">Bitter-Sweet</a><br> + XXXI.—<a href="#chap31">A New Proposal</a><br> + XXXII.—<a href="#chap32">After Two Years</a><br> + XXXIII.—<a href="#chap33">Genoa</a><br> + XXXIV.—<a href="#chap34">Yachting</a><br> + XXXV.—<a href="#chap35">A Final Choice</a><br> + XXXVI.—<a href="#chap36">"All Goeth but God's Will"</a><br> + XXXVII.—<a href="#chap37">At Palazzo Forti</a><br> + XXXVIII.—<a href="#chap38">At Casa Bella</a><br> + XXXIX.—<a href="#chap39">Afterwards</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> + +<h1> +KNIGHT-ERRANT. +</h1> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER I. +<br><br> +"THE HAPPIEST MAN IN NAPLES. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"They came at a delicate plain called Ease, where they went with +much content; but that plain was but narrow, so they were quickly got +over it."—<i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Presto! off with the paper! let us see how they look!" +exclaimed a fresh, mellow voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Permit me, signor," interposed the Neapolitan stationer +who presided behind the counter of a shop in the Toledo, +and taking the little white packet from the hands of the +speaker he slipped the blade of his penknife through the +wrapper, drew forth with a flourish one of the cards within, +and, bowing and smiling, handed it to his customer. "There, +signor, and accept with it my sincere congratulations." +</p> + +<p> +The young man glanced eagerly at the card, upon which +was engraved in copperplate the name,— +</p> + +<p class="t3 smcap"> + "Avvocato Carlo Poerio Donati."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was to him the sign and symbol of manhood, of +freedom; it meant that he turned his back upon examinations +and tutelage; it meant that he was at length free to +declare the love which for many years had been the great +guiding influence of his life. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Signor Pietro," he replied, turning to the friendly old +shopkeeper with a smile which illumined his whole face; "I +am the happiest man in Naples to-day! Come, Enrico, you +are not half enough excited!" and turning to his friend, who +stood beside him watching the scene with good-humored +indifference, he caught a similar little packet from his hand, +and, tearing it open, produced a card bearing the name,— +</p> + +<p class="t3 smcap"> + "Avvocato Enrico Ritter."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Enrico was of German parentage, but the Ritters had lived +for half-a-century in Naples and were naturalized; nevertheless, +spite of his Italian education, Enrico remained German +to the backbone, and presented in every way a most curious +contrast to his friend and companion. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, devil take the cards! they're not so much to me as +to you," he exclaimed, with a laugh. "Signor Pietro does +not expect to see me wild with excitement over a trumpery +piece of pasteboard." +</p> + +<p> +"Most matter-of-fact Enrico! Where is your imagination?" +cried Carlo, laughing. "Can the magic word <i>avvocato</i> call +up to your German brain no visions of the future?" +</p> + +<p> +"Visions!" grumbled Enrico, with assumed despondency; +"ay, visions of hot courts, long cases, rusty gowns, and +scant fees." +</p> + +<p> +Both Carlo and the stationer laughed heartily at the serious +face of the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Signor Pietro, it was ever the same story; was it +not? He is prosaic now as when we came to you years ago +for note-books and pens on our way from the Ginnasio. But +come, it is getting late; I must be off, Enrico. Good-day to +you, Signor Pietro, and many thanks for your congratulations." +</p> + +<p> +The two friends left the shop and walked on through the +busy, crowded streets to the Piazza del Plebiscito. More +than one passer-by turned to glance at Carlo's beautiful face; +for, truth to tell, good looks are the exception, not the rule, in +Naples, and among the swarthy or sallow Neapolitans his rich, +ruddy-brown coloring could not fail to win notice. The face +was singularly attractive, not only from the beauty of its +well-cut features, but from the unaffected modesty of the +expression, and the sweetness of the dark, liquid eyes. He looked +what he had termed himself—the happiest man in Naples. +If in appearance he lacked anything it was height; but we +cannot all be heroes of six feet, and Carlo, though small and +slight, was so well proportioned, so lithe and active, so imbued +with the grace common to most Italians, that it was impossible +to wish for any change in him. He might that day have +stood as a true impersonation of Optimism, while Enrico +Ritter, on the other hand, might well have posed as the ideal +Pessimist. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico was of the Germans, German; there was no mistaking +that fair, straight hair and moustache, that light +coloring and broad face, those small, light-gray eyes, honest, +hard, yet with some good-humor in their expression which +contradicted the cynical mouth. What had first drawn two +such curiously contrasted men together it was impossible to +say; scientists might have argued that it was the very fact +that they were polar opposites. But, whatever the cause of +their friendship, friends they were in the best sense of the +word, and their friendship had stood the wear and tear of +ten years. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they had reached the Piazza; the afternoon +sun was shining on the red walls of the Palazzo Reale, lighting +up the heavy arcades of the San Carlo, glorifying the dome +and stately front of the Church of S. Francesco di Paolo. It +seemed a strange medley of ancient and modern, haunted by +memories of King Bomba's cruelties,—haunted by visions of +Garibaldi and Carlo Poerio, while hither and thither plied +the busy tramcars, and amid a gay throng of people dressed +in the latest Parisian fashion there filed slowly past a +procession of white-robed monks. +</p> + +<p> +"Ten minutes to spare before my horse is ready," said +Carlo, looking at his watch; "let us have some coffee;" and +so saying he led the way into the nearest restaurant. Enrico +paused to buy an evening paper, then followed his friend. +</p> + +<p> +The place was crowded, and there arose a confused babel +of voices, a mingling of French, English, and Italian. Carlo +had seated himself at one of the small marble tables, and, since +Enrico seemed more inclined to read his paper than to talk, +was fain to listen to the discussion going on between two +English tourists close by. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly they thought themselves practically alone in this +foreign assembly; certainly it did not occur to them that their +very Italian-looking neighbor understood and spoke their +language as well as his own, for they were talking freely +on subjects which Englishmen are not wont to speak of in +public. +</p> + +<p> +"But, really now," urged the younger of the two, with some +warmth, "you can't possibly maintain such a notion. Do you +think we are not improved,—vastly improved, in the last two +hundred years?" +</p> + +<p> +"The increase of civilization gives us a better appearance, +I grant," said the elder, "but I do not believe the sum total of +evil is lessened." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo listened attentively, for this dreary doctrine was +opposed to his whole nature. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, turn to history," exclaimed the younger man, "see +how indifferent people were to suffering, and then look at our +nineteenth century, with its innumerable charities, its +missions, its hospitals, its guilds." +</p> + +<p> +"True, quite true," said the elder man, quietly; "a wave of +philanthropy is passing over us; there is much talk—even, I +admit, much good work, but men are not more willing to live +the life of the Crucified." +</p> + +<p> +The younger man was silent. Hitherto he had been very +ready with his replies, now he fell into deep thought. Carlo +Donati, too, was struck by those last words. They broke in +very painfully upon his rapturous happiness, his joyful +anticipations. He had been spared most of the usual doubts and +fears of a lover; he was practically sure of Francesca Britton's +love, and already he had received her father's permission to +propose to her, Captain Britton having only stipulated that he +should wait till his education was finished. +</p> + +<p> +Now his time of probation was over; within a few days, +nay, perhaps within a few hours, Francesca might be his own. +Could he bear on that day, of all others, to dream of the +possibility of a cloud arising? His sky was so clear, his life +had been so happy and successful, the very thought of gathering +darkness on the horizon was torture to him; "Let my +happiness last! oh, let it last!" was his inward cry, and, as +if in answer, there floated hack to him the stranger's words, +and he knew that they were true: "Men are not more willing +to live the life of the Crucified." +</p> + +<p> +Involuntarily he turned to glance at the man who had +disturbed his peace, and saw a strong, intellectual face, which, +notwithstanding traces of deep thought and hard conflict, bore +a calm and tranquil expression. But the conversation had +been checked by those grave words, the stranger called the +waiter, paid for his coffee, tucked his "Baedeker" under his +arm, and rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo followed him with his eyes as he left the restaurant; +he felt strongly that curious conviction which comes to some +people when a stranger has unconsciously influenced them, +that in this world, or some other, they will infallibly meet +again. +</p> + +<p> +So engrossed had he been with the two Englishmen and +their talk that he had not heeded his friend. He had not seen +the start of surprise and dismay with which Enrico had noted a +paragraph in the <i>Piccolo</i>. What was there in those brief lines +which filled him with apprehension? Why did he glance with +such anxiety and regret at Carlo, and then once again read +that unwelcome paragraph? +</p> + +<p> +"We understand that the season will be commenced at +Whitsuntide at the Teatro Mercadante, with the operatic +company of Signor Merlino. Madame Merlino, whose singing +has created a very favorable impression in America, will +be the prima donna." +</p> + +<p> +All the indifference had vanished now from Enrico's face. +A dreadful annoyance awaited his friend, and that it should +reach him to-day of all days seemed to him intolerable. He +would at any rate do his best to give him a respite, Carlo +should at least propose to Miss Britton, and enjoy if it were +even but a few hours of unalloyed happiness. Seizing his +opportunity, when his companion turned to watch the Englishmen +as they left the restaurant, Enrico tore off the corner +containing the unwelcome news, and was about to thrust it +into his pocket when Carlo checked him with a question,— +</p> + +<p> +"What is it! About our examinations?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Enrico, composedly; "I saw nothing about them. +I only wanted a scrap of paper to wrap up these confounded +cards; thanks to your eagerness to see them, they're all loose +in my pocket." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he deliberately wrapped the cards in the paper +containing the bad news, and pushed the rest of the <i>Piccolo</i> +towards his friend. "Take it home with you if you like, I +have done with it." +</p> + +<p> +"And I," said Carlo, laughing, "hope to have little time for +it." He took it nevertheless, stowed it away in his pocket +and got up to go. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll walk with you as far as the stable," said Enrico. "Now +follow my advice and ride home calmly. If you go on in +this state of fever you will not be fit for your interview with +that stately old Englishman, upon whom you have to make a +good impression as future son-in-law." +</p> + +<p> +"Stuff and nonsense!" said Carlo, laughing gayly. "Make +an impression, indeed! Do you forget that we have been +next-door neighbors this age, and that he knows me as well +as you do?" +</p> + +<p> +"An impossibility," said Enrico, smiling, "for with me I +have taught you, as we say in Germany, to be as you are to +yourself. Now with that old English captain you walk as +though treading on eggs, you are courteous and deferential; +you never forget that you hope to be his son-in-law, and +you'll never quarrel with him,—at any rate not until the hope +has become a tame reality." +</p> + +<p> +The dry, sardonic tone in which this had been spoken, +turned Carlo's indignant protest to laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"The only topic on which we are likely to quarrel is +politics; and as he knows nothing of Italian affairs, one +needs now and then adroitly to turn the conversation. But +don't make me speak against Captain Britton, to-day, <i>amico +mio</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, poor fellow!" said Enrico, pityingly; "I knew he +would prove the crumpled rose-leaf to destroy your perfect +bliss. There is always a father-in-law, or a mother-in-law, or +a cantankerous relative, who kicks up a row about the +settlements. Don't you expect the course of your true love to run +smooth—that's against nature." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he glanced rather anxiously at a large hoarding +which they were approaching, rapidly running his eye +over the theatrical posters, but, much to his relief, the +Mercadante bills were not yet out. +</p> + +<p> +"You are as depressing as a funeral!" said Carlo, much +tickled by the notion that the substantial Englishman was a +crumpled rose-leaf; "and, indeed, if I have no worse crook +in my lot than Captain Britton, I shall farewell. No one +could have been more courteous and helpful to my mother +all these years, no one could have been more genial and +hospitable to me. Of course we all have our faults." +</p> + +<p> +"Too true!" said Enrico, mockingly. "The Englishman +loves a lord, and has an eye to the main chance, and knows +that you are heir to a certain rich uncle, and that unless the +money is secured and tied up in the orthodox English +fashion, it will be flung away upon 'Young Italy,' or some +hare-brained scheme for educating organ-grinders." +</p> + +<p> +"If we were not in the public street I would punish you +well!" cried Carlo. "There never was such a fellow for +imputing low motives to all the world." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well, rail at me as you like," said Enrico, +indifferently; "but as yet I have never found myself at fault in +assuming that egoism rules the universe. Ah, your horse is +waiting for you, I see, and the ostler tries to look hot and +tired to cajole a large coin from you. <i>A rivederci!</i> But I +advise you to avoid Naples for the next few days; don't +come to me for sympathy in your rapture, for I've not the +smallest doubt that love is egoism, and marriage is egoism, +and——" +</p> + +<p> +"You are incorrigible!" cried Carlo, as he mounted the +beautiful Arab which was waiting for him. "I'll not wait to +hear you out." And, with a wave of the hand, he rode off, +looking back laughingly at the interrupted egoist, who, with +a shrug of the shoulders, turned away. +</p> + +<p> +And yet it was something quite other than egoism which +brought a grave look to Enrico's face as he walked home +through the sunny streets. Suddenly perceiving an upright, +alert-looking old man on the opposite side of the way, he +crossed the road and hastened after him. +</p> + +<p> +"Pardon me, Signor Piale!" he exclaimed, "but may I +ask you a question? You are probably acquainted with all +that is going on in the musical world. Is this true that I see +to-day in the <i>Piccolo</i>? Is Merlino's Company really coming +to the Mercadante?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Diavolo!</i> it is true enough, more's the pity," replied the +old man; "but I have not said a word of it to my pupil. +Carlo is over-sensitive, he felt that affair too much; only of +late has he seemed to have forgotten it somewhat. He is +one whose life should have been exempt from shadows." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have thought common decency would have kept +Merlino away from Naples," said Enrico, hotly. +</p> + +<p> +"Merlino does not care a fig for common decency," said +the old musician. "He is no credit to our profession. +Probably he knows well enough that the Merlino-Donati +scandal is just fresh enough in men's minds to make his +operas draw well." +</p> + +<p> +"Let us, at least, do our best to keep back the ill news as +long as possible," said Enrico; "it will be a frightful annoyance +to Carlo just now, and I do believe it will be the death +of his mother." +</p> + +<p> +"'Tis always the innocent who suffer for the guilty," said +the old singing-master, giving a fierce rub to his parchment-like +cheek. "If ever there was one who deserved to be free +from care, why it is Carlo; there are but few nowadays who +could show so blameless a life." +</p> + +<p> +"You speak very truly," said Enrico. "Let us hope his +blameless life will weigh with worthy Captain Britton, and +prove heavier than the family skeleton." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER II. +<br><br> +A GOODLY HERITAGE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "It is not best in an inglorious ease<br> + To sink and dull content,<br> + When wild revolts and hopeless miseries<br> + The unquiet nations fill;<br> + * * * * *<br> + Nay, best it is indeed<br> + To spend ourselves upon the general good;<br> + And, oft misunderstood,<br> + To strive to lift the knees and limbs that bleed.<br> + This is the best, the fullest meed.<br> + Let ignorance assail or hatred sneer<br> + Who loves his race he shall not fear;<br> + He suffers not for long,<br> + Who doth his soul possess in loving, and grows strong."<br> + LEWIS MORRIS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The old singing-master had not exaggerated matters. +Though inclined to see everything connected with his favorite +pupil through rose-colored spectacles, his words were in +this instance strictly true. Carlo had passed scathless +through all the temptations of Neapolitan life; his history +would bear the full light of day; it was impossible to imagine +any one more strictly honorable, more simple and open-minded. +But then, certainly, Nature had been to him almost +prodigal in her gifts. To begin with, he came of a good +family, and that not in the vulgar acceptation of the word. +The Donati were not of noble birth, but for five or six +generations they had been well educated, and had earned quite +an unusual reputation in the various learned professions +which they had followed. Faults of temper or of judgment +they might have shown, but no Donati had ever been guilty +of an act of meanness, nor had there been in anyone of them +a single grain of insincerity. To belong to a family which +has earned well-deserved respect, to be able to look back +upon forefathers who have lived well and bravely, to know +that before you existed your father, and his father before +him, spoke for freedom and pleaded the cause of the people, +this is indeed a birthright worth having. An inheritance +of money may or may not be a desirable thing, but an +inheritance of character, an ancestry of generous, true-hearted +men, who did justly, and loved mercy, and walked humbly +with their God, this is a thing that kings might covet. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had undoubtedly inherited a noble character, or +rather had inherited certain tendencies, and as yet, by his +life, had helped to develop, not to arrest, their growth. +</p> + +<p> +At the close of the last century there had been born a +certain Bruno Donati. People had prophesied great things +of him; he had established, with almost unheard-of rapidity, +a great reputation as an advocate, he had married a beautiful +heiress, he was assuredly a man who would "rise"—so +said the world. He did rise, but not in the way predicted. +Regardless of his reputation, regardless of self altogether, he +joined the patriot party who were struggling to overthrow +the hated tyranny of the Neapolitan Bourbons. Leaving his +home, and taking a tender farewell of his wife and his little +children, he set off one June morning for Cilento, the place +which had been chosen for a small rising. At first a certain +measure of success encouraged the patriots; they were able +to take the little fort of Palinuro, and to hoist the tricolored +flag. +</p> + +<p> +But those brave pioneers knew well that they were taking +their lives in their hands. They had achieved a success +which must draw the attention of the whole country upon +them. In hot haste General Delcaretto was sent down to +attack them with six thousand men, and no mercy was +shown. Twenty of the patriots were shot without trial; +twenty-six others, and amongst them Bruno Donati, were +executed. The young advocate had, as it seemed, sacrificed +his life for a hopeless cause; he was never again to return +to his beautiful home, but General Delcaretto caused his +head to be paraded in front of the house before the eyes of +his widow and his fatherless children. Then, when the +people had been ruined, a commune or two suppressed, and +the insurrection completely stamped out, the General returned +to Naples to be rewarded for his gallantry by receiving +the title of Marquis, a decoration of a knightly order, and a +pension. +</p> + +<p> +Bruno Donati's widow did not die until she had educated +her two sons, and had seen that the younger one, also Bruno, +was likely to be just such a man as his father. She did not +realize how much alike the story of the two Brunos would be. +</p> + +<p> +Both sons followed their father's profession, but the younger +one was so much engrossed in the revolutionary movement of +the time that he did not make much way in it. Instead of so +doing, he joined "Young Italy," studied deeply under the +guidance of Mazzini, and at length enrolled himself in +Garibaldi's gallant little army. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's earliest recollections were of a hot August day in +the year 1862. He, as a little fellow, had sat beside his +mother in a carriage outside the post-office at Pozzuoli, and +some one had brought them the news of Garibaldi's defeat +at Aspromonte, and with that the tidings that Bruno Donati +was dangerously wounded. Carlo could even now see vividly +his mother's deathly face as she read the news, could +remember his puzzled wonder as to what it all meant, and +whether it could possibly be that his father would never +return. +</p> + +<p> +But the second Bruno Donati was in some ways happier +than his father; he was brought back from Aspromonte to +his own home, where he lingered for a month—a month +which proved of extraordinary value in his son's education. +The child was too young to feel his father's death as a +life-long grief, but he was just old enough to carry away from +that death-bed a beautiful and unfading memory. Upon his +childish brain was stamped the conviction that to die for +"<i>La Patria</i>" was a very happy thing, that the sacrifice of +self for others was the only true greatness, and that even +such a failure as Aspromonte was not to be accounted +failure—that right could not fail in the long run. +"<i>Pazienza! pazienza!</i>" was the word constantly on the lips of the dying +patriot—the word which always connected itself with his +memory in the mind of his son. On Bruno Donati's dying +face there had been that "look of faith in renunciation" +which was stamped upon the face of his teacher, Mazzini, +and the look lived on in the child's heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino," his father had said tenderly, on the very last +day of his life—"Carlino <i>mio</i>, thou wilt be a man one day." +</p> + +<p> +"How nice it will be when I am a man like you, father?" +cried the boy eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +The dying man smiled sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"Remember always to comfort and shield thy mother; +and Nita—take good care of Nita." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, father, Nita is older than I am, a whole year +older!" exclaimed the child. +</p> + +<p> +"But Nita is a woman, and my Carlo must be her brave +protector; promise me that, my son." +</p> + +<p> +"I promise, father," said the little fellow, squeezing the +cold hand that clasped his. "And father, dear father, I +may have your sword, may I not? You'll not leave it to +Uncle Guido, who has one already? For if I have it, father, +then I could fight the brigands if they took Nita; could I +not?" +</p> + +<p> +The dying man smiled, touched by the innocent literalness +of the reply. He caught Carlo to his breast, holding him in +a long, close embrace. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, father, I do believe you'll soon be well!" cried the +boy, gleefully, feeling the power of those strong arms round +him. He did not know that a sudden strength is often +death's forerunner. +</p> + +<p> +And in a sense he little meant his words came true, for by +the next morning the second Bruno Donati had entered into +the martyr's rest, and it was "well" with him. +</p> + +<p> +After this Carlo's life had been uneventful; the recollection +of his father did not sadden him, on the contrary, it +raised and stimulated him. For an Italian boy he had an +unusually free and healthy life; his mother could never +make up her mind to leave the country-house where they had +been passing their <i>villeggiatura</i> during that summer of 1862, +and in which her husband had died. They lived all the year +round at the Villa Bruno, and a kindly old priest at Pozzuoli +taught the boy until he was old enough to go in every day to +the <i>Ginnasio</i> at Naples. +</p> + +<p> +Here he entered into his lifelong friendship with Enrico +Ritter, and learnt much through his intercourse with the +German family, whose house became his headquarters when +he was in Naples. The Ritters, deeming the country life +dull for the boy, were constantly inviting him to stay with +them, and giving him brief snatches of gayety. Nominally +Lutherans, the worthy Germans were practically materialists, +and it was largely owing to his visits at the Ritters that Carlo +first became dissatisfied with the religion in which his mother +had educated him. Equally was he dissatisfied with the +conventional acceptance of Christianity and the real scepticism +which prevailed in the Ritter household. For a year or two +he puzzled his brain over the vexed question; finally he took +the decisive step and resolved to go no more to church. This +caused much pain to his mother and to his old friend, Father +Cristoforo; and though plunging deeply into that sort of +worship at the shrine of beautiful Nature which is the reaction +from formalism, he felt a want in his life. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly before this a house close to the Villa Bruno, which +for some years had been untenanted, had been taken by an +Englishman named Captain Britton. He had just lost his +wife; and the home at San Remo, where his children had +been born, and to which he had returned year by year when +off duty, had grown intolerable to him. He retired from the +service, and, taking a fancy to the neighborhood of Naples, +settled down at Casa Bella, and made up his mind to live +and die there. He had only two children—Francesca, a +beautiful girl about a year younger than Carlo—so named +after an Italian friend of the family—and Sibyl, a fairy-like +little child of two years old. Miss Claremont, Francesca's +governess, or, as everyone called her, "Clare," had the +management of the house, and it was largely owing to her that a +very close intimacy soon sprang up between the two +neighboring families. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo and Francesca were at first not of an age for falling +in love. They became fast friends, and Carlo in his rather +lonely life was enchanted to find that the English girl was +allowed almost unlimited freedom. She was wholly unlike +his convent-bred sister, who, since her mother was an +invalid, was allowed to come home now and then for a day or +two. Nita was beautiful, and sang like an angel, and was a +devout little Catholic, and did her best to teach him the +error of his ways. But, to save her life, Nita could not have +been a companion in his games. Now Francesca, though no +hoyden, was in the matter of games as good as a boy. She +was not above climbing trees or running races, she excelled +at rounders, she even initiated him into the mysteries of +cricket, enlisting the services of Clare and the gardeners. +</p> + +<p> +Then nothing would do but he must teach her to row, and +many were the happy hours they spent on the sea together, +sometimes with Clare in the stern, sometimes with little Sibyl +and her nurse, sometimes with old Florestano, the fisherman, +who would tell them quaint legends of saints, or mermaids, +or ghosts, in all of which he believed equally. Sometimes +they would go oyster-catching in Lake Fusaro, or, with Clare +as a delightful third, would scramble about in the Acropolis +at Cumas, seeking to make fresh discoveries. Or they would +play hide-and-seek in the Grotto della Pace, or act thrilling +brigand stories, or dig and search in field or vineyard, and +perhaps stumble across the remains of an old Roman villa or +the ruins of a temple, hidden away by the straggling green +growth. +</p> + +<p> +Those were happy days for all of them. Carlo before long +formed for Miss Claremont that sort of reverential, +half-worshipping friendship and admiration which is not +uncommon between boys of his age and middle-aged women. +And Clare was a friend worth having. She influenced people +chiefly by loving them; you never felt with her that she was +trying to doctor you, or to improve your moral or spiritual +health. She discussed many things with Carlo, listened to +his crude, half-fledged ideas with the utmost patience, and +would no more have smiled at them or treated them +contemptuously than a woman would smile with contempt as she +watches the staggering steps of a baby beginning to walk +alone. +</p> + +<p> +Clare sympathized much with the difficulties of his position; +she saw that his deeply religious Italian nature would +never rest content in its present isolation. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you never feel the need of worshipping?" she asked +him one day. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he replied, "but one need not be within the walls +of a church to do that; a boat at sea, or an olive-grove, are +more to my taste." +</p> + +<p> +Just at that time he was the least bit proud of having +shaken himself free from the bondage of Romanism, a fact +which was quite patent to Clare, and proved to her how +perilous was his state. +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," she urged, "I should have thought that you—a +follower of Mazzini—would have had a strong faith in +Association." +</p> + +<p> +The words struck home, unpleasantly convincing Carlo +that he had been rapturously hugging a thing which he called +Freedom, and that it was but an illusion more worthy to be +called Isolation. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know where to turn to!" he exclaimed, chafed by +a remark which had disturbed his peace, and proved it to be +false. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you trying to find out the best place?" she asked +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +He was silent, and Clare, who had the rare tact to know +when she had said enough, changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +But the very next Sunday he astonished her by asking +leave to join their party and drive in to the English church +at Naples with them. His total absence of false shame, and +the ingenuous humility which could thus tacitly own itself in +the wrong, promptly and publicly following the suggestion of +a woman, were thoroughly Italian. Clare reflected that an +Englishman would have allowed a week or two to pass by, +in order to prove that he came of his own free will and not +at the instigation of another; or would, perhaps, have toiled +over on foot in the early morning, slinking in at the back of +the church, in terror lest people should comment on the +amendment of his ways. +</p> + +<p> +After a time he formally joined the English Church. Of +course he had some opposition to encounter; but though his +old friend the priest shook his head sorrowfully, and though +his mother shed tears, and though the Ritters chaffed him +good-humoredly, his happiness was too great to be marred +by such things; besides, they all loved him so well that they +soon pardoned the obnoxious step which he had taken, and +did their best to forget that he was not as they were. +</p> + +<p> +A few months after this the first shadow fell upon Carlo's +perfect felicity. It was suddenly arranged that the Britton +household should migrate to England for a year. An aunt +of Francesca's had just died, and some one was urgently +needed to look after the motherless children. Who was so +fit for such a task as Clare? and though she would fain have +lived on in that happy Italian home, she could not linger +there when needed in another place, and at any rate she +should have her children for yet another year. That helped +to break the parting. Captain Britton was glad for a time +to be with his brother, and a year of English life, in which +to finish Francesca's rather unconventional education, was +deemed a good idea by all. So once more Casa Bella was +silent and deserted, and Carlo was left to his own devices. +</p> + +<p> +It was just at this time that Nita returned from her convent. +A great change was at once effected in the peacefulness +of the Villa Bruno, for the girl, while retaining enough +of her religious education to make her persecute her heretic +brother with endless arguments and remonstrances, was yet +so wearied of its strict restraint that she broke out into violent +reaction and tyrannized over her mother, much as she herself +had till now been tyrannized over. +</p> + +<p> +The Signora Donati was an invalid; she had never recovered +from the cruel shock of her husband's death, nor +had she at any time been noted for strength of character. +Carlo had been too loyal ever to take advantage of this; her +slightest wish had been to him a command, and the two had +idolized each other. But somehow it happened that Nita +coming home from her convent felt like an intruder; she +could not find a niche for herself in the home, and, measuring +the hearts of other people by her own, fancied she was +not cared for. Perhaps her mother did show a little too +markedly that Carlo was her favorite; but then it really was +difficult not to love the son who treated her with such +tenderness, such respectful devotion, somewhat better than the +daughter, who sought for nothing but her own amusement, +and never voluntarily performed for her the slightest service. +</p> + +<p> +It was also, perhaps, true that Carlo did not greatly care +for his sister, at any rate she tried his temper severely. He +was impatient with her aggravating little displays of piety, +her deep genuflexions, her paraded fasts. He was constantly +detecting her in petty deceits, and once, after some worse +specimens of publicity than usual, he had angrily upbraided +her. +</p> + +<p> +"You are not fit to bear the name of Donati!" he cried +hotly, his boyish sense of honor deeply wounded, and his +family pride hurt to find that Nita was no better than the +rest of the world. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I shall not bear it much longer!" she retorted, +angrily. +</p> + +<p> +And those words haunted poor Carlo for many a year. +For, not long after, all Naples rang with the news that Anita +Donati had eloped with her singing-master, a certain basso +who had been engaged that winter at the San Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, the Villa Bruno was far away in the country, +and the Signora too great an invalid to go into society. She +could bear her agony in solitude, and was not obliged to +wear a mask and go about as though nothing had happened. +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo was in the thick of the fray, he had to listen to +Uncle Guido's indignant denunciations, he had to bear the +brunt of the endless questions of the outsiders, had to +endure the bitter consciousness that his sister's name was +being bandied about in the city, and that, for the first time, +a Donati had incurred well-merited blame. +</p> + +<p> +Since then nothing had been heard of Anita, except that +about a week after her flight she had forwarded to her mother +a newspaper with the announcement of her marriage. But +the Signora Donati never recovered from the shock, nor +could she ever forgive herself, for she rightly felt that had +her relations with her daughter been happier such a thing +could never have happened. +</p> + +<p> +Five years had gone by since then, and Time had passed +his quieting hand over both grief and disgrace. Certainly +Carlo felt nothing but happiness—unalloyed happiness—as +he rode home from Naples that sunny spring day. He knew +nothing of that ominous little paragraph torn out of the +<i>Piccolo</i>, but galloped on over the white, dusty road, past +fields of Indian corn, past olive-gardens and vineyards, +through the long, dark grotto of Posilipo, and on towards the +picturesque little southern town of Pozzuoli. He scarcely +noticed all the beauty round him; he could see nothing but +the face of his dreams; and the very horse-hoofs flying over +the road seemed to repeat, again and again, the word, +"Francesca! Francesca! Francesa!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER III. +<br><br> +FRANCESCA. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find<br> + All to thy mind,<br> + Think, Who did once from Heaven to Hell descend<br> + Thee to befriend;<br> + So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,<br> + Thy best, thine all."—<br> + KEBLE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +While Carlo rode back from Naples, and while Signor +Merlino and his operatic company steamed between the +Pillars of Hercules into the blue Mediterranean, Francesca +Britton sat in a little stone belvedere in the garden of Casa +Bella, from time to time raising her eyes from her needlework +to glance at that same blue Mediterranean, or at the +lovely mountains in Ischia, which were plainly visible through +the arched doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Beautiful as a child, Francesca was more than beautiful in +early womanhood—she was lovely. It was not alone that +the outline of cheeks and chin was perfect, that the nose was +finely chiselled, that the masses of dark hair drawn back +from the white forehead were rich and wavy; all this might +be set down in black and white without conveying the faintest +idea of what she was. And in truth this had happened +over and over again; the photographers had done what they +could, but had failed grievously. Photography could not +give the ineffable charm of her ever-varying expression, the +depth and sweetness of her dark-gray eyes, the dimple in +her cheek, which seemed indeed the sign and symbol of her +sunshiny nature. It could not convey the least notion of +her shy grace, of her delicate purity, or of that keen sense of +humor which sparkled so deliciously in her home-life. +Outsiders sometimes deemed the beautiful English girl cold and +distant, and a country life had tended to increase her natural +shyness; but even had she lived in the midst of the fashionable +world, Francesca Britton never could have been thoroughly +known out of her own circle,—she was one of those +who keep their best for their own. +</p> + +<p> +She was roused from a reverie by seeing a little miniature +of herself flying down the straight, sunny walk which led to +the summer-house, bordered on either side by azaleas +glowing with crimson blossom, and tall, white oleanders. +</p> + +<p> +"Dino sent me," panted the little girl,—"Dino sent me +with this for father. Where is father? They thought he +was out here. And only fancy! Dino says, Fran dear, that +Carlo came and rang the bell just like a visitor, and handed +in his card. Think of Carlo ringing the bell!" +</p> + +<p> +And Sibyl broke into a peal of laughter as she skipped +about the summer-house. Her sister let her needlework fall, +and taking the card, glanced at it, smiling and blushing in a +way that would have enraptured any one but unobservant +Sibyl. +</p> + +<p> +"Dino, he is nodding, and smiling, and looking so funny!" +continued the little girl; "and he says Carlo has perhaps +come a courting, but he won't tell me what it means. What is +courting, Fran? Anything to do with the new tennis-court?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Tis a game which you play for love, Sibyl dear. There, +run and take the card to father, he is down in the +orange-grove." +</p> + +<p> +The little messenger flew off again on her errand, and +Francesca sat musing, smiling to herself every now and then +as she thought of the beloved name with its novel prefix. +Carlo an "Avvocato;" it was too funny! And how like +him to send in his card and be shown into the drawing-room +so ceremoniously, instead of, as usual, just leaping over the +edge of prickly pear which divided the gardens of Casa +Bella and Villa Bruno. Then delicious tremors, that were +neither hope nor fear, ran through her, and her heart beat fast +and loud. She could bear the stillness no longer, and, +rising, she left the summer-house and walked down the path +between the oleanders and the azaleas. All at once quick +footsteps fell upon her ear; then, through the trees, she +caught sight of the lithe, graceful figure so familiar to +her. Ah! how foolish she was. Had they not been the +best of friends for years and years? Why could she not go +and meet him naturally to-day? Scolding herself roundly, +she stopped because her feet refused to advance another step, +and, with fingers which trembled visibly, tried to break off a +spray of the crimson flowers. +</p> + +<p> +"It is too stiff for you!" exclaimed Carlo, turning the +corner and hurrying towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no!" she protested, laughing; "you always misdoubt +my powers;" and putting force upon her unruly fingers +she broke off the spray. "Here is a buttonhole for the +'Avvocato,' with his friend's congratulations." +</p> + +<p> +"The 'Avvocato' is not content, he craves something +more," said Carlo, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well; old playmates must not stand on ceremony," +she said, gayly, well pleased that she had regained her +self-possession; "come to the belvedere, and I will put some +maidenhair with it." +</p> + +<p> +They walked together up the path, Francesca pausing to +pluck two or three pieces from a jungle of maidenhair growing +about the old stones. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" she exclaimed as they sat down in the cool +little arbor while she twisted the ferns among the flowers; +"now are you content?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite," he said; "I am clumsy, you will put them +in for me." +</p> + +<p> +She fastened the flowers in his coat and again her tiresome +fingers began to tremble. Carlo, blessing the sight, snatched +her hand in his and kissed it passionately. +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca, forgive me!" he cried, "I could wait no +longer; you will not grudge me that one kiss. My darling, +my darling, I have waited such years for you!" +</p> + +<p> +His face, glowing with love, and devotion, and eager hope, +was raised to hers. She only saw it for a moment, for +something made a mist rise before her eyes, and when she could +see clearly again she did not dare to meet his gaze; she +looked instead out at the blue Mediterranean. +</p> + +<p> +"I have loved you, Francesca, since you came back from +England,—since you came and brought light and happiness +to us after that dark time. I told your father,—begged him +to let me speak to you, and he bade me wait. I have +waited nearly five years, Francesca, and, oh! at times I +scarcely knew how to trust myself here. Again and again I +almost broke my word; but now your father gives me leave +to come to you, to confess my love. My darling, look at +me,—speak to me!" +</p> + +<p> +She turned and gazed right into his eager, wistful eyes, +a long, sweet, steadfast look; then her lips began to quiver +a little, but thought better of it and smiled instead. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you want me to say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Say," he cried eagerly, "say, 'I will try to love you.'" +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"I can never say that," she replied, and once more looked +out seawards. +</p> + +<p> +But the vehemence, the fire of his Italian nature, half +frightened her. Despair was written on his face, despair +rang in his voice, he did not pause one moment to reflect. +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca! Francesca!" he cried, "don't tell me I have +come too late. My love! my love! I can't live without you. +Unsay that 'never.'" +</p> + +<p> +Grieved beyond measure that words so playfully meant +should have called forth such a tropical outburst, she wreathed +her arms about his neck, and pressed her face to his. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo <i>mio</i>," she sobbed, "don't break my heart by +misunderstanding me, I can never try to love +you—because—because—I love you already." +</p> + +<p> +The depth of love and tenderness in her voice, the sweet +abandonment of her manner—more really maidenly in its +perfect sincerity than any coyness or hesitation—all this +heightened to bliss Carlo's rapture of love. The momentary +mistake, the cloud-shadow that had threatened his sky, made +the sunshine all the more exquisite. He could not speak a +word, but only clasped her close in the long sweet embrace +which symbolized their betrothal. +</p> + +<p> +"My own!" he murmured at last. "My own, you gave +me one terrible minute. To be without you, Francesca, +that would be to be crucified!" +</p> + +<p> +He did not definitely think of the talk between the two +Englishmen, but the thought suggested that afternoon had sunk +deep into his mind, and the agony of the brief mistake gave +the emphatic utterance of that last word a tenfold power. +Francesca breathed fast; Love unfolded to her his wonderful +face, hitherto veiled; she was awed by the thought of the +immortal passion the undying devotion of her lover. The +strength and sacredness of that last word he had used, filled her +heart with a wondering love and humility. His happiness, his +life, was in her keeping. And hers in his. Mortal man +could never bear the strain of the one thought without the +support of the other. +</p> + +<p> +After a while they began to weave golden visions of the +future; Carlo suggesting one place and another, for which he +thought she had a fancy; a certain ideal nook, called Quisisana, +on the other side of Naples, where once, years, before +she had said she would like to build a house if some one would +but leave her a fortune; a pretty villa at Posilipo, which she +used to admire. It touched her to see how he remembered +all her careless, girlish speeches, and had treasured them up +for years. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," she said, smiling, "I used to think place would +make such a difference; but now, Carlo <i>mio</i>, I don't care one +bit. We will make a home in the wilderness, if it so pleases +you, or at Naples, in a corner of an old palace—'tis all one +to me so long as we are together." +</p> + +<p> +He drew her yet closer to him. They went on weaving +their plans unconscious of a small sprite approaching the +summer-house. Sibyl stood composedly in the doorway for +a moment, quite unnoticed by the lovers. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" she ejaculated at length, "is that the game?" +</p> + +<p> +Her perplexed and rather disappointed look was most +comical. +</p> + +<p> +"What game?" asked Francesca, laughing and blushing. +</p> + +<p> +"The game you said people played for love!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, this is it," said Carlo, laughing immoderately. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that all?" exclaimed the sprite, in a tone of deep +disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +They only laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, for my part," said Sibyl, who had caught many +old-fashioned little phrases from living always with grown-up +people, "for my part, I think it's very dull." +</p> + +<p> +She ran off. Carlo watched her out of sight, smiling at +her quaint disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +"She will miss you, poor little one," he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that would be one reason for not going far away. +And your mother, Carlo! How selfish of me not to remember +her! You must never be parted from her—never." +</p> + +<p> +"You will be to her in the place of Nita," said Carlo. +"You will comfort her as I have never been able to do." +</p> + +<p> +And so once again they plunged into the golden glories of +the future. Clare must be persuaded to come back again, +and take Sibyl in charge, and their paradise should be the +Villa Bruno, already dear to them through many associations. +That plan would obviate all difficulties, and render partings +unnecessary; would be the happiest plan for others as well +as for themselves. +</p> + +<p> +"And we must not be selfish in our happiness," said Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he replied, smiling as he remembered his friend's +parting words, "we will prove to Enrico Ritter that love is +not selfishness, and that egoism does not rule the world, as +he thinks." +</p> + +<p> +A gong sounding within the house warned Carlo that he +ought to go. Together they left the little stone summer-house +and wandered through the lovely garden,—a garden +wholly un-English. The scorching sun would not admit of +lawns, but nevertheless there was a great charm in the +straight shady walks, with here and there an umbrella-pine, +or a tall and sombre cypress mingling with limes, chestnuts, +and camphor-trees. A long colonnade of white pillars was +festooned from end to end with honeysuckle; vines linked +together the bushy mulberry-trees; Indian corn grew green +and ribbon-like beneath; while about all was that delicious +sweetness only to be met with in the gardens of Italy. The +house was solid and unpretentious, its whiteness relieved by +masses of the feathery green pepper-tree, and a glory of +climbing red geranium. Captain Britton sat in the loggia, +which was wreathed with white roses. He looked up smiling +as he saw the two drawing near, then came forward to bestow +a kiss upon his daughter and a hearty hand-shake upon +his future son-in-law. He was a large-limbed, strong-looking +man, somewhat heavily built, with scanty gray hair and +whiskers, and a broad smiling mouth. In manner he was +kindly, genial, and patronizing. But, spite of some surface +faults, he was a thoroughly good-hearted man, and there +was no mistaking his genuine hospitality and anxiety to help +his friends. If Carlo occasionally winced beneath his benign +patronage, or was provoked to anger by some show of insular +prejudice, such trifles were soon forgotten in the recollection +of the thousand acts of kindness shown both to his mother +and to himself by the neighborly Englishman. And then +the Donati were proverbially susceptible, and Carlo had long +been on his guard, and had schooled himself into thinking +that the small discords and jarring notes which now and then +occurred in the intercourse with the Brittons were really +owing to his own ultra-sensitiveness. Such things were, after +all, but trifles light as air, and were powerless really to +disturb the bliss of being near his love. +</p> + +<p> +"Hearty congratulations," said the old Captain, warmly. +"I had not much fear that my little Fran would be unkind +to you, and I suppose I must not grumble at losing her. I +little thought that some day she would be changing into a +Signora. But, there, we have made half an Englishman of +you already; have we not?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," said Francesca, quick to note that the last words +brought a momentary gleam of anger into her lover's eyes. +"Carlo will always be true to his country, though he speaks +English almost like a native. That is because I taught +you, Carlo <i>mio</i>; is it not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Without love of the teacher learning his drudgery," said +Carlo, laughing. "I enjoyed my English lessons." +</p> + +<p> +"That reminds me of your old master, Signor Piale. Oh, +what will he say to us, Carlo? What will he say?" and +Francesca laughed merrily. +</p> + +<p> +"My kind regards to Signora Donati," said Captain Britton, +smiling. "And if I may be permitted to call and pay +my respects— +</p> + +<p> +"To-night," interrupted Carlo, eagerly. "Say you will +come to-night, after dinner. My mother cannot leave the +house, you know, and she will be longing to see Francesca." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well, no need to stand on ceremony even to-day; +we are such old friends, are we not?" said the Captain, +good-naturedly. "After dinner, then—after dinner. Come, Fran, +my dear, no need to see Carlo off the premises, you'll meet +again before long, and the soup is getting cold." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca was borne off to the dining-room, and Carlo, +turning away, cleared the prickly pears at a bound, and +alighted amid a group of lemon-trees in his own garden. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. +<br><br> +A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Let my voice be heard that asketh<br> + Not for fame and not for glory;<br> + Give for all our life's dear story,<br> + Give us Love and give us Peace."<br> + JEAN INGELOW.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Villa Bruno was a smaller house than Casa Bella. It +was lacking, too, in the air of cozy English comfort which the +Brittons had managed to impart to their rooms, and the +furniture was scanty, though handsome of its kind. Carlo +walked through the veranda and entered by the open window +of the <i>salotto</i>, treading lightly, as he saw that his mother lay +asleep on her couch. He stole up to her, and stood in silence, +watching the beautiful but worn face of the invalid. He +thought how great a happiness was in store for her, and +smiled. He imagined Francesca bringing that English air +of home into this room, and thought how sweet it would be +when he rode home each evening to picture those two together +waiting for him. Looking on into the sunny future, he +forgot the present; his mother had opened her eyes, and had +watched him for some moments before he saw that she was +awake. +</p> + +<p> +At last he looked down at her, and met her eyes shining +into his with perfect comprehension. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino, you bring me good news!" she exclaimed, drawing +his face down to hers, and kissing the smooth, +ruddy-brown cheek. +</p> + +<p> +"The best news, mother—the best!" he replied, returning +her embrace. "Oh, mother! I'm the happiest man in +Italy." +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca——" began the Signora. +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca is mine—is mine!" he broke in. "She is +coming—you will see her soon, <i>madre mia</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"And her father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Was kindness itself. He will bring her in this evening +to see you. No one could have been more friendly. I saw +him first, and then—then he told me I might speak to her—that +I should find her in the garden. Afterwards, her first +thought was for you. Oh, mother, she will be to you the +daughter you have so much needed." +</p> + +<p> +The tears started to the mother's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Insomma!</i> Now I have grieved you, and made you think +of poor Nita; happiness made me forget all else. Forgive +me, little mother; I did not mean to make you think of the +past." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" sobbed the Signora Donati. "How can I help +thinking of it, Carlino, when the contrast is so sharp—you +coming to me thus with your joy as a son should, and Nita +bringing me only shame and grief and disgrace—not even +sending me one line of love or regret all these years?" +</p> + +<p> +"She will come back, little mother,—she will come back," +he said soothingly. "Some day she will feel her need of +you. Don't cry to-night, of all nights in the year. I shall +take it as a bad omen." +</p> + +<p> +Years had raised no barrier between these two; Carlo was +as frank and open with his mother as when he had been a +child; she had shared all his hopes and fears during his long +time of probation, and now she shared his joy, and was soon +coaxed back to cheerfulness, as he told her more of what had +passed at the Casa Bella. She was quite herself again as +she went in to dinner upon his arm, her grief was forgotten, +she laughed merrily at his account of Enrico's philosophical +counsels, and felt a glow of pride and happiness as she +looked across the table at the son who had been all in all to +her for so many years. Carlo was too happy to be hungry, +but he pledged his mother over a bottle of Orvieto, and they +drank Francesca's health, and clinked glasses, and made +merry. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner at the Casa Bella was quieter, but +happy, too, in its way. The old Captain beamed silently +from behind the sirloin. Francesca looked radiant. They +talked fitfully of the weather, of the orange crop, of the +silkworms, of the last letter from England—of everything, in +fact, except the one subject that was nearest their hearts; +but, then, old Dino was waiting, and it behoved them to keep +up appearances. Their tongues were unloosed by the +appearance of Sibyl and the dessert, and the disappearance of +the servant. +</p> + +<p> +"Sibyl," said the Captain, taking the little girl on his knee, +"what would you think if we were to have a wedding here?" +</p> + +<p> +"A wedding, father?" Sibyl clapped her hands with +delight. "Oh, may I be the bride, father? May I be the +bride?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the father, laughing, "that character is bespoken. +You will have to be my little housekeeper. Francesca +is to be the bride. There, you must drink her health: +Long life and happiness to the future Signora Donati." +</p> + +<p> +Sibyl obediently repeated the words, but made a wry face +over the claret. +</p> + +<p> +"What horrid stuff, Daddy; do give me a bit of your +orange, quick." Then, with her mouth very full, "But Fran +can't be Signora Donati." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, she can when she marries Carlo," said the +Captain. +</p> + +<p> +"Marries Carlo?" echoed Sibyl, in astonishment. "Dear +me, will Carlo be married? What a bother! I suppose he'll +never play games and be jolly any more?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" said Francesca, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, he won't," said Sibyl, looking wise and elderly, "I +know he won't; I asked nurse the other day what it meant to +be married, and she said it was when people grew steady and +settled down." +</p> + +<p> +The two elders laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"But he will be your brother, you know, Sibyl, and brothers +always play," said Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo, my brother?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your brother-in-law." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I know about that—that's what he had put on +his cards," said Sibyl, triumphantly; "so he must have +known he was going to be my brother before he came here; +Dino said that long word was in-law." +</p> + +<p> +Then before Captain Britton had done laughing, Sibyl +convulsed her companions by solemnly raising the glass to +her lips again, and repeating in the gravest way imaginable,— +</p> + +<p> +"Long life and many games to my future brother—in-law." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca was eager to go in quickly to see Signora Donati, +but she had to wait till Sibyl was tucked up in bed and her +father had finished his after-dinner nap. Then she threw a +white, woolly shawl about her head and shoulders, slipped +her arm into the Captain's, and crossed over to the Villa +Bruno. The Signora was alone; she came forward to meet +them with the prettiest little greeting imaginable. Francesca +loved her dearly, and returned her embraces with all possible +warmth; but above the soft and tender assurances of the +Signora's delight in the news which Carlo had brought her, +she was conscious of her lover's voice singing out in the +garden. The joyous ring about the old Neapolitan song, the +unmistakable rapture of the singer, filled her heart with +happiness. The sweet, familiar air always brought back to her +memory that first perfect evening at the Villa Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"He has done nothing but sing since he came back from +you," said the Signora, as the singer drew nearer, every word +distinctly heard in that clear atmosphere: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>O dolce Napoli,<br> + O suol beato<br> + Dove sorridere<br> + Voile il creato,<br> + Tu sei l' impero<br> + Dell' armonia,<br> + Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The last note still echoed in the air as Carlo stepped into the +dimly-lighted room through the open window, bearing in his +hand a bunch of red roses and myrtle-blossom. It was the +picture he had so often imagined which met his gaze, for +Francesca stood beside his mother, the lamplight shedding a +soft glow over her sweet, fair face. She was dressed in some +kind of soft, white dress which made him think of a baby's +robe, her wavy brown hair was a little ruffled by the white +shawl which she had thrown aside, in her sweet, pure +happiness she was exquisite. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not know you had come," he exclaimed, hastening +towards her; "how was it I never heard you?" +</p> + +<p> +"We came without ceremony, there was no ringing of +bells," said Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"And Carlo was singing at the top of his voice," said the +mother, laughing. "I foresee, Francesca, that he will now be +like my canary, who is so happy that he sings all day long, +and I have sometimes to extinguish him." +</p> + +<p> +"We have been wondering what Signor Piale will say," +replied Francesca, smiling; "you know he looks upon love +as the supreme obstacle in the way of art." +</p> + +<p> +"Then he should not compose music to such words as +these," said Carlo, taking up a song from the open piano. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that his last? I have not heard it," said Francesca. +"Ah, he has dedicated it to me as he promised." +</p> + +<p> +"Go and sing it, Carlo; it suits you well," said his mother. +</p> + +<p> +"I am not well acquainted with your Tennyson," she continued, +turning to Captain Britton, "but it seems to me that +these words are melodious and well adapted for music." +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was not poetical, but he at once launched into +an account of how he had once met the Laureate at Lord +Blamton's, while Carlo and Francesca wandered off to the +piano, Francesca glancing through the accompaniment to +see if she could manage it. +</p> + +<p> +Even in that land of beautiful voices, Carlo Donati's voice +was most remarkable. But Piale was the only person who +quite knew what it was worth, and he had issued strict orders +that his pupil was to sing nowhere save at home and at his +lessons. He knew well enough that if Carlo once sang at a +Neapolitan party he would be allowed no peace, but would +become the spoilt and overworked amateur, and fail altogether +to do justice to the severe but excellent training which +he had now almost completed. The voice was a baritone of +unusual power and sweetness; Piale's music suited the +pathetic words admirably: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Love is come with a song and a smile,<br> + Welcome love with a smile and a song;<br> + Love can stay but a little while.<br> + Why cannot he stay? They call him away;<br> + Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong;<br> + Love will stay for a whole life long."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The song ended, Francesca sat dreamily playing over the +refrain which her lover had declaimed so passionately; he +stood close to her, deftly arranging the flowers he had brought +from the garden in her hair and dress. Then, after the +thanks and praises of the listeners had been spoken, Captain +Britton once more enlarged upon his meeting with the +Laureate, and Carlo, foreseeing that the topic would last some +time, looked longingly out into the dusky garden, then down +at Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"The paths are quite dry, it is starlight," he said; "will +you not come out?" +</p> + +<p> +She smiled and nodded, let him wrap the white shawl +about her, and crossed the room to the window. Carlo lingered +a moment to slip a cluster of red roses into his mother's +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"We go into the garden for a few minutes, <i>madre mia</i>," he +explained. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled approvingly, perceiving that he meant to claim +all the liberty which an English betrothal permits, and then +turned again to the Captain with a question, in her pretty +broken English, which she was well aware would keep him +happy for some time to come. +</p> + +<p> +"And this Lord Blamton, at whose house it occurred, is +he your friend?" +</p> + +<p> +The lovers, supremely indifferent to both Lords and Laureates, +strolled out into the starlit garden. All was still and +peaceful; through the olives they could catch glimpses of +the yellow lights in Pozzuoli, and every now and then a lurid +crimson flame and a column of vapor lit up by the fierce +glare, revealed in the distance the conical form of Vesuvius +and its peaceful neighbor, Somma. There was a delicious +fragrance in the air; thyme, and myrtle, and mignonette filled +the dewy garden with their sweetness; everywhere the peace +of a great content seemed to brood. A stranger might have +fancied something disturbing and incongruous in the burning +mountain; but to Carlo Vesuvius was an old friend, not +a terror. In his childhood he had fancied it a sort of +symbol of the Deity, vaguely connecting it with that other pillar +of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night of which old Father +Cristoforo had told him. Not a care, not the least shadow +of anxiety, broke the bliss—the unclouded happiness of that +evening. +</p> + +<p> +Remembering Enrico's advice to keep his happiness to +himself, Carlo took a holiday, and stayed at home till the +end of the week, when, partly prompted by a conscientious +wish to break the news to Piale, and to keep his usual +appointment with the old Maestro on Saturday morning, partly +because he wished to search for a betrothal ring to his mind, +he ordered his horse and rode into Naples. +</p> + +<p> +Piale lived over a shop in the Strada Mont' Oliveto. His +apartments were furnished in a Spartan manner without the +least attempt at comfort or picturesqueness. A marble floor, +unrelieved by carpet or mat, walls painted in pale green, but +bare of a single picture, a grand piano in the middle of the +room, a table strewn with music-paper, books, and pens, and +a few straight-backed chairs stiffly set round it, completed the +furniture of this musical anchorite. When Carlo entered the +room that morning he found the old man poring over the +score of some opera, his shaggy gray hair tossed back from +his broad forehead, and the shabbiness of his many-colored +dressing-gown fully revealed by the sunshine which streamed +in through the half-open <i>jalousies</i>. He looked up as Carlo +entered, giving him a sharp, searching glance, as though to +discover how the world went with him that morning. Convinced +by the radiant happiness of his pupil's face that at +present the sky was cloudless, he grunted out a rather surly +"<i>Buon giorno</i>," and closed his book with an air of reluctance. +</p> + +<p> +"I want your congratulations, Maestro," said Carlo, coming +quickly forward. "Nothing but the most filial obedience +and respect to yourself brought me away from my paradise +this morning. You must mingle with praise your good wishes +for our health and happiness." +</p> + +<p> +"Hein!" exclaimed the old man, pretending not to catch +his meaning. "You are an <i>avvocato</i>, I understand; young +Ritter told me as much as that. <i>Corpo di Bacco!</i> don't come +to me for congratulations. You've mistaken your profession. +You are wasting—yes, wasting, the noblest gift of God." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Maestro, reflect; how is it possible for me to use my +voice as you would have me? Would you wish me to leave +my mother? And then, moreover, there are other +considerations—I am about to be married." +</p> + +<p> +"Married!" The Maestro turned away with a groan. +"Ah, then I wash my hands of you! You are lost to art—lost +to the noblest of the professions! Farewell to my hopes! +All my efforts with you are thrown away! You might have +been the pride of my old age and the delight of Europe. +Instead you choose the career of a lawyer and the caresses of +a woman." +</p> + +<p> +"You speak scornfully, Maestro," replied the culprit, laughing. +"I shall add two adjectives to your bald remark—'the +useful career' and 'a perfect woman.' Why, signor, you +who know Miss Britton should be ready to make excuse for +me. What else could you expect? Is the Muse of Harmony +to take precedence of such an one?" +</p> + +<p> +"Hear him!" cried Piale, in despair; "great Heaven! and +it is this ungrateful one that thou hast endowed with the +voice of a seraph and the dramatic power of a Salvini!" +</p> + +<p> +"My apologies to Salvini," said Carlo, laughing merrily, +"but that, beloved Maestro, is bathos—a fine example." +</p> + +<p> +His laughter was so infectious that Piale was obliged to +join in it, then, with a shrug of the shoulders, he shuffled +across to the piano. +</p> + +<p> +"You are incorrigible! I wash my hands of you! But +since you are in so jocular a mood at the prospect of settling +down to so monotonous a life——" +</p> + +<p> +"Maestro!" broke in Carlo, with indignation. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I speak unadvisedly?" said Piale, with sarcasm; "not +at all. Oh, I know well enough what it will be. You will +sit under your vine and under your fig-tree, and you will +count the olive branches round your table——" +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Piale!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you will say as you look, 'I must work hard,' and +you will become the speaking-machine of the Neapolitan +criminals, and you will use that divine gift for the proclamation +of lies, and you will debase your fine dramatic genius +and make it the tool of the worthless and the guilty. Since +all this makes you in so gay a humor, come sing me your song +from <i>Il Barbiere</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Pursing up his lips the old professor began to play the +accompaniment of <i>Largo al Factotum</i>; and Carlo, entering +into the spirit of the thing, and with his sense of humor +touched by the analogy between the barber's glorification of +his profession and the words that had just passed, sang +magnificently. +</p> + +<p> +At the end there was unbroken silence. The old professor +sat lost in thought, Carlo watched him with a smile on his +lips. Then sauntering across the room, sang, <i>sotto voce</i>, the +recitative which followed, throwing malicious meaning into +the— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"<i>Ah! Che bella vita! Oh! Che mestiere!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"It could not have been better sung!" cried Piale, with a +gesture of despair. "Carlo, perhaps I have dealt unfairly +by you. I have never praised you, never told you what I +thought of your powers; I feared to ruin that modesty which +has endeared you to me! But now it is time that you seriously +consider the matter. There, there, don't interrupt me! +Marry if you will, and let your wife tend the Signora Donati +in your absence. But do not allow so glorious a gift to rust +unused." +</p> + +<p> +"But, dear Maestro," said Carlo, gravely, "you do not +realize that others do not think of the profession as you do. +Captain Britton regards the theatre as the school for hell, +the stage is an abomination to him. He fancies that all +actors are like that villain Merlino. And, indeed, it is +wonderful that he made no objection to having as son-in-law one +who is so deeply compromised as I am. I suppose he hardly +realized the fact, he has almost forgotten poor Nita's existence." +</p> + +<p> +At the recollection of that sorrowful past he sighed. Piale +was quick to note how the remembrance interfered with his +present happiness. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, only a brute would dream of holding you responsible +for the sins of others," he said, warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me," said Carlo, "have you seen any mention of my +sister lately in any of the musical papers?" +</p> + +<p> +"I heard that Merlino's company had been in America for +the last two years, and that Madame Merlino had made a +good impression there..... Well, I suppose I must say +no more, lad, but it is hard on a master to have his best +pupil lost to the world." +</p> + +<p> +He changed the subject rather hastily. He could not bear +to bring back that cloud to Carlo's brow by telling him the +last news of his sister. +</p> + +<p> +His lesson over, Carlo began to ransack the jewelers' +shops, and having at last found a broad gold gypsy ring with +a single diamond which satisfied him, he bent his steps +towards his uncle's house, conscious that Guido Donati—a +rather autocratic man—would require early notice of his +nephew's engagement. +</p> + +<p> +The interview passed off well. Uncle Guido thoroughly +approved of the marriage, and treated his nephew in the +most generous and paternal way, and Carlo came forth in +excellent spirits. All seemed to promise well for his future +life. Happy in his love, with the prospect of a fair inheritance, +a hope which practically amounted to certainty of success +in his profession, and with the best of mothers and the +truest of friends, it seemed as if life could offer him nothing +more. His face was radiant as he greeted Enrico Ritter. +</p> + +<p> +"Well met!" he exclaimed, waylaying Enrico, who, in a +fit of abstraction, would have passed him by. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it is you!" exclaimed Enrico, looking him critically +in the face. "Well, what news?" +</p> + +<p> +"You will be requested to dance at my wedding before +long," said Carlo, gayly. +</p> + +<p> +"So!" Enrico whistled. +</p> + +<p> +"I took your advice, you see, <i>amico mio</i>, and stayed at +home, that you might not be afflicted with the trouble of +congratulating me." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," said Enrico, with a sarcastic smile. "That is +your kind way of putting it—egoist that you are! You +stayed to enjoy yourself, and now you want to make me +believe that you were considering my comfort and not your +own. An egoist! A double-dyed egoist!" +</p> + +<p> +But his laughter was suddenly checked. They were passing +a hoarding in the Strada S. Trinita, Carlo had glanced +at one of the placards, and now he clutched his friend's arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Enrico!" he gasped; "my sister's name—I thought I +saw it. Look for me; I can't." +</p> + +<p> +Huge black letters on a pink ground danced in wild confusion +before his eyes; but surely it was that hateful name +of Merlino which had suddenly darkened his sky, which had +struck a blow at his heart and left him stunned and bewildered! +</p> + +<p> +"Dear old fellow, you must come on," said Enrico. "I +didn't know those cursed placards would be out yet; but it +is true, alas! only too true." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo walked on mechanically, feeling as though he were +in a nightmare. His thoughts flew wildly from Francesca +to Anita, from his mother to Captain Britton, from his uncle +to Merlino. He had no definite ideas, only a giddy +consciousness that the world, so bright but a minute before, was +now overshadowed, and that a nameless fear filled his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Where?" he faltered, after a brief silence. +</p> + +<p> +"The Mercadante," said Enrico, following his train of +thought and understanding the laconic question as a friend +should. +</p> + +<p> +"Let us come there," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico silently complied. After a time his friend looked +up with another question,— +</p> + +<p> +"You knew of this before, then?" +</p> + +<p> +Enrico signed an assent. +</p> + +<p> +"The day I last saw you," he added, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +"What? That thing you tore out of the <i>Piccolo</i>? Why +did you try to keep it from me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wanted you to have a cloudless betrothal," said Enrico, +rather reluctantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, <i>amico mio!</i>" exclaimed the other, gratefully. "You +shield me thus, and then call yourself egoist!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," said Enrico, who hated to be caught in a +kindly action. "It was pure egoism. Naturally, I wish you +to be happy, for it disturbs me and makes me uncomfortable +to see you as you are now. Purely for my own sake I +deferred the evil day." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo could not help smiling, even then, at the energy +with which his friend tried to establish his own selfishness +for the sake of triumphing in his pet theory. +</p> + +<p> +"I must find out whether they are yet in Naples," he said, +growing grave once more, and trying hard to collect his +thoughts. "Oh, Enrico, how shall I break the news to my +mother? She is unfit to bear the least shock." +</p> + +<p> +"I would keep it from her, then—at any rate, till you +know what line your sister intends to take," said Enrico. +"But, see, we are close to the Mercadante. Shall I make +inquiries for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you would," said Carlo, with a look of relief. +"Ask when the Company arrives in Naples, and where they +are to be found." +</p> + +<p> +Enrico walked forward, Carlo following more slowly; +on past two open-air <i>caffès</i> with groups of idlers beneath +a shady trellis-work of vine and euonymus; on past a stall +gayly wreathed with lemons and greenery, where thirsty +Neapolitans were drinking mineral water; on till the arsenal +was in sight, and the red tower of the lighthouse, while in the +foreground was the Teatro Mercadante. Little had he +thought that the sight of its pink walls with their white facings +would ever have caused him such strange emotion. Huge +placards were posted here in all directions. He read them +over and over in a sort of dream, taking in little but that one +name in larger type, "MME. MERLINO." At length, Enrico +came forth, having made his inquiries. +</p> + +<p> +"They do not seem to know the exact date of their arrival," +he said, in answer to Carlo's mute question. "The man was +just going off to his <i>siesta</i>, and was not best pleased at being +hindered. However, he wrote down the address for me. +You will find them there, whenever they do arrive. It may +be to-morrow or any day next week. They are coming from +America, but by what route the fellow didn't know. However, +you see by the placards there are no performances for +another ten days." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo took the paper, and read the address. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall be here again to-morrow," he said. "I will call +and see if they have arrived, and till then I shall say +nothing to my mother." +</p> + +<p> +"That would be wise," said Enrico. "Then she will be +spared the worry and uncertainty. You look tired, <i>amico mio</i>. +Come home with me, and have your <i>siesta</i> in peace." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Carlo; "I want to go home. I want to tell +Francesca." +</p> + +<p> +"You can't ride back in this heat; you'll get a sunstroke." +</p> + +<p> +But he only shook his head, and, with an unmistakable air +of wishing to be alone, said good-bye to his friend, and went +to order his horse. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico turned to look after him. Profound dejection was +expressed in his walk. The serpent had all too soon invaded +his paradise. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER V. +<br><br> +A THREATENING SKY. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Come all ye faithful, come, and dare to prove<br> + The bitter sweet, the pain and bliss of love."<br> + TRENCH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Francesca came down one of the shady garden paths to +meet her lover; she held in her hand a forked branch, on +which, nestled among the pale green leaves, grew four +fresh-looking lemons. For a moment Carlo forgot everything in +the bliss of seeing her again. It seemed to him that they +had been ages apart; that he had been toiling across a +barren desert to reach this cool green retreat, in which his +betrothed reigned supreme. How beautiful she looked in +that familiar, soft, white dress, and with her white forehead +and delicate coloring shaded by a large hat! The hat was +one of those shallow white ones which can sometimes be +bought for two or three <i>soldi</i>; it was not calculated, however, +to sustain the embraces of a lover, and it speedily fell back, +leaving Francesca with her wavy brown hair uncovered. +For a minute, Carlo held her from him, that he might the +better see her, with a datura-tree for background, and the +soft, creamy flowers drooping over her head. Francesca, +having known him and loved him for years, saw in one glance +that he was in trouble. +</p> + +<p> +"You are tired, my own," she said. "It was too hot for +you to ride back so early; you should have taken your <i>siesta</i> +at Naples." +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't rest," he said, with a sigh. "I wanted to get +back to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Something has grieved you. Does Uncle Guido disapprove +of our betrothal?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, oh no. How could he do that? He treated me as +though I had been his son." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet something or some one has been troubling you. +But we will not talk of it now; you shall rest first. Come +into the Rose-room; it will be cool there, and the sun is not +off the summer-house yet." +</p> + +<p> +They went together towards the house. The Rose-room +was Francesca's own little sitting-room. It had a ceiling +painted after the Italian fashion with wreaths of pink roses; +it had cool gray walls crowded with a most miscellaneous +collection of photographs and water-color sketches; it had +rose-colored curtains in figured muslin; and, after the manner +of rooms, it betrayed its owner's chief failing—it was in +wild disorder. Francesca was by no means immaculate; +like other girls, she had her faults, and untidiness was one +of them. +</p> + +<p> +"Try my rocking-chair," she said, removing a guitar which +reposed upon the cushions, and trying to find a home for it +upon the crowded table. "I will be back directly." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, rescuing the guitar, which was in imminent danger +of falling, lay back in the easy-chair, and waited, letting his +hands wander idly about among the strings. It was sweet +to feel already so entirely at home at Casa Bella—its very +confusion was dear to him. Presently Francesca returned, +bearing a big tumbler of St. Galmier, which she set down +upon Dante's <i>Paradiso</i>, while she selected the finest of the +lemons from her branch. +</p> + +<p> +"Lend me your knife, Carlino," she said; "I've lost mine, +as usual. There!" as she cut open the cool, ripe fruit; +"isn't that a beauty? How much, I wonder, for this glassful? +I should think half. Ah, how like me! I've forgotten +the sugar." Then, running to the door, "Sibyl! Sibyl!" +</p> + +<p> +The little sister came flying down the passage. +</p> + +<p> +"Run and fetch me some sugar, will you, Sibyl dear? Oh, +bother! Now, what have I done with the store-room key? +Look, darling, I think it must be on my dressing-table, or, +perhaps, in the pocket of my blue gown; or, if not, in my +work-basket." +</p> + +<p> +Sibyl ran away to hunt for the missing key, and Francesca +searched among the contents of the table to see if by chance +it had been left there. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Carlo mio!" she said, with a pretty penitence, "I +fear I am not, as the ladies say who advertise in the +newspapers, 'thoroughly domesticated.' I shall have to mend +my evil ways now." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo pretended not to understand what "domesticated" +meant, and they had much merriment over a dictionary, +which declared that it was to be "tame" and "not foreign." +</p> + +<p> +Sibyl at last returned with the sugar-basin, claiming one +lump as wages and accepting another to run away. Then +Francesca began to stir the contents of the tumbler with an +ivory paper-knife, since spoons were not handy; and in +much laughter and lover-like teasing Carlo forgot all about +the cloud-shadow which had arisen. +</p> + +<p> +The ring fitted to perfection, and Francesca's delight was +pretty to see; she was not above a womanly weakness for +jewelry, and frankly owned that she always had longed for +just one diamond. +</p> + +<p> +"And what about the old Maestro?" she exclaimed at +last. "You never told me how he bore the news." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, dear old Piale was, or pretended to be, a good deal +depressed. It seems that he really had set his heart on my +going on the stage, and had not at all realized how +impossible that would be." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet you do not feel as my father does about theatre-going?" +said Francesca. "And Clare! Don't you remember +what arguments we used to have with dear Clare about +it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she was dead against it; but then she was brought +up in a Puritan family, and the old prejudices lingered with +her. For me, I have no feeling whatever of that sort, but +nevertheless the life of an operatic singer is quite the last I +should willingly choose. Piale talks scoffingly of the +humdrum life of an advocate; but for my part I shall be very +well content to stay at home, with the hope of some day +following in my father's steps and doing a little for my country. +Think of the wretchedness of a wandering life! It's all very +well to talk about delighting Europe—practically one would +be little better than an exile—and into the bargain Piale +owns that art requires the sacrifice of domestic life." +</p> + +<p> +"I knew he would not approve of me," said Francesca, +laughing. "We must have him to our wedding, Carlo, and +he shall make a speech. What fun he will be!" +</p> + +<p> +Just for a minute, as they talked of theatrical life, Carlo's +thoughts had reverted to Nita, but Francesca's reference to +the wedding soon dispersed the cloud. He had most markedly +the Italian faculty of living wholly in the present, and +enjoying it much as a child enjoys life. They lingered long +in the Rose-room. Later on, when the heat of the afternoon +was past, they walked through the garden and down the +vine-clad slopes to the beach, where old Florestano sat +smoking his pipe with his back against a boat. He sprang +up, on seeing them, as quickly as his rheumatism would +permit. +</p> + +<p> +"Going for a row, signor?" he said, when he had finished +his lengthy congratulations, and had made Francesca blush +deliciously. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Carlo, flinging his coat into the stern; "but +we shan't want you, Florestano; we shall never want you any +more," and, with a laugh, he shoved the boat down to the +water's edge. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, signorina," said the old fisherman, chuckling, "he +is one to be proud of, that he is. Why, I do declare, he +might be a fisherman. Look at him now." +</p> + +<p> +And with delighted pride the old man watched the skill +with which the strong, active figure in straw hat and +shirtsleeves set to work. Carlo looked round with a bright, +glowing face. "Come, Francesca, let us be off. Good-bye, +Florestano. Ah, wait a minute, though! Have a cigar?" +</p> + +<p> +He handed his case to the old fisherman, who helped +himself with a smiling face, then he shoved the boat into +the water, sprang in, and, taking the oars, rowed off towards +Ischia. +</p> + +<p> +The fisherman stood on the quiet and lonely beach watching +them, and meditatively stroking one of his huge, projecting +ears. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," he remarked, shrugging his shoulders, +"some of us be born to happiness and some to sorrow, +there's no helping that. But all of us ought to be born to a +fair chance of living somehow. So says the young signor, +but I doubt me if, for all his hot words and his seeming near +as much of a Socialist as any of us, he'd care to act it out in +his life. Eh, eh! we be all of us ready enough to talk about +others, but to live for them that's another matter." +</p> + +<p> +And, with a grim chuckle, Florestano pulled out a number +of <i>La Campana</i> from his pocket, and, stretching himself on +the pebbles, began to spell out more lessons in Socialism. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was low in the heavens when the lovers returned +from their row. Carlo had to hasten home to his mother, +but later in the evening he once more appeared at Casa +Bella. Apart from Francesca all his restless apprehension +had returned. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton was asleep in the dining-room. Francesca +was in the dusky drawing-room seated at the piano, where +two candles under rose-colored shades made a little oasis of +light. She was trying over her favorite of all Carlo's songs, +"<i>Dio Possente</i>," but broke off with a little cry of surprise and +delight as he came towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall think that my ring is a fairy ring," she cried, +"and brings me all I wish for. I was just longing to hear +you sing this." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had not felt in a singing humor, but her words drove +everything else from his mind, and he sang perhaps all the +better for the real care and anxiety which were oppressing +him, certainly he sang as she had never before heard him +sing. +</p> + +<p> +"Piale is right," she said at the close, brushing away the +tears from her eyes; "nature meant you for a singer; you +were Valentine then, and no one else." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo did not speak; she looked up at him quickly, and +again saw that look of care which he had borne back with +him from Naples. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling," she said, making room for him on the +ottoman beside her, "you are keeping something from me; +you are unhappy, Carlo <i>mio</i>, and yet you will not let me +know." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he said sadly, "I must let you know; that is what +I came back for. You remember Nita?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your sister? Yes—oh, yes. What of her. Has she +written?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, but to-day in Naples, as I walked down the Strada +S. Trinita, I saw that she was to sing the week after next at +the Mercadante." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca look startled. All in a minute it flashed upon +her that the perfect peace of their betrothal was disturbed, +and that it could never return. +</p> + +<p> +She knew enough of Nita'a story to be aware how painful +it would be for both Signora Donati and Carlo to have her as +the prima donna of a Neapolitan theatre; but she tried hard +to see gleams of possible good in the news. +</p> + +<p> +"She may be sorry, and come to see you," she suggested. +"Oh, surely she would come back to Villa Bruno when she +is so near to it as Naples?" +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo was not hopeful. She listened to all his doubts +and fears with tender, womanly sympathy. She was no spoilt +child caring only for the pleasure of her betrothal; perhaps, +indeed, notwithstanding the ruffled peace, she had never been +so happy as she was that evening when Carlo told her his +troubles, and then, with his arm round her, whispered sweet +words about the comfort of telling her. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca quite agreed with Enrico that it would be better +to say nothing as yet to the Signora Donati; and even in her +anxiety there was keen pleasure in feeling that she had a +right to share her lover's cares. +</p> + +<p> +The next day was Sunday, and Carlo, as usual, drove in +to the English church with the Brittons. But after the +service he left them, pleading an engagement, and went off to +see if Merlino's Company had arrived. +</p> + +<p> +The Palazzo Forti was in a gloomy side street, he entered +the courtyard, and found his way up a very dirty staircase to +the third floor, where he rang and inquired whether Madame +Merlino had arrived. An answer in the affirmative from a +bright-eyed little servant made his heart leap into his throat. +He had not expected it. He had walked to the old Palazzo +in the firm conviction that his sister would not yet have +reached Naples, and to be told that she was actually close +to him almost took away his breath. He hesitated a +moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Is she within? can I see her?" he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +The servant seemed a little doubtful, but said she would +ask, and, taking Carlo's card, she disappeared, leaving him +in the doorway. In all his life he had never felt so +uncomfortable. He had never known Anita well; her convent +education had made her practically a stranger to him, and +now years had passed since their last meeting, and between +them was the shadow of her wrong-doing. Then, too, he +was not even sure whether he should see her alone, her +husband might be there; and Carlo, being Italian and +hot-tempered, was not quite sure how the sight of Merlino might +affect him. He breathed quickly as the servant returned. +</p> + +<p> +"Would the Signor step this way for a minute?" +</p> + +<p> +Setting his teeth, he followed the maid down a passage, +and was ushered into a good-sized but comfortless-looking +room. He was surprised and relieved to find within it +neither his sister nor Merlino, but a young Englishman of +about eight-and-twenty with fair hair and moustache, arched +eyebrows, and keen light blue eyes, in which there was no +mistaking the sparkle of genuine wit; but the face was a +restless one, and the expression of careless good-humor was +sometimes slightly tinged with bitterness. He bowed, then +glanced again at the visitor with undisguised curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +"You are Madame Merlino's brother, I think?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo assented. +</p> + +<p> +"I should have known you anywhere, the likeness is so +strong." +</p> + +<p> +"I speak English, if you prefer it, sir," said Carlo, noticing +that the stranger's Italian was far from fluent. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you? that will be a great relief, then. The patience +of you foreigners amazes me. How you can learn our barbarous +tongue I can't conceive. For me, I only learnt enough +of yours to satisfy my singing-master." +</p> + +<p> +"May I ask whom I am speaking to?" said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"I am Sardoni—that, at least, is my professional name—<i>primo +tenore</i> of 'the happy band of pilgrims' who patrol +this wicked world under Merlino's care. When they brought +me your card just now I thought I might ask to see you, +although Madame Merlino is out, for, to tell the truth, signor, +it is quite time that Madame Merlino's friends and relations +did something to save her. You must pardon the liberty I +am taking, but, indeed, it is little use mincing matters in an +affair of this kind." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo took a long look at the speaker. He was evidently +an English gentleman—a man doubtless with faults enough, +but yet, he instinctively felt, a man to be trusted. +</p> + +<p> +"My sister is out, you say," he began, with a troubled +look. +</p> + +<p> +"She went out driving this morning," said Sardoni, +promptly, "with her usual cavalier, Comerio, our first +baritone. But I know Comerio well, and he will not long be +content to be a mere hanger-on. Every day Madame Merlino +gets more under that man's power. He and she——" +</p> + +<p> +But here he hastily broke off, for Carlo sprang forward +with a gesture so threatening that any one but an Englishman +would have recoiled a pace. +</p> + +<p> +"Be silent," he thundered; "how dare you couple my +sister's name with the name of that brute?" +</p> + +<p> +His dark eyes were all ablaze with anger. Sardoni was +silent, not because he doubted the truth of his own words, +but because he was obliged to pause and admire. +</p> + +<p> +"I see you are the brother whom Madame Merlino needs," +he said, quietly; "and it is in order that those two names +may not with just cause be coupled together all the world +over that I speak to you plainly." +</p> + +<p> +The glow of color had faded from Carlo's face, and had +left him unusually pale. He turned away with a groan as +Sardoni ended. Vaguely as he had dreaded his sister's +arrival, he had never dreamed that it would be so bad as +this. +</p> + +<p> +"Her husband?" he said at length. +</p> + +<p> +"Merlino is a brute, but many degrees better than Comerio. +'Tis a sort of lion and unicorn business, with your +sister for crown. But you spoke as though you knew Comerio?" +</p> + +<p> +"I only know what report has to say of him," replied +Carlo. "He was singing here five years ago; his wife and +children, I believe, still live here." +</p> + +<p> +"Report says nothing of him that is not strictly true." +</p> + +<p> +"But how is it, then, that Merlino is so blind to his own +interests as to keep him in his troupe?" +</p> + +<p> +"I can't say, unless it is that tyrants always believe in +their own superiority. And then, too, Comerio is such a +wily devil, he always manages to keep in Merlino's good +books. There has never been the least apparent reason for +getting rid of him; and, besides, Merlino is not so +over-burdened with wealth that he can afford to cancel an +engagement. Italian opera is not such a paying concern as people +think." +</p> + +<p> +"I must try to see my sister," said Carlo, with a sigh, "or +write to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Then if you see her allow me to suggest that you do not +call on her here, where ten to one you will fall foul of her +husband; and if you write, do so now and entrust the letter +to me, for Merlino watches her correspondence with lynx +eyes, and does not scruple to open every letter." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo uttered an impatient exclamation of disgust. Every +sentence which the Englishman let fall seemed to reveal to +him a fresh glimpse of the intolerable life which poor Nita +was leading. He accepted the pen and ink which his +companion offered him, however, and, drawing a chair to the +table, began with deepening color to write. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni glanced at him from time to time; he had taken +up a newspaper, and made as though he were reading it, but +in reality his mind was full of his Italian visitor. Carlo's +face was almost as easy to read as a book, and Sardoni could +not help feeling sorry for him. He had just witnessed one +of the most painful sights imaginable, that of a perfectly +unsullied nature being brought for the first time into near +connection with a network of evil. There was something, +too, in the implicit trust which Donati had reposed in him +which appealed to him strongly. What a wretched position +to be in! Powerless to help his own sister without trusting +to the help and believing in the honesty of a stranger and a +foreigner! Carlo in the mean time had finished his letter, +and, folding it up, handed it unsealed to Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +The Englishman put it in his pocket-book, remarking as he +did so, "For a perfect stranger you trust me with a good +deal, Signor Donati." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked troubled as it flashed across him how +unsuspiciously he had believed the stranger's words. It had never +occurred to him that Sardoni could possibly have any reason +for misleading him. He looked at him searchingly. +</p> + +<p> +"But then, you are an Englishman," he said, in a tone of +relief. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni laughed. "That is a compliment to my nation +which I shall not readily forget. But look here," an expression +of great bitterness stole over his face, "there are many +of my own countrymen who would snap their fingers at my +word of honor." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo again looked him through and through, and, as he +looked, the blue eyes seemed to grow less hard, to appeal +against that harsh opinion which had just been mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, as for that," said Carlo, with the expressive gestures +of a Neapolitan, "that is just nothing at all to me. I trust +you, signor." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni smiled and grasped his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll not betray your confidence," he said. +</p> + +<p> +And with that the two men parted. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo went down the dirty stone stairs, looking pale and +harassed. Sardoni with a flushed face returned to his +newspaper, but still did not take in one word. +</p> + +<p> +"He trusted me," he thought to himself—"he really did +trust me. Oh, God! if I could only change natures with a +fellow like that!" Then, as some painful recollection +brought hot tears to his eyes, he sprang up, and flinging aside +his newspaper, strode across to the piano and began to play +a waltz. "You are a fool, Jack! a fool! a fool! Why +should that Italian make you think of it? A mere +countrified innocent!" +</p> + +<p> +And with that he played on recklessly, doing his best to +forget Donati's eyes. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. +<br><br> +THE STORM BREAKS. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "God be praised, that to believing souls<br> + Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair."<br> + <i>King Henry VI.</i>, Part II.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +How to break the news to his mother? this was Carlo's sole +thought as he walked home on that Sunday afternoon. For +an Italian he was an unusually good walker, having fallen a +good deal into English habits through his close friendship +with the Brittons; and perhaps it was to the free country +life which he had always lived, and to his daily rides to and +from Naples, that he owed his brilliant coloring and his +healthy mind and body. +</p> + +<p> +It tortured him to think that the story which had been a +shock to him would be tenfold worse to his mother. It +had been, as Sardoni observed, his first near connection with +evil, but to his mother it would be the first introduction to +evil at all. He had not lived the life of a Neapolitan +student without coming across many Comerios; but his +mother, in her peaceful country life, her tranquil invalid +existence, knew nothing of wickedness. His mind was so taken +up with the difficulty of telling her that he had no leisure to +think of the yet greater difficulty, how to help Anita. +</p> + +<p> +He could not bear to be the one to bring her these bad +tidings; he half thought of asking Father Cristoforo to go to +her; then, ashamed of shrinking from a painful task, he forced +himself to pass the old man's house and climbed the hill, +turning over in his mind a dozen different ways of approaching +the subject, and feeling satisfied with none of them. +</p> + +<p> +There was something very beautiful in the devotion of +this mother and son; perhaps only Francesca and Clare +knew how entirely Carlo had given his life to the work his +father had left him, or how wonderfully it had helped to +mould his character. To a woman it is second nature to +devote herself to an invalid, nor does it involve any very +serious break in her life; but to a man, obliged to go on with his +daily work at the same time, the strain of attendance in a +sick-room is infinitely greater. If he can live this life for +years, it gives him an established habit of always ruling his +life by the needs of another, and not by his own desires. +</p> + +<p> +There were two gates to the grounds of Villa Bruno. The +one nearest to Naples was that which led into the stable-yard, +and Carlo, from force of custom, went in this way, +although he was on foot. He was surprised to see a hired +carriage in the yard; he wondered if possibly Frau Ritter +had driven out to call on his mother, and paused on his +way to the house to ask a servant who was the visitor. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, signor," said the girl, flushing up, "they say it is +Madame Merlino!" +</p> + +<p> +With an exclamation which was almost a cry, he rushed on +towards the house. His mother had had no preparation +whatever—the shock might be fatal to her. And yet, surely +it looked well that Nita should at once hurry home in this +way? Surely that in itself gave the lie to Sardoni's +assertion? And then it flashed across him that Nita would +regard him in the light of the elder brother in the story of +the prodigal son, and he prayed that he might be his direct +opposite. +</p> + +<p> +Flinging open the front door he hurried on, pausing for an +instant outside the <i>salotto</i>. There was a sound of voices; he +hastily entered, glanced quickly towards his mother's couch, +then towards his sister, who had risen at sight of him with a +look so frightened and timid that he longed to reassure her, +as one longs to still the fears of a terrified child. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Nita!" he exclaimed, kissing her repeatedly, "I +have been trying to find you in Naples, but you were before +me after all." +</p> + +<p> +Something in the tone of his "<i>Ben venuto</i>," and in the +many untranslatable Italian phrases with which he greeted +her, brought the tears to Anita's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She watched intently while Carlo bent down to kiss his +mother. +</p> + +<p> +"You are cold, <i>madre mia</i>!" he exclaimed. "You are +faint and over-tired." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, it is my fault!" cried Nita, vehemently. "It is I +who have tired her and broken her heart!" +</p> + +<p> +He saw that there would be no quieting her just then, and +took the law in his own hands. +</p> + +<p> +"You must rest a little," he said; "you too are tired; +and then, after dinner, mother will be fit to talk again. See, +I will show you a room—the place is a little altered." +</p> + +<p> +With some difficulty he enticed her away, but no sooner +were they alone than her tears again broke forth. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Carlo! I am afraid I have been too much for her," +she exclaimed, "and yet—and yet—I wanted so to come." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes, I am so glad you came; only we must be +careful!" said poor Carlo, distracted at the thought that she +was keeping him from his mother, and much alarmed as he +recollected how white and weary the invalid had looked. +"There, you will lie down and rest till dinner time, will you +not?" +</p> + +<p> +"But I ought to go back," sobbed Nita. +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," he said; "you must dine first; and now promise +me to rest. There, I will not stay longer; I am a little +anxious—she is not strong, you know." +</p> + +<p> +He tore himself away, and returned as fast as possible to +the <i>salotto</i>. His mother's face was hidden; he could hear +her low, gasping sobs. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Madre mia!</i>" he cried, and there was anguish in his +voice. "Oh, do not give way! She has come back to us, +<i>carina</i>—all will be well, if only you will take care of yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"I must tell you——" she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +"Not now," he said, "not now, mother. Indeed you +must be quiet or——" +</p> + +<p> +"I must speak," she said, "it is killing me! I must +speak now, that you may promise me to save her." +</p> + +<p> +"From her husband?" he asked, anxious to find how +much she knew. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no—from one she loves. Don't look like that, +Carlo—her husband was so stern and cruel, and she was +afraid of him, and—and this man was kind." +</p> + +<p> +"Kind!" ejaculated Carlo, with scorn indescribable. +</p> + +<p> +"He always tried to shield her from her husband, and +then, when they were leaving America, she was in debt and +he lent her money, and——" +</p> + +<p> +"Enough, darling; enough," he said with tenderness +which contrasted strangely with his last ejaculation. "She +came and told you all, and now we can help her. If you +love me, try to rest." +</p> + +<p> +But it was too late. The shock and the agitation had +brought on one of the Signora's worst attacks. Carlo hastily +summoned a servant, and the whole household came rushing +together in a miserable confusion of helplessness. But +the maids only glanced at their mistress's face and went +away; they would have left their own relations rather than +have stayed in a room where the Death Angel already hovered. +</p> + +<p> +It was then, in his terrible lonely watch, that Carlo +thanked Heaven that Francesca was English. The doctor +had already been sent for, but he left his mother for a +moment and hurried towards the group of weeping women +gathered round Anita. +</p> + +<p> +"We have sent for Father Cristoforo, signor," said one, +hoping for a word of commendation for her forethought. +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo took no notice, nor did his stern face soften. +</p> + +<p> +"One of you go instantly," he said, "and fetch Miss +Britton." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca knew little of sickness, nor had she ever seen +death, but she had none of the Italian shrinking from a +dying bed, in fact, every thought of herself was swallowed +up in the one longing to be able to help Carlo. Cutting +short the servant's tearful description of the Signora's state, +she rushed out, not even pausing for a hat, and never stopped +running till she reached the Villa Bruno. Then she pushed +past the little group who would have detained her, knocked +at the door of the <i>salotto</i>, and softly entered the room where, +only a day or two before, they had spent such a happy evening. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she stood amazed, able to think of nothing +but the havoc wrought in so short a time. Her lover knelt +beside the couch, he looked ten years older than when they +had parted that morning. The Signora, whose head rested +on his arm, was haggard, ghastly, utterly changed, while the +indescribable look of approaching death upon her face +seemed reflected in the young face which bent over her. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, is there anything I can do?" said Francesca, +when she had wiped the damp brow and reverently kissed +the dying woman. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing," he replied, "except to stay here. You do not +mind?" He looked up at her with questioning eyes, which +yet were sure of their answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no!" she said. "I am so thankful you sent for me." +</p> + +<p> +A long sigh escaped him; he tried to stifle it, lest it should +disturb his mother, who lay with closed eyes. And after that +the room was perfectly quiet, so quiet that Francesca could +hear the ticking of her watch; while the canary in the window +pecking the bars of his cage with his little pink beak, seemed +to make a noise so loud that she wondered whether it would +disturb the Signora. +</p> + +<p> +At last there was a change in the wan face; the eyes +opened, and the Signora looked up at Francesca with a +smile. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the beautiful face of the girl made her think of +her own daughter, for the smile changed to a look of +anguish as she turned her eyes to her son. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't forsake Nita, promise me—save her—try to save +her!" +</p> + +<p> +The words were gasped out with an agony of tone indescribable. +But yet it was not till Carlo's answer was given +that Francesca's eyes brimmed over with tears. +</p> + +<p> +"I promise, <i>madre mia</i>—I promise." +</p> + +<p> +His face was like the face of a saviour, strong, pure, and +sweet; his voice was firm and clear. No one could have +helped trusting him. +</p> + +<p> +A look of rest—even of hopefulness—stole over his +mother's face. She lay still for a few minutes, then turned +again to Francesca with a most beautiful smile. +</p> + +<p> +"He has never given me one moment's sorrow all his life," +she said. +</p> + +<p> +The words, which would be sweet to remember in after +years, which might bring in time to the lips of the son a +reflection of the mother's smile as she uttered them, were just +then more than he could endure. His fortitude gave way; +he had little to reproach himself with, yet it grieved him +now to remember that at times it had been a hard struggle +to leave Naples and return to the quiet of Villa Bruno, and +that sometimes he had, perhaps, lingered a little longer than +he should have done at Casa Bella. Now his days of service +were over—she would no longer need his help. +</p> + +<p> +With a cry which tore Francesca's heart, he bent down, +clasping the dying form yet closer as he sobbed out a +passionate appeal, +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, mother, do not leave me!" +</p> + +<p> +But the Signora was past hearing, past speaking—only +she felt his close embrace, and, feebly raising her left hand, +passed it behind his head with that gentle pressure—half +caress, half support—which every woman knows how to +bestow on a baby. And thus they stayed till the door +opened, and the old priest and a little acolyte entered, barely +in time to administer the last sacraments. Then Carlo +regained his composure, stung into calmness by a sort of +bitter resentment that an outsider must usurp those last sacred +moments, and that he, heretic and alien, had no part or lot +in the ceremony, and would be expected to leave the room. +But Father Cristoforo, who was a son first and a Churchman +afterwards, read his thoughts at once. +</p> + +<p> +"Stay, my son," he said, with so kind and fatherly a look, +that Carlo's bitter thoughts were banished, and he knelt on, +still supporting his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca knelt, too, on the other side of the couch, but +she could neither pray nor feel; she watched the scene like +one in a dream. The sunshine streamed in through the +window, lighting up the white unconscious face of the +Signora and the grief-stricken face of her son, the rich +vestments and tonsured head of the priest, the curious, roving +eyes of the acolyte with his little silver-toned bell. But +Francesca was still numb from the exceeding pain of watching +her lover's agony. Now he was peaceful once more; his +thoughts were raised above the pain of the parting, but her +thoughts would not follow. The monotonous voice of +Father Cristoforo, as he intoned the service, seemed only to +increase her dull stupor. It was not till the canary in the +window broke out into a sudden burst of song that her heart +seemed to awake once more, and to join in the familiar +words, "<i>Gloria in excelsis Deo. Et in terra pax hominibus.</i>" And +then, as once more the service became unintelligible to +her, she bent her head, and prayed on with fast-flowing +tears, "God, I thank Thee that she is spared the pain—that +it is only left for us." +</p> + +<p> +When she looked up once more all was over. Father +Cristoforo, with a few kind words, went quietly away; from +without there was a sound of bitter weeping; but Carlo knelt +on with bowed head and peaceful heart, and the Signora's +face was stamped with that calm majesty of death which +Francesca had never before seen, and the canary in the +window still sang his song of praise. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. +<br><br> +"NO ONE BUT YOU." +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"You like to behold and even to touch the Cross, but, alas! when the +command comes to you to bear it!"—FENELON. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Francesca had lived many years in Italy, and had more +than once witnessed the passionate demonstrations of sorrow +in a bereaved household; nevertheless, it was something +of a shock to her to leave the quiet room of death and +to go to Anita, whom she found surrounded by the weeping +servants. They evidently took a melancholy pleasure in +watching her violent paroxysms of grief. +</p> + +<p> +To the English girl such a state of things seemed dreadful; +she did as she would have been done by, and induced +the noisy mourners to go away, thinking that poor Anita +would find whatever comfort there was for her in silence and +solitude. She could not understand that total absence of +the consciousness of others, which to a northern nature is +so utterly foreign, and she would have left Anita with a few +tender words and a long, close embrace, had not the poor +girl clung to her like a child with such wild sobs and tears, +such loud, unrestrained crying, that Francesca began to +understand that she must be comforted much as Sibyl +needed comforting after some dire disaster. +</p> + +<p> +At length, words began to frame themselves amid the +sobs, a constant repetition of the one bitter regret which +overpowered everything else—"I have killed her! I have +killed her! It is all my doing!" +</p> + +<p> +"You could not tell—you could not know," said Francesca, +feeling it hard indeed to find words to meet so terrible +a grief, and weeping, too, for sympathy. "She has been so +much weaker of late—unable to bear any shock—but how +could you know? And, oh, Nita, she must have been so +glad that you came!" +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," sobbed Nita. "I might have stayed away, and +then she would have forgotten." +</p> + +<p> +"Never, for she loved you," said Francesca. "Her last +words almost were of you. Oh, if you could but have heard +how she begged Carlo not to leave you!" +</p> + +<p> +But at this Nita only wept the more. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo will hate me," she cried. "Oh, let me go! let me +go! Tell them to put in the horses. I can't stay here any +longer." +</p> + +<p> +"He does not hate you; he loves you," said Francesca, +warmly. "He promised the Signora that he would always +take care of you." +</p> + +<p> +Something in her tone quieted Nita. She lay musing over +the words, wondering if, indeed, her brother knew all and +would yet help her, trembling with fear at the thought of +meeting him, and yet trembling still more when she thought +of going back to Naples to face temptations too strong for her. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca watched her tenderly, aware that some conflict +was going on in her mind, though wholly ignorant of her +story, and far too young and innocent to dream of the meaning +which lay in the dying words of the Signora. Nita was +in trouble, and in some sort of difficulty, and Carlo had +promised to help her. Francesca did not curiously wonder +what the difficulty might be, nor did she for one moment +doubt Carlo's power of saving her. She accepted everything +with the quiet confidence of a child who is vaguely conscious +that there is trouble in the house, but is quite certain that +its elders will soon make all right. Looking at Nita, she +saw how strong a likeness existed between the brother and +sister; and even if she had not felt drawn towards her before +by her loneliness and her grief, this would have appealed to +her. The fine profile and the warm, bright coloring were +exactly alike, but the mouth was disappointing, and had the +same weakness which had slightly spoilt the expression of +Signora Donati; while the eyes, though large and beautiful, +were lacking in soul, and might almost have been the eyes +of a doll, so little did they vary. But yet, as Nita lay there +in her grief and self-reproach, trying to make up her mind +between two evils, wondering which fear was the least +intolerable, there was something about her which pleaded for +pity. She was so young, so weak—a parasite by nature, she +seemed ready to cling to anything, no matter what it was, so +long as it had the strength which she lacked. +</p> + +<p> +She was afraid of sleeping in the same house as her dead +mother, but then she was yet more afraid of confessing to +her husband where she had been. She dreaded meeting +Carlo, but she still more dreaded meeting Comerio. All at +once it occurred to her to wonder who her companion was. +</p> + +<p> +"I have forgotten your name, signorina," she said, looking +into the sweet, pure face above her; "but I think you +must be Carlo's English playmate from Casa Bella." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; I am Francesca Britton," she replied quietly, not +liking just then to speak of her happy betrothal. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! how shocked I was in the old days at the games +you and he played together!" said Nita, wistfully. "And +now—now it is I who have shocked you all. But you were +quite right all the time. I have seen American life since +then, and if we Italian girls had something of their liberty, +there would not be so many broken hearts among us." +</p> + +<p> +The words reminded her of her grief, and she again burst +into tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Let me fetch Carlo," said Francesca. "He will comfort +you as no one else can. Oh, you must not say you are +afraid of him, that is only because you have forgotten. And +I may tell him that you will stay, may I not?—you could not +leave him all alone." +</p> + +<p> +Nita sobbed out something inarticulate, which Francesca +took for a consent, and hurried away in search of her lover. +She found him in the <i>salotto</i>, but the body of the Signora +had been carried to her own room, and Carlo, looking +broken-hearted, was trying to write a letter to his uncle to +tell him the news. Softly passing her arm round his neck, +and with her cool cheek leaning against his heated brow, she +stood by him for some moments in silence. +</p> + +<p> +"I must go home, my own," she said, at length. "Father +will have come back, and will not know where I am. May +I ask him to come in and see if he can help you in anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thanked her. He felt dazed and bewildered; he +thought it would be a comfort to have the help of the +kind-hearted Englishman, who delighted in managing other +people's affairs. +</p> + +<p> +"And then there is Nita!" he exclaimed, with a look of +perplexity. That promise which he had made returned to +him. It lay like a heavy weight on his burdened mind; he +had promised to save her, but how to perform that promise +he had not an idea. +</p> + +<p> +"It was about Nita I wanted to speak to you," said +Francesca. "She said at first that she must go back to +Naples at once, and seemed to dread meeting you. But I +think—I really think she would stay if you went to her and +let her see that you care for her still. She is in terrible +distress, and no one but you can comfort her, Carlo <i>mio</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"No one but you!—No one but you!" The words +haunted him as he turned to go to Nita. His mother had +trusted all to him; Francesca, too, seemed to think that with +him lay the sole chance of reaching his sister. Their very +confidence seemed to crush him; he was utterly at a loss +to know what he should do or say; he could not even feel +acutely, sympathy seemed dead, his heart cold and numb +with suffering, and yet impelled by the truth of those words, +"No one but you!" he entered Nita's room. Her face was +buried in the pillow, she was sobbing aloud, and took no +notice of his presence. He sat down by the bed and +mechanically took her hand in his: her sobs did not move him, +and no words of comfort came to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +But all at once, as he watched the little hand which lay in +his, a keen pang of pain shot through his heart. The hand +was like his mother's hand, so much like it that he could +hardly believe it was not hers; he pressed it to his lips with +love and reverence, for the first time in his life fully +realizing the meaning of brotherhood. With that pain and that +new vision his heart awoke once more, his work lay before +him, his perplexity melted in a rush of love and pity, and +that eager longing to help which swallows up diffidence and +proves its own guide. +</p> + +<p> +"Nita <i>mia</i>!" he said, his tears falling fast on the little +white hand, "do not cry like that. She is at rest—at rest, +and very happy; we dare not wish her back again." +</p> + +<p> +"But I—but I have killed her!" sobbed Anita. +</p> + +<p> +"No, never say that—never think it," he cried; "you +did right to come home, quite right. It is the will of +God." +</p> + +<p> +No contact with Enrico's sceptical philosophy had been +able to mar that wonderful child-like faith which is one of +the most beautiful characteristics of an Italian. <i>E volete di +Dio</i>. The words were spoken with a grave simplicity which +would have startled an Englishman. He did not pause to +think of the proper thing to say, or reflect for one instant +how his words would affect others, he just spoke out the +perfect assurance which, in his terrible grief, had been his +own refuge. +</p> + +<p> +"You must know, Nita," he resumed, as she grew more +quiet, "that I have heard all; she told me; and she died +happy because she was sure you would be saved from this. +You will not let her hope be vain." +</p> + +<p> +"If you would help me," faltered Anita. +</p> + +<p> +"I will—I will!" he cried eagerly. That was no time to +think of details or of difficulties, he could only give her his +unqualified promise. Then, when the two had discussed things +a little more, it was arranged that Carlo should write a note +to Merlino, and tell him that Anita would remain for a few +days at the Villa Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"And, oh! write carefully," exclaimed Nita; "see that +you do not offend him." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo wrote a cautiously worded letter, and sent it in to +Naples by old Florestano, who also bore the ill news to +Guido Donati and to the Ritters, and, that he might make +all the more speed, was prevailed on to accept a seat in the +carriage which had brought Nita that morning. +</p> + +<p> +Thus in a weary round of petty duties the time wore on, +and at length night came. Carlo slept little, however, and +rose the next day but ill prepared for the work before him. +Nothing but the life-long habit of making his own needs +stand second to the needs of others, kept him up. With regard +to the funeral there was little for him to arrange, as all +was managed after the usual custom by one of the <i>congregazione</i>, +the relatives not even going to the church or the grave. +But he had to interview Father Cristoforo, to talk to Captain +Britton, to receive Uncle Guido, who drove over from Naples +at noon, and to do his best to shield Anita from reproaches, +taking good care that the elder Donati should not hear one +word about Comerio. +</p> + +<p> +And always through the livelong day, above his grief, +above the well-meant condolences of his friends, there rang +in his head one unanswerable question—how to save Nita +and with that Francesca's words, "No one but you!" In +the evening, when all was over and the sad coming and going +had given place to a terrible, oppressive quiet, his grief +and perplexity made him turn to Enrico Ritter, with the +feeling that unless he unburdened his mind to some one he +should lose his senses. It was true that Francesca partly +divined his trouble, but he could not discuss his difficulties +with her, could not bear to unfold to her so dark a page. +Sardoni, his informant, was a total stranger; Captain Britton +was the last man to whom he could turn; while Uncle +Guido, with his uncertain temper, and his wrath at the stain +which Anita had already brought upon the family name, was +little likely to give helpful counsel in this matter. Enrico, +"purely to please himself," had hastened over to Villa +Bruno, and now inevitably Carlo turned to him, and, exacting +a promise of secrecy, told him everything that had happened +since their last meeting. +</p> + +<p> +He had chosen his confidant well. Enrico could be trusted +to keep perfect silence; moreover, his sound common +sense, his cool, calm, practical way of looking at things, was +precisely what Carlo needed. His own brain was so +over-wrought, so confused with the sudden calamity which had +befallen him, that he was not in the least capable of seeing any +matter in its true light. And then, too, the mere relief of +sharing his perplexities with another was an inexpressible +comfort. Not that Enrico had many suggestions to offer; +he listened for the most part in silence. But then there are +times in life when the silence of a friend is the one thing for +which we crave; and Carlo turned to the unspoken sympathy +of the man who really cared for him when wearied with +the condolences of outsiders. Guido Donati had spoken of +returning the next day to discuss the future, but the +really perplexing future was discussed with the German +pessimist. +</p> + +<p> +"There is only one thing I would advise you, and that is, +have no personal communication with Comerio," said Enrico, +at length. "I have seen him, and, into the bargain, know a +good deal about him, and he's the veriest devil you can +conceive. Pay him back the money, but do so through some +third person." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure I have no wish to see him," said Carlo, +sighing. "If only I could think of some way of getting rid +of him." +</p> + +<p> +That there would be any difficulty in raising the money +had not as yet occurred to Carlo. He had been extremely +careless about money matters all his life; and though leading +too secluded a life to be precisely extravagant, he had allowed +things to drift, well content so long as he received his +small annual allowance from his mother, and never troubling +his head about the amount of their actual income. He knew +that he was to be his uncle's heir, and to receive a very +comfortable allowance from him on his marriage, therefore he left all +details to his mother, took what came to him, and lived on in +serene comfort. Compelled now to face the situation, he +was startled to find how entirely dependent he was upon his +uncle; the income upon which they had lived had been derived +from an annuity, and, of course, ceased at his mother's +death; the Villa Bruno was only rented by the year, and, +though its furniture belonged to him, it was worth but little. +His only other possession was his horse, and he could not +well part with that to raise the necessary money, for not only +would it at once have provoked a question from his uncle, +but it was indispensable to him so long as he lived in that +remote country place. In the end Enrico, becoming aware +of his embarrassment, said that he should ask his father to +advance him the money; and as the need of a loan was +quite comprehensible to Herr Ritter at such a time, he very +willingly acceded to the request, and Enrico himself was +charged with the disagreeable errand of conveying the money +to Comerio. +</p> + +<p> +This was one step in the desired direction, and one care +off Carlo's mind; but his perplexity about Anita only +increased, for, as each day he learnt to know her better, he +was forced to own to himself how utterly unfit she was for +the difficult life before her. Her beauty, her weakness, her +moral cowardice, her miserable marriage, all were against +her. She seemed incapable of really loving, capable only of +a sort of desire to be caressed and shielded. Carlo gained +a certain amount of influence with her, just because she trusted +like a child to his strength, and was quite certain that he +would do what he could for her; but she left everything to +him, and, in those bitter days of his grief and perplexity, +lived on in a placid, restful state which was almost happiness. +</p> + +<p> +At length an interruption came to this state of things. +One afternoon Sardoni drove over from Naples; Carlo was +heartily glad to see him, and received him with a warmth +which seemed to please the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +"I was afraid you would always dislike me as the bearer +of ill news," he said; "I came partly to give you back your +letter, which, of course, I have not had a chance of giving to +Madame Merlino. She is still with you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she is still here," said Carlo, tearing the letter in +pieces, and stifling a sigh as he remembered how different +all had been when he wrote it. +</p> + +<p> +"I came partly to warn you that Merlino intends soon to +send for your sister," said Sardoni; "indeed, it is really a +necessity that she should come back, for the first rehearsal is +on Monday, and the theatre is to open next Thursday." +</p> + +<p> +"So soon! And as yet I have done nothing!" exclaimed +Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you so sure of that?" asked Sardoni, with a keen +glance at him. "You have at any rate succeeded in making +Comerio your bitter enemy; and, by-the-bye, I have discovered +one thing which may, perhaps, be of service to you; +Comerio's engagement was for three years, but may be +terminated in half that time either at Merlino's option or at +his own." +</p> + +<p> +"When does the first half expire?" +</p> + +<p> +"In three weeks' time," said Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thought for a few minutes in silence; then he said +somewhat abruptly, "I wish you would just tell me plainly +what sort of a man Merlino is; I can gather but little from +what my sister lets fall about him." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't draw a very pleasing picture of him," said Sardoni, +with a smile, "for, truth to tell, there is no love lost between +us. He has very little education, but that is a subject of +regret to him; since his marriage he has become moral and +respectable, but he is the most awful tyrant I ever had the +misfortune to meet with. Of course his position tends to +foster a love of power; for don't you see the manager of an +operatic company is like a king, not a constitutional one, but +a despot—an autocrat. Then your sister, if you will pardon +my bluntness, was the very last sort of wife he ought to have +had. She is afraid of him and has no notion of holding her +own, and he—great brute—treats her abominably. Why +don't you persuade her to try for a separation?" +</p> + +<p> +"I could not be a party to that," said Carlo, "so long as +he is faithful to her. That a man has a bad temper is no +fit reason for breaking the marriage vow." +</p> + +<p> +"Those notions are old-fashioned," said Sardoni, with a +rather pitying smile. +</p> + +<p> +But the smile quickly died away; for Carlo, with a dignity +indescribable, made him a little bow and dismissed the +subject with a calm—"That is very possible, signor." +</p> + +<p> +There was a world of expression, both in tone and gesture, +and Sardoni saw that to argue about his suggestion would be +useless. +</p> + +<p> +"If you reject that idea," he said, after a silence, "there +is only one alternative—Comerio must be got rid of. I have +thrown out as many hints as I dare to Merlino, all to no +purpose. To tell him the truth plainly would make him ten +times more brutal to your sister, and is altogether out of the +question, even if one had the right. Why, he would be a +fiend incarnate! You know what Italian husbands are when +once their jealousy is stirred up." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo involuntarily smiled, then, tickled by the speaker's +ingenuous remark, fairly laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni looked confused. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon," he said; "but indeed I had forgotten +that I was not talking to a fellow-countryman—a compliment +to your accent, you see. Where did you become such a +proficient?" +</p> + +<p> +"Our nearest neighbors are English," said Carlo, not +caring to explain any further, though instinctively his eyes +turned towards a photograph of Francesca which stood on +the mantel-piece. Sardoni's keen eyes noted this. He +observed the photograph with secret admiration and drew his +own conclusions. +</p> + +<p> +"Then how do you propose that Comerio shall be got rid +of?" said Carlo, breaking the silence. "You do not imagine, +signor, that we Italians—about whom, it appears, you are in +the habit of generalizing—carry stilettos and conveniently +dispose of our foes by a stab?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is only one way of getting rid of him," said Sardoni. +"Merlino is always trying to cut down expenses, and with +very good reason, for, as I told you before, the opera is not +always a paying concern. Now, if before the agreement with +Comerio is renewed you can find a baritone with as good a +voice who will sing on lower terms, then I have little doubt +that Merlino would settle with him and give Comerio his +<i>congé</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"You must have been talking with Piale, signor?" said +Carlo, conscious of a vague feeling of discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +"Piale?" said Sardoni, looking puzzled; "I do not know +any one of the name." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! then it was only an odd coincidence. But he is a +well-known professor, and he has a pupil—a baritone—whom +he is very anxious to bring out; he was talking to me about +it only a few days ago." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, then, there is good hope for our plans," said +Sardoni. "A beginner would expect far less than Comerio, and, +if he really has a good voice and some dramatic power, no +doubt Merlino would catch at him. What sort of looking +fellow is he? Have you seen him? Is he presentable?" +</p> + +<p> +A bright, sudden smile lit up Carlo's sad face for a +minute. +</p> + +<p> +"Of that I am no fit judge," he said demurely, "for I am +the pupil in question." +</p> + +<p> +"You!" ejaculated Sardoni, in amazement. Then, +recollecting his question, he began to laugh. "Well, I have my +answer in an unmistakable form. There can be no doubt +that you are well fitted for the stage." +</p> + +<p> +Again his companion made that funny little Italian bow, +in which there lurked so much dignity. There was just a +shade of irony in his expression. +</p> + +<p> +"I see the prospect does not attract you," said Sardoni; +"yet I should fancy you might do great things on the stage, +from the look of you." +</p> + +<p> +"But I hope for a very different life, signor." +</p> + +<p> +"I see. Well, I would be the last to tell you that our life +is an enviable one. Some people seem to fancy that an +actor's life is 'all beer and skittles'—I thought so once +myself, but I can tell you that's a confounded mistake." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had never felt less inclined to discuss the merits of +theatrical life; he devoutly wished that Sardoni would go; +that feeling of vague discomfort grew upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," he said, "I will see if possibly Piale may know +of some one else capable of taking Comerio's place; and I +am greatly obliged to you, signor, for your suggestions and +your help." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni perceived that he wished to be alone, and, leaving +a message of inquiry for Madame Merlino, took his departure. +</p> + +<p> +But the discomfort which his presence had kept vague and +undefined, broke into a clear, torturing perception when +Carlo was once more alone. Over and over the words rang +in his head—"No one but you!—no one but you!" He +tried to stifle them, he argued with himself on the folly of +the idea—he said it was impossible, Quixotic, preposterous. +Finally, he hurried off to Casa Bella. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. +<br><br> +PIALE SCHEMES. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Wilt thou go forth into the friendless waste<br> + That hast this Paradise of pleasure here?"<br> + The Light of Asia.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There are some who consider that a hero must be practically +immaculate, and who grumble sorely if called upon +to study the life of an ordinary mortal who often stumbles +when the road is rough, who shrinks from the Valley of +Humiliation, and takes a foolish, fleeting delight in Bypath +Meadow. But if the function of all art is to picture life,—not +to photograph, but to paint it,—then, without doubt, the +typical hero of romance with his faultless features and his +preternatural nobility must disappear forever from the +canvas; for where are these perfect beings who, in spite of +cruel circumstances, never fall, who never harbor selfish +thoughts—never speak hasty words? +</p> + +<p> +Thank God, one meets plenty of good men, but the best of +them would certainly own that there had been times when +they had felt ready to tear their tongues out in vain regret +for irrevocable words—that they would give almost anything +to live over again some misguided bit of their lives. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo Donati was not an immaculate hero of romance, but +a nineteenth-century man,—a man of flesh and blood, with a +quick, ardent, sanguine temperament and strong passions. +When those words which the English tourist let fall in the +Neapolitan <i>caffé</i> had arrested his attention, he had been +pricked at heart, and for the time vaguely disquieted. A yet +deeper impression had been made upon him by his promise +to his mother on her death-bed. Still, all had been vague +and formless. Now, Sardoni's bald, matter-of-fact statement +had plunged the sword much farther, had called up before +him a plain, unmistakable way of helping Anita. The +typical hero would of course have flung himself into the +breach without an instant's hesitation, but Carlo did no such +thing; he did not even allow his thoughts to dwell on the +possibility, but just turned his back on the whole matter, +tried to make Anita's visit as pleasant as might be, and +sought refuge from his own sad memories in daily meetings +with Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +He did, however, to some extent follow Sardoni's advice, +and, intrusting Piale with as much of the truth as he deemed +necessary, wrote to ask him whether he knew of any singer +who might be found to take Comerio's place. He also wrote +to Merlino, obtaining further leave of absence for his sister, +on condition that she drove into Naples each day next week +for rehearsal, and finally returned when the performances +began. The days sped by rapidly enough, and on the Thursday, +true to his promise, Carlo took his sister back, parting +with her at the entrance to the Palazzo Forti, not without +regret and apprehension. Mingled, however, with these came +a sense of deep relief, for, from a selfish point of view, he +could not but revel in his regained freedom: his life could +never again be what it had been before Anita's return, but a +sort of after-glow of the old times seemed to rise in his sky +when the cloud of poor Nita's immediate presence was removed. +He felt hopeful, too, for Piale had written to ask +him to call at twelve o'clock, and he thought that perhaps he +had found a desirable baritone. +</p> + +<p> +The old Maestro received him very kindly, but soon +dashed his expectations to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +"I know of no one," he said emphatically,—"no one. +You speak as if good baritones were as rife as mushrooms. +And, look you, Comerio is a clever actor, and has a fine voice; +you'll not easily find any one to beat him, and if you did it +is unlikely enough that they would take lower terms. +Besides, Merlino is extremely unpopular as a manager; only +just now I had his conductor in, a capital young fellow—Marioni, +and he says that they all find it almost impossible +to work with him. You must give up that idea; I, at any +rate cannot help you in it." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo sighed, and fell into deep thought. He did not hear +footsteps on the stairs, nor notice that some one entered the +inner room, which was divided from the front one only by a +curtain. But Piale heard, and abruptly changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"You have been neglecting your voice, I fear," he said, +looking critically into his pupil's face, and grieving to see +what a change trouble had wrought in it. "Not that I blame +you in the least; there are times, of course, when even music +must go to the wall. Let me hear you." +</p> + +<p> +He made him work for a time at <i>solfeggi</i>, then broke into +an impatient explanation, forgetting everything but his art. +"Out of practice—shockingly out of practice," he said, with +a portentous frown, "try this." +</p> + +<p> +He took down a copy of "<i>Faust</i>" and played the opening +bars of "<i>Dio Possente</i>." The frown and the impatient +ejaculation incited Carlo; he cared intensely to please his +old master, and, throwing his whole soul into the music, and +losing his own identity in that of Valentino, he gave an almost +perfect rendering of the song. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the curtain between the two rooms was torn back, +and a black-bearded man, with swarthy face, and extremely +small, dark eyes, with a restless, irritable look in them, +hastened forward. +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Piale, I congratulate you!" he exclaimed, "you +have produced the most promising singer of the day! No +wonder you are proud of your pupil!" +</p> + +<p> +He was evidently carried away by the excitement of the +moment, for his face, naturally most disagreeable, was +illuminated with the same glow of artistic delight which, as the +song proceeded, had softened Piale's rugged features. +</p> + +<p> +For a minute an observer would have noticed that the two +listeners had forgotten everything but their art, while Carlo +was still Valentino, not himself. There was a silence; the +old Maestro looked triumphantly happy; the stranger turned +his small, restless eyes on the singer, and Carlo gradually +awoke to the recollection that he was not Valentino going off +to the war and praying for the safety of his sister, but Anita's +brother with far greater cause for anxiety, and with his hopes +of assistance from Piale dashed to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +All at once he came to full consciousness of the actual +present, and found the stranger undisguisedly taking stock of +him, looking him over from head to foot with interest and +curiosity. Carlo, unaccustomed to this sort of appraising +stare, felt the blood rush to his cheeks, yet it was no sense of +the stranger's rudeness which aroused his strong antipathy. +He looked hastily at the black-bearded visitor, looked again, +angry with himself at being so much moved, then instinctively +he recoiled a pace. +</p> + +<p> +"The likeness is extraordinary!" exclaimed the new-comer, +turning to Piale and startling him from his happy +reverie. +</p> + +<p> +"Likeness!" ejaculated the old musician, still half in the +clouds, but dimly perceiving that sublunary affairs were +somehow gone awry. "Likeness! Not at all, signor, not at all; +there's not a voice like that in all Italy." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't speak of the voice," said the stranger, impatiently, +"but the face is like my wife's—curiously like." +</p> + +<p> +The old musician looked dismayed; he was fully awake +now, art was forgotten, and a perilous bit of real life lay +before him. In two strides Carlo was beside him, his face +flushed, his eyes full of suppressed anger. +</p> + +<p> +"Maestro," he panted, "what is this? what is this that +you have done to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me," said the old man, "I am not so much to +blame as you think. I did indeed invite Signor Merlino to +hear you sing, but with the understanding that he should not +appear. You broke faith with me, signor." +</p> + +<p> +"A thousand pardons," said Merlino, coolly: "but in truth +your pupil ought to be pleased with the compliment. I was +so carried away by his singing that I forgot all. I don't +understand what all this fuss is about." +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at Carlo, who had turned away at his first +words, and stood now at the window with his back to them, +evidently struggling to restrain an outburst of passion. Piale +looked at him, too, with compunction, but with great +bewilderment. How was he to get matters set right? how +disentangle himself from the confusion into which Merlino's +impulsive entrance had plunged everything? +</p> + +<p> +Carlo stood looking out into the busy street, but he saw +nothing, was conscious of nothing but that Merlino was in the +room with him—Merlino, the cause of all his sorrow and +perplexity. He had conquered by a supreme effort the first +savage impulse to fly at the throat of the man who had caused +his mother so much grief, but fierce anger still burnt in his +heart and sent fiery blood coursing through his veins. A +storm of wrathful indignation consumed him as he thought of +Merlino's misdeeds; he was angry, too, with Piale, feeling +naturally enough that a snare had been laid for him; and he +was angry with himself, because even in this moment of +confusion he was aware that he had deliberately turned his back +on the question now forced upon him, and that want of +preparation was his own fault. +</p> + +<p> +For moments of what seemed to us sudden temptation are +seldom really sudden. God has given us our times of preparation, +and if we have wilfully neglected them the conflict is +severer, or perhaps ends in defeat. +</p> + +<p> +How was he now to think out the frightfully involved +question at issue? How decide on the right course of action? +And yet a false step might prove Nita's ruin. The anguish +of that thought, and the loathing of his own selfish +procrastination, calmed his anger. With an effort he yielded up his +will, and therewith forgot Merlino's presence, because another +presence absorbed him wholly. +</p> + +<p> +He was interrupted by a touch on his arm. Piale stood +beside him, with a look of deep concern on his kind old +face. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo <i>mio</i>," he said, in a low voice, "I apologize to you, +and beg your forgiveness; but since things have so fallen out, +perhaps you will permit me to introduce you to Signor +Merlino, who will then understand us better." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo assented, subduing the angry thoughts which yet +struggled to find place in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Signor," said the old musician, approaching Merlino, +"there is nothing extraordinary in the likeness you observed. +Permit me to introduce you to Signor Donati." +</p> + +<p> +Merlino started violently, and for a minute looked abashed, +and greatly confused. Piale with much curiosity watched his +pupil, who had turned from the window as he spoke, and +now, with a face as pale as death, bowed gravely. +</p> + +<p> +There was an awkward pause, broken presently by Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"I brought my sister to Palazzo Forti an hour ago, signor," +he said, speaking to Merlino with grave courtesy; "I am +much obliged to you for sparing her to me so long." +</p> + +<p> +The speech cost him a great deal, but he was glad that he +had brought himself to make it, for he had no wish to quarrel +with Nita's husband, indeed he fully recognized Merlino's +rights, though unable to think patiently of the way in which +he had acquired them, or the manner in which he now abused +them. +</p> + +<p> +"A few days' rest will doubtless have been good for +Anita," said Merlino, complacently, speaking of his wife +much as he might have spoken of an over-worked horse; +"she has had hard work in America, nor can we afford now to +be idle. It is a pleasure to me to make your acquaintance, +signor. If I could induce you to follow your sister's example +and use your great talents professionally it would give me the +greatest satisfaction." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's heart began to throb painfully. Could it be that +he was called to this? Could it be that this man—this +coarse, brutal tyrant—was to prove the arbiter of his destiny? +The words which a few days before he had used so emphatically +to Sardoni trembled on his lips, "I hope for a very different +life." But he managed to strangle them. Had he not +offered up his will? He stood silent, waiting for guidance, +hoping against hope, as is the way with the poor mortals, +that, after all, his own will might be done. He waited. At +length Piale spoke; the words fell on him like blows. +</p> + +<p> +"I have long urged upon my pupil, signor, the duty of +going on the stage, for which he is admirably fitted. I am +not without hope that circumstances may prompt him at +length to consent. But there is as yet no vacancy in your +troupe, I think, so I fear that you will not have the honor of +introducing to the public both Madame Merlino and Carlo +Donati." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo stood silently listening to the discussion of his fate, +looking now at Piale's brown, wrinkled face, with its +parchment-like skin, furrowed brow, and crown of bushy, grizzled +hair, now at the disagreeable face of Merlino. He knew +that when the Impresario spoke next he would say that +Comerio's engagement might be terminated very shortly if +he so willed; knew that Merlino was once more appraising +him, observing the symmetry of his face and figure, calculating +whether he would "draw." He felt like a slave in the +market, but still he waited and held his peace. +</p> + +<p> +"It shall not be my fault if I lose the honor," said +Merlino at length; "by good luck Comerio's engagement is +terminable at eighteen months if I so please; may be ended, +that is, in a fortnight's time. What say you, Signor Piale? +Could you have your pupil fit to fill the vacancy in so +short a time as that?" +</p> + +<p> +Piale was not to be daunted, though he knew well enough +that the time was very short indeed for the preparation +which would be necessary. +</p> + +<p> +"Whether Comerio's costumes could be altered for him so +soon is perhaps doubtful," he replied proudly; "they might +or might not be ready in a fortnight's time; but my pupil +will be ready—quite ready." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'll risk it," said Merlino, who was a keen-eyed +man of business, and knew that Carlo would prove a good +speculation. "I am prepared to offer you, signor, an +engagement of three years, terminable at the end of the first +year at the wish of either party. As to the salary, we shall +not quarrel I think, '<i>Oro è che oro vale</i>,' let me see——" +</p> + +<p> +He began to make a calculation and to discuss money +matters with Piale, who, in his delight at the prospect of at +length inducing his pupil to go on the stage, was ready to +accede to almost any terms. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, still with that thought of the slave-market in his +mind, watched the discussion like one in a dream, paying +little heed to the details. It mattered nothing to him, just +then, whether he received five pounds a week or fifty; it +mattered supremely that he had prayed for guidance, and +that immediately after there had come to him this definite +offer. He dared not refuse, he hesitated to accept. Silencing +the fiends' voices which urged him at once to decline +Merlino's proposal, at once to seek the selfish peace which +that decision would bring, he braced himself up for a reply. +The haggling at length ended, and Merlino turned to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Signor Donati, you hear my offer, and Signor +Piale approves of the terms; it rests with you now to accept +them or not. It is not for me to advise you either one +way or the other; but, in my own mind, I have little doubt +that, if you work well, you will be one of the first singers of +the day." +</p> + +<p> +Piale's eyes shone; he could hardly contain himself, so +great was his excitement. It damped his ardor to see that +this glorious prospect brought no faintest gleam of pleasure +to his pupil's face. He scratched his parchment-like cheek +ferociously, a trick which he had when anything annoyed +him or tried his patience. At length Carlo spoke: +</p> + +<p> +"I am obliged to you for your offer, signor, but you will +understand that it is impossible for me to accept it on the +spur of the moment. The decision will affect others; I +must think of them as well as of myself. I must consult +those who belong to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," said Merlino, impatiently, "so long as you +keep the matter quiet—so long as it does not come to +Comerio's ears, I don't object to that; but I can't afford to be +off with him till I am on with you." +</p> + +<p> +"I promise you all shall be kept quiet," said Carlo. "How +soon must you know my decision?" +</p> + +<p> +"Meet me next Wednesday at the Mercadante—or, better +still, if Signor Piale will permit, at this house, and I will +have the contract ready. That leaves you nearly a week, +and I shall quite hope for a favorable reply. I shall, in the +mean time, not breathe a word of this to my wife, who, of +course, will be charmed to have you in the troupe. Good-day, +signor, and let me entreat you not to throw away this +opportunity. A thousand thanks, Signor Piale, for your +courtesy, and pray forgive my impetuous entrance." +</p> + +<p> +He bowed himself out. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo watched him as he walked down the street—watched +him in a sort of stupor. When he had disappeared, his +eyes turned to a heavily laden mule just coming into sight, +with waving green boughs tied about its head to keep off +the flies; it toiled patiently on, the lazy boy in charge +hanging on to its tail with his right hand, while he devoured a +great hunch of bread clasped fast in his left. Carlo watched +with a sort of envy the placid calm of the sun-burned lad—that +picture of lazy content contrasted so oddly with the +state of his own mind. Piale soon added to the fierceness +of the storm by urgent and almost piteous entreaties that he +would accept Merlino's offer. With tears in his eyes the old +musician paced to and fro, passionately declaiming upon +the sacred calling, and the duty of not allowing such great +gifts to rust unused; and Carlo listened with the reluctant +attention of one who does not wish to be persuaded. It +was bad enough to fight against his own convictions; he +did not want Piale's arguments to make the conflict yet +more severe. +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you," urged the old man, "that Italian opera is +dying—dying for want of fit exponents. There is scarcely a +man whom one cares to listen to, and it will never be kept +alive by two or three <i>prime donne</i>. You might revive it, and +yet you hesitate. <i>Corpo di Bacco!</i> Is it that you are +unaware of your gifts? Is it that your very modesty is to prove +the bane of your life and the destruction of my hopes? +Listen to me—it is the plain truth I am telling you, and you +well know I never flatter. For years upon years Italy has +produced no great tenor, or baritone, or bass; now she has +produced you; and, if you work well, you will be the first +singer in Europe. Italy has produced you, and then you +persist in hiding your light under a bushel! <i>Diavolo</i>! 'tis +enough to try the patience of a saint!" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Maestro!" said Carlo, with a faint smile, "what +can I do more than promise to consider this offer? How can +you expect me to decide all in a moment? Ah!"—a quick +sigh escaped him—"do you not see what it will involve?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Hein!</i> What it will involve? Why, yes; I understand +that it might postpone your marriage for a time. Art +demands some sacrifices." +</p> + +<p> +"And what right have I to sacrifice Francesca's happiness? +To a duty perhaps even that might be right, but to a +dream of fame—never!" He laughed; the idea when put +into words seemed to him so preposterous. +</p> + +<p> +"Happiness be damned!" cried Piale, with righteous +indignation. "I have yet to learn that Italy produced you, +and England produced Miss Britton, that you might be +happy. And do I not know Miss Britton? Can I for one +moment dream that she would wish to hold you back? Why, +by all saints, no! My dear boy you are young—young. +Believe me, a girl is always willing to wait when the good of +her lover is in question. As to Captain Britton, he can't +have lived all these years in Italy and yet retain his Puritan +notions in all their strictness. He may object at first, but, +hearing all the circumstances of the case, he will soon give +way. Courage, Carlo <i>mio</i>! For a great gain, a momentary +sacrifice!" +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was that word "momentary" which showed +Carlo plainly what he had before felt dimly, that Piale knew +nothing whatever about the sacrifice in question. +</p> + +<p> +Much as he loved the old man, he could bear his presence +no longer, but hastily took leave with a few incoherent words +about "time" and "thinking it over." He fled from his old +singing-master as those in trouble or perplexity always do +flee from glib talk. It is the one intolerable thing, as +exasperating to the nineteenth-century man as the glib talk of +Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, was to poor Job. +</p> + +<p> +"Momentary, indeed! A momentary sacrifice!" The +idea made him indignant and yet pitiful. Had Piale lost his +manhood in his art-life? Had he so little conception of +what it was to love that he could speak thus? And then he +tried to imagine to himself the fulfilment of the Maestro's +wish; he had a vision of himself, old and gray-headed, enjoying +the sense of his fame and his world-wide reputation, and +calmly advising some other in the heyday of youth to +renounce love and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +It was not till he was confronted by a huge poster, in +which the names of Madame Merlino and Comerio shone +out conspicuously, that he once more perceived the true +facts of the case. This was no question between the merits +of marriage and of art-life; it was the question whether he +should choose happiness for Francesca and himself, or +choose the possibility of saving his sister. Life is made up +of such decisions—some of them petty, some of them +overwhelmingly great, but all of them momentous. We hate the +thought of the choice, long to gain without losing, hope to +triumph without sacrifice, strive and struggle and fret in the +vain effort to break through the inexorable law that those +who find their life must first lose it. Truly, "men are not +more willing to live the life of the Crucified." +</p> + +<p> +Again those words returned to Carlo's mind; they grated +upon him even more than when he had first heard them +spoken—perhaps because, while far from understanding +them, he began vaguely to perceive their drift. He saw a +dim, distasteful vision of self-renunciation; he did not see +that true self-renunciation implies the peace-giving presence +of One in whose service we renounce. +</p> + +<p> +While he was still all confused and agitated by this inward +conflict he was waylaid by Herr Ritter. +</p> + +<p> +"Whither away?" exclaimed the old man, kindly. "You +are never thinking of going to Pozzuoli in this heat. Come +home with me; it is long since I saw you. You are looking +fagged, Carlo." +</p> + +<p> +Recollecting the obligation he was under to Enrico's +father, Carlo felt that it would not do to refuse his hospitality, +though, truth to tell, he had never felt less inclined for a visit +to the kindly German household. He, the laughter-loving, +felt that he could not endure the sound of laughter; he, the +impulsive and unreflecting, had actually come to such a point +that he desired nothing so much as quiet and solitude to +think out this great question. +</p> + +<p> +He did not get much quiet in the Ritter household, but +he met with that hearty, vociferous kindness which Enrico's +family knew so well how to bestow. Frau Ritter had never +before been so motherly, the daughters of the house never +so anxious to do what they could for him. Enrico himself +was unusually silent; he watched his friend narrowly, +perceiving from his face that matters must be worse rather than +better since their last meeting. Possibly, however, the +parting with his sister might account for the troubled expression +he bore; and when, after dinner, the two friends were left +alone, Enrico turned eagerly to the subject which the others +had studiously avoided. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame Merlino has left you, I suppose?" he began. +"She makes her first appearance to-night, I see." +</p> + +<p> +"She left this morning," said Carlo, "and sings to-night in +<i>Don Giovanni</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why should you go back to the empty house? Spend +the night here," suggested Enrico. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"It would be my best chance of seeing Comerio," he said, +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"How do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I slept here and went this evening to the Mercadante." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Gran Dio!</i> It would scarcely be an enjoyable evening +for you, my friend." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo made an expressive gesture with his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not, but I should see him and be able to judge +better what to be at." +</p> + +<p> +"You have not heard, then, of a baritone fit to step into +his shoes?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard of one, but it is doubtful whether he will +accept Merlino's offer." +</p> + +<p> +"What! Has it gone so far as that? Actually an offer? +Come, the clouds begin to disperse! Once get that scamp +ousted and your troubles are over." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was silent. In his heart he thought they would be, +not over, but just begun. He had not yet told Enrico of +Piale's little plot, for he knew that his friend would favor no +plan likely to make him unhappy, and felt that he was not +yet strong enough to stand arguments for the side on which +he was already biassed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I will stay the night since you ask me," he said at +length. "Will you come with me to <i>Don Giovanni</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, if you are indeed bent on going. Your presence +will be commented on, though. You see it is so soon +after—" he broke off in confusion, adding, after a pause, +"and you see every one will be there to-night, for Madame +Merlino's first appearance has been much talked of. Your +going may be misunderstood." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Che sarà sarà</i>," said Carlo, with a quick sigh. "Enough, +I shall go; let us say no more about it." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. +<br><br> +THE OLIVE-GARDEN. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Though one but say, 'Thy will be done,'<br> + He hath not lost his day<br> + At set of sun."—<br> + CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +As Enrico had predicted, the Teatro Mercadante was +crowded. Not only was it the opening night, but the +Neapolitan world was curious to see the new <i>prima donna</i>, this +girl of good birth and breeding, who had outraged all the +proprieties and eloped with her singing-master. Had it not +been for his inward consciousness that there was something +much worse that people might ere long say of his sister, +Carlo could not have endured all that he was that night +fated to overhear. On every side people discussed the +Merlino-Donati scandal; but though he winced under it, the +dread of the future deadened the recollection of the past, the +new danger eclipsed the old shame. +</p> + +<p> +He sat as though in a bad dream, waiting for the curtain +to rise and disclose to him the face of this enemy of his +peace; so engrossed was he with this thought that he +scarcely heard the overture. He wanted to meet his foe face +to face, and with a sort of shudder he reflected that in a very +short time it was possible that he himself might be standing +on that very stage whence Leporello was now descanting +upon his master's vices. A moment more and Comerio—the +<i>Don Giovanni</i> of the evening—would appear. Carlo +breathed hard, drew himself together, and waited through +moments which seemed like hours. Curiously enough the +first sight of his foe relieved him; Comerio was not at all +the ideal villain; he was a small-made, supple-looking man, +with very white taper hands, and a face which at that +distance looked refined—much too refined for a Don Giovanni. +He sang rather well, but his acting was so execrable that +Carlo forgot everything in a longing desire to substitute +something lifelike for the ludicrous throwing-up of hands +which seemed to be Comerio's idea of dramatic art. Never +once was it possible to think of him as anything but Comerio +the baritone; he walked through his part and threw about +his arms very freely, that was all. And yet his complete +failure as an actor was in Carlo's favor. He wanted to +study the man, not to enjoy the opera, and since Comerio +had no notion of throwing himself into his part, the opera +was as good a time to study his own character as any other. +</p> + +<p> +For a while all went well. The pretty scene in which +Zerlina made her first appearance amid the crowd of merry +peasants could not have been better chosen for Anita's +<i>début</i>. She looked so charming, and sang so well, that she +won all hearts, and even Carlo felt a thrill of pride and +pleasure as he listened to her sweet, bird-like notes in the +duet with Masetto, a part which was well filled by Merlino +himself. +</p> + +<p> +But his pleasure was of short duration. All his miserable +apprehension returned the instant Comerio was on the stage +again. To see him making love to Anita was more than he +could endure. +</p> + +<p> +Next day the newspapers were warm in their praise as to +the acting in the scenes between Don Giovanni and Zerlina; +but Carlo knew that this was just the one part of the opera +in which there had been no attempt at acting. +</p> + +<p> +The music was poisoned to him that night, and he could +hardly endure the repetition of "<i>La ci darem</i>," which roused +the audience to enthusiasm. He never spoke once to Enrico, +who for his part could only speculate as to his friend's +feelings, for Carlo showed no other sign of agitation than a +slightly heightened color, sat out the opera, and greeted two +or three friends whom they encountered afterwards quite in +his usual manner. Only one thing seemed ominous, because +it was unnatural, and that was his silence. It grew so +burdensome as they walked home that at last Enrico broke +the ice with an outspoken question, "Well, what do you +think of him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know—I can hardly tell—my head aches too +much," said Carlo, in a voice which betrayed so much suffering +that his friend ventured no more inquiries, and was glad +enough when they reached home. "I shall think things out +better to-morrow," were his last words that night. But when +the morning came he was incapable of thinking at all, and +could only lie still and endure the worst headache he had +ever had in his life, while, as though to torture him yet more, +"<i>La ci darem</i>" rang perpetually in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +On the Saturday he awoke to the consciousness that the +pain was over, that his brain was clear once more, and that +he must no longer postpone the decision upon which so much +depended. But Frau Ritter absolutely refused to allow him +to go home till the heat of the day was over; and it was not +until late that he managed to escape from his kindly nurses, +and, taking a boat at the Piliero, made his way home. He +felt much shaken by all that he had been through, and would +fain have given himself up to the refreshment of the sweet +June evening, turning his back on the threatening future, +and getting what pleasure he could from the beautiful bay +which was so familiar and so dear to him. But something +warned him that now was his time, that he was not likely +again to have such uninterrupted quiet. +</p> + +<p> +Resolutely he went over in his mind all that there was to +be said on either side of the question. What course would +Captain Britton take? Would he not justly complain of an +arrangement which must indefinitely postpone his daughter's +marriage? Would he not be wrathful at his choice of such a +profession? And how was he to explain to him that choice +without altogether betraying Nita's story? Again, there was +the profession itself. Piale thought only of the reputation +he would some day gain, but Carlo, not unnaturally, thought +of the reputation he would lose. He knew quite well how +his friends would regard his choice; he could imagine the +expression of Uncle Guido's face as he exclaimed, "What! a +Donati turn actor?" +</p> + +<p> +And then there was Francesca. His breast heaved, his +eyes grew dim; had it not been for the presence of the +boatman he would have given way and sobbed aloud. And +yet Piale was right as far as that went. Once convinced +that he might really save Nita, Francesca would be the first +to bid him go; once sure that he was doing what he thought +right, she would bid him God-speed and bear the pain like a +little heroine. +</p> + +<p> +With him rested the real difficulty, the terrible decision. +Was he to give her this pain to bear? +</p> + +<p> +"There will be stormy weather to-night, signor," said the +boatman, turning round in his seat to glance out seawards as +they rounded Posilipo. +</p> + +<p> +This remark diverted Carlo's thoughts for a moment. +The sea was like glass, far away in the distance he could see +a yacht lying becalmed, her beautiful white sails flapping +idly as she rolled. +</p> + +<p> +The sunset was just over, and already the brief twilight +was fading away, the summer night beginning, and after the +sultry, almost breathless day, a cool wind was springing up; +on the horizon could be seen the dark line which showed +that a change was coming, and that the time of calm inaction +was over. +</p> + +<p> +Was it not like his life? He had had his days of ease, his +smooth, uneventful days, with nothing to mar the tranquil +happiness. Then there had arisen the dark foreboding of +coming trouble, and now the storm had broken. Was he to +choose this life of perpetual storm? Or might he not seek +the tranquil haven where he longed to be? Must he indeed +go forth into a world so uncongenial?—into a strife so +distasteful? +</p> + +<p> +He was not indolent by nature, he was not selfish; but he +had, in a marked degree, that Italian hatred of storm and +struggle which to a northern nature is so incomprehensible. +To go out into a life of perpetual temptation,—a life likely +to be full of provocations to the temper, this was harder to +him than to most men, for he dreaded nothing so much as +losing his self-control. What if he should accept this offer, +go forth as Nita's preserver, and then fail himself? In that +case, indeed, all would have been lost, honor included. He +could not risk all this for a mere hope, a mere chance. It +could not surely be expected of a man that he should give +up his home, his prospects of marriage, his profession, +everything that he cared for, all for the sake of saving one +woman? No, it certainly could not be expected! Why, the +world would laugh at such a notion. Had any other man +put such a case to him, he, too, would have smiled at it, and +called the propounder of such folly a mere Quixote. How +foolish the old boatman would think him if he steered his +frail little boat out into the troubled waters yonder instead +of making all speed to guide it to the shore! +</p> + +<p> +He shivered slightly, threw his cloak across his chest, and, +for the sake of a change of thought, began to abuse old +Frau Ritter for having delayed his return so long, and in her +dread of sunshine brought him in for the risk of malaria. +But above it all floated the perverse voice which would not +leave him unmolested: "Men are not more willing to live +the life of the Crucified." He left off abusing Frau Ritter, +and began to hum a song, but naturally enough chanced to +begin with an air from <i>Don Giovanni</i>. The voice he longed +to drown spoke more and more clearly. Well, <i>Don Giovanni</i> +was poisoned for him, he must eschew it in future. And +forthwith he strove to drive the unpleasant thoughts +connected with it from his mind with the first snatch of song +which came to his head. Out into the summer night rang +the noble impassioned address of Valentino to Mephistopheles: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>La croce dai demoni tuoi ci guarda!</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The scene in the opera rose vividly before him, the soldier, +with his cross-handled sword uplifted, boldly confronting the +devil who so lately had worsted him, but who now shrank +back helpless and trembling. Good heavens! and he had +sought to drown the voice of God in his heart by those very +words, had sought to drive back the good and to give place +to the evil. +</p> + +<p> +A horror of great darkness fell upon him. It was the +crisis of his whole life. Afterwards, when he recalled the +past anguish, he recalled with it those sombre surroundings, +the purple waters, the great dark cloud drawing nearer and +nearer, the hopeless gloom of the night broken only by the +light on Cape Miseno and the red light on the side of the +yacht. Not a sound was to be heard save the splashing of +the oars, and now and then a sort of hoarse shout in the +distance, probably the yacht's captain giving orders to his +crew; but to Carlo the silence was tumult. He was sailor +enough to know that in a few minutes the storm would be +upon them. That mattered little, for they were close to the +shore; it was the tumult in his own heart which absorbed +him. +</p> + +<p> +Vaguely, and as if from a great distance, he heard the +boatman giving thanks to San Gennaro that they were safely +in before the squall, he had indistinct recollections of +paying the man a double fare and bidding him seek shelter for +the night at Florestano's hut, then of plunging wildly on +through the darkness across the beach, up the hill among the +dusky vines, his pain increased by a consciousness that when +he had last trodden that path it had been with Francesca. +Was it to be thus with his life? Must he content himself +with a memory of the briefest snatch of happiness ever +given to man, and toil on through long, solitary years over +the rough and stony paths of publicity? It was +impossible,—impossible! He rushed on yet faster, as though by rapid +motion he could escape from the tyranny of an idea. +</p> + +<p> +Just as he reached the olive-garden the storm suddenly +broke. The wind raged over the land, tossing the trees +wildly to and fro: the rain came down in torrents, the +lightning cast its angry gleam across the heaving sea, and the +swaying boughs, and the wet, shining shore. Carlo threw +himself down on the ground, beneath the thickest of the +olive-trees, seeking at once shelter from the outward storm +and help in the inward struggle. He would no longer flee +from the voice that had haunted him; he would listen to +it—would try to understand it. What was the life of the +Crucified? +</p> + +<p> +All his soul went into the question, and the confusion +within him seemed to lessen as he waited for the answer, +which framed itself to him amid the raging of the wind +and the dull roar of the thunder, something after this +fashion. +</p> + +<p> +The life of the Crucified was lived by One who delighted +to do God's will. He did not exclude pleasure, or morbidly +delight in pain; it was just that He did not think about +pleasing Himself at all. He took the bitter and the sweet +as they were sent, and delighted in them because He knew +the Sender who sought only the good of all men. This is +the life of the Crucified. You think happiness is to please +yourself—it is not that at all, it is to delight in doing His +will. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord," he sobbed, "I am not willing—it is true—I am +not willing to live Thy life. Save me from my selfishness! +'By Thine agony and bloody sweat, by Thy cross and +passion, Good Lord, deliver me.'" +</p> + +<p> +He repeated the familiar words again and again, hardly +conscious of what he was saying, yet in his anguish finding +them a sort of relief. And, presently, either the words or +his own surroundings brought to his mind what the greatest +of modern atheists once termed, with an involuntary softening +of the voice, "That terrible garden-scene." There had +been a struggle—an agony—for the Son of God Himself. +He, too, knew what it cost deliberately to take the course +which must bring bitter grief to those who loved him. He, +too, knew how human nature shrank from isolation, from +misconception. Every temptation now assailing him had +also assailed the Son who learned obedience by the things +which He suffered. +</p> + +<p> +And just as a child will for very awe forget its little grief +when brought face to face with the great grief of its parents, +so Carlo lost sight for a time of his own pain, that past +scene becoming far more real to him than the bitter present. +The tears wrung from him first by his own anguish fell now +for another. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord," he sobbed, "it cannot be that I am willing that +Thou shouldst be crucified afresh—put to open shame—while +I live here in this paradise! Anything rather than +that! Lord, choose for me what Thou wilt. My spirit is +willing, but my flesh is weak. 'By Thine agony and bloody +sweat, by Thy cross and passion, Good Lord, deliver me.'" +</p> + +<p> +An hour later the brief Mediterranean storm was over, +the stars were shining, the yacht was on her course once +more, her white sails spread to catch the softened breeze. +</p> + +<p> +Then Carlo rose to his feet and went on his way. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER X. +<br><br> +THE PILGRIM. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Joy, so true and tender,<br> + Dare you not abide?<br> + Will you spread your pinions<br> + Must you leave our side?<br> + —Nay; an Angel's shining grace<br> + Waits to fill your place!"<br> + A. A. PROCTER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Very odd of Carlo not to come in to-day," remarked +Captain Britton from the depths of his easy-chair. "I +suppose the heat was too much for him. Have you heard +from him, Fran?" +</p> + +<p> +"I had a little note from him yesterday, father, only to say +that he wasn't well and that the Ritters insisted on keeping +him, but that he would be sure to be at home again on +Saturday. I daresay Frau Ritter made him stay; it was so +sultry, you know, and since Herr Ritter's illness she is +always in terror of sunstrokes." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, one thing is, this thunder-storm will clear the air," +said the Captain, rubbing his large hands together contentedly. +"If I could be sure your uncle was safely in port, I should +feel more comfortable, though. What did I do with his +letter? Ah, here it is! 'The yacht is to leave Leghorn on +Wednesday,' he says. They certainly ought to be at Naples +by this time." +</p> + +<p> +"I looked out for the <i>Pilgrim</i> yesterday," said Francesca, +"but to-day I forgot all about it. How I wish Clare and the +girls were coming too; it was very benighted of them to like +a stupid visit to the North Cape better than a cruise in the +Mediterranean." +</p> + +<p> +"No accounting for tastes," said the Captain, smiling. "If +it were not for this engagement of yours, I should feel sorely +tempted to get your uncle to give me a berth. There is +nothing, after all, like the sea. You smile, Fran. Why, +bless your dear little heart! I wasn't wishing things +otherwise with you and Carlo. On the contrary, I think the +sooner you are married and settled the better for both of +you. He has looked sadly worn and out of spirits lately, +poor fellow!" +</p> + +<p> +"There has been so much to trouble him," said Francesca, +with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, and he is unfit to be left all alone in that dreary +house. Really, I don't see why there should be any more +delay. Now that he has got rid of that sister of his, why +shouldn't you be married quietly and have done with it? No +disrespect to the mother in that, poor soul! Why, it is the +thing of all others she would have wished. I tell you what, +Fran, here is such a chance as is never likely to come again. +Your uncle is unexpectedly coming out here, he is sure to +give at least a week to Naples—why should we not have +your wedding while he is here? Upon my word!"—he +rubbed his hands with greater satisfaction than before—"that's +the happiest notion that has come to me for a long +time, Fran. You and Carlo shall be packed off on your +honeymoon, Sibyl and I will console ourselves with a cruise +in the <i>Pilgrim</i>, and we'll all forget that provoking Madame +Merlino, who has made such a storm in a teacup." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca blushed vividly. +</p> + +<p> +"If you really think—if Carlo——," she broke off in +confusion. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton patted her head caressingly. "Why, of +course, my love, of course I would take good care that Carlo +thought the suggestion his own. To prolong the engagement +would be bad for both of you. Nothing in the world more +trying than long engagements. Not that you are to think I +am in any hurry to get rid of you; but, after all, we shall +scarcely be separated, and an engagement is somehow +neither one thing nor the other. I should like to see you +married, my dear; this sad affair of poor Carlo's has been an +annoyance to me—such things are unsettling, they interrupt +the steady routine of daily life. I confess I shall be glad to +go away for a time with your uncle, and then, later on, to +come back and begin our ordinary life once more." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca felt like a cat rubbed the wrong way, but knowing +that the rubber meant it all very kindly she bore it with +composure. +</p> + +<p> +"A cruise in the <i>Pilgrim</i> would be the best possible +change for you," she said, laughing lightly, though not +altogether without an effort. "I shall go and see if she is +anywhere to be seen; and really, since you are in such hurry to +be off, I shall have to think about my wedding-dress." +</p> + +<p> +Glad to put an end to the conversation, she crossed the +room, threw open the window, and stepped out into the <i>loggia</i>. +The night was deliciously fresh after the storm; she felt an +inexpressible sense of freedom and relief as she closed the +window behind her, and drank in deep draughts of the cool, +moist air. Though her father's words had grated upon her, +there was, nevertheless, a certain amount of truth in them +which she could not but recognize. She, too, had that longing +to go away, to escape from the scene of all the trouble +and sorrow which had lately invaded their home. It would +be like escaping from the hot, lamplit drawing-room into this +cool out-of-doors. And then, perhaps Carlo would begin to +be himself again. Surely, though, she had not liked the +way in which the idea was expressed, the idea itself was a good +one. They would go away—right away from Naples—away +from the region of theatres—away from all that could recall +Carlo's loss, and she would comfort him. Then, later on, +they would induce Merlino to let Anita come to them; she +should stay with them at the Villa Bruno, should be made +perfectly happy, should have all kinds of little English +comforts which would be new and delightful to her after her +wandering life. And so her troubles should somehow +conveniently disappear, and she should find that their home was +her home. If her trouble was connected with money, as +Francesca fancied, why then Carlo would somehow manage +to clear off her debts, and she, too, should start life afresh, +and they would all live happily ever after. So she dreamed +in her girlish fashion, knowing nothing of the real state of the +case, only fully convinced that this dreary state of things +could not last forever, that somehow it would all come right +in the end like the books. And in that belief no doubt she +was right; wrong only in this, that "coming right in the +end" meant to her coming right in these threescore years +and ten. +</p> + +<p> +To be married, perhaps, next week! How calmly her +father had suggested the idea, and how her heart throbbed +as she recalled his words! She would lay aside her mourning +for that one day, would be dressed, spite of the sadness +which had heralded in her marriage, "as a bride adorned for +her husband;" and therewith she began, after the manner +of girls, to picture the dress to herself; it should be long +and white and shining; and as for orange-blossom, why, +there was no lack of that in the garden, always supposing +this heavy rain had not dashed it. Thinking of the +orange-blossom, she turned from those inward visions and looked +down into the dusky mass of trees and shrubs below, starting +a little at sight of some one approaching, but quickly +recognizing her lover. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo! why, Carlo! is it really you?" she exclaimed, an +ecstasy of happiness in her voice, for she had not in the least +expected him. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up. She was leaning on the rail of the loggia +among the climbing roses, her eyes bright with joy, her sweet +face a little flushed, her white neck and arms gleaming +through the black lace of her dress. He trembled from +head to foot. It was too late now to tell her all—and had +he strength to meet her? Would it not be better just to +kiss that hand resting on the white balustrade, and excuse +himself for the evening? But Francesca, who had never +since her betrothal been so long parted from her lover, +turned and flew down the steps to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I had quite given you up, darling!" she cried. +"And are you really well again—quite well?" +</p> + +<p> +A terrible pang rent his heart, but he trembled no more; +all the man in him rose up to meet this sore trial. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite well, <i>carina</i>; only wet through, and not fit to touch +you," he said; and by an impulse which he could hardly +have explained he checked the hands which were stealing +round his neck, drew them down, and held them fast in his +while he bent forward and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +A shade passed over her face. Why did he stop to think +about his wet clothes? What lover ever deigned to bestow +a thought on such prudent considerations? +</p> + +<p> +He read her thoughts in a glance, and therewith saw a +vision of the future—the shadow deepening on that dear +face, the eyes dim with tears, the brow contracted with pain. +To hide his agony from her he let his head droop forward, +resting his burning forehead on her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"I have been so dreadfully anxious about you, Carlino," +she said. "And, oh! it is so beautiful to have you back +again!" +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak, only his cold hands held hers more +tightly; his face was hidden on her breast. But, though he +could hide from her the sight of his anguish, he could not +deceive her; she knew intuitively that it was no physical +pain which made a man like Carlo bow his head like one +overwhelmed. It must surely be that he was thinking of his +mother—and it must have been terribly dreary coming back +from Naples that stormy evening—coming home for the first +time to the empty house. +</p> + +<p> +"My own dear one," she said, all the deep tenderness in +her heart stealing into her voice, "you'll not shut me out +from your sorrow. What is yours is mine, Carlino. I was +so happy when I saw you, I forgot what a sad home-coming +it must be. But, darling, it wasn't that I forgot her, for I, +too, loved her." +</p> + +<p> +"Pray that I may keep my promise to her," he whispered. +"Pray! pray!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. The tears welled up in Francesca's +eyes, not because she understood his sorrow, but because +the sorrow was his, and because she loved him. She prayed +obediently like a little child. After awhile he raised his head, +looked for a moment into her eyes, then pressed his lips to +hers in a long, lingering kiss. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear love," he said, gently, "we will keep our Whitsuntide +together." +</p> + +<p> +He watched her up the marble steps, then turned away, +walking home through the wet garden paths. And even in +his great sadness he could not but smile faintly as he +reflected what Piale's feelings would be could he now see him, +cold, and weary, and wet to the skin. "The singer keeps +his shop in his throat," he said to himself, with a pathetic +little effort to persuade himself that he was now quite +accustomed to the idea. "I must not indulge any more in +evening storms." +</p> + +<p> +The next day was Whitsunday. Carlo, as usual, drove in +to Naples with the Brittons, and was very glad that the +great excitement in "Uncle George's" probable arrival, +excluded all other topics of conversation. It lasted throughout +the drive, and, indeed, engrossed Captain Britten's thoughts +so much during church-time that he was glad to effect his +escape with Sibyl after the sermon, leaving Carlo and +Francesca to the second service, while he hastened to make +inquiries as to the <i>Pilgrim</i>. +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise and delight, he was greeted just outside +the church by his brother. +</p> + +<p> +Sibyl, who had very vague recollections of her uncle, +studied him with a child's keen criticism. +</p> + +<p> +"He is like papa," she reflected, "but smaller and finer; +his beard is beautiful, and white, and curly, like a Father +Christmas; he laughs with his eyes. I like him." +</p> + +<p> +Having satisfied herself on this point, she began to listen +to the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we got in early this morning," her uncle was saying. +"We had very light winds all the way from Leghorn—in +fact, yesterday we were becalmed, but after the squall we +got on better. What a paradise you live in, to be sure! +Ah, is this your little one? Why, Sibyl, you have grown +out of all knowledge! And what have you done with +Francesca?" +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca will be here directly," replied the Captain. +"We may as well wait for her, if you are not in a hurry. +By-the-by, George, I think you have not heard that she is to +be married shortly." +</p> + +<p> +"What high and mighty nobleman has been so happy as to +meet with your approval?" said Mr. Britton, well aware of his +brother's weakness for titles, and convinced by his beaming +face that the marriage was desirable in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"A young Italian neighbor of ours, Signor Donati; not a +noble at all, but of a good old family, and likely to do well at +the Neapolitan Bar. Oh, I am thoroughly pleased with the +affair—thoroughly pleased, and Donati is heir to a rich old +uncle, so it is satisfactory in every way. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope he is good enough for dear little Fran," said +Mr. Britton, dryly. Somehow the notion of his pretty niece +marrying the first foreigner who proposed for her did not +please him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, as to that, I doubt if there is any one in the world +quite good enough for her," said Captain Britton, rubbing +his hands, but slightly embarrassed by the presence of his +Prayer-book. "You will like Donati, though, I am sure of +that. He is a fine fellow. Just now, poor boy, he is in +great trouble—lost his mother quite suddenly, and, of +course, he's dreadfully cut up. In fact, I think the only +thing will be to hasten on the marriage, and get him right +away from the place for a bit. Ah, here they come! that's +right!" and he hurried forward lest Sibyl should forestall +him as news-bearer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton glanced quickly at Francesca's <i>fiancé</i>, and felt +his insular prejudice melting away. A more beautiful face +he had never seen. Something of its serenity vanished, +however, as Captain Britton approached,—a sort of shade +passed over the forehead, and he evidently came back to the +present with an effort. The Captain brought him forward, +and introduced him in his usual rather boisterous and +patronizing way. Mr. Britton was all the more struck by the +grace and dignity of the Italian, and he held out his hand +cordially. +</p> + +<p> +"I have been hearing of you, Signor Donati," he said, +pleasantly. "You must let me congratulate you, for, indeed, +I think you are a very happy man." +</p> + +<p> +The Italian smiled, surely the saddest smile ever seen, as +he bowed his acknowledgments. Mr. Britton was startled +and perplexed, but Francesca's happy face reassured him, +and had not the Captain said that his future son-in-law was +in trouble? +</p> + +<p> +"I want you all to come and spend the day on my yacht," +he said, turning to his brother. "The gig is waiting down +by the Arsenal. Come! you must really take compassion +on my solitude. Signor Donati, I hope you'll put up with +that barbarous custom, an early dinner; but the fact is, our +cook's cuddy is so near the men's quarters that if I dine +late the poor fellows are half-grilled at night." +</p> + +<p> +After a little more discussion, they all set off for the +Arsenal, where the "gig," a term which had baffled Carlo +altogether, resolved itself into a four-oared boat, manned by +trim-looking English sailors, who bore the name of the <i>Pilgrim</i> +in red letters across their blue jerseys, and in gold letters +round their hats. Mr. Britton took his place in the stern, +insisting that his brother must sit beside Sibyl to trim the +boat, and, having thus managed that the lovers should be +side by side, gave the word to start. Sibyl gave a cry of +delight as the golden-brown oars were promptly raised in the +air and simultaneously lowered into the water. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Uncle George!" she cried, "how happy you must be +with this dear little boat always waiting for you, and men to +do so beautifully just what you say!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" said Mr. Britton, laughing. "Wait till you are on +board the <i>Pilgrim</i>! I see," he added, turning to Carlo and +Francesca, "that you two have already taught this little one +to understand the proud sense of possession." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca smiled and blushed. Carlo appeared to be +engrossed with a vessel which they were passing, the huge +<i>Duilio</i>, then not quite completed. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose," he said, turning back with a bright smile +which veiled the pain at his heart, "I suppose there is no +need to introduce you to our monster vessel, you probably +know much more about her than we do." +</p> + +<p> +The shipbuilder was not above appreciating the compliment +thus delicately conveyed, and Francesca looked up at +the unwieldy form with its dull red color and its six funnels, +and tried to seem interested in the discussion which arose +upon its merits among the men; its only merit to her was +that it seemed to be interesting Carlo and taking him out of +himself. The <i>Pilgrim</i>, a pretty, schooner-rigged yacht, of +about 150 tons, was anchored off the Military Mole, and, like +all the vessels in harbor, was gayly dressed with flags in +honor of the <i>festa</i>. A somewhat smaller yacht was anchored +close by. +</p> + +<p> +"They tell me our neighbor the <i>Aida</i> belongs to an Italian +Count or Duke, or something of the sort," said Mr. Britton. +"What was the name, Oxenberry; do you recollect?" +</p> + +<p> +"Count Carossa, I believe, sir," said the coxswain. +</p> + +<p> +"Count Carossa!" said Captain Britton, with a beaming +face. "The name seems familiar to me. A friend of yours, +perhaps, Carlo?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir; I have never even met him," said Carlo repressively. +</p> + +<p> +"But the name is familiar to you, surely?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is certainly a well-known name," said Carlo, still in +the same tone. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton was a little puzzled, he could not make out +whether the Italian knew of something not to the credit of +Count Carossa, or whether his tone merely implied a great +distaste of the Captain's love of the aristocracy. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they were alongside the yacht, and the Captain, +forgetting all about the Count, began to admire his +brother's latest toy. +</p> + +<p> +"A very pretty little vessel indeed, George! I confess I +envy you. Sibyl, what do you say? Shall we not sell the +villa and live afloat? Now, Carlo, don't forgot to take your +hat off to the deck, it's a mortal insult to forget that!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo laughed; just for a little time he forgot his cares, +and his first thought, as he glanced round the deck, with its +exquisitely smooth and white boards, its shining brass work, +its cunningly arranged skylights and companions, was this:— +</p> + +<p> +"A yacht is the last place in the world for private +conversations. One more day of freedom! One more day's +peace of mind for my darling!" +</p> + +<p> +As for Sibyl, she was wild with happiness, now watching +the gig as it was hauled up, now trotting off hand in hand +with the coxswain to the forecastle, looking with longing eyes +at the rope ladders, and chattering without intermission. +</p> + +<p> +It was not without difficulty that Francesca bore her off to +be washed and brushed before dinner, and had it not been +for the fascinations of the shifting table in the saloon, she +would hardly have been induced to stay down below for so +dull a duty as eating. +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle George," she said, leaning forward in her quaint +way, "it would have been nice to come on board the <i>Pilgrim</i> +any day, but being Sunday it's just perfect." +</p> + +<p> +"Eh—how's that?" said Mr. Britton. "The better the +day the better the deed, is that your idea?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but don't you see on weekdays we can have +games—different games every day, if we like, but Sundays are +always—always the same. Now this makes such a beautiful +difference. I am glad you asked us on Sunday!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, to whom the rules of the English Sunday had always +been incomprehensible, could not repress an amused smile, +but he wisely avoided taking part in the discussion which +ensued on modern Sabbatarianism, being, of course, ready +enough to speak out his own opinion if it were asked, but not +feeling bound to volunteer it. The argument was at last +interrupted by the entrance of the steward. +</p> + +<p> +"A boat has just come across from the <i>Aida</i>, sir, with +Count Carossa's card, but the Captain can't make out what +the men say, all of them being Italians." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo at once offered to act as interpreter, and ran up on +deck, returning with the message, which he delivered with +an impartial face. +</p> + +<p> +"Count Carossa presents his compliments to the owner of +the <i>Pilgrim</i>, and it would give him much pleasure to make +his acquaintance. If quite convenient to Mr. Britton, the +Count will call upon him in the afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +"Very happy to see him, I'm sure," said Mr. Britton, who +was the soul of hospitality. "Perhaps, Signor Donati, you +would be so good as to frame a polite message for me and +deliver it to the messenger; or stay, I'll write it on my card." +</p> + +<p> +This done, they all adjourned to the deck, where, before +long, they were joined by Count Carossa, a fine-looking man +of two or three-and-thirty, to whom Captain Britton took very +kindly. There was much amusing discussion as to the merits +of the two yachts, then of Mr. Britton's homeward route, +during which the Count discovered that Francesca and her +father were living in the neighborhood, and did his best to +push the acquaintance, eliciting very easily an invitation to +dinner on the following Wednesday. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, after the Count's arrival, had kept sedulously in the +background, and had said but little. Happening to glance +at him once, Mr. Britton was struck by the strange expression +of his face. He hastily turned his eyes towards Francesca; +she was smiling in answer to some polite nothing addressed +to her by the Count. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe that fellow Donati is jealous!" he thought to +himself. "My poor little Fran, you are altogether too good +to be left to the tender mercies of an Italian husband. I +wonder if the marriage is, after all, so advisable as they seem +to think." +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, when the Count was gone, he said, casually, to +Carlo,— +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, Signor Donati, I suppose this Count Carossa +is a decent sort of fellow; you don't know anything against +him, do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing whatever, sir," said Carlo, emphatically,—"nothing +whatever. I only know that he is very rich, and that he +leads a wandering life; I have often heard people wonder +why in the world he does not settle down." +</p> + +<p> +"Then he is unmarried?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he is unmarried." +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Sibyl ran up to beg Carlo to look at "some +dear little tortoises in the dinghy." Mr. Britton nodded to +himself with the air of one who has surmised rightly. +</p> + +<p> +"Just as I thought," he muttered, "as jealous as he can +be." +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon was spent in rambling about Naples, showing +Uncle George as many lions as he cared to see; then +they returned to the yacht to that curious English meal called +"tea,"—a new experience to Carlo, and it was arranged that +they should drive home in the cool of the evening, taking +Mr. Britton with them. +</p> + +<p> +"It has been such a delightful day," said Francesca; "I +think I agree with Sibyl that being a Sunday it has been all +the nicer." +</p> + +<p> +The lovers were standing near the wheel in the dim starlight; +perhaps Carlo was glad that the light was no clearer. +</p> + +<p> +"See," he said, "there is Venus just setting; not there; +look, out yonder behind St. Elmo." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca was just in time to see the last of the planet; +after it was set, the Castle on its lofty height seemed to stand +out more darkly against the evening sky. The harbor was +very quiet, but from the shore came sounds of laughter and +merriment, a confused roar of many voices, and now and +then in the distance a line or two of Garibaldi's hymn +floating on the wind. +</p> + +<p> +"How still and peaceful we are out here!" said Francesca, +"and how noisy and horrid it seems in Naples. Why does a +Babel like that always sound so wicked, I wonder? It makes +me think of Vanity Fair in the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet through the uproar we can make out Garibaldi's +hymn," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," she said, laughing, "I know you would like to be +in the thick of it all, fighting against the evil as your father +and grandfather fought in their day. Oh, Carlino, what a +good thing for me that there are no battles now!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yet in a good cause you would not have hindered me, I +think, <i>carina</i>? Tell me," his lips trembled,—"tell me, had +we lived then would you have begged me to stay at home?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Carlo <i>mio</i>," she said, raising her sweet eyes to his; +"I would have told you to go and help your country; I +wouldn't have cried till you were out of sight." +</p> + +<p> +They were interrupted by a summons to get into the gig, +and the four trim-looking sailors rowed them swiftly across +the quiet harbor, the only sound being an occasional "<i>Qui +va la?</i>" from the watchman on board one of the anchored +vessels, and a ringing reply from the coxswain of "Yacht's +boat." +</p> + +<p> +"The peace of my life is over," thought Carlo, as he +glanced back across the quiet waters to the <i>Pilgrim</i> with her +golden harbor light; "now for Vanity Fair." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. +<br><br> +A FIRST ENCOUNTER. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Blest, too, is he who can divine<br> + Where real right doth lie,<br> + And dares to take the side that seems<br> + Wrong to man's blindfold eye.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + Then learn to scorn the praise of men,<br> + And learn to lose with God;<br> + For Jesus won the world through shame,<br> + And beckons thee His road."<br> + FABER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I have something to say to you, <i>carina</i>; let us linger +behind the others; there is no hotter place on earth than +these streets of Pompeii, and I think we know them well +enough." +</p> + +<p> +The whole party had driven over early on the Monday +morning to show Mr. Britton the more recent excavations; +he had been to Pompeii before, but many years ago. +</p> + +<p> +To Carlo and Francesca, however, those old gray streets +and ruined temples were perfectly familiar, and Francesca +was not sorry to follow out Carlo's suggestions, and +despatched Sibyl to tell the others that they would wait in the +Temple of Venus till their return. +</p> + +<p> +"At which message you may be sure Uncle George will +laugh," she said. "Had we been wise in our generation, +Carlo, we should have chosen the Temple of Isis, but then +this is my favorite, and, after all, we are proof against +teasing now." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled sadly, as he looked across the beautiful +expanse of country. On one side, beyond the ruined streets, +lay the verdant <i>Campagna</i> bounded by Vesuvius and Somma; +on the other was a yet more lovely view of sea and mountains, +with the white houses of Castellamare gleaming in the +sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +"We have not chosen a very shady place," said Francesca. +"But, see, there is just a little patch of shadow down there. +Let us come." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know what that is?" said Carlo, repressing a +shudder. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, to be sure," she replied gayly; "it's the altar +of sacrifice. How fond Clare used to be of poking about in +here—don't you remember? I wish she had come with Uncle +George." +</p> + +<p> +"And I, too; I would have given anything to have had +her here—for your sake, <i>carina</i>." +</p> + +<p> +There was something so unusual in his tone that Francesca +looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo <i>mio</i>, you frighten me! What do you mean? Don't +lean on the altar like that! Come and sit down on this step +by me in the shade. Why do you wish Clare here for my +sake? What do I really want with any one now that I have +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"But if, as we were saying last night, there was a battle to +fight and I had to leave you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino! what do you mean? Surely there is not going +to be a revolution—a war?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, it is much tamer than that," he said, with a +slightly bitter smile. Then, a sudden light illumining his +face, he put his arm round her and held her closely. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear one," he said, speaking rapidly and with great +earnestness,—"my own true love, you gave me fresh courage +last night by your words. <i>Carina</i>, there are other wars than +those between nations; there is the great war in which you +and I have vowed our service; you would not wish me, I +know, to prove coward in that—to be a deserter. I must +tell you, in plain words, the actual case, even though it is +hard to do it,—even though I would give the world to keep +all knowledge of such evil from you. Francesca, do you +know what killed my mother? I will tell you. It was the +knowledge that Anita was living in hourly peril of proving +unfaithful to her husband! He—that one who would ruin +her—that one who dares to call his foul passion by the name +of love, is actually a member of Merlino's company. Merlino +himself suspects nothing, if he did he would half kill +Anita. I have thought of every possible plan for getting rid +of this villain without betraying my sister; but, darling, there +is only one way that will answer, and it is this: to get rid of +this man—this baritone—I must take his place myself." +</p> + +<p> +"You must offer," said Francesca, faintly; "but perhaps +Signor Merlino will not accept you." +</p> + +<p> +"The post has already been offered to me by Merlino, and +on Wednesday, Francesca <i>mia</i>, I must let him know whether +I accept his offer or not." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" +</p> + +<p> +She locked her hands together convulsively, but only that +one sob of intense, intolerable pain escaped her. +</p> + +<p> +There was silence—a silence so deep that the distant +sounds of the workmen busy over the excavations seemed +quite near. A little lizard darted across the pavement close +to their feet, and plunged into the maidenhair that fringed +the altar. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca opened her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"My love! my love!" she cried, "don't look like that! +See, Carlo <i>mio</i>, I am going to keep my word. I will say, like +the wives in the old days, 'Go and help,' and I'll not cry; +I promise you I'll not cry. And yet—yet—oh! how can I +help it when you set me so bad an example?" +</p> + +<p> +With a stifled sob she broke off and hid her face on his +breast. The sight of her suffering had unnerved him, but +quickly he regained that strange self-mastery which was all +the more remarkable because it was combined with an +ardent, emotional, highly-strung temperament. +</p> + +<p> +"You are helping me to keep my word," he said, drawing +her yet closer to him. "As a child I promised my father on +his death-bed that I would shield Nita, and my mother's last +entreaty you heard." +</p> + +<p> +"Do I help you?" she said, eagerly; "do I really help? +Then I am no longer unhappy. It was the thought of your +going quite away where I could do nothing—<i>nothing</i> for +you—it was that broke my heart. If, even away, I can help +you—if even in this we can work together—then I can +bear it." +</p> + +<p> +"Your father," he said, hesitatingly, "I must tell him at +once,—and, <i>carina</i>, he will not see things in the light you see +them." +</p> + +<p> +"He will not approve of your going on the stage," said +Francesca. "He will be vexed and annoyed, but he cannot +help seeing that it is the only thing to be done." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo made a faint gesture of dissent. The last sentence +was so like Francesca, so unlike the Captain. +</p> + +<p> +"He will most naturally wish that I had never spoken to +you. Indeed, I myself could almost wish it, darling; for +what have I brought you but trouble, and grief, and the +shadow of a disgrace?" +</p> + +<p> +"You have brought me yourself, Carlino," she said, with a +sweet mirthfulness in look and tone; "you don't seem to +think much of the gift, it is true." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet if I had kept silence a week longer all would +have been different. I should have gone off with Merlino's +company and there would have been no discussion and +remonstrance; I should not have vexed your father—should +not have felt that I had spoiled your life. You would have +been free, and the pain would have been mine alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you vain boy!" she exclaimed, half laughing, half +crying, "do you think it was that tale you told me in the +belvedere that made me love you? You know quite well I +have loved you for years and years! And then you talk of +going away in silence and leaving me free and happy. +Carlino, I'm ashamed of you!" +</p> + +<p> +Like two children, they forgot for a little while the dark +future, and basked in the sunny present. Parting was a +thought hardly to be conceived while they sat together in the +old Temple of Venus, and made love to each other after the +fashion of lovers in all ages and climes. +</p> + +<p> +After a time they talked of Carlo's future life, he spoke +warmly of Sardoni, quoted Piale's high opinion of Marioni, +the conductor, and said all that could be said in Merlino's +favor. He wanted to paint his new life in bright colors for +her sake, and he talked cheerfully of winning Nita's love +and confidence, speaking with more assurance than he really +felt. +</p> + +<p> +And yet Francesca remembered well enough his words a +few weeks before about the wretched, roving life of a singer, +and she knew that in his heart he shrank from it still. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall you be in Italy, do you think?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," replied Carlo, with a sigh. "Merlino will only stay +here till he has got his chorus together again, and given his +principals a short holiday. You see things are different here, +travelling companies are not much in vogue." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, where will you be?" +</p> + +<p> +"In England for a time, then in America." +</p> + +<p> +"America!" she could not repress the exclamation. +"That will seem terribly far away—I hoped, as they had +just come back, there would be no question of going there +again." +</p> + +<p> +"America is the great field for companies like Merlino's; +I suppose a great deal of my life will probably be spent +there." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, well, after all it is chiefly in imagination that distance +affects one—our letters will travel just as well across the +Atlantic. You will have to send me all your changes of +address, Carlino; and, as for me, I shall have to learn to +write smaller, or there will never be space enough for all I +shall have to say." +</p> + +<p> +By the time the rest of the party joined them, they had +grown accustomed to the thought of the change—had bravely +faced the coming separation, each strengthening the other to +endure; and Mr. Britton little guessed, as he gayly teased his +niece about her indifference to the knew discoveries, what +had passed during that hour in the Temple of Venus. +Francesca only smiled and drew him into a description of all +they had seen, while with her eyes she followed rather +wistfully the lithe figure running with Sibyl down the steep old +street which led out of Pompeii. They lunched in the little +restaurant at the entrance; allowed Mr. Britton to be +inveigled into the region of photographs, bronzes, and lava +ornaments; then, in the cool of the afternoon, drove home again, +Francesca nursing a <i>Dying Gladiator</i> in terra-cotta, which +was to go home to Clare in the <i>Pilgrim</i>. +</p> + +<p> +If Captain Britton thought Carlo rather more silent than +usual he put it down to constraint in the presence of a +stranger,—the last thing Carlo would have been likely to +experience. However, the worthy Captain liked him all the better +for it, and talked to him in his bland, semi-patronizing way, +chaffing him not a little on his light-hearted compatriots who +thronged the road in their <i>festa</i> clothes, closely packed in +open carriages. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes, you Neapolitans are terrible pleasure-lovers," +he said, laughingly. "Look there, now—ten people stowed +away in that, and the horses all decked out with brass +ornaments and bells; and yet they are people of the lower class, +who, likely enough, will be hungry to-morrow!" +</p> + +<p> +Francesca fully expected that the term, "lower class," +would call forth a remonstrance from Carlo, but he let it pass, +and the next moment she understood why. His eye had been +caught by a poster on one of the walls of Portici in which +Madame Merlino's name appeared in large letters. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was invited to dine at the Casa Bella that evening; +he had not yet made up his mind whether he would tell all +to Captain Britton face to face, or whether he would write +him a letter. Though a very fluent speaker, he was not +particularly fond of writing English, however; and if only a +favorable opportunity could be found he rather inclined to an +interview with the Captain. +</p> + +<p> +The opportunity came. Dessert was over, Francesca had +left the room, Mr. Britton excused himself soon after, as he +had a great number of letters to write; the Captain drew his +chair up to the table again and passed the wine to his guest. +Carlo knew then that his time was come; the hand with which +he helped himself to snow trembled a little, but his voice was +firm and well modulated when he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems a little ungracious to be glad that Mr. Britton's +holiday should be invaded by business letters," he began, +"but I particularly wanted a few words alone with you." +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton thought of his scheme for hastening on the +marriage, and quite hoped that the same idea had occurred +to Carlo. A kindly smile played about his broad mouth. +</p> + +<p> +"I, too, have wanted to speak with you all day, but these +family parties are no time for confidential talk." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thought of the Temple of Venus, and was silent. +Captain Britton resumed:— +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is I am anxious about you, my dear fellow; you +look to me far from well. I wish that sister of yours was at +the other side of the Atlantic, and that's the truth of it; it +was a bad day for all of us when she returned. When do +they leave Naples? You'll never be yourself again till you +are rid of that brother-in-law." +</p> + +<p> +"I am not likely to be rid of him for some time to come, I +fear," said Carlo, plunging boldly into his subject. "It is +about the step which I purpose taking that I wish now to +speak to you." +</p> + +<p> +Did he mean to propose that wedding journey which the +Captain had planned? His face was grave almost to sternness, +but then the Merlinos were quite enough to account +for that. +</p> + +<p> +"I know it is a step which you will disapprove," resumed +Carlo. "And yet—there is no help for it—take it I must." +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton's hopes sank; he began to think apprehensively +of all the things he should least like to happen. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, short of turning Romanist again," he said, after a +pause, "I don't think anything you are likely to do would +disquiet me very much." +</p> + +<p> +"It will, however, delay our marriage," said Carlo; "that +is, I fear, quite inevitable." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," said Captain Britton, thinking that he meant +to study for some of the higher branches of the law, "you +are both young, and I can assure you I'm in no hurry to get +rid of my little Francesca. Have you discussed the matter +with her?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and she agrees with me that I must go." +</p> + +<p> +"Go! Where?" +</p> + +<p> +"With Merlino's company; it is the only way in which I +can keep my promise to my mother—the only possible way +of shielding Anita." +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton was so much startled that for a minute he +could not speak, only the color rose to his forehead and his +eyes opened wider. In all his trouble and anxiety Carlo +could not help observing that he bore a comical resemblance +to the crimson shade over the lamp, with its owl's head and +round, staring eyes. How was he to make this man, of all +men in the world, understand Nita's position and sympathize +with its difficulties? While he hesitated how best to put her +case without divulging too much, the Captain recovered his +breath. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I understand that you mean to turn actor?" he asked +in a sort of hoarse roar. +</p> + +<p> +Tone and manner were alike overbearing. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo made one of his dignified little bows and said gravely, +"Merlino has offered me reasonable terms, and Piale has +long wished that I should go on the stage. Had I only my +own wishes to consult I should certainly not choose the +career of a public singer; but, sir, I promised my mother to +shield Anita, and I must do my best—I must think of her." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have thought you were bound to think of your +promised wife," said the Captain, wrathfully, "to consult her +wishes." +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca agrees with me," said Carlo; "she would +never keep me back from a duty." +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca is a fool, then. Duty, indeed! A duty to +mix yourself up with a set of idle, profligate fellows! A duty +to pander to the taste of the dissolute, and play the buffoon +on the stage, and be clapped by all the scum of the town!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo by a great effort strangled the words of angry +remonstrance which rose to his lips, and tried to understand the +feelings of an Englishman with Puritan traditions. He would +at least try to explain the state of affairs patiently. +</p> + +<p> +"It is very hard for me to understand the view you take +of the stage, sir," he began; "we Italians honor and respect +our theatre; it is not, as you would say, the haunt of the +dissolute, but the resort of the whole people——" +</p> + +<p> +The Captain interrupted him, he was all the more angry +because his companion had managed, so far, to exercise a +well-bred restraint. Some devil prompted him to rouse the +Italian's latent passion. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he said, sneeringly, "I know your national tendencies +well enough, but I had thought you were superior to +your countrymen. I see I was wrong; you are as frivolous +and pleasure-seeking as the rest of the lot; it was well said +of you Italians that you were only fit for artists' models and +the operatic stage." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo sprang to his feet, fire flashing from his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"No man is called on to sit still and hear his country +insulted," he cried. "The words are not worthy of you, sir; +I am sure you will retract them." +</p> + +<p> +"If I retract them in part I certainly still apply them to +you," said Captain Britton. "What have you proved yourself +but fickle and frivolous? You have altogether deceived +me." +</p> + +<p> +His patriotic feelings somewhat smoothed, Carlo grew a +little calmer, the personalities were less intolerable. Again +he made an effort patiently to put before the Captain the +whole case; this time he was determined that he would make +him fully comprehend it and hear it out. +</p> + +<p> +"You condemn me, sir, before you have grasped the situation," +he began, his voice so subdued by the strong restraint +he was putting on himself that it sounded low and monotonous. +In words plain enough to make the Englishman wince +he briefly described the dilemma. "Knowing this," he went +on,—"knowing, too, that my mother trusted to me to avert +the danger, you surely cannot judge me harshly for taking +this step. I knew the stage was dishonorable in your eyes, +but I thought you would see in time that for me it was a +necessity." +</p> + +<p> +The Captain had risen, too, and was pacing the room with +quick, irritated steps. Nita's story had been a severe shock +to him, Carlo's plain-speaking still caused his ears to tingle, +and the thought of any sort of connection with a family on +the borders of such a scandal was unbearable to him. He +had a just pride in his Britton ancestry, in his honest, +God-fearing forefathers; his strong love of family, his sense of +kinship, was the best part of the man. But virtues generally +have their corresponding vices, and the Captain had an +overweening idea of his own dignity, and a habit of looking on +other men's affairs from a lofty height, which often made his +judgment faulty. +</p> + +<p> +He was blind now to Carlo's unselfishness, blind to his +pain, he struck out remorselessly, thinking only how to rescue +Francesca from further connection with Madame Merlino's +brother. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't talk to me of duty and necessity," he thundered; +"you are a Jesuit in disguise, you are doing evil that good +may come, if, indeed, there is any thought of good in the +whole plan. My own belief is that you are tired of Francesca. +If so you couldn't have set to work better. I shall +certainly not give my daughter in marriage to an actor; you +may consider your betrothal at an end." +</p> + +<p> +For a minute the blow seemed to crush the very life out of +Carlo, he turned deathly white. Twice he made as though +he would speak, twice failed in the attempt, his lips refusing +to frame the words. Captain Britton felt a pang of regret +as he saw the result of his own work, but the regret was soon +swallowed up in wrathful recollections. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think you in your heart believe all that you say +of me, sir," said Donati, struggling even now to make excuse +for Francesca's father. "All I can do is to bow to your +decision. You will let me see Francesca?" +</p> + +<p> +Something in his patient dignity, in his manly forbearance, +struck a hard blow at the Captain's pride. What a contrast +there was between his own behavior and the behavior of the +Italian! The thought chafed him, and called forth a burst +of passionate anger. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall not dream of permitting you to see her," he cried +furiously. "I'll have no more of your kissing and caressing +for my daughter, you'll have enough of that at the theatre. +Keep your caresses for the <i>prima donnas</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +In an instant Carlo's whole bearing altered, the burning +color rushed to his cheeks, his eyes blazed, all his pent-up +wrath burst forth like a volcano. For an Italian nature is +not unlike the Mediterranean itself; people are tempted to +presume on that calm, blue peacefulness which looks as if it +could never be broken, and then they find themselves +suddenly overtaken by one of its sharp, characteristic storms; +and, just in the same way, they presume on the infinite +patience and the sweet nature of those Southerners whose +only wish it has seemed to please, and are amazed when they +find that sensitiveness and delicacy of perception has two +sides. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton had at length exhausted even the patience +and courtesy of an Italian; he was alarmed now at the storm +he had evoked. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's English had forsaken him, his voice, so subdued a +minute before, was now eager and passionate, his gesticulations +were vehement as he poured forth a torrent of angry +remonstrance, a storm of words so rapidly uttered that to +foreign ears they were hardly intelligible. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was only conscious of two things: that he +deserved this burst of indignation, and that he must somehow +get rid of his fiery guest. At such a moment, and in +such agitation, he was not likely to weigh his words. At +length Carlo paused for a moment, not because his wrath +had cooled, but because his breath failed him. The Captain +instantly snatched at his advantage. +</p> + +<p> +"I will at least save my child from further contact with a +deceiver!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "She is mine, and I owe +it to her to shield her from such as you." They were words +which could never be forgotten,—words which in their cruel +injustice would rankle like a poisoned arrow. The same +white-heat of passion which causes daily murders in the +Santa Lucia district leapt now to Carlo's brain, yet through +it all he was conscious of a voice in his heart which said, +"Go, go at once while you can control your limbs. Go while +there is yet time." +</p> + +<p> +The habit of a lifetime prevailed; to turn and leave his +foe was to him more bitter than death, but with a struggle +worthy of his brave progenitors, he obeyed the voice, and +strode out of the room without a word. +</p> + +<p> +He did not dare to pause for a moment, lest he should +see Francesca, or perhaps hear her voice in the distance +and be overcome. With hurried steps he crossed the +vestibule, snatched up his hat from the stand, flung his coat +across his chest, and closed the door of Casa Bella behind +him. Then he stopped for a minute, suddenly conscious +that he felt sick and giddy, and that he was still trembling +with passion. The fiend whom he had worsted assailed him +in a new form. +</p> + +<p> +"You treated him with great forbearance," it argued; +"you proved yourself his superior in every way. He ought +to apologize to you for what he said." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo walked slowly home. The idea of bringing the +Englishman to his feet and making him crave pardon soothed +him a little. "This anger shall not get the mastery of me," +he said to himself. "I will go in and make my preparations +for leaving home just as if this had not happened." +</p> + +<p> +And, with the sort of unreal strength which anger gives, +he actually did begin his sorrowful task, called the servants +together, told them that he was leaving Italy, paid them +their wages, and dismissed them. Then, more tried by the +sight of their grief and surprise than he fancied would be +the case, he sat down to his desk and began to write letters. +There was the lease of the Villa Bruno to be disposed of, it +was his for another year; he wrote to a house-agent in +Naples. There was the furniture to be sold; he wrote to an +auctioneer, asking that an early date might be fixed for the +sale. At any other time these letters must have cost him +much to write, but now he felt little, for fierce anger +crowded out grief and regret. He had not in the least +realized that he was never again to see Francesca; he could +realize nothing but that he had been insulted,—grossly +insulted, by the man who should have been his best friend. +And yet, though he was still beside himself with passion, he +was all the time aware of an inner voice urging him to +forgive. The idea made him laugh scornfully as he directed +and stamped his envelopes. What! was he to forgive one +so clearly in the wrong? He had never before felt the +difficulty of forgiving, being naturally generous and +sweet-tempered; but Captain Britton had wounded him too +deeply. Words which might have been pardoned in a mere +acquaintance, seemed unpardonable in a friend who had +known him from boyhood. The recollection of them sent +another of those maddening bursts of fury through his +frame. He pushed back his chair and began to pace the +room, wrestling with the demon of fierce hatred which +possessed him. For Francesca's sake he could have forgiven +her father almost anything, but so gross an insult to his +love—the love which he knew to be pure, and sacred, and +unblamable—was surely beyond forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +It was only slowly and by degrees that he began to reap +the fruits of his brave struggle for self-mastery. He grew a +little calmer, and turned from the torturing recollection of +the insult to an inward picture of Captain Britton himself. +Almost dispassionately he began to consider that big, broad, +massive figure, that bluff, weather-beaten face, with its +calculating, far-seeing eyes and wide mouth. Genial and friendly +as he had hitherto thought the Captain to be, he had never +given him credit for much refinement of feeling; he had +known well enough that the Englishman found it very hard +to make allowance for anything outside his own circle; he +had long been fain to admit in his own heart what he would +never have admitted, even to Enrico Ritter, that there was +in Francesca's father a slight, but unmistakable vein of +vulgarity. It was, then, only too natural that the Captain +should fail to understand the present state of things, and, so +failing, should supply hideous motives for so unaccountable +a step. Oh, yes, it was natural enough. He ought to have +been prepared for it. But the perception of this brought +him no nearer to forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +The night was now far advanced, but sleep was out of the +question in his present state. He began to roam through +the house, considering what things he should save from the +sale; some were too precious to be lost, and must be left to +Enrico's keeping; some were small enough to be reserved as +souvenirs of home, to be taken away on his wanderings. +Going up to his bedroom, his eye fell at once upon his +father's sword, which hung above the mantel-piece, and +beneath it a childish device of his own—a golden shield, and +upon it, in red letters, the name of each battle in which the +sword had been used. "Aspromonte," in larger letters +curving up to the left and right to meet the shape of the +shield, shone out conspicuously. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll not be parted from that," he said to himself, a thrill +of loving reverence passing through him and killing the +anger and hatred. "I shall, perhaps, need a sword in my +stage wardrobe, and so, after all, this will be needed to +protect Nita. It would seem like desecration to the Captain to +use it on the stage, yet it will surely be my own fault if it is +less honorable than at Aspromonte." +</p> + +<p> +His thoughts wandered back to that last vividly remembered +scene beside his father's death-bed, and a glow of +eager devotion warmed his heart as he pledged himself anew +to keep that promise, to go forth bravely as the knights of +old in defence of the weak and the tempted, to live the life +of the Crucified. +</p> + +<p> +Then, like lightning, it suddenly flashed upon him how +grievously he had failed. Self had started to the front even +in his self-sacrifice; he had borne but a few strokes from the +enemy, and at the first personal insult had thrown down his +colors; reviled, he had reviled again; suffering, he had +threatened; wounded, he had sought to wound. In anguish +he remembered that flood of scathing words, that fiery retort +which had escaped him; and yet there was One who had +borne the worst possible insults in strong silence, and he had +vowed that he would live His life! Instead, he had +suffered himself to be overcome by an unjust judgment, to be +maddened by a few words spoken by a man who had also +yielded to the same devil of pride and anger. How was he +to face the difficulties of life in Merlino's troupe when at the +very outset his temper had betrayed him? In bitter grief and +self-reproach he had to learn, as all of us have to learn, that +"We must be humbled utterly in our own conceits before +we can be peacemakers." +</p> + +<p> +After a while, he was seized with that strong desire to +start afresh which comes to every wounded soldier, whether +he fights in the legions of the Seen or the Unseen. His share +of the wrong must first be set right; that was as clear as it +was hard. He doubted if he could bring himself to do it, +but he went so far as to go down to the <i>salotto</i>, take out his +desk, and sit down with pen and paper before him. And at +length, just as faint golden streaks appeared in the horizon +heralding the day, the letter was finished and the struggle +over. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo could not rest till he had done all that could be +done, so he went out into the cold dawn, and, making his +way to the Casa Bella, dropped his missive in the letter-box. +Then, when all was over, when he knew that for the last +time he was leaving the house which contained all that he +loved, his desolation suddenly broke upon him. Wrath had +stilled grief, but now that his anger had passed Grief claimed +him for her own. His betrothal was at an end; Francesca +was no longer his; even a farewell was denied him. With +heart-broken wonder he marvelled how it was that only now +did he fully take in the idea. What was Captain Britton? +What were all the insults in the world before the one bitter, +desolating fact that he was parted from his love? +</p> + +<p> +How he got home he never knew, but he vaguely remembered +finding his way to his own room, and seeing through +a mist the sword and the red letters of "Aspromonte" +beneath. Then, in his great anguish, he had cried aloud, +"Strengthen me, O God! that I, too, may be faithful till +death." +</p> + +<p> +But, afterwards, all was a blank, and when he came to +himself the sun was far above the horizon, and he was lying +at full length upon the floor, feeling stiff, and sore, and +bruised. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. +<br><br> +A TROUBLED NIGHT. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Ah, Love! but a day<br> + And the world is changed!<br> + The sun's away,<br> + And the bird estranged;<br> + The wind has dropped,<br> + And the sky's deranged;<br> + Summer has stopped."<br> + R. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Francesca kept up bravely all through the long hours of +that Whitsun Monday; at dinner she talked a little more +than usual to cover Carlo's silence, but it was hard work, +and she gave a sigh of relief when at length the ordeal was +over, and she was free to go away alone. Carlo stood up to +open the door for her, and as she passed him she looked up +into his eyes and smiled; but once within the friendly +shelter of the drawing-room her own filled with tears. She +would have given much to run up to her room and have a +good cry; that was out of the question, however, for she +could not plead a headache when by doing so she should lose +Carlo's good-night. The sound of the dining-room door +opening made her beat a hasty retreat from the lamplight; +she stood in the shade, and made as though she were looking +out of the window, while she hurriedly dried her eyes, +for not for the world would she have been caught crying. +Mr. Britton, coming into the room, descried the slim figure +in its black lace dress, and came towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"My sweet Fran," he said, "if you will not think me the +laziest old uncle in the world, I am going to bid you good-night. +Here is a budget of letters which I shall get through +better in my own room." +</p> + +<p> +"Must you really see to them now?" she said. "Why, +it is not half a holiday if business follows you out here." +</p> + +<p> +Something in her voice made him look at her more attentively. +He saw that she was in trouble, recollected that +Carlo had scarcely spoken to her through dinner, and very +naturally leapt to the conclusion that there had been a +quarrel between the lovers. +</p> + +<p> +"I have a long letter from Kate, which, perhaps, you'll +like to see," he said. "She and Clare seem getting on +grandly at the North Cape. They know nothing of your +betrothal. May I tell them the news when I answer this?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I will tell them myself," she said, her color +deepening a little. "I will put in a line to-morrow, if I may." +</p> + +<p> +The tears welled up into her eyes again; she turned +hastily and drew his attention to the distant view of +Vesuvius with crimson flame leaping up, and summer lightning +brightening the sky in the background. But Mr. Britton +was too fond of her to be put aside; he began to feel really +anxious about her future. "Dear little niece," he said, +gently, "you must forgive an old uncle's anxiety, but are +you quite happy in your betrothal? Are you quite sure that +you have chosen the happiest life?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am sure that I have chosen the only man in the world +whom I could love," she said, recovering herself, and looking +up into her uncle's face with such a sweet, bright, love-lit +smile that he could only inwardly protest that no man +living was worthy of her. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet something is troubling you to-night?" he said, uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she said, her lips quivering; "there is something +troubling Carlo; he is going to talk it over with father, +and—and I am not quite sure how father will take it." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton looked grave. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear child, of one thing you may at least be sure," he +said, gently, "your father cares for nothing but your happiness." +</p> + +<p> +The words fitted in only too well with her own forebodings. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, why will people think of nothing but that?" she +exclaimed. "What is happiness to me when Carlo is in the +question? Uncle"—she looked up at him, appealingly—"promise +me that whatever happens you will never think +him to blame;—there are things no outsider can understand. +Promise me that you will always be his friend." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he must be a cold-hearted person who could refuse +such a petition from such lips," he said, stooping to kiss +her. "Don't be unhappy, dear little Fran; there never yet +was a betrothal which was all sunshine. Wait a little, and +your clouds will disperse. Nine o'clock! I must be off to +my desk." +</p> + +<p> +"I will send up your coffee, then. Good-night," said +Francesca, feeling a little comforted at having enlisted such +a helper as Uncle George on Carlo's side. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down near the lamp, and unfolded her cousin's +letter, trying hard to feel some interest in the account of the +voyage, and the midnight sun, and the adventures which +always seemed to occur to any one who travelled with Clare. +But it would not do; the words conveyed nothing to her +mind; she could only listen for the sound of approaching +steps, for the long delay made her feel certain that Carlo was +at that moment telling her father of his decision. +</p> + +<p> +At length, after what seemed to her a very long time, she +heard the dining-room door sharply opened and closed, then +quick steps crossing the vestibule. She listened breathlessly, +and, by a sudden impulse, started to her feet, but the +next instant she sank down again almost as though some one +had struck her, for she had heard the front door closed, and +knew that her father must have forbidden Carlo to see her +again. +</p> + +<p> +After that she felt no inclination to cry, only a sense of +cold and wretchedness—a dull, aching misery. She sat +crouched up on the sofa, still holding Kate's letter in her +hand. Presently the clock struck ten, and the study bell +was sharply rung. In a minute Dino appeared at the +drawing-room door. +</p> + +<p> +"Captain Britton is very busy, signorina," said the old +butler, "and does not wish to be disturbed again to-night. +He would be much obliged if the signorina would read +prayers." +</p> + +<p> +The good old servant had no idea how much he conveyed +to his young mistress in that commonplace message. The +words cut her to the heart, but with the true womanly +instinct to hide her wounds, she stood up quickly and said +in her usual voice, "Very well, Dino: bring in the books, +then." +</p> + +<p> +And steadily she went through the usual form, her voice +never once faltering, nor did she give way till the door of her +own room was safely locked, and she was alone for that +night of doubt, and suspense, and grief. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Captain Britton was not much happier than +the two lovers whose separation he had decreed. He felt as +soon as he had dismissed Dino that he had done a cowardly +thing; but the thought of meeting Francesca that night, or +of reading prayers in his present frame of mind, was more +than he could endure. +</p> + +<p> +At heart the Captain was a kind man; he would have +liked to please all with whom he came in contact, if only +they would be pleased in his own way; but to have his +plans crossed, to be disappointed in any matter upon which +he had set his heart, was too much for so proud a temper to +bear. +</p> + +<p> +Nor could he at all understand Carlo's knight-errantry. +That a brother under the circumstances should be beside +himself with anger, should afterwards give the traitor a good +horsewhipping, or even challenge him—this he could have +understood and approved; but the quiet surrender of home, +country, profession, and personal happiness, in the hope of +preventing the evil, this was altogether beyond him. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain liked well enough to do a good action, but it +must be an action that would be approved of men; nothing +would have induced him to take a line that would expose him +to censure; if he did a generous thing he would take good +care that it should win him the pleasant and cheering +approval of his friends and acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, in spite of his anger with Carlo's Quixotic +scheme, he was too kind-hearted a man not to regret the +harsh and wholly unjustifiable words which had escaped him +in the heat of the moment. Keen shame made the color +mount to his forehead as he remembered that he had insulted +a guest at his own table. The thought of this troubled him +more than anything. It haunted him all through the night. +He regretted deeply the pain he must give to Francesca; he +felt bitterly disappointed that the marriage should now be +out of the question. He was still indignant with Carlo's +blind foolishness in going on the stage; but everything +faded into insignificance before the one great regret,—a +regret which would follow the Captain to his grave,—that +for once in his life he had been guilty of a breach of +hospitality. +</p> + +<p> +If sleep refused to visit either Carlo or Francesca that +night, it was equally cruel to Captain Britton. He tossed +and turned till the bed-clothes were in a state of chaotic +confusion; he tried the window open, he tried the window shut, +he tried a light, he tried total darkness, he paced the room, +he counted alternate black and white sheep going through a +gate, he ate bread, he smoked a cigar,—in fact, he tried all +the remedies for sleeplessness he had ever heard of. +</p> + +<p> +At last he gave up all thoughts of rest for that night, and +began to wonder how his neighbor was faring; the young +Italian's face haunted him. Now he saw him boyish, eager, +and impulsive, coming nearly five years ago to tell of his love +for Francesca, and receiving his sentence of probation with +an odd mixture of hope, despair, and courtesy. Again he +recalled the day—only three weeks ago, in reality, though it +seemed more like three months—when Sibyl had run down +to find him in the olive-garden, bearing that significant card +with the words, "Avvocato Carlo Poerio Donati," which +conveyed to him so much. He remembered hastening back +to the house, and could see again in imagination the bright +look of hope which had flashed like sudden sunshine over +Carlo's face when he had told him to go and find Francesca +in the belvedere. And then, lastly, and most vividly of all, +he recalled that face as he had last seen it. Such anger once +seen is never forgotten; and the Captain knew that so +generous and sweet-tempered a man must have been almost +maddened by pain before his face could have worn that look +of vindictive fury, before his eyes could have blazed with +the fierce glow that recalled to him the eyes of a wounded +lion. Had the Captain been a coward, or even a man with +highly strung nerves, he would have trembled before such a +look, for to meet such eyes is to look death in the face. +But, with all his faults, he was a staunch, brave-hearted +Englishman, and all that he had felt was a great surprise when +the fierce gleam had suddenly died away, and Carlo had +turned sharply round on his heel and left him without a +word. +</p> + +<p> +He wondered what had happened to him afterwards, and +began to feel troubled as he remembered the desolateness of +the Villa Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +Only a fortnight had passed since the gentle Signora +Donati had been laid in her grave; he had forgotten all that +when in sudden wrath he had driven her son away. Bitterly +did he now repent the unkindness. Had he been an +imaginative man, he would have conjured up a tragic ending to +that night's work, and have suffered yet more; but, luckily, +he was not of an imaginative turn, so he was only vaguely +and increasingly miserable. +</p> + +<p> +Then he began to think of poor little Francesca, doomed +through his angry command never to see her lover again. +No; at least he would yield on that point, he would go to +see Carlo after breakfast, would apologize to him for his +hastiness, and permit him to come once more to the Casa +Bella and take leave of Francesca. This idea gave the poor +Captain a little relief, but he groaned aloud as he thought of +all the grief in store for his child. +</p> + +<p> +At length he heard the welcome sounds of life in the house. +The night was over; Rosetta was banging the door-mat +vigorously against the porch; Dino was tramping up and +down the marble passages, fetching and carrying. Presently +there was the refreshing sound of the rap at his door and the +servant's familiar summons, "Half-past seven, signor, and a +fine morning." +</p> + +<p> +The Captain rose more promptly than usual, unlocked his +door, and took in his hot-water can; on the lid there lay an +envelope directed to him in Carlo's handwriting. He tore it +open with a sense of sickening anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +What was it that brought a sudden mist before his eyes? +Only a short, manly letter,—a letter of apology from the man +whom he had wronged. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had forestalled him, and the letter which had cost +the writer so much cost the reader yet more. There was +very little in it, with its careful English and neat foreign +writing; but the words had come straight from the heart, +and they went straight as an arrow to the heart of the +Captain. +</p> + +<p> +The Brittons, though so long resident in Italy, kept +English hours and breakfasted all together at eight o'clock. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain came down that morning with a curiously +guilty feeling. Francesca was in the dining-room before +him, apparently absorbed in coffee-making. He glanced at +her anxiously, and saw that she was pale and worn, and looked +as if she had cried till she could cry no longer. She felt her +father's anxious glance and winced beneath it. Uncle +George, with more tact, made as though he noticed nothing, +and adroitly kept the conversation going; while Sibyl was +luckily at that unobservant age which takes no account of faces +when once they have become familiar. It was an uncomfortable +meal, and they all hailed as a relief the appearance of +the Captain of the <i>Pilgrim</i>, a weather-beaten Scotchman, +who had driven over with a telegram which had just arrived +for Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton had never felt more glad to have a guest +to whom he could show hospitality. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, Captain, you must breakfast with us after your +long drive!" he exclaimed, in his hearty voice. "Sibyl, run +and tell Dino to lay another place." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, sir," said the Captain, drawing a chair to the +table; "I breakfasted on the yacht, but I will be glad of a +cup of coffee if Miss Britton has some for a late comer. I +thought I'd better come over with the telegram, sir," he +continued, turning to the owner of the <i>Pilgrim</i>, "for I had a +feeling it might mean a change of plans." +</p> + +<p> +"Second-sight on your part, Captain," said Mr. Britton, +looking up; "I am sorry to say it does mean a change of +plans and an end to my holiday. I must go home at once." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing wrong at Merlebank, I hope?" said his brother, +while Francesca and Sibyl listened anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no; it is only a business affair, but I must be home +by Friday at latest. I'm afraid the <i>Pilgrim</i> would hardly +manage that, Captain, eh?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a general laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that would be expecting a little too much of a +sailing yacht," said Captain Graham. "I'm sorry, sir, you +are called back to England. We had looked to have a +pleasant cruise." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"No peace to the wicked; eh, Francesca? In this world it +is always the way that some people have more work than +they wish, and others not so much. I should like a few +words with you, John, in the study." +</p> + +<p> +The brothers went off together, and the old Scotch +Captain turned to Sibyl. +</p> + +<p> +"What would you say to a cruise, Miss Sibyl? I think +that would be just the thing for you. You'd make a fine +little sailor." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, dear Captain Graham, do coax Uncle George to let +me!" cried Sibyl, in an ecstasy. "Oh, Fran, wouldn't it be +lovely!" +</p> + +<p> +Francesca smiled faintly, not wishing to damp the little +girl's pleasure, but feeling a little more wretched than before, +as she wondered whether possibly her father might think it +best to send her away from home. +</p> + +<p> +"Sea air would do you all the good in the world, miss," +said Captain Graham, glancing at her pale face; "it's only +a pity none of your cousins are on board, then we should +have a merry party. Miss Kate, she doesn't care for the +yacht, but the others, why, they are as good as sailors! Miss +Lucy and Miss Molly, they kept a watch all through our last +cruise; and as to little Miss Flo, why, she'd like to live on +board." +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, in the study, the owner of the <i>Pilgrim</i> was +trying to do all in his power for his pretty niece. He had +guessed, both from her face and his brother's depression, +that there must have been a quarrel with young Donati on +the previous night. He hoped he might be able to set things +straight again before he left, but he had no idea how serious +was the state of affairs. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, John," he said, closing the door of the study, +"it has just struck me, why shouldn't you all have a trip in +the yacht now she is here? There will be plenty of room +for you, and the girls, and young Donati, and a couple of +other friends besides, if you like. Now do think of it, for it +quite vexes me that the <i>Pilgrim</i> should be all down here to +no purpose." +</p> + +<p> +"You are very good," said Captain Britton, hesitatingly; +"for myself there is nothing I should so much like; indeed, +I must get away somewhere, I feel quite knocked up with +this tiresome affair." +</p> + +<p> +"What affair?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I meant to have told you all about it to-day. Poor +little Francesca's engagement is broken off!" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me! how is that? You don't mean to say he is +tired of her already?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, that's the worst of it; the fellow is desperately in +love with her still, but I have had to put a stop to it. I +never was so disappointed in a man in my life." +</p> + +<p> +"It's a grave affair," said Mr. Britton, thoughtfully, "for +I fancy little Fran's heart is quite given away." +</p> + +<p> +"That is the miserable part of it. I wish she had never +seen Donati! I wish I'd never come to this place!" and +the poor Captain sighed heavily. +</p> + +<p> +"But have you not, perhaps, been a trifle hasty?" said +his brother, remembering the promise he had made to Francesca +on the previous night. "Though starting with plenty +of insular prejudice against the man I was very much +struck with him yesterday. There is something noble +about his face. Surely he can't be guilty of any great +offence?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is guilty of the greatest offence possible, he is guilty +of an utter want of common sense," said the Captain, angrily. +"I thought we had made half an Englishman of him, but I +might have known that with his Italian blood and his foolish +radical ideas we should sooner or later fall foul of one +another." +</p> + +<p> +"You are surely not going to break off the engagement +because of political differences?" said Mr. Britton, getting +quite on to the wrong tack. +</p> + +<p> +"Mere opinions are nothing to me," said the Captain, +"but when the fellow acts—acts upon his insane ideas—comes +to me and deliberately tells me that he has taken a +course which will make his marriage with Francesca out of +the question for an indefinite time, what can you expect me +to say?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't wonder you were very much vexed about it." +</p> + +<p> +"Vexed! I was never in such a heat in my life. Wrong +as the fellow was, I am bound to apologize to him for what I +said. I'll not shirk that, though I do believe the mere sight +of him will put me out of temper again." +</p> + +<p> +"You think there is no hope, then, of setting matters +straight? Surely you would submit to almost anything +rather than put Francesca to so much pain. What if her +lover is a little high-flown in his notions? Anything is +better than callousness and indifference." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't explain it all to you, for did I do so I should +break Donati's confidence, but soon you will see for yourself +what line he has taken up, and then you will see that my +anger is at least excusable. To permit the engagement to +go on is out of the question while he still keeps to his +resolution; Miss Claremont, I am sure, would agree with me. +He is deliberately choosing a career which is bound to +degrade him—he is taking the high road to hell." +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was working himself up into wrathful indignation +again. Mr. Britton could only imagine that Donati +had avowed his connection with some secret political society +such as he believed to exist in Italy. He saw that it was +useless to attempt any further remonstrance. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, if this is really quite at an end," he said, +hesitatingly, "would it not be doubly desirable that you should +all leave the neighborhood for a time? Take a month's +cruise in the <i>Pilgrim</i>. There is no chance of my using her +again till August." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you could have been with us too," said the Captain, +with a sigh. "Must you really go off at once?" +</p> + +<p> +"I must be off this evening, there's no help for it," said +Mr. Britton. "I would give much to be with you, but this +business will bear no delay—I feel like a school-boy cheated +of his holiday. But look, let us decide this matter while +Captain Graham is here. When would you like to start?" +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow—no. To-morrow Count Carossa dines with +us—but on Thursday—I really think we might start on +Thursday. It's very good of you, George, to propose it. +You've no idea what a relief it will be to me, for we are such +near neighbors to Donati that it would be very unpleasant to +be here." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that's settled, then," said Mr. Britton. "I'll go +and tell Graham to make preparation for you. He will be +enchanted to have you on board." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. +<br><br> +"PAZIENZA." +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "We may not make this world a paradise<br> + By walking it together, hand in hand,<br> + With eyes that meeting feed a double strength.<br> + We must be only joined by pains divine<br> + Of spirits blent in mutual memories."<br> + <i>Spanish Gipsy.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Captain Britton had seldom felt more ill at ease than +when he walked that morning up to the door of the Villa +Bruno. A sallow, wrinkled old servant, with a gay, scarlet +neckerchief, was polishing the door-handle; she nodded to +him cheerfully as he approached. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning to you, signor; walk in. You'll find the +master in the <i>salotto</i>." +</p> + +<p> +She made no sign of leaving her door-handle and duster, +and indeed the Captain had long ago asked leave to walk +into his neighbor's house without ceremony, and the Signora +Donati and Carlo, though disliking his unheralded intrusion, +had been far too courteous to return a negative to the +tactless request. He crossed the vestibule and was about to +enter the <i>salotto</i> when a sound of voices within made him +pause, hesitate a moment, and then go instead into an +adjoining room. +</p> + +<p> +He had recognized the voice of Guido Donati, and guessed +correctly that the uncle had driven over in hot haste from +Naples on learning his nephew's startling plan. That he +was exceedingly annoyed could be gathered from the tone of +his voice and from the vehement and extraordinarily rapid +utterance, which reminded the Captain of Carlo's tirade on +the preceding night. At last the violent harangue came to +an end, and Carlo's voice was heard; it was low but distinct, +and the Captain could not avoid hearing the words— +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry to vex you, uncle, but my mind is made up." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Madonna Santissima!</i> it is made up, is it?" said the +other, furiously. "Then mine, too, is made up; and I am +sorry to vex you, but not a penny of mine shall you ever +inherit. Do you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence, but Captain Britton could well imagine +the expressive gesture which Carlo would make. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Diavolo</i>!" cried the uncle. "You take it calmly. You +think you will live comfortably enough on that voice of +yours, and laugh at the rich old uncle. You will tell a +different tale a few years hence, my fine fellow, when you +have a wife and children to support!" +</p> + +<p> +"I shall never marry," said Carlo, speaking more shortly +than the Captain had ever before heard an Italian speak. +</p> + +<p> +"What?" cried Uncle Guido. "Then you have thrown +over your betrothal for this mad scheme? An apoplexy on +you! I'll have no more to do with such a fool;" and with +that he strode out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain only waited till he was sure the angry man +had really gone, and then he knocked at the door of the +<i>salotto</i>. Nothing but a conscientious sense of duty could +have induced him to face at that moment his guest of the +previous evening; but there was a certain rugged loyalty +about Francesca's father, and he walked sturdily into the +room, bracing himself up to make the necessary apology. +Carlo was standing at the side window, the sunlight fell full +upon him, and revealed to the Captain a very different face +to the one which had haunted him through the night—a face +worn with suffering, but strong and resolute, spite of its +haggard look. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon for intruding, but the servant told me +to come in," began the Captain, approaching him. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo turned with an inarticulate exclamation, the blood +rushed to his face, and a look of distress dawned in his eyes; +he was tired out with all he had been through, and felt +wholly unequal to another stormy discussion. +</p> + +<p> +But he welcomed his visitor with native ceremoniousness, +betraying only by additional courtesy any remembrance of +the quarrel. The Captain remembered the letter of the +morning, and all his kindly feelings returned to him, as he +said heartily— +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo, I have come to apologize for the words which +escaped me yesterday. I regret them more than I can tell +you. You had every excuse for your anger." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo grasped his hand. "No, no," he said, quickly, "I +was very much to blame. I am glad, sir—it is a great +relief to me—that last night was not our parting. I am +grateful to you for coming here to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"I must also apologize for having inadvertently overheard +some of your uncle's words," said the captain, who felt very +uncomfortable when he remembered his involuntary +eavesdropping. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew Uncle Guido would be very much against this +plan," said Carlo; and as he spoke he threw himself wearily +into a chair facing Captain Britton's. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was struck by the look of extreme physical +exhaustion both in the face and the attitude; he began to +realize the difference between his own physique and that of +the Italian, and faintly to understand that Carlo had a +greater capacity for feeling pain than he had himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you realize that this scheme of yours—this scheme +which I still most strongly disapprove—would cost you so +dear?" he asked abruptly. "Did you think your uncle +would have disinherited you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't think about the money at all," said Carlo; "but +I knew he would be annoyed." +</p> + +<p> +"But does this make no change in your feeling? Are +you willing to lose every single thing you possess, and even +to forfeit the respect of your friends for the sake of this +plan?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he said simply; "I am willing, sir." +</p> + +<p> +When he had spoken he let his head drop wearily on to his +hand; he was calm with the calm of blank bereavement, for +like the princess in the poem, he had found that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Not to fear because all is taken<br> + Is the loneliest depth of human pain."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The Captain sighed. He was not angry now, only very +much annoyed at the impossibility of inducing one bereft of +common-sense to see reason. +</p> + +<p> +"You make light of the loss of income," he said at length; +"but how will you fare supposing you fall ill?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked up with an odd sort of a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you will think me unpractical," he said; "but I +have never been ill in my life, and I had not considered that +possibility. However, my salary is a tolerably fair one for a +novice, and if the worst comes to the worst there are always +the hospitals." +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo," broke in the Captain, "I can't bear to think of +one who has led the life you have led going out into such a +world. What would your poor mother have said to it?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's face lighted up as if the suggestion had given him +some unexpected comfort. +</p> + +<p> +"At least our dead understand us," he said, fervently; +"they know that I am trying to keep my promise." +</p> + +<p> +The Captain felt that his small stock of patience would not +last much longer, and Carlo, glancing at him, saw that their +parting, though peaceful, would be final; he knew intuitively +that although the Captain had taken back some of his harsh +words, he still regarded him as at any rate a self-deceived +deceiver, a man who under the cloak of duty veiled his craving +for change and excitement, or, at best, as an enthusiast +who could but be despised for giving up solid realities for +foolish dreams. Their friendship was at an end; for, though +love is undying, friendship is quite a different thing, and +there are shocks which it will not survive. +</p> + +<p> +"There is one other thing I wished to say," said Captain +Britton, rising, "and that is, that if you wish you may have +one more interview with Francesca." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo caught eagerly at this boon, and the Captain +suggested that he should return with him to Casa Bella. +</p> + +<p> +"Does she know of——" he hesitated how to put it, "of +your decision?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have not spoken to her about it, but I know she infers +it," said the Captain, rather coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo paced the room for a minute, struggling with his +emotion; he was not sure whether he had strength to meet +Francesca and tell her with his own lips that all was over +between them. +</p> + +<p> +"If you wish to see her we had better come at once," said +the Captain. "My brother is unexpectedly called back to +England, and we have much to see to to-day." +</p> + +<p> +He was vexed that Donati did not show more gratitude +for the concession he had made, for he was a man who liked +to be thanked, and it had not been easy for him to retract +what he had first said. Something in his tone stung Carlo; +he drew himself together. "<i>Ebbene, signor</i>," he said gravely, +forgetting his English, as he often did when much moved, +and recovering it with an effort. "If you will permit it I +will accompany you." +</p> + +<p> +They walked away from the Villa Bruno in silence, Carlo +thinking of the Captain's words, "We have much to see to +to-day." How calmly he classed the supreme struggle of his +life, the parting that was as death to him, with the trivial +household commotion caused by Mr. Britton's journey. +</p> + +<p> +But once back in his own house the Captain's kinder feelings +returned; he took Carlo to the Rose-room, then held +out his hand cordially. +</p> + +<p> +"This had better be our final parting," he said, "I leave +home on Thursday. Good-bye, Carlo. Should you even +now see fit to give up this foolish scheme I should be quite +willing to reconsider matters." +</p> + +<p> +"My mind is made up, sir," said Carlo, turning sadly +away. +</p> + +<p> +"So it appears. Well, I will send Francesca to you." +</p> + +<p> +He closed the door; and Carlo, with a choking feeling in +his throat, looked round the dear, familiar room, the very +untidiness of which breathed of Francesca. The "Dying +Gladiator" for Clare reposed perilously on a shaky pile of +books; a kitten was worrying a ball of red wool on the sofa; +and the sock in process of knitting, and which he knew had +been intended for him, lay at a little distance on the floor. +He turned to the window, and looked out at his old friend +Vesuvius with its cloud of smoke, and at the glimpses of +blue sea visible here and there between the trees. Then, +with an aching consciousness that these were left to him, +but that he should never more stand in that little room, he +turned and looked round it, as though he wished to stamp +forever on his mind all its girlish decorations, all its familiar +details. But the sound of footsteps without roused him +and dispelled his calm; the door opened, and Francesca +came quickly forward to greet him; she always entered a +room more quickly, yet more gracefully than other people, +but now she almost ran towards him, she wanted him not to +notice her wan, tear-stained face. +</p> + +<p> +If, however, in one sense love is blind, in another it is +all-observant; in one glance he had read all, and in that glance +there came to him the sharpest of his suffering. +</p> + +<p> +Stifling the sobs that rose in his throat he held her in a +long, close embrace, but to speak was impossible; and +though there was comfort and rapture in her presence, yet +there was also anguish which threatened to unman him. At +length he put her gently from him, and turned away that he +might fight down his emotion. For a few minutes there was +silence, then he came and sat beside her on the sofa, and, +putting his arm round her, drew her head down on to his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Carina</i>," he said, and the mellow baritone voice was +firm, yet terribly sad, "your father would not let me see you +last night, but to-day he allows me this one more meeting with +you. He said he had not spoken to you, but that you knew +what had passed between us." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she said, her tears raining down quietly, "I knew +it must be so when I heard you go." +</p> + +<p> +They talked sometimes in English, sometimes in Italian, as +had been their custom ever since childhood. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling," he said, tenderly, "I am bound to obey your +father's decree; there could be no right betrothal for us +without his consent, and so you stand free once more. You +must try, <i>carina</i>, not to let these three short weeks spoil your +life; you will try, my own, my darling, for it would break my +heart if I thought I had ruined your happiness." +</p> + +<p> +"Love ought not to weaken us," she said tremulously, for +in her heart she felt that apart from Carlo she should be like +a rudderless boat. "These three weeks ought to give me +courage for the rest." +</p> + +<p> +There was indescribable sadness in the last two words. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, darling," cried Carlo, passionately, "don't speak of +your beautiful young life like that." +</p> + +<p> +And then he was silent again. All the strength and +ardor of their mutual love seemed to rise up against the +Captain's decree; if for the present they were fain to obey it +and to part, yet hopes for the future would rise; perhaps +each intuitively knew what was in the other's heart, but no +words passed between them; indeed, when Carlo did speak +it was almost as if he wished to reason away any brightness +which might hover over their future. +</p> + +<p> +"You see, my darling," he said, "even should this immediate +danger no longer keep me from you, even if Nita no +longer needed me, I shall have cut myself off from you +hopelessly,—we must face that. I shall by that time, if I +succeed at all, be to the world Donati the singer, and your +father would certainly not choose me for his son-in-law. +Then, again, Uncle Guido has disinherited me, so that if I +give up the stage I should be penniless and more or less +unfitted for work as an advocate." +</p> + +<p> +"Has he indeed disinherited you? Oh, Carlino, what +troubles you have had! Don't let me be another, darling. +See, I'll not cry any more; we must think of what is still left +us. The worst they can do to us is to keep us apart; they +can't kill our love, they can't check our prayers for each +other—the best part, the highest part no one can meddle with." +</p> + +<p> +He held her closely, murmuring tender Italian words of +endearment; and the clock on the mantel-piece ticked on +inexorably, measuring all too quickly the time which, when +they were parted, would move with leaden feet. Rosalind +should surely have said "parting lovers" rather than a +"thief going to the gallows" when asked, "Who gallops +Time withal?" And still they lingered over the sweet, +unwritable talk till the clock relentlessly struck twelve, and +roused them to the recollection of the outer world. +</p> + +<p> +Then Francesca drew off her engagement ring, and placed +it in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"There, Carlo," she said, steadily, "I give you back the +ring and your troth, and I will obey my father, and will +neither hear from you nor write to you; but more than that +no woman can promise, for love is not made and unmade to +order." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo put on the ring, which from a token of union had +now become changed to a token of separation. He was too +heart-broken to speak, and after a long pause it was +Francesca who at length broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me a little more of the sort of life you shall live," she +said, gently. +</p> + +<p> +So he told her all that he knew, which was little enough; +how he should live with the Merlinos, try to win his sister's +love, study hard for his profession, do his best to be a credit +to Piale. +</p> + +<p> +"And you?" he asked. "There will be new neighbors for +you at Villa Bruno, but it is hardly likely that it will be used +by another occupant except during the summer months." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! will it be let?" asked Francesca, her eyes filling. +"Well, I hope we shall not know the people who take it. +For the rest, darling, you can picture me as living the old +life, going into Naples on Sunday, teaching Sibyl, rowing with +Florestano. But for this next month we are to go for a cruise +in the <i>Pilgrim</i>, and perhaps next year I may go to England." +</p> + +<p> +"You would like to be with Clare?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; though I suppose father will not like me to tell her +now of these three weeks, and it will be hard that she should +never know. Carlo, why should not you go to see Clare +when you are in England?" +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"She would disapprove too strongly of my change of +professions," he said; "and it is not a change that I can +explain to all the world. Then, too, she lives in your uncle's +house, and, after what has happened, he would hardly care +to have me there." +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle George likes you very much," said Francesca, +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo did not reply, but he thought differently. It was not +then, however, that he could care to discuss so trifling a +matter; time was passing, and he knew that Captain Britton +must already be expecting him to go. The thought broke +down all his self-control; his calmness gave place to a +passionate outburst of love and grief, which recalled to Francesca +his sudden change in the belvedere when he had first asked +for her love. +</p> + +<p> +She clung to him now as she had done then, but it was not +of love and present bliss which she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Patience, Carlo <i>mio</i>; patience," she whispered. "It is, +after all, that which we need." +</p> + +<p> +The word brought back to him the recollection of his dying +father, and calmed the tumult of feeling. He held her sweet +face between his hands, looked long into those pure eyes, +and grew strong once more. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Pazienza!</i>" he murmured, clasping her again in his arms. +"God have you in His keeping." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * +</p> + +<p> +At the gate of Casa Bella Mr. George Britton, much to his +dismay, chanced to encounter the owner of Villa Bruno, quite +the last man he would have chosen to meet. All that he +could do was to assume that nothing had happened, and to +bid him a courteous farewell. He held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo turned upon him a face which haunted the kindly +Englishman for many months to come. But, even in his +anguish, he could not be otherwise than courteous; a look of +effort passed over his deathly features, and +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "With pale lips<br> + That seemed to motion for a smile in vain,"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +he said, as he bowed over the Englishman's hand, "<i>Buon +viaggio, signor! A rivederci!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. +<br><br> +THE NEW BARITONE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Small spheres hold small fires.<br> + But he loved largely, as a man can love<br> + Who, baffled in his love, dares live his life,<br> + Accept the ends which God loves for his own,<br> + And lift a constant aspect."<br> + E. B. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was a hot summer morning, and two ragged little Neapolitans +were sauntering along the Chiaja; the elder had flung +his arm caressingly round the other's neck, the younger held +in his hand a ragged cap full of cherries, from which they +were eating contentedly as they walked. A carriage rolled +past them, and both boys looked up with sharp, eager eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Gran Dio!</i>" cried one. "Look! yonder goes Comerio +the singer." +</p> + +<p> +"'Tis he himself," said the other, with a look of interest; +"and in a vile temper, too; his brow is black as a starless +night!" +</p> + +<p> +"They say he beats his wife," said the elder boy, with a +laugh, which was only checked by the offer of a ripe red +cherry which his brother held up to his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the carriage had gone by, and Comerio was, +before long, set down at the entrance to Palazzo Forti. He +paid the driver, and then, with no very amiable expression, +made his way up the long stone staircase and rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +A maid-servant, whom he had tried unsuccessfully to bribe +on former occasions, opened the door to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Signor Merlino at the theatre?" he asked, anxious to +know whether the coast was clear. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, signor," replied the girl. "What message can I +give him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I will give it to Signora Merlino," said the visitor, +preparing to enter. +</p> + +<p> +The maid showed all her teeth in a merry smile. +</p> + +<p> +"But the Signora is still at rehearsal." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Orsù</i>!" exclaimed Comerio, impatiently, "I might have +known. Well, I will come in then, and wait till they +return." +</p> + +<p> +He was shown into a little ante-room, where for a few +minutes he paced to and fro, but suddenly becoming +conscious that in the next room some one was monotonously +humming <i>La donna è mobile</i>, he hastily entered and glanced +round. At first nothing was visible, but after a moment or +two he discovered the singer, a little brown-eyed boy of four +years old, who was perched on the window-still, and half +hidden by the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning, Gigi," he said pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +The little fellow flung aside the curtain; he seemed very +glad to see the visitor. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning, signor," he said, smiling till his sallow +little face looked almost pretty. "Are there——" he looked +longingly, yet hesitatingly, in the direction of Comerio's +pocket,—"are there any bonbons?" +</p> + +<p> +Comerio made a gesture of mock despair. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Gigi, how can I have forgotten? I promised you +some <i>marrons glacês</i>, did I not? but, indeed, the bad news of +this morning drove everything out of my head." +</p> + +<p> +"What bad news?" said the little boy, with an anxious +look that seemed to be beyond his years. +</p> + +<p> +"I am going away, Gigi; I shall never travel about with +you any more. There will be a new baritone,—one who is +not likely to carry <i>marrons glacês</i> in his pocket, or to play +games with you, for he sets up for being a saint." +</p> + +<p> +"A saint?" said the child. "What is that? I thought +they were things in the sky." +</p> + +<p> +"A saint is one who is fond of keeping other people in +order. San Carlo will spy out in no time what a naughty +little monkey you are." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish he wasn't coming," said the child, looking ready +to cry. "I don't see why saints want to sing in operas; +they should stop in heaven." +</p> + +<p> +Comerio laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite right, little one, so they should," he said, patting +Gigi's head. "But look, my Gigi, will you do one little +thing for your old friend, to please him for the last time?" +</p> + +<p> +The boy nodded and looked up with bright, intelligent +eyes into the wily face of the baritone. +</p> + +<p> +Comerio drew out a letter and placed it in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"When your mother comes home, run after her into her +room, and when you find her alone—quite alone—give this +note to her. Do you understand? It is a secret; no one +else must know—no one at all." +</p> + +<p> +"I know, I know; I can keep a secret!" cried Gigi, +gleefully. "Mamma and I often keep secrets from papa, she +taught me how, soon as ever I left Salem." +</p> + +<p> +Comerio gave a cynical smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Mind you do," he said, commandingly. "I shall find +out if you play me false. And look here, little one, here are +two <i>lire</i> for you, and you can tell any one you like that +Comerio came to say good-bye to you, and told you to +spend that at Caflisch's. There, I must go now. Don't +forget me." +</p> + +<p> +He stooped and kissed the little sallow face, then hastily +took his departure, having seen that the letter was securely +stowed away in the child's pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi, with a thoughtful look, poked his closely cropped +head out of the window and watched Comerio as he walked +down the street. He was hardly out of sight when a +carriage drew up at the door,—a carriage with one gentleman +seated in it, and with luggage on the box. Gigi's head was +promptly withdrawn, and, in a sudden access of terror, he +wrapped himself round in the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +"I do b'lieve," he said to himself in English, "I do b'lieve +it is San Carlo." +</p> + +<p> +After a time he heard the door of the ante-room opened +and the servant's voice saying that the Signora would soon +be back from rehearsal; then another voice, so clear and +sweet that the child almost forgot to be afraid, said in reply, +"Very well, I will come in here, then, and wait." +</p> + +<p> +The footsteps drew nearer. Gigi shook in his shoes, yet +felt a burning curiosity to see the new-comer—this dread +being who was to be ever on the watch to spy out his +faults. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger seemed to walk up to the piano and to turn +over the books lying upon it; then there was such complete +silence that Gigi felt sure he must be reading, and ventured +to peer out from his hiding-place. +</p> + +<p> +He saw that the visitor was leaning in an easy attitude +over the piano, his head propped up by his hand, and his +eyes bent upon the score of some opera. Gigi could only +see his side face, but that fascinated him, and somehow he +did not feel any longer afraid. He was impatient to attract +the stranger's notice, but, though he moved the curtain, it +was of no use, the new-comer seemed quite absorbed in the +music he was reading. At last, in despair, Gigi resolved to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +"San Carlo!" he said, timidly thrusting his head a little +further forward. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger looked up in surprise, and when he saw the +quaint little face peeping out from the curtain, he came +forward a few steps, looking very much puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," said Gigi, politely, "but I think you are +the new baritone." +</p> + +<p> +Something in this address so tickled the stranger that he +began to laugh. His laugh was a very pleasant one. +</p> + +<p> +"You have guessed rightly," he said, "but I am not so +clever, and cannot guess your name at all." +</p> + +<p> +"I am Gigi," said the child, gravely. "Signor Sardoni +laughs at my name and says it is only fit for a pony, but +then he is only an Englishman and knows no better; though, +after all, I like him, and I like to talk in English, as we did +at Salem." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the little fellow lifted a pair of beautiful dark +eyes to the stranger's face; his eyes were his only beauty, +they were wonderfully expressive, and something in their +depths was familiar to the new-comer. He came closer and +studied the child's face more attentively. +</p> + +<p> +"Gigi," he said, "I think you must be my little nephew, +though no one has taken the trouble to tell me of your +existence." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," said the child—they were talking now in +English—"I have an uncle, but he is not like you; he is +not the new baritone; he is rich, and lives in a beautiful +villa in the country." +</p> + +<p> +"He lives there no longer; the villa is to be let, and he +is coming to live with you," said the stranger, taking the +child on his knee. "Come, tell me the rest of your name, +Gigi." +</p> + +<p> +"I have three," said Gigi, with dignity, "though they +alluse call me Gigi for short. My whole name is Luigi +Bruno Merlino, and I shall be four next month." +</p> + +<p> +"Then there is no doubt that I am your uncle," said +Carlo, kissing the child on both cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +But Gigi, with a shrewd look much beyond his years, +shook his head emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +"If you are the new baritone, then you are San Carlo, +and San Carlo could hardly be my uncle. You set up for +being a saint, you know, and are fond of keeping other +people in order; and you will never play games, but will +alluse know when I do what is wrong. I badly wished you +weren't coming, but somehow you are not quite what I +thought." +</p> + +<p> +The child's words were so comical that they carried no +sting; Carlo could only smile at them. +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad of that," he said, patting the closely cropped +head. "You must have been expecting a regular ogre." +</p> + +<p> +"No, not an ogre, but a saint. It was Signor Comerio +that told me about you." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," said Carlo, unpleasantly enlightened; "you see, as +Signor Comerio and I have never met, he can only have +drawn a fancy picture of me." +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry Signor Comerio is going, he was to have +given me some <i>marrons glacês</i>, but he gave me two <i>lire</i> +instead just now—at least he said so. It was a bit of paper, +but he said I was to spend it. In America we alluse have +proper money. Do you think this paper will really buy me +<i>marrons glacês</i> at Caflisch's?" +</p> + +<p> +He began to grope in his pocket, and drew forth an +envelope. Carlo could not help seeing that it was +addressed to Signora Merlino. A sudden recollection flashed +across him of his interview in that very room with Sardoni, +and of the Englishman's assurance that Merlino watched +his wife's correspondence with lynx eyes, and did not +scruple to open all her letters. And Comerio had +apparently just been to Palazzo Forti. +</p> + +<p> +"How stupid I are!" said Gigi, thrusting the envelope +back again. "Did you see, San Carlo?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I did," said Carlo, without any comment. +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Comerio said you would always spy out everything," +said the child, pouting. "It was a secret, and I +promised to keep it; and he will be so angry when he finds +out." +</p> + +<p> +"If you promised to give the letter, you must do so," said +Carlo, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but no one else was to see it," said Gigi, beginning +to cry. "Oh, dear San Carlo, do promise not to tell, for +when Signor Comerio is angry he looks so fierce, and it +does frighten me." +</p> + +<p> +"No one shall hurt you," said Carlo, putting his arm +round the child. "Don't cry, Gigi; I am very fond of +you. No one shall hurt you at all." +</p> + +<p> +"And you won't tell papa?" said Gigi, still sobbing. +"You see there are things that must be kept from papa, +and mamma taught me how when I came away from +Salem." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo felt sick at heart; he remembered how on that +Sunday a fortnight ago he had first felt the sensation of +coming unexpectedly into a network of evil; now he realized +that it was in the very midst of this that he had ordained to +live, and he shuddered as the little child composedly +described his training in deceit. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you sit looking so silent, San Carlo?—I mean, +looking so grave?" said Gigi, drying his eyes. "Are you +angry with me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I am not at all angry; but I am very sorry you +promised to give that letter and to keep that secret." +</p> + +<p> +"Are all secrets wrong?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, there are some things we cannot tell to every one, +but they must never be things of which we are ashamed. +Suppose you had a beautiful diamond, and were travelling +along a road where you feared brigands, you would hide +your treasure quite away, and that would be right and wise; +but, if you had stolen a diamond from a shop in the Toledo, +and hid it for fear of having it taken from you, that would be +wrong; do you see?" +</p> + +<p> +"And was Signor Comerio ashamed of his secret, and +afraid that it would be found out and taken away from +him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he was," said Carlo; "and that is why I was sorry +you had not said 'no' when he asked you to help him." +</p> + +<p> +"I will say 'no' another time," said Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"That's right," said Carlo, kissing him, and then he +quickly turned the conversation, afraid that the child might +question him further, and lose faith in his mother. +</p> + +<p> +They were still sitting in the window when Anita returned +from rehearsal. She gave a little cry of astonishment +when she saw her brother, and came forward quickly to +greet him. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino!" she exclaimed, in her excitement returning to +his old childish name. "Are you come already? My husband +has only to-day told me of your decision." She drew +him a little away from the child, and the tears rose to her +eyes as she said, with more solicitude than she had ever +shown for him, "Dear Carlo, do you realize what you +undertake? I know you want to help me—I understood it in a +moment—but do you know what this life is? It is no play-work, +as some people think; a public singer leads the life of +a cart-horse." +</p> + +<p> +"Plenty of work is what I shall like best," said Carlo, +kissing her. "If only I can shield you, Nita, I shall be well +content." +</p> + +<p> +She shivered a little, and went on in an undertone,— +</p> + +<p> +"I saw him for a moment at the theatre, after he knew he +was to leave the troupe; his face terrifies me to remember, +for I know he understands why it is you have taken his +place. But Merlino suspects nothing—that is the one great +comfort." +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Gigi trotted up rather shyly. +</p> + +<p> +"Mamma," he said, pulling at her dress, "I promised +Signor Comerio I would give you this when you were alone, +but I forgot, and pulled it out of my pocket just now, and San +Carlo saw it; so I may as well give it you now, directly." +</p> + +<p> +The color rushed into Nita's face; she made as though +she would tear the letter in pieces without opening it, but +Carlo checked her. +</p> + +<p> +"Return it just as it is," he suggested. "Direct it to him +yourself, and I will see that it reaches him safely." +</p> + +<p> +Nita hastily crossed the room, and enclosed the letter in +an envelope; she knew that Comerio would recognize her +writing in a moment, and directed it hastily, perhaps hardly +considering that by doing so she had crossed the Rubicon. +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo understood, and knew well that only by showing +her all possible love and tenderness could he hope to fill +this blank in her life. +</p> + +<p> +"You never told me of this little man's existence," he +said, glancing at Gigi, when she had handed him the letter +and he had put it away in his pocket. "You should have +brought him with you to Villa Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"He had the chicken-pox," said Nita, indifferently. "I +suppose he took it on board the steamer—indeed, I always +thought it a great mistake to bring him away from America, +but Merlino was set upon having him; he is very fond of +the child." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo felt discouraged; it was quite clear that Nita did +not even pretend to care much for her little son. She went +on in a complaining voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"He was happy enough at Salem, and, indeed, is always +begging to go back again. The people there had brought +him up, for, of course, I couldn't drag a baby all over the +States with me." +</p> + +<p> +"It was a farmhouse," put in Gigi, "and I alluse went out +with the pigs every day. I wish there was pigs here." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled, but thought Gigi deserved better companionship. +</p> + +<p> +"Merlino knew that we should be in America again in +another year," continued Anita, "but he had some foolish +feeling against leaving the child so far off, and so I suppose +we shall have to take him about with us for the present. +Men don't realize what trouble a child gives. Merlino likes +to play with him now and then for ten minutes, but he would +never be bothered with him, and he won't let me have a +nurse even. It is absurd to expect me to see to him when +already I am almost worked to death." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thought there was some truth in this, though he was +sorry she seemed to have so little motherly feeling; but that +her life was very hard he could well believe, and she looked +delicate and overwrought. +</p> + +<p> +"How do you manage?" he said. "Is there no one to +help you with him?" +</p> + +<p> +"The stewardess was kind to him when we crossed, and +then, when he was ill, the servant saw to him; but really, +poor girl, the landlady leads her such a life that she can't +spare time to make him look respectable. He hasn't been +out since we came to Naples; I couldn't take such a little +scarecrow with me." +</p> + +<p> +"Maria doesn't do anything for me now," put in Gigi. +"I can dress myself, mamma, quite well, and I haven't been +washed at all just lately." +</p> + +<p> +"You would have been far better with your pigs at Salem," +said Nita, laughing a little, while Carlo, though perhaps not +quite so much disgusted as an Englishman would have been, +began to revolve schemes for tubbing his small nephew. +</p> + +<p> +"Then you have really made up your mind to stop here as +long as we are at Naples?" asked Nita. "You will find it a +contrast to Villa Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Piale will prefer to have me close at hand." said Carlo. +"And, indeed, I think it will be better every way. Is there +a room for me here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you can have the room where Gigi was ill; there is +no need for him to have a room all to himself now that he is +well again; he can sleep on the sofa in the ante-room." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't turn him out," said Carlo, and the matter +ended in a small bed being extemporized for Gigi in a +corner, much to his contentment. +</p> + +<p> +"For you know," he said, trotting after his uncle, "when +it is all dark, I feel so alone; and last night I really think +there was a cow under my bed." +</p> + +<p> +Nita retired before long for her <i>siesta</i>, and Carlo, with the +assistance of Gigi, took possession of his new quarters, and +unpacked his worldly goods. When all was done, he flung +himself back in an arm-chair to rest, and Gigi curled himself +up like a little dog at his feet. For a time there was silence, +then Carlo was struck by a happy idea. +</p> + +<p> +"Gigi," he said, "would you like to come and walk with me +in the Villa?' +</p> + +<p> +"What's the Villa?" asked the child. "Do you mean Villa +Bruno?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I meant the Villa Nazionale,—a garden, you know, +with beautiful trees. Would you like to come with me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes!" cried Gigi, with a beaming face; "it will be +almost like being at Salem again." +</p> + +<p> +"With the pigs," put in Carlo, laughingly. "But look, +before I take you we must make you tidy and clean, don't you +think?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps," said Gigi, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"Are there any baths here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Sardoni has one; he is English, you know, and +takes it cold every morning—quite cold; he asked yesterday +whether he should lend it to me, but I guess he was only in +fun." +</p> + +<p> +"Run and ask him, with my compliments, if he will really +do so," said Carlo, much amused. +</p> + +<p> +There was an interval in which he dozed a little; presently +back came the child, dragging after him an indiarubber +travelling-bath, and followed by Maria, whom he had induced +to bring a can of hot water, fearful lest San Carlo should +expect him to plunge into cold like the English. +</p> + +<p> +Maria, with a broad smile, suggested that he had better +have clean clothes as well, and managed to find some for him; +she might even have offered to tub him had not the padrona's +voice been heard calling her impatiently, and, with a saucy +retort to her mistress, she ran off, leaving Carlo and his +victim to manage as they could. +</p> + +<p> +Very slowly and reluctantly the tiny fellow divested himself +of his clothes, and stood shivering on the brink; Carlo, +had he been of an introspective nature, would have been +amused at the thought that his first piece of work in his new +career was to scrub a grubby little child; being not at all +introspective, but extremely practical, he only wondered how +in the world he was to do it, and where he was to begin. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, Gigi," he said, encouragingly, "I shall pretend you +are a pony, as Signor Sardoni says you ought to be; get in +quickly and I will groom you." +</p> + +<p> +Gigi was imaginative, and this notion suited him very well; +he began to kick and prance, but no longer objected to the +soap and water; indeed, after the first shock he rather liked +them; and the scrubbing was at any rate satisfactory +work—more promptly visible in its effects than any of Carlo's +other work was likely to be. Gigi, who had gone in grim and +shivering, came out a beautiful white, wet, little mortal, with +sleek, shining skin, and cheeks glowing like ruddy apples. +</p> + +<p> +"I like it," he said proudly, "I like it very much. If I'm +good, San Carlo, will you groom me again some day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Every day, till you can do it yourself," said Carlo +promptly, at which Gigi clapped his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"At Salem," he said, "we only had Saturday for tub night, +and it was so cold in the back-kitchen." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, after this remark, thought that whatever the drawbacks +of travelling in Merlino's company, the child was better +off than in the primitive farmhouse with his four-footed +friends. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. +<br><br> +A DEAR ADVENTURE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"Next .... I betook me among those lofty fables and romances which +recount in solemn cantos the deeds of knighthood.... There I read it +in the oath of every knight that he should defend to the expense of his +best blood, or of his life, if it so befell him, the honor and chastity of +virgin or matron. From whence even then I learnt what a noble virtue +chastity ever must be, to the defence of which so many worthies by such +a dear adventure of themselves had sworn.... Only this my mind gave +me, that every free and gentle spirit without that oath ought to be born +a knight, nor needed to expect the gilt spur, or the laying of a sword +upon his shoulder, to stir him up, both by his counsel and his arm to +serve and protect the weakness of any attempted chastity."—MILTON. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Gigi, much pleased with his appearance, and with the +novel feeling of cleanliness, capered away to the sola to +relate his experiences to Sardoni. Carlo followed him, and +found Merlino just awake after his <i>siesta</i>, and looking rather +more like a surly bear than usual as he yawned and stretched +himself. He roused himself, however, to introduce his +brother-in-law to the tenor, not knowing that the two had met +before; and they thought it best not to explain, but bowed +ceremoniously to each other. +</p> + +<p> +"Papa," said Gigi, gleefully, "San Carlo is going to take +me to walk in the Villa!" +</p> + +<p> +"San Carlo! what do you mean, child?" said Merlino, his +voice softening as he patted his son's head. +</p> + +<p> +"Why <i>him</i>," said Gigi, with an expressive gesture; "Signor +Comerio told me he was San Carlo, and I wondered what +saints wanted with operas; but he is oh! ever so much nicer +than Comerio said." +</p> + +<p> +The three men laughed involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +"Comerio did not at all like getting his <i>congé</i>" said Merlino. +"This is just a little display of spite on his part. +When did you see him, child?" +</p> + +<p> +"He came in to say good-bye to me this morning while +you were at rehearsal, and he gave me this to spend. Oh, +dear, San Carlo, might we go to Caflisch's now?" +</p> + +<p> +"You must not call your uncle by that name," said +Merlino; "it is rude." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I thought it was a kind of politeness," said Gigi, +with a puzzled face; "and that it was only for the very best +things." +</p> + +<p> +"In that case you had better not uncanonize Signor +Donati," said Sardoni, who had watched the scene with a +sort of careless amusement. "If you'll allow me, Gigi, I +will also come with you." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked pleased; he could not have explained why +Sardoni attracted him, but already he felt that the Englishman +would be his friend. His discovery of Gigi that morning +had broken the blank desolateness which for the last +four-and-twenty hours had overwhelmed him, and the sight of Sardoni +somehow cheered him yet more. Possibly the mere fact +that the tenor was Francesca's fellow-countryman prejudiced +him in his favor; and then, although the Englishman's careless, +witty-looking face was perhaps not of the very highest +type, yet there was something winning about it,—something +which interested Carlo and took him out of himself and his +own cares. +</p> + +<p> +"So you have changed your mind since I saw you the +other day," said Sardoni, as they walked down the Toledo, +"You think stage life may, after all, bear comparison with +private life?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am going to try my fortune as a singer," said Carlo +lightly, but revealing in his face all that he strove to banish +from his tone. Sardoni drew his own conclusions, but had +too much tact to ask any questions. +</p> + +<p> +"I was never more astounded than when Merlino told me +the news," he remarked; "and I think seldom more pleased; +the Company will be well rid of Comerio, who is a double-dyed +villain such as one seldom meets." +</p> + +<p> +"I must own that in looks he gives one the impression of +being less of a brute than Merlino himself," said Carlo, +lowering his voice cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Looks are not everything," said Sardoni; "there are +some faces—yours for instance—which can be read in an +instant; but there are others which baffle one altogether. +Merlino is not so bad as he seems; at any rate while he is a +brute the other is a fiend." +</p> + +<p> +"How did he take his dismissal?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"I heard very little about it, but apparently he has taken +good care not to quarrel with Merlino. No doubt he'll +move heaven and earth to get into the troupe again, he is +not a man who will stand being beaten." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet Merlino would never have us both, I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; so it will now be to Comerio's interest to oust you. +Don't think me a brute to speak out plainly, but when I +caught sight of Comerio's face as he left the theatre I thought +I wouldn't be in your shoes for a million of money. That +fellow is your enemy, and he may nurse his revenge for +years, but sooner or later, he'll have it." +</p> + +<p> +A feeling of vague discomfort crept over Carlo; for a +minute he was silent, then, with a look in his face which +startled Sardoni, he said cheerfully,— +</p> + +<p> +"I owe you a great deal; it was through you that I first +knew there was a chance of helping my sister in this way, and +now you have taken the trouble to warn me of a danger. +One must not dwell on such things, though perhaps it is well +to know of them." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have thought," said Sardoni, smiling, "that you +would be more likely to curse me than to bless me for having +first put into your head a notion that must have cost you +dear." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo gave a quick glance at his companion, wondering +whether he had the least conception how great the cost had +been. Perhaps he was glad to be spared any direct answer +to the remark by their arrival at Caflisch's and the necessity +of helping Gigi to lay out his two <i>lire</i> to the best advantage. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards they strolled on to the Villa, and, while Gigi +played about happily, the two men sat under the trees, +Sardoni finding a sort of idle pleasure in studying his new +companion. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean to sing under your own name?" he asked, +after a time. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," replied Carlo; "I have no object in taking a <i>nom +de guerre</i>; with an English name, of course, it is +different—you were almost bound to do so." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni gave a sarcastic smile. +</p> + +<p> +"It was most necessary," he remarked, dryly. "Did my +own people know how I gained my livelihood they would be +even more ashamed of me than they are already." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked surprised, even a little anxious. His interest +in Sardoni grew deeper. +</p> + +<p> +"They do not then know where you are?" he asked. +"That is surely very hard on them." +</p> + +<p> +The tenor gave a short laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all; I am silent purely out of regard for their +feelings. Do you know what the old Puritans used to call +actors? They called them 'caterpillars of the +Commonwealth' and 'vagabonds.'" +</p> + +<p> +"That may be, but family feeling must in the end be +stronger than such prejudice." +</p> + +<p> +"You judge others by yourself," said Sardoni. "All families +are not so devoted as yours seem to be." Then, his +brow contracting sharply, "Besides, did I not tell you when +we first met that in my own country, men would no longer +trust my word as blindly as you seem inclined to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why will you always force that upon me?" said Carlo, +looking full into his companion's eyes. "Do you wish to +make me doubt you? That is hardly a friendly act, since +you are the one light just now in my dark sky." +</p> + +<p> +The words sounded strangely in Sardoni's ear, the simile +was so un-English, but the tone touched him more than he +would have cared to own. +</p> + +<p> +"I force this upon you because I like you," he said, with +some effort. "You are the first man I have seen whose +friendship I could have wished. But I will be friends with +no man who does not know the truth about me; and whoever +knew the truth would not care to be my friend." +</p> + +<p> +"I should care," said Carlo, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +The Englishman shook his head. Then, suddenly resuming +his usual reckless, nonchalant manner, he said with +a laugh, "Few men, I fancy, have managed to sustain their +<i>nom de guerre</i> so completely; Merlino himself has not even a +notion of my true surname." +</p> + +<p> +"What induced you to take the name of Sardoni?" asked +Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, according to the character of my questioner I have +two replies," said Sardoni. "Matter of fact: It occurred to +me one morning while I was breakfasting off sardines. +Poetic: I assumed it in a sardonic mood, while contemplating +a journey to Sardinia. We have some funny improvements +on names among us." +</p> + +<p> +"Are they chiefly Italians in the company?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! we are a very mixed multitude," said Sardoni. "I'll +prepare you for your future lot and give you a faithful +description of the 'happy band of pilgrims.' Let us be more +courteous than the playbills, and take the ladies first. Top +of the list stands Madame Merlino, who needs no description. +Next comes Mlle. Elise de Caisne, a little French flirt. +Then the two mezzos, Mlle. Lauriston, ditto, ditto, and Miss +Robinson, who hails from New York, but sings under the +name of Duroc; she is an average American girl, and can +be pleasant enough, also, which speaks well for her—she is +hand in glove with Domenica Borelli. The Borelli is a +Maltese lady, in reality Borg—every one is a Borg in Malta. +She is a contralto with a wonderful compass, a real good +painstaking artist, the joy of Marioni's heart; there exists +between them a platonic friendship. Next we come to the +tenors." +</p> + +<p> +"Headed by Signor Sardoni," put in Carlo, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"And close on my heels," continued the Englishman, +"follow my two rivals, Crevelli and Cafferi—-awfully jealous +of me—awfully; not of each other, that's the odd part; but +then they are so much alike that it's always a case of 'Which +is which?' and when one is praised the other thinks it was +a mistake and really meant for him; those two are <i>bona fide</i> +Italians, and as like as two peas,—broad forehead, straight, +black hair, correct profile, big moustache, great expanse of +cheek. You'll find some trouble in knowing them apart, but +at last I've induced Crevelli to keep his hair an inch longer +than the other's, just for convenience' sake. +</p> + +<p> +"That brings us to the basses, and to your brother-in-law; +we won't discuss him: you'll find that he gets well treated +because they all live in mortal terror of him. Then, Gomez. +Gomez has raven hair and a sad cast of countenance, he +hails from Seville and stands much on his dignity. Tannini, +alias Joshua C. Tanner, is a jolly Yankee, and has a keen eye +to the main chance. A very practical man is Tanner; he'll +soon be 'calc'lating that he can't understand such a +knight-errant' as you. Next comes Bauer—a good solid lump of +humanity, always in at dinner-time and to be found at odd +hours tucking in, regardless of the coming opera. He +reminds me of an old nursery song of ours, about— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'A duck, who had got such a habit of stuffing,<br> + That all the day long it was panting and puffing.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Bauer's often out of breath on the stage, you'll find. Then +there is Donati, the baritone, whose character I have not yet +fathomed; and Fasola, a miserable stick, capable only of +third-rate parts, but supposed to be your under-study; and, +finally, our little conductor, Marioni, who wears himself to +fiddlestrings, all out of devotion to the muse, and tears his +hair—you'll see presently how ragged it is—because he +can't get things done as he would wish." +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard Piale speak very highly of him," said +Carlo, and then he sat silent for a minute or two, musing +over Sardoni's odd description of his future companions, and +wondering what this strange new life would be like. +</p> + +<p> +"Was Comerio a favorite?" he asked at length. +</p> + +<p> +"He was hated by some and liked by others; Domenica +Borelli, for instance, was not on speaking terms with him." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet travelled in the same company." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that is perfectly possible! I don't think she has +spoken to him since we were at San Francisco, a year ago, +yet of course they had to act together. The Borelli is +extremely fastidious, she will highly approve of the change +of baritones. But Gomez will hate you, for he is Comerio's +friend; I shouldn't be surprised if he got up a cabal against +you." +</p> + +<p> +Again Carlo was silent, he looked down the long, shady +walk with its sombre ilex-trees; the prospect of his new life +had never before seemed so distasteful to him, and it was +with a sense of relief that he caught sight of Enrico Ritter +coming towards them with his usual long, imperturbable +stride. Enrico seemed his last link with the past, and he +was glad to be able to introduce him to Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"I have just met your uncle," said Enrico, abruptly, as he +took the vacant place beside Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, of course, you know all?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and I find it hard to forgive you," said Enrico. +</p> + +<p> +"To forgive?" echoed Carlo, questioningly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, to forgive. You have falsified my pet theory," said +the egoist. "Here, give me one of your cards and I'll tell +you in two words what I think of you." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, not without a pang, as he remembered how at first +sight of those copper-plate words, "Avvocato Carlo Poerio +Donati," he had felt himself the happiest man in Naples, +handed the card to his friend, and Enrico, crossing out +the "Avvocato," scribbled above it the words, "Knight-Errant." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni glanced at it with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"You couldn't have put the case more tersely," he said, +rising to go, because he thought the two friends would rather +talk out the matter alone. But before he turned he glanced +searchingly at Carlo, and again surprised on his face the +look which had perplexed him before. +</p> + +<p> +"Does the fellow actually take pleasure in giving up his +life to the service of that chit?" he thought to himself as he +walked away. "If ever there was a commonplace, uninteresting +woman in the world, it is Anita Merlino; she'll not +even have the grace to be grateful to him." +</p> + +<p> +Late in the afternoon of the following day, Carlo, returning +from a long lesson with Piale, happened to meet, in +the Piazza Municipio, a handsome English sailor whose face +seemed familiar to him. He glanced hastily at the name +embroidered on his jersey, and read the word <i>Pilgrim</i>. +With a great hunger in his heart to know Francesca's +whereabouts, he turned and accosted the man. +</p> + +<p> +"So the <i>Pilgrim</i> is still here," he said, courteously. +"When does she leave?" +</p> + +<p> +"To-night, sir," said the sailor, looking pleased at the +recognition. "Captain Britton and the young ladies came +on board an hour ago, and we are only waiting now for the +caterer; and there he comes yonder." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, glancing round, saw another of the yacht's crew, a +bluff-looking, elderly man, whose duty was to buy the food +for his mates. +</p> + +<p> +"We shall sail now as soon as we get on board, sir," said +the coxswain. "Can I take any message for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"None, thank you," said Carlo, and bidding the man a +courteous farewell, he turned quickly away. Hurriedly he +walked towards the Strada Nuova, and looked across the +blue waters of the bay. There was the <i>Pilgrim</i>, anchored to +the Military Mole, her beautiful white sails all set, and only +waiting for the return of the dinghy to raise anchor. Carlo +saw the little boat threading its way between the vessels in +the harbor, saw it round the yacht and disappear, then +descried Oxenberry's lithe figure springing on board. For a +few minutes all seemed haste and confusion; he could hear +the rattling of chains, and could even make out the figure of +the steward seated on the capstan with his concertina, while +the sailors heaved up the anchor, swinging merrily round to +the familiar strains of the "Shanty." Their hearty voices +reached him even at that distance, and he remembered how +as a child Francesca had proudly taught him to sing the +"Shanty" with a proper English accent. Fragments of the +the words seemed now to float across to him, and the tears +started to his eyes. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Hurrah, my lads! we're homeward bound,<br> + We're homeward bound for Plymouth Sound;<br> + Up with the sail, and off goes she.<br> + Hurrah, my lads! hurrah! hurrah!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The cheerful old tune seemed to him now like a dirge,—the +dirge for his old life which was passed and over, the +dirge for his betrothal so swiftly ended. +</p> + +<p> +All at once his heart began to throb wildly, for he saw a +slim, dark figure come on deck with a white shawl wrapped +about the head and shoulders. Francesca stood with her +face turned towards him, looking to the shore and away from +the blithe sailors, whose merry song, perhaps, brought to her +mind the very thoughts it had suggested to Carlo. He gazed +on, hardly knowing whether the sight comforted or tortured +him, but, in any case, unable to move, unable for one instant +to relax the strain. +</p> + +<p> +At last the song ceased, the chain rattled no more, the +yacht began to move, and Francesca shifted her position a +little, but still kept aloof from the rest, still gazed shorewards. +And thus she remained while the summer wind filled the +white sails, and the <i>Pilgrim</i> glided out of the harbor, gently, +proudly, but relentlessly, moving out seawards. +</p> + +<p> +To the very last, his eyes rested on her till the slim, black +figure became a mere speck in the distance, and finally was +lost to sight. He lingered still for the last glimpse of the +<i>Pilgrim's</i> sails, on which the afternoon's sun glinted with +dazzling brightness; then, when those, too, had disappeared, +he became conscious of a creeping chilliness, which obliged +him to grope his way to one of the seats and wait till he had +recovered his self-control. +</p> + +<p> +It was a vision of Piale's reproachful face which finally +roused him. What would be the Maestro's horror could he +see his pupil sitting there regardless of the dangerous hour +of sunset, which was fast approaching? He drew himself +together and walked slowly back to the Palazzo Forti through +the narrow, picturesque streets, so familiar, but now so +desolate to him. Never in his life had he felt so hopelessly +lonely as when he mounted the dirty stairs and reached the +suite of rooms which, for the time being, made his home. +</p> + +<p> +In the ante-room Gigi was crying piteously; in the <i>sala</i> +Merlino, in one of his worst tempers, was arguing with Anita; +while Gomez, who had just arrived from Seville, stood +glowering darkly at the new baritone. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. +<br><br> +ON THE STAGE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "For ill can Poetry express<br> + Full many a tone of thought sublime;<br> + And Painting, mute and motionless,<br> + Steals but a glance of time.<br> + But, by the mighty actor brought,<br> + Illusion's perfect triumphs come;<br> + Verse ceases to be airy thought,<br> + And sculpture to be dumb."—CAMPBELL.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Piale had gained the wish of his heart, but, like many +other people, he discovered that, when gained, it proved +more of a care than a pleasure. He had plotted and planned, +he had argued and persuaded, and now at length his best +pupil was really to appear on the operatic stage, but +nevertheless the old Maestro was far from happy; he was haunted +by the conviction that Carlo's health would give way, for he +knew him too well not to perceive how sorely the events of +the last few weeks had taxed his powers of endurance. It +was all very well for him to prescribe perfect quiet when the +hours of study were over, but he knew that at the Palazzo +Forti quiet was not likely to be found—knew that wherever +he went Carlo would be haunted by the spectre of his +vanished happiness. Often did he anathematize Captain +Britton and the insular prejudice which had cost his pupil so +dear; often did he rack his brains for some means of +cheering the <i>débutant</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was, indeed, very much altered; for the time he lost +the boyish look which had always before been one of his +characteristics; he lost, too, his fresh, ruddy color; and, +whereas he had hitherto been habitually gay, and only upon +occasion grave, he was now only cheerful when, by a deliberate +effort of will, he forced himself to be so. It was not in +those first days of his trouble that he could all at once attain +to the serenity of a perfectly disciplined heart. He was +human, and he was very young; the light of his life had gone +out, and he did not always acquiesce in the darkness,—did +not, except in rare intervals of comfort, feel anything but an +aching void, an unconquerable longing for his own will to be +done. +</p> + +<p> +Not being of a self-tormenting nature, however, he did not +trouble himself much about the right or wrong of his feelings; +as far as possible he ignored them, and went on deliberately +with the everyday business of the life he had chosen. +Piale worked his voice as hard as he dared, and the professor +of declamation taught him all that he had the power to +teach; but Carlo, altogether dissatisfied with the scanty +attention paid to acting on the operatic stage, studied his +characters with a minute faithfulness which occupied him +even in his times of so-called leisure; he was incessantly +studying, incessantly observing, and, after three weeks of +this sort of work, his heart began, as it were, to thaw; the +personal grief which had held it frost-bound was softened by +the wide love of the human family which cannot fail to be +quickened in the heart of any one who truly observes life. +For to observe truly you must sympathize with those you +observe, and to sympathize with them you must love them, +and to love them you must forget yourself. Without a deep, +living sympathy the artist surely degenerates into a species +of vivisectionist, for +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "To be observed when observation is not sympathy<br> + Is just to be tortured."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Carlo soon found the happiness which comes to the worker +who is really suited to his work. He learnt to be very grateful +to his newly-chosen profession, for it brought him hours +of forgetfulness, it raised him above the atmosphere of petty +misery which seemed to prevail at the Palazzo Forti, it made +him conscious that he had not chosen his life with headstrong +blindness, but that he had gifts for which he was responsible,—gifts +which made the life of a singer his true vocation. +In those days of his trouble he worked with all his might, +and the tremendous effort of memory he had to make stood +him in good stead, and forced him to keep his grief at arm's +length. +</p> + +<p> +Piale saw with relief that he was apparently not in the least +nervous, that he was entirely free at present from all fear of +failure, but the old Maestro was too experienced a hand to +imagine that this calmness would last. +</p> + +<p> +"You go to your ordeal with a better heart than most +<i>débutants</i>," he remarked one day, looking curiously into the +face of his pupil. "But you have good reason to be cheerful +about it, for you are safe to be popular." +</p> + +<p> +"On the contrary," said Carlo, with a smile. "I am told +that ten to one Comerio will organize a <i>claque</i>, and try to get +me hissed off. I'm not at all confident of being popular, but +I know that I have in any case to be a singer." +</p> + +<p> +"There speaks the true artist," said Piale, with enthusiasm. +"Did I not tell you long ago that Nature meant this +for your calling?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, dear Maestro," he replied, quietly. "And you were +right, and I was wrong, as events have proved." +</p> + +<p> +Piale hardly understood all that he meant; he looked up +at him again with the lingering, scrutinizing, anxious gaze of +a painter who takes a last look at a finished picture. +</p> + +<p> +"If only your health is equal to the life," he exclaimed, +with a sigh, for he could not but admit to himself that during +the last few weeks there had developed in his pupil's face a +look of constitutional delicacy, which, after all, was a natural +enough inheritance to the son of Signor Donati. +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo laughed lightly, and put the suggestion aside. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Maestro," he exclaimed, "I have never been ill in +my life; and surely, if my sister has been able to bear the +work all this time, you need not fear for a tough fellow like +me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I hope you will understand as well as Madame +Merlino how to take care of yourself," said Piale, in the tone +of a doubter. +</p> + +<p> +As he walked home Carlo for the first time studied the +placards which announced a second series of operas at the +Mercadante, with the Company of Signor Merlino. On +Tuesday evening Gounod's Faust, and, below, a list of the +characters:—"<i>Faust</i>, Signor Sardoni; <i>Mefistofele</i>, Signor +Merlino; <i>Valentino</i>, Signor Carlo Donati; <i>Wagner</i>, Signor +Gomez; <i>Marghérita</i>, Madame Merlino; <i>Siebel</i>, Mlle. Borelli; +<i>Marta</i>, Mlle. Duroc." Just above was pasted a narrow +strip of yellow paper, contrasting boldly with the pink +placard, and upon this, in large black letters, was printed, +</p> + +<p class="t3 smcap"> + "Debutto di Signor Carlo Donati."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He was startled and rather ashamed to find that the mere +reading of the announcement made him tremble from head +to foot. At the next opportunity he questioned Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"How do people feel at their first appearance?" he said, +with an air of curiosity, which was nevertheless a little +anxious. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Sardoni, with his careless laugh. "Some feel +as if they were going to be hung, others as if they were +entering one of the chambers of the Inquisition. Comerio, I +believe, used to say that he had suffered more acutely when +he went to be married, and Bauer declares that it was not +half so bad to him as a visit to the dentist." +</p> + +<p> +"And you?" asked Carlo. "How did you feel about it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I hardly know—besides, I should be no guide to you, +for we are as different as chalk and cheese. I think I was +in too dare-devil a frame to feel at all." +</p> + +<p> +"I can understand better to-day how Valentino felt before +his first battle," said Carlo, musingly. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I do believe you think of your parts night and day!" he +exclaimed. "I declare I'm half afraid of you. You will be +so much in earnest that you'll kill me in the duel scene, and +that would be awkward. What do you say to a private +rehearsal now? It's as well you have to fight me and not +Gomez, for he hates you like poison; and what could be +easier than to stick you by mistake on the stage, and get you +out of his friend's way?" +</p> + +<p> +"What with you and Piale it will be hard if I don't turn +into a coward and a valetudinarian," said Carlo. "The +Maestro does nothing but fear the breakdown of my health, +and you are always warning me of hidden dangers from +Comerio and his allies." +</p> + +<p> +"We only wish to instil a little prudence into your +knight-errantry," said Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +The change of baritones had been much discussed in +Merlino's Company, and Carlo had to run the gauntlet of +criticism, while feeling bewildered at the endless +introductions to his new companions; he thought he should never +learn to know them all, and the fact that he was Madame +Merlino's brother was not in his favor, for Anita was not +popular, and Carlo was sufficiently like her in face to make +them prejudiced against him. Moreover, they all regarded +him as a sort of amateur, and were inclined to resent his +sudden change of profession, while Comerio's unexpected +dismissal was by some deemed unjust. +</p> + +<p> +His heart failed him a little at the thought of casting in +his lot entirely with these not very congenial people; even +in Domenica Borelli he was disappointed, she seemed to him +cold and reserved and exclusive; he supposed that the very +qualities which repelled him seemed to Sardoni's English +eyes recommendations. Marioni, the conductor, received +him with mingled coldness and anxiety; and had it not been +for Sardoni's friendship he would have been in a most +uncomfortable position. But all this improved after the first +rehearsal; the conductor speedily thawed, and he began +to understand better the stiff armor of propriety in which +Domenica Borelli encased herself, and the alarming American +frankness of Mlle. Duroc. +</p> + +<p> +And so at last the great day came. Carlo awoke to the +consciousness, but was surprised to find how indifferent he +felt about it; perhaps he had been through too much of late +to suffer very greatly from apprehension, or perhaps he had +not yet realized how great the ordeal would be. In the +most matter-of-fact way he inspected his hat, hose, and +shoes, the only part of his costume which he had to provide +for himself; then, having arranged that they should be sent +to the theatre, he found himself with the rest of the day on +his hands, for Piale had given strict orders that he was only +to sing for half-an-hour just before he dined. Suddenly he +bethought him of his old friend Florestano, and he felt a +desire that the old fisherman should witness his first +appearance; so, taking the delighted Gigi with him, he went down +to the Piliero, hired a boat, and was rowed to the old +fisherman's hut. Florestano, who had all an Italian's love of the +theatre, was delighted and flattered at the proposal, and +they rowed back with him to Naples, where Carlo took him +to the Mercadante that he might choose his own seat; then, +with many good wishes, the old boatman went off to his +Socialist club, and Carlo having taken Gigi home, returned +once more to the Mercadante, begged the keys from the +doorkeeper, who was just about to take his <i>siesta</i>, and, +locking himself into the empty theatre, began to pace the stage, +going through, in dumb show, all that he would have to do +in the evening. Still he felt strangely indifferent, and he +began to think that his nature must be a very prosaic one, +not realizing that strong feeling often takes the form of +numbness for a time. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni watched him on his return with the greatest +curiosity; he practised his scales for half-an-hour, dined +composedly, read the <i>Piccolo</i>, played "Tombola" with Gigi, and +did his best to avert a quarrel which was brewing between +Gomez and Merlino. Finally he went off to the theatre with +Piale and Enrico Ritter, and seemed to be so much occupied +with cheering the old Maestro, who was in a pitiable state of +nervousness, that he had little time to think of himself. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Giusto Cielo!</i>" exclaimed the old man, "I would give +all I have were this night's work well over." +</p> + +<p> +And as they went down the stairs Sardoni heard Carlo's +rare but delightful laugh as he rallied the Maestro on his +depression. Apparently Piale had been advised that it +would be better not to be behind the scenes, for when Sardoni +reached the theatre he found Carlo alone in the dressing-room +which they were to share. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought I should have found your Maestro coaching +you up to the last minute," he exclaimed; "it is well he has +gone, or his nervousness would have infected you. At present +you look as cool as a cucumber." +</p> + +<p> +"Only metaphorically," said Carlo, throwing down the +book he had been studying; "this room is like an oven." +</p> + +<p> +"You'll find that is always the way," said Sardoni; "they +bake us in summer and freeze us in winter, and, whenever +they can manage it, poison us with bad drainage." +</p> + +<p> +The dresser began to urge him to be quick, for as usual +Sardoni was behindhand, and had allowed barely time to +scramble into his complicated double costume before the +call-boy came to summon him. Carlo, who did not appear +till the second act, seeing how matters were, and pitying the +dresser, who only grew more stupid the more Sardoni swore +at him, offered his help, and won the gratitude both of the +Englishman and the Italian. +</p> + +<p> +"Now if I'd had Gomez in here he would have made confusion +worse confounded," said Sardoni, rushing off in response +to a second summons and the alarming news that the +overture was ended. +</p> + +<p> +When he returned at the end of the first act he found Carlo +almost ready, standing with the patience of a martyr while +the dresser put the finishing touches to his costume. He +made a wonderfully handsome and soldierly-looking Valentino +in his crimson velvet doublet, the conventional amount +of stage armor, and the picturesque plumed hat which added +so much to his height. +</p> + +<p> +"Tan-colored tights!" exclaimed Sardoni; "that is an +improvement on Comerio's get-up; he always insisted on +sky-blues, in which he looked like a circus-rider." +</p> + +<p> +The remark roused Carlo from the state of abstraction in +which he had for some time been wrapped, and, turning +round with a smile, he asked whether the house was good, +and if Sardoni had been well received. +</p> + +<p> +"The house is crammed," replied the tenor, "but at present +rather cold. Your appearance will stir them up." +</p> + +<p> +"The Signor will be a great success," said the dresser, +already won by Carlo's patience and courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +"He carries a brave enough front," said Sardoni; "I +should not have thought you would prove such a cool hand." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, well! it is the first battle of the campaign," said +Carlo, with a laugh; "let no man boast till he has been under +fire." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Per Dio!</i> no battle, but a triumph," said the dresser, as +he left the room. "Best wishes for your success, signor." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thanked him, and began in a practical, matter-of-fact +way to study the construction of the sword which had +to break in two at the challenge of Mephistopheles. Sardoni, +to amuse him, told him stories of various stage <i>contretemps</i>, +and was just marvelling at his companion's perfect +composure when Donati suddenly started forward and grasped +his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"They have begun the Kermesse chorus!" he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +And then at last the realization broke upon him: he was, +after all, Carlo Donati, a novice, with a terrible ordeal before +him, and failure would mean ruin. All recollection of his +part seemed to leave him. He looked distracted. +</p> + +<p> +"Come and wait at the wings," said Sardoni, "and take +a look at the audience. You are sure to do well. Keep up +your courage, <i>amico mio</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"If it were only fame which depended on it, or only +myself——" he faltered, "but to fail means the ruin of all our +plans." +</p> + +<p> +"You will not fail, you will succeed, and your plan too; it +deserves to. Come!" +</p> + +<p> +With kindly persistence he took his arm and drew him +towards the door. The noise without seemed to bewilder +Carlo; the orchestra, even at that distance, sounded deafeningly +loud in his ears; the clear, joyous chorus of the citizens +seemed to mock his wretchedness; he dragged himself on in +obedience to Sardoni, who took him to the green room, +where they found Anita and Merlino. Nita was crying, and +wiping away her tears with anxious care lest they should +make too much havoc with her rouge. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is my wife more upset over your <i>début</i> than she was +over her own," said Merlino, more pleasantly than Carlo had +ever heard him speak before. "Come, Nita, see what a fine +figure he cuts as Valentino. You may well be proud of him." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo glanced down at her, vaguely noticing her white +dress, her long plaited hair. She did not make up well as +Margherita, and he dreaded acting with her because she +recalled to him the terrible stake for which he was playing. +</p> + +<p> +"Give me your good wishes, Nita <i>mia</i>," he said; and +then, disgusted to find how his voice trembled, he turned +away and followed Sardoni to the wings. Sick and dizzy he +looked out across the crowded stage with its skilfully-grouped +soldiers, and students, and citizens, to the section of the +house which could be seen. His breath came in short, quick +gasps, and his fingers played nervously with his sword-hilt. +Sardoni felt intensely curious to see how he would get +through his task. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mestier Divin! Mestier Divin!</i>" shouted the soldiers, +and Carlo's fingers tightened on the sword. He became at +last able to think of nothing but that the chorus was drawing +nearer and nearer to an end, and that at the close would +come that dead silence in which he, Carlo Donati, must cross +the stage and either fail or succeed. His dresser approached +him. +</p> + +<p> +"The charm, signor? You have it all right?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have it, thank you," he replied, and unclasped his +hand, where the medal burnt like fire. +</p> + +<p> +"It will soon be over," said Sardoni, cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +"I know," he gasped, his lips almost refusing to frame the +words. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," said Sardoni, "I meant the ordeal, not the chorus. +Look to your goal; that's the only way with a high jump or +with this sort of business." +</p> + +<p> +It was all very well to talk of looking to the goal, but +just then Carlo was hardly able to see with his bodily eyes +much less with the eyes of his imagination. The crowded +stage became misty and confused to him; he could no longer +distinguish the faces in the audience: they were just a +terrible, criticising, impersonal mass. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Inutil sarà!</i>" sang the sopranos. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Al primo apparir!</i>" roared the basses. +</p> + +<p> +And then came the mocking strain once more from the +orchestra as the concluding bars of the chorus were played; +and all his life long that sweet, blithe air seemed to Carlo +like the merriment of Punchinello the clown, who jested with +an aching heart. The last chord was crashed out, his hour +was come! With a supreme effort he moved forward, and, +as the opening bars of his recitative were played, walked +mechanically through the little lane which opened for him in +the stage crowd. He believed that he must have walked +slowly, but his feet seemed no longer his own; he felt as if +he were nothing but throbbing heart and bounding pulses, +and it was only from force of habit, after so many rehearsals, +that he moved to the right place, his eyes fixed on the medal in +his hand, which in reality he was too much dazzled even to see. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly an inspiration came to him. Valentino, too, +would be oppressed, troubled, by the merry-making crowd; +what did he, with his grief and anxiety, want with all this +publicity? He was Valentino—he breathed, thought, looked, +and felt like Valentino; and in a voice subdued and sad, but +so clear and sweet that it reached to the remotest corner of +the gallery, he sang the brief recitative, "<i>Oh, santa +medaglia!</i>" as he placed the charm on his heart, then +glanced quickly, distastefully, at the gay throng surrounding +him. +</p> + +<p> +There was a burst of applause which instantly made him +feel <i>en rapport</i> with his audience. He advanced to greet +Wagner and Siebel, while to Piale and Enrico, in the theatre, +and to Nita, at the wings, there came a pang, as Valentino +told how he was sad because he was leaving his sister, who +had now no other protector; and to many of the audience it +was comprehensible that the new baritone's voice should +tremble as he uttered the words, "<i>Mia madre piu non è</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Already he had the sympathies of the house, but the test +of his success would be in the song, "<i>Dio Possente</i>" and for +this Piale waited in trembling expectation. He need not +have feared, however. Not one of the audience had ever +heard anything to equal the devotional fervor of the prayer +for Margherita's safe keeping, or the manly outburst of +martial ardor succeeding it; the song, both in conception and +rendering, was perfect; and the Italian audience, which would +not have scrupled mercilessly to hiss him had he not +altogether pleased them, broke into applause so enthusiastic +that Piale hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry, so great +was his emotion. The song was vehemently encored, and +Carlo's reputation was established. +</p> + +<p> +Even when he was not singing his was the figure upon +which all eyes rested, for he was the one man on the stage +who was actually living his part; while, in the scene where +he drove back Mephistopheles with his cross-handled sword +uplifted, and sheltered the retreat of the soldiers, his +impassioned assurance that the cross was all-powerful against evil +stirred every heart. +</p> + +<p> +"That is a piece of symbolism quite after Carlo's fancy," +remarked Enrico Ritter. But for once he did not grumble at +the attack on his beloved theory of egoism. He joined in +the tumult of applause; and when, at the close of the act, the +new baritone was called again and again before the curtain, +Enrico felt a thrill of pleasure which he did not take the +trouble to analyze. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Carlo was like a different being; he knew that +he had truly found his vocation. The music, the success, the +applause, had excited him to the highest pitch, and the +sympathy he met with from every one astonished him. Only +Gomez held sulkily aloof and said not a word, but the rest +were warm in their congratulations. Merlino, with the +triumphant sense of having secured a first-rate singer at an +unusually small salary, was quite benevolent and fatherly; +while, perhaps, Domenica Borelli's words pleased him more +than all. +</p> + +<p> +"You are the first real actor I have ever sung with, signor," +she said in her grave, low voice. "You have taught me much +to-night." +</p> + +<p> +Piale was at last persuaded to return to his place in the +audience; and, as Sardoni was pretty constantly on the stage, +Carlo was left to himself during his rather long waiting time, +He was glad to be alone; he wanted time to realize the great +happiness which was still left for him in his darkened life. +The sense of having given pleasure to those hundreds of +people was in its novelty almost overpowering; and yet, in +all his excitement and happiness, there was an under-current +of fear, which made him again and again repeat the words, +"Not only with our lips, but in our lives." +</p> + +<p> +For though the artist has his triumphs, yet there must +always mingle with them the humbling perception of his own +incompleteness, the sense that as yet his personal life is far +from being the "true poem" he wishes it to be. +</p> + +<p> +There were other thoughts, too, which made him grave; +this night's work might, he hoped, prove to be one good, +decisive blow in the warfare he was waging for Anita's +deliverance, but it also meant his more complete severance from +Francesca; with a sigh he wondered if any news of his success +would reach her. +</p> + +<p> +All his nervousness had now disappeared, and when once +more he went to the wings his heart beat high with hope, and +the inspiriting march roused every soldierly instinct within +him, contrasting strangely with the Kermesse Chorus which +had so jarred upon him as he waited for his first entrance. +</p> + +<p> +Once more his acting carried all before it. The pathos of +his happy ignorance, his eager welcome of Siebel, and his +breathless inquiry for Margherita, his utter absence of +suspicion and his martial enthusiasm, appealed to everyone. Then, +when at last Siebel contrived to hint to him that all was not +well, his agony of suspense as he questioned the boy, and his +grief and despair when he learnt all the truth, though it could +be conveyed alone by look and gesture, moved the people +to tears. +</p> + +<p> +Merlino's creditable rendering of the "Serenata" received +less notice than might have been expected, but the audience +were eagerly awaiting the reappearance of the <i>débutant</i>, and +the passionate indignation of his meeting with Faust and +Mephistopheles seemed to stir all hearts. Other baritones +had sung Gounod's music well, but this man not only sang +magnificently, but transformed himself into Valentino, giving +them by his genuine dramatic talent such a notion of the +character as they never had before, and out of a comparatively +small part creating the chief interest of the opera. +Breathlessly they watched the duel which, for once, seemed +real and life-like. The avenger had the sympathies of the +house, and when, mortally wounded, he staggered to his feet +again in pursuit of his foe only to fall a second time, there +were few dry eyes in the theatre, for into the mere dumb +action he had infused a rare pathos, and had made them +understand the strong vitality that yet lingered in the dying +soldier. +</p> + +<p> +Both the singing and the acting in the death-scene were +exceptionally fine; the mingling of wrath and grief, +denunciation and reproachful love, which he managed to convey in +his last words with Margherita appealed to all, while at the +end he produced a novel effect. With panting breath, and +with more of sorrow than of anger, he sang, "<i>Tu morrai tra +cenci vil</i>." Then, suddenly diverted from the present, he +pressed to his lips the cross on his sword-hilt which one of +his fellow-soldiers held towards him, and afterwards turning +again towards Margherita with a look so beautiful that once +seen it could never be forgotten, sang with a depth of +tenderness the brief—"I die for thee," kissed her bowed head, +with a sort of triumphant resignation gasped the last—"Like +a soldier I die!" and fell back lifeless. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling much more like Valentino's ghost than like himself, +he went forward again and again to receive the plaudits +of the people; then, warned by Merlino that he would certainly +be called for at the close of the opera, he flung on his +own hat and cloak over the Valentino costume, and with an +irresistible craving for fresh air and darkness rushed from +the theatre. At the stage-door he encountered Piale and old +Florestano. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, my friend," he exclaimed, turning to the fisherman, +"you will miss the best part of the opera." +</p> + +<p> +"It's naught to me now, signor," said the old man; "it +ended for me at your death. I'll take my boat at the Piliero +and be starting home." +</p> + +<p> +"I will walk part of the way with you," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +And with Piale on his other side, he strode along, drinking +down deep breaths of the cool night air, and realizing +with a relief indescribable that the horrors he had been living +through were, after all, not real. +</p> + +<p> +Never had hope been so strong within him as when he +parted with old Florestano and walked back with Piale to the +Mercadante. He had left behind him despair, and gloom, +and failure—they seemed to have died with Valentino, while +within him there had arisen a buoyant expectation—almost +an assurance—that his work would not be in vain, that Nita +would be saved. Francesca's sweet voice seemed to be saying +to him again and again, '<i>Pazienza! Pazienza!</i>' while the +very first sound that reached him on returning to the theatre +was the chorus of angels with their ringing cry of "<i>E salva!</i>" Then, +when the final chorus, "<i>Cristo risuscito</i>," had died away +into silence, he heard amid the clapping loud cries for +"Donati," and with that the Italians call "<i>una stretta al cuore</i>," he +led Anita before the curtain, and once more received the +plaudits of his fellow-citizens. Behind the curtain, the very +scene-shifters and carpenters were eager to congratulate him; +Marioni, the conductor, was ready to swear an eternal friendship; +Merlino beamed upon him complacently; Piale shed +tears of happiness; and it became evident that Carlo, for the +time being, would prove the idol of the Neapolitan world. +</p> + +<p> +Next afternoon, when by sober daylight he read the accounts +of his first appearance in Enrico's office, his friend, +with a cynical smile, exclaimed, "Your head will be turned +with all this triumph." +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly there flashed upon Carlo the vision of +what he had forfeited. He was too simple-hearted, too +genuinely honest, not to enjoy to the full his artistic success; +but he thought to himself there was not much fear that the +man who had lost Francesca Britton would be dazzled by +such delights as public approval can bring. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. +<br><br> +A FAREWELL. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Here once my step was quickened,<br> + Here beckoned the opening door,<br> + And welcome thrilled from the threshold<br> + To the foot it had known before.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + Ah me! where the past sowed heart's ease,<br> + The present plucks rue for us men!<br> + I come back; that scar unhealing<br> + Was not in the churchyard then."—LOWELL.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The summer season at the Mercadante was over, Piale and +Merlino were well satisfied with its result, and the Neapolitans +talked of little else but their new baritone. They were +justly proud of him, and grumbled sorely on learning that he +was to leave them for an indefinite time. Carlo, during the +series of representations, had studied hard, appearing as +Rigoletto, as Count Rodolpho, as Plunketto, as Guillaume +Tell, as Enrico, as Figaro in the <i>Barbiere</i>, as the Conte di +Luna, and twice in his favorite character of Valentino. It +was with a feeling of deep regret that, on the morning after +his final appearance, he awoke to the recollection that it +would be long before he should again sing to an audience of +his fellow-citizens. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi, who had a provoking habit of waking very early, had +for some time been amusing himself with the flowers and +wreaths piled on the table, and now, sitting on the edge of +the bed, was trying to crown himself with one of the laurel +wreaths, which continually baffled his efforts by slipping +down on to his neck. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, my Gigi," said Carlo, laughing. "It is too +big for both of us. We must grow to our crowns." +</p> + +<p> +"Did they give them you last night? How lucky you are! +I wish people threw me such nice things." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> throw them to you," said Carlo, making a long arm and +tossing one trophy after another across to the child. +Gigi laughed with delight. +</p> + +<p> +"Will they alluse give you such a lot, do you fink?" he +asked, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"No; make hay while the sun shines," said Carlo, +adroitly throwing a wreath so that it alighted on the +child's brown head. "Crowns and enthusiasm will not be +met with out of Naples." +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh he recollected that he had but one more day +left in his native country. His heart felt very heavy as he +wondered how long it would be before he again set foot on +Italian soil, and he began to consider what he should do +with the time which remained to him. Nita had promised +to go with her husband to see one of his relatives at +Sorrento; therefore he was quite free to do what he pleased. +He lay musing sadly, glancing now and then at the funny +little figure on the other bed sporting about in the tiniest of +nightshirts among the flowers and laurels. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," he reflected, "It will be a black day for me. I'll +do what I can to make it bright to the child." +</p> + +<p> +"Gigi," he said, "I am going to Pozzuoli to-day. Will +you come with me?" +</p> + +<p> +Gigi sprang to his feet and executed a <i>pas seul</i> of ecstatic +delight. +</p> + +<p> +An hour or two later they had reached the familiar little +town with its domes and campaniles, its irregular white +houses, its groups of antiquity-sellers, and its air of quiet, +picturesque decay. Carlo wandered through the well-known +streets, feeling like a ghost returned to its old home. +</p> + +<p> +Every now and then he would be stopped by some passer-by, +and questioned and congratulated, but the return made +him realize more than he had yet done how entirely he had +separated himself from his past. Gigi was crazy to see the +boat-building, and they stood for some time on the beach, in +the very place that had been Carlo's favorite haunt as a boy; +then they made their way to the Villa Bruno, and wandered +about in the garden, and finally went to the house to ask for +some water for Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"I made sure you were the Count, signor," said the peasant +in charge. "He said he should be coming to see the +place again to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"What Count?" asked Carlo, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Count Carossa, signor. He has been twice to see the +Villa, and they say he is sure to take it now." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo knitted his brows. +</p> + +<p> +Why did Count Carossa choose to settle down in so +out-of-the-way a place? If he wanted a summer house, why did +he not choose one at Portici or Posilipo? And then, like +lightning, there flashed through his mind the recollection of +the Count's eagerness to know Captain Britton, of his prompt +acceptance of the invitation to dine at Casa Bella, of his +evident admiration of Francesca. Even at the time he +had wondered sorrowfully whether Captain Britton's patience +would long prefer the claims of a poor and absent lover, to +the importunity of the dozens of wealthy suitors who would +doubtless besiege him with offers for his daughter's hand. +</p> + +<p> +If Count Carossa really chose that house,—a house which +in itself had no special recommendations,—he should regard +it as a positive proof that he was in love with Francesca. +And, if so, what might not follow? A vision rose before +him, which would not so readily have presented itself to an +Englishman, and he realized how attractive the handsome, +wealthy nobleman would be to such a man as Captain Britton. +He took up the tumbler of water which Gigi had relinquished, +and hastily drained it; then he took the child back +again to the garden, and threw himself down under an acacia, +still with that distasteful vision before his eyes, till a sudden +recollection of Uncle George's fine English face came to his +aid. +</p> + +<p> +"I am a fool!" he thought. "Whatever the Captain's +faults, he would never be false to the traditions of his +country. A forced marriage might well be among our own +people, but the English feel very differently about such +matters. Mr. Britton would do all that could be done to +prevent it, even if the Captain had been too much taken by the +title. And for the rest—should Francesca ever wish it—why, +then, there would be nothing to be said. In that case,"—he +smiled, because in his heart he was so perfectly sure of +her unchangeable love—"in that case I suppose I should +wish it myself, since her happiness would be mine." +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh, he dismissed vague fears for the future, but +the undeniable sorrows of the present were not so easily laid +aside. Once more he lived through his last meeting with +Francesca,—once more he recalled all that she had said to +him in the Temple of Venus, and then saw again in imagination +the solitary black-robed figure on the deck of the <i>Pilgrim</i>. +If only he could have borne it all for her! But in +that lay the really hard part of the lot he had chosen; he had +deliberately made the choice which involved suffering, not +only for himself, but for another. +</p> + +<p> +It was hard, there was no gainsaying that; it was hard to +think of leaving this dear, familiar garden, with its lovely +glimpses of Ischia and of the blue sea in between; it was +hard to leave the place where his happy childhood and +boyhood had been spent; but it was far harder to think that +Francesca would be left with an aching heart in the midst of +all this loveliness, that the very beauty of the place would +but remind her of past happiness. But then there came to +his mind one of those golden maxims of Mazzini which had +already done much to shape and color his life: "Ever act—even +at the price of increasing her earthly trials—so that the +sister soul united to your own may never need, here or +elsewhere, to blush through you or for you." At least, he had +tried so to act; he had gone forth in a good cause, and with +a reasonable hope of success. And yet even now his temptations +were not over, for, as he lay there in the shade watching +Gigi, who was chasing a white butterfly down the moss-grown +walk, there spoke to him the very devil himself, disguised +under a specious show of common-sense and worldly +wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you not, after all, been unintentionally unjust?" +urged the tempter. "Are you not making the innocent suffer +for the guilty? Surely there must be a screw loose +there—injustice can never be right! A word of warning to Merlino +would have been quite enough to induce him to send Comerio +about his business. Why should Francesca suffer in +order to save Nita from a disagreeable scene with her +husband, which she deserved?" +</p> + +<p> +"But then," he reflected, "I could only have told Merlino +through a deliberate breach of Nita's confidence. She would +never have trusted me again; she would never have understood +that I longed to help her; Comerio would have seemed +her only protector; she would have been driven desperate, +and would have gone to him. Would not Francesca have +had cause to blush for me then? There could have been +no happiness for us bought at such a price as that—besides, +it would have been wilful disobedience to what I was told +to do." +</p> + +<p> +It had been a sharp encounter, but he had worsted his foe, +and was left strong in the possession of that <i>mens conscia +recti</i> which had helped to bear him up through Captain +Britton's insults and remonstrances, and Uncle Guido's anger. +Moreover, there came to him one of those intervals of comfort +which make all sorrow worth while, and he knew that it +would be thus, too, with Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"San Carlo! San Carlo!" shouted Gigi, tearing up the +path towards him. "I've caught it at last—just you see!" +</p> + +<p> +His rosy face beamed with happiness, his eyes shone, and +in his fat, little, brown hand he clasped the white butterfly. +</p> + +<p> +"A souvenir of a happy day, and the first butterfly for our +collection," said Carlo, showing Gigi how to dispose his +treasure in one of the orthodox little boxes. +</p> + +<p> +The child threw his arms round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +"I do love you so!" he exclaimed. "There was no collections, +or treats, or anything nice at all till you came." +</p> + +<p> +Before long, Gigi discovered that he was hungry as well as +thirsty. They had wandered along the deserted Baja shore +in search of more butterflies, and the only place where food +was to be had was the little Hotel de la Reine, to which they +accordingly repaired, Gigi sturdily climbing the outside +staircase and entranced to find a number of peasants seated at the +inn table in the one available room. It was a <i>festa</i>; they all +seemed very merry, and though the child could hardly understand +their dialect, he liked to watch them; and indeed, though +it made Carlo feel more than anything had yet done that +his home was indeed gone, this visit to the wayside inn was +not a little amusing to him. The breakfast itself was odd +enough to make him laugh. First came some dubious-looking +oysters from the Lucrine lake, and a long roll of sour bread +of quite a venerable age. Then came a dish of eels and +<i>spigali</i>—the latter fairly eatable; this was followed by +maccaroni mashed with tomatoes, which was quite beyond Gigi's +fastidious American palate; and, to crown all, there arrived +an omelette soaked in rum, and a dish full of very grim snow +to cool the <i>chianti</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess it's the queerest breakfast I ever had," said +Gigi, at the close. +</p> + +<p> +"It is our last in Italy," said Carlo. "Come, let us drink to +our return;" and laughingly he clinked glasses with the child, +and pushing the flask of <i>chianti</i> towards the peasants, begged +them to share it. Then, to Gigi's delight, every one clinked +glasses, and all the peasants were eager to drink with San +Carlo; and there was such bowing, and smiling, and good +fellowship, as he had never before seen. Afterwards, amid +much laughter, some game was begun, and Gigi, seeing that +they all seemed to be counting their fingers, thrust out his +brown little hand to the amusement of all present. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it? Whatever are they doing?" he asked, +laughing delightedly just because every one else laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"What! don't you know how to play mora?" exclaimed +Carlo; "you shall be initiated. With your permission, ladies +and gentlemen, we will join your game!" +</p> + +<p> +And so they did, and Carlo's enjoyment of the very mild +diversion would certainly have surprised any onlooker who +knew his story. +</p> + +<p> +While they had been eating, a shabby-looking fellow with +a guitar had been playing to them, and a hungry-eyed boy of +fifteen had sung in a hard, tired, monotonous voice, one after +another of the familiar songs of the country. +</p> + +<p> +A sudden impulse seized Carlo, perhaps the doleful, +unmelodious voice annoyed him,—perhaps he only yielded to his +natural love of giving pleasure, but suddenly he sprang up, +motioned to the musicians to take his place and finish the +<i>chianti</i>, and taking the guitar, burst forth into one of his +favorite national songs. +</p> + +<p> +The host and hostess came running into the room to listen. +It was whispered from one to another that the singer was +none other than Signor Donati, the famous new baritone, +and the merry peasants listened entranced. At the close +there was quite a babel of thanks and applause. +</p> + +<p> +"My friends," said Carlo, "to-morrow I leave Italy, and +I have a great wish to hear once more Garibaldi's hymn sung +as I know you can sing it,—will you join in the refrain?" +</p> + +<p> +"We will! we will!" cried the peasants, excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +He struck a few chords on the guitar, and then broke out +into the soul-stirring hymn, and with one accord the men +and women sprang to their feet and joined in the chorus. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi, not at all understanding what it was that excited +every one so much, slid down from his place at the long table +and stood looking out of the open window across the lovely +Bay of Baja, then glanced back into the room as once more +the peasants shouted the refrain. He wondered what it +could be that moved them so much, wondered why San +Carlo's eyes shone with so bright a light, and why there was +such a funny thrill in his voice as he sang the final verse of +the song—a thrill which sent a sort of indescribable tingle +through the child's veins and made the tears start to his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What was it all about?" he asked, as after a chorus of +farewells, and thanks, and good wishes from the peasants, +Carlo took his hand and led him away from the little inn. +"What could it have been about, San Carlo, that you should +all look so eager?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was about <i>La Patria</i>," said Carlo, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +"Then that is why it made me tingle so," said Gigi, with +a pleased look on his comical little face. "I really am +Italian, though Signor Sardoni will call me a little Yankee. +They was Yankees at Salem, and I don't want now to go +back to Salem. I mean to be an Italian alluse, and stop with +you." +</p> + +<p> +"What!" said Carlo, with a laugh, "have you proved +faithless to your old friends the pigs?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want pigs now that I have got you," said Gigi. +"I hope,—I do hope they won't never send me back to +Salem!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Since you are so fond of your country, it is a shame you +should leave it without seeing the tarantella danced. Come +with me, little one." +</p> + +<p> +He led the child through a vineyard, spoke a few words +to a peasant girl who appeared to know him, and soon Gigi +found himself in a vast, gray, domed building, in which +Carlo woke the echoes for his amusement. It was an old +Roman ruin called the "Temple of Mercury." Presently +the dark-eyed peasant girl came back again, followed by two +younger and prettier sisters, and by an old woman in a very +dingy, ragged dress, brightened by an orange handkerchief +upon her head. She carried a guitar, and, leaning against +the wall, she began to chant a monotonous air and to play in +excellent time, while two of the barefooted girls began to +dance the <i>tarantella</i>, relieved every now and then by the +third, who took her turn while one of the beginners rested. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi was delighted, and indeed the scene would have had +charms for most people,—the weird-looking old ruin, which +echoed loudly to the twanging guitar, the picturesque group +of peasants who had sauntered in to look and listen, the +stoical-looking musician, and the pretty peasant girls with +their exquisitely graceful movements and their white feet +twinkling through the mazes of the dance. Gigi clapped his +hands and danced, too, for happiness, so that even the stolid +old guitar-player nodded complacently at him, and the merry +girls laughed, and danced with more spirit than ever, as if +they enjoyed it with all their hearts. +</p> + +<p> +The remembrance of the scene lingered long with Carlo. +For days the familiar air rang in his ears and the harsh +voice of the old woman, as she chanted, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>E la luna mmiezu mare<br> + Mamma mia maritame tu</i>."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Slowly they wandered back to Pozzuoli, passing through +the familiar Piazza, pausing beside the fountain under the +trees to speak to the philosophical-looking lame beggar, who +had been a boy with Carlo, and was now eager in his +congratulations. Then they made their way to the cemetery, +that Carlo might visit the grave of his father and mother for +the last time, and place upon it some of the wreaths and +flowers he had received at the Mercadante. Gigi took much +interest in this, and connected no sad thoughts with the +graveyard. +</p> + +<p> +"I do so like cemeteries; I think they are such lovely +places," he said, happily. And as they walked between the +graves he trotted along, contentedly chanting to himself the +refrain of a game which he had learnt in America, "Here we +come gathering nuts in May," so that Carlo could not help +smiling, even in the midst of his sadness. +</p> + +<p> +"There is one more pilgrimage I must make," he said, as +he drove back to Naples, "and you shall come with me, little +one,—you shall not leave Italy without seeing Carlo Poerio's +cap and blouse." +</p> + +<p> +"Who was he—a saint?" asked Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"He was a patriot, one who loved his country and suffered +for it. And they shut him up in prison for years and years, +and treated him cruelly, and would have killed him had they +dared, only the people loved him so much." +</p> + +<p> +"And did he get away from prison?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he got away. They were going to send him to prison +in South America, but he managed to escape, and they never +caught him again. My father knew him and loved him, and +that is how I came by the name of Carlo." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish my name was it too," said Gigi, wistfully. "I wish +they had called me after that brave prisoner." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind; you were named Bruno, after my father, you +know." +</p> + +<p> +"Was he a patriot?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, indeed he was." +</p> + +<p> +"But they didn't put him in prison, did they?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, but they killed him—wounded him in battle. He +died for Italy." +</p> + +<p> +Gigi looked awed, and with a sort of fearful delight gazed +up at St. Elmo, which they were approaching. Carlo led him +into the disused monastery of San Martino, to the room which +he had visited, year by year, ever since he was Gigi's age, +and there, within a glass case, they saw the red blouse and +the cap which Carlo Poerio had worn in prison. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi heaved a portentous sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish they hadn't been so cruel to him," he said, +wistfully. "How ever did he bear it, do you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"He thought about freeing his country from the bad men +who were cruel to him and to the others; he loved Italy +better than himself, and thought only of saving her." +</p> + +<p> +"Did no one come and see how cruel they were to him in +prison?" asked Gigi. "I wonder God didn't send some +one!" +</p> + +<p> +"Some one did come at last, a brave Englishman who was +not afraid to speak out and make the world listen." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that why you are so fond of Englishmen?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled. "That is one reason." +</p> + +<p> +"What was the Englishman's name?" +</p> + +<p> +"His name was Gladstone." +</p> + +<p> +"It's an easy name. I guess I'll remember it," said Gigi, +to the amusement of a party of English tourists who were +passing by. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a name very dear to Italians," said Carlo. "But +now, my Gigi, we must be going home." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm glad we came to see it," said Gigi, taking a last look +into the glass case, "but it's a dre'ffly shabby old coat, isn't +it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Come here," said Carlo, "there is one more thing you +must see." +</p> + +<p> +They followed the English tourists and went out on to a +little balcony which hung right over the cliff, and from which +could be gained a most wonderful bird's-eye view of Naples. +The tourists went their way, but Carlo lingered, looking with +loving eyes at that vast expanse of white houses, with its lovely +background of sea and mountain. Posilipo to the right, +Castellamare and Sorrento to the left, and, out in the distance +across the blue waters, Capri, made yet more beautiful by +a rainbow which seemed to span it. How he loved it all! +How lingeringly his eye dwelt on the domes and minarets +below; how wonderful that vast subdued roar of the city +sounded in his ears! To leave this place was, to him, as +bitter as death. +</p> + +<p> +Silently he walked back with the child to the Palazzo Forti, +found that Nita was still at Sorrento, and went to seek Enrico +that he might spend his last evening with his friend. +Between ten and eleven Enrico returned with him, and the two +made their way together up the long staircase. +</p> + +<p> +"I will come in and see your friendly Englishman once +more," said Enrico, "and will say good-bye to your sister, if +she has come back." +</p> + +<p> +But Nita and her husband were still out, and Sardoni had +gone to the San Carlino; Carlo, however, fancying he heard +his voice in the <i>sala</i>, entered quickly, receiving a severe shock +when he saw that Gomez was not, as he had fancied, talking +to the tenor. Seated at the table, facing the Spaniard, was a +man with a high, rounded forehead from which the closely-cut +hair receded so much that in profile the effect was most +curious, so large was the expanse of pallid face, so small the +expanse of dark, silky waves. The nose was hooked, the +expression very quiet, the eyes cold, but capable of lighting +up, for as soon as the stranger became aware of Carlo's +presence a gleam kindled in them, and, turning to Gomez, he +said politely, but with a smile which made Carlo shudder, +"Pray introduce me to my rival, that I may have the pleasure +of congratulating him on his great success." +</p> + +<p> +Enrico wondered whether his friend would refuse to be +introduced to Comerio. For an instant Carlo seemed startled +out of his presence of mind, and there was a perceptible pause +before he determined that his only plan would be to ignore +what he really knew to Comerio's discredit and meet him, as +far as was possible, like an ordinary stranger. For Nita's +sake he must control the anger which the mere sight of the +fellow had stirred up in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps," said Gomez, with his usual stolid gravity,—"perhaps +Signor Donati does not care to be introduced to so +formidable a rival." +</p> + +<p> +The speech, which had been intended to put Carlo in a still +more awkward predicament, signally failed, for with ready +courtesy he seized it and turned it to his advantage. +</p> + +<p> +"As a rival I decline to be introduced to Signor Comerio," +he said, in the pleasantest manner imaginable. "There can +be no question of rivalry between a veteran and a novice; +but as a fellow-artist I am happy to make his acquaintance." +</p> + +<p> +He bowed. Comerio, with hatred in his heart and a smile +on his lips, bowed in reply; the two men exchanged a few +remarks on musical matters, and before long Comerio took +leave, owning himself beaten. There was undoubtedly something +in Donati's imperturbable courtesy and fearless honesty +which baffled his malice. +</p> + +<p> +As Sardoni had remarked, however, Comerio was not a man +who could be beaten with impunity; he was a man who would +have his revenge in the end, even if he had to nurse it for +years, and Carlo felt this as he parted with him, and +understood why the Englishman had spoken so strongly and had +recommended caution. His foe was no mean antagonist, there +was a "no-surrender" look about him, a sort of indomitable +persistence stamped upon his pale face, and the future looked +to Carlo darker and more perplexing after that meeting with +his enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico tried, without much success, to rouse him from his +depression, and Carlo, fully understanding his intention, +tried hard to turn his thoughts to other matters. +</p> + +<p> +Just at the last, he asked hesitatingly for the one thing +upon which he had set his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"You will sometimes see the Brittons," he said, his voice +trembling ever so little, "write and tell me about it when you +do, <i>amico mio</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," said Enrico, shortly. Then, after musing for +a minute over the situation, "<i>Madonna Santissima!</i> it +makes me mad to think that both you and Miss Britton +should be sacrificed to such a fiend as Comerio." +</p> + +<p> +"Write long, write often," pleaded Carlo. "Tell me +everything,—the least thing about her." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. +<br><br> +FRANCESCA'S AUTUMN. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + And did she love him?—What if she did not?<br> + Then home was still the home of happiest years,<br> + Nor thought was exiled to partake his lot,<br> + Nor heart lost courage through foreboding fears,<br> + Nor echo did against her secret plot,<br> + Nor music her betray to painful tears;<br> + Nor life become a dream, and sunshine dim,<br> + And riches poverty, because of him.<br> + JEAN INGELOW.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Tell me all about it over again, Florestano; I think you +have made a mistake in choosing to be a fisherman. You +should have been a professional tale-teller. Tell it me all +over again from the very beginning." +</p> + +<p> +The old fisherman pulled his red Phrygian cap lower over +his wrinkled forehead, shook back his grizzled locks, glanced +up at his brown sail to see that all was well, then looked +across at the sweet, eager face opposite him, and felt willing +enough to obey the request. +</p> + +<p> +Neither the healthy life on board the <i>Pilgrim</i>, nor the +weeks among the Swiss mountains which had followed it, had +been able to keep the color in Francesca's cheeks; she was +as pale as a lily, and almost as fragile-looking, but the mouth +and eyes were as sweet as ever, and betrayed nothing of her +story. She sat in the stern of the little fishing-boat and +listened to the old man with half-averted face while they +sailed homeward, letting one of her long white hands trail +through the water, and looking steadily down into those +dark blue depths as once more Florestano repeated the story +of Carlo's first appearance. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Gran Dio!</i> he is good as a piece of bread!" exclaimed +the old fisherman. "Who but he would have +thought of coming all the way out here to fetch a shabby old +fellow like me, and giving me a fine place at the theatre, +where I could see as well as those who carry a heavy purse, +and are too fine to walk on foot, and spend their days in +idleness? He came, signorina, bringing with him the little +boy, his nephew." +</p> + +<p> +"Was he looking well?" asked Francesca, still keeping +her face turned away. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ebbene</i>, signorina! he was grave and quiet, doubtless +thinking of the evening, and now I come to think of his face, +I remember it was browner than it was wont to be; he had +lost his color, being shut up so much studying." Florestano +could hardly help smiling to himself, because he thought he +had given these reasons with such an admirable air of +conviction. "But except for that he was just like himself, +signorina, just like. He would take an oar on the way back to +Naples as if we were back in the old times, and I was rowing +him to school once more, as I did for many a year in the +warm weather. And then, when in the evening I saw him +stand on the stage, with all the people praising him, and he +looking so fine in his velvet dress and his sword, then I did +feel proud to think that only a few hours back he had +taken my oar from me that I might rest a bit. He couldn't +have treated me better, signorina, if I'd been his own father." +</p> + +<p> +"And the people applauded him a great deal?" asked +Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Capperi!</i> you may believe me, signorina, the noise made +my head ache for days after. How he bore it I don't know, +but afterwards, when they called for him, he came before the +curtain looking as modest and natural as if he were but just +an ordinary man in his own home, and bowed as though he +were pleased that we had found pleasure in his acting. And +when I went to thank him and take leave I came upon him +just at the stage-door, and he said he wanted a breath of +fresh air, for the theatre had been nearly as hot as the crater +of Vesuvius; and he walked with me down to the Piliero till I +could have thought he had been a boy again: he seemed so +like himself that I could hardly believe 'twas he that had +been Valentino a few minutes since, with all the house +crying over his death." +</p> + +<p> +"Then he acted very well?" +</p> + +<p> +"He just made it real, signorina! Gran Dio! I can never +forget his face as he drove back the devil with the cross, +stepping out boldly before the soldiers as though he feared +naught. 'Twas fine to see the old devil cringing and backing! +I can tell you, signorina, that I came away that night believing +in the old faith once more. There's more in the Cross +than they would wish to have us think down at our club in +Naples." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca thought she would have liked to tell her father +that story, but Carlo's name had never passed between them +since her betrothal had been ended, and she knew that she +would not be the first to break the silence. +</p> + +<p> +Comforted and yet saddened by her talk with the old +fisherman, she was set down on the beach and made her way +through the vineyard to the familiar olive-garden, where she +found Sibyl helping two or three peasant women to gather +the olives. There was something which soothed her in the +silvery shade of those gnarled old trees; she sat down on the +grass, leaning against one of the terraces, and watched +Sibyl's little blue-clad figure flitting hither and thither, and +the peasants in their sombre stuff gowns and gay handkerchiefs +tied over their heads. Under one of the trees a baby +had been laid on a tattered old shawl, while close by its +mother, busy with her basket of olives, sang a quaint little +Neapolitan song to keep it quiet. The air was quite familiar +to Francesca, but she had never before caught the words and, +listened now attentively as the mother sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ah! com'è bella la mia Bimba,<br> + Quando parlo e quando ride<br> + Quando meco ella deride,<br> + I sospiri del mio cor.<br> + Questo giglio inamorato<br> + Bimba mia chi t' hai la dato?<br> + O capisco t' el donava<br> + L'innocenza del tuo bel cor.<br> + Bella Bimba! Bella Bimba!<br> + Tu sei l' angelo d' amor."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The chorus, with its light-hearted repetitions of "<i>Bella +Bimba</i>," brought the tears to Francesca's eyes, but the baby +tired of lying on the ground, began to cry, and with the +natural instinct of helpfulness, which was perhaps her +strongest characteristic, Francesca sprang up and begged +leave to nurse it. Then, as she paced to and fro with her +little white-capped charge, hushing it to sleep with one of +Carlo's songs, she realized as she had never done before that +to tend the children of others is the sacred right of every +childless woman; and somehow her world, which had seemed +just before so hopelessly narrowed, broadened out again and +looked less dark and dreary. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the peasants finished their work and went away. +Francesca gave the sleeping baby to its mother, and, taking +Sibyl's hand, strolled homeward. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, who can be here?" exclaimed Sibyl, "some one +talking with father. Look!" +</p> + +<p> +Francesca's heart leaped into her mouth, for she caught +sight through the trees of a panama hat exactly like Carlo's. +In an instant a hundred wild hopes and conjectures had +passed through her mind, to be all too quickly dispelled, for +us they drew nearer Captain Britton came down the path to +meet them, and she saw that the panama hat belonged to +Count Carossa. For a moment she could not help hating +him; what right had he to take Carlo's house, to dress like +him, to walk down that path which was forever associated +in her mind with the day of her betrothal? It was all she +could do to greet him as usual. +</p> + +<p> +"I find Count Carossa is going in to Naples this evening +to the ball," said Captain Britton, "so I have offered him a +seat in our carriage. What time had you thought of starting, +Fran?" +</p> + +<p> +Francesca had thought of going early and returning early, +but quickly realized that Count Carossa would probably stay +late, so she proposed that they should go an hour later than +she had first intended, and, without being discourteous, +managed to seem perfectly indifferent as to the arrangement. +The Count was piqued by her manner; she was the first +pretty foreigner he had ever met who was not willing to +flirt with him, and he was determined to win her. She was +obliged to promise him a dance, to stand by and look polite +while her father invited him to dinner that evening, and +later on even to accept some white azaleas which he brought +with him from the Villa Bruno, not at all understanding that +the mere sight of them would recall to her the image of her +absent lover, of whose existence the Count had no idea. +</p> + +<p> +He was a good talker, and the Captain was delighted with +him, while for the present he was very willing to spend most +of his energies on his host, leaving Francesca unmolested, +and enjoying the sight of her as she sat at the head of +the table, looking exquisite in her white dress and with the +flowers nestled against her snowy neck. Something had +brought a faint tinge of color to her cheeks; perhaps it was +that the Count had asked a few innocent questions as to the +former inhabitants of the Villa Bruno, or perhaps it was +vexation at the thought that she had been obliged to accept +his flowers. She felt certain that her cousin Kate would +have managed to avoid accepting them, would have framed +some quick and dexterous reply, or thought of a good excuse. +But no way of escape had suggested itself to her: to have +refused them point-blank would have been both rude and +prudish, and though she disliked the Count, yet she was too +innately courteous to tolerate for a moment anything which +would needlessly wound the feelings of another. And then, +with a sudden pang, some Italian phrase spoken by the +visitor recalled Carlo to her mind, and she remembered how +short a time it was since he had sat in that very place at the +table, and the tears would well up into her eyes. She had +become of late, however, rather an adept in the matter of +managing tears. She knew to a nicety how far they might rise +without being noticeable, and both to her father and to the +Count she seemed a very self-possessed little hostess, only +intent on making everything easy and pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain had with a ponderous effort turned the +conversation from the Villa Bruno, but after a while the Count +innocently reverted to it. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you, like all the rest of the world, were taken +by surprise by Signor Donati," he remarked, readjusting his +table-napkin, which had slipped out of his collar, and failing +to note the expression of the Captain's face: "they say no +one had notion that he sang at all, so strictly had Piale kept +him." +</p> + +<p> +"He never sang out of his own house," said Captain +Britton, trying desperately to make his voice and manner +natural, and not daring to look at his daughter. "But I have +heard him sing there. There was a song of Piale's which he +used to sing; Piale has written some very pretty things, and +this had the merit of having English words. Let me see, +what was it called, Francesca?" +</p> + +<p> +He had seldom felt more flurried and uncomfortable; he +fancied the Count could read all that was passing in his +heart, and in despair he tried to turn the conversation to +Piale's music and appealed for help to Francesca, though he +knew that it was cowardly to do so. +</p> + +<p> +"It was called 'Love for a Life.' The words were +Tennyson's," said Francesca. "Do you read English at all?" +she asked, turning to the Count. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as he began to lament his ignorance of her native +language, her heart, which had been beating wildly while she +replied so composedly to her father's question, grew quieter, +and even felt a little glow of justifiable satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +"I managed that rather well," she thought to herself. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton, grateful for her help, and admiring her +calmness all the more because it contrasted with his own +blundering speech, seized the next chance for intervening +with his favorite story of how he had met the Laureate at +Lord Blamton's, and by the time that was ended Francesca +was able to leave the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +"After all," she thought to herself, "to hear his name is +better than silence. If father had not been there, if I had +been just alone with some one who didn't know, it would +have been a sort of comfort even to hear him spoken of. I +wonder if the Count went to hear him? I wonder if he +really admired him? I wonder if he will perhaps talk about +him at the ball to-night? I hope he will, and yet—and yet +I half fear it. Could I possibly manage my face? If he +praised him could I look just as if Carlo were any ordinary +singer? If he found fault could I help growing angry? +Why," she laughed to herself, but with more of sadness than +mirth, "Carlo's turning actor has forced me to turn actress! +Oh, my love! my love! I wonder where you are! I +wonder what you are doing! I wish,—oh, how I wish we +weren't going to this ball to-night! To be forced to dance +with a heartache is about as pleasant as to be forced to eat +with a headache." +</p> + +<p> +But Francesca changed her mind when she entered the +ball-room an hour or two later, for the very first person she +caught sight of was Enrico Ritter. Hitherto, to tell the +truth, she had rather disliked Enrico, had even been a little +jealous of him, grudging the time which Carlo spent in his +company, and resenting his habit of spending long days at +the Villa Bruno. Now he seemed to her the only man in +Naples worth looking at, and she thought how delightful his +blunt, uncomplimentary, almost rude manner would be after +Count Carossa's veiled lovemaking, which, with its familiar +Italian, would seem to her like a horrible parody of Carlo's. +</p> + +<p> +When she came into the room Enrico was at the far end +talking to some Americans whom Francesca knew by sight. +She felt almost certain that he saw her, and waited in +trembling hope for his approach; but he never came, and before +long she was surrounded by a little throng of worshippers, +and her card was speedily filled. When Count Carossa had +written his name there was only one vacant place for the +waltz which followed the <i>cotillon</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you not let me have this one, too?" he asked, +beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +She avoided his eager, brown eyes, and glanced quickly in +Enrico's direction. He was making one of those profound, +awkward-looking bows of his to a pretty little Neapolitan, +and she felt a conviction that he did not mean to ask her to +dance. It was hard to be avoided by the one man in the +room whom she desired to talk to, and persecuted by the one +she most wished to avoid! She felt angry with Enrico and +angry with the Count, and though she seldom asserted +herself her spirit rose now, and she said, quietly,— +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you; I shall not dance after the <i>cotillon</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"You are quite right; it is a tiring affair. But you will +permit me to sit out with you, signorina?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wish his eyes were green, or gray, or anything but brown," +thought Francesca to herself, naughtily. "I wish he was +French, or German, or anything but Italian!" Then aloud, +"No, I don't think I shall make any promises. But perhaps +I shall sit out with the partner I happen to choose in the +<i>cotillon</i>. We will see how things arrange themselves." +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, and there was the least little touch of coquetry +in her manner, for which she hated herself. But, then, what +was a poor girl to do in such a predicament? Must she +throw away her sole chance of hearing about her lover for the +sake of sitting out with his rival? If the Count was +conceited enough to think that she meant to choose him in the +<i>cotillon</i> it was surely no fault of hers; but he evidently did +think so, and she somehow felt vexed with herself, and yet +was unable to see how she could have acted differently. +She foresaw a time of trouble, since men would be provoking +enough to fall in love with her face, and it was clearly +impossible that she should go about the world labeled with +the notice,—"This is to certify that the heart of Francesca +Britton is given to one Carlo Donati, and therefore no lovers +need apply." +</p> + +<p> +However, she had not much time to think over the difficulties +in abstract, she was obliged to dance, and smile, and +listen to dozens of pretty speeches, and when most bored by +them to reflect, "Enrico is here, and will certainly know all +about Carlo. Enrico is here, and there is yet one chance of +a talk with him." +</p> + +<p> +The excitement and the eager hope made her happier than +she had been for a long time, and, moreover, the mere exercise +was doing her good and bringing the color to her cheeks; +although she had hated the thought of the ball beforehand, +she was too young and too genuinely fond of dancing not to +forget her grief every now and then, and really to enjoy it +much as Sibyl might have done. +</p> + +<p> +All this time Enrico had watched her critically. At first +he had intended to ask her to dance, and to write and give +Carlo a faithful and particular account of every word she had +said. But when he saw her surrounded by admirers, and +dispensing her favors with the unconscious dignity of a little +queen, then something like resentment began to stir in his +heart, and he wondered whether after all she deserved Carlo's +devotion, whether it was even remotely likely that she would +be faithful to him. +</p> + +<p> +He was angry with her for looking so lovely, and for +smiling so charmingly; with all his philosophy he never once +asked himself the question, how was she to help it? He was +angry with her for being admired by other men, and angry +with her for looking happy while she danced, and he hugged +his old conviction to his heart—"There is no such thing as +love in the world! all is selfishness under the sun." And yet, +though he professed to hold firmly to his creed, he longed +to-night to see it falsified; he would have liked, at any rate, +to think that his friend and the beautiful English girl were +those strange exceptions which, according to the proverb, +prove the rule. +</p> + +<p> +At length the <i>cotillon</i> was danced, and the time arrived +when Francesca, the acknowledged <i>belle</i> of the evening, was +seated in the middle of the room with a mirror in her hand, +while those who were eager to be her partners went up one +by one behind her, and looked over her shoulder so that +their faces were reflected in the glass. If she refused them, +she threw her handkerchief across the mirror, and it seemed +to-night as if no one pleased her, for one after another was +rejected, and Enrico was enchanted to see the look of +confidence with which Count Carossa had approached her +changed to undisguisable chagrin as he retired into the ranks +of the refused. +</p> + +<p> +"Go and try your chance," urged a voice in Enrico's heart. +But he reflected that it was well enough to see other men +rejected, but not so pleasant to be refused oneself. +</p> + +<p> +"For Carlo's sake," urged the voice; "it is your sole chance +of talking to her." +</p> + +<p> +Much against his own inclination he moved forward and +looked grimly down upon the mirror. His face was so funny +a contrast to all the worshipping faces which had preceded +it, that Francesca could have found it in her heart to laugh +at it had she not been so happy and relieved. To the astonishment +of every one, including Enrico himself, she made the +sign of acceptance, and with the proud sense of possession +his good-humor returned, and he was ready to believe +nothing but good of her. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought you were never coming," she said under her +breath, when talking was possible. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you wish for me?" he asked in his cold, rather sarcastic +voice. "I thought you were far too well provided with +cavaliers to care for so indifferent a dancer." +</p> + +<p> +"You ought to have known that you were the one man in +the room I should care to talk with," she said quickly, stung +by his tone, and by the perception of what he must have +thought of her. But the next moment she half regretted her +words, for Enrico's whole face changed and he lifted his eyes +to hers with the look in them which she could not bear to see, +save in the eyes of the man she loved. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought you would tell me of Carlo," she said, determined +to speak out boldly, though she would have preferred +a more quiet place for the talk. "Have you heard from +him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Three times," said Enrico, recovering his usual manner. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! so often!" she exclaimed, with mingled jealousy +and pleasure in her tone. +</p> + +<p> +They were interrupted for a minute or two by the necessity +of attending to the dance. In the next interval he saw +that the jealousy had given place to unclouded satisfaction, +and it was almost in the tone of her old childish days that +she said, "Oh, you will tell me all about him, will you not? +You are his friend, I know, and for his sake you will still be +mine, I hope." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, I will," he said very kindly, "if you will let me. +You never liked me in the old days; I daresay I was very +disagreeable." +</p> + +<p> +"No, it was my fault," said Francesca. "I was so jealous +of you because you took up the time, and I was afraid he +cared for you more than me, but now—but now I am not +jealous any more." She laughed a little, and glanced up at +him with a humorous look in her dark gray eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I would do anything to serve you," said Enrico, "I +cannot help still thinking of you as one who belongs to Carlo, +and for that reason your slightest wish shall be a command +to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, you are so kind; you understand so well, +Enrico," she replied, quickly adopting the tone of brotherly +and sisterly intimacy which he had carefully instilled into +his last remark. She was very grateful to him for putting in +that saving clause, "for that reason," and dismissed forever +from her mind the fear which had seized her not long since +that Enrico was going over into the tiresome ranks of her +adorers. He was going to do no such thing; he was going +to be to her just the strong, kind, brotherly friend she needed. +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad it is over," she exclaimed, as the music ceased, +"do let us get somewhere away from all these people. Are +you engaged for the next dance?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Enrico, hardly knowing whether to be amused +or charmed by her unconventional frankness. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! I am so glad, for I saved it on purpose, and made +Count Carossa so cross. Please, please sit out with me +somewhere and tell me about the letters." +</p> + +<p> +Enrico in his secret soul felt a thrill of pride as he reflected +that the belle of the evening had besought him to stay with +her. Then all selfish thoughts faded away in admiration of +the love which made shy, timid Francesca so innocently bold, +so delightfully unlike the girls whom he was in the habit of +meeting in society. +</p> + +<p> +He led her into the conservatory, which was prettily hung +with Chinese lanterns, and here, at the far end, they +discovered a charming little nook, with a rustic seat half hidden +by ferns and flowering plants. +</p> + +<p> +"I will send you the letters to read if you like; I could +always do that," began Enrico. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she said, with a sigh, "I don't think it would be +right, for my father made me promise not to write to him or +receive letters from him, and that would seem like a sort of +subterfuge. But it can't be wrong to hear about him now +that we have met at last. Where did he write from?" +</p> + +<p> +"The first letter was from Malta; he seemed fairly cheerful, +made great fun over the colorless island, and grew very +patriotic over his comparisons. I am afraid he feels his exile +a great deal. You see he is such a thorough Italian; all his +interests are bound up with the country. Then, too, he was +a good deal pained because those idiots down at the Circle of +Social Instruction—the club, you know, in which he had +always taken so much interest—quite misunderstood his +turning public singer, upbraided him with his desertion of the +cause—much they knew about it!—and called him frivolous +and self-seeking, just as if they were a parcel of English +Puritans, if you will pardon the comparison." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca sighed. "It seems as if all the world were +against him." +</p> + +<p> +"But that is what such knight-errants must expect," +said Enrico. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't see why," said Francesca, sadly; "of course +they would expect the evil to be arrayed against them, but +when their fellow-soldiers turn upon them that seems hard. +Still I think he was prepared for it; he counted the cost +before he set out,—not that that makes it any easier to +bear." +</p> + +<p> +"He wrote again from Gibraltar, where they seemed to +have had a busy time," continued Enrico; "and then again +he wrote on board the steamer and posted the letter in England, +so they are safely there, though the letter, being posted +on landing, gave no particulars as to his first notions of the +country." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca was silent for a minute, the bare, dry facts were +so unsatisfying, she wanted to know all the little details, she +longed so terribly to see the letters themselves. Enrico partly +understood, but found it impossible to come to her help. He +had had no idea that it would have proved so hard to give any +coherent account of his friend's long letters. While he was +racking his brains for some quotable sentence, he became +aware of voices at a little distance beyond their leafy screen; +he heard the word "Donati," and then, as the speakers drew +nearer, the whole conversation became distinctly audible. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, his uncle is furious about it,—disowned him on the +spot." +</p> + +<p> +"You mark my words, Badia, there's a woman in the case. +For all Donati's high reputation I would stake my life on it. +These fellows who set up for being moral, if once they are +touched, go to greater lengths than we should." +</p> + +<p> +"For the matter of that," remarked the other, "it is likely +enough he should turn singer with such a voice; magnificent! the +finest baritone I ever heard." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Corpo del diavolo!</i> you are as innocent as a child, my +friend! Would a man throw over a fortune, and a good +match, and a profession to boot? Besides, see how quickly +it was all arranged! One week we were congratulating him +on being an <i>avvocato</i>, the next this fair unknown had lured +him on to the stage." +</p> + +<p> +"What about a match? I heard nothing of that." +</p> + +<p> +"I assure you I have it on the best authority that he was +betrothed to Miss Britton, and left her for the sake of the fair +unknown." +</p> + +<p> +"Capperi! This is truly a chapter from a romance! Let +me see, who was there in Merlino's Company? The little De +Caisne, do you think? or Domenica Borelli?" +</p> + +<p> +The reply was inaudible, there came a sound of laughter, +then the voices died away in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico had been on the point of dashing forward to put a +peremptory stop to the malicious gossip, but the recollection +of Francesca's presence made him pause. To discuss the +matter before her was out of the question, and even had she +not been there it would have been almost impossible to interfere +to any purpose, so cunningly were the falsehoods interwoven +with the truth. He was so angry that at first he could +not spare time to look at his companion, but when the speakers +had left the conservatory he turned to Francesca, an indignant +exclamation trembling on his lips. The exclamation was +never uttered, however, for the sight of her face almost choked +him; it was bathed in tears, of which she seemed unconscious, +for she made no effort to hide them; her hands were tightly +locked together, and the tears rained down over her lovely +pink and white cheeks. She had not stirred since their +conversation had been interrupted, her face was still turned to +his, just as it had been when he told her of Carlo's letters. +Enrico longed to rush after the slanderers and crack their +skulls together; he had never in his whole life felt so savage +and yet so tender, so eager to comfort and yet so conscious +of his own unfitness. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't heed those brutes," he entreated. "After all, you +know every public character is exposed to this sort of thing, +and really, upon my soul, if one were not so angry one would +be obliged to laugh at such an absurd notion." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca did not speak, but she was recalled to the present, +and made an effort to stop crying. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico thought she had never looked so lovely before, and +felt that her tears were making sad havoc of his philosophy, +and that, in self-defence, he must do what he could to check +them. +</p> + +<p> +"See," he began, in his kindest voice, "if you go back to +the ball-room presently, and people notice that you have +been crying, it will make an opening for more of this infernal +gossip." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she said, with a quiver in her voice which made his +heart ache. "I had not thought of that;" and hastily drying +her eyes, she raised them to his, all bright and shining, +and pathetic as the eyes of a little child in trouble. "Do +you think it shows much now?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Enrico was no lady's man, he neither perjured himself to +please her nor evaded the question by a compliment, as many +would have done. He looked gravely into those dark, gray +depths, and critically at the wet lashes fringing them. +</p> + +<p> +"It does rather," he said; "but we need not go back yet, +they are still dancing." +</p> + +<p> +"How sad the music sounds!" she said, with a sigh; "and +yet it is a waltz I used to be so fond of. It seems as if those +hateful words had taken the sweetness out of everything." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't think of them!" exclaimed Enrico. "After all, you +know it is but the way of the world. People would be dull if +they did not invent little scandals of this kind. Carlo has +done an altogether unprecedented thing, has actually loved +his sister better than himself; but the world can't look into +his heart, and naturally, after its invariable custom, credits +him with low motives." +</p> + +<p> +"It is just that which makes it so hard," said Francesca. +"I didn't think they could have been so cruel; people, too, +who must really have known him. How can they—how can +they think such things? All his life gives the lie to it!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence; the music rang out more distinctly; it +seemed to say to Francesca: "After all, 'tis a hollow kind of +merriment, but we are bound to go on. The fiddler is longing +to get home to his dying wife, but he must play on to the +end! And the dancers have aching hearts, but they must +dance, dance and be merry. This is pleasure, you know, the +world's pleasure!" +</p> + +<p> +"You see," said Enrico, "the world has always been very +kind to you, and so you have been deceived. People naturally +make much of you, and that, of course, is pleasant." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think I can ever enjoy anything again," said +Francesca, with the firm conviction of two-and-twenty that the +particular cloud in its sky is going to prove more powerful than +the sun. +</p> + +<p> +But there was, nevertheless, some truth in her remark. +She would enjoy again, but never in the same way; she would +enjoy as a woman, but never again as a happily-ignorant girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Everything seems hollow and unreal," she went on; "I +have believed in it all so much!" +</p> + +<p> +"You must not let me convert you to my creed," said +Enrico, with a smile, "or how could I ever face Carlo? It is +an odd coincidence that while you, through this business, get +your first glimpse behind the world's scenes, and are +disillusioned, I, in watching you and Carlo, have felt almost +ready to throw over my pet theory of universal egoism." +</p> + +<p> +"What arguments you and Carlo used to have in the old +days," said Francesca, recovering herself, and feeling much +cheered by his words. Then, with a little smile, she added, +"I have been talking just like a horrid old woman we used to +know in England. I wished her a merry Christmas one day, +and she shook her head and looked so glum as she grumbled +out, '<i>Merry</i> Christmas indeed! there's no merriment in this +world.' I do hope I shan't grow like her." +</p> + +<p> +Enrico laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall tell Carlo that story when next I write. You will +not allow me to send any message from you I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I can't do that," she sighed; "he knows I can't. But +oh, Enrico, it is such comfort to know that you write to him. +Write often—promise to write often." +</p> + +<p> +Once again they talked over all the news in Carlo's letters, +then, leaving the flowery retreat, made their way back to the +crowded rooms. Francesca was speedily claimed by her next +partner, and Enrico leant meditatively against the wall, +watching the gay scene, and musing over that pathetic complaint +which the girl had made to him, "They have taken the +sweetness out of everything." +</p> + +<p> +Years after, if any one had asked him what was the most +touching sight he had ever seen, there would have risen in his +mind a picture of that gayly-lighted ballroom, and of +Francesca's sweet, sad face, upon which, spite of all her efforts, +there yet lingered the traces of tears. Again and again she +was whirled past him, her feet flew over the ground, but her +face always bore the same expression, and he knew well that +it was only a sense of duty which kept her up, and that she +danced with a sore heart. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. +<br><br> +IN ENGLAND. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "And hast thou chosen then? Canst thou endure<br> + The purging change of frost and calenture;<br> + Accept the sick recoil, the weary pain<br> + Of senses heightened, keener nerves and brain—<br> + Suffer and love, love much and suffer long—<br> + And live through all, and at the last be strong?<br> + * * * * *<br> + Thou shall need all the strength that God can give<br> + Simply to live, my friend, simply to live."<br> + <i>On Art as an Aim in Life</i>—F. W. H. MYERS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Morning News! Morning News!</i> Shocking murder at +Mountford!" This cheerful announcement, in the harsh shout +of a newspaper boy, awoke Carlo, one morning early in +the autumn, to the recollection that he was in England. He +started broad awake in a moment from dreams of Francesca +and Casa Bella, and with a pang of realization, to which he +was now too well accustomed, knew that he was altogether +parted from her, and looked with blank, hopeless, miserable +depression round the unfamiliar hotel room. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of those narrow, gloomy places often met with +in inns; at the foot of his own narrow iron bedstead was a +second just as narrow, and though the general impression +conveyed was of meagre bareness in respect to the furniture, +yet one felt cramped and oppressed by the proportions of +the room. +</p> + +<p> +"Soles and whiting! soles and whiting!" sang a nasal-voiced +fishwoman in the street. And then, after an interval, +came a cry so extremely comic that Carlo burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you awake, San Carlo?" exclaimed Gigi, appearing, +with the suddenness of a Jack-in-the-box, from beneath the +clothes on the other bed. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Giusto Cielo!</i> what can the woman be calling?" said +Carlo. "Gigi, if you love me, jump out of bed and see!" +</p> + +<p> +Gigi, nothing loth, sprang up and darted to the window. +</p> + +<p> +"It's black things in a basket," he announced. "Oh, +now I can hear what she says; it is 'Pickled +cockles! pickled cockles!'" +</p> + +<p> +By the time the cry had died away in the distance Carlo +was grave and depressed again, he tried to live through his +dream once more and to forget the distasteful reality, while +all the time he was listlessly watching Gigi in the performance +of his toilette, a sight which might well have tickled +the gravity of an unaccustomed observer. Necessity had +taught the little fellow to be far more handy than most +children of his age, and now that Carlo had instilled into his +mind the duties of cleanliness and godliness, his business-like +way of setting to work was most edifying, beginning +sedulously with soap and water, and ending with the +paternoster which Carlo had taught him in Italian. +</p> + +<p> +The place seemed to grow less desolate as the child very +slowly and deliberately repeated the familiar words, and +Carlo's heart grew lighter. True, he had as yet made no way +at all with Anita, and the future still looked black and +unpromising, but at any rate Gigi was the better for the change +of baritones, and what right had he to fear for the result of +work which he had begun in obedience to a direct call? +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Perciocchè tuo è il regno, e la potenza, e la gloria, in +sempiterno. Amen</i>," repeated Gigi; then, springing to his feet, and +relapsing into English, "May I go down and play, San +Carlo?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo patted the little brown head. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, to be sure, old man, take your soldiers and +play in the coffee-room. I'll be down directly!" +</p> + +<p> +Once up and dressed he began to look at life from his +customary cheerful standpoint, and, with a curiosity which +was almost boyish, drew up his blind and looked eagerly +forth, for this was, in reality, his first glimpse of England, +since they had landed quite late on the previous evening, in +darkness and confusion indescribable. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Capperi!</i> what a land of chimney-pots!" was his first +exclamation. And in truth the prospect from the window was +one which to a Neapolitan would seem most extraordinary. +The room was at the back of the hotel, and on the fourth +storey; it overlooked a narrow by-street, and thousands of +roofs, and from every roof there rose these extraordinary-looking +chimneys, stout, red ones, tall and attenuated gray +ones, square ones, with blackened tops, and here and there a +grisly-looking cowl, whirling and creaking in the most +gruesome way. The sky was gray and leaden, a strong west +wind was blowing, and Carlo had not stood many minutes at +the open window before he found that his linen had suffered +severely from the smuts. +</p> + +<p> +"What a melancholy-looking place!" he thought to himself; +"if I stay looking at it much longer the blue devils will +get the better of me again, and that doesn't pay." +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, whistling "<i>O dolce Napoli</i>," and reflecting +that he would have some fun with Sardoni over his +first impressions of England. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was down before him, and was half-way through +a substantial breakfast of ham and eggs, which reminded +Carlo of the English breakfasts that Captain Britton had +always refused to give up. +</p> + +<p> +"You're late," said the tenor, nodding to him. "Had +you come down a few minutes ago you would have witnessed +a most interesting scene." +</p> + +<p> +"I am late because I have been admiring the beautiful +view of chimney-pots from my room," said Carlo; "you +should have prepared me for them, they quite took my breath +away. What with the chimney-pots, and the pickled-cockles, +and the soles and whiting, I'm already quite learned in +English life." +</p> + +<p> +"San Carlo, mayn't I have some of that yellow stuff?" +pleaded Gigi, who had been watching Sardoni's operations +with hungry eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, if you like; what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Man alive!" cried Sardoni, laughing heartily, "do you +mean to say that you never saw marmalade! No Englishman +dreams of breakfasting without it. There!" he almost +emptied the pot on to his friend's plate, "eat and be +thankful, and own yourself a convert." +</p> + +<p> +"Delicious stuff!" mumbled Gigi, with his mouth very +full, and heaving a sigh of satisfaction. Then, as his elders +laughed, he added fervently, "I should like to be alluse +eating sweet things." +</p> + +<p> +"What has been happening?" asked Carlo, when the +child had finished his breakfast and had gone back to his +toys. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Marioni has been tearing his hair a little, and +Merlino has been swearing much. He got out of bed with +the wrong foot foremost, and I believe there is something +gone amiss with the manager of the theatre here, or the +orchestra or something. I really didn't hear the rights of it; all +I know is that he ramped and roared a good bit, and that it +ended with exit Marioni, left wing, tearing his hair, and exit +Merlino, right wing, in a vile temper." +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is he tries to do too much," said Carlo. "A +man can't be in himself impresario, singer, and business +agent all at once. It's more than human nature can +stand." +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly more than human temper can stand," said +Sardoni. "However, he is not likely to have more officials +than he can help, for he knows well enough that this English +tour is a frightful risk. And for the matter of that you are +worth ten officials to him: you seem to me to take pleasure +in being his slave." +</p> + +<p> +"I have liked him much better since I worked with him," +said Carlo. "There is a sort of rough honesty about him, +after all. I fancy that with a different education he might +have been a fine character." +</p> + +<p> +"There's no denying anyhow that at present he's a fine +tyrant," said Sardoni. "It's my belief that you would find +excuses for the devil himself, Valentino!" +</p> + +<p> +"Valentino" had become Carlo's nickname with the company. +One evening at Naples there had been a discussion +in the green-room about an article in some journal on the +merits of the new baritone, in which his "Valentino" in +particular had called forth the warmest praise, and was termed +"a new creation." Gomez, who had never lost an opportunity +of making himself disagreeable to the new-comer, +had turned to him with his contemptuous smile and said, "I +congratulate the Signor Valentino, and it is certainly true +that he plays the part as though he were to the manner born." +</p> + +<p> +To Carlo and Sardoni, who were the only ones present +who were capable of understanding the speech, a hundred +hateful innuendoes were conveyed in look and tone; but the +others caught up the idea as though it had been a jest, and +Tannini, drawing the sword which he wore in his costume of +Ceprano, smote him on the shoulder and, with the most +nasal of Yankee twangs, shouted, "Arise, Sir Valentino!" +</p> + +<p> +"Knight-errant," put in Sardoni, seeing that it would be +well to let the Spaniard's innuendo pass for jest. +</p> + +<p> +And so, like the "San Carlo" spitefully suggested by +Comerio, "Valentino" became a household word among +the troupe and lost all bitterness, becoming, indeed, a sort +of symbol of the familiar teasing, the playful fondness, which +Carlo speedily won from his companions. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that Sardoni had not exaggerated matters in +speaking of Merlino's temper, for at this moment he entered +the coffee-room with the ominous double crease in his brow +and the dark look about his eyes, which always betokened a +stormy day for those in his immediate neighborhood. At +such times he was certainly a most repulsive-looking man +and at first Carlo had felt that he could not live with him, +that the mere sight of him would be intolerable. By this +time, however, he had somehow called into existence a sort +of fondness for his brother-in-law: he had the rare and +enviable gift of seeing people as they might have been under +happier circumstances, and the still rarer power of treating +them as such; and so the constant society of the Impresario +had been quite tolerable to him, or only intolerable at rare +moments when his natural impatience overmastered him, and +made him feel ready to break with everything and rush back +to a peaceful life in his native land. +</p> + +<p> +"So you're down at last," said Merlino, who resented it +as a personal injury if any one lay in bed after he did. As +he had an inconvenient habit of always waking early, +however late he had been the night before, his companions +sometimes found this trait in his character rather provoking, +particularly as with most people the career of an operatic +singer does not tend to promote the virtue of early rising. +</p> + +<p> +"I hear that Marioni has been in already," said Carlo. +"What has gone wrong?" +</p> + +<p> +"Everything!" said Merlino, savagely. "I wish to goodness, +that instead of lying in bed till this hour, you had been +down at the theatre in the place of that blockhead!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I will go now if anything can be done," said Carlo, +ignoring the rudeness and unreasonableness of the remark. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Insomma!</i> Much good now! That is so exactly like +you, Donati, always ready with patience and cool common-sense +over other people's difficulties! I know there would be +a cursed difference in your tone if the difficulty were yours +and not mine!" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was on the point of breaking in with a remonstrance, +but Carlo gave him a glance which made him hold +his peace; and taking up a paper, he appeared to be reading +the leading article, though in reality he was listening to his +two companions. He remembered, not without certain +twinges of conscience, that Carlo had been helping the +baggage men and seeing after all the lost goods of the troupe, +when he himself had turned in on the previous night: probably +"Valentino," who was always seeing after other people's +worries, had been the last of the Company to go to bed. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry I'm late," said Carlo. "How has Marioni +managed to put his foot in it?" +</p> + +<p> +"He declares the orchestra is not half ready, and he has +been quarrelling with the manager about the rehearsals." +</p> + +<p> +"Ten to one he has made some mistake," said Carlo. +"The manager is not likely to speak Italian, and Marioni's +English is," with a laugh, "well, asking his pardon, is really +grotesque. Just think now, the other day at Gibraltar I +heard him talking to an English violinist, and he said, +'What! not are here no lockomoteeves?' The poor fellow +could hardly keep his countenance! And then, too, there's +no convincing Marioni that a gesture conveys nothing at all +to the ordinary Englishman; he expects them to understand +just as if they had been born and bred at Naples." +</p> + +<p> +Merlino smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"There's something in that, after all. Perhaps it is not +so bad as he makes out." +</p> + +<p> +"If you think it would be any use I will come round +there with you now," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I wish you would," said Merlino, gruffly, "for +your English is better than mine. Oh! confound you! +Never mind the child! He's well enough here." +</p> + +<p> +"Let me come with you, papa; I'll be so good—so good," +said Gigi, who a little while ago would infallibly have burst +into tears at the prospect of this disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +Merlino, who really loved his son, was touched by the +entreaty, and made no further objection; so the odd-looking +trio set off together, and Sardoni, throwing down his paper, +stood at the window and watched them down the street with +a comical expression about the corners of his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +"It's as good as a play to see how that fellow can turn +Merlino round his finger! And all the time the old brute +treats him like a dog. I'm hanged if I understand how +Valentino does it, and how he keeps his temper, for he's got +a pretty hot one for all his sweetness. Jove! I should like +just to poke the devil up in him for once and see what he'd +do. He's none of your milk-and-water saints or he could +never act as he does." +</p> + +<p> +But if to Sardoni, who held the key to the enigma, Carlo's +character and life were perplexing, to the rest of the troupe +they were altogether incomprehensible. Some of them +admired him; others found his unselfishness convenient, and +did not scruple to trade on it; others were jealous of his +success, and suspected him of trying to curry favor with +Merlino; and though before long all, except Gomez, had been so +far conquered by the charm of his manner as to treat him with +friendly familiarity, not one of them was capable of fathoming +the beauty of his character. He was merely in their +eyes a pleasant exchange for Comerio,—a youngster who, at +present, seemed unspoiled by his success, a good travelling +companion, who was always ready to make fun of petty +discomforts, and who seemed quite naturally, and with an utter +absence of ostentation, to take upon himself the "dirty work" +of the Company. +</p> + +<p> +It soon came to be considered just "Valentino's way" to +yield the comfortable seat in a railway carriage, or to leave +the better room at a hotel to some one else, or with an +unconscious air, which was often highly amusing, to act as +safety-valve for the Impresario's temper. It was a very +convenient way, there was no doubt about that; and his help +seemed so spontaneous, and was so free from all suspicion of +conceit or superiority, that it was indeed help worth having. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, like the art of an actor, all this seemingly +natural and unstudied action was the result of sheer effort +and often wearisome consideration; it was merely that Carlo +succeeded, as very few do succeed, in veiling the effort and +letting people perceive the result only. How hard he found +life in Merlino's Company only he himself knew. With Nita +his great love helped him to endure patiently, and Merlino +came in for a share of this, too. But with the others who +were not akin to him, who were many of them positively +obnoxious to him, it was otherwise. Nothing but hard +struggling with his own temper brought him through each day's +difficulties. +</p> + +<p> +Bauer would patronize him in a bland, superior way, pat +him on the shoulder in season and out of season, embrace +him in his fervent German fashion, and call him "<i>Mein +Junge</i>." And then, with his sensitive, artistic nature all +untuned, Carlo would wonder to himself whether it was pride +or a right self-respect which made him inwardly rebel. How +far was he bound to submit to the patronizing familiarity of +a greedy, conceited, irritating, underbred old German, whose +presence jarred on him like a false note? Sometimes he +tried to throw a sort of careful coldness into his manner +towards old Bauer, but that only worked mischief. Then he +tried to carry off all the petty annoyances with a laugh. This +answered better, but, after all, the weariest thing on earth +is forced merriment, and his own troubles were making him +very heavy-hearted. +</p> + +<p> +Again, there was Fasola, the second baritone, with his +aggravating habit of reading a bitter meaning into the most +innocent remarks, with his contemptible jealousy, with his +determination to be aggrieved. Genuinely sorry for the +man, and feeling that it must be hard to see a young novice +in the place he coveted yet could by no means fill, Carlo +went out of his way to help and please him; but Fasola, +while accepting help readily enough, was the most touchy +and querulous of mortals, and always contrived to be at +cross-purposes with the new-comer, and to take offence on +every possible occasion. +</p> + +<p> +Then, too, Carlo was always confronted by the difficulty of +how to be friendly, yet not intimate, with those who were no +better than they should be. Domenica Borelli severely kept +to the rule of not being on speaking terms with any one of +whom she disapproved; but this way of cutting the Gordian +knot did not commend itself to him, and he struggled on in +the difficult endeavor to be courteous to those who were +altogether distasteful to him, to steer between a weak +tolerance and a priggishly expressed disapproval, to be true to +his own principles and yet to avoid anything like Pharisaism. +Hitherto he had been little accustomed to difficulties of this +kind, for he had lived very simply and in a perfectly +harmonious atmosphere. He was ashamed to find how the +petty vexations chafed him, and often felt inclined to throw +up everything and own that he had attempted something +beyond his powers. This was generally late at night or +early in the morning, when he was fagged and dispirited. +But, then, again, he would take heart and begin once more, +with hope and courage springing up anew, and a sort of +eagerness for the fray of which but a little while before he +had been so weary. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was the only one who troubled himself to wonder +about the new baritone; he could not have told why it was +that he had from the very first been so attracted by him, but +the attraction only grew more powerful the more he saw of +him, and his reckless nonchalance was fast melting away in +the deep interest of this half-avowed friendship. He could +have laughed at himself for being so absorbed in the study +of a fellow-actor that his ordinary pleasures palled upon him; +but there was no disputing the fact, and when Carlo was +near he was always conscious of a sort of fascination which +compelled him to throw off his cold indifference, which +roused him into a pleasant warmth of wonder, and made him +look and listen, and wait upon Donati's utterances as though +they were most remarkable. And this, to tell the truth, +they seldom were, for Carlo was not particularly intellectual, +neither was he brilliant and witty; it was rather that he was +what the Italians call "<i>Simpatica</i>," and full of an undefined +charm which made him as lovable as he was incomprehensible. +</p> + +<p> +He came in soon after noon looking fagged and much +inclined for a peaceful cigar. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you been all this time at the theatre?" asked +Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, two mortal hours of altercation, the manager, the +local conductor, Merlino, and Marioni, all in battle array." +</p> + +<p> +"With you as a go-between, I suppose, alternately used +and abused?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something like it," he replied, laughing at a recollection +of the dispute; "the whole affair really rose out of a +jealousy between Marioni and the local man. It seems to +me that jealousy thrives like a weed in art life,—I shall soon +be grudging you your superior parts, <i>amico mio</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"You're welcome to the parts," said Sardoni, "if you would +make over a little of your superfluous applause to me. +However, I intend to be proud of you, and not jealous, for did I +not have my finger in the pie? And does not Italian opera +owe me a deep debt of gratitude for having secured your +services?" +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Merlino entered abruptly. Though the +difficulties had been smoothed away by Carlo's mediation +the dispute had very much ruffled the manager's temper. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is Anita?" he asked, fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not seen her this morning," said Carlo, foreseeing +a bad time for his sister; "by-the-by, how about those letters?" +</p> + +<p> +But Merlino with a grievance was like a dog with a bone; +he would gnaw it, and worry it, and bite first on one side, +then on the other, and when at last you thought it was safely +buried he would exhume it and begin his operations all over +again. +</p> + +<p> +"Not up yet, I'll be bound!" he exclaimed, wrathfully; +"it's abominable; she never stirs a finger to help me, and +everything gone wrong as usual!" +</p> + +<p> +He strode out of the room, and doubtless opened the vials +of his wrath on Nita's head, for she appeared before long +looking very much discomposed, but with a resentful light in +her eyes which Carlo had learnt to understand too well. +</p> + +<p> +All else would have been bearable enough to him if only +he could have won Nita's love; but after the first day or +two, when she had really been grateful to him for saving her +from what in her better moods she fully recognized as a sin, +she had never felt or pretended to feel for him any sort of +affection. When alone with him, or when she wanted anything +done, she would often be civil and even friendly, but +when other people were present she seemed to take pleasure +in snubbing him, and never allowed him to forget for a +moment that he was her junior. The "elder sisterly" style of +treatment is never very congenial to a man, and it was +particularly irksome to Carlo, because he and Anita had so very +little in common. It was, perhaps, this which made it so +hard for him to win his way with her. They had none of the +happy associations of childhood which form so strong a +bond between most brothers and sisters; they had grown up +apart, and when, at rare intervals, Nita had returned from +the convent, there had been little love lost between them. +At nineteen she had left home forever, and cast in her lot with +Merlino, and now, after an interval of five years, the brother +and sister were almost strangers to each other, and Carlo, +often in despair, struggled to break down the wall of division +which seemed to have risen between them. If he had been +as indifferent to her as she was to him they might have +drifted on without much discomfort, but he loved her, not +only as the one specially left to him by his mother on her +death-bed, not only with the family love which had first come +to his aid in that time of numb grief, but with the divine love +which had given him power to sacrifice himself for her sake. +It is often harder to understand the characters of those +closely related to us than the characters of mere ordinary +acquaintances, our very nearness hinders us from taking true +and just views, and perhaps Carlo's love blinded him to some +extent with regard to Nita. He credited her with virtues +which she did not possess, and then was wounded when, in +daily life, she was weighed in the balance and found +wanting. He would say to himself: "Is she not the child of +my father and mother? Then how is it possible that she +should not at heart be really loving, really true?" But he +did not realize, as a dispassionate spectator would have done, +that, although Nita might originally have inherited many +good gifts, her life and education had been quite enough to +paralyze them. +</p> + +<p> +In fact her character was the natural outcome of a long +course of tyranny. Tyranny in the convent had first taught +her to be deceitful; deceit had by degrees become ingrained +in her nature, she had come to think of lying as a very venial +sin, and it did not in the least trouble her to gain the ends +she desired by crooked means. Was she not obliged to +outwit the tyrants? At her marriage she had escaped into +what she had imagined would prove love and liberty, but in +three months' time she had learnt that she had made a +terrible mistake, and had sold herself into a slavery almost +intolerable. +</p> + +<p> +When a woman makes so terrible a discovery there are only +two courses open to her, either she must sink or she must +swim, there is no idle drifting in such case. Nita never +attempted to love her husband, she never tried to bridge over +the differences between them; he tyrannized over her as +was his nature, and she yielded in miserable, slavish despair, +fearing him and hating him with her whole heart. So +inevitably she sank, and there was not wanting—there never +is wanting—a Comerio to help her. Sardoni considered her +heartless and commonplace, and so she was, yet not so +heartless as to be insensible to the charm of Comerio's +devotion when contrasted with her husband's cruelty, and +commonplace enough to fall with the greatest ease into the +trap laid for her. Comerio's evil influence increased with a +speed which alarmed her, she stood on the very brink of the +precipice, but yet at the supreme moment some blind +impulse had made her turn and rush back to her mother. +Then she had thrown herself upon Carlo's mercy, had +confessed all, and begged his help; he had replied by the gift +of his life, and now, the danger for the moment tided over, +poor Nita felt a sudden reaction, and wished with all her +heart that she had acted differently. In her worst moments +she hated Carlo for having ousted her lover, in her better +moments she tried to goad herself into a sort of gratitude to +him for what he had done; while often, in revenge for the +humiliation of feeling that he knew her weakness, she +delighted in trying his temper, and showing to the troupe that +she had not the least intention of joining in the chorus of +admiration which the outer world accorded to the new baritone. +</p> + +<p> +Tyranny induces deceit, and it also engenders the desire +to tyrannize. Nita, who had been made so miserable by +her husband's overbearing nature, retaliated whenever she +could on Gigi, or on her luckless dresser, or, strange to say, +most frequently of all on Carlo. She was so certain of his +love, so sure that he would never fail her, that she was not +afraid to do this; and at present the consciousness that she +could pain him was rather pleasant than otherwise, it gave +her a feeling of power which flattered her pride. +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to have worked up Merlino into a pleasant +state," she said, sarcastically, in reply to Carlo's greeting. +</p> + +<p> +He disliked her way of speaking against her husband, and +tried to turn the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"There has been a good deal to worry him to-day, but all +is straight now. We have been down at the theatre, it seems +a better one than I should have expected." +</p> + +<p> +"All is straight, you should say, with the exception of +the Impresario's temper," said Nita, sharply. "I wish you +would leave him alone and not interfere, you only make it a +great deal worse for me." +</p> + +<p> +Nita's unreasonableness was at times enough to madden a +man, and Carlo could not help sympathizing a little with +Merlino; he knew quite well that if he had not gone to the +theatre her reproach would have been, "You never try to +put Merlino into a better temper, you never try to smooth +matters for me." +</p> + +<p> +He was silent, and Nita, who had hoped to stir up a discussion, +finding it impossible to quarrel alone, walked over +to the window where Gigi was contentedly playing with his +soldiers, and without a word of warning swept the whole of +the miniature camp into its box. +</p> + +<p> +"Go away! we can't have your toys all over the place!" +she said, giving him a vindictive little push. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi, whose tears were terribly near the surface, burst into +a roar, and Carlo, who on principle never interfered between +mother and child, had much ado to keep silence while the +little fellow was ignominiously turned out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all your fault," said Nita, returning a little flushed +from the contest, "you make a great deal too much of the +child, he must be taught his proper place." +</p> + +<p> +She sat down with her writing-case at the vacant table. +</p> + +<p> +"I am going to the post-office directly," said Carlo, by +way of breaking the uncomfortable silence; "shall you have +any letters?" +</p> + +<p> +"What affair is that of yours?" she asked, angrily. "Is +is not enough that my husband is spying on me all day long? +If you think I am going to put up with you as spy you are +mistaken! It was bad enough before you came!" +</p> + +<p> +And with an impatient gesture she gathered her things +together and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni, glancing up, saw the pained look on Carlo's face, +and was so stung by it that he could no longer keep silence. +</p> + +<p> +"By Jove!" he exclaimed; "if Madame Merlino were not +your sister I should give her a piece of my mind." +</p> + +<p> +He was curious to know what Carlo would say. +</p> + +<p> +For a minute he was silent; then, stifling a sigh, he replied +lightly, but not altogether without effort, "You see those +who cannot flog the horse flog the saddle. Merlino has +vexed her, and she uses me as safety-valve." +</p> + +<p> +"And Merlino appears to do the same; you are between +two fires." +</p> + +<p> +"But with a good comrade to cheer me when I am down +in the mouth. Some day, <i>amico mio</i>,"—and as he spoke that +bright, sudden, Italian smile seemed to make his whole face +shine—"some day I hope to have a chance of giving as well +as taking from you." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni felt choked; for some minutes he sat in deep +thought, then looking up quickly, said, in his abrupt English +way,— +</p> + +<p> +"I mean to take you at your word. To-morrow is Sunday. +Is there any rehearsal?" +</p> + +<p> +"Marioni has arranged to take <i>Trovatore</i>, with the +orchestra and chorus, but he'll not need us." +</p> + +<p> +"Good; then will you give me your company in the afternoon? +I have a disagreeable piece of work to do, and should +be glad of your help." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo seemed really pleased by the request, and, in truth, +his interest in Sardoni was a capital thing for him, and helped +to take him for the time being out of his own troubles. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. +<br><br> +A RETURN. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "In vain Remorse and Fear and Hate<br> + Beat with bruised hands against a fate,<br> + Whose walls of iron only move<br> + And open to the touch of love.<br> + He only feels his burdens fall,<br> + Who, taught by suffering, pities all."—WHITTIER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"How dismal the place looks!" exclaimed Carlo, as, after +service the next day, he walked with Sardoni through the +quiet streets, with their shuttered shop-fronts and deserted +roads, to the station. "A good thing, I daresay, to have the +shops closed and to give the people a rest, but there is such +a sleepy air about it all; they don't seem to enjoy it." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni laughed. "Sunday afternoon is always a sleepy +time in England, I don't know why; I assure you the most +orthodox and energetic may be caught napping that one day +of the week." +</p> + +<p> +"They don't seem to know how to enjoy," said Carlo, +feeling quite oppressed, as foreigners always do by the +extreme quiet. "Ah, here comes a band, that makes it a +little more lively! <i>Giusto cielo!</i> What is this? A +revolutionary club? See! they have 'Blood and Fire' on their +banner, that's rather too strong." +</p> + +<p> +"That, my dear Valentino, is the pet abomination of the +true respectable Briton,—it is the Salvation Army, a band of +religious workers." +</p> + +<p> +"They will at any rate rouse up the sleepers," said Carlo, +laughing. "They make it seem a little less like a city stricken +with the plague, I must say. It is cool to criticise your +national customs after being here so short a time; but really +your Sunday does seem to me rather too drowsy-respectable; +it has little of the <i>Festa</i> about it." +</p> + +<p> +"That all depends on your definition of a <i>Festa</i>," said +Sardoni. "The average Briton, who has been religiously +brought up, goes to church morning and evening, eats a +heavier dinner than usual in the middle of the day for the +sake of sparing his servants, abuses the Salvation Army for +disturbing the Sabbatical calm, and nods serenely through +the afternoon over a volume of sermons." +</p> + +<p> +"They read sermons to themselves, do you mean, besides +hearing two in the churches?" asked Carlo, with an air of +such ingenuous astonishment that Sardoni burst into a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, to be sure; many of them wouldn't think it +Sunday without," he replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor things! poor things!" said Carlo, with a pity, +which to the Englishman was highly comic. +</p> + +<p> +"One man's meat is another man's poison, you see," said +Sardoni. "But, look here, don't be too outspoken on these +subjects, for, to tell you the truth, your sort of saintliness is +not likely to be understanded of a northern people. We like +to take our pleasures sadly and our religion, too." +</p> + +<p> +"We sang the Jubilate this morning," said Carlo, reflectively; +"but certainly this doesn't look much like it." +</p> + +<p> +"For goodness' sake do hide your light under a bushel," +said Sardoni; "for if you come out with all these broad +notions in the place I'm going to take you to, it will be all +over with me. I'm taking you as a sample of the troupe, +and if you shock the prejudices of the natives you'll be worse +than useless." +</p> + +<p> +"Where in the world are we going?" asked Carlo, looking +perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they had reached the station, and for reply +Sardoni handed him his railway ticket. This conveyed to +him nothing at all, and in silence he followed his friend to a +smoking carriage, and, knowing intuitively that Sardoni did +not care to talk, lit a cigar and gave himself up to the +enjoyment of the beautiful wooded country through which they +were passing. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni watched him silently. +</p> + +<p> +"After all, I doubt whether he'll make any impression on +them," he thought to himself. "Now if he were a stiff, +churchly-looking fellow, with a cross on his watch-chain and +the ascetic type of face, there might be some good in his +coming; or, on the other hand, if he were one of your +priggish-looking, truly-pious young men, then I might gain a sort +of reflected respectability. But there's no classifying +Valentino, he won't fit any of the conventional notions. Imagine +my father here at this moment; what would he see in him? +Merely a very handsome Italian in a delightfully easy and +comfortable attitude, travelling reprehensibly on a Sunday +afternoon, idly enjoying the scenery and a cigar. And yet +that fellow is a hero, if there ever was one, and a saint of +the real sort, and no mistake. I could wish for this one +afternoon to shake him into the goody-goody mould though; +that, at any rate, has the merit of catching the eye of +the respectable and virtuous, and getting a good deal more +credit than it deserves. Now Valentino, looked at casually, +might be anything. I believe if he thought more highly of +himself he would get the credit he deserves, but, confound +it, he never seems to think of himself at all." +</p> + +<p> +They got out at a small wayside station, and making their +way up a steep hill found themselves on a wide, deserted-looking +common, where here and there a solitary horse or +cow grazed, and where the mingled heather and gorse, set +like jewels in the smooth green of the turf, unloosed Carlo's +tongue. +</p> + +<p> +"How beautiful!" he exclaimed; "I never saw anything +like it before." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni seemed pleased by his admiration. +</p> + +<p> +"You see we have something besides chimney-pots in +England," he said, with a laugh. "Look there." +</p> + +<p> +And he pointed to the rugged and rather wild-looking hills +in the background. These, however, seemed to be much +less to Carlo's taste than the smiling common with its near +beauty and its glow of rich warm color. He did not care +much to look at them; but the narrow, winding lane into +which they soon passed charmed him, and he seemed to find +pleasure, which quite amused Sardoni, in the high hedges +with their tangled growth of blackberry bushes, travellers' joy, +and red hips and haws. +</p> + +<p> +"A hedge like this is quite a novelty to me," he said. +"We have nothing of this sort. Do you know this part of +the country well?" +</p> + +<p> +"I know every inch of the ground," said Sardoni. "Down +there to the right is the village—look; you can just see the +church tower through those trees." +</p> + +<p> +He leant over a field gate and gazed down on the little +country place with a softened look in his eyes, which Carlo +was quick to note. +</p> + +<p> +"This is Sardoni's old home," he thought to himself; +but he only said, "It is a perfect little place, just like the +English villages I have read of. I'm glad you brought me +out here." +</p> + +<p> +"We'll cross this field," said Sardoni, not quite in his +natural voice. "I don't want to pass through the village, +for some one is sure to recognize me. This is where I used +to live, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"And you are going home?" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni nodded. Just at that moment he could not have +spoken a word to save his life. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, too, was silent, but his silence was perfect sympathy. +It was the Englishman who first broke the pause. +</p> + +<p> +"It's your doing, old fellow!" he said, rather huskily. "I +should never have come if it hadn't been for you!" +</p> + +<p> +He did not explain himself, and Carlo asked no questions, +only looked glad and surprised; and quickly putting himself +in Sardoni's place said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Let me wait for you here; you had better be alone." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Sardoni, with a forced laugh. "Alone, there +is no knowing what I might do; I must have you, Valentino, +to keep me up to it. I can assure you there'll be none +of the fatted-calf business. I'm nothing but a disgrace to +them, and this is the hardest day's work I've had for an +age." +</p> + +<p> +Glad as Carlo was at his friend's resolve to seek out his +people, he was sorely perplexed as to the part he himself was +to play. Naturally enough he felt that he would be very +much <i>de trop</i> in a family reconciliation, nor could he understand +how Sardoni could tolerate the presence of a comparative +stranger at such a time. However, he was too unselfish +to object on his own account, and wise enough to let Sardoni +choose his own way of setting to work. They crossed the +field, walked through a little copse, entered a sunny-looking +garden and made their way towards the Vicarage, a pretty, +gray old house with many gables and a moss-grown, red-tiled +roof. Carlo could guess how his friend's heart was +beating, as with heightened color he walked steadily up the +well-kept drive; but Sardoni spoke not a word till they stood +in the porch and heard the bell echoing in the quiet house. +Then he turned to his companion and said, with a touch of +his ordinary jesting tone,— +</p> + +<p> +"The cat will be out of the bag at last—my name will no +longer be a secret!" +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, steps were heard within, and through the +half-glass door they could see a neat maidservant crossing +the hall. Sardoni was relieved to see a strange face: it +would have humiliated him dreadfully to be recognized by +the parlor-maid. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Postlethwayte at home?" he asked, in his strong, +decided voice. +</p> + +<p> +A look of perplexity came over the maid's face. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir; there's no one of that name living here," she +replied. +</p> + +<p> +"What! is he gone then?" exclaimed Sardoni, turning +pale. "The vicar—who is vicar, now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Stanley is vicar now," said the maid. "Will you +come in and see master, sir? He could, perhaps, tell you +what you want to know. You see, sir, I've only been here +in this situation a few days myself, so I don't know the +names hereabout." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you—no—I'll not come in," said Sardoni; and +he turned away and walked down the drive again with never +a word. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Amico mio!</i>" said Carlo, when he ventured at last to +beak the silence; "what can I do for you? Shall I go and +make inquiries in the village?" +</p> + +<p> +They had by this time left the Vicarage garden, and were +in the little copse; Sardoni threw himself down in the shade +of an old elm-tree. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you would, old fellow," he said, in a broken voice. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was just about to go when it suddenly occurred to +him that he should have to master that extraordinary name +which Sardoni had spoken at the door. +</p> + +<p> +"It's stupid of me," he said, "but I couldn't quite catch +the surname. Say it over to me more slowly." +</p> + +<p> +"Postlethwayte," said Sardoni, not turning his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Pothelswayte," repeated Carlo, with infinite pains. +</p> + +<p> +Spite of his trouble Sardoni laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll not ask me to call you that?" said Carlo, when, +after many practisings and corrections, he had at length +arrived at the right pronunciation. +</p> + +<p> +"No, it is too crack-jaw a name for an Italian; besides, I +prefer to go <i>incog.</i> with the troupe. But I'll not be Sardoni +any more with you: call me Jack." +</p> + +<p> +"One thing," said Carlo, as he prepared to go. "How +much am I to ask?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ask when my father left, and why, and where he has +gone; but give no reason for asking. Don't let them think +you are my messenger." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo promised to do his best, and taking the path pointed +out to him by Sardoni made his way through the quiet little +churchyard and across a stile into the village street. For a +moment he felt rather at a loss to know how to proceed, and +half afraid lest the villagers might talk some unintelligible +<i>patois</i>; however, he went boldly up to a group of big boys who +were idling about and asked whether they could tell him where +the sexton lived. Their dialect puzzled him not a little, but +he managed to make out which house it was, and walking +through the pretty strip of garden, with its hollyhocks and +dahlias, knocked at the door. A little bent old man, with a +weather-beaten face and a friendly but toothless smile, +opened it. +</p> + +<p> +"You keep the keys of the church, I am told. Am I +permitted to see it?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir; certainly, sir," mumbled the toothless old man. +"Fine day, sir! Step in a minute, will ye, sir?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo stepped in, and found himself in a snug little room +which smelt strongly of apples. The old man took a couple +of large keys from a nail, and then, with a great effort, tried +to reach his hat from a peg on the wall. +</p> + +<p> +"Allow me," said Carlo, handing it to him in his pleasant, +courteous way. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank ye, sir," said the old sexton, turning a kindly look +on the handsome stranger. "Time was when that there +hook warn't a bit too high for me,—not a bit, sir; but, what +with the rheumatiz and old age, why I be agoin' down as +fast as my grandchilder be acomin' up." +</p> + +<p> +"You've been here a long time, I daresay?" said Carlo, +feeling rather like a detective. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! ay, sir; that I have, sir, that I have! Why, I've +been sexton here these forty years past, and born and bred +in the place, too! Six vicars I've seen in this here parish. +Our late Vicar's son, bless him, he used to say, 'Why, +Johnson, you're like the brook! Vicars may come and vicars +go, but you go on for ever!' But lor! I never rightly +understood which brook it was he meant." +</p> + +<p> +"Wasn't there some one named Postlethwayte here once?" +asked Carlo, bringing out the name with laudable precision. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, sir. It was poor Master Jack as I was just +telling on. Aw! he was a rare one for a jest, he was! The +poor Vicar never held his head up again after he left." +</p> + +<p> +"Did the Vicar die?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Aw no, sir, he didn't die; he be alive and well, bless +him! But there was trouble with Master Jack—the old story, +sir; the old story!—a pretty girl to put him off his balance; +and then, when it all came out, he, just desperate-like at the +blame he got at home, made away with some money that +warn't his, and rushed off and was never heard of no more." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo could hardly have regulated his expression to the +casual interest of a stranger had not his profession taught +him to command his face and make it answer at all times to +his will. He was glad that the sexton was silent for a minute +while he fitted the key in the heavy oak-door of the church. +</p> + +<p> +"That's a sad story," he said at length. "What became +of the poor Vicar?" +</p> + +<p> +"He couldn't stay here, sir; he felt the disgrace so bad +he went away to foreign parts; and it's my belief, sir, that +he had hopes of finding Master Jack, though other folks said +different. However, I never heard as how they met, and the +Vicar he be back in England now, and I wish we'd got him +here again. Not but what Mr. Stanley is a good young man +in his way, you understand, sir; but he ain't our old Vicar, +and nothink won't make him." +</p> + +<p> +"Has he taken some new living, then?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, sir, he be just settled in since midsummer; the +parish o' Cleevering in Mountshire—that's his new sitooation, +and not a patch upon this parish, as far as money goes—at +least, so folk say. "Now, sir, just you step and see our +monument. That's Sir Gerald Fitzgerald, as was killed in +the Civil War; Naseby or Marston Moor I b'lieve it was,—at +any rate, the last battle before King Charles was taken. +Belike you know, sir, how it was called; I'm not much of a +scholard myself." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor I," said Carlo, not at all desiring to be put through +an examination in English history, and feeling extremely +shaky as to dates. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed long enough to please the sexton, and duly +admired the village church, then, having gladdened the old +man's heart with a shilling, he bade him good-day, and +rejoined Sardoni, whom he found still stretched at full length +under the elm-tree. +</p> + +<p> +He got up quickly as Carlo drew near, and looked anxiously +into his face. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he exclaimed, in the sharpened voice of fear and +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +"It is all right," said Carlo, reassuringly. "Your father +has got a new living. He is just settled down at Cleevering +in Mountshire." +</p> + +<p> +"How did you find out? Did they suspect anything?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but they spoke of you. I learnt it from the old +sexton." +</p> + +<p> +"What! dear old Johnson! Is he still alive? Did you +really see him?" +</p> + +<p> +"He seemed very fond of you all, specially of you, and he +spoke so warmly of your father. But, Jack, you must forgive +me, I couldn't help hearing it, for the old fellow would +ramble on, and I couldn't shut him up without making him +suspicious, I heard—well, what you wouldn't tell me that +day at Naples." +</p> + +<p> +He looked up at him apologetically. +</p> + +<p> +"'Pon my soul!" exclaimed Sardoni, "you're the oddest +fellow I ever knew. You look as if it were you that was to +blame, not me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I was sorry to know it, since you didn't wish me to +know." +</p> + +<p> +"All right, Val—all right!" said Sardoni, in a choked +voice. "I might have known it wouldn't turn you against +me! As I told you yesterday, you would make excuses for +the devil himself—and so would old Johnson! Tell me just +what he said." +</p> + +<p> +They sat down again in the shade, and Carlo repeated the +whole conversation, Sardoni listening with averted face, and +nervously crushing in his fingers the fallen leaves which lay +on the grass beside him. +</p> + +<p> +"As to the money," he said, when Carlo paused, "I swear +to you, Donati, I didn't know what I was doing! I was +mad!—if not, is it likely that, to escape my father's blame, I +should have done what the world would blame a thousand +times more? Embezzlement is an unpardonable crime, but +to ruin a girl is an offence very easily condoned by society." +</p> + +<p> +"That's true—to our shame be it spoken!" said Carlo, +with a gleam of indignant light in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I was mad—desperate!" resumed Sardoni. "It all +came out at her death—and I—why I felt like a murderer! +My father was not one to spare a fellow in such a case. I +couldn't stand it; to stay at home was more than a fellow +could bear; I was bound to get away from him. And then +came a mad impulse to take this money which was within my +reach, and break off with the old world altogether and rush +to America." +</p> + +<p> +"And in America you met Merlino?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I got on much better than I deserved. But, somehow, +a thing like that makes a fellow think, and when I saw +the game Comerio was playing, and how helpless and friendless +your sister was, I couldn't help feeling sorry for her, and +angry to think that I was the last sort of man who could +help her." +</p> + +<p> +"You did help—we owe everything to you!" said Carlo, +warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when your name was announced that day at Naples, +I had just an impulse to see you and tell you the truth, and +somehow,—there's a bit of the magician about you, Val,—you +stung me up far worse than my father had ever done, +and to some purpose. Hulloa! you are shivering with cold; +let us walk on." +</p> + +<p> +He looked back sadly enough at the old home which his +wrong-doing had desolated, then, turning away with a heavy +sigh, left the copse and re-crossed the field. Carlo said +little, but took his arm, and as they walked back to the +station wondered in his own mind what would be the wisest +thing for his friend to do. +</p> + +<p> +"We are not very far from Mountshire, I suppose, here," +he said at length. "Shall you go there or shall you +write?" +</p> + +<p> +"Neither," said Sardoni. "I can't go through a day like +this again, Val." +</p> + +<p> +"But if, as the old sexton thought, your father had been +trying to find you all these years? Surely you could at least +write." +</p> + +<p> +"And send him a playbill?" said Sardoni, sarcastically. +"No, no; that idea of old Johnson's won't hold water. I +know my father better than he does. He's one of the best +men in the world, and also one of the hardest. I won't run +the risk of reviving the old disgrace in a new parish; I will +hold my peace, and be to every one, except you, just Sardoni +the tenor." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was sorry that his friend had made this decision, but +he knew that had he been in Sardoni's place arguments +would only have irritated him. So he held his peace, and +comforted himself with the reflection that in so small a +country as England the chances were greatly in favor of a +meeting between the father and son. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. +<br><br> +WINTRY WEATHER. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Come through the gloom of clouded skies,<br> + The slow dim rain and fog athwart;<br> + Through east winds keen with wrong and lies,<br> + Come and lift up my hopeless heart.<br> + Come through the sickness and the pain,<br> + The sore unrest that tosses still;<br> + Through aching dark that hides the gain,<br> + Come and arouse my fainting will."<br> + —<i>A Threefold Cord.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The autumn wore on, and the cold weather set in. +Merlino's Company had become pretty well accustomed, +however, to wintry weather during their American tour, and no +one suffered much except Carlo, who, having never left Italy +before, found the English climate fearfully trying. Unselfish +as he was, he was by no means so devoid of common-sense +as Captain Britton thought him, and, knowing how much +depended on his health, he took all possible precautions. He +was not one of those short-sighted and aggravating people +who seem to take pleasure in prematurely wearing themselves +out, and who give their friends constant trouble just because +their zeal outruns their discretion. There was in his +character a strong vein of that matter-of-fact good sense which +is to be found in most Italians, though not in the popular +English conception of them. Sardoni was quite surprised +when, one day after "Treasury," he consulted him as to the +best tailor in the place where they were staying, and then +went off promptly and ordered a fur-lined coat which must +have cost considerably more than a month's salary, and +which proved the envy of all the other men in the Company. +</p> + +<p> +"You are the most inconsistent fellow I ever met," said +Sardoni, when the coat came home; "you go in for a +luxurious thing like that, and yet seem to be willing to go +without most things that other men care for." +</p> + +<p> +"It's not a bad thing in coats," said Carlo, looking at the +brown fur with satisfaction; "and this is the first time I've +felt warm for a month. You see I really must get rid of this +cough, or I shall soon have a voice like a fog-horn." +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said Sardoni, with a laugh, "I'm glad you're no +ascetic, for they are bad to live with, as I know to my cost. +There's nothing like it for driving a fellow the other way." +</p> + +<p> +But, spite of the fur coat, Carlo's health did not improve; +the constant travelling, the draughts on the stage, the necessity +of turning out every night, ill or well, in rain or snow, +and the constant strain of physical hard work and mental +excitement, all told on him severely. Nor was it possible +for a man of his temperament to go through all the suffering +and grief of the past few months without paying for it. It +was not only the change of physical climate which told upon +him, it was the change of moral climate. +</p> + +<p> +To have lived always with such tender, devoted love as +had been his at home is in some ways a good preparation for +after life, but it inevitably makes the plunge into the loveless +outer world much harder—safer, perhaps, but more bitter. +The world is the gainer, insomuch as it receives a loving, +unsullied nature into its midst, but to the man himself the +process is very painful; he is, as it were, transported +suddenly from the tropics to the arctic regions. Even Carlo's +great success, which in itself was enjoyable enough, had +many drawbacks, for it stirred up jealousy, or perhaps won +him admiration and small attentions with which he would +thankfully have dispensed. Already he had proved the truth +of Enrico's remark—"The men will trouble you with their +jealousy, because of your success, and the women with their +love, because of your face." +</p> + +<p> +There were endless little annoyances of this sort, which in +good health and spirits he could take lightly, but which +began increasingly to prey upon his mind, while every day it +seemed to him more difficult to put up with Merlino's rudeness, +and with the petty insults and hateful innuendoes with +which Gomez delighted to try his patience. Sardoni used to +watch him curiously at such times; he never got quite so +far as not to show that he felt provoked, and this no doubt, +prompted Merlino and Gomez to persevere; for to badger an +obtuse man is no sport, but to worry a sensitive man and +see how long he will stand it is interesting to some people. +Even Sardoni owned to a kind of pleasurable feeling in +watching these encounters; more than once he surprised a +look of vindictive anger on Carlo's face, and always he +could see that his color rose, and that the blood must be +tingling in his veins, for he was hot-tempered, though he had +his temper well in control. Curiously enough the only real +outburst of passion into which he was betrayed was due to +Sardoni himself, not to the cross-grained Impresario or the +malicious Spaniard. +</p> + +<p> +It arose in this way. Christmas was over, and Merlino's +troupe had wandered from big town to big town, sometimes +meeting with unusual success, sometimes performing to +woefully empty houses, or at best to houses which had been +"filled with paper." Carlo had by this time become well +accustomed to the life; he was familiar with every face in +that little moving army, with its curiously assorted nationalities +and its several ranks and grades, its principles, its +chorus-singers, male and female, its leading instrumentalists, +who had to supplement the local orchestras, its stage +carpenters, its baggage men, its dressers. Most of them were +individually known to him, many of them were his friends, +while some had been won over by Gomez into champions +of the departed Comerio. +</p> + +<p> +Towards the middle of January Merlino had arranged to +take one of the London opera-houses, and give a series of +twenty performances, a project bold to rashness at that time +of year. The Company betook themselves to various dreary +lodging-houses in the neighborhood of the theatre, and +Carlo, under very depressing circumstances, made his first +acquaintance with London and his first appearance on a +London stage. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if everything conspired together against him +at that time; the weather was trying in the extreme, there +were heavy snow-storms, and then for days after the great +piles of blackened snow would lie on either side of the +streets. The dense, yellow fogs, and the utter absence of +sun, made him so miserable that life seemed hardly worth +living; while to add to the physical discomforts, his throat +became so seriously affected by the climate that he often +hardly knew how to get through his work. Merlino was in +a state of nervous irritability natural enough and almost +excusable to one who was playing so risky a game; Mlle. de +Caisne, who travelled under Nita's chaperonage, had fallen +hopelessly in love with the new baritone, and was a constant +thorn in his side; while Nita herself was so tryingly foolish +and unreasonable that it was all he could do not to lose +patience with her. Things were in this state when suddenly +a far worse trouble arose to threaten him. One morning, +sorely chafed by some dispute which had arisen, he as usual +took refuge in silence, and leaving Sardoni to continue the +conversation with Nita and Mlle. de Caisne, turned to the +window and took up the outside of the <i>Times</i>, glancing with +no special purpose down the columns in which concerts and +matters connected with the musical world are advertised. +He had taken up the paper casually enough, little thinking +that instead of a distraction it would prove an additional +care, when, suddenly, and with a shock indescribable,—a +shock which for the time half paralyzed him, he read the +words: "Signor Comerio begs to announce his arrival in +town. All communications with regard to concerts or other +engagements to be addressed to Antico and Co." +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes he stood still, dimly hearing the voices +in the room behind him,—dimly seeing the dreary street, +with its grim, smutty houses and iron railings; then, without +a word, he folded the paper, left the room, and with a +craving to get away alone out of the reach of all interruptions, +made his way into St. James's Park. +</p> + +<p> +Comerio had followed them? Comerio was in England—in +London at that very minute? What could possibly have +induced him to come to London at this time of year, save +the one desire and intention of meeting Anita? The news +sent a sort of horrible flash of light across some of the dark +hints which Gomez had lately dropped. A miserable feeling +of utter hopelessness took possession of him; he had tried +and struggled, he had given up all for the sake of preventing +this evil, he had borne shame, and pain, and wretchedness +indescribable, and here were his plans defeated. How could +he hope to overcome so wily a foe as Comerio? How was +it possible to save his sister when she refused to be saved? +He could not even feel that he had any influence with her, +it seemed to him that as time went on she only treated him +with a more contemptuous indifference, or at times even +with open dislike. Had he given up all for her sake only to +be hated by her in return? Had he lost all that was dearest +to him only to fail in this attempt? +</p> + +<p> +Those brief lines in the <i>Times</i> had fallen like a bomb-shell +into his life. +</p> + +<p> +He had wandered miserably round the dreary-looking +park. The fog was not quite so dense as it had been on the +previous day, he could see through a misty haze the chill, +gray-looking water, and the ducks swimming about aimlessly, +and here and there in the distance the outlines of great +houses. Presently he heard the Westminster chimes, and he +remembered how, long ago, Francesca had told him of the +words which belonged to them— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lord, through this hour,<br> + Be Thou our guide,<br> + So by Thy power<br> + No foot shall slide."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +But he was too hopeless to pray, and the next moment Big +Ben warned him that he must hurry back for a rehearsal of +<i>Un Ballo in Maschera</i>. He reached the theatre, feeling +harassed and ill, and made his way to the green-room, +where he found Sardoni, looking more cheerful than he had +done for some time past, and with a mischievous gleam +about his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"You basely deserted me in the argument," he exclaimed, +as Carlo entered; "but I'll have my revenge on you! +You're the most careless fellow on earth, leaving diamonds +straying about loose in a London lodging-house!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, glancing down quickly, saw that Francesca's ring, +which he always wore, was not on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is it?" he said, hastily, feeling annoyed that he +could have forgotten it even for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! that is the question," said Sardoni, taking him by +the shoulders in teasing fashion, and meaning to have a +little fun out of him before he yielded the ring, which was +on his own finger. +</p> + +<p> +Unluckily the light at that moment happened to flash on +the diamond, and Carlo, in a sudden paroxysm of anger, +wrenched himself away from the teasing hold, and dashing +at Sardoni, with all his force, took him so completely by +surprise that, before a bystander could have uttered a word +of remonstrance, the tenor had measured his length on the +floor, and the ring had been seized by its rightful owner. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni had gone over like a ninepin, being utterly +unprepared for so furious an onslaught; he was angry and +astonished. +</p> + +<p> +"What the devil are you after!" he exclaimed, as he +picked himself up. +</p> + +<p> +"Jack, Jack,—I didn't mean it!" exclaimed Carlo, his +wrath spent in that one lightning-like flash, and shame and +regret overwhelming him as he partly realized what he had +done, and saw the look of grave inquiry with which one of the +officials belonging to the theatre regarded them as he +entered the green-room. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was silent till they were once more alone. He +could not keep his anger in face of Carlo's shame and dismay. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know there was anything particular about the +ring. Gigi brought it down from your washhand-stand; I +only meant to chaff you a little." +</p> + +<p> +"It was the ring which belonged to my betrothed," said +Carlo. "Not that that is any excuse, indeed, I think it makes +it rather worse." +</p> + +<p> +He was evidently so unhappy about it that Sardoni quite +lost all feeling of offence. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you know, old fellow, I always wanted to poke up +the devil in you and see what you'd do." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo turned away with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't think why I did it! I was beside myself. If I +had done it to Gomez, now, it might have been easier to +understand; but to you, Jack, you whom I'm really fond of! +I can never forgive myself." +</p> + +<p> +He was very quiet now, and sad and ashamed; in all his +life he had never been guilty of such an unreasoning fit of +anger. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, Val," said the Englishman, almost as +much surprised by the vehement regret as by the attack +itself. "I declare I like you the better for it, I do indeed. +Why, to hear you talk one might suppose you had meant to +murder me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I meant nothing, that's the horrible part of it to me," +said Carlo. "I wanted the ring and to be free from your +teasing. There wasn't a moment to think—it was all over +in a flash. How am I to tell that I mayn't murder some +fellow one of these days by a like impulse?" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear boy!" Sardoni laughed till he was almost +convulsed, "you who wouldn't hurt a fly!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you laugh," said Carlo; "and it's good of you to +take it lightly; but I can't see that there's a pin to choose +between me and the man who murders in sudden anger. +Anyhow, I know I can never be hard on such a murderer +again." +</p> + +<p> +"That's like the story of the fellow who saw a man going +to the gallows, and exclaimed, 'There but for the grace of +God goes——' I forget the old buffer's name. However, +Val, I don't think you need be afraid, for you have plenty of +that sort of thing and little enough of the devil's help." +</p> + +<p> +"That's what I can't understand about it," said Carlo, in +the most outspoken way. He hardly ever spoke of religion, +but when he did speak it was with the direct simplicity and +naturalness hardly to be ever met with in England save in +children. "That's what puzzles me. How can I say the Veni +Creator one hour and know it is true, and the next turn upon +my friend like that? My blood was made hot just by that +trifle." +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the call-boy appeared to summon them, +but in the many and wearisome delays, and repetitions, and +scraps of rest, Carlo apparently had time to think out his +problem; for as he and Sardoni walked home together he +said, just as if no rehearsal had intervened,— +</p> + +<p> +"I see how it was, Jack. I was horribly anxious, and had +lost faith; then quickly into that vacant space steps the devil, +and presto! I am made to knock down my best friend." +</p> + +<p> +Evidently the whole affair was so graphically before his +own mind that Sardoni suppressed his inclination to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"You are an old-fashioned fellow, Val," he said; "not at +all up to the modern lights, as I told you once before. A +fellow that does believe in the devil and doesn't believe in +divorce! My dear boy, you're an anachronism! But what +made you so horribly anxious? Anything gone wrong?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, of course it's all right; but at first it took my breath +away, and I thought all was lost. Comerio is in London." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni gave a low whistle of surprise and dismay. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you sure it is true! Who told you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No one, I saw it in the <i>Times</i> this morning." +</p> + +<p> +"What! while I was finishing the argument? You had +plenty of self-control, then, for you betrayed nothing at all." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Il Diavolo</i> had not then arrived on the scene; he joined +me in St. James's Park," said Carlo, with the utmost gravity. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope he is not with us in Pall Mall," said Sardoni, +mischievously. "It makes me feel quite uncanny to hear you +talk. Let us hope he has left you." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, certainly," said Carlo, with perfect good humor, and +unconsciously borrowing one of Gigi's Americanisms. "I +couldn't do with him at all on the stage. How could I have +rehearsed Renato to any purpose if I had been worrying over +Comerio's arrival all the time?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Sardoni, reflectively; "so you think that his +province is to make people worry." +</p> + +<p> +"To seize on every one's vulnerable point," said Carlo. +"I see now that to worry oneself and be over anxious about +others is a sin." +</p> + +<p> +"One that most people consider a virtue and love to +parade," said Sardoni, with some recollection of his old +home-life in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Myself I never thought of it before, but it must be so," +said Carlo. "One needs a thing like this every now and +then to make one think. I hope you'll forgive me, Jack, for +having been in such a fury with you?" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni laughed away his apologies, declaring again that +he liked him the better for it; but it was not the passion +which made him feel this, it was the contrast between the +sudden outburst and Carlo's usual life; it was the thought, +"this fellow is no weakly, amiable character, he is strong +enough to keep under this hot southern nature. After all +there's hope for me yet, if he, with such fire in his veins, has +managed to turn out what he is." He was far from troubling +himself to go into the matter in such detail, but this was +the real reason that he was so strongly drawn to his friend +after their quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was not a little curious to know more about Carlo's +love affairs, but he could not make up his mind to speak to +him about the matter: instead, he threw out a casual remark +that afternoon, when it happened that he and Anita were +practising a duet in the drawing-room which they had to sing +at night. +</p> + +<p> +"Mlle. de Caisne is doing her best to captivate your +brother, don't you think?" he said, by way of leading up to +the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, the little goose," said Nita; "it makes me quite +cross to watch her." +</p> + +<p> +"Our Valentino doesn't exactly enjoy it either, I fancy," +said Sardoni. "I understand from him that he was to have +been married at one time." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he was betrothed to Miss Britton, an English girl +who lived near us. It was broken off when he went on the +stage; in some ways it is rather a pity, for she was well off, +and he'll not find such a pretty girl again in a hurry. But, +after all, as I told him only the other day, these marriages +with foreigners seldom turn out really well." +</p> + +<p> +"What did he say to that?" asked Sardoni, marvelling at +the indifferent way in which she spoke of the sacrifice which +she must have known had been made for her sake. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, he said nothing at all! only blushed up like a girl, +and looked as he always does when I say what he doesn't +like." +</p> + +<p> +While she was speaking the door was thrown open, and the +servant announced "Signor Comerio." Sardoni, charmed +to think how Comerio would hate him for being in the way, +greeted him in the friendliest manner, and determined to stay +and be hated to the bitter end: he could see from Anita's +manner that she was not wholly unprepared for Comerio's +sudden appearance. +</p> + +<p> +"But I interrupt a <i>tête-à-tête</i>," said Comerio, in his soft, +flattering voice. "What did I hear from Madame Merlino's +lips? 'When I say what he doesn't like!' Does our +<i>prima donna</i> ever say anything distasteful to mankind?" +</p> + +<p> +Nita laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"We were talking of my brother," she said, taking her +revenge on Sardoni for not at once going away by saying +what she knew would vex him. "I was trying to persuade +him the other day that it was just as well his engagement +with Miss Britton was broken off, and naturally he didn't +like it." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni bit his lip. He would have given much to have +refrained from introducing the subject, and he thought +Madame Merlino showed very bad taste in speaking of it +before Comerio, while to make matters worse, Carlo +happened just then to come into the room. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Comerio had his back to the door, but he could see +all that was passing in the mirror, and he was quick to seize +the opportunity of wounding his foe. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Britton, the beautiful English girl?" he exclaimed. +"Yes, yes; I saw her only the other day. She's quite the +rage just now at Naples." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni glanced from the cold, clever, cruel face of +Comerio to the face of his friend. The words evidently +stung Carlo. He paused for a minute with his hand on the +door, but quickly regaining a composure that under the +circumstances was masterly, he came forward, greeted Comerio +in his ceremonious Italian way, and contrived to keep the +conversation pretty much in his own hands throughout the +call. Sardoni, in his careless easy fashion, helped him not +a little by making a running fire of jests and bad puns, while +all the time he was studying that strange trio who beneath +his eyes were acting so grave a drama—Nita, nervous and +excited; Comerio, with his contemptible hatred and +contemptible love showing occasionally through the thin veneer +of ordinary politeness; and the Knight-Errant himself, with +his manly, alert-looking face, and his enviable way of saying +the right thing at the right minute. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly, Comerio gained little that afternoon; but his +pursuit had unsettled Anita, and though Carlo could not +make out that she saw him except every now and then in the +green-room when many others were present, yet he knew +that there had never been a time when his hopes had so +nearly been defeated. +</p> + +<p> +It was some relief to get away from London, for in the +provinces he felt that the sword of Damocles was not so +immediately above them. In the mean time, however, his +cough grew worse, and he began to look very delicate—at +least, so thought Gomez and Sardoni, the only two people +who really watched him. +</p> + +<p> +It was one night at Birmingham that Gomez managed to +give his enemy the sharpest stab he had yet delivered. For +some days Carlo had been in wretched voice, and on this +particular evening he was conscious that his performance +had been worse than usual. He came into the green-room +feeling worn-out and dispirited. Gomez, Sardoni, Nita, and +two or three others were grouped about the fire. Nita, in +her elder-sisterly fashion, began to upbraid him. +</p> + +<p> +"You sang execrably, Carlo!" she said, thrusting her little +daintily-shod foot nearer the blaze, and looking far from +pleasant as she lifted her bright, cold eyes to his. "You +put me out altogether in that last scene. It's intolerable!" +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry I put you out," he said, with the pained look +which he seldom managed now to repress when Nita +attacked him. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't discourage him; that's not fair on a beginner!" +said Gomez. "See, Donati, there's a <i>critique</i> on your +'Rigoletto' in the evening paper." +</p> + +<p> +And he handed it to him with a sarcastic little bow. +</p> + +<p> +"Too bad! too bad!" exclaimed some of the others; but +they laughed nevertheless, for the new baritone had hitherto +received nothing but praise, and they thought a change of +diet would be good for him, while to them it was undoubtedly +sweet. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo took the paper without a word, and read the notice +through, knowing quite well that Gomez would not have +drawn his attention to it had the criticism been favorable. +It was not his way to pretend to be indifferent to the Press; +he did care for the praise or blame or suggestion, and never +tried to disguise his feeling, though nothing would have +induced him to win favorable notices by any efforts of his own. +Criticism had, however, much to do with his future, and on +his success hinged all his plans for Nita's protection; so +that he fully recognized the fact so well put by Macready, +that "We cannot 'read our history in a nation's eyes,' but +we can in the daily papers." +</p> + +<p> +"It is quite true," he said, throwing down the journal with +a stifled sigh. "I acted badly last night and sang worse. +They have every reason to pitch into me." +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is, you're not fit to sing at all," said Gomez, +affecting a tone of friendly advice. "You are ill, and need a +long rest." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," said Carlo, quickly; "it's nothing but this awful +climate. I shall be all right when it gets warmer. I mean +to go in for an Ammoniaphone, and see if manufactured +Italian air won't work wonders." +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said Gomez, "Comerio prophesies that he shall +go to America with us next September, and I believe his +prophecy will come true." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo glanced at his sister, and read in her face +excitement—even, he fancied, hope. He was deeply wounded, as +Sardoni, who had been idly looking on without taking any +part in the talk, could see. +</p> + +<p> +"Ladies and gentlemen for the last act!" announced the +call-boy; and the little group round the fire dispersed. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, whose part in the opera was over, left the green-room +with Anita, walking with her to the wings. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope I shall be able to stay with you," he said, in a low +voice, feeling that he must win from her some word which +would contradict the look he feared he had seen in her face. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you?" she said, coldly. "It is satisfactory to see +how you like the life. I should have thought, now your +voice has gone off so much, you would have been glad enough +if Merlino chooses to end your engagement in the summer. +For my part, I wish he would!" +</p> + +<p> +The tone of bitter dislike in which she spoke was more +than he could bear. He turned away, and shut himself into +his dressing-room, where presently Sardoni found him, with +his arms on the mantelpiece, his face hidden, and his whole +frame shaken with sobs. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Val!" exclaimed his friend, "has that brute of a +Spaniard vexed you so much?" +</p> + +<p> +"Go, go!" he exclaimed vehemently in Italian. "You +can't understand!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll be hanged if I go!" said Sardoni, laying a hand on +his shoulder. "Bless your innocence! do you think no +Englishman has ever shed tears? I know what it was; it +was not Gomez—it was something Madame Merlino said to +you just now." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo raised his head, thrust both hands through his hair, +and, still keeping his face hidden, said in a voice which +struggled in vain to steady itself,— +</p> + +<p> +"She hopes it will be as he said. She wishes me to go. +It is all of no use; I can do nothing for her—nothing!" +</p> + +<p> +"Now, look here!" said Sardoni; "it's not a bit of good +for you to try to think rationally to-night. You are bothered +by that <i>critique</i>, and by your bad reception just now, and by +that brute Gomez—and by a hundred other things, likely +enough. You just shelve it all till to-morrow; and come and +have some oysters with me, and then go to bed like a +Christian." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo made an effort to recover himself, and before long +was walking home arm in arm with Sardoni, his hat pulled +over his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is, old fellow, you're a long bit too sensitive for +knocking about with men of the calibre of Gomez and +Comerio," said Sardoni. "However, you would never act +as you do if you weren't sensitive, so it cuts both ways." +</p> + +<p> +"For oneself it pays better to call it being thin-skinned," +said Carlo, regaining his matter-of-fact tone. "Once humor +your emotional side, and you are lost. I don't know how I +came to break down just now. This east wind plays the +very devil with one. When do you think it will change?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, very soon now," said Sardoni, drawing on his +imagination, for they were not half through March. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't think it is true what Gomez said—you don't +think I am really losing my voice?" said Carlo, longing for +Sardoni to contradict the conviction that was becoming a +daily torment to his mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit of it!" said the Englishman, cheerfully; "nothing +but the climate. Keep up your heart, old boy! you'll +soon be used to it, and then you can snap your fingers at +Comerio and the rest of them. You may be quite sure that +Merlino won't part with you in a hurry. Why you are his +ace of trumps!" +</p> + +<p> +And all the time Sardoni knew that his friend was on the +verge of a breakdown; and Carlo himself suspected as +much, yet found a sort of comfort in having his fears reasoned +away. +</p> + +<p> +We have all of us been glad at one time or another to +win through a dreary bit of life by the help of illusions, even +though we partly guessed they were illusions all the time. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. +<br><br> +A RESCUER. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Such was the life Thou livedst, self-abjuring,<br> + Thine own pains never easing,<br> + Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring,<br> + A life without self-pleasing."—FABER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mr. George Britton was a man who seldom ate the bread +of idleness, and since his hurried visit to Naples in the early +summer his holidays had been few and far between. A cruise +of a few days in the <i>Pilgrim</i> before the close of the yachting +season had been all he could snatch from his busy life, for he +was one of those men who are always going out of their way +to help other people, and this cannot be done without an +expenditure of time and labor which is often scarcely realized. +He was so kind-hearted, so genial a man, that he numbered +his friends by hundreds; and his life brought him into contact +with such hosts of people that it was often all he could do to +remember the names of those he had helped, to say nothing +of their faces. He had not, however, altogether forgotten +Carlo Donati; more than once he had thought of his pretty +niece's ill-fated love story, but having promised to say +nothing about it, even to Miss Claremont, he had thought it best +to mention Carlo's name as little as possible. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I saw him," had been his cautious reply to Clare's +questions; "but the Signora Donati is dead, and I fancy +there will not be so much communication between the two +houses now. I myself liked the fellow very much, but he +has some political ideas which annoy my brother." +</p> + +<p> +That was all that had passed with regard to Carlo during +the nine months which had since gone by. Clare felt a little +sorry and disappointed as she realized how hard it is not to +grow apart from old friends whom there is no chance of +meeting; but she remembered that it was the way of the +world, and that in her wandering life she must try to be +content with touching people closely for the time, and then +passing off the scene to make room for fresh comers. It +crossed her mind once or twice to write to Carlo and send +him her sympathy in his trouble about his mother; but such +letters are hard to write, and she was so busy that somehow +the time never came. She contented herself with inquiring +after him in her next letter to Francesca; but Francesca +was a shockingly bad correspondent, and when, in two +months' time, she replied to the letter she made no mention +at all of Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton's business often took him from Ashborough, +where his own works were carried on, to a place in the +neighboring county—Mardentown; and one cold, dreary, March +afternoon he was pacing the platform of the Mardentown +station, waiting for the train that was to take him home. +He was not alone. One of his many acquaintances had +walked to the station to see him off, and was pouring out +some of his own troubles into the shipbuilder's sympathetic +ears, when he became conscious that his friend was not listening +quite so attentively as usual, and following the direction +of his eyes, exclaimed,— +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! you are noticing those Italians. I thought they all +went off yesterday: there was quite a crowd of them last +night. It's an Operatic Company; that's the Impresario, +that sullen-faced man with a black beard; and that's his wife, +the <i>prima donna</i> of the party. I suppose the rank and file +went off yesterday and left a few of the swells behind." +</p> + +<p> +"Curious," said Mr. Britton, glancing again at the little +group; "that fellow is like a man I met at Naples last year! +But, after all, foreigners always look more or less alike. He's +a handsome fellow; isn't he?" +</p> + +<p> +"The young one, do you mean? Yes, but too small; that's +always the way with Italians. He looks bigger on the stage, +though. I saw him the other night in <i>Marta</i>. What on +earth was he called—Sardoni? No; that was the tenor. +I forget. One mixes up these outlandish names so. Look, +they are sending him to the bookstall to get the local +papers; no doubt they want to read the criticisms on their +singing." +</p> + +<p> +The talk turned once more upon other matters, and the +two friends paced up the platform; then, warned by the big +bell that the train was coming into the station, retraced their +steps. +</p> + +<p> +"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Britton, clutching his +friend's arm. "Look! A child on the line!" +</p> + +<p> +He rushed down the platform, while at the same instant +warning cries, shouts, and a heart-rending shriek in a +woman's voice, filled the air. It was all over in a few +seconds, and yet there seemed time to take in all the +details—the horror of the spectators, the utter helplessness of the +child himself, who stood terrified and bewildered, hearing +the shouts, seeing the train approaching, and yet too +completely paralyzed by fear to move, literally frightened out of +his wits. Mr. Britton dashed on and had almost reached +the spot when a slight lithe figure darted across the platform +in front of him; it was a wonder that they did not knock +each other over, but the Italian just swerved to the left in +time, leapt down on to the railroad, and ran like the wind to +the rescue of the child. There was a moment of intense +pain to all the spectators; people held their breath; would +the child be saved, or would he and his rescuer be cut down +together? The chances seemed about even: not a little +depended on the man's strength, and the child might, no +doubt, help or hinder his own rescue. The train was slackening +speed, yet it seemed to advance with a rapidity that +was frightful to watch. It was almost upon the child; the +women hid their faces, the men strained their eyes to see +what would happen, while the rescuer gave a cry, at the +sound of which the child turned, ran a step or two with +uplifted hands, and was caught up in the strong arms of the +man who had saved it from death. The next instant they +were in the six-foot way, and the train passed on and hid +them from view. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton drew a deep breath, and, now that the horror +of the moment was over, found time to wonder at the +cowardice of the spectators. There were several men on the +platform, some of them far nearer than he had been at the +time the alarm had been given; but no one had rushed +instantly to the rescue except himself and the young Italian +who had intercepted him. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," he overheard one man remark to another, "I +made sure the people who belonged to him would save the +poor little beggar. They say he's the child of Merlino, but +if so, Merlino did nothing but shout and tear his hair. +Look here! there'll just be time for a brandy-and-soda; I +declare it's given me quite a turn." +</p> + +<p> +The speakers ran at full speed to the refreshment-room, +and Mr. Britton, with indignation in his heart, turned to see +whether the rescuer was in sight again. He was at that +moment appearing at the far end of the platform, the child +still in his arms. Mr. Britton joined in the eager little +crowd which speedily surrounded him; but every one was +talking and asking questions, so he held his peace, only +looking and listening and feeling strongly drawn to the +young Italian, who seemed not to consider himself at all in +the light of a hero or to be troubled by the fear that the +spectators might do so. An Englishman's first impulse +would have been to escape from the eyes of the crowd; the +Italian seemed not to consider at all what the onlookers +might think of him; he was a little flushed and excited and +much taken up with the child, who clung to him and refused +to be given to his father. +</p> + +<p> +"The dear little fellow," said Merlino, kissing his son, +with tears in his eyes. "He is not hurt? You are sure he +is not hurt?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit, only frightened. How in the world did he get +down there?" +</p> + +<p> +"He owes his life to you, sir," said the station-master; "I +never saw a closer shave!" +</p> + +<p> +"It seemed almost upon us," said Carlo, "relentless as +Juggernaut." +</p> + +<p> +But, though he did not under-estimate the danger, it did +not appear to make him feel the need of a brandy-and-soda. +He turned in the most practical and matter-of-fact way to +choose a carriage. +</p> + +<p> +"You get in, Nita," he said, opening the door, "and I'll +give you Gigi on your lap." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton, puzzled at the comparative indifference of +the mother, took possession of a corner-seat in the same +carriage, and felt relieved to see that as she took the child +she bent down and covered his face with kisses. In truth, +poor Nita in that moment of horror had for the first time +realized what the loss of her child would be to her; the +agony of seeing him in danger, without being able to stir a +finger to save him, had touched into life the motherly love +which till now had lain dormant in her heart. But the +shock had almost stunned her for the time, and it was not +till she held Gigi in her arms that any sign of feeling +escaped her. Carlo's face lighted up as he saw how closely +she held the little fellow, and both he and Merlino were so +much taken up with the child, that it was not till just the last +minute that they thought of the luggage. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you see it in, Gomez?" asked Carlo, turning to the +Spaniard who had ensconced himself comfortably in the +corner opposite Mr. Britton, and beside Mlle. de Caisne. +</p> + +<p> +"I? No, I imagined you had given directions," replied +Gomez, with the most irritating air of calm dignity. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo sprang up and put his head out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +"It is gone," he said, "it must be all right." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but my bag!" exclaimed Nita. "You really might +think of things for me! I must have left it on one of the +benches." +</p> + +<p> +The train was on the point of starting, Carlo flung open +the door and rushed in search of the lost property, while +Merlino, fuming with impatience and anxiety, hurried across +the carriage to look from the window. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Santo diavolo!</i> we are moving!" he exclaimed. "What +induced you to be so careless, Nita! Valentino will be left +behind—he'll be too late for the opera. There! I told you +so," as the train steamed on relentlessly, and a porter closed +the door with an authoritative bang, regarding neither the +nerves nor the anxieties of the travellers. +</p> + +<p> +"There's not a creature who can take his part to-night, +you know there's not, and Marioni won't have rehearsed +anything else," stormed Merlino, swearing at his wife, and +wholly disregarding the presence of a stranger. The babel +that ensued was deafening, Gigi adding not a little to the +confusion by bursting into tears, and crying as only children +of that age can cry. Mr. Britton began to wish that he had +chosen another carriage, yet was obliged to own that these +people interested him, and that there was something rather +amusing in this glimpse of life behind the scenes. He got +out his train-book to see whether there was any other train +which would bring the missing singer away from Mardentown +in time for the opera, and wondered whether these people +were going to Ashborough, or to its near neighbor and rival, +Queenbury. +</p> + +<p> +Just at this minute, however, the train stopped at a suburban +station, and to the relief and astonishment of all, Carlo +suddenly appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Where on earth did you come from?" exclaimed Merlino. +</p> + +<p> +"The guard's van," said Carlo, taking the vacant place +beside Mr. Britton, and evidently perceiving that the +atmosphere was disturbed. "I am afraid I gave you all a fright, +but there was no chance of getting back to you, only just +time to make a dash at the last carriage. I seem fated to +run races with the train to-day." +</p> + +<p> +There is nothing more strangely trying than the sudden reaction +after great anxiety. Merlino, whose temper was always +irritable, was now in the worst possible humor; the very +perception that he owed a deep debt of gratitude to his +brother-in-law chafed him into greater rudeness and harshness. As +for Carlo, when he had put the bag up in the netting, he +resigned himself to the inevitable, and bore the storm for the +most part in silence, interposing a word or two when he +thought it would be any use, but knowing too well that Merlino +in this sort of humor must be allowed to have his fling, +and that any sort of argument would only make matters +worse. +</p> + +<p> +At the first opportunity he took Gigi on his knee, and +drawing a little further from Merlino, and nearer to +Mr. Britton, began to do what he could to check the loud +crying, which was irritating both the father and mother, and +which had resisted all Nita's coaxing and Merlino's threatening. +</p> + +<p> +"See, Gigi, you must be quiet," he said, lowering his voice +a little. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought you were lost," sobbed the child; "I was so +frightened,—and—and I've lost my poor, dear, little soldier!" +</p> + +<p> +When he had recounted this catalogue of woes his tears +rained down faster than ever. +</p> + +<p> +"You shall have another. Where did you lose it!" +</p> + +<p> +"It dropped down where the train goes, and I jumped +down to look for it, but I couldn't see it nowhere, and then +they shouted, and the train came by." +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said Carlo, holding the child closer, "you must +never get off the platform again at a station; and as to the +little soldier, why, we will get a new one to-morrow at +Ashborough. See—dry your eyes, and be a man, and then we +will hear about Lionbruno if you like." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want Lionbruno," said Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, the 'Fair Fiorita,' or the 'Fairy Orlanda,' +or shall it be about Buchettino and the Ogre?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I'd like about Giucca, and, 'eat, my clothes, +eat!'" said Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well," said Carlo. And in English, since that was +the language which Gigi liked best to talk, but with all the +graphic imagery of an Italian, he told the story of Giucca's +two visits to the farm; of how in his poor clothes they drove +him away with scorn, but when he came in velvet vest and +gay raiment they invited him to dinner; and how in irony +he had put the food in his hat and in his pockets, saying, +"Eat, my clothes, eat! for you were invited,"—taking care +to make a good dinner for himself into the bargain. +</p> + +<p> +"Another," said Gigi, when this story was ended. By this +time Merlino and his wife had settled down into their +respective corners, Merlino and Gomez had taken up their papers, +Nita and Mlle. de Caisne appeared to sleep; of the stranger +Carlo had taken scarcely any notice, nor would it have +embarrassed him, probably, had he known that Mr. Britton was +listening to the stories quite as attentively as was Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"What shall it be? 'The Shepherd who made the King's +daughter laugh?'" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Gigi, "I'm so tired; I'd like to have about +<i>Il Cristo</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Which story do you want?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something new," said the child. "I'm so tired,—so tired." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, once upon a time," began Carlo, who had no feeling +at all as to the mixture of sacred and secular,—"once upon +a time, <i>Il Cristo</i> was very tired, he had been going about +from town to town you must know, and in the towns he +never had a minute's quiet, for, of course, the people wanted +to see him, and all day long they were coming and going, +and talking and asking his help, so that he had no rest, and +not even time to eat." +</p> + +<p> +"That's like you, <i>zio caro</i>," put in Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"And just at this time he was sad as well as tired; for you +must know that in that country was a bad king, and this one +had taken one of <i>Il Cristo's</i> friends, with whom he used to +play when he was a little boy, and had shut him up in a +great gloomy old castle by the side of a lake, and when he +had kept him in prison a long time he sent his soldiers +one evening and ordered the good man's head to be cut off. +When <i>Il Cristo</i> heard that his friend was dead you can fancy +how sad he was, and how he wanted to be alone for a little +while out of the hurry and the rush of the town: and he +knew that his followers, too, were tired, for they had been +travelling about, and had had hard work to do." +</p> + +<p> +"Were they in his troupe, do you mean?" asked Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"Not exactly; but they travelled about with him; they +were the men who tried hardest to do what he said. And just +before this they had been travelling by themselves, which +was much harder than travelling with <i>Il Cristo</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Did they travel on stuffy cars like this?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, there were no cars then; most likely they walked, +and it was hot like a furnace, and the sun beat down on their +heads and the dust came in great clouds, and when they got +back to the town they were tired out. Then <i>Il Cristo</i> saw +how it was with them, and he said, 'Come away from the +town and the hurry and bustle, come right away into the +country and have a rest.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then they were glad, and he took them in a ship to a +place where he thought they would be quiet—a nice country +place." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess it was like Salem," said Gigi, <i>sotto voce</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"But when they got there, why, what do you think? the +people from the towns had got there before them by a quicker +way, and there was a crowd waiting for them which you should +have seen!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then the troupe didn't get a holiday after all?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but they did. <i>Il Cristo</i> took the work himself, and +they rested, and just heard him talk." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess they liked that better than walking in the sun," +said Gigi, thoughtfully. "Why do you know, <i>zio</i>, I feel +kind o' rested listening to you here in this car; and they had +the country and <i>Il Cristo</i> too. Do you think he would have +been like that to tired men in our profession?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, of course," said Carlo, smiling a little at the +way the child identified himself with the troupe. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish he'd take us to a country place. You look kind o' +tired. I think he might." +</p> + +<p> +"So he will when we really need it." +</p> + +<p> +"Did <i>Il Cristo</i> travel about always like we do? And do +you think he got nasty hotels and lumpy beds?" +</p> + +<p> +"Often no bed at all; he said so once, not grumbling you +know, he never grumbled." +</p> + +<p> +"We do sometimes, don't we, when they're real bad?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; but he made the best of things, and thought of other +people before himself; so now, you see, when he was tired +and sad he first took care of the followers, and gave them a +rest, and then gave the great crowd of people a real good +time, and let them come and talk to him, and cured the ones +who were sick, and taught them how to be good, and before +he sent them home again gave them plenty to eat." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I'm rather hungry just now," said Gigi. "May I +have a brown dog?" +</p> + +<p> +A "brown dog" proved to be a substantial-looking biscuit, +and by the time this had been discussed Gigi had grown sleepy. +Gomez at the next station changed to a smoking carriage, and +Carlo, taking possession of his empty corner, made the child +comfortable, and suggested a <i>siesta</i>, while Mr. Britton was +glad to have an opportunity of studying his features at leisure, +and trying to compare them with his recollections of Carlo +Donati when he had last met him. He saw that there was a +likeness, yet at the same time a great difference, and this +Signor Valentino, as he fancied his name to be, had a look of +strength about him which Donati had lacked. It was hard to +describe the great fascination of the face, the curves of the +smooth cheeks and chin were beautiful, the dark moustache +so slight that it did not hide the finely chiselled lips; the +forehead was specially developed just above the eyebrows, +the ear small and set high up in the shapely head, while the +rough, dark hair, the high cheek bones, and the deep, brown +eyes would alone have stamped him as an Italian. He had +pulled his red Phrygian train-cap to a comfortable angle, and +had leant back in the corner, with the child still in his arms. +Mr. Britton could have wished that he had not chosen to go +to sleep, for he would have liked to talk with him, and, +perhaps, to say a word or two about his prompt rescue of the +little boy, but he was evidently tired, and though from time +to time he raised his eyelids and glanced out of the window +at the country through which they were passing, he never +seemed to notice his English travelling companion, or to have +the slightest wish to talk. In fact, Carlo had for the time +being forgotten his present surroundings altogether, Gigi's +words had returned to him: "I wish he'd take us to a country +place." Now there were times when his longing for Italy +was the keenest of pains, but there were also times when the +mere recollection of his old home made him very happy. It +was thus this afternoon; half asleep, half awake, his mind +went back to the old familiar scenes; he saw the blue bay +of Baja, and the pearly gray mountains of Ischia, and the +smiling campagna, and the near hills, with their outlines +broken here and there by umbrella pines. Then he wandered +down the long, shady walks of the Casa Bella garden, and +once more Francesca was with him, and just then the +recollection of her was enough to make him happy; there were +times when he hardly dared to think of her at all; there were +times when memory was anguish, but there were also times +when he could smile to himself with the happiness of the mere +thought that Francesca lived and that he loved her. +</p> + +<p> +"Is this Ashborough?" asked Nita from the other end of +the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +He was startled back into the present by a voice which +seemed to him to be Captain Britton's. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; this is Ashborough, madam." +</p> + +<p> +Could this traveller be the Captain's brother—the "Uncle +George"—whose arrival at Naples he so well remembered? +</p> + +<p> +He felt uncertain. It might be only that his half-dreamy +recollections of Casa Bella had made him fancy some familiar +tone in this Englishman's voice. It was hardly likely that +Mr. Britton should happen to get into the same carriage with +them. Besides, he had never connected him with the +neighborhood of Ashborough; he fancied Merlebank was in +another county. And even if this should indeed be Francesca's +uncle, would it be very desirable to introduce himself under +the circumstances? +</p> + +<p> +While he wondered what to do, the train had steamed into +the station, and his doubts were solved and his opportunity +lost at the same moment. Some one on the platform recognized +the gray-bearded Englishman, and threw open the +carriage-door. +</p> + +<p> +"Ha, Britton! are you here? I'm just off to Queenbury, +and will take your vacant place." +</p> + +<p> +"How are you?" said the Englishman, with a hearty grip +of the hand. "Any of my people here, do you know?" +</p> + +<p> +"The carriage wasn't up just now; hindered, very likely; +the town is in an awful confusion—the races on Monday, you +know." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo heard no more. He had to carry Gigi to the nearest +fly, and the flies seemed scarce and mostly engaged. When +at length he had secured one, and made over Gigi to his +mother, he had to rush off and see to the luggage, and there +was no time to think any more of his own plans. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, however, Mr. Britton had not lost sight +of him. He felt strangely curious as to the movements of +these operatic people, and being obliged to wait till his own +carriage came up, he strolled to and fro, glancing now out of +the station at the driving rain and the chilly March night, +now at his late companions. As usual, it appeared that +"Signor Valentino" did the work, the others all crowded into +the one available fly, and sat impatiently waiting while he +hunted up truant trunks and portmanteaux. +</p> + +<p> +"What an age you have been!" was the greeting he +received. "You can't get in here! Perhaps there'll be +another fly by this time. Do you think the man can take all +the luggage outside?" +</p> + +<p> +"He'll have to," was the reply. "There's nothing else to +be had nor any chance of getting anything. It seems it is +the race week." +</p> + +<p> +"Can't you change places with him, Signor Gomez?" said +Nita, for once in her life prompted to think for her brother. +"His cough is so bad he oughtn't to be out on such a night." +</p> + +<p> +Gomez made a dignified excuse, and suggested that if they +delayed any longer it would be impossible to dine before the +opera. +</p> + +<p> +"And by-the-bye, Val, my dear fellow, just stop in passing +at the theatre," exclaimed Merlino; "you'll notice it on your +way to the hotel, and might just see that all is right there." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. Is my umbrella handy?" +</p> + +<p> +They gave it to him and drove off, while Carlo began to +wrap up his throat in a huge muffler, looking distastefully +enough at the dark, muddy street, and the torrents of rain. +He was just about to set off on his wet walk when, on turning +to ask the nearest way to the hotel, he suddenly confronted +Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +"I am expecting my carriage every minute," said the +Englishman, in his kindly voice, which, but for the absence +of the slight tone of patronage, would have been exactly like +Captain Britton's. "I hope you'll allow me to drive you to +your hotel." +</p> + +<p> +"You are most kind," said Carlo. "I should indeed be +very grateful; but perhaps I ought to tell you——" +</p> + +<p> +He was interrupted. Mr. Britton, glancing round to see +if the carriage had come, chanced to notice a huge +advertisement of Signor Merlino's Operatic Company, and his eye +was instantly caught by a name in large black +letters—SIGNOR CARLO DONATI. +</p> + +<p> +"I must beg a thousand pardons, Signor Donati, for not +recognizing you before!" he exclaimed, shaking him heartily +by the hand. "I thought I knew your face on the Mardentown +platform, but I heard them call you by the name of +Valentino, and, moreover, had not the slightest idea that +you were in England or that you had changed your profession." +</p> + +<p> +"The change was only just decided on when you left +Naples, sir," said Carlo, his color rising a little. "I hope +you have good accounts from Casa Bella?" +</p> + +<p> +He tried to subdue the eagerness of his tone, but it was +some time since he had heard from Enrico, and the thought +of hearing of Francesca in so much more direct a way made +every pulse in him beat feverishly. +</p> + +<p> +"Very good, indeed," said Mr. Britton. "They all seem +well. Francesca is coming to stay with us in the summer, I +believe. It was an old promise, and I think the change will +be good for her. Here is the carriage at last. Now I am +quite at your disposal. Shall we call first at the theatre, and +then shall I drop you at your hotel? Or are you, too, in a +hurry to get your dinner?" +</p> + +<p> +He had kindly made a rather lengthy speech, because he +saw how much the Italian was moved by his reference to +Francesca. Carlo asked to stop at the theatre, and +Mr. Britton, who understood now that his brother's objection to +the marriage had had to do with the stage and not at all +with political matters, determined to show that he, at any +rate, did not share in his prejudice. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose Valentino is just a nickname; it misled me +altogether," he said. "But for that I think I should have +spoken to you, and asked, at any rate, whether you were +related to Signor Donati, the Neapolitan advocate." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled. Not for many months had he had such a +pleasure as that friendly talk with Francesca's uncle. +</p> + +<p> +"It is the name of what is supposed to be my best +part—Valentino in <i>Faust</i>," he explained. +</p> + +<p> +"I see. Well, I must manage to hear you in it. It is +twenty years and more since I heard an opera." +</p> + +<p> +"Then you have never heard Faust?" exclaimed Carlo, +almost incredulously. "We are to give it to-night; may I +really have the pleasure of getting you an order?" +</p> + +<p> +"You are very good; I should like nothing better," said +Mr. Britton, fully understanding that since his lady-love could +not be present to hear him the next best thing was to have +her old uncle, who might possibly tell her something about +it. He felt convinced that such a thought had flashed +through the young man's mind, and liked him the better for +it, because, after all, it was so human, so precisely what he +himself would have felt at four-and-twenty. +</p> + +<p> +"You have a very bad cough!" he exclaimed, quite agreeing +with the prima donna that Donati had no business to be +out on such a night. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it is only chronic!" said Carlo, lightly, as if that made +it an affair of no account. "Is this the theatre? Will you +then come in with me, and choose your place for to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +The ticket chosen, Carlo and Mr. Britton made their way +through long and not particularly clean passages to the region +behind the scenes. Here all seemed confusion; carpenters +and scene-shifters hurried to and fro; there was a babel of +talking, shouting, hammering; and Carlo's arrival was +evidently hailed as a relief by the man in authority, who came +quickly up to him to explain some difficulty that had arisen, +and to ask whether Merlino would soon be at the theatre. +Mr. Britton, meantime, was learning that scenery and stage +illusions were disenchanting enough when nearly viewed, and +in his own mind was wondering whether anything could +possibly teach him to walk respectably on the sloping stage. +It was evident that Carlo was a practical man, for his +suggestions were received as orders, and something like method +began to be traceable in what had at first seemed the wildest +chaos. +</p> + +<p> +"I must not keep you waiting any longer," he said, after a +few minutes, coming up to Mr. Britton; "thank you for all +your kindness. They seem to have got behindhand here, +and I must stay and help them a little." +</p> + +<p> +"Will you not come and dine with me at the club?" said +Mr. Britton; "it is close by." +</p> + +<p> +"You are very good," said Carlo, looking at his watch, +"but, to tell the truth, it is too late for me to dine now. I +shouldn't be able to sing if I did." +</p> + +<p> +"I hope you don't intend to starve yourself," said the +Englishman. "Surely that can't be good for the voice." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Carlo, laughing; "I shall send out for some +oysters, or perhaps take a raw egg or two." Then, seeing +Mr. Britton's look of commiseration, he laughed. "You +know we make up for it at supper. I shall be as hungry as +a hunter by the time the opera is over." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I cannot take you to the hotel?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think not, thank you; I must be here for the present. +When all is ready I dare say I shall run and see that Gigi is +none the worse for his fright, but they tell me it is close by. +You will remember me to Miss Claremont." +</p> + +<p> +"She will be delighted to hear you are in England; you +must come over to see us at Merlebank; we are not much +more than two miles from the town. Good-bye then for the +present, and I hope you'll find the little boy has suffered no +ill effects." +</p> + +<p> +It was not till nearly eight o'clock that Carlo could snatch +a minute to run and see after Gigi; hurrying along the wet +and cheerless street he made his way to the hotel, and on +the doorstep came suddenly upon Sardoni, who had gone +on to Ashborough on the previous night with the rest of the +troupe. +</p> + +<p> +"So here you are at last," he exclaimed, "doing the dirty +work as usual, I see. How are you, Val? I declare you +look better." +</p> + +<p> +In truth the meeting with Mr. Britton and the pleasure of +having rescued Gigi had acted as a sort of stimulus, and +Carlo, spite of a very tiring day, felt better than he had done +for some months past. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm as strong as a horse," he said, laughing, "should +come in neck and neck with the winner of the Mountshire +Handicap on Monday. Where is Gigi?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sitting on the stairs when I last saw him; the place is +packed, and I'm afraid they won't have given you much of a +room; Gomez snapped up the only decent one." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo waited for no more, but ran upstairs till he came +upon the disconsolate figure of the little boy. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you had something to eat, <i>mio caro</i>?" he asked +taking the child in his arms and carrying him on. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but there's no bed for me," said Gigi, piteously. +</p> + +<p> +"How's that? one was ordered. Where have they put my +portmanteau?" +</p> + +<p> +"Up at the top," said Gigi, mournfully, "in No. 62; but +there's no bed for me." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo rang to inquire, only to be told that, the house being +quite full for the race week, no more beds were available; +and the only room, No. 62, proved to be a servant's room +vacated just for the occasion, a dismal little place under the +roof, smelling strongly of stale ham sandwiches. In the +corner was one narrow truckle-bed. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, Gigi," said Carlo, passing his arm round +the child's neck, and waking a smile on the dismal little face; +"you've slept in the overland trunk before now. Let us see +if you have grown too long for it; you know it was rather +fun last time. Yes?" +</p> + +<p> +Gigi measured himself by the trunk, to the infinite amusement +of the chambermaid, who volunteered to find him a pair +of sheets. +</p> + +<p> +"But as to blankets, sir, they're every blessed one of them +in use," she added. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, one of mine doubled will do for him," said +Carlo, ruthlessly stripping the truckle-bed. "Now, Gigi, +unlock the trunk for me, and we'll turn the things out on the +floor and make room for you." +</p> + +<p> +Gigi thought this fine fun; and what with pillows and +blanket from the truckle-bed, and clean sheets which the +chambermaid brought hot from the fire, the improvised crib +was comfortable enough. But to Carlo it somehow suggested +a coffin, and the thought of the danger the child had been +in made him shudder as he bent down to kiss him. +</p> + +<p> +"I do love you so," said Gigi, clinging to him with all his +might. And Carlo hurried back to the theatre with the +words ringing in his ears, and the feeling of the little +child's arms still about his neck. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. +<br><br> +"CLARE." +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "But when I met him he was still the same;<br> + The quiet, happy face that lighted up<br> + As from a sunshine in the heart within,<br> + Rejoicing whomsoever looked on it,<br> + But far more whomsoever it looked on."<br> + <i>Ugo Bassi</i>: MRS. HAMILTON KING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The schoolroom at Merlebank was one of those comfortable, +nondescript sort of rooms, which have a charm for +most people; it was a room where you did not feel bound +to be on your best behavior,—a room where you could read +with both elbows on the table, or lounge in unconventional +ease by the fireside. It was essentially a snug room, its +green Brussels carpet was comfortably shabby, its curtains +were old-fashioned and faded, its walls were crowded with +frameless oil paintings, which the girls had brought home +from the School of Art, and the books in its crowded +bookshelves had evidently seen good service. Miss Claremont +loved the room, and it was in a great measure her presence +which helped to make it one of the pleasantest retreats in +the house. In lesson hours she knew well enough how to +make any unwary visitor feel himself <i>de trop</i>, but at all other +times, on half holidays, or on Sundays, or in the long +evenings, she liked nothing better than to sit and talk to +any one who chose to seek her out. She had now been at +Merlebank for many years, and had given to each of the +children the "mothering" they so much needed. In person +Clare was short and slight, she was an insignificant-looking +little woman, and took scant pains with her dress. But all +these details were observed only by strangers; to those who +knew her she was just "Clare," the one being in the world +whose sympathy was always available, the only person who +could brighten up a dull dinner, or entertain stupid visitors, +or find good points in those whom the girls themselves +condemned as odiously vulgar. +</p> + +<p> +All the troubles and anxieties of the household gravitated +by a natural law to the schoolroom. Clare would sit by the +fire in winter, or by the open window in summer, and would +listen to Mr. Britton's anxieties about the children, or to the +grandmother's grief about her failing eyesight, or to Kate's +difficulties in her district, or to the boy's hopes and fears +with regard to examinations, or first loves, or vanished +pocket-money. Her clear, light-blue eyes could sparkle with fun, +or grow soft with pity, or become thoughtful and patient, as +she weighed the pros and cons of some puzzling question; +she was the most delightful of confidantes, and her wide +circle of friends did not scruple to work her pretty hard, for +Clare was always supposed to like to hear every one's woes. +Probably she really did like it, and few went away from her +uncomforted, for somehow you were apt to leave the schoolroom +feeling as if she had removed a crape veil from before +your eyes, so that the most common and trivial matters of +every-day life became far more interesting than you had +imagined them to be. +</p> + +<p> +Late on that March evening Mr. Britton, returning from +Ashborough, made all speed towards the schoolroom, and +as he had hoped, found Clare still sitting over the fire +reading. +</p> + +<p> +"The children have all gone to bed," she explained; +"Kate waited till half-past ten, but she was tired with her +choir practice." +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad to find you up," said Mr. Britton, "for I +have a message to you from an old friend of yours, who, to +my great astonishment, proves to be in England." +</p> + +<p> +"Not Francesca!" exclaimed Clare. +</p> + +<p> +"Her next-door neighbor, young Donati; he sends you his +kind regards and is very anxious to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that is really a delightful surprise," said Clare. +"I should like so much to meet him again, for as a boy he +interested me a good deal. What can have brought him to +England?" +</p> + +<p> +"He has developed a voice, and has turned into an operatic +singer. That quite explains my brother's determination to +have less to do with him, for you know the Captain +disapproves of the stage as much as you do. However, I think +I have managed to put two and two together, and to form a +pretty shrewd guess as to Donati's reason for his sudden +change of profession. It seems he has a sister; did you +know her?" +</p> + +<p> +"She was being educated in a convent when I was in +Italy, but I saw her once or twice. Poor girl! she made +some very foolish marriage, I believe, not long after we came +to England. I never heard the rights of the story, but I +know she eloped with some one." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that was it! Well, she seems to have paid dearly +for her folly, poor thing! for her husband is a brute, a more +sullen, ill-tempered fellow I never saw. He is the Impresario +of this travelling company which Donati has joined; the +sister, Madame Merlino, is the prima donna. Let me see, +what did he call her? Nita, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"That was her name. I remember her as a demure little +girl, shocked at Francesca's freedom." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she seems to be one of those pretty helpless, +unhappy wives who stand in such grave need of a protector. +Now, when I was at Naples I heard nothing at all about this +sister, but on the Sunday, Donati was introduced to me by +my brother as one of the most promising young advocates at +the Neapolitan bar, and his praises were sung to me in a way +which I own rather prejudiced me against him. I couldn't +help liking the fellow when I saw him, however; and you +can imagine my surprise when, on the Tuesday morning, I +found that my brother had quarrelled with him, and that their +friendship was at an end. He had decided on some course +of action which the Captain disapproved, and said you would +also disapprove. However, the matter was a private affair +of Donati's and he bound me over to silence, telling me +however, that I should soon see all for myself, and should then +agree with him. I got quite on a wrong tack, and thought +it was some political difference, but surely this is the true +explanation. I appeal to you now, Miss Claremont, as a +reader of romances:—given a pretty actress, with a brute of +a husband, and doubtless some not too reputable admirers, +is it not conceivable that circumstances might arise which +should induce her father or her brother to sacrifice everything +in order to save her?" +</p> + +<p> +"Quite," said Clare; "and Carlo Donati would be the +very man to throw himself into the breach in that way; there +was something chivalrous about him, something one doesn't +often meet with nowadays. Do you remember Mrs. Browning's +lines? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'The world's male chivalry has perished out,<br> + But women are knights-errant to the last.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I always thought she wouldn't have written that if she had +known Carlo." +</p> + +<p> +"I think there is no doubt that he is playing the part of +knight-errant now," said Mr. Britton, musingly; "and that +he has a hard time of it. I doubt if he will succeed, though. +The sister seemed to be a very shallow, heartless little +woman. He is a noble fellow, much too good to be wasted +on such a life." +</p> + +<p> +He gave Clare a detailed account of what had passed that +afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry he has gone on the stage," she said. "I +hoped he would have done great things. It seems to me +that a man like that might have wonderful influence in public +life." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet in some ways he is admirably fitted for his present +work," said Mr. Britton. "His voice is very fine, and +his acting really first-rate; I went to hear him to-night, and +was delighted with him. Would you care to see him +to-morrow? I want you to look him up, for I think, poor fellow, +he is leading the life of a dog; and he seemed so pleased at +the thought of meeting you again. I have promised that the +carriage shall take the Vicar into Ashborough in the +afternoon; he preaches at St. Cyprian's in the evening. Would +you like to go in, too? You might, perhaps, go for a drive +with young Donati." +</p> + +<p> +"It would be the best chance of seeing him alone," said +Clare. "Thank you, I think I will go, and on Sunday I +suppose he is sure to be disengaged." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly the next day Clare, having set down the Vicar +at St. Cyprian's parsonage, drove to the Royal Hotel, and +sent in her card with a little pencilled message asking Carlo +to come for a drive. As she waited there she felt a little +anxious, and even shy, for after all it was many years since +she had seen Carlo. Would time have raised a barrier +between them? Would Signor Donati, the public singer, be +less approachable than the frank, light-hearted, Italian boy, +who at one time had almost worshipped her? The first +glimpse of him, however, dispelled all her fears; he came +quickly forward with the same eager boyish manner which +she recollected so well, and took both her hands in his. +</p> + +<p> +"How good, how kind of you to come!" he exclaimed. +"This is the greatest pleasure I have had for a long time. +Gigi," he turned to pick up a small boy, "this is Miss +Claremont. Should you mind, Clare, if I brought him with me? +Sunday has come to be considered his special property." +</p> + +<p> +Clare was delighted to welcome the little fellow, and made +many inquiries about his narrow escape of the previous day. +</p> + +<p> +"What a great pleasure it must be to you now to feel that +you saved him!" she said. "I have often wondered how a +rescuer would feel afterwards." +</p> + +<p> +"It's a satisfaction to feel that I have not failed in one +thing undertaken," said Carlo, rather sadly. +</p> + +<p> +At first sight Clare had thought him hardly altered, but on +looking more closely at him she saw that his face, when in +repose, bore signs of friction; and, though still very +young-looking, told plainly of grief and sorrow undergone. +</p> + +<p> +"That is a sad way of putting it," she said. "I thought, +too, that you had had such very great success,—Mr. Britton +led me to believe so." +</p> + +<p> +"You see," he replied, "every artist leads a double life; +just at that moment I was thinking more of my own personal +side of the question, but really sometimes I think I'm +making a failure of both." +</p> + +<p> +"But you have surely had a very rapid success?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't think I am ungrateful for my reception," he said. +"I know I have made what the world calls a success, but +I'm not yet satisfied with myself; and each time I go on the +stage I feel that I may fail utterly. An artist's life is a life +of eternal anxiety. But then to counterbalance that we have +moments of inspiration, and they are worth all." +</p> + +<p> +Clare was surprised at his sudden fervor. +</p> + +<p> +"You really like your new profession, then?" she said. +"I remember you were always fond of music." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know how I should get on without it," he said. +"It is not only the music that is such a great delight, it is +the getting out of one's own world, the living in the +characters of others, the sense of holding the attention of one's +audience and playing upon their emotions, and the pleasure +of giving pleasure. Besides, there is a kind of satisfaction +in being what you were meant to be." +</p> + +<p> +"Had you long intended to take up this way of life?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but Piale had fully educated me for it. I was an +advocate, you know, though I had never practised." +</p> + +<p> +"And I suppose it was your wish to be near your sister +which prompted you to make the change?" she said. +</p> + +<p> +He was surprised, and yet relieved, that she had guessed +as much. +</p> + +<p> +"It was my last promise to our mother," he said. But he +was quite silent as to the sacrifice it had been to him to take +up the profession; and Clare, who had not the faintest suspicion +of his love for Francesca, could not, of course, realize +what he had been through. She wondered whether his plan +had been a wise one, and recalled Mr. Britton's description +of Madame Merlino, and his conviction that in this case +chivalry would not avail. +</p> + +<p> +"I know you don't approve of the stage," he said. "Had +I thought you would have seen things as I saw them I should +have written to you when we first came to England, for I +was horribly lonely then." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you had," she said, with warm sympathy. "Indeed, +I should not have argued with you through the post! +Nor will I argue now. It is quite impossible for me really +to judge: I know too little about the stage." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet you do disapprove in your secret heart," he said, +rather wistfully. He could not help longing for Clare's +benediction on his efforts. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it seems to me a little like doing evil that good +may come," she said, hesitatingly. "But that may be only +my British prejudice." +</p> + +<p> +Then, seeing a sad look in his eyes, she added, quickly,— +</p> + +<p> +"But, as I said before, Carlo, it is impossible for me to +judge. What did Captain Britton say to it?" +</p> + +<p> +"He shared in the British prejudice." +</p> + +<p> +A look of such deep pain flashed across his face that her +heart smote her; she had spoken without very much thought, +forgetting that Carlo would probably feel sore-hearted still +at the recollection of the quarrel with the Captain which +Mr. Britton had mentioned. Of the true state of the case he had +nothing to tell her, and the best of friends cannot avoid now +and then wounding each other in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +"As a matter of fact, you know," she said, in her sweet, +bright way, "I am a very ignorant woman as to these matters. +I have never been inside a theatre, I have never come across +people connected with the stage, and I have no doubt that +the evils connected with theatrical life are painted more +darkly than they need be. Indeed, I should be very glad if +you could convert me." +</p> + +<p> +"Then this shall be the first step in your conversion," he +said, smiling. "Look at these two ladies whom we are just +going to pass on the left." +</p> + +<p> +Clare looked, Gigi kissed his hand, and the ladies bowed +and smiled as Carlo raised his hat. +</p> + +<p> +"The tall one has a beautiful face!" exclaimed Clare. +"So dignified and sweet." +</p> + +<p> +"That is Mlle. Borelli, our contralto; she is one of the +noblest women I know. The other is Mlle. Duroc, her great +friend." +</p> + +<p> +"A nice face, but not so striking as the other," was Clare's +comment. "Well, Carlo, I am glad to have seen them. +Perhaps you will some day convert me altogether and make +me approve of theatres." +</p> + +<p> +The talk turned on other matters, and before they parted +Clare made Carlo promise to come over to Merlebank the +next afternoon, and to bring Gigi with him. +</p> + +<p> +Curiously enough, however, the question of theatrical life +was to be handled once more that day, and not with Clare's +moderation. +</p> + +<p> +St. Cyprian's was some way from the Royal Hotel, but +Carlo, having chanced upon a very dreary service in the +morning at a neighboring church, was determined to go farther +afield, and, hearing from Sardoni that it was considered +one of the finest churches in England, resolved to seek it +out. +</p> + +<p> +"It's at least a mile," said Sardoni; "however, the choir +is worth hearing, and if you're going I don't mind going with +you." +</p> + +<p> +So the two set off together, arriving somewhat late, and +having to content themselves with places at the very back of +the church. Carlo felt strangely tired; but he was very +happy in having met Clare and Mr. Britton once more, and +he was glad Sardoni had volunteered to come with him. +The beautiful building, and the music, and the service, which +was always associated in his mind with Naples and Francesca, +would, even in their mere external aspect, have been a +refreshment; and he was gaining the rest he much needed +when the sermon began, and startled him back into his +working-day existence. For the preacher, sitting in his +country vicarage, and well conversant with all the pleasures +of the country, which seemed to him the only pleasures worth +enumerating, had written a fierce diatribe against the +pleasures of the town, and notably against theatre-going. +Perhaps it had not occurred to him that members of the +obnoxious theatrical profession might be numbered in his flock; +apparently he considered them all to be reprobates, for he +spoke of them in no measured terms, and denounced their +profession as an unhallowed calling. Carlo was the more +pained by the attack, because the preacher was evidently a +man of great earnestness, a good, upright, honest man, not +a mere denouncer. It was hard, too, to have his brief +respite from work disturbed and spoiled by so untimely an +assault. He tried not to listen, but the mere desire not to +hear made it impossible for him to lose himself in other +thoughts, and whether he would or no the words fell upon +his ear. +</p> + +<p> +"My brethren," continued the preacher, "I look at the +hoardings in your town and see how, even in this solemn +time of Lent, the world seeks to ensnare you. I see that, +not content with the usual number of theatres, another must +be opened for the performance of operas; and I fear that you +may be tempted perhaps to snatch at a passing pleasure. +Let me urge you to withstand the temptation; let me implore +you, as you value the health of your own souls, to shun this +false and ensnaring pleasure, the influence of which must be +harmful—may be deadly. Most truly, most wisely do we +sing the words— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Christian, dost thou see them<br> + On the holy ground;<br> + How the troops of Midian<br> + Prowl and prowl around?'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Carlo was for the moment so much tickled by the implied +comparison between the wandering troupe of Merlino and +the prowling troops of Midian, that he had some difficulty in +keeping his countenance. He did not dare to look at Sardoni; +but, taking up a book, read the rest of the hymn, reflecting +sadly that even the much-abused members of the "unhallowed +calling," did sometimes try their best to overcome +"By the merit of the holy Cross." The attack grieved him; +it seemed like the embodiment of the cause which had +separated him from Francesca. He had learnt, moreover, to +love his profession; he believed in it with all his heart; he +knew that it need no more be an unhallowed calling than the +calling of the poet, or the painter, or the sculptor, or the +novelist. This preacher clearly failed to understand the +highest meaning of art—he had no sense of the artistic side +of life; neither had he any sense of humor, or he would +instantly have perceived the ludicrous turn which might be +given to his application of the "troops of Midian." +</p> + +<p> +This particular Midianite began to wonder whether, if he +from the stage had begged people to shun the church and to +refrain from giving at the offertory, the preacher would not +have denounced him as a man who wilfully robbed another +of his daily bread. He went on to picture to himself the +immediate consequences of any marked falling-off in the +attendance at the theatre: he thought of the heavy loss to +Merlino, the severe trial to his temper, the consequent +misery and suffering of all about him, the possible effect on +Anita. Then he went on to generalities, and tried to +imagine the effect upon art if the best and purest followed the +preacher's advice, and went no more to the theatre. He +saw how the good, and the elevating, and the lofty in the +drama would perforce fail for lack of support; and how the +only thing that would pay would be that which pandered to +the lowest and vilest tastes. He felt that the members of +his profession, in such a state of things, would be placed in +a grave dilemma; unfit for any other calling, they would be +forced either to let their talents rust unused, and to sink into +poverty and distress, or to debase themselves by taking +work which they knew to be unworthy of them. +</p> + +<p> +He would have liked to put such a case to the preacher, +and he felt curious to see what sort of man he was; but +they were quite at the back of the church, and an +intervening pillar hid the pulpit from view. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling, somehow, that the sermon had shut him out from +the fellowship which he expected to find in a church, and +had made him an alien even in the body to which he +rightfully belonged, he made his way out again into the dark, +dreary street, up which the March wind blew gustily. A +sense of intolerable fatigue came over him. +</p> + +<p> +"What a pace you are walking at, Jack!" he exclaimed. +"One might think you were blessed with the seven-leagued +boots, and were keeping up with Sirocco!" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni modified his pace; and Carlo, glancing at him, +saw an expression about his mouth which boded no good. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry we came in for that sermon," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at any rate, it will serve to show you what British +prejudice is!" said Sardoni, speaking more fiercely than +the occasion seemed to warrant. "I don't know what effect +it will have as to theatre-going, but I know that I shan't +darken the doors of a church again in a hurry!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was silent, knowing that his companion was far too +angry to be reasoned with; and not another word passed +between them on their way back to the hotel. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. +<br><br> +AN ENGLISH HOME. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Nor hath thy knowledge of adversity<br> + Robbed thee of any faith in happiness,<br> + But rather cleared thine inner eyes to see<br> + How many simple ways there are to bless."<br> + LOWELL.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next day, according to his promise, Carlo went over +to Merlebank. +</p> + +<p> +"How good of you to come," said Clare, hastening +forward to greet him as he was shown into the drawing-room; +"I was afraid this gloomy afternoon might frighten +you away. I must introduce you to Francesca's cousins +whom you have so often heard of." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked eagerly enough to see if he could trace any +likeness to Francesca in the four girls who came up in +frank and friendly fashion to shake hands with him. Kate, +the eldest, was about her age, and he instantly perceived +that she had the same English gray eyes—dark gray, with +no blue in their depths. Though, however, she was a +nice-looking girl, she made no pretensions to beauty; but every +now and then a tone in her voice would thrill him by its +likeness to Francesca's and he felt much attracted by her, +though he perceived at once that she was passing judgment +on him, and that her manner was more critical and less +friendly than that of the younger girls. +</p> + +<p> +Lucy, the second sister, was fairer and prettier, and +seemed to be the sweet-tempered one of the family, but she +interested him less than Kate, whose slightly aggressive +manner piqued him into curiosity. Molly was a rather +tomboyish young person of fourteen, with a frank +hail-fellow-well-met manner; and Flo, +the baby of the family, was just +eleven, a slim little girl, with short, fair hair, and very short +petticoats, who enjoyed life in a kittenish sort of way, and, +while much petted by every one in the house, had somehow +just escaped spoiling. +</p> + +<p> +Clare sat, looking wonderfully natural, in the corner of +the big Chesterfield sofa, and made him sit beside her, +where they could talk comfortably together, a little removed +from the group of girls who, on the other side of the hearth, +clustered round Gigi and made much of him. The drawing-room +was such a room as Carlo had never before seen, and +after the weary round of dingy lodgings and second-rate +hotels to which he had of late been accustomed he could +fully appreciate it. It reminded him just a little of the +<i>salotto</i> at Casa Bella in its air of comfort and homelikeness, +but whereas the Casa Bella room had a semi-Italian air, +from its Cantigalli <i>plaques</i> and pottery, and its striped silk +<i>couvrettes</i>, this room was thoroughly and typically English. +A second room, visible by day, was curtained off in the +evening, when snugness reigned supreme; a fire of coals, +crowned by a huge log, burned in the low, wide grate, and +sent a ruddy glow over the brass fender and dainty brass +fireirons; while a warm-toned Persian carpet and +wallflower-red curtains harmonized well with the salmon-tinted +walls, upon which were gathered a wealth of pictures that +at once attracted Carlo's eye, though the names on the +massive gilt frames Brett, Ansdell, Vicat Cole, and Millais, +conveyed to him as a foreigner, no special meaning. +</p> + +<p> +Clare was a little afraid of alluding to Casa Bella after +her rather careless speech of the preceding day, but she +spoke of the Ritters, and of other mutual friends, and asked +endless questions about Naples and Pozzuoli which Carlo +was enchanted to answer. For many months he had been +utterly cut off from all his old ties, and from the people who +could sympathize with them; it was delightful to him to go +over the familiar ground once more with some one who knew +it and loved it almost as well as he did. To be with Clare +again made him feel strangely young and light-hearted. He +forgot Anita and Comerio; he forgot all the petty jealousies +and disputes of the company; he even forgot his own +private troubles, found genuine relief in speaking Francesca's +name, and could almost have fancied that he was once more +a boy, resolving to work and wait till he could present his +name to Captain Britton with the prefix of <i>Avvocato</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"You can stay a nice long time, I hope?" said Clare. +"Mr. Britton will be coming in soon, I think, and he +specially wished to see you. He so much enjoyed your +singing on Saturday." +</p> + +<p> +"This is my off day," explained Carlo, "so I am not +bound to be back by any special time. It is <i>Fra Diavolo</i> +to-night, and I have no part in that." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that your only chance of a holiday? Do you mean +that you sing all the other nights of the week?" +</p> + +<p> +"That just depends on whether the engagements dovetail +into each other. Very often they do. When the town is +important we generally stay a week, and then the round +seldom varies. Arrive on Sunday, <i>Faust</i> on Monday, <i>Fra +Diavolo</i> Tuesday, <i>Somnambula</i> Wednesday, <i>Lucia</i> Thursday, +<i>Barbiere</i> Friday, <i>Rigoletto</i> Saturday, on to the next place on +Sunday." +</p> + +<p> +"Is the travelling always done on Sunday?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not always, but very frequently. You see it is the only +day you close your theatres. Now with us the theatres are +shut on Friday, but we play our best operas in our best style +on the <i>Festa</i>. There is something to be said for both sides +of the question. Last week we had engagements of two and +three nights only at small places, and travelled here in +detachments, the bulk of the company by special train on +Friday evening, the rest of us on Saturday afternoon. So +at Ashborough the days are slightly varied, and on Thursday +we move on to Queenbury for two nights." +</p> + +<p> +"It must be a very hard life," said Clare. +</p> + +<p> +"It is no light work, as some people seem to fancy, +specially when the winter is so severe." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you must have felt the cold dreadfully." +</p> + +<p> +"I have at any rate learnt to appreciate warmth. The +only drawback is that in England it seems impossible to be +warm on both sides at once. You may scorch your shins at +the fire, and yet the back of your leg will still be frozen! +But I see you understand here how to build up a glorious +fire. We don't come across such fireplaces as that." +</p> + +<p> +While he talked he watched with the interest of a foreigner +all that was going on, wondered for what reason the footman +appeared with a trivet and a bright copper kettle, and speculated +as to the little folding-table which was being set up on +the other side of the fireplace. A daintily-worked cloth was +spread over it, then came the explanation in the form of a +beautifully inlaid ebony and silver tray, with the most +fascinating of silver tea-services, and delicate blue and white +china cups. +</p> + +<p> +"This is just like Salem," announced Gigi. "We've never +had real proper tea since Salem." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, seeing that Kate had some unknown designs on the +copper kettle, hastened to offer his services. +</p> + +<p> +"Tea-making is a process I have never seen," he said +wondering what on earth he was to do with the kettle now that he +had valiantly seized upon it. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, a little in the teapot, please," said Kate. +"That will do." +</p> + +<p> +He restored it to the trivet, and noticed that Kate's hands +were exactly like Francesca's. He could not take his eyes off +them as she measured out tea from a pretty little silver caddy +with a silver cockleshell. They were not luxuriously brought +up girls, in spite of their father's wealth. They were +accustomed to helping themselves, and did not care to have +servants always at their beck and call. Indeed, Kate was of so +independent a nature that she would willingly have dispensed +with Carlo's assistance, and observing that the kettle did not +boil, she set it further back on the trivet, and with something +a little defiant in her expression, prepared to take it off at +the critical minute. +</p> + +<p> +"What was the first edition for?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that was to warm the teapot, a very important part +of the matter," she explained. +</p> + +<p> +"Pray let me have my share in this mysterious process," +said Carlo, forestalling her as she was about to carry off the +kettle in triumph. "It has to me, you know, all the interest +of a new experiment in chemistry." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't mean to say Francesca hasn't introduced afternoon +tea yet at Casa Bella?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a general exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +"You see in Italy we naturally enough go in more for +cooling drinks. She was very clever at making lemonade." +</p> + +<p> +He felt himself coloring at the recollection of that hot +summer day in the Rose-room, and was glad to turn his back +on the five pairs of eyes, and to put the kettle again on the +trivet. A further diversion was made by the entrance of the +servant with cakes and thin bread-and-butter and a great +dish of crumpets, which was set down in the fender to keep +hot. There was something charmingly easy and informal in +the whole thing, Carlo thought; he wondered what it was +that gave the English their special power of making homes, +and once more the tone of Kate's voice took him back with +a pang that was half of pleasure, half of pain, to the thought +of Francesca. For a minute he called up the picture of +what might have been. He saw the Villa Bruno with the +alterations which she would have made in it; he possessed +in imagination the wife and the home which he had renounced; +and the dream was so sweet that it was almost worth the +revulsion of feeling which quickly followed. +</p> + +<p> +There must have been a brain-wave between him and Kate, +for at that moment she startled him with the question. "I +suppose they have new neighbors now at Casa Bella? Who +took your house when you left?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was taken by Count Carossa," he replied. "Mr. Britton +met him at Naples on Whit-Sunday. He has a yacht +not unlike the <i>Pilgrim</i>, and was anchored close by." +</p> + +<p> +"I remember now, father mentioned him. What sort of +man is he? Will Uncle Britton like him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I believe he was much taken with him," replied Carlo, +hearing his own calm replies with a sort of astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle is dreadfully fond of people with titles," said Kate. +"It is his one weakness. Is Count Carossa really nice, do +you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have only met him once," replied Carlo. "He is quite +young and very rich, rather an original sort of man, has +travelled a great deal, and is a good <i>raconteur</i>." +</p> + +<p> +He ran off the list of his rival's merits unfalteringly, but +was secretly relieved by an interruption. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you hear wheels?" exclaimed Lucy, opening the +drawing-room door that she might listen better. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it is father!" cried little Flo, "for Bevis is waking +up. See," she said, drawing Carlo's attention to a very old +deer-hound which lay stretched out comfortably on the +hearth-rug. "Bevis always does that when he hears the carriage, +but when it is only people coming to call he sleeps right on." +</p> + +<p> +In the hall there was a little bustle of arrival and welcome. +The return of the father and son from business made one of +the pleasantest of the daily events in that quiet country +household. They brought with them a sort of atmosphere +of the world which was refreshing. Generally there were +commissions to be delivered, or library books to be eagerly +seized upon, and invariably there was some sort of news to +be discussed. Carlo realized something of this as Mr. Britton +came into the room with Lucy, his favorite daughter, +clinging to his arm, and the dog Oscar, son to the elderly +Bevis, at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +The shipbuilder never showed to greater advantage than +in his own house. Looking now at his clear gray eyes, his +refined face, his thick white hair and snowy, well-kept beard, +he seemed to Carlo the perfection of an English gentleman. +His manner was delightful, a little more courteous than the +manner of the Englishmen Carlo had hitherto come across, +but free from all suspicion of formality, a manner that was +genuinely friendly without being in the least over-familiar. +He gave Carlo a hearty welcome, and turned to introduce +him to his son, who seemed to be much what Mr. Britton +must have been forty years ago. +</p> + +<p> +Harry Britton had not yet acquired, however, his father's +easy, genial way of talking; he seemed not quite at his ease +with the Italian; and, after the greetings were over, moved +away with a perceptible air of relief, which tickled Carlo not +a little, and began to open the shiny black bag which he +held in his left hand. From this he proceeded to dole forth +various purchases which the girls had asked him to make, +ending with the evening paper, which he as usual brought +dutifully to Clare, with a little time-honored joke which had +for them all a halo of happy associations. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo watched the little bit of by-play, and understood it +all perfectly. It brought back to his mind the old days when +Clare was in Italy, and had been to him just such a true, +staunch, cheery friend as she was now to Harry Britton. To +his tired brain there was something indescribably refreshing +in that glimpse of home-life. It was a scene which he never +forgot, and which often returned to him with a sense of +comfort in his wandering, homeless life. For there are people +so genuine, so English, so whole-hearted, that they can make +even afternoon callers feel, for the time being, one of +themselves—can send them forth again with a pleasant, living +picture in their hearts, and a consciousness that there is true +friendliness and good fellowship in a world which had +seemed to them for the most part a place of weary formality +and routine. +</p> + +<p> +He felt a great wish to do something for these people, +and knowing that etiquette forbade them to ask him to sing, +and that Clare was anxious to hear him, he took advantage +of some reference which Mr. Britton made to his singing in +Faust, to offer to sing them "<i>Dio Possente</i>." +</p> + +<p> +The unmistakable look of real delight which greeted the +suggestion, and the eager way in which Molly and Flo ran +to open the piano, pleased him more than the loudest public +applause could have done. He sang very well, and entranced +his hearers, rousing even Harry out of his shy reserve. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you ever sing English songs?" he asked, when the +chorus of thanks had ceased, volunteering his first +uncalled-for remark to the Italian. +</p> + +<p> +"Not very often," replied Carlo, wondering whether he +could get through "Love for a Life," and, after a moment's +debate, decided to risk it for the sake of pleasing Francesca's +cousin. "There is one song by my old Maestro with +English words. Perhaps you know it?" +</p> + +<p> +He struck a few chords, then broke into the introduction to +the song which transported him once more to that first happy +day of his betrothal. To sing it was hard, and yet his very +emotion gave him a power which he would not otherwise +have possessed,—it made him able to bring tears into the +eyes of more than one of his listeners—it set kind-hearted +Mr. Britton weaving plans for a reconciliation, and imagining +a happy ending to Francesca's love-story. +</p> + +<p> +"I sang that for you," said Carlo, with a little bow of +acknowledgment for Harry's warm thanks. "Now, if you +are not quite tired of me, I should very much like to sing +one song for Miss Claremont. You must choose it, Clare," +he said, turning to her, and looking with a smile into her +sympathetic eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"May I really choose?" she said. "Then I should like +that old favorite of mine, 'The Pilgrim of Love.'" +</p> + +<p> +"That will also be an indirect compliment to the yacht," +said Carlo laughing. "Or was that called after the +<i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>? But let me see, can I get through the +words? How do you pronounce that bit I always used to +come to grief over?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Nay, nay, courteous father'?" suggested Clare, recalling +merry disputes in the Casa Bella drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"That was it! 'Curteous' or 'corteous'—how do you +say it?" +</p> + +<p> +They laughed over the old discussions, and discussed them +over again, and after some little delay Carlo sang the song, +and finally left them to be haunted for many a day to come +by the refrain, "No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of +love." +</p> + +<p> +"He seems a nice sort of fellow!" was Harry's comment, +when, the guests having departed, his natural manner +returned to him. "I say, it didn't matter, did it, my asking +him if he sang English songs? I thought none of those +operatic fellows did." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, dear no," said Clare. "Nothing pleases Carlo so +much as to give pleasure." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it was awfully jolly of him to sing such a lot. He +doesn't seem a bit stuck up. But, I say, why on earth can't +they be called like ordinary Christians? Carlo and Gigi! +Did you ever hear of a more horsey and doggy couple!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's just your narrow-mindedness," said Clare, laughing. +"Carlo is as good a name as Charles, and Gigi sounds +no more foolish to an Italian than Johnny or Tommy to us." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Clare, for my part I don't understand your Signor +Donati. If he is the sort of man he seems to be, why does +he live such a useless life?" said Kate, with the severity of +three-and-twenty. +</p> + +<p> +"He may have many reasons which we don't understand," +said Clare. "However, I candidly confess that I wish he +would leave the stage. He looks to me terribly delicate." +</p> + +<p> +"He is far too good for that company," said Mr. Britton. +"I shouldn't be at all surprised if he did leave the stage +before long. I hope he may—I hope he may! There's +something about him which quite fascinates one, though I do +wish he could have been an Englishman." +</p> + +<p> +The laughter evoked by this truly British remark was only +checked by the warning clock, which made Clare and the +younger girls beat a hasty retreat to the schoolroom, and +sent Kate to read to her invalid grandmother, and to +moralize in her own mind over Carlo's mistake in choosing so +unworthy a profession. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. +<br><br> +A LAST STRUGGLE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "O sweet, they tell me that the world is hard and harsh of mind.<br> + But can it be so hard, so harsh, as those that should be kind?<br> + That matters not; let come what will; at last the end is sure,<br> + And every heart that loves with truth is equal to endure."<br> + TENNYSON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Now, Miss Claremont, suppose just for once you were +to come to the theatre?" remarked Mr. Britton at breakfast +the next morning. "I see they are giving <i>Il Barbiere</i> on +Wednesday night, and I have a sort of hankering to hear it +once more. Will you come? Shall I take a box?" +</p> + +<p> +But Clare was too staunch to her Puritan traditions, though +she owned that she would much have liked to hear Carlo. +As yet, however, he had not converted her; she still regarded +the stage as at least a necessary evil, and felt bound to +refuse Mr. Britton's offer. +</p> + +<p> +"Then ask Signor Donati over to lunch to-morrow; it will +be your last chance of seeing him; and I am afraid it is +no good asking him to dinner, because, apparently, he can't +sing after eating, and has to dine at some unconscionably +early hour." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall be going in to Ashborough at twelve o'clock in +the pony-carriage, Clare," remarked Kate. "I can leave a +note for you, if you like; or will you come in with me?" +</p> + +<p> +Clare, who was fond of driving, said she should like to +come, so when lessons were ended she joined her ex-pupil, +and, well wrapped up, was able to enjoy even the stretch of +bleak, dusty road that lay between Merlebank and Ashborough. +</p> + +<p> +"We need not leave the note, for there is Signor Donati!" +exclaimed Kate, as they drove down the High Street. "I +do hate to see a man in fur like that. He seems to coddle +himself dreadfully. Harry says he took quite an age +wrapping up his throat last night." +</p> + +<p> +"We will just stop a minute or two, if you don't mind," +said Clare. "I will speak to him, and see if he can come." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo did not at first notice them. He was walking rather +slowly down the street, with Gigi, as usual, clinging to his +hand. He looked ill and depressed, but when Gigi eagerly +drew his attention to the pony-carriage and its occupants, +his face lighted up, and he seemed for the time to return to +his old self. +</p> + +<p> +"We were just coming to ask you to lunch with us +to-morrow," said Clare. "Will you come, you and Gigi? I +suppose you couldn't dine with us, could you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid not, thank you, for I'm singing both to-night +and to-morrow; but I shall be very glad to come over +to lunch." +</p> + +<p> +He had a short, hard cough, which made Clare look at +him anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"You look very poorly to-day, Carlo," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"I awoke to the sad consciousness that the wind had gone +back to the east," he said, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"And that cough? It seems very bad." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it is only chronic!" he said, with a smile. "We +have all suffered more or less from the long winter. It must +be nearly over now; don't you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"April and May are often nearly as cold," said Kate, +perversely. +</p> + +<p> +"Are they?" he said, with an expressive gesture. "My +friend Sardoni has just given me a song called 'Welcome, +cold North-easter,' but the very words makes one's teeth +chatter!" +</p> + +<p> +"One o'clock to-morrow, then," said Clare as they drove +on again. +</p> + +<p> +He took off his hat and bowed in foreign fashion, and was +sedulously imitated by Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"Dreadfully Italian!" said Kate, whipping up the ponies +with a touch of irritation in her manner. "I can't bear a +man to be a sort of barometer—pretending to know which +way the wind is before he had been out: such nonsense!" +</p> + +<p> +"I have known many people with susceptible chests who +were able to do that," said Clare. +</p> + +<p> +"But no Englishman looks so miserable just because it +happens to be a cold day," said Kate. "It seems so +effeminate to mind a little fresh air." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, if you had to work hard through a very hot +summer in Italy do you not think you might look flushed +and over-tired?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but to feel heat is quite a different thing!" protested +Kate. "There's nothing unmanly in that; why, don't you +remember last August how limp and good-for-nothing Harry +was in that very hot week?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, because he was unused to it. You are illogical, +Kate; it is not a bit more effeminate, as you say, to feel the +physical effects of cold than of heat; the only difference is +that you understand one feeling and don't understand the +other." +</p> + +<p> +"That may be," said Kate, "but I don't like Signor Donati; +and as to saying that he works hard, why, what man who +is hard-worked would be sauntering down the High Street +like that, with a child? I don't call his sort of profession +work at all!" +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Carlo slowly made his way back to the +hotel. +</p> + +<p> +He was so tired and overdone that it was all he could do +to bear Gigi's chatter. He wondered how he should get +through with his "Count Rodolpho," remembered distastefully +that he should have to make love to Mlle. de Caisne, +who never would sink her own personality in that of "Lisa," +and would have given all he possessed if any one had come +to him with the news that for some good reason there could +be no opera that night. Everything in the future which he +had to undertake looked to him like a huge mountain which +he must perforce climb; and, worst of all, he knew that the +instant he faltered Comerio would come forward and offer to +take his place. If it had not been for that thought he could +have borne up better, but the consciousness that Gomez was +carefully keeping watch on his health, like a vulture hovering +over a dying man, and longing to swoop down on him,—this +was almost maddening. He was troubled, too, about +Sardoni, who, for the last day or two, had been unlike +himself, moody and melancholy in the daytime, and wild and +reckless towards night. He seemed to shun Carlo as much +as possible, and when they were thrown together was so bitter +and sarcastic that his friend could not imagine what had +come over him; it was so unreasonable, so altogether +improbable, that the sermon of Sunday night should still be +rankling in his mind, that such a notion never occurred to +Carlo. He was altogether perplexed and felt very anxious +about him, nor could he help perceiving with a pang that in +the time of his own greatest need Sardoni had deserted him, +wholly failing to notice his desperate struggle to keep up. +How he got through his work he scarcely knew; luckily for +him, his throat was not much affected, though he was feeling +far too weak and ill to be in good voice. At any rate, he +did not break down, and he began to see that at present he +must content himself with this poor comfort, and put up with +cold receptions and the wretched consciousness of artistic +failure. He went home wondering what poor old Piale +would have said could he have heard him, and congratulating +himself that the dear old Maestro was not likely even to see +the unfavorable critiques on his singing which must inevitably +follow upon so wretched a performance. +</p> + +<p> +On the Wednesday morning, after a very restless night, +he woke much worse than on the previous day, and feeling +positively sick at the thought that he must either get through +the trying part of "Figaro" that night or confess his illness, +get a medical certificate to prove his inability to appear, and +thus give all into the hands of Gomez and Comerio. For he +knew too well that no doctor in his senses would permit him +to sing in his present state, that he would infallibly be +ordered to rest; and for this reason, while taking every +possible precaution throughout the winter, he had avoided +doctors as he would have avoided the plague. It was still +just possible that he might struggle on till the warm weather +came, then, in June, Merlino might, and probably would, +renew the contract with him, and he should go to America with +the troupe and once more baffle Comerio. If he could only +hold out! +</p> + +<p> +He lay in bed as long as he dared, then, knowing that +Gomez would publicly comment on the fact if he failed to +make his appearance, and that Merlino invariably wanted him +if he happened to be late in the morning, dressed hastily, +noticed with relief that he did not look nearly so ghastly as +he felt, and went down to the crowded coffee-room. The +hotel was full of people who had come down to Ashborough +for the races; they were a noisy, disreputable crew; and as +Carlo entered the room where they were all breakfasting +before going to the racecourse, it seemed to him like coming +into a pandemonium. His head was aching miserably, but +his ears seemed preternaturally alive to the slightest sound, +and he could distinctly hear several comments on "one of +those operatic fellows" as he steered his way through the +throng to the fireplace, nodding to Merlino and Tannini as he +passed them. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-day, Donati; how are you?" said a voice at his +elbow. +</p> + +<p> +He looked round and saw the Spaniard's malicious face. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning," he replied. +</p> + +<p> +"How are you?" repeated Gomez. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm cold," said Carlo, drawing nearer to the fire, and +determined that Gomez should gain nothing from his catechism. +"They don't know how to build up fires in this place." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he felt the Spaniard's searching glance, and +knew that Gomez was far too shrewd not to find out the true +state of the case. For although his rich, ruddy-brown +coloring deceived many people, yet keen observers might easily +note that day by day his cheeks grew more hollow, and that +there were lines of pain about his mouth and eyes. There +was to him a sort of horrible humiliation about it, for he had +never been ill in his life, had thought it impossible that his +perfect health should be broken, had almost laughed when +Captain Britton had suggested the idea to him. It was +useless, however, to blink the fact any longer; and when the +place was quiet once more—the noisy guests gone off to the +races, and Merlino and Marioni to the theatre—Carlo gave +way, shivering from head to foot almost like one in a fit of +ague. +</p> + +<p> +"Cold morning, sir," said one of the over-worked waiters, +putting fresh coals on the fire. "Have you breakfasted, +sir?" +</p> + +<p> +"I won't take anything, thank you," said Carlo, feeling +not the slightest inclination for food. +</p> + +<p> +"Some nice hot rashers, sir, or an egg?" suggested the +waiter. But Carlo was not to be tempted. +</p> + +<p> +"We shall have to put you on my '<i>Don't be dainty</i>'," said +Gigi, taking off his bib embroidered with this moral precept +and trotting up to Carlo with it. +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible not to laugh. The waiter smiled politely +and withdrew, but returned before long with a cup of +coffee. +</p> + +<p> +"Try that, sir," he said kindly; "it's just fresh made and +will do you good. You have a heavy cold coming on, sir." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was touched by the man's courtesy, he did not deny +the advent of the heavy cold. +</p> + +<p> +"Gigi," he said, "I'm afraid we must give up going to +Merlebank to lunch. You shall take a note over there, if I +can find someone to send with you." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you ill, <i>zio caro</i>?" asked the child, frightened by the +look of pain which he for the first time noticed in the face +so familiar to him. +</p> + +<p> +"The waiter says it's a heavy cold coming on, and anyhow +I must save up for to-night. I'm sorry to disappoint +you." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish we could go," said Gigi, wistfully, "but I more +wish you wasn't ill;" and he raised his quaint, pitiful little +face to Carlo's with one of those childish caresses which +made Carlo feel that everything he had been through was +worth while. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down to write to Clare, and Gigi ran back to his +beloved soldiers, monotonously chanting in his rather pretty +little voice,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Pray, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song,<br> + But let it be something that's not very long.'<br> + 'Indeed, Mrs. Mouse,' replied Mr. Frog,<br> + 'A cold has made me as hoarse as a hog.'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Carlo was fain to confess that day that it was a relief to +get rid of his little companion. He sent him off to Merlebank +with a friendly scene-shifter, and sat in a great armchair +drawn close to the fire, bearing miserable headache and +backache, yet finding a sort of relief in the consciousness that +he could cough and shiver to his heart's content now that no +one was near. +</p> + +<p> +The morning passed in a strange quiet, like the pause +before a storm; the very streets were deserted, for all +Ashborough was on the racecourse; Nita, who was not singing +that evening, was still in her room; Mlle. de Caisne was +closeted with her dressmaker; there was nothing to break +the peace of Carlo's solitude, if indeed such feverish misery +could be called peace. +</p> + +<p> +The clock struck twelve, and he started from a troubled +waking dream of Francesca to the recollection that in another +eight hours he should have to transform himself somehow +into Figaro; and with nervousness far greater than that +which he had felt at his first appearance, he made his way to +the private sitting-room which was the joint property of +Merlino's troupe, and began to practise. But five minutes +completely exhausted him, he shut the piano, and in a sort of +despair stretched himself at full length on the hearth-rug. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what is going to happen to me," he thought +to himself, with the misery of a thoroughly healthy man for +the first time attacked by serious illness. "But if I am to +sing, I can sing, that much is certain; I'll at least die in +harness." +</p> + +<p> +Resolutely driving back the crowd of cares that surged in +upon him, taking advantage of his physical weakness, he +lay in a sort of enforced quiet,—the quiet which can only +come to a good man well schooled in self-discipline. He +was failing, and knew it all too well, but he knew still better +that he was but a unit in the great army of One who cannot +fail, knew that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "He<br> + Alone may say, ''Tis finished all and very good.'<br> + We only do a part, and partly well,<br> + And others come and mend it."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +He must have dozed for a few minutes, for on suddenly +opening his eyes he found that Nita had come into the +room, and was looking down upon him with her beautiful +heartless face, and once again that look of suppressed +excitement which had pained him so much at Birmingham. +</p> + +<p> +"You are ill," she said, breathlessly. "You are not +going to sing to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +He was on his feet in a moment. "Certainly I am going +to sing," he said. "Marioni advised me not to go out this +morning, to save up for the opera, as I have a cold coming +on." +</p> + +<p> +"Where is Gigi?" she asked, with nervousness, which he +hailed with relief. Since the child's narrow escape from +death she had certainly learnt to think much more of him, +and that she should trouble herself as to his safety was +something quite new. +</p> + +<p> +"Gigi has gone over to Merlebank with a note; I meant +to have gone to see Miss Claremont, but thought it was wiser +to save up for Figaro. I sent him over with Adamson, he'll +take great care of him." +</p> + +<p> +"But here is Adamson coming down the street alone. What +can have happened to the child? Why did you send him?" +</p> + +<p> +She refused to hear reason, but Carlo was only too glad to +be scolded, for every word revealed to him how much she +loved the child. +</p> + +<p> +The discussion was soon ended by the arrival of the +scene-shifter, with a message to the effect that Master Gigi was +staying to lunch at Merlebank, and that Miss Claremont +would bring him back in the carriage that afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Nita was pacified, and asked Carlo to accompany her +while she practised a new song; she seemed to forget her +first impression on seeing him, got absorbed in the music, +and thought no more of his possible illness and Comerio's +possible advent. He was relieved, and presently went down +to lunch with her, made a feint of eating something, and +heard with satisfaction that a plan was proposed for hiring a +brake and going on to the racecourse, since he knew that he +should be left in peace most of the afternoon. But as the +hours passed by he grew steadily worse, and not even the +rest and solitude prepared him for the great effort of the +evening. He was sitting crouched up by the fire, his head +resting on his hands, when Domenica Borelli came into the +room. She was tall and stately, with something both in her +face and in her way of walking which revealed her character, +a noble-minded, upright woman, whom to know was to revere. +She was some years older than he was, and off the +stage her face bore the stamp of its thirty years. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought perhaps you would just go through '<i>Dunque +io son</i>' with me," she said, as she crossed the room; then +as she drew nearer, and could see his face more clearly, +"but I'm afraid you are really ill, you don't look fit to be up." +</p> + +<p> +"I would rather not try the <i>duetto</i> now, if you don't mind," +he said. "Don't say anything to the rest; I may be better +to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"But you ought to see a doctor," she said; "you ought to +have a rest, I am sure. Signor Merlino must find a substitute +till you are fit to sing again, since Fasola is able to +take so few of your parts." +</p> + +<p> +"It may come to that," he said, with a sigh that was +almost a groan. "I wish I had a respectable under-study, +who could at any rate do the work on occasion." +</p> + +<p> +Domenica Borelli had a woman's quick perception, she +instantly understood the whole story, that story to which +Merlino was deaf and blind, though it concerned him so +nearly. For the first time she understood Carlo. Hitherto +she had liked him as a fellow-artist, now she felt that she +longed to be his friend. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there anything I could do to help you?" she said, and +there was something in her kind, quiet, unsentimental tone +which conveyed to him perfectly the sense of that true +friendship which, though many deny it, can most assuredly +exist between man and woman. +</p> + +<p> +In his great distress of mind and body her help was +precisely what he needed. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed you can," he said, with tears in his eyes. "If at +any time I should be obliged to leave the troupe,—if I should +fall ill,—will you be a friend to my sister and to Gigi?" +</p> + +<p> +It was asking a hard thing of her, for she particularly disliked +Anita, but, guessing his reason for asking her, she could +not possibly have refused him. +</p> + +<p> +"There is one other thing," he continued; "I am unhappy +about Sardoni, he is in some trouble, I think. Be his friend, +too, as you are mine." +</p> + +<p> +She colored, not feeling at all sure that Sardoni was the +sort of man with whom friendship would be possible. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't understand Signor Sardoni," she said, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Nor I, just now, but he has been a good friend to me. +I wish you would see a little more of him; you might be his +good angel." +</p> + +<p> +She made no very definite promise, but something in her +face satisfied Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"And you?" she said; "you mean to go on singing——" +</p> + +<p> +"Till I come to grief,—yes. I shall make you a miserable +Figaro to-night, but perhaps you'll put up with me." +</p> + +<p> +There was something which touched her very deeply in his +humility, for she knew how painful it must be to his artist +nature to face the thought of attempting a part to which he +could not possibly do justice. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall have the satisfaction of acting with a brave man, +at any rate," she said. "It needs no small courage to face +an audience when you know you can't please them. Perhaps +with rest, though, you may be feeling better; I shall not +stay tiring you any longer." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't know how much good you have done me!" +he said, gratefully, feeling that her promise in case of his +illness had removed part of the burden from his mind. +</p> + +<p> +She left him to prepare as best he might for the evening, +and to count the quarters chimed by the clock in the Town +Hall much as a prisoner might have counted them while +waiting for the hour of execution. Sounds of bustle and +confusion in the street warned him that the races must be +over; he left the sitting-room, feeling quite unable to meet +the scrutiny of Gomez, or to endure the talk of any of his +<i>confrères</i>, and dragged himself up to No. 62; and here, after +a while, Gigi found him. +</p> + +<p> +"What! gone to bed so early, San Carlo!" he exclaimed, +trotting up, with his merry little face, but growing +grave and gentle as the truth began to dawn on his childish +mind. "Are you better now?" he asked, very anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"I am only resting. Don't look so frightened, <i>mio caro</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"They sent you some flowers," said Gigi, putting a lovely +bunch of snowdrops and aconites on the bed; "and here is +a letter too." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo tried to seem pleased, and to take an interest in the +child's account of his day at Merlebank; then he opened +Clare's letter. Mr. Britton would send the close carriage +over for him in the morning, and hoped he would be well +enough to come and say good-bye before leaving Ashborough +to-morrow. The kind words cheered him, but he was much +too ill to look so far ahead, and the words of an old eastern +poem floated through his mind— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "To-morrow!—why, to-morrow I may be<br> + Myself with yesterday's seven thousand years."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You must go down to dinner, little one," he said, after a +silence, in which Gigi had sat watching him with big solemn +eyes. "If any one asks why I don't come, say I have a bad +headache, and shall rest till it is time to go to the theatre." +</p> + +<p> +The hours passed by and Gigi did not return. Carlo +imagined that Domenica Borelli had kept him, and was grateful +to her. The clock struck seven; he prayed in brief, +disconnected sentences that he might be able to get through his +work, that no evil might befall Anita, that he might judge +rightly as to what could be done. Again, with a quickness +which startled him, the quarter was chimed; he tried to +think of Figaro, sang a snatch or two of "Zitti, Zitti," and +felt that he would have given anything to be able to escape +from that night's performance. +</p> + +<p> +Should he even now follow Domenica's suggestion and +send for a doctor? There was yet time. For an instant +the thought of the intense relief to himself was almost more +than he could withstand. But then, on the other hand, he +argued, people who had never been ill were apt to think +themselves dying when there was nothing serious the matter with +them, and, if he gave up tamely now, Comerio would certainly +put himself forward to fill the vacancy in the troupe. No; +he must fight for his post to the last gasp. The half hour +struck as he formed his final resolution, and with an effort +he flung back the rugs and coats which were heaped up on +the bed, staggered to his feet, lit the gas, and, standing before +the mirror, threw himself into one of Figaro's characteristic +attitudes, and sang a bar or two of "<i>Largo al factotum</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Passable, if I can only hold out," he thought to himself. +"And, after all, I'm not the first man who has made merry, +and sung, and paced the stage with aching bones. Was it +Grimaldi or Liston who made the people laugh till they cried +while he was bearing torments?" +</p> + +<p> +He made his way to the sitting-room and looked in to see +if Sardoni was there, but heard that he had already started. +Merlino joined him in a grumbling humor; Gigi trotted up +to say good-night; and then, feeling like one in a bad dream, +he found himself walking through the street among jostling +passengers, and getting a sort of confused vision of the bad +faces which always make their appearance in a town where +races are being held. The distance between the Royal Hotel +and the theatre was quite short, but it seemed to him that +night almost endless; it was only by a great effort that he kept +up with Merlino, and when he reached his dressing-room +he felt as if he could not have stood another minute. +</p> + +<p> +"You are ill, sir?" said Sebastiano, the dresser, with +anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all right, I will rest a minute," he replied +breathlessly. "Where is Signor Sardoni?" +</p> + +<p> +"In the green-room, Signor; he dressed earlier than usual. +Let me call him." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," said Carlo, quickly. "I am better alone." +</p> + +<p> +And so perhaps he was, yet Sardoni's defection pained +him—his friend had studiously avoided him the whole day. +The dresser proposed all sorts of remedies, and Carlo +patiently endured the well meaning chatter till he was +thoroughly equipped in his Spanish costume and had been +duly "made up;" then he begged that no one might disturb +him till the very last moment, and sat crouched up by the +little fire, hearing in the distance the familiar sounds of the +overture and the succeeding choruses. At last his hour +came. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite time, Signor," said Sebastiano, rapping on the +door. He threw it open and walked slowly along the winding +passages, arriving at the wings just in time to encounter +the chorus as they came off the stage. Some rumor as to +his illness had got abroad, and many good wishes and +inquiries were made in the quick, silent Italian fashion from +his friends among the chorus singers. With very few +exceptions he was extremely popular in the Company, and much +sympathy was felt for him when it became apparent that he +was far more fit to be in bed than at the theatre. An +attendant handed him a guitar, he heard the orchestra begin the +introduction to his song, and his thoughts flew back from +this miserable present to the sunny past. He remembered +how on his last day of unalloyed happiness he had sung this +very song in Piale's room in the Strada Mont' Oliveto, and +how the old Maestro had been in despair over his refusal to +go on the stage. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank Heaven he is not here to-night to be tortured by +my bad performance!" was his last reflection as he drew +himself together and walked on to the stage. The house +was full, but by this time he had become rather discerning +in the matter of audiences, and perceived at once that it +had a larger proportion than on the previous night of the +rowdy element, introduced into Ashborough by the races. +He hardly knew whether to be relieved or vexed at seeing +Mr. Britton and his son in the stalls, and, indeed, was able +to spare little time to think of them, since he had to devote +all his powers to conquering the agony of nervousness which +had overwhelmed him. In vain he struggled to feel himself +Figaro, his head swam, every bone in his body seemed to +assert itself achingly as though protesting that it belonged +to one, Donati who ought to have been in his bed at that +moment, and not at all to the blithe, merry barber of Seville. +</p> + +<p> +"Courage!" he said to himself. "If I can't get into my +character I'll at least walk through the part like a man, for +Nita's sake!" +</p> + +<p> +He set to work manfully, fully conscious that the conductor +was eyeing him with fear and trembling, and anticipating +some dire mishap. Still he struggled on, exerting +himself to the utmost and trying to disregard the evident +symptoms of disappointment which began to be manifest in +the audience. He would not be influenced by them, though +he was too keenly sensitive not to perceive the sort of wave +of impatience and disapproval which passed over the faces +of the listening crowd. Endless seemed the song! At each +brief interval it seemed to him more impossible that he +should ever get through it safely, and the mockery of the +oft-repeated words, "<i>Ah! che bel vivere, eke bel piacere!</i>" +made matters still worse. At length the end drew near; +with relief at the prospect, and with a desperate effort, he +dashed off into the final and more florid repetitions of "<i>Ah, +bravo Figaro!</i>" not without, even at that moment, a +humorous perception of the effect such words from such a singer +must produce on the hearers. "Were I there instead of +here I should laugh till I cried," he reflected. +</p> + +<p> +But it was almost over; he had survived the last long florid +passage; there remained only four more notes. Exhausted, +strung up to the very highest pitch of endurance, he tried +to take the quick breath which was indispensable at that +moment, but to draw it seemed impossible. He felt a sharp +stab of pain as though a knife had been suddenly plunged +in his side, yet the fatal white stick in Marioni's hand was +raised, and with a last effort he forced himself to attack the +high G. +</p> + +<p> +What followed was to him ever after a sort of nightmare +recollection. His voice failed utterly, and the high note, +which should have been the climax of the song, broke into a +discordant sound that only ceased to ring in his ears when +overpowered by a storm of hissing. Such a hopeless +failure was too much even for the patience and kindliness +of an English audience: hisses resounded on all sides. It +was intolerable to have paid money to listen to such a +miserable performance. The people were really angry, and +would not be pacified. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment or two Carlo stood looking at the angry, +contemptuous faces with a sore-hearted sense of rejection +and a keen, personal pain; then seeing that they would no +longer tolerate his presence he turned and walked away, but +had only gone a few steps when a sudden remembrance +that this defeat meant Comerio's probable triumph all at +once overpowered him. The brightly lighted stage became +black as night, the hisses were drowned by a rushing sound +in his ears, and he fell back in a dead faint. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. +<br><br> +BEHIND THE SCENES. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "When fog and failure o'er ray being brood,<br> + When life looks but a glimmering, marshy clod,<br> + No fire out-flashing from the living God—<br> + Then, then, to rest in faith were worthy victory!"<br> + GEORGE MACDONALD.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Sardoni and Gomez, the Almaviva and Fiorello of the +evening, were close at hand; Fiorello's part was practically +over, but he had lingered near to see how Donati would get +on; when he saw him hissed off the stage a quiet smile +stole over his dark features, but when he saw him fall back +fainting he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, lingered but +a moment to assure himself that the baritone lay motionless +on the boards with his guitar beside him, then rushed as +fast as he could to his dressing-room, flung on a thick brown +ulster, caught up his hat, and hurried out of the theatre. +Just outside the stage door he encountered Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +Now Mr. Britton was one of those kindly-looking, +courteous men who are constantly stopped by passers-by in +the street who have lost their way or who need any kind of +help; Gomez instinctively turned to the pleasant-looking +stranger. +</p> + +<p> +"Pardon me, sir, but can you kindly tell me whether it is +too late to send a telegram from the post-office?" he asked +breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh no, you will find it open," said Mr. Britton looking +at him keenly. +</p> + +<p> +Gomez thanked him, and ran at full speed down the +narrow side street, and two minutes later he might have +been seen standing at one of the little screened desks in the +post-office, writing the following message in Italian:— +</p> + +<p> +"Valentino ill; was hissed off stage to-night after '<i>Largo +al factotum</i>.' Get paragraph put in one of London papers. +See it to-morrow, and telegraph promptly to M., offering +your services." +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Sardoni, far too much startled and shocked +to pay the slightest attention to Gomez, rushed forward to +his friend's help, flung the guitar out of the way, and raising +Carlo's head, looked anxiously at his motionless features +and pale lips, bitterly reproaching himself with the absorption +in his own affairs which had made him blind to all else. +Some sense of the contrast between that still form and the +noisy confusion in the theatre first reminded him that the +curious audience were watching this unexpected scene in +the opera with eager eyes, and that although the hisses had +changed into a babel of question and surmise, Carlo was +still exposed to every sort of ruthless criticism. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell those idiots to let down the curtain," he said +impatiently, as Marioni came hurrying forward, with his pale +face and his bushy hair, looking more distraught than usual. +The little conductor had flung down his baton and rushed +from the orchestra the instant Carlo had fallen, but he was +too excitable to think, as Sardoni thought, of practical +matters. And yet it was a relief to him to be told to do +something; he rushed away to give the order, and the next +minute the curtain descended, veiling from the audience the +crowd of actors and attendants which had gathered round +poor Figaro. Mr. Britton who had been admitted at the +stage door, was just in time to see Carlo borne into the +green-room, and to follow with those who came after; he +had heard so much of theatrical jealousies and quarrels, and +had formed so low an opinion of theatrical people, that he +was surprised to see the real sympathy and concern shown +by every creature present. +</p> + +<p> +"He has been ill this long time," said old Bauer; "but +he had too much spirit to give in. Poor lad! those brutes +ought to have seen how it was with him." +</p> + +<p> +"Thought more of the bad bargain they had made than +of the singer's feelings," said Tannini, with his Yankee +twang. "Well, 'tis the way of the world." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you the doctor, sir?" asked Domenica Borelli, +noticing Mr. Britton for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I am a friend of Signor Donati's," he replied, glad +to get speech of her, for he had noticed her quiet, womanly +way of helping Sardoni and Merlino to do all that could be +done for Carlo. "Shall I go and fetch a doctor?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think it would be well——," she began. "But, +stay, he is coming to himself; perhaps there is no need, and +I know he would dislike having one called in." +</p> + +<p> +"It's something new for every one to be waiting on +Valentino," said old Bauer. "A reversal of the usual +order." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Mlle. Duroc; "he was the factotum of the +troupe as well as of the opera. But, see, he is reviving." +</p> + +<p> +And now Mr. Britton observed a marked but perhaps not +wholly unnatural change in Merlino. While his brother-in-law +had remained unconscious he had been as kindly and +solicitous as any man could possibly be, but the moment +Carlo came to himself, Merlino, relieved from the anxiety, +remembered that as Impresario he was left in an awkward +predicament. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo opened his eyes for a moment, caught a confused +vision of the faces round him, then closed them again for +very weariness, and began to wonder, in a dreamy, but +troubled way, where on earth he could be. He heard +Merlino swearing and raving, and Tannini, and Bauer, and +the local manager, and Marioni all talking at once. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Santo Diavolo!</i>" cried Merlino. "Was ever Impresario +worse treated? Here is the best house we have had +for months, and what can I do but give back the money? +There is no going on without a Figaro!" +</p> + +<p> +"Had Donati told you this morning that he was ill you +would have had time to telegraph for Comerio, who no doubt +would be willing to help you in such an emergency," +remarked Gomez, who had glided into the room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton glanced sharply round at him, instantly recognizing +his face, though he was now once more in his Fiorello +costume. He perceived at once that the man was no friend +to Carlo, and wondered why he had rushed to the telegraph +office. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Accidente!</i> why did you not do so?" said Merlino, turning +upon his brother-in-law with a wrathful gesture. "I ask +you now what am I to do? Is all this money to be lost?" +</p> + +<p> +"You might telegraph to Comerio now and secure him for +to-morrow, at any rate," suggested Gomez. "He could join +us at Queenbury and take— +</p> + +<p> +"No such thing," interrupted Carlo, catching at Sardoni's +arm, and dragging himself up. "Give <i>Fra Diavolo</i> +to-morrow, and that will give me a day's rest; and go quickly +and say to the audience that I am unwell, but that, since the +opera can't be continued without the leading part, I will do +the best I can, if they'll put up with me." +</p> + +<p> +There was a vigor and force in his tone which astonished +every one; Merlino, with a look of relief, hurried away to +pacify the audience; and, though the others had serious +doubts whether Donati could possibly get through so trying +a part, they would not side with Gomez, who began to +remonstrate with him. +</p> + +<p> +"I never saw any one more afraid of being supplanted," +said the Spaniard vindictively. "For my part I call it mere +obstinacy and conceit to attempt what it is clearly impossible +for you to do." +</p> + +<p> +"I calculate it doesn't much affect you, my friend," said +Tannini, dryly. "Your part is over for to-night, so just shut +up, will you? If the rest of us who have to sing with Donati +make no bones about it, why should you take upon yourself +to grumble?" +</p> + +<p> +Gomez turned away with a muttered curse, and Carlo +looked gratefully at the American. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll do my best not to put you out; I shall be glad for +Merlino's sake and my own too if you and the audience will +tolerate such a bad Figaro. Come to my room with me, will +you, Jack?" then, as he caught sight of Mr. Britton, and +received a hearty grip of the hand, "How good of you to +come round! I had no idea you were here. I was so +ashamed to give you such a miserable rendering of that song." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton was not sorry to leave the green-room and to +go with Carlo and Sardoni into one of the little dressing-rooms. +There were not many chairs to be had, and Carlo, +without ceremony, dropped into the one drawn close to the +tiny fireplace, unable to hide any longer the severe pain he +was suffering, though when questioned he made light of it. +</p> + +<p> +"You surely ought not to sing," said Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +"It won't do my voice any harm if I can only get breath +enough," he replied. "And the pain isn't continuous, only +just a sharp stab in the side every now and then." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear old fellow, it was madness of you to come at all," +said Sardoni. "You must give in; you must put up with +Comerio's return; there is no help for it." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo leant his head on his hand and was silent, as if +struggling with himself; both speakers seemed to have +forgotten Mr. Britton's presence. +</p> + +<p> +"It's no good looking ahead," said Carlo, after a pause. +"Of course it will be all right. But don't argue now, Jack; +I've got to sing if they will have me, and there's an end +of it." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke there was a knock at the door, and Merlino +entered. +</p> + +<p> +"I think they will hear you," he said. "They are in a +bad temper, but they see we are doing all that can be done, +and they'll hardly hiss you off again. They are very easily +pacified these English audiences." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo glanced at Mr. Britton with the strangest mixture of +pain and laughter in his dark, shining eyes. The contented +look of the Impresario as he painted the sort of reception +which probably awaited him tickled his fancy. +</p> + +<p> +"A glass of porter before you go on?" said Bauer, pressing +it upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"Try this raw egg, signor," said his dresser, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"Or a troche," suggested Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"Or a Stolberg," said Merlino, producing a little box full +of dark-looking lozenges. +</p> + +<p> +With a smile and a gesture he thanked them, and made +everyone laugh by quoting Figaro's words, "<i>Oh, che +vita! che vita! oh, che mestiere!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Was there ever such a fellow?" said Bauer. "I verily +believe he would make us laugh if he were on his death-bed." +</p> + +<p> +"If the audience do but realize his courage he will be well +received," said Mr. Britton, who was standing at the wings +beside the old German singer. "There is nothing that +pleases the British public like pluck." +</p> + +<p> +In truth, to face again the audience which had so lately +refused to hear him was no very pleasant task to Carlo, but +then he had a habit of grasping the nettles of life which +stood him in good stead. More sensitive than most men, he +had turned his weakness into strength by resolutely refusing +to make the smallest concession to it, and he was able even +with overwrought nerves and failing physical powers to +endure with composure the trying ordeal. It was as Merlino +had said, the audience kindly consented to put up with him; +they allowed him to appear without a single hiss. Indeed, +the chilling silence was broken by five or six resounding +claps from the third row of stalls. +</p> + +<p> +"That is Francesca's cousin," he thought to himself, and +he felt glad to have one friendly face among the hundreds of +coldly critical ones. He was glad, too, to have such friends +as Domenica Borelli and Sardoni to sing with that night, and +was cheered by Mr. Britton's kindness. If only he could +get through his work he thought that, spite of the dark +future, he should feel perfectly happy. But that was the +great question. All thought he had attempted what was +physically impossible, and he shrank in horror from making +another exhibition of himself on the stage. "If I do faint +again," he reflected, "I hope I shall do it decently in my +dressing-room." +</p> + +<p> +By sheer force of will he got through the long weary duet +with Sardoni, but it left him so worn out with pain that he +could hardly stand. He got off the stage somehow, and the +moment they were out of sight Sardoni took him by the arm +and half dragged him to his room, where, with an irrepressible +groan, he threw himself on the floor beside the fire, seeming +to find a sort of relief in thrusting the guitar under his arm +so that he actually lay upon it. +</p> + +<p> +"Pleurisy," thought Mr. Britton, who had followed to see +if he could be of any use; but Carlo was evidently in such +pain that he did not like to talk to him, so he turned instead +to Sardoni, to whom he had taken a great fancy, and who, to +make up for his past selfishness, was devoting himself to his +friend in a way that pleased the Englishman. They discussed +all possible means of helping him, and Sardoni going out to +fetch some restorative brought back word that Mlle. Borelli +had been encored in her cavatina which would give Carlo +a little longer space to recover his strength. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you sure I am not in your way here?" asked Mr. Britton. +"I don't feel as if I could sit in the audience not +knowing how our friend is getting on." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni, who realized that the stranger must be some +relation to Francesca Britton, warmly assured him that he was +the greatest possible help; and Carlo, though too much +exhausted to speak an unnecessary word, gave him a glance +which conveyed more than many sentences. +</p> + +<p> +All too soon came the unwelcome call-boy. Again Carlo +braced himself up for the effort, and Sardoni and Mr. Britton +watched him anxiously through his scene with Rosina. +</p> + +<p> +"He is on the stage a great deal after this," explained +Sardoni, "but the most trying part is over for him as far as +singing goes when he is once through this scene." +</p> + +<p> +"Will he get through, do you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"If he does it will be by the skin of his teeth," said +Sardoni. "But, like the <i>Barbiere</i> himself, he is a '<i>Bravo +giovinotto</i>.' No other man whom I know would do it, but he +perhaps may." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, I thought so!" he exclaimed, as, the duet over, the +baritone beat a hasty retreat, and on reaching the shelter of +the wings would have fallen had he not promptly caught +him. "It is as I said, by the skin of his teeth." +</p> + +<p> +They carried him back to his room, but had barely restored +him to life when Sardoni was obliged to go on the stage +again, leaving him alone with Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +It was the strangest evening the Englishman had ever +spent, as he sat in the dismal little dressing-room, with its +bare floor and whitewashed walls, its confusion of stage +dresses and the garments of prosaic life. Some one had +brought in two or three cushions from the green-room, and +as soon as Carlo had recovered his senses they had laid him +on these upon his left side, the position which seemed to +give him the greatest ease. The firelight played on his +face, and Mr. Britton, as he watched him, found his thoughts +wandering back to the time when he had first met him with +Francesca outside the English church at Naples. He +recalled the strange, sad smile which had passed over the +young Italian's face when he congratulated him on his +betrothal, and he felt irresistibly drawn to a man who could +deliberately choose a career so self-denying, so little likely +to be understood. +</p> + +<p> +He was startled to find that his thoughts of Francesca +must have affected his companion. +</p> + +<p> +"We may not be alone again," said Carlo, turning his face +towards him. "If anything should happen to me, will you +promise to give this to Francesca "—he indicated their +betrothal ring—"and tell her how good every one was to me?" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton felt a choking sensation in his throat, but he +promised, and then, partly to break the uncomfortable silence, +remarked that he had heard from Casa Bella that morning. +</p> + +<p> +"They are well?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite well. Francesca comes to England in June." +</p> + +<p> +The next moment he regretted his words, for they seemed +to give the finishing touch to Carlo's suffering. He turned +abruptly away, and, though his face was hidden, Mr. Britton +could see that he was struggling to suppress a tempest of +passionate emotion. So little do people understand each +other, that it had never occurred to the Englishman, with +all his kind-heartedness, to picture to himself the torture of a +lover who knows that his love will be close at hand, yet that +he is to be denied even a sight of her. But that silent, bitter +struggle taught him much, and once more set his kind heart +to weave plans for helping the course of true love to run +smooth. +</p> + +<p> +Before anything more had passed, the call-boy rapped at +the door, and Mr. Britton in dismay turned to see what his +companion would do. He had yet to learn that Italian +storms, if violent, are brief, and that an Italian nature, if it +has strong emotions, has also a wonderful self-mastery upon +which it can fall back in time of need. Carlo rose promptly, +rearranged his disordered costume in a business-like fashion, +and smoothed his hair; then, fearing that Mr. Britton might +regret the words which had escaped him, said in the manner +which won him so many friends, "Do you mind coming with +me to the wings? I like to feel that you are there." +</p> + +<p> +And before the Englishman had recovered from his surprise +at this unlooked-for composure, Figaro was in the thick +of the noisy group on the stage, acting better than he had +done all the evening, and endeavoring to play the part of +peacemaker, and to put an end to the altercation. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton could hardly believe as he watched the lithe, +active figure, now here, now there, that a few minutes ago he +had seen the same man lying in the extremity of mental and +bodily pain; and when once more in the interval between +the acts he and Sardoni had to restore the Italian to his +senses, he could no longer keep his astonishment to himself. +</p> + +<p> +"What in the world can our friend be made of?" he exclaimed. +"I should not have thought it possible for a man of +his temperament to persevere in the teeth of such difficulties." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose pluck and goodness generally do go together," +said Sardoni; "and though you may be Donati's friend, no +one who is not in this troupe can have much idea of what he +really is. He's out and out the best fellow I ever came +across." +</p> + +<p> +"He seems very much liked by most of the Company." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and with good reason. They all apply to him one +of their expressive Italian sayings—'Good as a piece of +bread'—a description which would not hold for the rest of us." +</p> + +<p> +"He is coming to himself," said Mr. Britton, and there +was silence in the room, broken at last by Carlo's voice. +</p> + +<p> +"How much more, Jack?" he asked, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +"The second act," said Sardoni, "three more scenes for you." +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes again, and they noticed that as the +evening advanced he became less and less willing to speak +an unnecessary word. +</p> + +<p> +The opera, which had seemed to all the singers interminable, +did at length end, and with it the last remains of +Carlo's strength. More dead than alive he was carried to +Mr. Britten's brougham, which had been ordered round to +the stage door, and leaving the kindly Englishman to see +him safely home, Sardoni hurried off in search of a doctor. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had fancied that if only he could get through the +opera he should be perfectly happy, but when his work was +really done he was suffering too acutely to be able to bestow +a thought on the future or on Anita. Too faint to speak, he +allowed Mr. Britton to help him up to his room, never troubling +himself to consider the impression that No. 62 would +make on the rich ship-builder. The miserable little place +was to him now a haven of rest, and there was deep relief in +the consciousness that he could now suffer in peace, that no +call-boy would rap at his door, that there was no longer the +horrible necessity of acting and singing before a critical +audience. But to Mr. Britton that dismal little attic was +the climax of the evening. Its total lack of comfort appalled +him, and when he had left the patient to the care of Sardoni +and the doctor he drove home, vowing that Carlo should be +moved to Merlebank the very next day. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap27"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. +<br><br> +"HIGH FAILURE." +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"We are like soldiers in a vast, widely-extended battlefield (wrapped +in obscurity) of which we know not the phases, of which we seem +utterly powerless to control the issues; but we are responsible for our +own part—whatever goes on elsewhere, let us not fail in that. The +changes of the world, which men think they are bringing about, are in +the hands of God. With Him, when we have done our duty, let us leave +them."—DEAN CHURCH. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Clare was much concerned when she heard the bad +news which Mr. Britton and Harry brought home that evening. +</p> + +<p> +"You didn't wait to hear the doctor's verdict?" she +asked, when the bare outline of the story had been given +her. +</p> + +<p> +"No, it was so late, and I thought I should only have +been in the way; but I fear there's not the least doubt the +poor fellow is in for pleurisy." +</p> + +<p> +"It was awful to see him towards the end," said Harry. +"Leaning up against the woodwork when he had to be on +the stage with nothing actually to sing or do, and every now +and then, when he was singing, suddenly folding his +arms—so—as if the pain was almost unbearable." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think, Miss Claremont—if we had one of +the St. John's nurses down, could we manage to look after +him all right here?" said Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +Clare was delighted at the proposal, for she had always +been fond of Carlo. She did not understand all Mr. Britton's +reasons for taking an interest in the young Italian, +but his kindness and hospitality did not at all surprise her, +because he was a man who was forever going out of his +way to help other people, and Kate, who was housekeeper, +used sometimes to protest that really Merlebank might as +well call itself what it was in fact—a sanatorium for his +friends and acquaintances. +</p> + +<p> +"There is no doubt he must be moved from his present +quarters," said Mr. Britton. "I never saw such a room,—the +little child sleeping in a portmanteau, a miserable +truckle-bed, a sloping skylight through which you could see +the stars—such a room as no servant of mine should +sleep in." +</p> + +<p> +So the plans for Carlo's reception at Merlebank were +discussed, and the next morning Mr. Britton drove in to the +Royal Hotel to see what sort of a night the Italian had +passed. At the entrance he encountered the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +"How is your patient to-day, Kavanagh?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Very bad, poor fellow,—must be moved at once to the +hospital." +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense, he is a friend of mine; I want him brought +to Merlebank. You'll give leave for that, I hope?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, certainly, if you really want to have him, but I +must warn you that he is likely to be laid up for some +time,—acute pleurisy, and we shall do well if we ward off +complications." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor fellow! I thought he was in for it last night. He +is an old family friend of ours, and I shall be particularly +glad to help him if I can. How about a nurse? Shall I +telegraph for one?" +</p> + +<p> +"I can see to that, if you like," said the doctor. "His +sister seems a most empty-headed creature, and the sooner +he is away from her the better." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton was just wondering whether he had better +ask to see Sardoni, when he caught sight of Gigi strolling +listlessly down the passage. +</p> + +<p> +"How is your uncle, little man?" he asked. "Can I see +him?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's ill," said Gigi, mournfully, and without further +remark he slipped his little brown hand into Mr. Britton's, and +led the way to No. 62. The door was open, and a babel of +Italian could be heard—four people all talking at once. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton half hesitated, but the child led him on. The +next moment a curious scene met his gaze. In the dismal +little attic, which by daylight looked even more forlorn and +comfortless, a stormy discussion was being carried on. The +Impresario, who was evidently in the worst of tempers, held +in his hand an open telegram; Gomez, with a sarcastic +smile on his usually grave face, stood playing the part of +general irritant <i>con amore</i>; Madame Merlino and Sardoni +seemed to be having a battle-royal; and the sick man lay +in the midst of the strife of tongues evidently in great pain, +but listening with strained anxiety to all that passed. +Mr. Britton heard an impatient, "Can't you see how bad this is +for him?" from Sardoni, and disconnected remarks about +"Comerio's coming," which gave him the clue to the matter +which was being discussed. +</p> + +<p> +He waited at the door, for Donati was far too much +absorbed in what was going on to notice him, and indeed +had to concentrate all his faculties on the effort to meet +this crisis. That which he had feared had come to pass: +Comerio had telegraphed to offer his services, and all +through the weary night Carlo had been trying to solve the +difficult problem whether, should this happen, it was his +duty to explain all to Merlino or not. Superficial people +are fond of saying that the right is always clear. Carlo did +not find it so. It was only after hours of mental struggle +and suffering that he at length arrived at the conclusion +that, all things considered, he was not justified in arousing +Merlino's suspicion. He went so far, however, as to propose +another alternative. +</p> + +<p> +"Look," he said, speaking with difficulty, "Paul Cremer's +English Opera Company might very possibly have a spare +baritone. Telegraph and see, and I will defray the +expenses of any one they can send." +</p> + +<p> +He broke off to cough—the effort had cost him hideous +pain, and Mr. Britton could see that great drops of +perspiration stood on his brow. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Accidente</i>! It only shows how little you know of such +things," said Merlino, angrily. "We are secure of Comerio, +and had far better have him than some stranger. I should +have thought you were above such petty jealousy as that, +Donati." +</p> + +<p> +"Then will you reply to the telegram?" asked Gomez. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose I must," said Merlino, in his grumbling way. +"It's a confounded nuisance." +</p> + +<p> +And with muttered imprecations he left the room, evidently +regarding Carlo's illness as a wilful injury and a +personal insult. +</p> + +<p> +Gomez having gained his object, followed the Impresario, +and Mr. Britton drew near to the bed, and spoke to Sardoni, +but Carlo lay with closed eyes, and took no notice of what +was passing until he heard Nita get up from her chair beside +him, and move towards the door. Then he started up with +sudden energy. +</p> + +<p> +"Nita," he exclaimed, "do not go yet—I want to speak +to you!" +</p> + +<p> +She turned back reluctantly, and at the same moment +he became aware of Mr. Britton's presence. +</p> + +<p> +"How kind of you to come!" he said. "Will you excuse +me just for a minute?—I want to speak to my sister—there +is not much time left." +</p> + +<p> +"We will wait in the next room," said Sardoni, "if +Madame Merlino will tell us when she leaves you." +</p> + +<p> +Nita assented, and, still reluctantly, sat down again beside +the bed. When they were alone, he turned towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"I had hoped to tide over this time in England," he +said, striving with all his might not to let the physical pain +overmaster him. "It is hard to feel that, after all, I have +perhaps only made your danger greater. You must forgive +me for failing you like this, Nita!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't distress yourself—I know of no danger!" she +replied, crushingly, and with an expressive motion of her +small, shapely head. There had been a time when she had +told him a very different story, but he bore the set-down +patiently and caught at the ray of hope. +</p> + +<p> +"That is, indeed, true? Then God be thanked! I can +go content!" +</p> + +<p> +She laughed—the most heartless little laugh conceivable. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps we do not mean precisely the same thing by +the word 'danger.' There is no danger that my husband +will ill-treat me, because one who loves me better will be +here as my protector." +</p> + +<p> +"Nita!" he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, listen to common-sense!" she said, with angry +gesticulation. "Merlino and I are not happy together: +Comerio and his wife are not happy together. Why are four +people to live in misery because of a conventional law?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because they have vowed to be true to each other +through everything,—because the only hope of their leading +pure, noble lives is destroyed when they shirk their duty, +and give up trying to love each other,—because it is not a +conventional law, but God's command!" +</p> + +<p> +She laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +"Bravo!" she exclaimed. "My confessor himself could +not have read me a more correct little homily. As far as +the marriage laws are concerned, <i>mio caro</i>, you are quite +curiously orthodox. As a matter of fact, though, I always +find these little homilies are propounded by the unmarried. +Strange, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"You'll break my heart if you talk like that!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense! Hearts don't break so easily, I assure you, +You will go back to Francesca Britton and be happy; +Comerio and I, too, shall be happy; while as for Merlino, +he will merely lose a valuable soprano and baritone whom +he never deserved." +</p> + +<p> +She had rattled on, paying no attention whatever to his +suffering. He was now so much exhausted that it was +physically impossible for him to speak more than two words. +</p> + +<p> +"Our mother!" he faltered. +</p> + +<p> +"Is in Paradise, and will be ready to pray for me when I +am in purgatory!" +</p> + +<p> +His next words were hardly audible. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Il Cristo!</i>" he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +"My confessor does not allow me to talk of religion with +heretics," she replied, triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, and lay so absolutely still that Nita +became frightened; however, it was an excellent opportunity +to escape, and she availed herself of it, glancing in for a +moment at the next room where Sardoni and Mr. Britton +had waited. +</p> + +<p> +"He has done with me now," she said cheerfully, though +all the time her conscience was pricking her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton had seldom seen so pretty a woman for whom +it was so difficult to get up any sort of regard. Without +knowing why, he heartily disliked Nita. +</p> + +<p> +"She does not seem particularly anxious about her brother," +he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni gnashed his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +"He has given up everything to help her, and she—little +vixen—won't do the slightest thing to please him. Let us +come back to him." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton was horrified to see the change that had come +over Carlo. It was not merely that the bodily pain seemed +to have increased so much, but that he was in such terrible +distress. Sardoni, however, seemed to understand all, and +Mr. Britton walked to the window and left the two friends +together, though he could not avoid hearing, every now and +then, a sentence or two. +</p> + +<p> +"Failed—hopelessly!" were the only words that escaped +Carlo, and Sardoni seemed to be cheering him, and denying +that all was lost, promising his help, talking of letters, and +speaking hopefully of the future. Some mention of the +hospital brought Mr. Britton to the bedside. +</p> + +<p> +"The doctor says you may be nursed at my house," he said, +kindly. "I couldn't think of allowing you to go to the +hospital,—Miss Claremont is longing to have you at Merlebank." And +then, to silence the Italian's thanks, and doubts, and evident +wavering, he bent down and whispered a few words in his +ear: "For Francesca's sake you must not refuse me." +</p> + +<p> +They were interrupted by a suppressed sobbing from the +other side of the bed, and found that Gigi was sitting in a +disconsolate little heap on the floor, crying as though his +heart would break. +</p> + +<p> +"Put him up here, Jack, by me," said Carlo. "What is it, +Gigi? are you hurt?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't go away from me!" sobbed the child. "Don't +leave me so all alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Let him come to Merlebank, too," said Mr. Britton, who +was apt to make kind-hearted offers without at all consulting +Kate or the household arrangements. +</p> + +<p> +"You are very good, but he ought to be with his mother," +said Carlo, after a minute's thought. It cost him much to +send away the little fellow, but he knew that Anita had really +begun to care for him, and hoped that the child might prove +her greatest safeguard. Mr. Britton guessed as much, but +of course there could be no explanation to Gigi himself to +whom the refusal must have seemed barbarous. He sobbed +pitifully. +</p> + +<p> +"Look, <i>mio caro</i>, I love you dearly, and would like you to +have this time in the country," said Carlo, drawing the child +close to him; "but in some ways it is better not. Say, do +you, too, love me a little bit?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," sobbed Gigi, clinging to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, will you stay here to please me, and help the +mother, and run errands for them all when you can, and write +me long letters——" He broke off, unable to say another +word. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Carino!</i>" said the child with a depth of love and tenderness +in his tone. Then, as Sardoni told him how ill Carlo +was, "I will be good—good," and choking back his tears he +slid down from the bed and sat like a sorrowful little statue +on the edge of his portmanteau. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton, anxious that no more time should be lost, +hurried to his office to telephone to Merlebank for the landau, +and in an hour's time he was back again to help in all the +arrangements. +</p> + +<p> +The patient seemed a little easier, both in mind and body, +though apparently no one but Sardoni had seen him, and +there was no change as to his substitute. +</p> + +<p> +At the last moment Madame Merlino came to say good-bye +to him, expressing very prettily her thanks to Mr. Britton for +saving her brother from the hospital; but she seemed +particularly anxious not to be left alone with the invalid, and +apparently no words passed between them. When they +parted, however, he drew her face down to his and gave her +a lingering kiss, and Mr. Britton noticed that as she raised +her head her eyes were full of tears. What was the meaning +of it all, he wondered? Had she, after all, a heart? Did +Carlo's silence appeal to her when his words had failed? or +was it that his manner had somehow conveyed a confidence +and trust in her higher nature which had wakened it from +long sleep? +</p> + +<p> +There was not much time for reflection, for just then the +doctor arrived to superintend the removal of the patient, and +before long Mr. Britton had taken leave of the various +members of Merlino's troupe, who had become known to him +during this little episode, and was driving home with his new +guest. +</p> + +<p> +People seem to have a notion that to be ill means to be +more or less free from temptation; that with physical weakness +comes spiritual strength; and that if the sick are in some +ways to be pitied, they are in other respects to be very much +envied. As a matter of fact, however, this idea is cruelly +false. No healthy-minded, active man ever found it easy to +be laid aside—ever submitted without a fierce struggle to the +humiliation of dependence and bodily weakness. Far from +necessarily becoming saints during illness, the bravest and +best of men often find it as much as they can do to be even +decently patient, and know only too well the mental misery +of the time— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When the sensuous frame<br> + Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The faith which had come to Carlo's help when he parted +with Anita was not proof against the severe physical strain +of the removal to Merlebank; his mind seemed incapable of +hope, capable only of dwelling on the one horrible fear that +Comerio's evil influence would prevail. Sleepless nights, +and wearing anxiety, and severe bodily pain had made it +almost impossible for him to see things in due proportion, and +his artistic power of calling up before him graphic pictures +of any subject that arrested his attention, became a torture +almost unendurable. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor and kind-hearted Mr. Britton had no idea of +what was passing in the sick man's mind as they drove along +the road between Ashborough and Merlebank, and when once +he opened his eyes for a minute and they could not help +seeing the look of grievous distress in them, they only thought +of the bodily suffering, and said to him reassuringly, "It will +soon be over." He could have smiled at the incongruity of +the words had he not been down in the black depths where +smiles can by no means come. +</p> + +<p> +The carriage rumbled along with a dull, hollow, monotonous +sound, and presently drew up at the great door at Merlebank; +he caught a vision of Clare standing in the porch with two +or three servants, but it was far less distinct than the mental +picture from which he could not escape. Then the doctor +half smothered him with wraps, and since to breathe was +agony, he found himself resenting almost childishly the +infliction of great shawls, which necessitated two breaths where +one might have sufficed. Was he losing his self-control, he +wondered? It was clearly impossible for him to govern his +thoughts,—was it also impossible to regulate his feelings? +He prayed in a sort of blind, wretched despair; but in that +state of blank depression nothing in heaven or earth seemed +real to him but his own failure and that indelible mind-picture +of Nita and Comerio. Dimly he felt his misery increased by +the beauty and luxury of the room to which he was borne, +and even by the kindness of his attendants. What did he in +his misery want with outer comfort? "I have miserably +failed," he thought to himself; "and now, I suppose, am going +to die. I wish they had let me die in the hotel room! I +wish they would let me alone!" +</p> + +<p> +To turn from this haunting picture was now an effort to +which he was wholly unequal; it exercised a deadly fascination +over him, and when Clare spoke to him he grudged the +interruption. Every one seemed intent on relieving his physical +pain; and it was not that which absorbed him: it was the far +worse mental torture caused in great measure by the bodily +suffering,—the torture of the conviction that all his efforts +had been vain, and that evil would triumph. Without one +ray of comfort he tossed through that weary day and night; +sleep was out of the question, he became less and less capable +of thinking rationally, and the doctor, on visiting him the next +morning, looked very grave. Clare and Mr. Britton waited +anxiously for his verdict. +</p> + +<p> +"There is evidently something weighing on his mind," +said Mr. Kavanagh, as he walked downstairs. "The local +symptoms are subsiding, but I fear he is in a critical state. +These southern temperaments are always hard to deal +with—it is touch and go with them. Keep him as quiet as +possible, and I will look in again this evening." +</p> + +<p> +Clare felt sad at heart as she kept watch while the nurse +rested after her night's work; she could guess pretty accurately +what it was that was weighing upon Carlo's mind, but how +to comfort him she did not know. He lay quite still with +closed eyes, his lips just parted that he might breathe with +less effort; but the hand which lay outside the bed-clothes +was tightly clenched, and the face bore an expression of +silent misery, which was almost more than Clare could endure. +</p> + +<p> +"Is the pain still so bad?" she asked at length. +</p> + +<p> +He opened his eyes; they were so hopeless, so full of dumb +distress, that it seemed to her they must be the eyes of some +other man. She could not have believed that Carlo could +ever have gone down to such depths of wretchedness. +</p> + +<p> +"Much better, thank you," he answered, just above his +breath: and Clare was thankful that his eyelids fell once more, +for she could not keep back her tears. And so the hours +passed on, and she knew that she was close to a man who +was passing through the worst suffering that can be borne, +and yet felt as powerless to reach him as if he had been a +thousand miles away. At last, early in the afternoon, he +seemed to make an effort to break the rigid quiet in which he +had so long lain. She stood up to arrange his pillows afresh, +and he took her hand in his and held it fast in a fevered +grasp. +</p> + +<p> +"If I could only sleep, Clare! if I could only sleep!" he +exclaimed. They were the first words he had voluntarily +spoken, and she took them as a good sign; clearly he began +to see that he must do all that he could to free himself from +absorption in this one painful idea; even in his illness the +duty of self-mastery lingered vaguely with him, spite of his +failing powers. +</p> + +<p> +"There is one sovereign remedy for sleeplessness," said +Clare. "Let us see whether it will have any effect on you;" +and taking a Bible from the shelf she began to read in a low, +soft, slightly monotonous voice from the Book of Job. +Whether it was the musical rhythm of the words, or the +continuous sound, or the graphic picture set forth in that +grand old poem, it would be hard to say; but for some +reason the mental picture of Anita and Comerio gradually +faded, the perception of his own pain passed away, he +seemed to be living quite out of the nineteenth century—to +be Job and not himself,—though it was, in fact, the personal +perception of the truth of the poem which made its effect on +him so powerful. +</p> + +<p> +"'For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me,'" +read Clare; "'and that which I was afraid of is come unto +me. I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I +quiet, yet trouble came.'" +</p> + +<p> +When Eliphaz the Temanite began to argue, Carlo felt +himself sliding away into blissful drowsiness, and soon Clare +perceived that the old charm had worked well and that he +was sound asleep. He slept for some hours; when he +opened his eyes the level rays of the setting sun were +streaming through a window which was hidden from him by the +bed-curtains, and casting a vivid light on a picture just +opposite to him. Now Carlo was one of those who respond +more easily to that which appeals to the artistic side of them +than to that which appeals to the intellect. The deepest +philosophical treatise, the most eloquent sermon, could not +possibly have conveyed to him all that was conveyed by that +well-known picture of the thorn-crowned Shepherd bearing +through the wilderness the sheep that had gone astray. +"FINCHÈ <i>l' abbia trovata!</i>" urged a voice in his heart: +"UNTIL he find it!" It seemed to him that he had never +till that minute realized the eternal constancy of the Good +Shepherd, never taken in the truth that while men strive, +and fail, and faint by the way, the work they have tried to +do does not fail, but is eternally carried on in ways unknown +to them. He saw that for the present all he could do was +to suffer patiently; but the picture of Nita and Comerio, +though it did its best to rise again in his mind, had lost its +power of torture; he could always efface it almost instantly +with this other picture of the tireless and persistent Shepherd, +who in the end must inevitably win back His own, spite of +false hirelings, and ravening wolves, and horrors of the +wilderness. One glance into his eyes showed Clare that he +was himself again, and the doctor, too, on his second visit, +was surprised and pleased to find what a favorable turn his +patient had taken. The alarming prostration had passed: +that terrible depression which seems incapable of wishing to +live or of making any effort to recover had given place to a +strong desire for health. Though speaking was still an effort +to him he asked two or three eager questions. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I get better, do you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, there is not a doubt of it, if you go on as well as you +have begun," said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +"Will my voice be injured?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is no reason that it should not be as good as ever +when you recover your strength." +</p> + +<p> +"How soon could I possibly be fit to sing in public again?" +</p> + +<p> +The doctor liked his spirit, and answered with a smile, +"This day nine weeks, if you have no relapse. But don't +excite yourself about it, and don't talk too much. What you +want now is perfect rest of mind and body." +</p> + +<p> +"One word more," broke in Carlo. "Is there anything I +can do to get well sooner?" +</p> + +<p> +"You can help me very materially by obedience to orders, +and by keeping yourself quiet. All anxiety and excitement +will retard your recovery. This attack of pleurisy is the +best thing that could have happened to you, for you are +altogether overworked and overstrained, and you must have rest. +In these hurrying days people seem to have forgotten how to +rest, that's the worst of it. If you'll only go on as you have +begun this afternoon though, I shall be quite satisfied with you." +</p> + +<p> +As Sardoni had once remarked, however, Carlo was in +some respects "old-fashioned," and the doctor found that +he had not forgotten even in his overstrained, nineteenth-century +life the secret of rest; that he was fast learning what +Thomas à Kempis deemed the work of a perfect man, "To +pass through many cares, as it were without care; not with +the indifference of a sluggard, but with that privilege of a +mind at liberty." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap28"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. +<br><br> +A RESTORATION. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"Some say that the age of chivalry is past. The age of chivalry is +never past as long as there is a wrong left unredressed on earth, and a +man or woman left to say, 'I will redress that wrong, or spend my life +in the attempt.' The age of chivalry is never past so long as men have +faith enough in God to say, 'God will help me to redress that wrong; +or if not me, surely He will help those that come after me. For His +eternal will is to overcome evil with good.'"—CHARGES KINGSLEY. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Kate Britton was an indefatigable worker; parish work +was her delight, and to her mind the luckless wight who did +not go district-visiting, who was not an ardent teetotaler, who +could not show a well-ordered Sunday-school class as the +visible fruits of persevering work, hardly deserved toleration. +Like all workers who are worth much she was full of enthusiasm, +and would have been greatly missed in the village; +but she was "ill to live with" because she had not yet learnt +to see things from any point of view but her own, and had an +overweening idea of her own importance. Carlo Donati was +just now much on her mind; she had a feeling that he must +have been brought to Merlebank for some special purpose; +and as it was Kate's way to think always of the impression +she might make on others, rather than of the impression she +might receive from them, she began to consider how she +could bring her influence to bear on the Italian, and her +enthusiasm was roused by an idea which came to her one +day as she mused over his life. What a glorious thing it +would be if she could convince him that he was leading a life +unworthy of a true man, and induce him to give up his profession! +</p> + +<p> +With this in view, Kate put up with the infliction of the +invalid's presence, and when in a fortnight's time he was +well enough to spend most of the day in the morning-room, +which adjoined his bedroom, she was really glad to have an +opportunity for beginning her operations. As a rule she +cordially disliked young men, and the one thorn in the +otherwise perfect bliss of her parish-work was the inevitable +curate; in her fear that she might be supposed to make her +work an excuse for flirtation, she ran to the opposite extreme, +openly avowed herself as a man-hater, and snubbed the entire +biennial succession of deacons, who were ordained to the +title of the quiet little country parish, but at the close of +their two years' novitiate invariably passed on to larger +spheres of work. +</p> + +<p> +The morning-room was a bright, sunny, cheerful room +facing south, and Carlo enjoyed his change of quarters very +much; he was glad to see Kate, too, for she interested him, +and he delighted in tracing the slight likeness to Francesca, +which he had noticed when he first came to Merlebank. +Kate, who was inordinately self-conscious, quickly perceived +that his eyes followed her as she moved about the room +arranging flowers in the vases, and she felt provoked, for it +would be so horribly like a story-book if the invalid were to +fall in love with her; yet she could not snub him as she +snubbed the curate, because she wanted to influence him for +his good, and longed for the honor and glory of persuading +him to quit the stage. Reflecting that this was the Monday +in Holy-week, she thought she would supply him with suitable +literature—at any rate the offer of books would make +a good opening for conversation. So she began boldly, yet +with an effort that surprised her; somehow, although she +had astonishing theories as to the universal depravity of +young men, she had an undefined consciousness that Carlo +Donati was not so immeasurably beneath her as the curates +and the men to be met with at dances and tennis-parties. +This perception did not please her. +</p> + +<p> +"Clare said your things had been put in here," she +began; "but I don't see anything but music, no books at +all." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think I have any," said Carlo: "I am not much +of a reader." +</p> + +<p> +Kate felt dismayed, she could hardly conceive that any +one could get on in life without her particular little library +of good books. It was a slight relief to her to discover that +among the pile of operas, wedged in between <i>Masaniello</i> +and <i>Semiramide</i>, were a shabby little Italian Testament and +a very minute English Prayer-book. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo on seeing this last gave a quick exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +"Did I leave that out? Will you give it me, please?" +</p> + +<p> +"And even this is not yours, but Francesca's!" she said, +laughing, as accidentally she dropped the book and noticed +her cousin's name on the fly-leaf. +</p> + +<p> +He colored. +</p> + +<p> +"She lent it to me the first time I went to the English +church, and since then I have always had it," he explained. +</p> + +<p> +"It is dreadful print," said Kate, in her matter-of-fact +way. "You had better let me lend you a clearer one." +</p> + +<p> +But Carlo held out his hand for it, and his fingers closed +over it jealously. +</p> + +<p> +"It will do very nicely," he said. "I don't suppose I +shall read it." +</p> + +<p> +Which illogical statement would possibly have roused +Kate's suspicion had she not been racking her brain for the +devotional books most appropriate to his case. +</p> + +<p> +She went across to her own particular bookshelf, and, to +do her justice, chose out a few books really worth reading, +eschewed a <i>Treasury of Devotion</i> as likely to be uncongenial +to one of Carlo's turn of mind, and returned bearing +<i>The Christian Year</i>, Taylor's <i>Holy Living and Dying</i>, and +a book of meditations for Holy-Week, of which she was +fond. He thanked her, but when later in the morning she +saw him again, she found to her great disgust, that he was +poring over <i>Les Huguenots</i>, and that her books were pushed +aside. +</p> + +<p> +"You didn't like them?" she said, with a touch of +disappointment in her tone. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid I didn't read much," he said, apologetically; +"you see to have this music within reach was more than I +could resist. We have not yet done <i>Les Huguenots</i>, but we +shall rehearse it in the summer, and give it in America this +autumn. Do you know it well?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have never heard an opera in my life," said Kate +feeling annoyed at his astonishment. "Do you really mean to +go back to such a life? It must surely be very bad for you." +</p> + +<p> +"But you see the doctor quite gives me hope of being as +strong as ever again," replied Carlo, thinking she must refer +to his health. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't mean that," replied Kate; "I meant it must +surely be a very bad life in other ways." +</p> + +<p> +"It is very much like other lives, I fancy; it is what you +like to make it," he replied, quietly. He did not feel that +he could very well enter into a discussion with a young girl +on the special temptations of stage-life, and there was a +silence. +</p> + +<p> +"But surely all the applause and praise must be very +trying?" said Kate. +</p> + +<p> +"Applause always makes me think of a <i>méringue</i>," said +Carlo, laughing a little; "sweet and evanescent, and leaves +you longing for more. I don't deny that it is a great +pleasure, and a great help, but I think it is a very innocent +and legitimate pleasure." +</p> + +<p> +"It must surely make you very vain?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I hope not," said Carlo, smiling. "Of course, +every artist has to be careful not to get into the way of +thinking that his powers are merits instead of gifts. Years +ago I heard Togni play at Naples, and you know when our +people applaud they applaud tremendously; I shall never +forget the deafening outburst; but it seemed to me like a +great thanksgiving to God who had given such power to +men. It was not Togni we applauded, it was the wonderful +beauty and power which he had unfolded for us." +</p> + +<p> +"But clearly," said Kate, "the life must be full of +excitement. Surely your constant craving to get back to it +again shows how engrossing and dangerous it must be." +</p> + +<p> +He could not explain to her that it was no anxiety for +applause which made him so eager to be back once more in +Merlino's troupe, so he turned the conversation, and Kate +naturally concluded that her remark had struck home. She +despised him for evading the subject, but noticing that he +looked tired, offered to read to him. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed relieved at the proposal, and opening the +<i>Christian Year</i>, asked her to read over again something +which had taken his fancy. +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly like his perverseness to choose the Tuesday in +Whitsun-week on the Monday in Holy-week," she reflected, +knowing nothing of his Whitsuntide associations. Moreover, +the poem was the last one she would have expected +him to like; it seemed a mockery to her that a man who +was "fooling away his life on the stage" should be struck +with the lines, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And whereso'er on earth's wide field<br> + Ye lift for Him the red-cross shield,<br> + Be this your song, your joy and pride—<br> + 'Our Champion went before and died.'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It had never occurred to her as a possibility that an +operatic singer could appreciate sentiments of that sort. +And she would have been scandalized and dismayed could +she have known of the unconscious, matter-of-fact way in +which Carlo would go from the altar to the theatre, or, if it +suited him better as to time, from the theatre to the altar. +</p> + +<p> +Very much perplexed as to the Italian's character, she +walked that afternoon down to the village, but had scarcely +left the grounds when she encountered the Vicar. +</p> + +<p> +"I was just coming to your house," he remarked. "I +hear you have a young Italian staying with you, and was +coming to inquire after him. Is he better?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, he is much better, thank you," said Kate. "I wish +you would go to see him, for perhaps you who feel so +strongly about such matters would be able to persuade him +to leave the stage. I can't understand him at all; he seems +quite wrapped up in his profession, and it is so sad to think +of a really good man wasting his life in work of that sort." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall be very happy to see him," said the Vicar; "it +will be quite a treat to me to talk Italian again!" And +without more delay he made his way to the house, smiling +to himself a little at Kate Britten's eagerness to influence +all she came across, and rather pleased at the prospect of a +new acquaintance in his small and not very interesting +parish. He had preached only a little while ago against +theatres, and it was satisfactory to be brought face to face +in this way with a veritable member of the profession. +</p> + +<p> +Having received a message that Signor Donati would be +very glad to see him, the Vicar followed the servant upstairs +to the morning-room, where he found the invalid on a couch +drawn close to the fire. He was surprised at his fluent +English; his accent, too, was perfect, and it was only by a +very slight peculiarity in the intonation, and every now and +then by some unusual little bit of phraseology, that he +betrayed his foreign birth. His face, however, was +unmistakably Italian, and, though he was evidently weak and +tired the Vicar thought him looking much less ill than +might have been expected after so serious an attack. The +formal greetings were only just over when Carlo, having +thoroughly studied the strong, intellectual face of his +visitor—his calm, deep-set eyes, and the sort of general air +of "iron-gray" which characterized him—exclaimed, with an +excitement which surprised the Vicar,— +</p> + +<p> +"I believe, sir—indeed, I am quite sure—that we have +met before!" +</p> + +<p> +Now, the Vicar had at that moment been thinking of his +sermon at St. Cyprian's, and admitting to himself that this +actor, at any rate, did not at all fit-in with his preconceived +notion of the members of the "unhallowed calling," so, +naturally enough, he thought that Carlo must refer to this +occasion. +</p> + +<p> +"Can you have been in the congregation at St. Cyprian's +when I preached there the other day!" he exclaimed. "I +little thought I was addressing any one connected with the +stage." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! was it indeed you who preached that sermon?" +said Carlo, quickly. "Yes, I was there with my friend +Sardoni, the tenor of the company; but we were quite at +the back of the church, and could not even see the pulpit. +Was it indeed you who preached? That is one of the +oddest coincidences I ever knew." +</p> + +<p> +"But when can you have met me before?" said the +Vicar, looking puzzled. "Can I have met you in Italy and +have forgotten?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember being in Naples last May, and going +one afternoon into one of the <i>cafés</i> in the Piazza Plebiscite, +and talking with your companion as to the improvement of +the world in general in the nineteenth century?" +</p> + +<p> +"With Stanley!—yes, yes, I remember it quite well!" said +the Vicar. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember how you said that men were not more +willing to live the life of the Crucified? Well, I was sitting +close by and heard you, and I owe you much, for those +words haunted me continually, and—but this will, I fear, +shock you—they helped me to choose my present profession." +</p> + +<p> +The Vicar smiled a little. He could just perceive, though +not so clearly as Carlo perceived, the irony of the situation. +Mr. Britton had given him a hint as to Donati's motive in +going on the stage, and had expressed a hope that the Vicar, +if he had any opportunity, would do his best to dissuade him +from returning to it, feeling convinced that Madame Merlino's +case was hopeless. And now to be told that it was in some +degree owing to words of his that the choice had been made +was, to say the least of it, startling, while the knowledge that +the Italian had been listening in St. Cyprian's to his tirade +against theatres vexed him not a little. The Vicar was a +kind-hearted man, though many people considered him hard; +but, as a matter of fact, the idea of having denounced such a +man as Donati to his face, and having probably pained him, +caused him serious annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +"I have always disapproved of the stage," he said after a +brief pause. "But I am exceedingly sorry that you heard that +sermon the other night, for it must have seemed hard and +unjust to you, I am afraid." +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell you quite candidly just how it was," said Carlo. +"It did vex me, I must allow, but then I was beginning to feel +ill and overdone, and had had rather a rough time of it +through the week, and it seemed hard to lose the sense of +fellowship which one counts on getting, at any rate, in church. +But what vexed me most of all, and perhaps made me +exaggerate your denunciation, was that my friend Sardoni, +who does not go in much for church services, happened that +night to have come with me." +</p> + +<p> +"Did it do him harm, do you think?" asked the Vicar. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"He was very angry about it," he said, at length; +"unreasonably angry, I thought. But he has a good deal to +trouble him, and there were reasons which made any attack +from the Church on our profession specially painful to him." +</p> + +<p> +He broke off as the door opened, and looked with feverish +eagerness towards the servant who entered with the afternoon +letters. Just at this time he seemed to live in perpetual +craving for post-time; for not only was he terribly anxious to +hear from Sardoni how matters were going on in the Company, +but he had always an undefined hope that some one at +Merlebank would hear from Francesca, and that at least some +fragments of the letter might be read or quoted in his presence. +This afternoon there arrived the letter from Sardoni for which +he had looked and waited so long. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you excuse me just for one minute?" he said. "This +is from my friend Sardoni, of whom we were just speaking. +If you will allow me—I am ashamed to ask such a thing—but +I am very anxious to see how things are going with them." +</p> + +<p> +He opened the envelope, tossed it aside, and began to read +eagerly. Involuntarily the Vicar glanced at the handwriting +of the direction. It was large and marked—a peculiar and +thoroughly characteristic hand. The color rose to his +forehead—his lips trembled. He waited, partly to recover his +self-control, partly to allow Carlo time to glance through the +letter, then, with undisguised eagerness, he exclaimed— +</p> + +<p> +"This friend of yours, Signor Donati,—what did you say +he was called?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sardoni; he is the <i>primo tenore</i> of our troupe. Such a +good-hearted fellow! I don't know what I should do without +him." +</p> + +<p> +"But that perhaps is an assumed name! What is his +true name? Is he not an Englishman?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is English, but he keeps entirely to his <i>nom-de-guerre</i>," +said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Even you, his friend, do not know his true name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do know it; but he does not wish it generally +known. Have you any special reason for asking? Good +heavens!" he exclaimed, as an idea suddenly occurred to +him; "can it possibly be that which altered him so much +after the sermon? Sir, I beg you to tell me your name? I +have only heard you spoken of as the Vicar." +</p> + +<p> +"My name is John Postlethwayte," said the Vicar, watching +with anxiety indescribable the effect of his words on the +Italian. +</p> + +<p> +There was no mistaking the intense excitement which +dawned in Carlo's face. +</p> + +<p> +"You saw and recognized this writing?" he asked, breathlessly, +pointing to the envelope; then as the Vicar signed an +assent, "Thank God, I have come across you! I see there +can be no doubt that you are his father!" +</p> + +<p> +Tears started to the Englishman's eyes. Carlo observed +this with relief. The Vicar did not seem nearly so hard and +uncompromising as Sardoni had led him to expect. +</p> + +<p> +"My son was here, then, in Ashborough!" he exclaimed—"was +actually in the church that night, and never came near +me! I have spent my life in looking for him!—have +wandered all over the Continent in the hope of finding him once +more!—and does he now avoid and shun me when we are in +the same town?" +</p> + +<p> +"It must have been that which made him feel the sermon +so much," said Carlo. "He knew you disapproved of the +stage; he was afraid you would not believe that he had turned +over a new leaf—he told me that long ago; and then, of +course, when he heard you speak so strongly against actors +and their calling he would naturally be repulsed and +disheartened!" +</p> + +<p> +The Vicar paced the room in great distress. It was +indescribably bitter to him to realize that his son should have +happened to hear that one sermon, and to reflect that the +whole course of his life might have been altered had his +theme been of reconciliation and charity. +</p> + +<p> +"But all will be well now," said Carlo; "for, if you have +searched for him, then you must really care to be reconciled +to him—and, indeed, he wishes your forgiveness. The very +first day after we landed in England, he went straight to your +old home, fully expecting to find you there. It was then he +told me all about it, and gave me his true name. Poor Jack! +I shall never forget his misery when he found a stranger in +your place." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he go, indeed, to the old home?" said the Vicar, +eagerly. "My poor boy, if only I had been there to meet +him! But surely he could have found out in the village where +I had gone to?" +</p> + +<p> +"He did send me to make inquiries," said Carlo, "and +the old sexton told me you were at Cleevering, in Mountshire. +But when Jack found how, through his fault, your home had +been broken up and your work spoiled, he said he could not +write to you or seek you out. Indeed, I doubt if we shall +ever get him here unless we take him altogether by surprise. +He would say that he would not come back to be a disgrace +to you in a new parish." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I must go to him!" said the Vicar. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo hesitated. He pictured to himself the sort of meeting +that might take place in one of the second-rate hotels, or +in the dingy lodgings which Merlino's troupe frequented, +where privacy was out of the question, and where Sardoni, +because of his surroundings, would certainly not show to the +greatest advantage. He thought of the gossip which would +be set afloat in the troupe, and realized how distasteful it +would all be to his friend. +</p> + +<p> +"If you don't mind," he said, "I think it would be much +better if I wrote to him and begged him to come down and +see me; I think I could write urgently enough to bring him, +and on Good Friday there will of course be no opera, and it is +possible that he might even be able to arrange to stay over +Easter Monday. Will you mind just handing me that pocketbook, +and I will see where the Company will be? Ah, yes, +I thought so; they will be at Worcester, and on the Saturday +will be giving <i>Marta</i>. I have no doubt that Merlino will let +Caffieri take Lionello in Jack's place; he did so once in the +autumn." +</p> + +<p> +Spite of his excitement and anxiety the Vicar could not +but perceive that his visit was tiring the invalid. +</p> + +<p> +"I am ashamed to have forgotten your illness in my own +great joy," he said, rising to go. "I little thought what news +awaited me when I came here." +</p> + +<p> +"This is worth being ill for," said Carlo. "I shall write +to Jack by the first post to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Probably the doctor would highly have disapproved had he +known of the little plot which was being worked out in his +patient's room; but only Clare and Mr. Britton were taken +into the secret, and in truth the excitement and hope acted +like a sort of tonic, and Carlo forgot for a time his own +anxieties in planning his various arrangements for that +eventful Good Friday. Sardoni had written to say that he would +come at half-past three in the afternoon, and Carlo awaited +his arrival in some trepidation. Remembering the unpleasant +sensation he had experienced at Piale's house of having been +entrapped, he abandoned the rather stagey idea which had +first suggested itself to him, of allowing Sardoni to be shown +in upon his father without any preparation. Nevertheless, +he was too thorough an Italian not to be dramatic, and the +Vicar was glad enough to trust the management of all to one +who really knew his son much better than he could pretend +to do. He listened to the Italian's ideas with some surprise, +but he did not call them in question. Sardoni might now be +expected to arrive at any minute, and the Vicar, waiting with +Carlo in the morning-room was enduring tortures of suspense +and anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"When we hear him arrive," said Carlo, quietly, "I want +you to go through that inner door into the next room; leave +the door ajar. Then, when Jack comes, I will tell him the +whole truth, and how I came across you, and how you +recognized his writing. That being settled, I shall ask him to +help me to my bedroom. When you hear us get up, then +leave my room where you have waited by the other door, +leading into the passage, and come back here. I know you +are thinking me like a stage-manager, but, don't you see, this +is the only means of getting me out of the way. You will now +meet alone and unobserved; Jack will have been prepared, +and will not feel that we have dealt unfairly by him; and yet +he will in a sense be surprised when he goes back to find you +there, because he will have been bracing up his mind to the +idea of seeking you out at the Vicarage." +</p> + +<p> +All these little considerations would never have occurred +to Mr. Postlethwayte; he was dreadfully afraid that +something would not work, that he should make a blunder and +forget when to make his exit, or by what door. But Carlo +seemed to have perfect confidence in his little plot; and +when the supreme moment arrived, the Vicar, waiting in the +inner room, began to feel confidence in the man who had +planned all with such perfect appreciation of the feelings of +others, and whose sole thought of himself had been how, +when his work was over, he could best be got out of the +way. +</p> + +<p> +And now a brisk, familiar step was heard in the passage, +the maid-servant announced in the most prim and ordinary +way, "Signor Sardoni," and the next moment Jack strode +into the room. The Vicar bit his lip hard as he heard the +hearty, cheerful voice which had been silent to him for so +many years. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, old fellow, how are you? Why, you are looking +almost yourself again. This is a case of Mother Hubbard's +dog; I thought I should find you ready to make your last will +and testament, as you were so anxious to see me once more. +I shall take back good news for the troupe; we are all longing +for you back again, though Comerio tries hard to be civil, +and to win golden opinions. And that reminds me, Val; +I've just hit upon a way of turning an honest penny." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" said Carlo, getting in a word with difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I mean to write a sensational article for one of the +Reviews, on the Italian Character. The motto to be the old +nursery rhyme, adapted, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'When they are good, they are very, very good,<br> + And when they are bad they are horrid.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +That man is a fiend, his cunning and malice are beyond +anything I ever knew." +</p> + +<p> +"Presently I want you to tell me all," interposed Carlo, +seizing at once on the momentary pause. "But, Jack, first of +all, there is something I must tell you. What parish do you +think this house is in?" +</p> + +<p> +"Parish! How should I know?" said Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"It is in the parish of Cleevering," said Carlo, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +"Good God, Donati!—and did you bring me here for that +reason? Have I not told you that nothing will induce me to +revive the old disgrace? Look here! that attack we heard +in the church the other night on the stage—that was spoken +by my father! Do you think, after that, he would care to +have me coming home?" +</p> + +<p> +"I know he would," said Carlo. "Don't be angry, Jack; +just hear me quietly to the end. I did not betray you, but +your father has found you out." He told him graphically +just what had happened, then continued: "Do you think he +was thinking of the 'disgrace' when he threw up everything +to go and search for you on the Continent? Do you think he +cares a rush for what people say when his first impulse was to +go straight to Worcester and see you? Perhaps it would have +been better, after all, if I had not suggested this other plan." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no!" broke in Sardoni; "I could never have stood +that. But yet, I doubt if I can do it, Val. It was hard +enough last time with you. And alone! No, I can't do it! +You'll never know what it is to an Englishman—the mere +walking up to the house and ringing the bell!" +</p> + +<p> +"But you would at least do as much as that for one who +has tramped all over Europe for you?" said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"It's not that," said Sardoni, brushing his hand impatiently +across his eyes. "It's not that I mean! Upon my +soul, Donati, I think you are too good to understand how it +is with me." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo replied only by one of his expressive gestures. +</p> + +<p> +"Too tired to discuss the matter further, we will say. Give +me an arm, will you, Jack? I will go to my room and rest, +and will see you again later on." +</p> + +<p> +"I forgot how ill you had been!" said Sardoni, with +compunction. "And now I have tired you, and thought only of +my own affairs, like the brute that I am!" +</p> + +<p> +He helped him into the adjoining room, and Carlo, conscious +of much the same sensation about the heart as he had +felt on the night of his first appearance in public, dismissed +him. +</p> + +<p> +"If you ring the bell in the next room," he remarked, +"they'll show you to your room, or, if you make up your +mind to go to the vicarage, steer for the church tower, and +you can't mistake the house, for they say there is none other +near." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you were about, and could go there with me," said +Sardoni, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"You are much better alone. I told you last time I should +only have been in the way. Now for my <i>siesta</i>. <i>A +rivederci!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni turned away slowly and with a sort of reluctance—almost +as if he were already in imagination rehearsing +that difficult return which Carlo had spoken of. To steer +straight for the church tower! What a walk that would +be!—what a fight would be involved in every step! He closed +the door, and once more re-entered the morning-room. Was +that Mr. Britton standing by the window? But at the sound +of the shutting of the door the figure turned, and crossed +the room in eager haste. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni's heart beat like a sledge hammer; the tears +rushed to his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Father!" he faltered. "Did you come?—are you here?" +</p> + +<p> +And Carlo himself would have been satisfied could he +have seen the manner of their meeting. +</p> + +<p> +When they could speak, the Vicar replied to the +incoherent question. +</p> + +<p> +"It was your friend's doing! He thought this would be +the best place." +</p> + +<p> +"It is all his doing!" said Sardoni, in a choked voice. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, broken at last by the father. +</p> + +<p> +"Let us come home together!" he said. +</p> + +<p> +And Carlo, lying tired-out in the next room, heard the door +of the morning-room open, and knew that all was well, and +pictured to himself how the two would walk together towards +the house by the church, and how Sardoni would smile to +himself when he found that there was no question as to ringing +of bells, since the father would throw the door wide, and +himself take him into the new home where even dark +memories would not be allowed to enter and spoil the peace +of their reconciliation. +</p> + +<p> +But what passed he never actually knew, because there are +things too sacred to be put into words—things which men +learn to take on trust even with their closest friends. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni returned in the evening, and talked of Anita, and +Comerio, and Gigi, and of the various vicissitudes of the +Company in the last three weeks. But on Easter Eve, in the +morning, when Carlo, like a true Neapolitan, desired to +begin the <i>Festa</i>, the Vicar came true to his appointment, and +with him came his son. +</p> + +<p> +"You will have the necessary third without me," whispered +Clare, thinking they would rather be alone. "I will go." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Carlo. "I should like to have you both, if you +don't mind. Jack, this is my friend, Miss Claremont." +</p> + +<p> +Clare welcomed him quietly, and the two friends just +gripped each other's hands, and not another word passed +between them till they had joined in their Easter communion. +</p> + +<p> +The Vicar was a man of large experience, and he had +learnt not to be very much surprised at the extraordinary +coincidences of life, and to believe in the truth of the saying +that it is the unexpected which happens. But, with all his +knowledge of life, he would hardly have credited the words +of one who had foretold to him that within a few weeks of +his denunciation of the stage he should be under the deepest +of obligations to an operatic singer, and should have joined +with him, and with his long-lost son, in the most sacred act +of worship and sign of fellowship. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap29"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. +<br><br> +CONVALESCENT. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Look not on thine own loss, but look beyond,<br> + And take the Cross for glory and for guide."<br> + MRS. HAMILTON KING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When the excitement of Sardoni's visit was over, Carlo +flagged a little, but the weariness and languor were far less +trying to bear than what followed. He could live patiently +enough through those days—could even enjoy the family life +going on around him—could be quietly amused at Kate's +efforts to conform him to her own ideal of what a young man +should be—could find comfort in talking to Clare about the +old days at Casa Bella, and about his mother. +</p> + +<p> +But by-and-by, when his strength returned, there came +very different days—days when he felt that to live any +longer without Francesca was more than mortal man could +bear—days when in very truth his own words to her in the +belvedere were fulfilled, and to be without her was to be +crucified. His love for Francesca was no light sentiment, +no passing fancy; it was the strongest, most ardent love that +man can feel for woman. He loved her with his whole +being—with the passionate warmth of a southern nature—with the +force of a pure and noble soul—with the lofty, undying +devotion of an awakened spirit. It was inevitable that he should +suffer; and though of course such times were nothing new +to him, he could not in his present state plunge into work, +or into the affairs of other people, as in his ordinary life he +had found comfort in doing. +</p> + +<p> +Worst of all, he knew that his kindly host—the only one +able to guess what was the matter with him—desired nothing +so much as to see him quitting the stage and marrying +his niece. +</p> + +<p> +But if pain was inevitable, failure was not so. He loved +as a man loves at four-and-twenty, but he had the strength +of one who has resolutely denied himself and honestly tried +to be true to his profession; "his strength was as the +strength of ten." And when Mr. Britton urged his view of +the case upon him with the best and kindest of intentions, +he always fell back on the certainty that his duty had been +made clear to him, and on the faith which was his great +stronghold, and which, in its fearless unselfishness, differed +as much from credulity as day from night. +</p> + +<p> +Strangely enough, the man to whom he instinctively +turned most at this time was Sardoni's father. He +disagreed with the Vicar on politics, on many theological +points, on the question of the stage, and on most other +things, and yet there was something in the man's great +goodness which made all else quite a secondary consideration, +which even made one forget his tendency to lay down +the law, and only delight in the sense of his devotion. +Without that touch of dogmatism he would have been a +saint; his failing interfered a good deal with his influence +in most quarters, but with Carlo hardly at all. The +beautiful goodness of the man attracted him too strongly, +and quite eclipsed all else. It was a relief, too, when he +was allowed to go out again for the briefest of airings on +sunny days when the wind was favorable; and after a time +he was able to read Dante with Kate and Lucy, and to +study Zampa, and, little by little, to find that the outer +world was not so altogether flavorless as in his dark days +it had seemed. +</p> + +<p> +One sunny spring day, when the doctor had allowed him +to go for a short drive, Clare and Kate took him for the +first time outside the Merlebank grounds, and drove him +through the little village of Cleevering. By this time he +had himself pretty well in hand—had schooled himself into +a sort of content with incompleteness—had worked himself +round to the state in which he could feel that it was at any +rate something to be with Francesca's relations, to hear her +name every now and then, to be at least certain of knowing +if she were in any particular need or trouble. +</p> + +<p> +"We may as well call for the letters as we are passing +the post-office," said Kate, drawing up at the village shop. +She sprang out of the chaise, Carlo offering to hold the +pony for her. He had neither ridden nor driven since he +had left Italy, and the mere feeling of the reins between his +fingers awoke new life within him; it was long since he had +been able really to desire any attainable thing, but now he +was seized with a strong desire to ride once more, and the +mere capability of wishing was a relief. He had an almost +boyish pleasure in feeling the movements of the pony's head +as it champed the bit, in hearing the impatient pawing of +the ground. +</p> + +<p> +"Two letters for you, Clare," said Kate, reappearing; +and Clare took them rather anxiously, and opening the one +from her home began to read. +</p> + +<p> +"None for me?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Not one," said Kate, tossing two or three envelopes on +to the vacant seat. He instantly detected that one of them +bore the blue stamp of Italy. Was it from Francesca? he +wondered, or perhaps from Captain Britton to his brother? +It was something to be staying in a house where letters +were received from Casa Bella, and yet it was a sort of +torture to him to sit quietly in the pony-chaise, obliged to +content himself with studying the length of King Humbert's +moustache and the big letters of "NAPOLI" on the postmark. +Doubtless, he thought, the letter had been posted +as they went in to church on Sunday, and he hardly knew +whether the thought made him feel nearer to his love or +more hopelessly cut off from her. He did not dare to ask +any questions lest he should awaken Kate's suspicion, but +he hoped against hope that she would speak and put him +out of his suspense. Kate, however, talked of the scenery, +and the weather, and the spring-green of the trees, and of +every unimportant thing under the sun; but of that letter +she said not a word, and he had to endure walking upstairs +behind her when they reached the house and seeing her +disappear with it into her own room. +</p> + +<p> +It was hard; but then sore need had taught him to be +thankful for small mercies, and he cheered himself with the +reflection that at any rate he was now tolerably certain that +the letter was from Francesca herself, that by this time she +knew of his illness, for Clare had mentioned it in one of her +letters, and that it was even remotely possible that the +Captain might have permitted her to send some message. +Torturing himself with hopes and fears after the manner of +lovers, he waited as long as he could make himself wait +upstairs, then, with the hope predominating and the impatience +no longer to be resisted, found his way into the drawing-room +and looked eagerly round for Kate. The room was +empty, but on the mantelpiece there gleamed the blue King +Humbert and the big "NAPOLI," and the direction in +Francesca's own writing to "Miss Britton, Merlebank, +nr. Ashborough, Inghilterra." +</p> + +<p> +He longed to snatch it up and kiss it, but restrained +himself because even the envelope was not his; with a sigh he +crossed the room and tried to make the time pass by playing +all Francesca's favorite airs, and after what seemed a long +while the footman came in with the afternoon tea, and was +soon followed by Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +"You are early home this afternoon," said Carlo, leaving +the piano and shivering a little as he came over to the +fire. +</p> + +<p> +"I have an appointment at Cleevering at half-past five, +and thought I would snatch a cup of tea on the way," said +Mr. Britton. "You don't look quite so well; I'm afraid you +have been overtiring yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, thank you," said Carlo, wondering how his companion +could stand within a yard of Francesca's letter and +not notice it. "I have been for a drive to-day, and enjoyed +it very much." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right," said the shipbuilder, in his kindly voice. +"We must begin to lionize you now that you are getting +stronger. You ought to go over to Tancroft Castle: it is a +fine old Norman ruin. You would find a great deal to +interest you there." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo thought differently; at any rate just at the present +moment he was inclined to wish all fine old Norman ruins at +the bottom of the sea. It was horrible to feel that he, with +his ardent love, must be patiently polite, and must depend on +others for the smallest scrap of tidings from Francesca. At +length old Bevis, the deer-hound, came to his help by stretching +up his head and licking his master's hand. Mr. Britton +bent down to pat his old favorite, and as he raised his head +again his eye was attracted by the foreign letter on the +mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter from Casa Bella? What news?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know," said Carlo. "I was not here when Miss +Britton read it." +</p> + +<p> +Something of the chafed, impatient craving, which was +making tumult in his heart, found its way into his voice. +Mr. Britton, understanding all perfectly well, felt very sorry for +him. He took up the letter, and going out into the hall +called his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Kate came running downstairs in reply to the summons, +looking hurried and annoyed. +</p> + +<p> +"How early you have come home, father!" she exclaimed +"I was just trying to get the 'Mothers'-Meeting' accounts +right." +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry to have interrupted you, my dear; but will +you make tea, for I have to go down to the village directly?" +</p> + +<p> +Kate, in no very good temper, approached the tea-table, +perceived that the tray was crooked, and set it straight with a +gesture betraying inward irritation. Carlo, as usual, offered +his services with the kettle, but was so absent-minded that he +was far from proving an efficient helper, and only made Kate +feel that everything was conspiring together to annoy her. +Surely only a lover could have been so absent as to go on +filling a teapot till it overflowed, and to be deaf to repeated +orders to stop? Was this tiresome Italian really going to fall +in love with the daughter of his host like the hero of a novel? +</p> + +<p> +All his apologies could not make her unbend from the +chilly reserve in which she encased herself. +</p> + +<p> +"What news from Casa Bella?" asked Mr. Britton, when +the disaster on the tea-tray no longer engrossed the general +attention. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Kate, bestowing a cup of tea on Carlo with a +frigid air that was quite lost on him, "Francesca writes to ask +if she may come next week instead of in June. It's very +provoking, for I shall be so busy just then, and there will be +no tennis or anything to amuse her." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo did not dare to raise his eyes lest the wild rapture +of hope which was filling them should become visible to Kate. +He sat mechanically stirring his tea, making so strong an +effort to control his face and keep his joy secret, that he felt +as if his features must have become as expressionless as a +block of wood. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't fancy she is much of a tennis-player," said +Mr. Britton. "Is there no enclosure for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I beg your pardon, father; I quite forgot; there +is a line for you from Uncle Britton and a little note from +Francesca, too." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton glanced through them, then deliberately +handed Francesca's note to Carlo, possibly intending his +daughter to draw her own conclusions from the act. +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad she comes earlier, you two are old friends, and +it would be a pity that you should not meet." +</p> + +<p> +But Kate observed nothing, for she was full of her +preconceived theory. She did not notice the quick flush which +rose to Carlo's brow as he took the letter; instead, she was +secretly resolving to lose no opportunity of snubbing the +Italian, and proving that she was quite indifferent to him, +and was above that despicable feminine weakness of falling +in love with a handsome face and a fine voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you have any more tea, Signor Donati?" she asked +in her coldly polite voice. +</p> + +<p> +"No more, thank you," said Carlo, looking up for a +moment from the letter. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes startled her, there was an expression in their +dark liquid depths which she had never seen before in the +eyes of any man. She got up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"If you'll excuse me, father, I will just finish those +accounts," she said. "Clare and the girls will be down +directly." +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Carlo, feeling like one in a beautiful dream, +which is only marred by the dim consciousness that there +there must be an awaking, read and re-read the following +note:— +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +"DEAR UNCLE GEORGE,—Thank you so much for your +letters; I never thought it possible that father would let me +come, but something in your note to him has made him +consent; and also, perhaps, something that has happened here +makes him see that I had better leave home for a little while. +It was just like you to keep your promise in that way, and +be Carlo's friend, and just like you, too, to write so often, for +I have been dreadfully anxious. Father says, can you +conveniently meet me, or send some one to meet me at Charing +Cross by the tidal train on Wednesday morning? He does +not much like me to come such a long way alone, and the +lady with whom I travel from Naples only goes as far as +London. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ever, dear Uncle, your loving niece.<br> + "FRANCESCA BRITTON."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He had his moments of unalloyed bliss, then came the +inevitable awaking. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think I ought to go away?" he said, returning +the letter to Mr. Britton. +</p> + +<p> +There was something so appealing in his tone that Mr. Britton +felt a genuine thrill of pleasure in being able to answer, +with a clear conscience,— +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not; the most scrupulous sense of honor can't +demand that, since her father is perfectly well aware that you +are staying with us." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think makes him willing to let us meet?" +said Carlo, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, to speak quite frankly, I think that probably Francesca +has just refused some good offer of marriage, and that +my brother finds that it is hopeless to see her settled in life +as he would wish while her heart is here at Merlebank. +Very possibly he hopes,—as I, too, confess I hope,—that +circumstances will lead you to see that it is useless for you to +continue any longer on the stage, and that all may end well, +and you and Francesca be 'very happy ever after,' as they +say in the stories." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was silent, for suddenly, in that comfortable English +drawing-room, there flashed across his mind the old temptation, +which he thought could never have risen again after +the decisive blow dealt it in the garden at Villa Bruno. This +time the strong point of his character, his genuine humility, +was appealed to. +</p> + +<p> +"See," urged the tempter, "you are wrecking Francesca's +life and your own all from an overstrained notion of +self-sacrifice. Is it likely you will succeed in saving +Anita? leave that to better and wiser people. All the best men and +women you know think you are mistaken,—think that you +will fail. Are you going to be so headstrong and conceited +as still to persist in this unnecessary sacrifice? You have +tried your best, and have failed,—you know that you have +miserably failed. To go on longer would be mere +presumption and vanity." +</p> + +<p> +He turned away and stood in the window, looking out at +the mellow western sky and at the grassy slopes beneath the +trees in the park, where sheep were peacefully feeding. The +sight made him think of the thorn-crowned Shepherd. But +instantly the fiend turned even this to his advantage, and +beset him more vigorously than ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you so stupid and vain as to think the world needs +such a man as you to take care of it? Go home to Italy, and +live the peaceful life for which you are so much better fitted. +Do you think the Good Shepherd needs your help? Do +you think He can't get on just as well without you?" +</p> + +<p> +But the vision of the Constant Shepherd would not fade, +and a voice, less vehement but more familiar to him, said +plainly, "Follow Me." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean to say," resumed the fiend, "that you are +going to bear all your life this miserable incompleteness? +Remember what you have suffered this last fortnight! If +you think you can bear such misery for long you are mistaken. +All your life long—think of it!—think of it! If you dream +of being strong enough to bear such a life you vastly +over-rate your own powers." +</p> + +<p> +But again, more clearly, the other voice repeated, "Follow +Me!" +</p> + +<p> +At this minute Clare and the younger girls entered the +drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you had tea, Signor Donati?" said Molly, who +dearly loved officiating at the tea-table in the absence of her +elders and betters. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you like your drive?" chirped Flo, dancing up to +him in her free, childish fashion. +</p> + +<p> +He came back with an effort to the outer life, and began +to hand about plates of cake and bread-and-butter, and to +wait upon every one, as was his wont, while Mr. Britton told +Clare about Francesca's visit. +</p> + +<p> +"Why that will seem delightfully natural to have both +you and Francesca here with me," said Clare. "You will +like to meet her again, and hear all the news from Pozzuoli." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, unless my doctor has permitted me by that time to +set to work again," said Carlo, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but he will not; you know he said nine weeks from +the first." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Britton, "you need at least three +more weeks' rest before thinking of work,—myself I doubt +if even then you will be fit for it; we shall see what +Kavanagh says." +</p> + +<p> +No more passed on the subject just then, but after dinner, +when Harry had left the dining-room to escort Kate down to +one of her evening classes in the village, Carlo spoke once +more about it to Mr. Britton, having gained much in the +interval. +</p> + +<p> +"What I want to ask you is this," he began, in his direct, +unembarrassed way; "Am I justified in staying on here in +the same house with Francesca when I have not the least +idea of renouncing the stage, when I hope to be able to resist +all temptations to yield, when I sincerely believe that Captain +Britton's expectations will be frustrated?" +</p> + +<p> +"I like you the better for thinking out the matter so +frankly," said Mr. Britton; "but it seems to me that the +responsibility rests with my brother. If he chooses to send +Francesca here I don't see that you are bound to trouble +about his expectations. I suppose it will, at any rate, be +some comfort to you both to meet even as ordinary acquaintances +with other people around, and I advise you to get +what pleasure you can out of the slight concession my brother +has been willing to make. 'Take the goods the gods provide +you.' You can certainly do that with a clear conscience." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you," said Carlo, gratefully, "it has been a great +help to talk it over with you. I think I may stay." +</p> + +<p> +The week of rapturous expectation that followed was the +happiest he had known since the abrupt ending of his +betrothal. He went about with a glad light in his eyes, which +made Kate more and more repressive; his step was no +longer the step of an invalid, his voice grew stronger each +day, he felt in harmony with the delicious spring weather, +for all cares had faded from his mind, and he was conscious +once more of youth and hope,—conscious that of late he +had felt preposterously old, and that now he felt ridiculously +but delightfully young. +</p> + +<p> +Counting the days, and indeed the very hours, he lived +through the interval, and at length the day on which +Francesca was expected came. But, to his surprise, as it +advanced, the expectation changed to torment; he could only +sit watching the clock, and from time to time looking from +the window with a restless agitation which put happiness +out of the question. At last the supreme moment arrived; +he heard the wheels of the carriage and the sudden rush +of girls from the schoolroom; then Clare looked in for a +minute. +</p> + +<p> +"She is just here; but don't come out into the hall, Carlo, +for the wind is so cold to-day." +</p> + +<p> +He made some sort of reply and felt relieved that Clare left +the drawing-room door open as she hastened out to greet her +pupil. Good heavens! how was he to meet her like an +ordinary acquaintance! His breathing was labored, his +heart throbbed, he trembled from head to foot; yet through +it all he listened with longing indescribable. Ah, yes! that +was her voice! above all the tumult within and without. +</p> + +<p> +"How are you, dear Clare?" it said; and again, after a +pause, "A beautiful crossing, thank you. Why, Flo, how +you have grown!" +</p> + +<p> +The voice was drawing nearer and nearer, the oppression +grew frightful. With an effort he rose to his feet, and at that +instant caught the first glimpse of his love as she crossed +the hall—the pure, sweet, delicate face, with its lovely +coloring; the slight, lithe figure; the gray eyes, seeking him out +eagerly, yet so shyly. He went quickly forward to meet her, +unable to feel for very excess of feeling, bewildered and +overpowered by the tumult that her presence caused. +</p> + +<p> +And yet it was all over so soon, this meeting which he had +rehearsed so often, both waking and sleeping; a conventional +hand-clasp, a smile carefully regulated, a few quick +words of Italian, since his native tongue came naturally to +him, and for the moment he could not remember a single +word of English. After that there was a pause which he did +not dare to break because he knew he could not steady his +voice, all he could do was to try to look and move naturally, +and to get back the perception that his arms were his own in +time to hand about the cups of tea which Kate, in her cool, +business-like way, was preparing. +</p> + +<p> +After a while he began to hear what the others were saying, +and soon Francesca's sweet, low voice thrilled through him +once more, and before long he was carried away by the +happiness of the present, and, forgetting the past, dared to +put in his oar, so that the conversation became general, he +taking a natural share in it, and falling back to the old footing +of the days when Francesca had been his playmate and +friend. +</p> + +<p> +At first the mere possibility of looking at her, talking to +her, and waiting on her kept him happy. When Mr. Britton +was present he was a little less at his ease, because he knew +that the kindly host was well aware of their story; but by +day, when only old Mrs. Britton, or Clare, or the girls were +present, he seemed really able to ignore the past, and act as +though their three weeks' betrothal had never been. The +sense of helping her to play this part, the knowledge that he +could shield and protect her, was no small incentive, though +at times he half wished that Captain Britton had permitted +Clare to be told, because her sympathy would have been +so well worth having. +</p> + +<p> +As to Kate, both the lovers were unable to help being +amused by her, for Francesca quickly perceived her desire to +convert Carlo to her own ideas, and Carlo instinctively knew +that she had perceived it. +</p> + +<p> +But one rainy morning, when the two girls were at work in +the morning-room, Francesca found that there are times when +an undeclared love-story has its disadvantages. +</p> + +<p> +"I have hardly seen you alone, yet," began Kate, "and +there is so much I wanted to talk to you about. But you see +I have been so frightfully busy since you came; indeed it +has been one incessant rush of work all through the spring, +and having Signor Donati here takes up more time than +people might fancy." +</p> + +<p> +"It was so good of uncle to ask him here," said Francesca, +keeping her eyes fixed on her needlework. +</p> + +<p> +"Father is always doing that kind of thing. But we have +never had a visitor here for so long whom I felt to +understand so little; I don't think I like him very much." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you?" said Francesca, stifling a strong inclination +to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he is so deceptive; he gives you the impression of +being so good and thinking so much of other people, and yet +I can't make out that he has done one single stroke of good, +useful work in his life. He seems to me exactly like the +figtree which had nothing but leaves. How can he bear to +waste his life on the stage?" +</p> + +<p> +"You must not malign my old friend," said Francesca, +flushing crimson, yet still feeling more amused than angry, +because Kate was so ludicrously mistaken, and so perfectly +convinced that she must infallibly be right. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, since you are his friend, do just candidly tell me,—Is +he so good as Clare makes out? Is he really so delightful +as my father seems to think?" +</p> + +<p> +The sceptical stress on the "Is he?" made the question +all the more embarrassing. To be coolly asked her unbiassed +opinion of the man she loved was a new experience to +Francesca; for a moment she lost her presence of mind. What +in the world could she say? How was she to gain the +composed tone needful for a reply? +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, indeed he is!" she said at length, in a tolerably +natural tone. "I have known him for years and years, you +know." +</p> + +<p> +And then, because the answer seemed to her so absurdly +inadequate, and because she was vexed with Kate for having +asked such a question, she felt ready to cry. +</p> + +<p> +But, luckily, Kate was not observant. She went on +serenely, "Well, for my part, I don't understand that kind of +man. I don't think I understand Italians at all." +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Carlo entered, overhearing the last words. +He at once guessed that Kate had been attacking Francesca +as to his character, and knowing that they would feel +uncomfortable, said in his easy way, "Not even after all our +Dante readings, Miss Britton? Has not our great poet +raised your opinion of his countrymen? I am afraid you +are very hard on the South." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, frankly," said Kate, "I don't understand southern +natures; and why you are so wrapped up in your country I +can't imagine." +</p> + +<p> +"You see, to you, Italy is merely 'a geographical +expression,' as Prince Metternich used to say. To me, it is +the land for which my father, and his father before him, +fought and died." +</p> + +<p> +He broke off rather abruptly, afraid of repelling her +English nature by too much warmth of utterance. He had not +lived so much among English people without learning to +restrain his speech, and bring it round pretty nearly to the +conventional terseness of a true Briton. Francesca knew +that, had they been alone, a torrent of Italian would have +escaped his lips, and the full force of his eager patriotism +would have been revealed. +</p> + +<p> +"You will think me very blunt," said Kate, "but I really +don't see what you Italians have to be so proud of. I don't +see that you have any great men to boast of—except, of +course, painters and musicians." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo laughed. "You will at least allow us Dante?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dante belongs to the world," said Kate. +</p> + +<p> +"True, that might also be said of Shakespeare; yet +Shakespeare is English and Dante is Italian." +</p> + +<p> +"Dante counts among the artists," said Kate, in her +decided tone. "You have no other great men." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca sat watching the disputants, intensely amused +at Kate's calm, argumentative manner; as to Carlo, he +seemed gradually losing his English sobriety, and the more +Kate attacked his nation the more Italian he became. +</p> + +<p> +"What!" he exclaimed. "Do you then wish for greater +men than Galileo, than Savonarola, than Columbus, than +Daniele Manin, than Mazzini, than Garibaldi? Is it nothing +to have produced a man of science like Galvani, a saint like +Francesco of Assisi, patriots like Pellico and Poerio?" +</p> + +<p> +Now Silvio Pellico was no hero to Kate; she smiled at +the mention of his name. He only meant to her a long dull +Italian book which she had struggled half through, until, to +her delight, she had been promoted to <i>I Promessi Sposi</i>. +She had not lived with Pellico in his stifling cell under the +<i>piombi</i> at Venice, or wearied with him through his long years +in the Austrian fortress, as Carlo had done in his childhood. +</p> + +<p> +"You care so much for your country," she remarked, "but +after all, patriotism seems to me a very narrow thing—we +ought instead to love the whole human race." +</p> + +<p> +He started to his feet with a gesture that surprised her. +</p> + +<p> +"Believe me!" he exclaimed, "you are mistaken. There is +no true love of race till you love your own land; just as there +is no 'charity,' in the wide sense of the word, till you have +genuine love for those of your own family. For what else +are we set in families and in nations? And how is it that +we have any number of people vaguely longing to work for +'humanity' and sentimentalizing about the 'masses' in +the humanitarian cant of the day, and a mere handful of men +and women ready to make their own homes the heaven on +earth that a home might be? It is because we all want to +begin at the wrong end, to launch out on the great +undertakings before we have been faithful to the smaller duties. +Because we mistake the meaning of sacrifice, and choose our +own way even in that, and hunger for the great, and the +striking, and the picturesque, but are slow to sacrifice +ourselves for one akin to us, or for a cause which is unattractive, +or for a unit instead of a vague multitude." +</p> + +<p> +There was a force and passion in what he said that appealed +to Kate's honest nature. But the words struck home, +because she knew only too well that, while ready to slave +for her school-children or for the poor, she was often cross +and tyrannical to her own brothers and sisters. She thought +Carlo must be alluding to her, but, as a matter of fact, she +was far from his thoughts; and what made him able to speak +with so much fire on an abstract subject was that he spoke +of the things which he knew, of the things which he had +proved by fierce and long conflict. +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," said Kate, angry at having the tables turned +on her, "you, who speak so enthusiastically about sacrifice, +and all the rest of it, can be content to sing, and act, and +amuse people, while the poor are starving, and sinning, and +dying! You can be content to fiddle like Nero while Rome +is burning! Oh, it seems to me unworthy of you! You +can't be content with such a life!" +</p> + +<p> +He turned his clear, deep eyes full upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"With what I make of it—no," he replied. "With the life +itself, with my calling—quite content—quite! See! a year +ago I talked Socialism, and theorized, and longed to solve +the problems of the day, and thought that by speaking and +agitating the Utopian age would be brought on. But I +see now that it is quite possible to theorize about the better +arrangement of the world, and all the time to be neglecting +perhaps your own relations—to wish to reclaim all the waste +lands, and to misuse your own tiny strip of garden." +</p> + +<p> +But here the conversation was abruptly ended, for at that +minute Miss Claremont and Lucy came in armed with Dante +and dictionaries, and Carlo said no more, but opening his +copy of the <i>Inferno</i>, began, at Clare's request, to read to +them. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap30"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. +<br><br> +BITTER-SWEET. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Thou Who hast Thyself<br> + Endured this fleshhood—knowing how, as a soaked<br> + And sucking vesture, it can drag us down<br> + And choke us in the melancholy Deep—<br> + Sustain me, that with Thee I walk these waves<br> + Resisting! Breathe me upward, Thou in me<br> + Aspiring, Who art the Way, the Truth, the Life!—<br> + That no truth henceforth seem indifferent,<br> + No way to truth laborious, and no life—<br> + Not even this life I live—intolerable!"<br> + "<i>Aurora Leigh.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In the grounds at Merlebank there stood a pretty little +log-hut, fantastically built, and divided within into two rooms. +It had been the work of one of Mr. Britton's summer +holidays many years ago, and had been specially built for the +children. At first they had played in it incessantly, had +learnt a fair amount of cookery with the help of the little +stove in the outer room, and had found the place invaluable +in all adventuring games wherein desert islands figured. +But now they had rather outgrown this sort of thing, and +"Mavis Hut," as it was called, served only for refreshments +at garden-parties, for a convenient place to keep the +lawn-tennis box, and occasionally for church decorations. +</p> + +<p> +On the afternoon after the discussion with Carlo, Kate +happened to be arranging the church vases in the inner +room of Mavis Hut. She had been round the garden +gathering the wet flowers, had taken all she wanted from the +greenhouses, and now sat comfortably down to her work at +the rough, wooden table, with the brass vases and the lovely +red and white flowers all ready to hand. +</p> + +<p> +She felt still a little sore at the implied rebuke in Carlo's +words that morning, but she was too good and well-meaning +to blind herself to the truth. He had given her, whether +consciously or unconsciously, a home-thrust; and Kate, +though she disliked him in consequence, fully admitted the +justice of the remarks as applied to herself. She sighed a +little as she arranged her vases, then finding her own +failings no very pleasant study, she turned her thoughts back +to Carlo himself. He puzzled her more and more, but though +she would have liked to think him conceited, or priggish, or +hypocritical, she could not do so; the worst she could say of +him was that he was living a worthless life, and that he was +an inconsistent sort of man. His absence of self-consciousness +appealed to her strongly, however, because it was +incomprehensible to her; and, though persuading herself that +she despised and disliked him, she knew all the time in her +secret heart that this was largely owing to her own perversity. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had been shining brightly a few minutes before, +but as Kate arranged her flowers she noticed that the +summer-house grew dark, and was not surprised to hear before +long a steady downpour of rain. +</p> + +<p> +"I daresay it will be over before I have finished," she +thought to herself, and was going on with her work when, +to her surprise, the door of the hut was opened, and Carlo +walked into the outer room, evidently seeking shelter from +the rain. +</p> + +<p> +"What a bother!" thought Kate. "But, after all, though +I can see him through this crack in the woodwork, he can't +see me. I don't think I shall let him know I am here; he +would interrupt me, and perhaps talk again as he did this +morning—and, besides, I dislike him!" +</p> + +<p> +Hardly had she taken her resolution, when once more +the outer door opened, and Francesca hurried in, wet and +flushed. +</p> + +<p> +"You here!" she exclaimed, in a voice so startled that +Kate's attention was instantly arrested. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had been standing at one of the little lattice +windows, watching the torrents of rain. She had not +perceived him till she had closed the door behind her. He +turned instantly. There was no time for thought. It was +impossible that any recollection of Captain Britton or Anita +should cloud that perfect moment. He was only conscious +of two things—that Francesca was present, and that there +was no longer the dreary necessity of behaving as though +their love was non-existent. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Carina! Carina mia!</i>" he cried, crossing the hut at +lightning speed; and the next moment Francesca was +clasped in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +All had passed so quickly that there had been no chance +for poor Kate to make her presence known, and she sat now +in the inner room petrified with astonishment. Her first +thought was one of indignation, but when she saw that +Francesca clung to her lover, sobbing pitifully, her heart +was touched; and though she told herself that she "distinctly +disapproved of this sort of nonsense," she began to +see that there must be something in the past of her cousin +and Signor Donati of which she was unaware,—probably +an undeclared love-story, well known to her father. What +so likely as that he should have interested himself in the +young Italian on this account, and himself have hastened +Francesca's visit in the hope that the barrier between +them—whatever it might be—would be removed? +</p> + +<p> +All this flashed through Kate's mind as she watched the +two who stood but a few paces from her, and heard with +unwilling ears the mingled love and grief so little intended +for any outsider. Yet what could she do? To leave the +summer-house she must pass through the room in which +they were talking—must not only put an end to the +interview, but embarrass them past bearing. +</p> + +<p> +Again, if she even moved a muscle, Carlo with his +preternaturally sharp hearing, would certainly notice it: she +did not dare even to raise her hands to stop her ears, lest +he should overhear the movement; and so in sore vexation +she remained an unwilling spectator of all that passed. +True, when they spoke low and fast in Italian, she could +not always follow them, but very often they would suddenly +relapse into English, and then every syllable could be +heard through the thin wooden partition. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me," said Carlo, when, after a time, they sat down +on the rustic seat at the other end of the hut, Francesca's +head drawn close down on his shoulder,—"tell me, darling, +this one thing. Why did your father wish you to leave home? +Mr. Britton showed me your letter to him, and you said——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I didn't mean to have told you," said Francesca, +breaking in quickly; "but it was this, Carlino. Count +Carossa—the man who took Villa Bruno, you know—made +father an offer of marriage for me, and that, of course, had +to be declined, though father was vexed, and really wanted +me to accept him. Then I had to speak, for I was afraid +we should be constantly having such troubles; so I told him +that though, of course, I would always obey him, and would +consider my betrothal with you at an end, yet there was an +inner sense in which it could never end for me, and I said +all I dared to him about the future, yet could not move him. +He doesn't see what a false position it puts me in—how +hard it is to go out into the world, and keep people at a +distance without being rude or prudish. Even Enrico Ritter +at first was angry with me, because he thought I ought to +have been able to freeze away the stupid men who will +crowd round one at parties. Enrico is very good to me +now, though; he is the one man worth speaking to in +Naples, because he tells me when he has heard from you, +and if you are well." +</p> + +<p> +"He writes to tell me when he has seen you," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"It is only such a pity," continued Francesca, "that he is +not Italian instead of German; then perhaps he would be +a better talker and tell me more about you. He somehow +gets in so little and stumbles so, and it is just as if I were +starving and he were doling me out crumbs instead of bits +of bread." +</p> + +<p> +"It is a shame to abuse the dear old fellow," said Carlo, +smiling; "yet that is just what I have felt all these months +with his letters. Perhaps, after weeks of waiting, I get one +very long, very clever, very philosophical, and then in the +postscript he will remark, 'Miss Britton is all right; I saw +her in the English Church on Sunday.' Not another +word! If only Enrico could know what it means to be in +love! And yet such crumbs are better than nothing. And +he is the best and truest of friends." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; there is something so staunch and faithful about +him. Oh! he has been so good to me, especially once at a +ball when we overheard some wretches talking about you, +and saying such horrid things of you." +</p> + +<p> +"What sort of things?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I can't tell you—hateful things about your reasons +for going on the stage. You see people can't understand +the real reason, and so I suppose they try to invent one. I +can't think, Carlo <i>mio</i>, how you bear it so patiently; how +you could let Kate lecture you this morning about your +useless life, and never get even a little bit angry. You +wouldn't have done it a year ago." +</p> + +<p> +"I am growing old, you see," he answered, smiling, "and +that was nothing—nothing at all. I am a little sorry that +I shock her, but you see it is inevitable." +</p> + +<p> +"And your sister, what of her? Are you happier about +her? Have you learnt to understand each other better?" +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"It is uphill work. Did you know that Comerio followed +us to England?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Enrico never told me that; I suppose he thought I +should not know anything about such a bad character." +</p> + +<p> +"He came to London when we were there in the winter. +That has been the hardest part of it all; for I was +beginning to knock up then, and all the time there was the +horrible feeling that he was hovering over me like a vulture, +only waiting for me to fall that he might pounce down." +</p> + +<p> +"That was what made you struggle on through that last +opera," said Francesca, wiping away her tears; "Harry told +me all about it the other day. But what happened? Did +he take your place?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo sighed an assent. +</p> + +<p> +"He is there now." +</p> + +<p> +"How hard it must have been for you to be helpless! +What torture to have to lie there ill and think about it all!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; it was hard till one remembered that of course it +must be all right, and then it was a great comfort to be able +to try to get well. Besides, I have a great hope that Nita's +little boy will prove a safeguard to her; she begins really +to care for him. My one fear is that Comerio may manage +to get round Merlino and induce him not to renew his +contract with me in the summer. I know he will move heaven +and earth to go to America with the troupe and to get me +turned off." +</p> + +<p> +"And Signor Merlino? What is he like? Do you dislike +him so much as when you first saw him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know I have really grown fond of him. He is +tyrannical, and has a bad temper, but I believe he honestly +lives up to his lights. Now and then one gets out of heart +with the whole concern, and then Merlino seems intolerable, +but that has never been more than a passing mood with me." +</p> + +<p> +"And you don't think stage life so black as it is painted +by my father, for instance?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I do not," said Carlo; "it is less morally trying +than I fancied, but more physically tiring. However, I +shall be well set up after this long rest. I have written to +propose going back at the end of next week, or, if it fits in +with their arrangements, on the following Monday." +</p> + +<p> +"So soon," said Francesca, with a little sob. "Oh, +Carlino, I don't think you are strong enough; and it seems +such a miserable, wandering life for you." +</p> + +<p> +"All life without you, <i>carina</i>, must be hard," he said, +stroking the crisp, brown hair from her forehead tenderly; +"my only comfort is in hoping and fighting for Nita's safety. +You must not think of the mere discomforts of the life—they +are nothing—less than nothing. Indeed, I frankly tell +you that never have I suffered so terribly as in this idle +time, with everything so comfortable and luxurious all +round. It seemed impossible to be willing to live without +you, to endure this separation any longer. But, then, no +impossible order is ever given except by bad generals—there +is comfort in that. It is not impossible, <i>carina</i>, and it +must be done." +</p> + +<p> +"But I—I only have to stay at home; I can't even watch +you fighting," sobbed Francesca. "That was always the +fate of women. I have the wretched, easy life, and can only +wonder and wonder what is happening to you. Oh, it is so +hard! so hard!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he said; "it is the hardest lot. Yet, my own, you +told me to go out; and even if you asked me, which I know +you never would do, I could not now turn back." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not," she said, eagerly; "you will go on, and +in the end right must win. Perhaps they will no longer care +for each other, or perhaps,—indeed, I try not to wish it +exactly—Comerio might die, or——" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't let us try to look on," said Carlo, with a shudder. +"God helping me, I'll be faithful to death, but I can't +manage more than a day at a time. And see, my own, the sun +is shining again and the rain over. It is hard to say it, but +I don't think we have any business to stay here longer. +Your father might justly complain, and we will not give him +cause to do that." +</p> + +<p> +She clung to him, while her tears rained down. Kate +could not see her face, but the sunlight fell full upon his, +revealing plainly the terrible struggle he was passing through. +It was all she could do to keep from sobbing when this man, +whom she had disliked, and half despised,—this man, whose +life she had compared to the barren fig-tree, began to speak. +"See, <i>carina</i>," he said, falling back to his native language, +and speaking with the direct simplicity which is as rare as it +is attractive; "God is so just—so fair—don't you think He +must be nearest those who suffer? We have to be separated, +darling, but yet there is compensation for us both. We can +surely trust Him with our lives—yes, and delight in that!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I can't help being afraid for you," she sobbed; "you +are so far away, and how can I tell what may be happening +when that bad man hates you so, and wants to get rid of you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yet it is often when we fear most that we learn not to fear," +he said. "Oh, I remember so well the first time that came +to me! I was about Gigi's age; it was at the time of one of +the earthquake panics, and I remember waking in an awful +fright and trembling at the darkness and loneliness, then +finding that there was One nearer than my mother, and that +the house might fall or be swallowed up, yet He would be +with us." +</p> + +<p> +What followed was inaudible to Kate, but presently through +her tears she saw that after a long embrace they parted, that +he held the door open for Francesca, and let her pass out into +the sunshine alone, then shut himself in once more, and began +to pace to and fro in agitation which alarmed her. +</p> + +<p> +She saw how strong a restraint he must have put on himself +while Francesca was present, but now the limits of endurance +seemed to be passed; he could but let his wild grief drive +him as it would. Kate held her breath for awe while he +paced to and fro, pausing for a while with a groan, and +resting his head on his upraised hands as they clutched for +support at the rough, wooden wall, then once more pacing the +little room faster and yet faster, till with a stifled cry he threw +himself down on the ground, and broke into passionate sobbing +and tears. +</p> + +<p> +The waiting seemed terribly long to her; she tried not to +look at him, and fixed her eyes on the red and white flowers in +the altar-vases, but still each stifled sob fell on her ear; and +she, who had ever deemed herself a model of self-control, +found her tears streaming down merely for sympathy. She +had never seen a man cry before; indeed, she had cherished +the idea, common to most girls, that men never do cry. The +sight frightened her; it moved her strangely, and the relief +was indescribable when at last he grew calmer. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, with intervals between, came broken snatches +of prayer, spoken always in Italian. +</p> + +<p> +"My God! it must be that since Thou hast shown me Thy +will Thou wilt give me strength to do it." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +"I know that Thou art stronger than these fiends that tear +me." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +"If I could but feel Thee near all would be light, but I am +in darkness and torment—past feeling—past thinking." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +"Yet the darkness is no darkness to Thee. Suffer me not +to be false and selfish—a coward—a recreant!" +</p> + +<p> +Again, after a long pause, the stillness of the hut was +broken, but there was the dawning now of hope and triumph +in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"My Lord, I thank Thee that Thou wert no passionless +angel here, but a man—a man tempted as I am tempted. +By Thy victory, by Thy faith, by Thy perfect love, oh, Christ, +save me now!" +</p> + +<p> +Kate waited in cramped, painful stillness, half fearing, half +hoping to hear more; but he did not say another word, and +after a time rose to his feet, and crossed the hut to look at +the weather. The sun was shining brightly; he stood by the +window for some minutes, apparently in deep thought; then, +with a sigh, glanced lingeringly round the little room, arranged +his manifold wraps in the Italian fashion against which Kate +had been wont to inveigh, and left the summer-house. +</p> + +<p> +When his footsteps had died away in the distance Kate +snatched up her vases and fled. School hours were not yet +ended, and it was almost an unheard-of thing for her to go +to the schoolroom during the younger girls' lessons; but she +felt that for this Clare would forgive a breach of rules, and +went boldly in with her request. +</p> + +<p> +"Clare," she said, breathlessly, "will you spare me ten +minutes for something that will not wait?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Claremont looked up in surprise, but one glance at +Kate's face was enough for her; she rose directly, gave two +or three brief directions to Molly and Flo, and followed Kate +to her bedroom. As a girl, Kate had worshipped Miss +Claremont; but she was now just at the time when the stage +of worshipping one's elders and betters is ended, and the +stage of friendship with them has hardly begun: there had +been something not exactly amounting to a coolness between +them for the last two years; but Clare, though she was human +enough to be a little grieved, had understood it all perfectly +and knew that in time Kate would need her again, and would +fall back into the old loving confidence, with the friendship +of a woman substituted for the extravagant worship of a +girl. +</p> + +<p> +"You are in trouble, dear?" she asked, sitting down on +the sofa, with that air of being perfectly at leisure and not +in the least hurried which was peculiar to her. +</p> + +<p> +Not without many tears Kate told her story. +</p> + +<p> +"And, oh, what can I do?" she sobbed. "I have been +an eavesdropper against my will; but what ought I to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"The whole story is such a complete surprise to me," +said Clare, slowly. "You must leave me a minute or two +to think. Poor children! poor children! It was natural +enough! I wonder the thought never crossed my mind; but +somehow I had always fancied quite a different love-story for +Francesca, and I suppose that blinded me." +</p> + +<p> +"I know what you are thinking of," said Kate. "I, too, +thought that she and Harry cared for each other; and I used +to be so jealous because he liked to be with her better than +with me. Don't you remember that summer long ago, when +you first came to live here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I remember well," said Clare. "I suppose on his +side it was a mere passing fancy, and on hers genuine cousinly +liking, for she is exactly the same with him now. You +understood that she had actually been betrothed to Carlo?" +</p> + +<p> +"She said so, distinctly. I think it must have been at the +time he went on the stage, and that must clearly have been +to save his sister from this Comerio. Oh, Clare! the horrible +part to me is that I've misjudged him so cruelly! I can never +forgive myself." +</p> + +<p> +"I suspected from the first that it was in order to be with +his sister that he took to the stage," said Clare. "But I little +thought what he had had to give up." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if you could have seen him!" said poor Kate, crying +anew at the recollection of the scene she had witnessed. "It +was so terrible I can never forget it—I can never be the same +again! I used to think it grand to be above that sort of +thing, but I never knew till now what love meant." +</p> + +<p> +Clare was not sorry that Kate's theories as to the depravity +of man were annihilated. She let her talk on, putting in a +sympathetic word now and then. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't think how he can have helped hating me when I +lectured him on things I knew nothing about, and told him he +was like Nero, and talked just as if my life were perfection +and his life useless." +</p> + +<p> +"There is no pain so sharp as to find that we have +misjudged another," said Clare; "and have blamed them when +rather they should have been honored and revered. But a +sharp lesson like this stamps 'Judge not' on one's heart as +nothing else can: it is a lesson we most of us have had to +learn, dear." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't think we ought to tell them that I was in the +hut?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; that could only make you all three very uncomfortable. +I think you acted for the best in a very difficult position, +and Carlo and Francesca may just as well keep all the comfort +they can from that one interview; but I think it may be +well to let your father know that we know." +</p> + +<p> +"There can be no doubt that he must have learnt the story +at Naples," said Kate. "I should like him to know about +this afternoon, it will make me feel less of a hypocrite; but I +wish you would tell him, Clare." +</p> + +<p> +"I will, if you like, dear," she answered. +</p> + +<p> +"And do come down quickly to afternoon tea, for I don't +know how I shall meet them as if nothing had happened," +said Kate. +</p> + +<p> +"We will be quite punctual," replied Clare. "But I would +not dread it too much; such things pass off more easily than +you would fancy possible just now. Don't think of your own +part in the matter at all, just put yourself in their place." +</p> + +<p> +Left to herself once more, Kate sat still musing. The +strange and almost unprecedented insight she had gained +that afternoon into the heart and life of another had altered +her whole world. Through that revelation she saw everything +in a new light, and the change bewildered her; she +wanted time to think, for all her preconceived theories were +overthrown; and though the actual sight of that struggle and +victory had taught her more than thousands of sermons, or +libraries of "good books," it had also sent her away with a +crushing sense of her own shortcomings. Very honestly she +sat and looked at her life. Her greatest wish had always +been not to work among the respectable and humdrum poor, +but to rescue the bad from lives of shame. She was constantly +hankering after this particular work, and bitterly resented +the assurance that she was too young to handle such subjects. +Unluckily she was very intimate with some of those workers +whose zeal outruns their discretion, and who spoil their brave +efforts by making untimely allusions to them—by dragging +them into conversations at table or in the drawing-room, till +the hearers can only wonder what has become of English +reserve. A doctor discussing horrible diseases and their cure +in his family would be loudly and universally condemned; +but those whose work it is to wage war on vice seem too often, +in their eagerness, to think themselves justified in talking +"shop" in and out of season. Kate had moreover acquired +the terrible failing which seems to be becoming more and more +of a danger among the really good and earnest—she was so +eager in wishing to fight the evil that she began to take a +sort of indignant delight in tracing evil back to its source, +particularly when any well-known character was involved. +She took her excitement, not in reading the malicious gossip +of society papers, but in discussing the latest scandal with +the religious world. Yet nothing can be more certain than +that social purity is never advanced by scandalmongering, +albeit the scandal may have filtered through district-visitors +and enthusiastic suppressors of vice. +</p> + +<p> +This afternoon, in the light of the new revelation, Kate +remembered with burning shame how angry she had been +when two or three times she had tried to make inquiries as +to the state of morals in theatrical life, and Carlo had +courteously but firmly turned the conversation. She had accused +him in her own mind of shuffling and evading the topic, had +imagined everything bad of him; and now she found that +this very man who would not discuss the matter, and who +had none of the surface enthusiasm of her friends, had quietly +devoted his life to the work of saving one woman. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it that keeps him silent?" she thought to herself. +"And what is it that makes me love to talk? Is the +silent work 'golden'? Is the talk unwholesome? Yet +'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' There +can be no harm in it then. No, that won't hold, +though! because our hearts ought to be full of what we want +to save them to, not what we want to save them from. And +yet we can't very well talk of that side, or people would think +it was all cant. That is an odd thing about Carlo Donati; +he never seems afraid that people may think he is talking +cant; I do believe he goes right on without thinking what +people think of him at all. I fancy it is that he has no +conceit, and that I have a great deal; he does things quietly, and +I with a fuss and a flourish. Who would have dreamt that +with his quiet, easy way of going on, and all the time he was +singing, and reading, and talking to us, he was living through +such a fierce struggle! Oh, what a goose—what a goose +I have been! How hateful and contemptible to be afraid +he was in love with me, when it was merely thinking of +Francesca that made him look like that! And I have been +snubbing him, and looking down on him, and talking such +nonsense about him to Francesca herself! How they must +despise me!" +</p> + +<p> +With relief she turned, as Clare had advised her, from the +thought of herself to the thought of her cousin and of Carlo. +Hitherto she had considered Francesca to be very charming, +very innocent, very reprehensibly idle; one of those girls +who did not take up "parish work," and who were deserving +of mingled pity and blame. Now she asked herself honestly +whether she could, in Francesca's position, have given up all +so bravely. And Madame Merlino, from all she had gathered +about her from various sources, was no "interesting case, +but a very ordinary, commonplace, ill-tempered person, who +as yet apparently was far from grateful for the sacrifice which +had cost the lovers so much. +</p> + +<p> +"For some charming, delightful person who cared for me +I might have done it," thought Kate; "but for one of those +women like Madame Merlino, who just get into danger because +they are weak and foolish, who are dull, and uninteresting, +and heartless,—no, I could never have done it! Never!" +</p> + +<p> +Again she went back to her recollections of that scene in +the hut. What was it that had given Carlo power to choose +this hard, distasteful life? Why had he been able to leave +Francesca, and bear shame and loss, and grief? It was not +that his love for her was less keen than the love of other +men; on the contrary, the passionate fervor of his love had +terrified Kate, had transcended all her dreams of what love +in the best of men might mean. +</p> + +<p> +It must be because he was trying with all his might, trying +continuously, to live the Christ-life, which most of us do +spasmodically, and not with the whole force of our nature; +because his faith was perfect trust in One who was stronger +than the darkness, the danger, the misery which overwhelmed, +him; One whom he knew and loved; One whom he desired +above all things to serve with the free devotion of a +man, not the grudging submission of a slave. It was clearly +a faith which was independent of his feelings, independent +of his intellect, independent of his surroundings; he had +owned himself past feeling and past thinking; he had been +overwhelmed with the temptation of that valley of the +shadow of death, yet all the time had held unshaken to the one +fact, which he knew as he knew his own identity—"Thou art +with me!" +</p> + +<p> +The clock striking five recalled her to the necessity of +going downstairs, and of getting through as best she might +the dreaded meeting. +</p> + +<p> +"It serves me right," she thought to herself sadly. "I have +been conceited and patronizing, have looked on everything +and spoken of everybody as from a superior height, and now +I learn that I have been taking false, distorted views, and +have to begin life all over again." +</p> + +<p> +The loss of her old self-confidence was no pleasant sensation, +however salutary it might be; she entered the drawing-room +apprehensively, and hardly knew whether to feel relieved +or disappointed when she found Carlo bending over +his copy of Verdi's Ernani, and looking exactly as usual. +Perhaps she had not expected to see him bearing a long face, +or an expression of conventionally pious resignation, but yet +it astonished her to find that after passing through so much +a man could in two hours' time so completely have +regained control over look, and voice, and manner. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall quite miss this delightful English institution of +kettledrum," he remarked, pushing aside his book, and as +usual coming forward to help her. "I'm afraid nothing +would make it fit in, though, with the hours we have to keep." +</p> + +<p> +A great lump rose in Kate's throat as she remembered how +foolish and disagreeable she had been to him on the day +when Francesca's letter had arrived, and had made him so +absent-minded. +</p> + +<p> +"And tea, I suppose, is not good before singing," she +replied, putting forth the first platitude that came into her +head. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said, with a smile which was wholly pleasant +and had no suspicion of sarcasm. "There are a few things +which must be renounced even by the Neros who fiddle while +Rome is burning!" +</p> + +<p> +The genuinely humorous look in the eyes which but a +little while ago she had seen full of tears, touched Kate, she +felt half choked, and her usually ready words faltered. +</p> + +<p> +"I want to beg your pardon for saying that," she began, +hesitatingly; "I don't really know anything about stage +life,—I—I—" (the admission was hard to make) "have never +even been inside a theatre; only somehow one gets into the +way of picking up other people's notions and echoing them +without really finding out the truth. I had no right to say +such a thing, I hope you will forgive me." +</p> + +<p> +His warm-hearted, Italian reception of the apology a little +overwhelmed her, and she was glad that the entrance of +Clare and the girls made the talk more general. +</p> + +<p> +"The English seem to have a rooted idea that an actor +must be a dangerous sort of fellow, and they generally look +askance at a foreigner," said Carlo. "I don't think there +are many Merlebanks ready to befriend fog-stricken singers, +and I assure you I have become well accustomed to being +regarded as a sort of dynamite, to be kept at a safe distance." +</p> + +<p> +"The effect of Puritan traditions," said Clare. "But there +is certainly something in the argument that now the stage is +so greatly improved the attitude towards it ought to be +changed. I am not sure, Carlo, that in the end you may not +convert me." +</p> + +<p> +"It is not I who ought to convert you, but the many +English actors and actresses now living, who by their noble +efforts to raise the drama, and by their own pure and upright +lives, give the lie to the whole view which the Puritans +were no doubt quite warranted in holding. Or, if you will +not be converted by the living, at least study the lives of the +dead; think of such a man as Phelps, such a woman as your +Mrs. Siddons!" +</p> + +<p> +The talk was interrupted by an abrupt question from +Molly,— +</p> + +<p> +"What can have become of Francesca? I never knew +her late for tea before." +</p> + +<p> +Kate felt herself coloring, but was relieved when Carlo +quietly turned off the remark. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you think she may be finishing her sketch in the +church?" he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," said Molly, quite satisfied, "and perhaps +she will stay on and hear them practise the anthem for +to-morrow. It is our yearly festival to-morrow, you know. +By-the-bye, Kate, have you done the vases?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Kate, snatching up a biscuit, and crossing the +room to feed Bevis, that her burning cheeks might not attract +notice. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca did not appear till dinner-time. Kate glanced +at her then apprehensively, and saw that she had not been +nearly so successful as Carlo in getting rid of all traces +of her emotion. It must have been patent to any one with +eyes in his head that she had been crying; and Harry, with +the inconvenient candor which cousins and brothers often +exhibit, commented across the table on her appearance. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Francesca, you look dreadfully tired. Has Kate +been showing you all the harrowing sights in her district, or +telling you of the horrors of the Ashborough slums?" +</p> + +<p> +She blushed and faltered; Kate longed helplessly to come +to her rescue, but before she could think of a single thing to +say, Carlo had dashed recklessly into the conversation, not +at all troubling himself about his matter or his manner, but +only desirous to turn the subject somehow, and save +Francesca from embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +"To slum!" he exclaimed, quickly, catching at the last +word; "that is your new English verb, just invented, is it +not? I was told in London that slumming had become a +fashion. Is it so at Ashborough, too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite so much; the old houses in Ashborough are +notorious for being infested with a particular kind of vermin, +to which the fashionable have a mortal antipathy. I don't +think it is likely to become very popular here to slum." +</p> + +<p> +By this time Kate had recovered her presence of mind, and +bravely kept the ball going, Clare helping her adroitly, and +the lovers feeling relieved that all had been so well tided over. +Kate was conscious all through the evening that Carlo was +shielding Francesca from observation, talking more than +usual to cover her silence, carrying Harry off to sing when +he was making his way to the shady corner of the drawing-room +where she had ensconced herself, and skilfully contriving +to lead the conversation round to cards by volunteering +to show them some Italian tricks, from which they somehow +glided naturally into a rubber. +</p> + +<p> +"He is managing us all," thought Kate to herself, admitting +that the sensation was novel; "but it is for Francesca's +sake; he does not seem to think about himself. How will +he dispose of me, I wonder?" +</p> + +<p> +She was not left long in doubt, for at that minute he +turned to her. +</p> + +<p> +"You have no class this evening?" he inquired. "Then +I wish you would play us once more those <i>Kinderscenen</i> of +Schumann's which you played the other night." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Kate, do play," urged Harry; "I always get on +better at whist with music going." +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon, Carlo began to tell them a story which he had +once heard of a gambler's wife, whose miserable lot it was +every evening to sit at the piano, where, in a mirror, she +could see the hands of her husband's dupes, and reveal to him +by her playing what cards they held. +</p> + +<p> +While he talked he had been finding her music for her, +then, with one swift glance towards the quiet corner where +Francesca sat with her needlework, he went back to the +card-table. +</p> + +<p> +Kate could see him from where she sat, and as she played +on dreamily, musing over that strange afternoon, and watching +Carlo's untroubled face, she said to herself again and again, +"I have been a fool! a fool! He is the bravest man I ever +met, and the best!" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Claremont told all to Mr. Britton that evening, and it +was agreed that when she could find a good opportunity she +should allow Carlo to see that she knew about his betrothal +and its abrupt ending. A few words spoken by Mr. Kavanagh, +the doctor, after his final visit to Carlo the next +morning, made her doubly desirous to talk the whole matter +over with him, and she was not sorry that the festival evening +proved too cold and damp for him to risk going to church, +so that he was left quite alone, and gladly accepted her +invitation to come and chat comfortably over the schoolroom +fire. +</p> + +<p> +"This sort of life is very spoiling," he said, throwing himself +back in an arm-chair with the easy grace which characterized +all his movements, and glancing round the delightfully +snug, homelike room. "I can't think what it is that you +English people do to your houses; there is a charm about +them one does not seem to get elsewhere." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you could have seen a little more of English +home-life," said Clare. "If only you had been strong enough +there are several people about here whom I should have +liked you to meet." +</p> + +<p> +"It is better not, perhaps," he replied; "I should only +grow discontented with the life I shall have to go back to, +and feel the contrast all the more between houses like this +and the dingy lodging-houses and third-rate hotels which we +have to frequent." +</p> + +<p> +"It must be a wretched life, wandering from place to +place," she said. +</p> + +<p> +He sighed a little. +</p> + +<p> +"There are a few discomforts, but, after all, they are but +trifles. No; what I shall feel most is the going away from +this home where all is congenial; away from all of you who +can talk well on every subject under the sun; you who have +so many interests, and who read and think. Some people +do not seem to feel the atmosphere they live in, but to me +it makes all the difference; it is stimulating to live in a +household like this, and to be with a man like Mr. Britton; +and it is depressing to live perpetually with people who take +little interest in anything outside their own profession, and +to hear nothing but gossip and stage talk." +</p> + +<p> +"Then they are not very highly educated, I suppose, the +members of Signor Merlino's Company?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, except as regards music. Of course, you know, I +am not a bit intellectual myself, and am nothing of a reader; +but, all the same, I breathe better in this sort of atmosphere, +perhaps merely because it is what I was accustomed to at +home. If it were not for Sardoni, who is witty and clever, I +don't know how I should bear the monotony of it. Sometimes +I would give anything to be older and cleverer; many +men would be able to alter the atmosphere,—Enrico Ritter, +for instance, with his brains and his power as a talker, might +work a revolution in the green-room." +</p> + +<p> +Clare could have smiled at the notion of Enrico's gaining +more real influence by his ready tongue than Carlo by his +fascinating character and unselfish life, but: she would not +for the world have said anything which, even for a moment, +could have broken the unconscious simplicity that was one +of his great charms. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose Signor Sardoni is your only friend?" she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! he is a sort of brother to me, but many of them are +my friends. That is one thing which makes up for many +other shortcomings in stage life—the wonderful good-nature. +I can't tell you how good-natured most of them have been to +me, though I came among them as a novice, and am by far +the youngest in the Company." +</p> + +<p> +"I had always heard that there is so much jealousy in +professional life." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that is true, too. There are jealousies and quarrels, +but then so there are in private life; and nowhere in private +life, setting aside Merlebank, have I met with such real, +genuine kindness as from men like Sardoni, and Caffieri, +and Marioni,—indeed from almost all of them." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know I was talking this morning to Mr. Kavanagh?" +said Clare. "I am such an old friend that I hope +you will forgive me for meddling." +</p> + +<p> +"My best nurse has certainly the first right to interview +the doctor," said Carlo, smiling. "I like Mr. Kavanagh. +though he seems rather inclined to think that everything +must give way to the supreme duty of minding your own +health. He reminds me of Marioni, who is so wrapped up +in his profession that if the world were turned topsy-turvy +he would only wonder what the effect would be on Italian +opera." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Kavanagh tells me he is a little afraid you do not +quite understand his English." +</p> + +<p> +"That is either a libel on his pronunciation or on my +intellect. I understand him perfectly." +</p> + +<p> +"He said," continued Clare, "that he did not think you +could have grasped his meaning to-day after he had been +sounding you, because you seemed hardly to bestow a +thought on the matter, though he told you that this +continuous public singing would either kill you or cure you. +Did you gather that from what he said?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I did. He told me there was no disease of the +lungs, but a slight delicacy, and that using my voice in this +way would be a case of kill or cure. Of course I hope for the +cure, but if the other thing comes why there is no more to be +said. A singer may as fitly die in harness as any other man." +</p> + +<p> +"But do you really mean to run so grave a risk? Life is +surely a gift not to be treated lightly! Are you wise to try +the sharp American winter, the long journeys, the singing, +which you are told is a doubtful experiment?" +</p> + +<p> +"It must seem stupid and headstrong to you, I am afraid, +and I can't altogether explain it; but if what you believed +to be your duty called you one way, and the care of your +health called you another, I think you would agree that +health must go to the wall." +</p> + +<p> +"I want to tell you," began Clare, a little nervously, "that +I have just learnt the true facts of the case. Mr. Britton, as +you know, knew much and guessed the rest; and I hope, +Carlo, you will not be vexed that I, too, should know about +it. It was very blind of me never to have seen how matters +were with you and Francesca." +</p> + +<p> +"You really know about that?" he exclaimed, with relief. +"Then we can talk quite plainly. I am glad that you +know, more glad than I can tell you. I have longed to talk +to you about it all these weeks. And then, too, you will be +such a comfort to Francesca. You will take care of her +next week—when I am gone." +</p> + +<p> +His voice shook, and Clare felt the tears starting to her +eyes for sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +"You told me that you promised your mother to be with +Madame Merlino," she said; "but if she had known all that +the promise would cost you do you think she would have +wished you to keep it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not; but I don't see that one can get any sort +of guidance out of that. It is not because I made the +promise that I must go on with the life, but because I know it +to be right—know that I am called to do it." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose it would not have been possible to induce your +sister to leave the stage?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Her husband would never have consented to it for +one thing; and then, even if she had done so, there would +have been nothing to prevent Comerio from ending his +engagement with Merlino, and following her wherever she +chose to settle down. There was no way but this—there is +no way." +</p> + +<p> +"Such a case is surely a heavy indictment against theatrical +life," said Clare. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think so? That seems to be hardly just. A +scandal connected with the stage is in every one's mouth, but +the sins of private people are hushed up and kindly forgotten, +though there is not really more immorality among us than +among them. If an actress loses her reputation you hear of +it, because she has to live in the 'fierce light' of public +life, and so you come to think that we are worse than the +other professions. However, I feel with you, that Nita would +probably have been safer and happier had she been brought +up in a home like this, for instance, and had married in +private life. Such a brave, noble woman as Domenica Borelli, +or any woman capable of taking care of herself, may well +become an actress if that is her true vocation. If she is not +able to take care of herself, and is yet unable to retire from +the stage, why then her husband, or father, or brother must +do all he can to shield her." +</p> + +<p> +Clare was silent for some minutes; it was very hard to +withstand the mingled humility and self-reliance which +seemed so strangely blended in Carlo's character. He was +a man who listened to advice and suggested with the patience +and deference of a child, but when once convinced of the +right nothing could shake him; and she knew that it was his +genuine goodness that gave him this power, the fearless faith +which she had long ago noticed as the strong point in his +nature, and which during all these years had been strengthening +and developing. Young as he was, he seemed to her +indeed well fitted to be poor Nita's champion, even while in +her heart she longed to persuade him to turn back, blinded +by her love for him and for Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +The thought of Mr. Kavanagh's words returned to her +with so keen a pang that to be silent was impossible. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet surety," she urged, "there is a noble mistake which +you may be falling into—an exaggerated self-sacrifice, a +needless throwing away of life and happiness? After all, you +know the command is to love our neighbors as ourselves." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you quite think that?" he said. "I thought it was +now 'Love one another as I have loved you.' It ought not +to be as impossible as it seems to live out that rule." +</p> + +<p> +He sighed, because he remembered that a few weeks ago +the struggle had been to endure the being laid aside, while +now his heart sided with Clare, and he only longed to be +able to think her arguments right. +</p> + +<p> +"You must recollect how ill you have been," she continued. +"It is true you have recovered wonderfully fast, but +it was a very severe attack of pleurisy; it seems to me that +you ought to think very seriously indeed before venturing on +the Western winter. And even if your health stands the life, +it is so miserable for you; I can't bear to think that you +should have to go on with it year after year." +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke, a vision of his future life rose before him. +He thought of the monotonous gossip of the green-room, the +perpetual bustle and confusion, the manifold packings and +unpackings, the desolate lodgings, the long journeys; the +thought of the insults of Gomez, the ill-temper of Merlino, +the stinging words and cold manner of Anita, the unwelcome +love and admiration of sentimental women, and, above all, +of the daily martyrdom of separation from Francesca. His +heart sank down like lead. +</p> + +<p> +"It is humiliating to be such a creature of moods," he +said; "last night I had got to the point of being content and +even happy to have been called out to battle, and here I +am hankering after love, and home, and peace again. Man +is a contradictory animal, Clare!" +</p> + +<p> +"If you are sure—quite sure—that you are choosing +rightly, I will not say a word," she replied. "But you and +Francesca are very dear to me, and I can't bear to think that +you may be throwing away your life on a hopeless task, and +bringing such a terrible grief to her. She is so young and +fragile, so little fitted to bear great sorrow." +</p> + +<p> +He tried to speak, but his voice failed him; he pushed +back his chair and took several turns up and down the room, +then returned to the fireside and stood with his elbows on +the mantelpiece and his head in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"You see, Carlo," she resumed, "I can't help wishing +Francesca to have the happiest life, and though I would be +the last to say that a single woman may not be extremely +happy and useful, yet it does no good to blink the fact that +her life is incomplete. You will think it strange that a very +happy old maid of fifty should speak like this, but Fanny +Kemble's words are very true,—'Those who are alone must +learn to be lonely;' and we old people, who know how hard +that is, shrink from the thought of the young ones setting out +on the rough road by which we have travelled." +</p> + +<p> +"Clare, for God's sake say no more!" he exclaimed, turning +towards her a face so full of anguish that she solely +regretted her words. "I must not turn back like a coward, even +for love of her; but it is hard—so fearfully hard—when the +very saints of the earth tempt one! And that she should +have to suffer—that seems so unjust—so intolerable!" +</p> + +<p> +She signed to him to sit down on the sofa beside her, and +looked with her quiet, shining eyes into his troubled ones. +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca will not think that intolerable; to share your +pain will be her comfort. And since you are called to make +this choice which will bring shadow on both your lives, why +then I have nothing more to say. Once sure of God's will +we need not trouble about the rest." +</p> + +<p> +"And if I choose my own will now, why I should not be +fit to make Francesca happy," he said, musingly. "Sometimes, +Clare, it seems to me that the Donati are fated to give +their lives for a forlorn hope." +</p> + +<p> +Clare mused over the well known story of the two patriots. +They had been called to give up home, and love, and at last +life itself, to save their country from tyranny; the third +Donati seemed to be called to give up home, and love, and +possibly life also, to save one soul from sin. It was a less +picturesque lot, but who would dare to say that it was lower? +</p> + +<p> +"It is strange," she said at length, "but your very name +means, 'A given man.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Does Carlo mean 'man'? I never knew that before." +</p> + +<p> +He fell into deep thought, and Clare noticed that his face +gradually resumed its usual expression. +</p> + +<p> +"After all," he said, presently, "it does seem strange that +we should eternally be slipping back to a short-sighted +selfishness. Betweenwhiles, one can only wonder at the fuss one +makes over sorrow, and then comes a slight change in +weather, or health, or people, or devils, and the struggle +begins all over again. I see there is some truth in Captain +Britton's accusations,—we Italians do love pleasure and ease, +and do cordially detest storm and strife." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear boy, I think English people are much the same!" +said Clare, laughing. Then growing grave again, "But tell +me, Carlo, is there nothing I can do for you? Since I can't +see you as happy as I should wish, let me at least have some +little way of helping you." +</p> + +<p> +He took her hand in his courtly Italian fashion and +kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +"It is thinking what you have made of life, Clare, that +will help us most," he said. +</p> + +<p> +She colored, and her eyes filled with tears. +</p> + +<p> +"To be able to talk to you, and write to you freely will be +a comfort to Francesca, and do you think, Clare, you would +sometimes write to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I will," she replied warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, that will be something to look forward to. +You see it is rather dreary to have no belongings in the +world. Enrico Ritter is my only correspondent; for, though +my old Maestro writes every now and then, he confines +himself strictly to his one subject." +</p> + +<p> +At that moment they were interrupted by one of the +extraordinary coincidences which afford subject-matter to the +Society for Psychical Research. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap31"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. +<br><br> +A NEW PROPOSAL. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Choose well; your choice is<br> + Brief and yet endless."—GOETHE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Two gentlemen to see you, sir," announced the servant, +advancing with a visiting-card on the salver. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo having just given out that he had no belongings in +the world, wondered who could possibly have arrived at this +time in the evening to see him, and while the footman crossed +the schoolroom had had time to wonder whether Merlino +and Sardoni might, for some reason, need him; whether it +could be a plot of Comerio's, whether Uncle Guido had at +last relented and come to seek him out and make up their +quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +To his utter astonishment he read on the card the name +of "Piale." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, of all extraordinary things, that the dear old +Maestro should come here just as I was speaking of him!" +he exclaimed. "And the other? He sent in no card? Is +he young, light-haired, German-looking?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir," replied the servant, "middle-aged and looked +like an English gentleman. He gave no card, sir." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's hope that possibly Enrico might have come over +with Piale faded away, and asking Clare to excuse him he +went down quickly to the drawing-room, where with one +swift glance he perceived a stranger, tall, thin, business-like, +evidently English, and dear old Piale himself, with his thick +bush of grizzled hair, his parchment-like skin, and his eager, +fiery eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The warmth of the greeting between master and pupil must +have amused the stranger; but perhaps he was well used to +demonstrative foreigners, for the business-like air never +forsook him for an instant as he watched the face and figure of +the young Italian. By the time he had thoroughly scrutinized +him, had taken in his various merits and defects, had glanced +at the clock on the mantelpiece and at the open piano, the +two friends remembered his presence, and Piale, with pride +and emotion, said, as he turned towards him,— +</p> + +<p> +"There, sir! now let me introduce to you my best +pupil—not looking so much the worse for his illness as I had +feared!" +</p> + +<p> +"I had the pleasure of hearing Signor Donati several +times in town last winter," said the Englishman, pleasantly; +"and I am glad to make his acquaintance." +</p> + +<p> +"And your voice, my son?" said Piale, eagerly—"it has +really not suffered, you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"It seems all the better for the rest," said Carlo; "and I +hope to be at work again in a week's time." +</p> + +<p> +"Let me hear you!" said Piale. "Come! what will you +sing to me? '<i>Il balen?</i>' '<i>Largo al factotum?</i>' What have +we here? '<i>Carmen!</i>' Are you studying that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; we are to give it in America this autumn." +</p> + +<p> +"Let me hear what you make of the Toreador's song!" +said the Maestro, seating himself at the piano. +</p> + +<p> +"But you are tired with your journey," suggested Carlo. +"You say you have travelled night and day. Let me come +over to-morrow to Ashborough and sing to you there." +</p> + +<p> +"Bah!" exclaimed Piale, with a snort of contempt. "Am +I to find more refreshment in eating or drinking or sleeping +than in music, my friend?" +</p> + +<p> +And with an expression of intense satisfaction he thundered +out the introduction to the song, while Carlo obediently +braced himself up to sing, anxious as ever to please the +autocratic old man, but a little nervous about attempting this +particular song, which he had only studied by himself, and +slightly troubled by speculations as to the English stranger +and Piale's hurried journey. Once before the Maestro had +plotted against him, and he could not help fancying that the +stranger had something to do with a possible engagement. +</p> + +<p> +All this faded, however, the instant he began to sing. +Piale's accompaniment was exhilarating. For the first time +he began to feel that he was Escamillo, and his rendering of +the song brought a look of perfect serenity over the Maestro's +face, and drew forth hearty exclamations of "Bravo! bravo!" +from the business-like Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +He had hardly returned to himself and ceased to be the +Toreador, when both visitors beset him, Piale with an +impetuous gust of words, the stranger with more eagerness of +manner than might have been expected of an Englishman. +He listened half bewildered to the proposal, only taking in +by degrees that the stranger was a well-known London +manager, that he was offering him an immediate engagement, +precisely the engagement which would most advance his +professional career,—that the terms were higher than anything he +had ever dreamed of attaining to, that they made his weekly +pittance in Merlino's Company seem more than ever scanty +and insufficient. As in a dream, he listened to the praises +heaped on him—to the assurances that he would be the lion +of the London season, that already his appearance was +eagerly awaited, since, even in the unsuccessful winter +performances, and with health, and weather, and surroundings +against him, he had made his mark in the musical world. +For a minute he was dazzled by the brilliant prospects held +out before him. Fame, a rapid and striking success, +wealth and ease, thoroughly competent fellow-artistes, the +London world at his feet, and his future assured,—what +wonder if such a glowing possibility should for a minute +attract him! And attract him it did. He longed for it as +a few hours before he could not have believed it possible +that he should have longed for anything having no +connection with Francesca. It seemed to him impossible to +turn from this bright future to the dismal drudgery in the +provinces with Merlino, the poverty, and hard work, and +scant sympathy. He was young, and longed for happiness—an +artist, and longed to bring his art to its highest perfection +under the best conditions—a human being, and +appreciation was cheering, and lack of recognition depressing. +</p> + +<p> +But, for all that, above the eager representations of Piale +and the London manager, and above his own personal craving +for this new life, he could distinctly hear the inner voice, +which had never failed him, repeating again and again, +"Remember Anita! She has no one but you! Be faithful!" +</p> + +<p> +Long before he had ended the struggle, came the necessity +of making some sort of reply to the offer, but no one ever +passed through a temptation and found all the time he +desired for preparation. Every inch of the ground had to be +contested, and even in his courteous thanks there was an +unusual amount of hesitation, which the London manager +put down to diffidence and inexperience. Piale, however, +knowing him better, began to fear that it boded a refusal. +</p> + +<p> +"You are not strong enough for the drudgery of a travelling +Company," he exclaimed. "Everything points to your +accepting this offer." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked at him a trifle reproachfully, and his manner +became less diffident and his words more to the point. +</p> + +<p> +"The offer is indeed a very tempting one," he said; "but +I fear I must refuse it. You see, sir, Merlino is my +brother-in-law, and my engagement with him—though it may be ended +next month, if either of us wishes it to be ended——" +</p> + +<p> +The manager interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +"But the mere fact that the Impresario is your brother-in-law +is surely in your favor. He would be interested in +your success—would wish you to seize on this opportunity, +which may be turned to very good account, I assure you." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo gave Piale a glance which said as plainly as +words, "See what a difficulty you have landed me in!" +</p> + +<p> +The Maestro responded to it by a suggestion which +relieved his conscience, and proved of some use to Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Take a few hours to think it all over," he suggested. "I +will come and see you again about it to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"That is not a bad idea," said the manager. "But I +must beg for a final answer to-morrow morning, for Metasti +has failed me suddenly, and we are in great need of a baritone. +If you refuse—but you'll not refuse, I hope. Signor +Piale, you must talk him over!" +</p> + +<p> +And after a little friendly banter, and a few skilfully-framed +compliments, the manager rose to go, shaking hands +cordially with Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"And I shall hope soon to number you in my Company!" +were his parting words. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't on any account come to the door!" said Piale, +excitedly. "The damp night—your throat!—for Heaven's +sake take care of your throat! And to-morrow I shall come +over to receive your definite acceptance—nothing less, mind—a +definite acceptance—or, <i>diavolo!</i> I shall think you have +gone clean demented!" +</p> + +<p> +For the greater part of that night Carlo fought the terrible +craving that had seized him to accept the London offer. He +was ashamed to find how ardently he longed for all that the +manager had suggested; while Piale's assurance that he was +not strong enough for the hard work in Merlino's Company +had in it a truth which made it doubly dangerous. It was to +be a case of kill or cure—the doctor had told him as much; +and though at first the idea had not in the least shaken his +purpose, yet now that he was alone, with all around him dark +and still, he began to consider the two possibilities. +</p> + +<p> +There was that glowing picture of life and success which +the London manager had painted. In imagination he lived +through the inspiriting reception, the artistic triumph; he +thought of Piale's delight; he began even to fancy that, to +crown all, it would prove indeed that "nothing succeeds like +success," and that Captain Britton would at last be won +over, would join in the general homage, and see that after +all a son-in-law on the operatic stage was not a man to be +despised. He was human and very young, and for a while he +revelled in this thought. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in sharp contrast, he saw another picture. +</p> + +<p> +He was back in Merlino's Company, toiling through the +familiar round of operas, overworked, underpaid—doing, as +Sardoni put it, the "dirty work" of the troupe; his voice +gradually failing, till he had sunk below the level even of +Fasola, and had to content himself with the minor parts; +and so on through a weary indefinite time; till at last, left +behind by his companions in some far-away American hotel +or hospital, he died alone among strangers, with no one near +him who could even understand his native tongue. +</p> + +<p> +To be killed by his work! When looked at in this fashion—when +seen in detail—it was no attractive prospect! At +four-and-twenty no healthy man can contemplate death without +a strong natural repugnance; the mere "lust of finishing" +chains him to this world where his work has but just +begun. The old whose work seems ended, or the young +whose bodies are worn out by disease, may naturally long to +die: but Carlo was not worn out either mentally or physically; +he was at the threshold of life; and notwithstanding all he +had been through, life looked beautiful and desirable, and +death dark and unattractive. Whether right or wrong, these +were his feelings, and he could not alter them in order to +fit in with the ideas of the religious world. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, without direct disobedience to his orders, he +must choose the hard course and refuse the easy one. +Tossing miserably to and fro, he wondered whether his whole +life was to be like this; wondered whether every one had +this hard wrestling with temptation; wondered how it was +that most men seemed to drift along so comfortably. Did +they all the time wage an unseen warfare like this? Or was +he naturally more selfish and indolent? Or had the devil a +special spite against him? +</p> + +<p> +Then, in the midst of his questionings, there floated back +to him the familiar words, "Men are not more willing to live +the life of the Crucified." +</p> + +<p> +Willing to live the life, indeed! Why, he had forgotten +all about it! Had been thinking of a life of ease, and glory, +and pleasure; had had his own interests in view, not the +interests of other people; had consulted his own will, not +the will of the All-Father. Slowly the ruling power of his +life resumed its sway over him; and then, tired out with all +he had gone through, he fell asleep from very exhaustion. +</p> + +<p> +When he woke the night was over, the sun was shining, +the thrushes and blackbirds were singing, the rooks were +cawing, and by the light of the early morning he could see +the familiar picture of the Constant Shepherd. The night +of temptation was over, too, the darkness had passed, and +what he had to do was as clear as day to him; moreover, he +knew that he could do it. +</p> + +<p> +He must definitely decline the London offer. He must +not, as he was half tempted to do, mention it to Merlino, by +way of inducing him to renew his engagement at once or to +raise his salary. If he did this Merlino's suspicions might +be roused; his brother-in-law would certainly wonder what +prompted him to refuse so good an offer. Then, when Piale +came over that day, he must beg him to mention Comerio +to the London manager; he must move heaven and earth to +procure for his rival the offer which he had declined. To +say that he liked doing this would be untrue. It was +undeniably bitter to him, but he saw that it would safely +dispose of Comerio during the summer; and, moreover, he +wished to be just, even to his enemy, and since he had been +the means of ending one engagement for Comerio, it seemed +but fair that he should do his best to help him when +opportunity offered. +</p> + +<p> +He found, however, that Piale hardly understood this view +of the case, and his interview with the Maestro was stormy. +In the end, however, Piale had to submit to the inevitable; +and with a sigh and a shrug of the shoulders, owned that he +could not stand against the folly of a man who had no eye +to his own interests, and who deliberately threw away the +very ticket which would have brought him a prize in the +world's lottery. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed to lunch at Merlebank, and diverted the Brittons +very much by the mingled fondness and ferocity with +which he seemed to regard his pupil. He tried to win them +over to sympathize with his disappointment; and it transpired +that the instant he had heard of Metasti's illness, he +had hurried to London to see if he could not obtain the +engagement for his pupil. +</p> + +<p> +"But, you see, he is bent on his own destruction," +concluded the old man, with a gesture of impatience. "One +might as well try to argue with a mule! However, my son, +since you are set on going to America, let me give you one +piece of advice—beware of damp beds; take my advice, +and always sleep between the blankets." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo made a gesture of horror. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, dear Maestro, you really expect me to be too +self-denying!" +</p> + +<p> +"Self-denying, indeed! why, yes, the life of an opera-singer +is one eternal practice of self-denial!" said Piale, +gesticulating with his knife and fork. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo laughed lightly. +</p> + +<p> +"And I do my best to be your very good pupil, but at hotel +blankets I draw the line!" +</p> + +<p> +Francesca and Clare did all they could to talk the old man +into a good humor, and to console him under his disappointment; +and when Carlo parted with him at the Ashborough +station, he was not at all sure that it was not emotion which +made his answers so curt and his voice so gruff. +</p> + +<p> +"You will not forget about Comerio?" he pleaded, at the +very last moment. +</p> + +<p> +Piale replied only by a grunt. But there was nothing but +affection in his parting glance; and apparently he must have +conciliated the London manager, and spoken in high terms +of Comerio, for in three days' time Carlo received the +following letter from Sardoni:— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"DEAR VAL, +</p> + +<p> +"Our worthy Comerio has fallen on his feet, and +has obtained the height of his ambition—an engagement for +the London season. Lucky is he who deserveth nothing! +By what rule of philosophy or religion do you explain such +an event? However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody +good. We shall be quit of him, and—Heaven be praised!—this +is the last week I shall have to keep an eye on him by +day and share dressing-rooms with him by night. Your +costumes are already being taken in and up; Comerio +growled not a little at the nuisance of having them all +refitted when he first came back. He remains in Merlino's +good books, and has been fishing hard for America in the +autumn; but when anything goes wrong it scores one to you, +for the Impresario always swears that it would never have +happened had you been in the Company. We go to Brighton +on Whit-Sunday, and open the next day with <i>Faust</i>. It +is supposed that the Whitsuntide holidays may make the +thing a success; I have my doubts. However, with you as +Valentino it may be. Write and tell me whether you come +back on the Sunday or Monday, and I will meet you at the +station. Monday will be all right, if you don't want to call +a special rehearsal after the pleurisy; but as I'm sure you +could do Valentino in your sleep, I don't see that we need +be bothered with that. If you are at the Vicarage, you might +mention that we sail in September, and that I could spare a +few days in August if they would like it. Gigi sends +affectionate messages by the yard. He talks of little else but +your return. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Ever yours,<br> + "SARDONI."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Once again Carlo and Francesca kept their Whitsuntide +together. It had fallen earlier than on the previous year, +and it was no small comfort to Carlo that his last day at +Merlebank should have chanced to be that quiet Sunday, +when he was able to walk through the sunny grounds to +church with Francesca, and later in the day to have a long +quiet talk with her as to the future. Of Mr. Kavanagh's +kill-or-cure verdict he would not allow her to hear a word; +she was quite anxious enough about him already, and Clare +agreed with him that there was no need to mention it. But +the doctor's verdict troubled kind-hearted Mr. Britton; and +when on the Monday morning the carriage was announced +and all the family met together in the hall to wish Carlo +good-bye, he watched with deep sympathy the silent handshake +that passed between the lovers. They both tried so +bravely to keep up appearances, that Mr. Britton was touched +with compassion and drew Francesca aside into his study. +If the work should indeed prove too much for Carlo, +Francesca would never see him again. He would at least give +them the comfort of a less public farewell; the Captain +might possibly be vexed, but Mr. Britton was willing to risk +something for the niece who was almost as dear to him as +his own children. +</p> + +<p> +"Donati," he said, "just come in here one minute, will +you?" then, closing the door after Carlo, he gave him a little +push on the shoulder, indicating that he should go across +to Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo did not speak, but he gave his host a grateful look, +and Mr. Britton kindly turned his back on them and began +to make hay in the papers on his table, to unlock a drawer +with a most unusual rattling of his keys, and to behave as a +kind-hearted uncle should behave under the circumstances. +Presently, crossing the room, he opened the French window, +signed to Francesca that she might beat a retreat into the +garden and avoid the assembled family, then pioneered +Carlo through the hall to the carriage, talking to him as if +they were just ending the discussion of some business matter. +There were manifold hand-shakings, good wishes, regrets, +and entreaties from Flo that he would come again; but at +last the ordeal was over, Carlo was shut into the carriage +with Mr. Britton and was driven rapidly along the dusty +road to Ashborough. He was quite silent, and sat gazing +out at the green hedgerows, seeing nothing, however, but the +inward vision of the woman he loved. Not till they had +reached the town did he dare to trust his voice, but a +sudden perception that the time left to him was short roused his +native courtesy, and he tried to thank his host for all the +great kindness shown to him during his illness. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear fellow," said Mr. Britton, "I can only say it +has been a great pleasure to have you. I look on you as my +prospective nephew, you know, though for the present we +must keep that hope to ourselves." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo grasped his hand, those kindly words of hope seemed +to put new life into him, and all through that dark day they +rang in his ears. Travelling to Brighton, among the hosts +of holiday excursionists, he could not help remembering the +drive back from Pompeii on that last Whit-Monday. It was +less than a year ago, and yet how endless the time seemed +to him! How should he ever get through a whole lifetime +when eleven months had seemed so long and weary? But, +fortunately, he had long ago discovered that by trying to +take in the idea of life as a whole we only give ourselves +mental indigestion, and that a day at a time is as much as a +man can healthily swallow. He turned quite away from both +past and future, and taking out his copy of <i>Ernani</i>, began to +study the part of Don Carlos with the close attention and +imaginative power which made his impersonations so great a +contrast to the average attainments of an operatic singer. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni was waiting for him at the Brighton station, and +though the thought of returning to the old life had been +distasteful, yet somehow he fell back into his old place very +naturally, and talked cheerfully enough as they drove through +the crowded streets to the Merlinos' lodgings. +</p> + +<p> +"Merlino has engaged a room for you," explained Sardoni; +"they are staying close to the theatre, and I thought you +would rather be with them. Marioni and I are down by the +sea." +</p> + +<p> +"And Comerio has gone?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank Heaven, yes! He came to see us off at Victoria +last night. That London engagement came in the very nick +of time. If it hadn't been for that I believe he would have +managed to prevent your coming back. These are your +quarters, and look! there is Gigi on the balcony." +</p> + +<p> +On catching sight of them the little fellow beat a hasty +retreat, and came rushing headlong down the stairs, where, +with a cry of joy, he flung himself into Carlo's arms, and +clung with all the strength of a child's eager love round his +neck. +</p> + +<p> +"Mamma is upstairs," panted Gigi. "Come and see her." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, still carrying the little brown-faced fellow in his +arms, went up to the sitting-room, looking anxiously towards +the pretty, slim figure standing in the bow-window. The +brother and sister had been long enough apart to see each +other with something of the freshness of observation which +comes to relations after they have been separated for some +time. +</p> + +<p> +Nita thought she had never before noticed what a beautiful +face he had; Carlo perceived, as he had never perceived +before, the worn, unsatisfied expression which was now so +plainly visible about her mouth and in her eyes. "If I could +only comfort her," he thought,—"if I could only get the +least bit nearer to her!" But more than ever he felt that +she kept him wilfully at a distance, and that her love for +Comerio was an impassable barrier which must make her +cold and distant to the man who had taken his place. +</p> + +<p> +This was the hardest part of all, that he loved her, and yet +could not win her love; that he had lost all to help her, and +that she would not be helped; that he tried ceaselessly to +break down the barrier between them, and that she as +persistently tried to build it up again. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing for him to do but to go on patiently, +never despairing; but it was hard work, and his heart sank +within him at the prospect, even while he talked cheerfully +to Merlino and dined composedly, and answered Gigi's +questions about Merlebank. He lingered behind the others to +see the last of the little boy, then made his way along the +colonnade to the stage-door of the theatre. The door-keeper +looked up from his newspaper and gave him a friendly greeting, +for Merlino's Company had had a very successful week +at Brighton in November, and Carlo invariably won the +hearts of all the officials by his pleasant manner and +unwillingness to give any trouble. +</p> + +<p> +"Hope you're better, sir," said the man. "I have a letter +for you here." +</p> + +<p> +He handed him an envelope; Carlo thanked him and +passed on to his dressing-room, where, not without a certain +repugnance, he perceived the crimson velvet costume, worn +last Monday by Comerio, laid out for him. Then he looked +again at the handwriting of his letter, and, failing to recognize +it, began to wonder whether it would prove to be an unwelcome +love-letter or a forgotten bill. It was late, however, +and he dressed before satisfying his curiosity; then making +his way to the green-room, opened it and glanced at the +contents. +</p> + +<p> +The letter was neither addressed nor signed, but he had +not lived through all these months of public life without +receiving sundry anonymous communications, some of them +kindly, some of them grossly insulting. +</p> + +<p> +This particular missive consisted solely of an Italian +proverb:—"<i>Aspetta tempo e luogo a far tua vendetta, che la non si +fa mai ben in fretta:</i>"—Wait time and place to act thy +revenge, for it is never well done in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +There was a vagueness about this which puzzled him. +Was it from some outsider who would warn him that his haste +in getting rid of Comerio had been impolitic? Or was it +from Comerio himself, and did it imply that, although he +might not at once revenge himself, yet Carlo was not to think +that he had forgotten—that vengeance would most certainly +follow him. +</p> + +<p> +While he waited for his first entrance he showed the note +to Sardoni, who at once solved the mystery by recognizing +Comerio's handwriting. +</p> + +<p> +"That is from our friend the Corsican," he remarked; "I +should know his writing anywhere." +</p> + +<p> +"Is Comerio a Corsican? I never knew that. Then +such a message is doubly significant." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" asked Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"Because a Corsican never forgives. A Neapolitan may +kill his man in sudden passion, but a Corsican will wait for +years, and strike at last with the cool premeditation of a +devil." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni looked grave, he could believe anything of such a +man as Comerio, and he resolved to keep a sharp watch and +play the part of detective in the interests of his friend. It +was not a very cheerful missive to receive just before going on +the stage; but though Carlo candidly owned that the thought +of a stealthy vengeance dogging his steps sent an occasional +cold chill through his veins, yet he reminded himself that one +can grow accustomed to almost anything, and that, after all, +his enemy's vengeance was powerless to shorten the life that +had been marked out for him by a single hour. And perhaps +his own private troubles helped him to give a yet more +powerful rendering of the duel scene and the death of +Valentino. +</p> + +<p> +"It frightens me to act with you," was Nita's comment; +"you make it all too horribly real, you die so dreadfully." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet he is not so violent as Comerio," remarked old Bauer. +"He does not push you away, for instance, but dies like a +Christian, kissing the cross and forgiving you." +</p> + +<p> +"The difference is," said Marioni, "that Comerio dies like +an angry blusterer and Donati like a heart-broken hero. +His voice seems better than ever after the rest." +</p> + +<p> +The next morning Carlo felt a not unnatural reaction after +the strain of the previous day; the long rest had, as Marioni +remarked, strengthened his voice, but he felt ludicrously stiff +after his two falls in the duel scene, and quite perceived that +though being out of practice might not affect his acting at the +time, yet it told severely on him afterwards, and made the +work, to which in course of time he would become inured, a +hard and wearing toil. After breakfast he strolled with Gigi +through the Pavilion gardens; then, remembering that he had +asked that letters from Merlebank might be directed to him +at the General Post-office, he went to inquire if any had +arrived, not exactly expecting any, but with a lover's restless +hope for the improbable. His heart beat quickly when an +envelope in Clare's writing was handed to him, but it only +enclosed a letter from Enrico Ritter, which had arrived just after +he had left Merlebank. Now that Francesca was in England +Enrico's letters meant much less to him, and he sauntered +down Ship Street, and yielded to Gigi's entreaties to go on +the beach before he began to read it. The letter was +unusually short and abrupt, and had evidently been written in +great haste. +</p> + +<p> +"Prepare your mind for bad news, <i>amico mio</i>," it began. +"Your uncle has died suddenly of an apoplexy, and I have +just learnt the conditions of his will. He has kept to his +word, and has disinherited you, leaving every penny he possesses +to the Little Sisters of the Poor. We are all, as you may +imagine, in a fine state of indignation, and find it beyond +human nature not to speak evil of the dead. I must warn +you, too, that you have a living enemy, who is doing his best +to rob you, not of money but of your reputation. Some +person or persons unknown have set on foot a scandal about you +and Mlle. Borelli, and it is all over the place. Something +of the sort was suggested last autumn; the first I heard of +it was a mere surmise, half jestingly made at a ball; Miss +Britton also overheard the words, and for her sake I made +as light of them as possible, and, indeed, they were, I +believe, lightly meant. Now it is possible, of course, that +these words started the current slander, but I think it very +probable that Comerio may have had a hand in the affair, +and thought it best to tell you plainly the truth that you and +Mlle. Borelli are the talk of Naples. You can now take +whatever steps you think fit, and, of course, can count on us +to fight your battles." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo looked up from this ill-fated letter with a dazzled, +confused feeling that all the world was against him. The +calm, blue sea, and the pleasure-boats, and the merry children +playing on the shore, contrasted painfully enough with +his troubled life. His uncle was dead, and had never forgiven +him! The thought was a real grief, for he had loved the +autocratic old man, and had hoped that some day all might +be made right between them. Then there was that vile, +that extraordinary slander. Burning wrath consumed him +as he pictured to himself Domenica Borelli, of all women on +earth, singled out to be the victim of such hateful gossip. +And what could be done? How could such a slander be +stamped out? It might be met with authoritative denial, but +what would Neapolitan gossips care for that? Though very +possibly Comerio might have circulated the story, yet it could +not definitely be traced home to him; no one had heard him +publicly make such a statement, and a prosecution was out of +the question, even if he had been rich enough to afford it. +No, he could do nothing but endure as patiently as might be; +but he realized only too painfully that slander, however false, +however actively contradicted, does in this world leave a slur, +and that the purest life and the highest motives are no +protection against those whose work consists of +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Peddling in the devil's hardware,<br> + Gossip and innuendo."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And, alas! how little he had as yet gained. How far from +satisfied could he as yet feel about Anita. For a mere hope +he had lost everything: the love of poor old Uncle Guido, +the inheritance that was his by right, the home and country +which he loved, the wife who should have been his, and now +either deliberate malice, or mere careless and baleful talk, had +robbed him of the last thing left to him,—his fair and +stainless reputation. +</p> + +<p> +He was very young, and when the first hot indignation had +died away, he could only wonder, with a sort of blank +astonishment, how that particular charge could possibly have +been brought up against him. People might justly have +reproached him with his hasty temper, his impatience, his love +of ease and pleasure, with a hundred other faults of which he +was perfectly conscious; but to fasten upon him that +particular accusation, to charge him with the very sin from which +he was trying at all costs to save another, that seemed to him +hard measure, it wounded him as nothing else could have +wounded him. +</p> + +<p> +Those who know life well, and have bought their experience, +and have gained that long-sighted vision which belongs +to the full-grown, can, even in the first pain of a personal +attack, "rejoice and be exceeding glad," and realize that the +devil thinks their work worth molesting. But the young have +always a feeling that the devil is not so black as he is painted +and that the world is, after all, kindly disposed, and so +their first experience of injustice comes like a crushing blow; +it amazes them, and they learn with a shudder that the world +will always impute low motives, and that they must learn to +expect this and bear it with composure. +</p> + +<p> +The news in the letter which would have most painfully +affected many—the account of the lost inheritance—was the +last point which occurred to Carlo. Still he did not regard +money with absolute indifference, or consider that there was +any particular merit in poverty, and it was not in nature that +a man of four-and-twenty should lose a fortune and feel no +pang of regret. Money was a power, there was no denying +that, and he was living now from hand to mouth—a process +less pleasant in practice than in theory. In the reaction from +inordinate love of riches there is nowadays a good deal of +cant, about "holy poverty" and "contemptible wealth;" but +Carlo, being a very practical and simple-natured man, did not +affect to look on the loss of his inheritance from any superior +height of other-worldliness. It chafed him sorely to owe money +to Herr Ritter and to see no immediate prospect of paying +back the principal; it had cost him much to ask his doctor +whether he would allow him to pay by instalments for the +constant attendance through the weeks at Merlebank; it had +pained him to have to calculate the cost of his journey to +Brighton, and to find that his donations to the servants who had +been so good to him must be of the smallest. For money in +itself he cared not at all, but being in the true sense of the word +a gentleman, he had a horror of being in debt, and found the +constant care necessary to make both ends of his scanty +income meet a most irksome duty. Such matters cannot be +looked at in a vague, impersonal way; and though the ideal +hero of sentimental romance is always above such contemptible +considerations, yet a straightforward, honorable man is +bound to care for the possession of such money as will enable +him to pay his way honestly in the world. Carlo thought +with a sigh of the thousands of pounds which he had been +led to expect as his inheritance, and then of the constant +struggle to live on his small salary. Comerio had received +six guineas a-week, but he as a novice had consented to take +only half that amount, and Piale, thinking that he would +never continue in a travelling company after the first year, +had been fairly well satisfied with the arrangement, and +indeed, would have consented to anything so long as his +wish of inducing his pupil to go on the stage had been +gratified. Carlo had no intention, however, of accepting +better offers at the end of the first year, so he saw before him +an indefinite time of hard work and small pay, for he could +not afford to bargain with Merlino or quarrel with him as any +other novice might have done. +</p> + +<p> +As Carlyle remarks, "No beautifulest poet is a bird of +paradise, living on perfumes, sleeping in the ether with +outstretched wings. The heroic, <i>independent</i> of bed and board, +is found in Drury Lane Theatre only." +</p> + +<p> +Out of his three guineas a-week he must somehow manage +to pay for board, lodging, and clothes, must give the conventional +gratuities to his dresser, must provide certain parts of +his stage wardrobe—to wit, shoes, tights, wigs, and +feathers,—must pay the interest on the loan from Herr Ritter, and +try to put by as much as might be towards Mr. Kavanagh's +account. He knew, of course, that many a clerk, many an +English curate, had to count himself lucky if he got as large +a salary, but then it was less possible for him to economize. +Lodgings, hastily sought in a foreign country, often proved +dear as well as comfortless; bills, even at third-rate hotels, +seemed to mount up with frightful rapidity; while to play +any pranks with his diet was out of the question, since his +voice was dependent on regular and suitable food. He +longed impatiently to be free from this grinding poverty which +was so foreign to his nature, nor did it comfort him much to +reflect that he was better off than many members of travelling +companies, since, at any rate, Merlino always paid his way, +was a man with capital, and was not forever trembling on +the brink of bankruptcy. It only made him feel very sorry +for his brother artistes, and slightly curious to know how +they managed to live at all. +</p> + +<p> +He had reached this point in his reflections when Gigi +came running up to him. +</p> + +<p> +"I do so dreadfully want a spade and pail, <i>zio caro</i>!" he +said, looking up at him with his wistful brown eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"There are many things, my Gigi, which we do so dreadfully +want, but can't have," he replied, laughing a little, and +stroking the child's brown cheek. "You and I, Gigi, must +learn to go without, and must do what we can to amuse each +other." +</p> + +<p> +And forgetting poverty, and slander, and even poor old +Uncle Guido, he transformed himself into so delightful a +sea-monster that Gigi rushed in blissful terror and excitement to +the shelter of the nearest boat, and by the time the chase was +over, and he had been devoured and resuscitated in the +conventional manner, all thought of spades and pails had +vanished from his mind, and he had fallen back to his old +refrain of "I do love you so!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap32"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. +<br><br> +AFTER TWO YEARS. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Heart, thou must learn to do without—<br> + That is the riches of the poor;<br> + Their liberty is to endure;<br> + Wrap thou thy old cloak thee about,<br> + And carol loud, and carol stout!<br> + * * * * *<br> + Why should'st thou only wear no clout?<br> + Thou only walk in love-robes pure?<br> + Thy step alone be firm and sure?<br> + Thou only free of fortune's flout?—<br> + Nay, nay! but learn to go without,<br> + And so be humbly, richly poor."<br> + <i>A Threefold Cord.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The bright spring sunshine was streaming into a sitting-room +in the Lafayette at Philadelphia, and Nita's sweet, clear +soprano woke the echoes with that most charming of songs, +"<i>Caro nome</i>." Carlo, who from the first had constituted +himself her accompanyist at her daily practice, was seated at +the piano, and something in the faces of both brother and +sister showed plainly that time had passed. Two years had +gone by since Carlo had rejoined the Company at Brighton, +and spite of excessively hard work—spite of the weary day +and night journeys, with too often an exhausting performance +at the end of them—his healthy, vigorous nature had asserted +itself, and all signs of delicacy of chest had disappeared, while +further cultivation, and increasing physical strength, had +rendered his voice more than ever notable. The daily round +of work had been monotonous enough, and yet the second +and third years of his professional life had certainly seemed +far shorter to him than the first had done. But then nothing +flies so fast as fully occupied time, especially when no very +important events come to interrupt the routine. And nothing +had happened worthy of note in these two years. Comerio's +vengeance had not as yet taken effect—he had not followed +them to America; and scarcely any changes had been made +in the Company. Mademoiselle de Caisne had, indeed, gone +back to Italy, finding it impossible to make the slightest +impression on the new baritone: her place had been filled by a +very young American girl. It seemed probable, too, that +Sardoni and Domenica Borelli would not remain very much +longer in the troupe. They had now been betrothed for +several months, and were to be married in New York before +Merlino's Company sailed for Italy, which they expected to +do towards the end of May. Carlo hardly knew how to face +the thought of life without his two best friends, but their +contracts with Merlino both expired in the following autumn, +and he could not but admit that their married life would +probably be much happier if they carried out Sardoni's idea, +and settled down in London, where they might both hope to +gain a fair livelihood by teaching, eked out by occasional +engagements. But, though little had happened, the general +tone of the Company had certainly been raised; the +Impresario had become a trifle less rough and overbearing; +Nita, though she was still as far as ever from being a happy +wife, seemed to rebel less bitterly against her lot; while Carlo's +character had grown and developed as a man's character does +develop when he is trying incessantly to live the highest life. +</p> + +<p> +As he played the accompaniment of "<i>Caro nome</i>," his +thoughts involuntarily turned to Francesca, and he began to +wonder whether Sardoni would soon come back from his +walk and whether he would have remembered to call at the +post-office for letters. It was possible that he might to-day +hear from Enrico, and he was terribly hungry for news, for +Clare, with the best of intentions, was too busy to write very +often, and when she did write could only give him second-hand +reports, while Enrico was as far as ever from understanding +the sort of details for which a lover craves. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up eagerly as the door opened and Sardoni +entered. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you remember the letters?" he asked, glad that the +song should have ended at such an opportune moment. +</p> + +<p> +"For a wonder, yes," replied Sardoni, who since his +engagement to Domenica had been ludicrously absent-minded. +"But there were none for you, Val, only one for Madame +Merlino." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was sadly disappointed, but yet was so well used to +disappointment that by the time he had played through a few +bars of "<i>Caro nome</i>" his face had resumed its usual +expression. +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni left the room again, and Nita, throwing herself +back in a rocking-chair, began to read her letter. As she +read, an uncontrollable exclamation of surprise escaped her. +Carlo, who was turning over the pages of <i>Rigoletto</i> and +still whistling the air of "<i>Caro nome</i>," looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Is anything the matter?" he asked, and as he spoke he +noticed for the first time the big letters of the "Napoli" +post-mark. +</p> + +<p> +She read on without answering, but something in her face +roused a nameless fear in his heart; did the letter concern +Comerio? The handwriting was not Enrico's or his fears +would have been instantly aroused; he would have imagined +that some evil must have befallen Francesca—some evil which +his friend did not dare to tell him abruptly and without +preparation. But that fear was not awakened. It must, then, +surely be connected with Comerio, this Italian letter! If +only she would speak and put him out of his suspense! +</p> + +<p> +He sat down near her and waited, not wishing to force +himself upon her in any way; and at length she looked up +and, with a strange tone in her voice, said, "I have heard +from Mlle. de Caisne, Carlo. You had better read her letter, +and she encloses these." +</p> + +<p> +In some surprise he took the papers she handed to him, +and glanced at the first. It was a half-sheet of paper, on the +back of which the following words were written in Italian, +"An advertisement cut out of the <i>Times</i>." Neatly pasted on +the other side were a few brief lines of English print,—"On +the 26th inst., at Naples, by the British Consul and by the +Rev. J. Smith, RENATO, CONTE CAROSSA, to FRANCESCA, elder +daughter of Captain JOHN BRITTON, R.N." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo neither spoke nor moved; the blow struck at his +heart had been so fearfully sudden that after the first moment +of agony he felt nothing, but was like one paralyzed. Still +holding the advertisement in his hand, he stared at those +words which had shattered his whole life; then, as sensation +slowly returned, a horrible craving to know more seized him, +and he snatched up the next paper. It was a leaflet printed +in silver, an English wedding-hymn, beginning, "The voice +that breathed o'er Eden;" he read it through from beginning +to end with a sort of blank, dazed feeling. Then he took the +next slip. It was a cutting from the <i>Roma</i>, just a short +paragraph stating that the marriage of Count Carossa had +called forth general attention, owing to the fact that his +bride was the acknowledged <i>belle</i> of Naples. That the beautiful +English girl had made a charming bride, and that according +to the English custom the wedding party had been +entertained at breakfast after the ceremony at Casa Bella, +the residence of Captain Britton. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, he read with feverish haste Mlle. de Caisne's letter, +rushing impatiently through the preliminaries till he came to +the following remark,—"The marriage of Count Carossa is +the great topic of the day here, and knowing how intimate +you and your brother were with the English owners of Casa +Bella, I send you full particulars. The wedding was really +a beautiful sight, the bride wore a dress of ivory-white satin +with a very long train; and it really is wonderful how even in +this climate English girls seem to preserve their complexion. +Miss Britton's is the most charmingly delicate coloring I +ever saw. Every one is envious of Count Carossa. I only hope +he deserves so fascinating a wife." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo folded the papers and put them back in their envelope. +Every vestige of color had left his face, and Nita began to +wonder whether he would ever move or speak again—he +looked as if he had been turned to stone. She was frightened, +and yet the sight did not appeal to her, it even made her a +little angry and impatient, for she had not heart enough to +understand him. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long, burdened silence, broken at length by +Nita. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," she said, with a bitter tone in her voice; "now, +at any rate, you will know what it means to have a legal bar +between you and the one you love." +</p> + +<p> +At this his stony despair suddenly changed, the frozen +blood seemed to boil in his veins, and a look of anguish, +which terrified her, dawned in his eyes. Her words had +most cruelly, most recklessly, thrust the terrible truth before +him. He got up quickly, and walked with unsteady steps to +the door, by a sort of blind instinct perceiving that to be +away from his sister would be a relief. +</p> + +<p> +But Nita had no sooner spoken than she regretted her +words, and would have given anything to recall them. She +rushed after him and caught his hand in hers. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't go, Carlo!" she cried. "I am sorry I said that—I +am sorry for you. Carlino! Stay!" +</p> + +<p> +Her presence was almost more than he could endure, but +though past thinking definitely of anything but the crushing +blow he had received and the torturing pain it caused him, +the mere habit of considering others before himself made +him pause now, though he longed sorely to be alone with his +trouble. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, why should we have such things to bear?" she cried +passionately, thinking even now far more of her own trouble +than of his. +</p> + +<p> +"God help us both!" he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +Then, dropping her hand, he turned away and flung himself +face downwards on the couch, unable to resist any +longer the paroxysm of grief which overwhelmed him. +</p> + +<p> +Nita watched him much as Kate Britton had watched him +in the hut; her woman's soul was touched to the quick, and +though only a minute before she had cried, "Why should we +have such things to bear?" she saw now, with a sharp pang +of regret, that Carlo's grief was the direct consequence of +her own weakness. She fell down on her knees beside him. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino!" she sobbed, "forgive me—forgive me! It is +I who have brought it all on you." +</p> + +<p> +He did not look up or speak, but put out his hand for +hers and held it fast in a grasp that seemed to burn her. +She thought he grew calmer and ventured to speak again, +longing to awaken his pity for her own case. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you see now, Carlo, that you have been expecting +too much of me?" she pleaded. "Oh, don't you see now +how all those ideas of yours are in practice impossible?" +</p> + +<p> +Her last word, emphatically spoken, seemed to fill him +with strength. In an instant he was on his feet, while she +still knelt on, looking up at him in awe and astonishment. +Somehow it seemed to her that she was face to face with +the perfection of manhood. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is impossible!" he said. +</p> + +<p> +And the words seemed to ring and pulsate in her ears as +no words had ever done before. +</p> + +<p> +She cowered down and hid her face, trembling before the +first divine revelation which had ever come home to her +innermost heart. It was a relief to her when she heard him +leave the room, but the pitifulness of the story overcame +her again; the love, so far beyond any love of which she +herself was yet capable, had at length touched her heart, +and she sobbed for grief and pity. +</p> + +<p> +"Why,—oh why," she thought, with bitter regret, "did I +not from the first resist the evil thoughts that came? It +must have been possible for me, too!" +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Carlo had locked himself into his own +room, and there, pacing to and fro, looked his sorrow in the +face like a man. Thousands, as he was well aware, must +have been called to bear the same thing before, but yet +there were circumstances which made his case doubly hard; +the utter want of preparation, the dearth of all but the most +public accounts of the marriage, the knowledge that of his +own free will he had left Francesca and gone out into the +world. For eight long years he had loved her, and though +there had been grief, and trouble, and separation for them, +yet he had been sure of her love through all, and had been +free to lavish on her his heart's devotion. But now in one +moment all was ended between them, and the thought of his +love, which, in spite of the separation, had been an unfailing +solace to him through these weary years of public life, +was now only a torture, a peril. There would be no beautiful +reality, all his own, to which he could come back when +the day's work was over, as to some sacred and safe retreat; +she was now the wife of another, and he must no longer +think of her as his betrothed. His safe retreat had become +a place of torment. He saw that life would be one long +battle, and that the best he could hope for after long +conflict, was so far to subdue himself that he should dare to +meet her as a friend; be able, perhaps, to serve her in some +faint, far-off way; be at least able to carry a brave front, +and cast no shadow on her wedded happiness. +</p> + +<p> +But was she happy? Had she, perhaps, been forced to +acquiesce, in obedience to her father's wishes? Count +Carossa might well prove an importunate suitor, and decline +to accept as final her first refusal. Had she been forced +against her will to accept him? Or had he really won her +heart; and did she now see that the past was but a girlish +dream, evanescent, and not wholly sweet? He hardly knew +which of these possibilities pained him most; he glanced +now at one, now at the other, till the misery of ignorance +and suspense almost maddened him. And then, with a +pang of the worst pain he had yet felt a horrible new idea +shot through his mind. +</p> + +<p> +There was that vile slander which had been set on foot +two years ago, and which still inevitably worked its +poisonous way, growing more dangerous with age, as slanders +do. Francesca had heard the first rumors, Enrico had told +him as much, she herself at Merlebank had half hinted +something of the sort. At first she had indignantly refused +to credit them, but when the tale was in every one's mouth, +why then her very innocence and ignorance of the world +would surely make her credit them the more easily; and how +ready the Captain would be to believe anything of the sort +touching an operatic singer, he realized only too bitterly. +More and more as he thought of it this seemed to him +the only explanation of the marriage. He could not +believe that anything else could possibly have robbed him +of Francesca's love. But if all around her believed him +to be not only guilty of such a sin, but to be such a +contemptible hypocrite as to have sought his own pleasure +under the cover of protecting his sister, might she not +possibly have been induced to believe the slander too? +And, once believed, such a story must inevitably kill love. +For a while he sat rapt in the miserable contemplation of +this thought, then suddenly his mind revolted from the idea +of any kind of distrust in Francesca. No, it was not +possible! She would believe in him against the whole world, +would love him for ever, not for any merit in himself, +but because of the truth, and purity, and beauty of her own +nature. She had been coerced into the marriage with +Count Carossa. Again he fell back into the weary round +of surmises, rejecting each in turn, but always confronted +by the terrible realization that, however the marriage had +been brought about, it was a fact,—a fact which gave the +death-blow to his hope, and doomed him to go through +life alone. +</p> + +<p> +For he must go on living, and must face the thought at +once. Indeed, into his simple, healthy mind no thought of +death had entered, though most truly life looked to him +desolate enough; but it is in times of great trouble that a good +man's real character is tested, and every dull, monotonous +day of work in Merlino's Company had added something to +his manly steadfastness, and gave him power now to go +straight on and do his duty without flinching. He brought +back his thoughts with an effort to the present,—<i>Rigoletto</i> +that evening, the necessity of dining at once, the fear lest +his trouble should at all mar the happiness of Sardoni and +Domenica, his best friends, and a resolution to keep the +news from them if possible till their wedding was over. +With this thought in his mind he turned to the glass, saw +that trouble was very legibly stamped on his face, and +resolved to dine alone at some restaurant, that he might +escape observation. On the staircase he met Anita, she +looked up at him in a scared way. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not speak of this to any one else," he said, in a low +voice; "above all, not to Sardoni or Domenica. Let it be +only between us two, at any rate till after the wedding." +</p> + +<p> +She promised, although she was far from understanding +the motives which prompted the request, and Carlo with a +heavy heart passed on, and walked slowly down Broad +Street. He remembered, as he walked, the sense of horrible +loneliness which had seized him when he walked back from +the Strada Nuova to Palazzo Forti, after the <i>Pilgrim</i> had +sailed from Naples; but that suffering had been light indeed +compared to what he was called to bear to-day. It seemed +to him now that he was alive and yet dead, that the outer +shell of everyday existence would go on in a mechanical +way, just as if nothing had happened, but that the heart had +been destroyed, and that nothing could ever bring it back to +vitality. +</p> + +<p> +In a sort of dream of pain he watched the passers-by, and +wondered whether in their careless talk they, too, might be +robbing some one of his reputation, and doing the devil's +work in the world. A feeling of strong resentment rose up +in his mind, he walked more quickly, the color came back +to his face, and his hot, southern blood began to burn and +tingle in his veins; if he could have been suddenly +confronted by the unknown being who had set on foot this +slander he could have killed him, at least so in his hot +indignation he fancied. +</p> + +<p> +Once more Nita's bitter words rang in his ears:—"A +legal bar between you and the one you love." +</p> + +<p> +"After all," urged the tempter, "are you not aiming at +the impossible? Why should you think of her as his wife +when the thought tortures you? What! you mean to allow +no thought that you could not lay bare to her sight, or the +sight of her husband? Fool! Give up! Is such love as +yours to be cramped, and fettered, and starved; love that +has lasted all these years?" +</p> + +<p> +"You'll forgive me making bold to stop you, sir," said a +familiar voice. He looked round and saw Adamson, the +scene-shifter. "I wanted to catch you alone, sir, and at the +theatre there be always others within hearing; and I guessed +you'd be glad to hear, sir, that it's all come right." +</p> + +<p> +The sudden reaction from the terrible temptation to the +story of the honest-looking old man, who had been one of +his first friends in the troupe, taxed his powers to the +utmost. His brain seemed to reel, but with an effort he +dragged himself back to the recollection of Adamson's +trouble. His daughter, a pretty American girl, sang +soprano in the chorus, and for some time her father had +been very uneasy about her, and Carlo had watched with a +good deal of interest the progress of a small drama in which +his dresser, Sebastiano, played the part of lover. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all come right, sir," repeated Adamson; "and it's all +owing to you. I don't know what you've done to Sebastiano, +sir, but he's kind o' altered. They're a going to git married +right away!" +</p> + +<p> +The need of giving the old man his hearty sympathy restored +Carlo to himself. He went into a restaurant and ate +his dinner soberly, but in his dark sky there were two gleams +of light: the first was the recollection that Nita's heart had +been at length reached; the second, that his hopes for +Sebastiano had been fulfilled. There came to him, too, the +perception that there was still one way in which he might +safely serve Francesca. He could pray that her marriage +might be a happy one. There was at least that still to +be hoped for. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to the Lafayette, found a letter which he +had written earlier in the day to Enrico, and added the +following brief postscript:— +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you tell me nothing of Count Carossa's marriage? +Send me all the particulars, if you can, to New York." +</p> + +<p> +More than that he could not bring himself to put even to +his friend, but to Clare he wrote a long letter and poured +out all his trouble, for she was a woman, and he knew she +would understand. Then, relieved a little by this, he took the +letters himself to the post, and made his way to the theatre. +In Locust Street, close to the stage-door, he met Sardoni, +who was much too full of his own affairs to be very observant. +</p> + +<p> +"The day is fixed at last," he said, cheerfully; "it is to +be at New York next Sunday week. Will you be my best +man, old fellow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I will, Jack, if you wish it," said Carlo. +"Does your father come out for the wedding?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but he has asked us to stay with him in the autumn, +and your letter has evidently done a good deal towards +reconciling him to the notion. We owe everything to you, Val." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo turned into his dressing-room, only to be confronted +by Sebastiano. He had heard too much of marriages that +day, but yet must congratulate his dresser, and, as he put on +his jester's costume of red and yellow motley, must listen to +the story old Adamson had told him, all over again. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, signor!" exclaimed Sebastiano when he had finished +his tale, "see! You have put the red stocking on the left +leg instead of the yellow one! One might think that you +were in my case!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled good-naturedly, congratulated the dresser +again and dismissed him; but when he was alone he bowed +his head on his hands and sat for a long time motionless, +overwhelmed by a sense of utter desolation. What was there +left to him? Well, there was a certain increasing fame. +But, after all, what was that? Success was sweet, and yet +in a way it did but make him feel his loneliness the more. +Often enough the tears would start to his eyes when he read +glowing praise of his artistic work, because he could not help +thinking how such things would have pleased his mother. +The chief worth of all such recognition is the pleasure it +gives to those who love us, and he now stood practically +alone in the world; success and fame would be his, but +neither father nor mother, neither wife nor child, would be +present with him to make them seem worth while. +</p> + +<p> +The voice of the call-boy roused him from his sad thoughts. +He wrung his hands together. +</p> + +<p> +"My God, help me!" he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +Then taking up his jester's cap with its gold coxcomb, he +made his way to the wings and was soon transformed into +the malicious, mocking Rigoletto, playing the part with his +customary skill, and receiving with his usual quiet modesty +the thunder of applause which rewarded him. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap33"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. +<br><br> +GENOA. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Ah, well, the world is discreet;<br> + There are plenty to pause and wait;<br> + But here was a man who set his feet<br> + Sometimes in advance of fate.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Never rode to the wrong's redressing<br> + A worthier paladin.<br> + Shall he not hear the blessing—<br> + 'Good and faithful enter in?'"—WHITTIER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A month passed by. In his outer life Carlo went through +the series of farewell performances at New York, attended +Sardoni's wedding, and travelled back to Italy. In his inner +life he fought a terrible battle and came out conqueror. +</p> + +<p> +No further details of Francesca's marriage had as yet +reached him to relieve his misery of ignorance and suspense. +Apparently both Clare and Enrico shrank from touching on +so difficult a subject, and all he had received by way of +answer to his letter was a copy of the <i>Roma</i> from Enrico, +containing the same paragraph which Mlle. de Caisne had +enclosed. +</p> + +<p> +The shrewd-looking official, who presided at the bureau in +the hall of one of the hotels at Genoa, sat speculating to +himself as he saw the much-talked-of baritone pass into the +breakfast-room on the morning after Merlino's Company had +landed in Italy. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about Donati's face which he could +not understand: it was not the face one would have expected +in a man who, at six-and-twenty, had achieved a striking +success, and who was said to be the finest baritone in Europe. +Sorrow had not hardened him or soured him, but it had +added a sort of depth to his expression, and just now he +bore always the look of one who had imposed on himself a +strong restraint. +</p> + +<p> +The official was pleased when, on leaving the breakfast-room, +Carlo came to the <i>bureau</i> to buy some stamps, and he +adroitly seized the opportunity to prefer a request. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you write your name in the visitors' book, signor?" +he said. "Every one in the place is looking forward to your +appearance to-night, you will see the theatre will be packed +from floor to ceiling! Your full name, if you will favor us, +signor; the autograph will be valuable." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo smiled a little at the thought that his very commonplace +handwriting should be in demand; then, happening to +glance up the page at the names of the other visitors, his +heart suddenly leapt into his mouth as he read, "Il Conte +Carossa, e Contessa Carossa." The names were both apparently +written in the Count's writing. He turned quickly to +the <i>concierge</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Count Carossa is still in the hotel?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, signor; that is to say, he is out just at this moment, +but he has taken his rooms for a week. The Contessa is in +the <i>salotto</i>. I saw her go in just now." +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he hesitated. Francesca was here under the +same roof with him! Dared he seek her out? Dared he hear +from her own lips the whole truth? When he had landed on +the previous evening he had sent off another urgent letter +imploring Enrico to write, or, if possible, to come and see +him at Genoa, where they had accepted a brief engagement; +but now to be told that Francesca was close to him threw +him completely off his balance, and an impulse scarcely +resistible drove him towards the <i>salotto</i>. Should he not +enter that room? Should he not see her at least for this +once? And yet every throbbing pulse within him warned +him not to do so, proved to him beyond dispute that for +Francesca's sake and for his own he had far better not seek +her out. +</p> + +<p> +With a struggle that seemed to him bitter as death, he +forced himself to pass by that closed door, and to go +upstairs to his room. He was not left long in peace, for +Gigi—who had grown into a very manly little fellow of nearly +seven years old, and who had been greatly improved by two +years at a good school in New York—came bounding in with +an eager request. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Zio caro</i>, don't you remember you promised to take me +to Villa Pallavicini this morning? I guess we'll never be +likely to get a finer day, and I do so dreffly want to see the +fountains!" +</p> + +<p> +Though sick at heart, Carlo would not refuse the little +fellow's petition, and he dragged himself over to Pegli, +trying hard to enter into Gigi's happiness, listening to his +raptures over the beautiful gardens, and smiling politely +when their conductor—a wizen, shrewd-looking, little +man—made time-honored jokes, and tried to be facetious. Neither +the glorious views of sea and mountain, nor the lovely groves +of ilex, olive, eucalyptus, and pine trees, nor the glowing +color of the aloes and rhododendrons, could rouse in him that +day the slightest pleasure. Gigi chattered merrily as they +rowed in a little boat under charge of a broad-shouldered, +kindly old boatman through the stalactite cave, and gave a +shout of delight when, as they passed on, and came in sight +of the fountains, they saw one of the gardeners carrying +out the usual practical joke of turning the watering-hose in +the direction of some visitors, who fled with good-natured +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"Look, <i>zio caro!</i> oh, do look!" cried the child, clapping +his hands. +</p> + +<p> +And Carlo, glancing round, saw, only a stone's-throw +from him, on the bank, a little group of visitors, and among +them Count Carossa and Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +She did not see him, and, after one long look, he turned +away with a sick, dizzy feeling, and knew that he was +answering the boatman's remarks at random, and vaguely wondered +whether, after the first shock, that sight would grow more +bearable to him. +</p> + +<p> +How he lived through that day he never quite knew, but +he had learnt the truth of the words which he had spoken to +Anita at Philadelphia that "Nothing is impossible;" and +when the evening came, though Sardoni had dined with him, +and stayed afterwards talking of Domenica's perfections, and +of his anxiety about his father's first sight of her, Carlo had +betrayed nothing, but seemed as ready as ever to sympathize +with his friend's affairs. +</p> + +<p> +So engrossed was the tenor with his own happiness that +he was amazed when, that evening at the theatre, Anita drew +him aside, and, with tears in her eyes, begged for his +advice. +</p> + +<p> +"You are Carlo's friend!" she said, in low, hurried tones; +"for God's sake tell me what to do! The Contessa +Carossa is sitting in the stalls! Shall I tell Carlo before he +goes on?" +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni stared. +</p> + +<p> +"Who in Heaven's name, may the Contessa Carossa be?" +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Insomma!</i> I forgot you had not been told! He kept it +from you because he would not have you troubled at the time +of your wedding. She is Francesca Britton, the girl he was +to have married! He heard when we were at Philadelphia +that she had become the wife of Count Carossa." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni gave an inarticulate exclamation of rage and regret. +</p> + +<p> +"He must be told!" he said. "A sudden shock like +that might make him break down. I will tell him myself!" +</p> + +<p> +Nita thanked him. She was dressed in the coquettish +costume of Carmen, but for the first time Sardoni noticed a +softened look about her face. He saw that she had begun +at last really to care for her brother, and that apparently +Comerio, who was also engaged at Genoa during the summer +season, had not regained his old influence with her. This, +however, was but the first night of the engagement,—he +wondered greatly whether her strength would hold out to the end. +And then he thought wrathfully of Francesca Britton, and +remembered with compunction how he had talked of nothing +for the last few weeks but his own happiness; and with +regret, and perplexity, and admiration for his friend all +mingled, he knocked at the dressing-room door, determined to +speak out plainly and prepare his companion for what +awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had just dismissed Sebastiano, and was fully equipped +in the picturesque costume of Escamillo, the Toreador, +with its green velvet jacket and knickerbockers faced with +gold, broad red-and-gold sash, tan-colored gaiters, and red +flag thrown across the left shoulder. There was no time to +be lost, and Sardoni began abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"I have just been talking to your sister, Val. She thought, +and I think, too, that you ought to be prepared beforehand. +Count Carossa and his wife are in the theatre." +</p> + +<p> +An exclamation of wonder and dismay escaped Carlo. He +began to pace the room in terrible agitation. +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you keep your trouble from me, Val?" said +Sardoni, reproachfully. "And what, in Heaven's name, can +have made any woman forsake a man like you?" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo turned upon him with a fierce gesture. +</p> + +<p> +"Not one word against her!" he cried. "She was free—quite +free! And what am I to deserve her, indeed?—a +stage-singer with a tarnished reputation!" +</p> + +<p> +"What! You think, then, it was that slander?" ejaculated +Sardoni, understanding better why Carlo had kept all +from him during this month. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know!—I can't tell! For God's sake, Jack, +don't talk, or I think I shall go mad!" +</p> + +<p> +Again he walked to and fro, struggling with the thoughts +which rushed in wild confusion through his brain. Why did +Francesca come to hear him sing? It was so altogether +unlike her to do so under the circumstances. Had she come +to prove her indifference?—or did she still care for him, and +snatch at this chance of seeing him?—or was she too much +in awe of her husband to decline to go to the theatre? Each +thought seemed to him almost equally intolerable. But time +was passing, and he must somehow manage to get himself +in hand. As he walked he prayed, and as he prayed he +became once more willing to face whatever was sent. For he +wasted no time in vain questionings as to why this particular +trouble should have come to him, and how it could possibly +work for the general good. His strength lay in a habit of +taking even the smaller details of life as God's ordering, and +in a firm conviction that no man is ever set to do anything +that is beyond his strength. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca had married Count Carossa. That being so, +he must and could learn to bear the thought. Nothing was +impossible! +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me, dear old fellow, for speaking sharply!" he +said, turning back to Sardoni. "After all, Jack, I shall know +now if she is happy or not; and if all is well with her, why +nothing else matters much." +</p> + +<p> +Sardoni bit his lip; when he could see clearly again he +found that Carlo was putting on his Spanish hat, and preparing +to go to the wings. He went with him, choosing a position +from which he could watch his friend's entrance and +reception. +</p> + +<p> +The part of Escamillo, though small, suited him admirably, +nor could any scene have been better chosen for his +reappearance in Italy than the picturesque entry of the +bull-fighter. Sardoni wondered greatly how the Contessa Carossa +felt down there in the stalls, as she watched with the rest the +entrance of the torchlight procession, and saw the crowd +group itself and look expectantly towards the back of the +stage, till, amid a chorus of "Hurrah for brave Escamillo!" +the slight, graceful figure in Toreador costume advanced +through a little lane of torches. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's fame had preceded him, and the Genoese audience +greeted him warmly; he took off his black velvet hat +and bowed with the mingled dignity and simplicity of manner +which made him at once revered and loved by so many. +Then, quickly turning from the homage of the audience to +the business of his part, and resuming the bold, genial +bearing of Escamillo, he drained the wine-cup handed to him, +tossed it across the stage to one of the chorus, and broke +forth into the well-known Toreador Song. +</p> + +<p> +His beautiful voice, the vigor of his acting, the imaginative +power conveyed by each look and gesture, held the audience +spell-bound, and Sardoni marvelled how, under the +circumstances, he could sing the refrain of— +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Bear thou in mind, when combat thee elates,<br> + Two bright eyes fondly regard,<br> + For thee a fond heart waits, Toreador."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At the close of the first verse the theatre rang with shouts +of "Bravo." And then once again came the graphic description +of the bull-fight, till, by mere gesture and expression, +he brought the whole scene vividly before the audience. +Most of them had heard Carmen before, and had seen the +baritone more or less energetically flap his red flag. But +Carlo actually made them feel the suspense and excitement +of the real contest. He surpassed himself, and when once +more the refrain had been sung the whole house rose, and +with frantic cheering gave the new baritone an ovation. Not +one of the applauders guessed that the song had been to the +singer a torturing effort, a mockery almost intolerable; or +dreamed how his heart was aching as he stood there acknowledging +their thanks. Not till the end did he dare to look towards +the place where they had told him Francesca was sitting; +but, as he stood close to the footlights, bowing his +acknowledgments, he ventured one keen, searching glance; +he would, at least, learn if she looked well and happy, would +try to gauge the Count's character. +</p> + +<p> +But he had expected too much of himself; all was confusion; +he could only see that the Count was frantically +applauding him, and that Francesca's eyes were shining and +her cheeks glowing. After that brief glance the whole house +swam before him, and the only thing for him to do was to +get through, as quickly as might be, his brief dialogue with +Carmen, and march off amid the greetings of his comrades +while the orchestra once more played the Toreador air. The +moment he was behind the scenes his brisk, blithe step +changed, there was a sort of relief in being able to relax the +strain he had put on himself, yet never, even in the first +shock of the news of Francesca's marriage, had he felt such +an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness as now when he +had actually seen her sitting beside her husband in the theatre. +His first impulse was to lock himself into his dressing-room, +but something made him hesitate; if he were alone he +should think, and if he thought, he should be lost; the only +chance of his being able to keep his faculties clear for the +rest of the opera lay in avoiding thought as far as possible. +After a minute he forced himself to go to the green-room and +to join in the conversation, and there he remained through +the interval, till the call-boy summoned him again, and +Sebastiano handed him a striped scarf instead of the red +one. Flinging it across his shoulder he stepped on to the +stage, changed himself with an effort into the Toreador with +his careless geniality, received with cool indifference Don +José's indignation, and, when challenged to fight, gave a +masterly representation of southern passion, springing like +a tiger on his foe, and with drawn knife, fighting desperately. +All was speedily over, and again he waited behind the scenes +to sing the refrain of the Toreador Song in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +"You look tired, Donati," remarked Caffieri. "Confoundedly +hot, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +He assented, though all the time he was shivering from +head to foot. It was doubly hard to sing those words in +cold blood off the stage. But he got through them somehow, +and leaning wearily against the wall of the passage waited +till the cries of "Donati!" rose to a roar, and then he pulled +himself together, crossed the stage, and stepped out before +the curtain to accept the homage which just then meant to +him so little. +</p> + +<p> +"What must be borne can be borne," he said to himself +again and again; "and at least Francesca is happy." +</p> + +<p> +And now the end of the opera was drawing near, and his +part was almost over. Nita watched him with mingled +wonder and sympathy as they waited side by side for their +last entrance: he was grave and silent, and the chorus from +the stage of "Viva Escamillo!" jarred upon him she fancied, +yet, though the wistful look in his eyes told plainly of his +trouble he was still ready as usual to think of other people. +</p> + +<p> +"There is a horrible draught here!" he exclaimed, "you +will take cold, Nita." +</p> + +<p> +And so saying he wrapped his red scarf round her white +shoulders, snatching it off again adroitly when they advanced +on to the stage. Somehow she had never felt so near to +him as at that minute. She knew so well what it was that +made him tremble as, with his arm round her, he sang the +pathetic little farewell of the Toreador, knew so well what +it cost him to utter the words, "If thou lovest me, Carmine, +them shalt smile by-and-bye; thou shalt be proud of me." +</p> + +<p> +Together they were just singing their mutual avowal of +love, the house was hushed to catch the exquisitely blended +voices in the last soft repetition of "Yes, I love thee!" when +from the gallery there rose a hoarse cry—the most terrible +cry that can be raised in any great gathering—the cry of +"Fire!" +</p> + +<p> +With a shriek Nita tore herself away and rushed from the +stage, and in one instant it seemed to Carlo that the whole +house was in an uproar. He shouted an assurance that there +was no danger; he begged Marioni to go on with the opera; +but it was all in vain. Then he stood like a statue in the +front of the stage, though all around him his companions +were flying, though women were shrieking, though Marioni +dragged him by the arm, imploring him to save himself +while yet there was time. He shook himself free, and +remained gazing down at the seething mass of people in the +stalls, spite of all the confusion keeping his eye steadily on +Count Carossa and his wife, till at length, with a pang of +wrath and astonishment he saw the Count force a way through +the crowd for a beautiful fair-haired girl beside him who +seemed to be almost fainting with terror, and leave Francesca +to take care of herself. +</p> + +<p> +But indignation soon gave place to a thrill of wild exultation. +At least it was his part to shield her now,—her husband +had left her, and that time which he had thought might +possibly come in some dim future had arrived—he might serve +her—might, perhaps, save her from death. +</p> + +<p> +He rushed to the side of the stage, leapt down into the +deserted orchestra, dashed aside the music-stands which +impeded his progress, cleared the barrier at a bound, and, with +the agility which was natural to him increased by the fearful +excitement, forced his way to Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino!" she cried, joy, fear, and relief mingling in her +tone as she snatched his hands in hers; "I knew you would +come. I couldn't go with Count Carossa!" +</p> + +<p> +He dropped her hands, perplexed, troubled, utterly +surprised. That Francesca under the circumstances should +have spoken thus, seemed to him wholly unlike her. The +marriage had been a forced one, undoubtedly, but yet how +doubly strange of her to come and hear him that night; how +immensely she must have altered to greet him now with such +words. Terror must surely have made her forget all else. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be afraid," he said, very gently, yet with a manner +so restrained that she instantly noticed it; "even if this is +not wholly a false alarm our best hope of escaping unhurt is +just to stay here quietly. See, if you don't mind my holding +you like this I think I can prevent your being pushed by the +crowd." +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo," she said, quickly, relapsing into English, "are +you angry with me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I? How can you ask such a question? I am not angry +at all, not in the least." +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't help it; I couldn't go with the Count, and not +know what had happened to you. Are you thinking of what +people will say?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, that matters very little. But I fear you did wrong +to stay." +</p> + +<p> +"Wrong, when I love you?" +</p> + +<p> +"For God's sake be silent!" he cried, in a voice wrung +with pain. "I dare not let you speak such words to me. +Let us say no more at all. Perhaps the way will soon be +clear, and I can take you back to the Count. I don't +understand how he could possibly leave you behind; he is very +much to be blamed." +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were full of tears. +</p> + +<p> +"You must not be vexed with him," she said, falteringly; +"it was my doing. I would not go, and it was right that he +should think first of his wife; she was almost fainting." +</p> + +<p> +"His wife!" gasped Carlo. "His wife! +Francesca! speak! speak! tell me what you mean!" +</p> + +<p> +His manner terrified her. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, he married Flora Britton, that pretty Scotch cousin +of mine; she had been staying with us since her mother's +death." +</p> + +<p> +For answer Carlo, regardless of all else, caught her in his +arms, and had the panic in the theatre caused their death he +would scarcely have murmured, for in that moment of +exquisite relief, in that restoration to him of all he thought he +had lost, he lived through whole years of rapture. +</p> + +<p> +"My own! my darling! Can you ever forgive me?" he +cried. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't understand," sobbed Francesca; "but nothing +matters since you love me still; nothing matters now we are +together once more." +</p> + +<p> +He thrust his hand impatiently into the Toreador costume, +and drawing forth an envelope held it towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't tell you," he said; "but look at these, and you +will perhaps forgive me." +</p> + +<p> +With blank astonishment she looked at the cutting from +the <i>Times</i> announcing her own marriage to Count Carossa. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, who could have done so cruel a thing!" she exclaimed. +"This never could have been in the <i>Times</i> at all, +or, of course, we should have heard of it. Who could have +had it printed like this on purpose?" +</p> + +<p> +"I see it now!" said Carlo. "It must have been +Comerio's vengeance!" +</p> + +<p> +His wrath was almost swallowed up in the strange perception +that began to steal over him of how completely evil had +defeated its own ends. Comerio's vengeance had actually +been the means of winning for himself Anita's sympathy and +love. +</p> + +<p> +"The hymn we sang at Flora's wedding," observed +Francesca, "and her monogram 'F. B.' just like mine—how +horribly it must all have fitted in! This letter, too!—who +wrote it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is from Mlle. de Caisne; she was engaged at the San +Carlo, but I'll never believe that she had anything to do with +that false notice. Comerio was singing at the San Carlo, +too. He must have induced her to write the account and +send the papers, and himself have inserted that thing. I +don't like Elise de Caisne, but she would never have lent +herself to a fraud like that." +</p> + +<p> +"How horribly the people cry out near the doors!" +exclaimed Francesca, able now for the first time to realize a +little what was going on round her. "Oh, Carlo! how +frightened I should be if you were not here with me!" +</p> + +<p> +The panic had evidently not been without some cause, for +clouds of smoke came from the back of the stage, and a +strong smell of burning filled the place. It was quite +apparent that whatever fire there was must be behind the +scenes, but Carlo, with good reason, feared for Francesca +the dangers of the crowd far more than the danger of the +flames. +</p> + +<p> +They were now almost alone in the stalls, and the space +between them and the stage was perfectly clear, for every one +had fled from the source of danger and had rushed to the +doors, where a horrible struggle was going on. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Captain Britton in Genoa?" asked Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we are all here in the <i>Pilgrim</i>—Uncle George, and +Kate, and Clare. Oh, how frightened they will be if they +hear of this panic before we get out!" +</p> + +<p> +"Where had they arranged to meet you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle George and father were to call for me at the hotel +where Renato and Flora are staying. It was such a chance +that I came at all, for you know how little father likes +theatre-going. But they came to the yacht this morning and begged +to have me for the day, and said they had taken places for +<i>Carmen</i>, and father never likes to say 'No,' and so I came, +not knowing till we landed that Flora had planned it all on +purpose that I should hear you sing." +</p> + +<p> +"They will be terribly anxious about you! Do you think +you could be brave enough to walk into this smoke, which is +driving every one else away? I believe we should have a +very fair chance of escaping through the orchestra." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes—let us come!" she cried. "I am not afraid +of anything with you!" +</p> + +<p> +He wrapped her shawl round her, cleared the way for her +towards the orchestra, lifted her over the barrier, and, quickly +following himself, advanced cautiously through the smoke-filled +passages. Before long he stumbled up against Sardoni. +</p> + +<p> +"You here, Jack!" he exclaimed. "Can we get out? +How did it happen?" +</p> + +<p> +"You can get out all right," said Sardoni. "The fire is +almost got under; they are working away splendidly with the +fire-engines. I was just coming to look for you. How it +started no one knows, unless it was from one of the matches +flung down when they were smoking in the camp-scene,—and +yet I don't see how that can have been. You'll get none of +the fun here; come and look at it." +</p> + +<p> +"Not now; Miss Britton's people will be anxious; we +must get out as quickly as may be. There is no crowd at +the stage-door, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"A fire-engine or two blocking the way, perhaps—nothing +worse. But what in Heaven's name has happened, Val?" +</p> + +<p> +He glanced for an instant at the sweet, girlish face, which, +not long before, he had watched with indignant wonder. +</p> + +<p> +"Comerio's vengeance!" said Carlo, in a low voice; then, +turning back, he said, "Francesca, this is my friend Sardoni, +of whom you have often heard." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca shook hands with him warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"And how about Madame Merlino?" she asked. "Is +she quite safe?" +</p> + +<p> +"I took her back to the hotel with my wife," said Sardoni; +"and I believe on the way back I passed Count Carossa." +</p> + +<p> +"He was obliged to try and get his wife out quickly," +explained Francesca. "Oh, I hope Flora wasn't hurt in the +crowd! Do let us get back to them!" +</p> + +<p> +"Come with us, Jack, if you don't mind," said Carlo; and +together they made their way through the crowded streets to +the hotel, which was not far off. +</p> + +<p> +In the entrance-hall they found a number of people clustered +round the poor little Contessa, who was lying on the +floor quite unconscious, while the Count, who had had his +arm broken in the crush round the door of the theatre, +received no sympathy at all from Captain Britton, who had +just come ashore from the yacht, and was beside himself with +anger and anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"'She would not come!'" he stormed. "Of course not! +An English girl has sense enough not to make for the door in +a panic! And you ought to have stayed with her! How +dare you take my daughter out, and then forsake her like a——" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Britton hastily interposed. +</p> + +<p> +"John, don't waste time in talking!" he said. "Let us +come round quickly, and see if we can't find her." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Gran Dio!</i>" cried the Count, starting forward, "here +she is!" +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton turned, and saw that Francesca was just +entering the hotel, leaning on the arm of an actor gorgeously +attired in Spanish costume. It flashed upon him, even at +that moment, that it was a strange reversal of things which +should bring him to scold a Count for his desertion and to +thank an opera-singer for rescuing his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, dear child!" he exclaimed, bending down to +kiss her; "we have only just heard of the fire—we have been +terribly anxious about you! You are not hurt?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit!" said Francesca. "Carlo made me stay quite +still, and then helped me out through the orchestra and by +the stage-door——" +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo!" exclaimed Captain Britton, in amazement. And, +glancing round, he saw that the "Toreador" was shaking +hands with Mr. Britton, and answering as best he might the +torrent of questions which assailed him on all sides. +</p> + +<p> +"It is Signor Donati, the new baritone, of whom all the +world speaks!" said one of the little crowd. "Via! I tell +you I should know him anywhere. The shops are full of his +photographs." +</p> + +<p> +"And he has saved the pretty signorina from the fire!" +exclaimed another. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton, forgetting for once in his genuine glow of +emotion that many eyes were watching him, drew near to the +hero of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, seizing his hand in +a hearty grip; "I can never thank you enough—never!" +</p> + +<p> +Something in his throat choked him, and Mr. Britton, having +suggested that rumors might possibly have reached the +<i>Pilgrim</i>, and that Clare and Kate might be anxious, he +quickly availed himself of the chance of escaping from so +trying a scene, and, with a parting shake of the hand, and a +"To-morrow!" spoken <i>sotto voce</i>, which conveyed much to +Carlo, he drew his daughter's arm within his, and led her +away from the hotel. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap34"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. +<br><br> +YACHTING. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Let us be like the bird for a moment perched<br> + On a frail branch while he sings,<br> + Though he feels it bend, yet he sings his song,<br> + For he knows he has his wings."—VICTOR HUGO.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You look pale, Nita; I am afraid the fright of last night +has done you harm," said Carlo, coming into the Merlinos' +private sitting-room the next morning. "It is just as well +that the damage done to the theatre will prevent our keeping +this engagement. They say the place is to be closed for a +fortnight, and after the horrors that went on in the crush last +night it is only decent." +</p> + +<p> +"The wonder is that more were not killed," said Nita, with +a shudder. "Oh, I am so glad not to have to sing again +to-night; I should always be hearing again that horrible cry." +</p> + +<p> +"Do not dwell on it, think of something else, it has made +you look quite ill," said Carlo, debating whether he should +talk to her of his own happiness, but coming to the conclusion +that she seemed too sad, and that it would be better not to +touch on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"It is not the fright that has made me ill," she said at +length. "I must tell you, Carlino, all about it. Comerio +has been here." +</p> + +<p> +"Here this morning!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she shivered from head to foot, "and I made him +own that Mlle. de Caisne knew nothing of that advertisement. +He got her to write the letter easily enough, for you know +she was vexed with you, and he made her believe that it was +Miss Flora Britton whom you were in love with, and then he +posted the letter for her, and put in the cutting from the +<i>Times</i>. Just think of his boasting to me of the cleverness +of the trick!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, with a muttered ejaculation, paced hurriedly to and +fro, trying to keep his indignation within bounds. +</p> + +<p> +"He told me how he had got it printed," she continued, +"and expected me to praise him for it." +</p> + +<p> +"And you?" asked Carlo, with dawning hope in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"I told him that I would never speak to him again," said +Nita, trying in vain to repress a sob. "But, Carlino, I am +afraid of him, so terribly afraid. He looked as if he could +have killed me, and just went away without another word. +Oh, if only I had never seen him! If only I had believed, +like you, that nothing is impossible, and had resisted from +the first! But he was always so strong, and I so weak and +friendless." +</p> + +<p> +"But you have resisted now," said Carlo, trying to comfort +her. "And as to fearing what he may do, I would try not to +trouble about it, for, depend upon it, he values his own safety +too much to do anything desperate; besides, if evil is strong, +good is more strong." +</p> + +<p> +"It doesn't seem to be in this world, at any rate," said +Nita. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think not? Perhaps it doesn't always conquer +here at first, but that matters little if in the end it wins." +</p> + +<p> +"You will not leave me?" she pleaded. "If you leave +the Company my last chance is gone. Ah, do you remember +how I hoped at Birmingham that you would go, and that +Comerio would take your place? If he had spent those two +years in America with us I should have been in his power +now." +</p> + +<p> +She shuddered, for something had shown her that morning +the true nature of the man whom she had loved. +</p> + +<p> +"I will never leave you," he said, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Through those three years of lonely work he had struggled +on, bearing Nita's selfish indifference, her fits of perverse +ill-nature, and not daring to look on to the future. Now the +change had come upon him so suddenly that he was almost +overpowered by it. He had reaped the reward which can +only come to those who live by the day; having toiled faithfully +through the darkness, he emerged suddenly into a flood +of glorious sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +"An English gentleman to see you, signor, in the <i>salotto</i>" +announced a waiter. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's heart beat quickly as he went downstairs, yet he +was less embarrassed than Captain Britton, who met him +with an overpowering shake of the hand, and then relapsed +into silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Francesca is none the worse for the fright, I hope?" +asked Carlo, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, I think she is all the better for it," said the +Captain, smiling a little. +</p> + +<p> +There was another silence. +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is, Donati," resumed Captain Britton, dragging +his chair forward with a business-like air, and planting both +elbows on the table; "there is no use in beating about the +bush; I have come here to ask you a plain question, and I +hope you'll give me a plain answer. Do you still care for +my child or not? Just answer me yes or no." +</p> + +<p> +The bluff speech of the old sailor nearly took away the +Italian's breath, but if Captain Britton really expected him +to answer in a monosyllable to such a question he was +disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +His face glowed, his eyes shone, yet, spite of the passionate +eagerness of his tone, there was a dignity in his manner +which appealed to the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +"I love her, sir, with my whole heart!" he said. "I love +her, and must always love her. We belong to each other, +and though we may have to go through life apart, yet she +is mine and I am hers, and nothing can come between us." +</p> + +<p> +"So it seems," said the Captain, rather ruefully. "Well, +I frankly tell you that I would rather see my daughter +married to a plain working-man than to an opera-singer; but +I have talked the matter over with my brother and Miss +Claremont, and since your love has stood the test of a +three-years' absence, and since Francesca will not lend an ear to +any other proposals, I am bound to consider what is most +for her happiness, though I can't candidly tell you that it is +such a match as I should have chosen for her." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed," exclaimed Carlo, with a lover's genuine humility; +"I know I can never deserve her, but——" +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense," interrupted the Captain; "I meant nothing +personal of that sort! You know well enough, Carlo, that +I am very fond of you, that I can never forget that you +saved her life——" He began to feel choked, and broke +off abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"As to that," said Carlo, smiling, "it was nothing at all. +We only sat still when others were running away, and I +really think we forgot fire and danger altogether at first." +</p> + +<p> +"Let us speak out plainly once for all," said Captain Britton, +clearing his throat, "and then have done with it altogether. +I dislike your profession, but I understand that you have a +great future before you in the musical world, and I suppose +nature meant you for an opera-singer, and that there is no +use in running one's head any longer against a stone wall. +After all, a man need not be affected by his work, and +perhaps dramatic talent was meant to be used. I don't deny +that there's something in that argument. And the great thing +is that the stage doesn't seem to have spoilt you, and that I +know you'll make my child a good husband." +</p> + +<p> +Between his rapture of happiness, his anxiety not to irritate +the Englishman by allowing his feelings to appear too plainly, +and his dazzling visions of the future, Carlo found his powers +taxed to the utmost. But with an effort he forced himself to +enter into a sober discussion of the case, recalled to Captain +Britton's memory the fact that Uncle Guido's inheritance had +gladdened the hearts of the Little Sisters of the Poor, and +then told him plainly just how matters stood with regard to +Anita. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was touched by his simple yet very graphic +way of telling a story. He began faintly to perceive the rare +beauty of his character. +</p> + +<p> +"You are going to Naples now, at once, did I understand?" +he asked, when at length Carlo paused. +</p> + +<p> +"We thought of going there now, since the theatre will be +closed after this panic, and our engagement at the San +Carlo will soon be beginning. My brother-in-law is going to +take a fortnight at the baths at Lucca, for he has not been +well lately. I shall go home to Naples with Nita and her +little boy." +</p> + +<p> +"Then come with us in the <i>Pilgrim</i>" said the Captain. +"My brother begged that you would do so, and Sibyl will be +enchanted to have the little boy as a playmate." +</p> + +<p> +After Nita had been consulted, and the matter had been a +little more discussed, the invitation was accepted, and by the +evening a general dispersion had taken place. Merlino had +gone off to his course of baths; Sardoni and Domenica had +started joyfully on what they called their second wedding +tour to the Italian lakes; Carlo, Nita, and Gigi, were +welcomed on board the <i>Pilgrim</i>; and, in advance of all, Comerio, +with hatred in his heart, was making the best of his way to +Corsica. +</p> + +<p> +Although, as Carlo had observed when he first set foot on +the yacht years ago, the <i>Pilgrim</i> was not at all a place for +talking secrets, yet the lovers were somehow well content, +and enjoyed to the full those happy days of reunion. The +rest of the party had a kind way of playing whist in the +saloon when it grew dark; and as to the man at the wheel +they were quite untroubled by his presence, nor disturbed +themselves at all about the watch, who discreetly kept to the +forecastle end, and no doubt found plenty to say among +themselves as to the betrothal, which was now an +acknowledged fact. +</p> + +<p> +"It is almost too good to seem true," said Carlo one +evening, as they sat together under the square-sail which +was spread to catch the light summer wind. On one side +they could see the dark Italian coast, on the other the +beautiful outline of the mountains in Elba, while the moon made +an ever-shifting track of light on the sea as they glided +gently on, and the red light from the port side cast a ruddy +glow on the white sail towering above them. "How little I +thought," he added, "of having such a home-coming." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Francesca; "and that it should have been in +the dear old <i>Pilgrim</i>! How strange that is! I used to be +so miserable here three years ago, and now it does seem, as +you say, almost to good too be true." +</p> + +<p> +And the same happy faculty for living in the present, +which had stood Carlo in good stead through his years of +trouble, helped now to make his happiness perfect. No lurking +fear of Comerio spoilt those cloudless days, no anxieties +as to Nita's future, no troubles as to money matters. +Marriage seemed still a far-away prospect, but they were +betrothed, and there could never again be between them that +wearing separation, that maddening dependence on outsiders +for the least news of each other. +</p> + +<p> +"I had heard nothing of you for two months," said Francesca, +as again, to make their present brighter by contrast, +they talked over the troubles of the past; "but that was +better than having false news. You have had the hardest +part, darling, and yet you'll never know how bitter it was to +me in one way." +</p> + +<p> +"What way?" he asked, tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't tell you at Merlebank, but it was knowing that +you were so poor, and having money myself, and not being +able to help you. Ah! you'll never know how hard it was +to be able to give to any one in the world except to the one +you love best. There is a little matter-of-fact bit in <i>Aurora +Leigh</i> which I used to say for comfort." +</p> + +<p> +"What was that? Say it to me now." +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Let us be content in words,<br> + To do the thing we can, and not presume<br> + To fret because it's little."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I did fret, though, for, after all, we are most of us like +<i>Alice in Wonderland</i>,—very fond of giving ourselves good +advice, but seldom taking it!" +</p> + +<p> +They laughed a little, and now it was the trouble that +seemed like a dream, and the happiness that had become +true, and real, and indisputable. And together they paced +the quiet deck, while below Nita's sweet, clear voice sang +the familiar air of "<i>Oh, dolce Napoli</i>," which Francesca +loved because of its happy associations. +</p> + +<p> +"See Naples and die!" said Carlo, smiling. "I often +thought, over in America, that I would gladly have done +so; but now I think not, <i>Carina</i>, much as I love it. Let us +hope people in real life don't die of joy." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap35"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. +<br><br> +A FINAL CHOICE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "So oft the doing of God's Will<br> + Our foolish wills undoeth!<br> + And yet what idle dream breaks ill<br> + Which Morning Light subdueth?<br> + And who would murmur and misdoubt<br> + When God's great Sunrise finds him out?"<br> + E. B. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"And so, after all, you have overcome the British +prejudice and have only managed to lose your fortune!" +exclaimed Enrico Ritter, looking his friend in the face with a +critical air. "It seems that you have got back your health +again, too. Upon my word, I think knight-errantry is a +profitable calling, always supposing you haven't a cantankerous +relative to cut you off with a shilling. I shall think of +taking to it myself soon." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had landed at Naples late on the previous evening, +and now, after the mid-day breakfast with the Ritter household +and a long talk with his old friend, was making his way +back to the Palazzo Forti in the cool of the afternoon. He +was in the best of spirits, and had just been giving Enrico +the account of all that had passed during the last few weeks. +</p> + +<p> +"You still set up for being an egoist, I see," he replied +with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, every man must have his theory of the universe," +said Enrico, with a mischievous side-glance at his friend. +"Ah! by-the-bye, you should shake your fist at that house +over there on the right; it belongs to the Little Sisters of the +Poor, and ate up all your money." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have been glad enough of some of it in America," +said Carlo, with a smile. "However, no doubt our poor +Neapolitans wanted it quite as badly. Oh, wait! how fast +you walk! Let us stop and see the view from this terrace +just for half a minute—dear old Capri again, how natural +it looks! You would laugh if you knew how homesick I have +been over in the New World." +</p> + +<p> +"I must make a note of that," said Enrico. "In my +future knight-errantry I'll take good care to keep in Italy." +</p> + +<p> +And so, with laughter and friendly teasing, they walked +through the busy streets until they came in sight of the +dingy old palazzo, at the door of which an ostler was +holding a beautiful cream-colored horse. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in and see Anita," said Carlo; "she will have had +her <i>siesta</i> by this time." +</p> + +<p> +And Enrico, though he detested Madame Merlino, consented +to go in to please his friend, and made himself very +amiable to her while Carlo opened a telegram which had +arrived for him during his absence. +</p> + +<p> +The message was sent from Pozzuoli by Captain Britton, +and was to this effect,— +</p> + +<p> +"We hope you will dine with us to-night. I have ordered +a horse to be sent round for you. Do not fail us." +</p> + +<p> +"Nita, should you mind if I went to Cassa Bella?" he +asked. "The Captain seems to want me over there, for he +has even taken the trouble to send a horse for me. I will +be back, of course, to-night." +</p> + +<p> +"If that was the horse we saw waiting outside you will +get there in no time," said Enrico; "it beats your old Arab." +</p> + +<p> +But this Carlo would not allow, and amid much lively +discussion as to his old favorite, he nodded a farewell to Nita +and Gigi, and ran downstairs, his heart beating fast at the +prospect of seeing Francesca again so soon. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Auf wiedersehn!</i>" said Enrico, as he watched his friend +ride away. And the bright look and gesture in response kept +recurring to him as he walked back to his office. +</p> + +<p> +"What in the world is that fellow made of!" he said to +himself. "He is forever upsetting all my calculations and +disturbing my pet theories. He even seems to have roused up +that heartless, insipid Anita; for the first time I actually saw +a kind of likeness between them. One could at least tell +that they were brother and sister." +</p> + +<p> +To be once again on the familiar road to Pozzuoli made +Carlo's heart glow within him. Every tree, every house, +seemed like an old friend; his eye noted each slight change +wrought during the three years of absence, while his mind +recalled the past with little but a tender remembrance of the +bygone happiness. As he drew near to the grotto of Posilipo +he instinctively slackened his pace a little, glancing up with +eyes full of glad recognition at the lovely hillside, with its +tangled growth of birch, and pine, and cactus, clustering +about the place which is supposed to be the tomb of Virgil. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this moment that a close carriage drove quickly +past him; he would have taken no particular notice of it had +he not, with his keen and practised observation, noted even +in the brief moment of passing the remarkably fine eyes of one +of the occupants. Where had he seen them before? Both the +eyes and the searching glance seemed familiar to him, and +racking his memory he at length brought back a mental +picture of a water-seller's stall, and of a young man of strong +and sinewy frame, who had arrested his attention last night +by a certain picturesqueness of attitude as he stood watching +the crowd glass in hand; for an instant they had looked full +at each other, and the piercing glance of the stranger had +lingered in his memory, and he had thought to himself as he +passed on that even in Italy one did not often encounter such +splendid eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Entering the lofty archway of the grotto he passed on into +the dark tunnel, which seemed to him more than ever like +the long nave of some vast cathedral, the lights gleaming at +intervals making the surrounding gloom only more apparent. +He smiled a little to himself at the recollection of sundry +boyish terrors never confessed to any living creature and +never given way to; he remembered how, now and then on +his way home from Naples, there had been times when the +horrible feeling of an unknown "something" waiting to +spring out upon him from the darkness had set his heart +beating fast, and had made him resort in desperation to a +Paternoster; and he acknowledged to himself that there was +perhaps some slight excuse for those past terrors, since, +after all, the grotto was an eerie place, and the road, even at +this hour in the afternoon, lonely enough. +</p> + +<p> +But recollections of old times began to give place to the +absorbing consciousness that he was on his way to Francesca, +and as he left the dimly-lighted tunnel behind him and +emerged into the dust and the afternoon sunshine, he fell +into a happy reverie. He was to see her again, and she was +his, and the trouble was all over, and the separation ended, +and life was so bright that already those weary years seemed +to him like a dream and the glad anticipation like a return +to real waking existence. +</p> + +<p> +She would be waiting for him at the gate of Casa Bella, and +they would go once more to the old belvedere where he had +first told her of his love; he would make her stand once +more under the datura tree where she had stood long ago when +the trouble was just beginning to darken on the horizon, and +he should see her now again as he had seen her so often in +his dreams, with the creamy flowers drooping down over her +dusky hair and her eyes shining into his. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled to himself with the rapture of the thought, and +touched up his horse, grudging every moment that kept him +from his love. +</p> + +<p> +He had ridden about two miles beyond the grotto and had +nearly reached the cross road which leads towards Agnano, +when he was roused from his dream of happiness by his +horse shying violently at the sudden apparition of a man +rushing across the road. All his attention was needed to +quiet the animal, and it was only when he found himself +surrounded by four formidable-looking ruffians that he realized +another danger. There was just time for him to give his +horse a smart stroke over the shoulder which made it bound +forward, but the effort was useless, for one of his assailants +instantly caught the reins in a firm grip and the next moment +he was dragged from his seat. With all his might he struggled +to free himself, but it was only for a minute or two that +he could even keep his footing; a hand held his throat so +tightly that to cry out for help was impossible, to breathe at +all difficult, and, though he fought gallantly, and by +adroitness and agility rather than strength, managed to give his +captors some trouble, it was inevitable that he should succumb. +Bruised, shaken, half choked by the relentless grip on his +throat, he at length felt his strength overborne, and +struggling to the end, was forced down on the dusty road. Then +came a moment's breathing space, for the hand at his throat +relaxed its hold and another and a coarser hand was +substituted for it. One of the men broke the silence, speaking +in a low, hurried voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"Now then, Lionbruno, the blow—quick!" +</p> + +<p> +To move was impossible. Three powerful men held him +down in the dust, a fourth was apparently told off to murder +him. He had time for only two thoughts—Comerio's +vengeance and Francesca's grief; and the pang of this last +thought was so terrible that the prompt blow on the head +which put an end to consciousness was, perhaps, more +merciful than preparation or delay. +</p> + +<p> +When he came to himself he remembered nothing that +had passed, but awoke to a consciousness of intense physical +misery. He gasped for breath and became aware that his +mouth was tightly bandaged; there was, moreover, a covering +over his face—perhaps a shroud! and in the horror of +that thought he instinctively tried to raise his hand and make +feeling supply the place of sight, but he found that his arms +were tightly strapped to his sides. Restored still further to +life by the mere astonishment and dismay, he perceived that +he was in a carriage which was being driven rapidly along a +rather rough road, his head ached terribly and felt heavy and +confused, and he was sinking back into a sort of stupor and +vaguely wondering how long he should have to bear the pain +of the jolting vehicle, when the silence was broken by a +voice near him. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Per Dio!</i> who would have thought such a small made +man would have given us so much trouble!" +</p> + +<p> +"He fought so well that our courteous Lionbruno was in +fifty minds about knocking him on the head," said another +speaker, sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Accidente!</i>" broke in a much younger voice; "nothing of +the sort, I tell you. Comerio has had to pay a good price +for his pretty prima donna, but he has not given us a lira +too much for this business,—it was a risky thing in full +daylight. <i>Sacramento!</i> the fellow is coming to himself!" +</p> + +<p> +The mention of Comerio's name had brought back everything +to Carlo's remembrance, and the intolerable words +which followed filled him with an anguish which, for the +time, made the physical pain non-existent. He started +forward, found his feet unfettered, and began to writhe and +struggle in a vain effort to free his arms. Instantly strong +hands forced him down again, and heavy boots kicked his +shins into unwilling stillness. +</p> + +<p> +"Be so good as to use your common-sense, signor!" said +the young voice at his elbow. "You are our prisoner, and +wholly at our mercy. Your life is in no danger at present, +but if you resist we shall put an end to you to save ourselves +trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"Bravo! bravo!" cried another voice, stifling a laugh. +"Lionbruno is such an orator that we shall soon have him +as a Deputy, and then he can travel free of cost!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a little more stifled laughter, then silence again, +broken only by the sound of the horses' hoofs and the +rumbling of the wheels. +</p> + +<p> +Terrible thoughts rushed through Carlo's mind. He saw +Anita at the mercy of Comerio, her husband away, Sardoni +out of reach, himself altogether powerless. The intolerable +realization of his own helplessness almost maddened him, +and his brain, still confused by the stunning blow, refused to +be controlled. If he could have seen with his eyes—if he +could have asked one question—if he could have freed his +arms from the cords which bound them,—the horrible +suspense and anxiety would have been more bearable; but he +was, as his captor had said, wholly at the mercy of others, +and the perception of this made him beside himself. It was +the same struggle magnified a thousand-fold which he had +passed through at the time of his illness—for a man the +hardest struggle possible,—to endure an unnatural and +undeserved restraint, to be altogether helpless while +conscious of strength, and know that for that strength there is a +terrible demand. Such burning wrath consumed him, such +uncontrollable resentment, that it was, perhaps, well for him +that action was impossible, or with the blind impulse of a +confused brain and a despairing heart he might have done +some rash deed which, in a cooler moment, he would bitterly +repent. +</p> + +<p> +At length the carriage stopped, and Carlo was dragged out. +The rough handling made him tingle from head to foot, and +with all his might he resisted, for he knew that at present +he stood on a road where there was at least a possibility of +meeting with help, and to what these brigands were hurrying +him he had no idea. +</p> + +<p> +"No use, signor!" said the voice at his side. "We are +four to one, and you only make matters worse for yourself." +</p> + +<p> +Something in the tone of the speaker appealed to Carlo. +His blood cooled a little, and he allowed himself to be led +through what he felt sure must be a thick wood, for he could +hear the rustle of leaves as they forced their way on, and +could feel boughs brushing against him. As to the distance +they walked, he could not form the slightest idea. It +seemed to him as if the journey would never end, and his +assailants were evidently in a hurry, for, spite of the rough, +uneven ground, they went at a sharp pace, and when exhaustion +made him hang back a little, he found himself impatiently +urged on by Lionbruno, who, throughout the walk, +grasped his arm, while the men who brought up the rear +pushed, kicked, and hustled him at every opportunity. +</p> + +<p> +At last he was so worn out that it was all he could do to +drag one foot after the other, the craving for air and light +became more and more keen, and had it not been for the iron +grasp in which he was held he would have fallen to the +ground. A sort of dull comfort in the thought that it must +sooner or later end was his only relief,—and presently the +way became clearer, he heard other voices, and felt other men +approaching him. Some one tore off the bandages which +had kept him blind and dumb for so long, and then, dazzled +and confused, he looked round. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself in a domed building, which seemed to +him a smaller edition of the old Roman bath at Baja, known +as the Temple of Mercury. It was lighted only by two +torches, which, however, shed a pretty strong light on the +strange group beneath. Half-a-dozen rough, ill-clad men +were clustered together close to a stone bench, on which was +seated the leader of the gang, a powerful-looking man, whose +rugged face and uncompromising mouth instantly checked +all the hope that rose in Carlo's heart when he found himself +capable once more of seeing and speaking. +</p> + +<p> +Brancaleone was not at all the ferocious and cruel-looking +brigand chief of his boyish fancies; he was much more like +an officer of the martinet type, but his face was as hard as a +rock, and he was evidently a person from whom no quarter +was to be expected. +</p> + +<p> +"Successful, you see, in my first enterprise, <i>padre mio!</i>" +said the young fellow who had been addressed as Lionbruno. +Carlo looked at him, and saw that he could not have been +more than eighteen at the outside. Undoubtedly he was the +same picturesque figure whom he had noticed yesterday by +the water-seller's stall; and now, as he stood beside the chief, +bowing respectfully yet speaking with the freedom of a son, +the likeness between the two faces was quite noticeable. In +twenty years time, if he lived the same lawless life, the +young face would be probably an exact reproduction of the +old. +</p> + +<p> +Brancaleone turned his haughty gaze upon the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"Your name, signor?" he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"I am Carlo Poerio Donati," he replied. "For what +purpose have you brought me here? If money is your object, +I am as poor as any man in Naples." +</p> + +<p> +The chief did not answer, but ordered one of the banditti +to search the prisoner. The man obeyed, and handed the +contents of Carlo's pockets to the leader, who at once singled +out the watch and chain and handed them to Lionbruno. +</p> + +<p> +"This is your share, my son; you have done well," he +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the things he pushed collectively towards the +three men who had helped in the capture; they snatched +eagerly at the purse, and grumbled much to find so little +money in it. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Carlo stood motionless. Sometimes it seemed +to him that the whole scene must be some wild imagination +of his own brain. Had he, perhaps, been so overwrought by +the hurrying griefs and joys of the past few weeks that his +mind had become deranged? Or was he asleep, and was it +all a dream arising out of some confused recollections of the +struggling he had witnessed in the panic, and fantastically +blended with the gipsy camp scene in Carmen! A horrible +giddiness seized him—the result, probably, of the blow he +had received and the exhausting walk which had followed. +He staggered a little, but recovered himself, and once more +turned to the chief with the same question,— +</p> + +<p> +"For what purpose have you brought me here?" +</p> + +<p> +"You bear a name, signor, that I once revered," said the +chief, coldly; "and for the sake of that I will answer you, +though I am not usually questioned by my prisoners. You +come here to replenish my purse. There are those who were +willing to pay well for my son's little escapade, and your stay +here will be quite free of cost to yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"I will double the sum if you will release me at once!" +exclaimed Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +But the chief shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"In the words of the proverb, signor, '<i>E meglio aver oggi +un uovo che dimani una gallina</i>,' nor do I ever turn from my +word. Rocco, make haste with the irons!" +</p> + +<p> +Again that horrible giddy confusion rose in Carlo's brain; +he was very dimly aware of what happened during the next +few minutes; but the paroxysm passed, and he found that +they were leading him through a catacomb, and that +Lionbruno, torch in hand, headed the procession. The passage +ended in a sort of rude cell, which showed signs of habitation, +and here his guards left him, with Lionbruno only as +sentinel. He noticed that his arms had been unstrapped, +but that there was a chain round his waist to which one foot +and one hand were attached, and the weight of iron was so +great that he could only move with difficulty. He remembered +that Poerio himself had worn such fetters for years, +and again the dream-like feeling crept over him. He could +hardly persuade himself that he was actually Carlo Donati, +the singer, living in the peaceful days of King Humbert. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the son of the chief was regarding the first +prisoner for whose capture he was responsible with something +like embarrassment. He had expected on the part of his +victim an abject terror, a piteous appeal for mercy, which +would effectually have steeled his heart against him, which +would have genuinely pleased his pride, and made opportunities +for cruelty delightful. But now that he had got his +wish, and with exceptional coolness and daring had kidnapped +his man in broad daylight and within a few miles of +Naples, he found, much to his disgust, that, far from feeling +himself a hero, he had a vague sense of discomfort and shame +for which he could not in the least account. +</p> + +<p> +"You still feel the effects of the blow, signor?" he inquired, +pushing together with his foot the shavings which had +accumulated about a carpenter's bench that stood in a corner +of the cell. "You had better lie down and rest." He made +a gesture towards the pile of shavings, wondering greatly at +himself as he did so. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, however, took no heed of the suggestion; instead, +he drew nearer to his jailer. +</p> + +<p> +"I am your prisoner," he said, gravely, "and wholly at +your mercy, as you reminded me just now; but we are +fellow-men. Do not keep me any longer in the dark! Tell me +what Comerio means to do!" +</p> + +<p> +"What is that to us?" replied Lionbruno. "For the +present our share of the work is done, and for the rest who +cares? In any case Brancaleone will get his money. As +for your fate, I don't care a fig about it one way or the +other!" +</p> + +<p> +"You are more of a man and less of a brute than you +would have me think," replied Carlo; "but it is not of my +fate I ask. Tell me what Comerio means to do! I know +that he is at the bottom of this plot; I should have known +it even had I not heard your words in the carriage!" +</p> + +<p> +"So you did hear them? And that was what made you +fight again for your freedom? Take my advice, signor, and +do not ask too many questions. <i>Corpo di Bacco!</i> Must you, +then, hear all? Well, in two days' time you will have your +limbs freed from those irons, or, if not, why, your soul will +be freed from your body, which comes to the same thing in +the end!" +</p> + +<p> +"Can you not speak plainly? Do you mean that my life +depends on Comerio's whim?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not on Comerio at all, but on your sister. Look here, it +is all as orderly as a ceremony on a <i>festa</i>! Comerio goes to +her to-night, wins her consent to leave the country with him, +and exchanges a white handkerchief with our Neapolitan +agent, who on Wednesday night will pass it on to us, and +from that moment you are a free man once more. Or, on +the other hand, Madame Merlino refuses her lover's suggestion +definitely, Comerio disappears from the scene, having +dropped a red handkerchief with our agent, and on Thursday +you look your last on this world. That is the matter in a +nutshell, signor." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo's heart gave a bound, then a cold chill ran through +him; he had indeed grown pretty well accustomed to the +idea of possible violence at the hands of Comerio; he knew +the Corsican's nature too well to expect him to behave, for +instance, like an Englishman or an American; but, although +he had never been lacking in courage, it appalled him to +think that for two days and two nights he must wait in this +dismal cell, and at the end of the time be murdered in cold +blood. Yet what was the other alternative? Either Anita +must live in sin, or he must die—there was no escape from the +dilemma! To desire his own life meant that he desired her +moral death; to pray for his own safe-keeping meant that he +prayed for her ruin. And yet he clung to life with the strong +natural instinct of a healthy man. Only a few weeks ago all +had been hard and dreary for him; but now, with Francesca +his own once more, with the prospect of fame sweetened by +her loving sympathy, with health and vigor, and all the ardent +desires of youth, how was it possible for him to be willing +to be done to death in this dismal catacomb? +</p> + +<p> +After all, under the circumstances, would it be such a sin +on Anita's part? Was not Merlino ill-tempered enough to +excuse such a step? Were not his own notions about +marriage old-fashioned, as Sardoni had always declared? +Thoughts such as these just glanced through his mind, yet +gave him but a momentary struggle, because the life he had +lived for the last three years made him on this point +practically invulnerable. The real anguish lay in the temptation +to put Francesca above everything—above his conscience, +above his sense of honor and duty. How could he desire +that which must condemn her to grief and loneliness, which +must cause her the most cruel of shocks and blight her whole +life? It was the old, old story of the innocent suffering for +the guilty, of the strong bearing the burden of the weak, and +his mind revolted from the thought of sorrow visiting the +woman he loved best; he turned in horror from the apparent +injustice of the law of life. +</p> + +<p> +But while he lay there face downwards on the heap of +shavings in dumb, hopeless anguish, there came to him all +at once the strangest consciousness that, although he was +chained, fettered, and guarded,—a most helpless prisoner, +not even knowing where his underground cell could be, yet +that in his keeping lay Anita's fate. He knew, as he knew +the fact of his own existence, that if he could not bring his +will to accept this thought of being murdered, neither would +she allow herself to be saved from wrong-doing at the expense +of his life. At this very moment she, too, was probably +wrestling with deadly temptation. Her love for him so +lately awakened would impel her to save him at all costs, +while Comerio's power over her would be increased tenfold +by this devilish scheme which had been so cunningly laid. +Clearly the Corsican was determined to win her, while, for the +time, Carlo had staggered under the blow dealt him by his +enemy, and was pausing, as men must, to look the evil in the +face, to count the cost as they are distinctly told to do, that +so they may be ready for the worst. +</p> + +<p> +Anita was even now making her final choice. Whatever +the scientific or spiritual explanation of the matter might be, +he knew that there was between them some direct power of +influence, some will-force, which made her decision depend +on his actual readiness for sacrifice. It was clearly impossible +that she should be saved by a figment of the imagination—a +mere belief in his readiness. He must definitely desire +that she might be saved from Comerio, cost him what it +would, before she could be so influenced by his devotion as +to choose what was really right. It must be a living fact, not +a hazy illusion, which would save his sister. +</p> + +<p> +And yet how could he desire that which would bring bitter +grief to Francesca, disappointment to all his hopes of work +in the world, a sudden end to his career? It would not +even be a beautiful and glorious death like his father's or +his grandfather's, but a miserable end like some animal in a +slaughter-house, a horrible degrading death in a den of +robbers without a single friend to comfort him, without one +farewell to those he loved! And with that the tears started +to his eyes, for he saw once more the carriage just outside +the arsenal gates, he remembered how Francesca had smiled +at him for the last time when he parted from her on leaving +the yacht, and recalled the bright hope which had thrilled in +her voice as she spoke that "<i>A rivederci!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"My God!" he cried, "how can I be willing to die! It +is more than man can bear!" +</p> + +<p> +Choking with emotion, and with a craving for air, he raised +himself a little, turning his face instinctively towards the +light. +</p> + +<p> +Apparently Lionbruno added to his character of brigand +the more peaceful callings of carpenter and carver, and by +some curious irony of fate his carvings were almost all of +them ecclesiastical; in this secret retreat of banditti were to +be found delicately-carved alms-boxes, destined for some +rich cathedral or church; beautifully designed rosaries, which +might some day find a home in the private oratory of a +wealthy noble; and crosses by the dozen, because for them +the market was always good. Carlo was so much accustomed +to observe things carefully, that he instinctively took in all +these little details, spite of his grievous trouble. Lionbruno +had set up a couple of torches in a carved sconce, had +lighted a small lamp with a tin reflector, and, seated on a +stool beneath it, was working with apparent laziness, but +with wonderful effect, on a crucifix. For some minutes +Carlo watched in silence the carving of one of the pierced +hands, then a flood of light suddenly overpowered his +darkness. Was it more than a man could bear, this that had +come to him? +</p> + +<p> +He could not submit, no healthy human nature could submit, +to objectless pain or needless sacrifice; but could not +he, too, seek only to do God's will and quietly take the +consequences, facing world, and flesh, and devil, as the Divine +Man had done in the strength of dauntless faith? +</p> + +<p> +Yes, he felt that it was possible. There was in the very +depths of his being something upon which he could at will +fall back, a strength infinitely greater than this craving for +the joys of life, and love, and freedom; stronger, too, than +that side of his love for Francesca, which made him tremble +at the thought of her grief and loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo was no theologian, probably he could not have put +into many-syllabled terms his own firm belief, but he had +the insight of a pure heart and the vigor of one who has +always tried to conquer his own weaknesses. In a very simple +and literal way he believed that God was his Father, not in +name only, but in very truth. He knew that he, in common +with every human being, had it in his power to live as a son +or as an alien; and he knew, by that most sure proof, the +experience of daily life, that he could only overcome the +cravings of selfishness, by a constant effort to come into +closer union with that life-giving Spirit to whom he was truly +akin, that so his spirit might not starve, but grow and develop. +</p> + +<p> +The confusion, caused by physical weakness, and the +shock of finding himself at the mercy of the merciless, began +to fade, as he realized the strength of that wisdom, and +love, and peace, which reigns above all the sin of the world, +and which is, in truth, "taking it away" by the eternal +power of love and sacrifice. He felt a sort of surprise that +only a few minutes ago the struggle within him had been so +desperate, the revolt against his fate so vehement. After +all, what did it matter if, for a time, evil seemed to triumph +and might seemed to conquer right? Had it not always +seemed to be so since the beginning of the world? And yet +had not good steadily advanced, triumphing through apparent +defeat? Above all the anguish of his grief, and pain, +and loss, there came to him, as there had often come during +those three years, a wonderful happiness, the pure delight of +realizing the perfect will of God, and with his whole heart +trying to do it. +</p> + +<p> +Looked at through this other atmosphere, the future seemed +less formidable to meet, though not one whit less important. +A wave of horror passed over him as he realized what might +be happening at that very moment, and all thought of self +died within him, as in terrible reaction, he passed from the +vision of perfect Purity and Love to the thought of impurity +and sin. In an agony he prayed, willing now to die a +thousand deaths rather than that Anita should sink into this +black abyss, this hellish contradiction to all love and light. +</p> + +<p> +It mattered nothing to him that many would consider his +adhesion to Christ's law as to marriage mere old-fashioned +prejudice; it mattered nothing to him that the worldly-wise +would say he was throwing away his life for the sake of +keeping his sister from the infringement of a conventional law. +He knew that it was not so. For since it is the pure in +heart who see God, it is also the pure in heart who intuitively +shrink from evil, and realize without analyzing the +hatefulness of impurity. +</p> + +<p> +So the night hours passed by, and he prayed unceasingly +for Nita's safety. +</p> + +<p> +It was not till morning that the thought of his own position +returned to him. +</p> + +<p> +"This must be Tuesday," he reflected, as he rose from his +rough bed. "To-morrow I shall die." +</p> + +<p> +But the thought had lost its bitterness, for, after all, death +would mean victory. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap36"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. +<br><br> +"ALL GOETH BUT GOD'S WILL." +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Whatso it be, howso it be, Amen.<br> + Blessed it is, believing, not to see.<br> + Now God knows all that is; and we shall then,<br> + Whatso it be.<br> + God's Will is best for man whose will is free.<br> + God's Will is better to us, yea, than ten<br> + Desires whereof he holds and weighs the key.<br> + * * * * *<br> + He knows all wants, allots each where and when,<br> + Whatso it be."—CHRISTINA ROSSETTI,<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You have passed a bad night, signor," remarked +Lionbruno, glancing up from his work at the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo, who to the last retained his sense of fun, saw the +double meaning which the remark might bear, and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not slept," he replied. "And you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I," said Lionbruno, shrugging his shoulders, "have had +to wake also, that I might keep guard." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think, then, that escape would be possible in +such irons as these?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, it would be impossible, even if the approach to the +upper air were not well guarded. But it is one of Brancaleone's +laws that a prisoner should be watched night and day. +It would have been irksome enough had I not turned you to +account as a model." +</p> + +<p> +The crucifix was now quite finished, and the carver, struck +by the face he had had to watch through those long hours, had +reproduced it in the wood with marvellous accuracy, catching +precisely the expression of pain, with steadfast hope +underlying it, which the prisoner's face had borne through the +night. +</p> + +<p> +The features, too, had been reproduced so accurately that +Carlo could not but recognize himself. He looked shocked, +then pained, finally a faint smile dawned in his eyes, and he +fell into deep thought. +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno left him for a few minutes, returning presently +with a long loaf of bread tucked under his arm, a flask of +<i>chianti</i> swinging from his wrist, and a huge basin of +maccaroni in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Come," he said, with rough good-nature, "let us eat. I +am hungry if you are not." +</p> + +<p> +In silence they shared the food. The cell was now only +lighted by one torch, which cast an orange glow over the +carved crosses and crucifixes, and shone upon the faces of +the two strangely-contrasted men. Carlo, worn-out with all +he had gone through, looked pale and exhausted, but Lionbruno +was in no wise fatigued by his want of sleep, and ate +with the voracious appetite of a school-boy. Carlo watched +him with a good deal of curiosity, wondering greatly what +his history could be. +</p> + +<p> +"Where did you learn to carve like that?" he said at +length, glancing once more at the crucifix. +</p> + +<p> +"It was the one useful thing taught me at school, the one +thing I ever took the pains to learn," said Lionbruno, with a +laugh. "And when I had mastered all they could teach me, +why, I ran away." +</p> + +<p> +"Was it at Naples?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, at Rome," continued Lionbruno, throwing himself +lazily on the heap of shavings, and yielding to the fascination +of Carlo's manner, as most people did. "<i>Diavolo</i>! what did +I not suffer in those years! Cooped up in a great stone +building, watched every moment, guarded as though I had +been a girl, and nothing to hope for in the future but the +wretched life of a priest." +</p> + +<p> +"A priest!" echoed Carlo, in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, a preposterous notion, was it not? A mere whim of +my mother's,—peace to her soul." He crossed himself with +indescribable rapidity. It was the last almost unconscious +tribute he still paid to the faith which his mother had held, +but in which he himself had ceased to believe. "My father, +willing to please her on her death-bed, promised that they +should make a priest of me, and he did his best; but what +would you have? It is not possible to turn a wolf into a +sheep-dog, or an eagle into a canary. I bore it till I was seventeen, +then, one night,"—he rubbed his hands with glee at the mere +recollection,—"one delightful, moonless night, the happiest +in all my life, I broke loose from the fold, got a disguise, was +within an ace of being caught, and at last got home to Corsica, +half-starved, but free, and as happy as a king." +</p> + +<p> +"Then Corsica is your home?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Insomma!</i> I have run on, forgetting that possibly you +will be free again to-morrow, and may betray us." +</p> + +<p> +He looked annoyed, and half inclined to be angry. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not be uneasy," said Carlo. "This is my last day in +the world, and even did I wished to do so I could not possibly +betray your haunts." +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to look death in the face calmly enough; but +it is far more likely that you will be set free." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"If I were set free it would mean that my whole life had +failed. Something tells me that it is not so. Therefore, you +see, I must face the thought of death. And, while we are +speaking of it, just tell me how it will be. Am I to be shot?" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno's great black eyes were full of wonder, they +were very much like the eyes of some animal. He was +completely puzzled by his companion, and somehow awed +by him. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said; "that could not be, here." +</p> + +<p> +"What then, stabbed?" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Poisoned, or perhaps hung?" +</p> + +<p> +Again the young brigand made a gesture of dissent; then, +with unmistakable meaning, he drew out his knife, and passed +it lightly across his own throat, glancing significantly at the +prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +Carlo had too vivid an imagination not to shrink a little +from the picture which presented itself to his mind; he grew +suddenly cold, and felt a strange stirring in his heart, and a +tightening about the muscles of his throat. But he quickly +recovered himself, and, with no perceptible effort, returned to +the interrupted story. +</p> + +<p> +"And so you escaped from your school-life, and from all +<i>espionage</i>. At first it must have been delightful." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Dio!</i> I should think it was!" exclaimed the boy. "To +be out in the woods night and day, to have done with the +hateful old routine, and for work to have nothing but adventure +and excitement—why, it was paradise!" +</p> + +<p> +"I fancied all the banditti had been captured at the time +of the great extermination," said Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno's face grew dark. +</p> + +<p> +"That time gave us a blow from which we shall never +recover," he said. "But my father somehow baffled all +detection, and he will always baffle it, for he is more than a +match for the Italian police in a body. Nothing but treachery +could possibly beat him, and among the whole band there is +not one man who would betray him, though they offered him +his weight in diamonds." +</p> + +<p> +"I can imagine that he would always meet with obedience +and loyalty," said Carlo, recalling the powerful face of the +chief. +</p> + +<p> +"Anywhere he would be king of men," said Lionbruno, +proudly. "And since the world gave him the cold shoulder, +he must be king of banditti. Did you hear but a month or +two back of the highway robberies in Corsica! They were +planned and carried out by Brancaleone. Do you remember +how Count Feroni was carried off in Sicily, and kept up in +the mountains till the ransom was paid? That again was +due to Brancaleone. And the great jewel robbery in Naples, +that, too, was the work of our band. We are like the +lightning, here, there, and everywhere; our work is done in a +flash, and then—<i>presto!</i> all is darkness once more, and no +one can lay hold of us." +</p> + +<p> +"I remember now hearing of the disappearance of Count +Feroni," said Carlo; "though the details were never published, +perhaps for the sake of our country's honor. Do you know +what that work of yours did? It killed the Count's mother; +she died of the shock before his return." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ebbene!</i> we must all die sooner or later," said Lionbruno, +coolly. +</p> + +<p> +There was an indignant light in Carlo's eyes which made +the young Corsican shift his position uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +"And this work of yours yesterday," continued Carlo; +"it will not only end in murder, it will break hearts, and +blight lives. Will you be proud of doing such devil's work +as that?" +</p> + +<p> +"A man must live," said Lionbruno, gloomily. "I only +do what I was brought up to do. As to cruelty, Brancaleone +would not have the hold which he has on the hearts of the +people were he a cruel chief. No prisoner has ever been +ill-used by him, and if a man must be put out of the way, why, +it is done promptly and without barbarity. The day for +such things is past; we too, are civilized, our plots are more +refined, as well as more successful, now that we have the +telegraph always at our command." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo started. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean, then, that the telegram I had yesterday +was your doing? Was it a mere trick?" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno laughed, and rubbed his hands together. +</p> + +<p> +"Was it not clever? The first idea was a note of invitation +from the English Captain; but then there would have +been the danger of the handwriting not being right. The +telegram was my notion, and the sending it in English made +it doubly safe; it was only because I had thought of it that I +was given the charge of the whole affair, for, after all, I am +young for such work. <i>Dio!</i> what sport it was! The watching +for the yacht, and dogging your steps everywhere, while all the +time you were so happily ignorant; then the breathless race to +Pozzuoli to send the telegram, and the anxiety of the afternoon +when we did not know whether, perhaps, you might not after +all refuse to go. How happy I was when I saw you by the +Grotto of Posilipo! And you, too, looked happy. Ah, I +shall never again have a better bit of sport!" +</p> + +<p> +Carlo shuddered, the unblushing avowal made him recoil +as from some hellish thing. He did not say a word, but +Lionbruno noted his expression, and never forgot it. +</p> + +<p> +"Come!" he said, his tone suddenly changing, "I can't +stay all day in this dull hole. We will see what the others +are up to." +</p> + +<p> +"Can I not stay here in quiet?" pleaded Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +But Lionbruno was inexorable. A prisoner must be +watched day and night, and Carlo had to endure as best he +could the long hours of that weary day, while his young guard +whiled away the time with cards, <i>mora</i>, and idle jesting with +the elder men of the band. +</p> + +<p> +At length night came, and once more prisoner and jailer +made their way through the winding catacomb to the inner +cell. Lionbruno, who had slept at intervals through the day, +took up his carving once more, and Carlo, wearied with the +noise and confusion which for so many hours he had had to +bear, and still suffering from the effects of the blow he had +received, stretched himself again on the heap of shavings. +</p> + +<p> +"My last night," he reflected, then, turning to the young +Corsican, asked what time the messenger would arrive the +next day. +</p> + +<p> +"Possibly not till midnight," replied Lionbruno, pausing +in his work to look at the prisoner; "but you will be placed +in readiness at eleven. Alter all, I would as soon not see +you murdered, though I know you think me a sort of devil. +</p> + +<p> +"I think you nothing of the kind," said Carlo, with a +vigor of denial which startled his companion. "The pity +of it is that you are a man, meant for something very +different, and yet willing to do the devil's work." +</p> + +<p> +"I am only taking by force the share of property that the +world won't give me fairly," said Lionbruno, doggedly. "If +all things were equally divided there would be no need of +banditti. As for your devil, I don't believe in him, nor in +your God either; and that, too," he pointed to the crucifix, +"it is all a fable! If it were true, why, instead of paying a +hundred <i>lire</i> for a carving like this, to put in a private +oratory, men would be dying on crosses themselves!" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno, with his school recollections, and his angry +bias against everything connected with the Church, would +certainly have had the best of it in an argument, but Carlo +was too well accustomed to living with people who despised +all that he most revered, to feel moved to speak; he had +learnt long ago that, as a rule, words do but stir up strife, +and that he at any rate must keep to deeds. He was quite +silent now, and through the long, quiet hours the vehement +words that had last sounded in the cell kept ringing in his +ears. Partly from the strain of physical and mental suffering, +partly from a growing sense of nearness to the unseen +world, he had all along found it very hard to realize his +surroundings; the old Roman building, hidden away below +the earth's surface, the winding catacomb, the gloomy little +cell with the carvings leaning against the rocky wall, all +seemed to him more like scenes that he had read about than +actual places where he was now living. Brancaleone, too, +and his followers, seemed to him like people in a dream that +is over, though he had listened all day to their foul talk, and +wearied of their noisy quarrels. But something in the words +which his companion had last spoken roused him to a greater +feeling of reality; he made an effort to realize to himself the +sort of life that this mere boy of eighteen was living, and +the more he realized it the more he pitied him, and the more +he felt drawn to him. Again and again his eyes turned to +the dark, resolute, handsome face of the young Corsican; it +had not yet acquired the cold wickedness of Brancaleone's +face, it was too young and boyish for that, too full of mere +animal delight in existence; but another year or two of this +wild life would make him merely a younger and more +headstrong edition of his father. +</p> + +<p> +"You do not sleep, signor," observed Lionbruno, looking +up from his work as the prisoner moved restlessly and the +dismal sound of clanking irons echoed through the quiet cell. +</p> + +<p> +"They say a condemned prisoner always sleeps well on +his last night," said Carlo; "but I never felt more wakeful +in my life." +</p> + +<p> +"Then tell me your story," said Lionbruno, "for it is +dull enough with nothing to do but keep guard. I told you +of my life yesterday, now tell me of yours." +</p> + +<p> +Willing to please his companion, and with a feeling that +on this his last night it would comfort him to go once more +over his memories of the past, Carlo told in his spontaneous, +graphic fashion the story of his life, and Lionbruno +listened with rapt attention, partly because the prisoner was +a good raconteur, but chiefly because he was conscious of +something which was a most novel contrast to anything he +had yet come across in the world. It was nothing but a +summary of facts which Carlo gave him, but Lionbruno was +artist enough to have a quick eye for beauty, and a capability +of reading between the lines, as it were, while the mingled +openness and reserve of the story, the lack of self-consciousness, +yet the innate modesty of the speaker, forced him to +perceive a new idea. +</p> + +<p> +His own words returned to him,—"If it were true, men +would be dying on crosses themselves!" Then he looked +from the carved crucifix to the face of the prisoner, and +again back to the crucifix. After all, was it something more +than a fable? Deep down in his heart there wakened a +new, uncomfortable, unwelcome conviction, which he did his +best to smother, because he saw that it would work havoc +in his life, and Lionbruno in this respect was as lazy and +conservative as most people; a revolution in society was +what he longed for, but a revolution in his own heart and +life could not be tolerated, the bare idea made him feel as +uncomfortable and perturbed as a wealthy landowner who +thinks with dread of a possible reform of the land laws. +</p> + +<p> +All the next day he was markedly civil to his prisoner. +He even sacrificed himself so far as to remain in the dreary +little cell, instead of insisting, as before, on spending the time +with the rest of the gang. Carlo spoke little, for grief and +suspense and the long-continued sleeplessness had brought +him almost to the last stage of exhaustion, but what few words +he did say were courteous and pleasant, and in tone not +otherwise than cheerful. Lionbruno began to think more and +more distastefully of the scene that would be enacted that +evening, and, as the time drew near, he could bear it no +longer, but summoning one of the elder men to keep guard +in his place, sought out the chief and begged to speak alone +with him. +</p> + +<p> +Brancaleone led the way from the gloomy underground +retreat to the open air. Already it was dark, but here and +there, through the thick foliage, were little spaces through +which stars gleamed down coldly. Lionbruno gave a gasp +of relief as he found himself once more above ground, for +the atmosphere down below was not a little trying to one +accustomed to an out-door life. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Padre mio</i>," he said boldly, "should the red flag be sent +to-night, why should you not keep the prisoner longer and +make money out of him? He has rich friends, he is a popular +singer, thousands would be interested in his fate, we could +extort an enormous ransom." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that all you have to say?" said Brancaleone, with +scorn. "Did you ever know me go back from my word? If +Comerio is true to his bargain, do you think I shall play +him false?" +</p> + +<p> +"At least I have some right to speak for the prisoner +since I was the one who took him," said Lionbruno, with +deep resentment in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"No right whatever," said the chief, coldly; "you are +merely one of my band; your duty is to obey orders, not to +think." +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you," said Lionbruno, with an angry gesture, "if +you kill him you will regret it some day. A man like that +can't be murdered lightly." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you know about him?" said the chief, tauntingly. +</p> + +<p> +"I know that he is the only true man I have ever seen, +while we are brutes—worse than brutes!" said Lionbruno, +with passionate vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +Brancaleone suddenly turned upon him and grasped him +by the shoulder. "Say another word, and you yourself shall +be the one to cut his throat!" he said in a voice that was +none the less furious because low and restrained. +</p> + +<p> +With a heavy heart Lionbruno followed the chief back into +the secret retreat, returning an impatient oath to the teasing +inquiries of the other men, while he lighted his torch at the +fire before making his way through the catacomb. +</p> + +<p> +"Bring the prisoner in at once," said the chief, eyeing his +son distrustfully. +</p> + +<p> +Releasing Nicolo from his post in the cell, Lionbruno, still +bearing the torch, came close to the pile of shavings and bent +down over the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"I have tried to save you," he murmured, "but it was all +in vain. When I took you prisoner I did not know what I +know now. Give me your pardon, signor. I would gladly +undo the past, were that possible." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo grasped his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Undo it by breaking with it and starting afresh," he said. +"And, look, will you do one thing for me?" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno made a gesture of assent. +</p> + +<p> +"See, to-day, while you slept, I wrote this letter; if necessary +you can read it, there is not a line in it that can betray +you. Promise me when I am dead to send it. I have no +stamp, but there is the address." +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno glanced at the note, saw that it was directed to +"Miss Britton," and without further comment thrust it into +his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Brancaleone orders you to be brought in," he said +huskily. "Are you prepared, signor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Quite," replied Carlo, standing up, and speaking as +calmly as though no terrible ordeal awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +And yet it was not that he shrank from it less than other +men would have done; he looked regretfully round the +little gloomy cell, and slowly followed his guide through the +winding catacomb and out into the larger building, perceiving +even then the picturesqueness of the scene with its deep +shadows and glowing torchlight. Brancaleone sat smoking +as composedly as though no murder were contemplated that +night; close by, Nicolo stirred the contents of a caldron +which hung over a charcoal brazier, while the rest of the men +were playing cards and quarrelling among themselves. The +chief turned his cold eyes on the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"My messenger may arrive any time within the next hour," +he said. "You will therefore be ready for your fate, +whatever it may be. Should we have been betrayed, and should +a rescuing-party be sent with him, you will instantly be shot. +Should you see him wave a white handkerchief, it will mean +that you are free; should he wave a red one, you will feel +the sharpness of this knife." +</p> + +<p> +Carlo replied only by a slight gesture. His dignity appealed +to Brancaleone, who eyed him curiously, knowing that +never before had he met with such a prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"Rocco! Maso! take your places!" he called peremptorily. +</p> + +<p> +Two of the men instantly threw down their cards; and +Carlo found himself taken to that end of the building which +was farthest from a dark archway, presumably leading to +another catacomb, and from thence to the upper air. On +either side of him stood a ruffianly-looking Neapolitan, with +a loaded pistol held within a few inches of his temple; and +to the right hand, and a little in advance of the others, sat the +chief ostentatiously sharpening his knife. It was an ordeal +that would have tried the strongest nerves; the horrible, +grim suspense of it was a torture such as Carlo had never +conceived; and nothing but long practice in self-control +could have enabled him to keep under the sickening +anticipations of the butchery that was soon to take place. With a +strong effort he turned from such thoughts, not even +allowing himself to watch the dark archway opposite, where his +imagination kept picturing a confusion of red tokens and +white tokens, until he was as much dazzled as Gigi used to +be over the Pears' soap puzzle in England. With a pang he +remembered that he had never said good-bye to the little +fellow; and a hundred trifling recollections of unfinished +work rushed through his brain, till a flash of Brancaleone's +knife in the torchlight recalled him to the terrible present. +Then he fixed his eyes steadily on the cross which Lionbruno +was carving, and again the thought of his visible +surroundings faded. +</p> + +<p> +By and by came visions of what lay beyond this hour of +torture. He thought of the evil defeated, of Anita saved for +ever from Comerio's influence. He pictured to himself how +she would pass unscathed through her hard life, with Gigi to +shield her, with Francesca to comfort her and cling to her for +his sake, with a love for him which should be an actual +safeguard, not a vague regret. But with the thought of +Francesca, there came once more the wild clinging to life. She +would be his, indeed, in another world; but he craved for her +now, he shrank back from the parting—the unknown change. +</p> + +<p> +For, reason about it as we may, all endings are hard. We +ended our school-days regretfully, and shrank a little from +stepping out alone into the fuller and freer life, for which all +along we had been preparing. It was not that home was +less dear; it was not that we were less eager to begin life; +it was only that human nature cannot say their revocable +"never again" without a pang. +</p> + +<p> +And, after all, the past had been happy, spite of all the +troubles. Standing there, face to face with death, he seemed +to live it all through once more. He thought of his quiet +childhood, of his mother's devotion, of his happy betrothal. +Once more he lived through the story of his love for +Francesca, with its brief gleams of rapture and its long years of +wearing separation; once more he lived his art-life—triumphed +in this character, failed in that, faced abuse on and +off the stage, felt the glow of genuine success. And again he +lived through the pain and bliss of that night at Genoa, with +its violent reaction, its rapture of faithful love; again he +felt Francesca clinging to him, heard her words of perfect +trust, knew that the anguish of the past had been a mere +device of Satan. +</p> + +<p> +But Brancaleone moved, and the torchlight fell again on +the cold steel blade. In a few minutes there must come +that awful helplessness, that violence, and anguish, and +slaughter. His heart throbbed wildly; and once more, to +calm himself, he turned his eyes to Lionbruno's cross. The +boy's words returned to him, "As to that, it's a mere fable! +If it were true, men would be dying on crosses themselves!" +</p> + +<p> +"How little I have done to prove that it is truest truth, +and no fable," he thought, sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet for these last three years you have honestly tried to +follow me," said a voice in his heart. And the words of +comfort brought him a great gladness, for he knew that, +slowly and stumblingly, and with an amount of effort that +proved his own weakness and the strength of the Divine +help that had been his, he really had tried to live the life of +the Crucified, with its whole-hearted seeking of the Divine +will. After all, was any happiness to be compared to the +happiness that came to him even in this last extremity? +Was there not a deep truth in the poet's idea that the Divine +will is sweetest to us "when it triumphs at our cost." +</p> + +<p> +"If ever a man were ready to die it is that man," reflected +Lionbruno. "But, <i>Corpo di Bacco!</i> how shall I sit patiently +by and see him murdered!" +</p> + +<p> +He shuddered, and yet something in the beautiful, manly +face raised him above the thought of the scene of bloodshed. +How was it that this man, in the first flush of youth and +strength, could willingly give up everything—even life +itself—to save another from sin? How was it that he could stand +for an hour face to face with a most horrible death, yet show +neither fear, nor resentment, nor bravado—only a noble, +intrepid calm? +</p> + +<p> +Into the brigand's semi-cultivated mind the sight flashed +something more than the unwelcome conviction of the previous +night. All his shallow unbelief died in the light of that +revelation. It was not that he now believed there was a God, +he knew it; he knew that the Son of God must indeed have +taught men how to live and die; he saw that he had before +him, on the one hand a proof of the heights to which men +could rise who followed at all costs the guidance of the Holy +Spirit; on the other of the depths to which men could sink +who sought at all costs their own pleasures. +</p> + +<p> +The place had been strangely still for some minutes. +Nicolo had left his caldron, and now lay on the floor smoking; +the card-players had finished their game, and seemed to +think it was not worth while to begin another before the +event of the evening came off; one swarthy, black-bearded +fellow shuffled the cards, the others lounged at ease, watching +the prisoner indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +When at length a voice in the distance spoke the password, +every one present started slightly. Carlo drew himself +up to his full height, and looked steadily towards the +dark archway; Brancaleone rose, and, with one hand on his +victim and the knife in the other, glanced over his shoulder, +ready either to strike or to forbear; Lionbruno dropped his +cross, and glanced in great agitation from the archway to +the prisoner, and back again to the archway. The footsteps +drew nearer; the messenger suddenly turned the corner, and +emerged into sight; the torchlight fell on the token in his +hand—was it white or red? With a gasp of relief, Lionbruno +sprang forward and seized the handkerchief, waving +it joyfully in the air; while the messenger advanced and +handed a sealed packet to the chief, who at once sheathed +his knife and turned to the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"You are free, signor," he said, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +"Nita is ruined! I have failed!" thought Carlo. +</p> + +<p> +The sharpest pang he had ever had to bear shot through +him: and, without a word, he fell to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Diavolo!</i>" exclaimed the chief. "I have often seen a +prisoner overcome on hearing his death-sentence, but never +yet on getting a reprieve!" +</p> + +<p> +Lionbruno looked with many conflicting feelings at the face +which had grown so familiar to him. "<i>Per quanta è vero +Dio!</i>" he remarked, with an expressive gesture, "he really +did then care more for his sister's honor than for his own +life!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap37"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. +<br><br> +AT PALAZZO FORTI. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Love is enough: ho, ye who seek saving<br> + Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,<br> + And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;<br> + These know the cup with the roses around it;<br> + These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it;<br> + Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us home!'<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + "He leadeth, he hearkeneth, he cometh to youward;<br> + Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble<br> + Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the forward;<br> + Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!<br> + Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble!<br> + Cry out, for he heedeth, 'O Love lead us home!'"<br> + WILLIAM MORRIS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On that Monday evening, after Carlo had started +for Casa Bella, Nita dined alone, Gigi hovering round, and +always ready to accept promiscuous mouthfuls off her plate +like a pet dog. When the child had gone to bed, she sat +down to the piano, her fingers roaming over the keys and +playing a sort of subdued accompaniment to her reverie. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to turn over a new leaf," she thought to herself; +"it is after all rather pleasant to be good, and not so +hard as I thought. I have enjoyed these days on the yacht +with the Brittons; it was not half so dull as I expected. +There was something so peaceful and quiet about it. I +think I'm tired of being naughty. Now I'll be like Carlo; +that will be a novelty." +</p> + +<p> +She was interrupted by the entrance of the servant with a +visitor's card. Holding out her hand for it carelessly, she +glanced down at the name and saw that it was Comerio's. +A terrible fear seized on her. +</p> + +<p> +"Say I do not receive to-night. I am engaged—not well!" +she exclaimed breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +The servant retired, but in another minute came back still +bearing the card, on which Comerio had pencilled a few +words. +</p> + +<p> +"You must see me on a matter of life and death!" +</p> + +<p> +Nita's color came and went, but to refuse now seemed to +her impossible, and the next minute she was alone with her +lover. Yet, after all, did she love him or hate him? Of one +thing only she was conscious—that with all her heart she +feared him, and that over her he had some strange, deadly +influence. +</p> + +<p> +"How can you dare to come here!" she cried, passionately. +"Did I not tell you I would never speak to you +again?" +</p> + +<p> +Comerio smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"I come because I love you," he replied; "because I +knew you would not keep to your threat; because, happen +what may, I will never give you up. I have waited for you +all these years, Nita, but now you will be mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Never!" she cried, vehemently; and, with a growing +sense of terror, she tried to pass him and reach the +door. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not speak too hastily," he said, intercepting her; +"you are altogether in my power. Your brother has thwarted +me for long; now it is my turn. If you wish him to die, to +be murdered for your sake, you will refuse to come with me. +If you wish to save him you will leave Naples with me +to-night; we will fly to Australia and begin our new life +there!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! it isn't true," sobbed Nita; "it can't be true! +Carlo could never be in your power!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not true?" said Comerio, with a mocking laugh. "It +is as true as the Gospel. Do you think the Pozzuoli road is +so much frequented that I couldn't have him waylaid? I +tell you his fate rests in your hands. Now choose!" +</p> + +<p> +"You must be a fiend!" sobbed Nita. "Only a fiend +could make such a plan!" +</p> + +<p> +"A fiend or a lover," said Comerio. "All is fair in love +and war, Nita, and I love you—I love you,—and I will have +you. You shall not deny me!" +</p> + +<p> +Again the old subtle influence crept over poor Nita's +tempest-tossed heart; it needed only half an hour of Comerio's +impassioned pleading to break down all her resolutions. +After all, her life was hard and weary, and her husband rough +and overbearing, and goodness was dull, and this scheme +was exciting; besides, it would save Carlo—Carlo, whom +she really loved. Yes, she would save him at all costs; +she, too, would be self-sacrificing—she would give up +everything to save him from death. +</p> + +<p> +It was all over very quickly—the dispute, the struggle, the +promise,—then once more she was alone with but a few +hours in which to make all arrangements for her flight, for +Comerio had promised that a carriage should be in waiting +for her at twelve o'clock, and had hastened off to see that +all his plans were in working order. He had absolute +confidence in his own power over her, which was indeed great; +but there was another Power which he had forgotten to take +into account—a Power which could no more be laid hold of +and shut up with Carlo in the brigands' retreat, than the +wind. +</p> + +<p> +"He shall not die for my sake!" sobbed Nita to herself; +"I will save him by yielding. And yet—yet it is what he +would say was wrong; he would call it doing evil that good +might come. Oh! What am I to do? Why did I ever see +Comerio?" +</p> + +<p> +She was like a poor terrified bird in a cage, flying now to +this side, now to that, but meeting always with hard, +inpassable bars. The temptation to escape from her distasteful +life, into a life that was new and untried, was terrible. +And yet, as in sick recoil she looked at her past, there shone +out in it always one bright light. A hundred little details of +Carlo's care for her flashed back into her mind; scenes rose +up before her in the green-room, at rehearsals, in desolate +lodgings, on tedious journeys; and always he was there as +her helper, the one perfectly reliable man in her world. +He had given up all to save her from sin. Should she now +yield to the temptation? Dared she delude herself into +thinking that she sinned to save him from death? Had not +his whole life proved to her that he would rather die than that +she should so fall? Sobbing and trembling she threw herself +on her knees, crushed beneath that awful realization of a +decisive choice which must be made, maddened by the +consciousness that time was passing, tossed to and fro in the +storm of deadly temptation. It was not the breaking of a +conventional law which she was contemplating; it was not +a mere offence against society with which she had been +dallying all these years; it was a sin. And the full meaning +of that word broke on her as she knelt there. Sin was not a +vague "something" to be comfortably confessed and disposed +of; it was a contradiction of good, which must work +its deadly course, inevitably bringing grief, and pain, and +hardship on the innocent and loving. To save her from this +sin Carlo had sacrificed his whole life; could she let that +sacrifice be in vain? +</p> + +<p> +And, after all, was it love which Comerio offered her? +Could she name it in the same breath with the love which +had shielded and guarded her through those three years? +No: it was a hateful, vile counterfeit of love, a ghastly +parody of the truth, a veiled selfishness, which could only +drag her down to hell on earth. Carlo would die a thousand +deaths rather than let her sink to this! And was it +even now too late to save him? +</p> + +<p> +In wild excitement she sprang to her feet, Comerio, in the +heat of the moment, had let something fall about the Pozzuoli +road! Why should she not rush to Casa Bella and prevent +her brother's return, and save him from the attack that +had been planned? What gave her strength for this desperate +resolution she hardly knew, but the thought itself seemed to +lend her wings. She rushed to her bedroom, snatched up a +cloak and bonnet, drew a veil over her face, and, without +even pausing to close the door of the house behind her, +crept down the long stone staircase. The concierge was reading +<i>La Campana</i> as she glided past his little office; he was +so much absorbed that he never even saw her. +</p> + +<p> +And now she was actually in the street, and, for the first +time since her resolution had been made, a feeling of fear +and perplexity overwhelmed her, her brain seemed to reel. +"Holy Virgin, protect me!" she sobbed, and walked on +blindly too much terrified to form any clear plan of action. All +at once she caught sight of a disengaged carriage, and signed +to the driver to stop. He looked at her suspiciously, but she +was far too miserable to resent that. +</p> + +<p> +"Drive to Pozzuoli," she said; "to Casa Bella." +</p> + +<p> +The man, however, grumbled. It was late, a long drive, +his horse was tired. Nita thrust two gold coins into his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Go! go!" she cried. "Another if you will drive fast!" +</p> + +<p> +Then she leant back in the carriage and covered her face +with her hands, trembling in every limb, expecting each +minute that Comerio would find out all and pursue her. The +drive seemed endless, but at last Casa Bella was reached; +she sprang out and asked eagerly for Signor Donati. +</p> + +<p> +"He is not here, signora," said old Dino, looking at her +curiously. "He has not been here at all." +</p> + +<p> +Nita gave a cry that brought all the household flocking +into the hall. They took her into the Rose-room, and there +gradually drew from her the whole piteous story. Francesca, +as she listened, turned pale as death, but to endure a moment's +discussion or delay was to her impossible. Before the +Captain or Mr. Britton could even recover enough from the +shock to frame a clear idea, she had left the room, had run +bareheaded out into the summer night, and was flying to the +telegraph-office. Panting, breathless, with a weight of +torturing fear at her heart, she yet ran like the wind. Carlo was +in terrible danger, but she might yet save him. The office +was still open; she wrote without a moment's delay the +following words to the Chief of the Police: "Signor Carlo Donati +was waylaid on the road to Pozzuoli this afternoon and has +not been heard of since. The plot was arranged by the +singer Giovanni Comerio. Arrest him immediately." +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Comerio, little thinking of the turn affairs +had taken, was making his arrangements with the utmost +calmness and deliberation. First of all he went to Brancaleone's +agent, who lived in one of the worst quarters of Naples. +Here he deposited the white handkerchief, which had been +the token decided on, and the little packet of notes for the +payment of the brigand chief. Then he gave his final orders +about the carriage which was to take them out of Naples; +and afterwards, finding that he had yet time to spare on his +hands, he went into a <i>caffè</i>, where, to fortify himself for the +excitement of the evening, he called for a bottle of champagne. +As he sat there at his little marble table, he thought, with a +smile, of the great success of his plans, and a funny recollection +came back to him of the old days when he had lived at +his father's country farm. He remembered how he had once +looked out on a moonlight night, and had become so absorbed +in watching the tactics of a fox that he had not given the +alarm to the household. The animal had set his heart on a +fine hen which had gone to roost in an olive-tree, and which, +roused from her slumbers, was watching the fox in deadly +terror. He could not reach her, but with deep cunning +walked slowly round and round the tree, the hen following +him with her eyes in a sort of deadly fascination, till at last, +from sheer giddiness, she dropped, and was carried off in +triumph. The idea of punishing Donati and altogether +outwitting him was delightful, even more delightful than the idea +of winning Anita. But, after all, he reflected, it was always +so in this world. Right could make a sort of feeble resistance +but in the end Might always triumphed. And really luck had +been with him of late. His London engagement had been +extremely successful, while, to crown all, he had won +enormously at Monaco, and could well afford to gratify both +his love and his hate. +</p> + +<p> +Sauntering out of the <i>caffè</i>, and still musing over his good +fortune, he was a little startled when a passer-by thrust a note +into his hand, and walked rapidly on. He paused to read it +under a street lamp. It ran as follows:— +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Comerio, be warned by a friend, and fly from +Naples at once. You are in danger of being arrested." +</p> + +<p> +Though capable, in order to gratify himself, of a certain +amount of rash daring, Comerio was at heart a coward. He +had a friend connected with the police force, and did not +doubt for a moment that the warning came from him. He +knew that he had not a moment to lose. Still the mere +hatred of being baffled in his plans induced him to risk a call +at Palazzo Forti. There was yet a chance that they might be +able to fly together, and now that all was known he risked +little more by making this final attempt. Breathlessly he +made his way through the dusky courtyard and up the long +stone staircase. To his surprise, the door at the top was +open. He stole in and opened the door of the ante-room, +calling Anita in a low voice. He went into the <i>sala</i>, but that, +too, was empty and deserted. He knocked at the door of +the bedroom; that, also, was tenantless. Then, with a faint +suspicion dawning in his mind that Nita had played him false, +he ground his teeth together, and flung open the two +remaining doors in the suite. Possibly she was with the child. +Snatching up a lamp from a table in the passage, he went into +the room to make quite sure that she was not there,—looked +with a sort of dumb rage at Donati's various possessions +which were strewn about,—then walked up to the bed where +Gigi lay sleeping with both arms flung up on the pillow above +his head, and his ruddy-brown little face the picture of sturdy +peacefulness. Comerio shook him by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is your mother, child?" he said, in a voice that +terrified Gigi. "Can't you speak?" he reiterated. "Where +is your mother?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know!" sobbed the child. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Accidente!</i> she has played me false!" cried Comerio. +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly holding his breath, he paused to listen. +Undoubtedly men's voices and footsteps were approaching. +Darting to the door, he drew the bolt, then rushed across to +the window, flung it open, leapt out on to the balcony, and +disappeared in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi's first impulse was to draw the bedclothes over his +head and sob for very terror, but some recollection of Carlo +checked him, and summoning up all his courage, he scrambled +out of bed, unbolted the door, and ran out into the passage, +calling now for Carlo, now for his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Strange men whom he had never seen before were marching +in and out of the rooms; whether to run to them or from +them he hardly knew. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is a child!" exclaimed one of the detectives, picking +him up in his arms. "Tell us, little one, who is in the +house?" +</p> + +<p> +"Signor Comerio," sobbed Gigi. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Santo diavolo!</i> where?" exclaimed the man. +</p> + +<p> +Gigi pointed in the direction of his room. +</p> + +<p> +"Through the window," he said, with a rush of tears. +</p> + +<p> +For all answer, the man tossed him on to the bed as though +he had been an india-rubber ball, and leapt out on to the +balcony, while the rest rushed downstairs to cut off the retreat +below. +</p> + +<p> +But their efforts were useless; Comerio had got the start +of them, and with darkness to favor him, found little +difficulty in making his escape from Naples. +</p> + +<p> +While the Neapolitan police were still searching high and +low for him, he was steaming down the Mediterranean, knowing +that never again could he dare to set foot in Italy, and +baffled both in his love and in his revenge. +</p> + +<p> +"If only I had had time to go again to Brancaleone's agent, +and change the white token for the red, I could bear all else!" +he reflected. +</p> + +<p> +But the white handkerchief remained just as he had left +it with the sealed packet of notes, and the true love had +triumphed over the false. +</p> + +<p> +At Casa Bella all was confusion, and, afterwards, those +fearful hours seemed to Francesca like a long, hideous +nightmare. She had vague recollections of returning from the +telegraph-office, and seeing Clare and Kate bending over +Nita's prostrate figure; of a discussion with her father and +Uncle George as to whether she should drive in to Naples +with them or not; of reaching Palazzo Forti in the dead of +night, and finding poor little Gigi sobbing and shivering; of +driving home with him on her knee, and feeling a sort of +comfort in folding her arms round him, and letting him talk +on in his happy ignorance;—then, of two fearful nights and +days, while all Naples was searched, and not the slightest +clue as to Carlo's whereabouts could be discovered. In the +meantime, Nita lay in the guest-chamber, and many times +each day both priest and doctor passed in and out. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do those men come so dreffly often?" asked Gigi, +one day, turning to his friend and playfellow, Sibyl, and +forgetting for a minute the sham-fight which was going on +between his two boxes of tin soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Dino says your mother is dying," said Sibyl, her +eyes dilating. "But, oh! Gigi, perhaps I oughtn't to have +said anything! Don't tell the others I told you!" +</p> + +<p> +"But she <i>can't</i>," said Gigi, emphatically,—"not until Uncle +Carlo comes back!" +</p> + +<p> +And so, while the elders of the household lived through +their terrible agony of suspense, the two children, who were +much thrown together and left to their own devices in those +days, kept their own counsel as children do, and waited +gravely for Carlo's return. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap38"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +<br><br> +AT CASA BELLA. +</h2> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Too divine to be mistook."—MILTON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Early on the Thursday morning Captain Britton was roused +from a short and uneasy sleep on the sofa in his study by the +sound of voices on the staircase. He rose quickly, remembering +that Francesca had taken Miss Claremont's place in the +sick-room, and that he had promised to be at hand in case +anything was needed. +</p> + +<p> +"How is Madame Merlino?" he asked, going out into the +hall, where Franzoni the doctor was just taking up his hat +and cloak. +</p> + +<p> +"Better for the time," replied the doctor, "but I doubt if +she will last much longer; the shock has been too much for +her and this suspense is the very worst thing. She has +inherited her mother's constitution, you see, and when the heart +is in question such a strain is killing work." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca moved away from the speakers that she might +hide her tears. A lamp which had burnt for many hours +stood on the table, gleaming faintly in the early morning +light. She turned it out, glad to have some little trivial +household matter to attend to, and finding it, as most women do, +a relief in trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Britton went out with the doctor, not sorry to +escape for a few minutes from the burdened atmosphere of his +own house, and Francesca, knowing that Father Cristoforo +was with Nita, lingered beside the open door, glad for a few +minutes to be alone with her grief. The sun had not yet +risen, but rosy clouds floated in the soft, sheeny sky, and a +delicious fragrance came from the garden, which was all wet +with dew. Everything was still and peaceful, with the restful +calmness of dawn; perhaps it unconsciously influenced +Francesca, or perhaps it was mere exhaustion which quieted +her throbbing pulses. Certainly the sound of footsteps on +the road from Naples, which yesterday would have made her +heart leap into her mouth, scarcely roused her now. She +just looked up wearily, too heavy-hearted to hope any longer. +But suddenly the blood surged through her veins, and with a +low cry she rushed forward. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlo! Carlo!" she sobbed, "you have come at last!" +</p> + +<p> +Clinging to him in that first minute of rapture she forgot +all else, but a second glance at his face reminded her of Nita, +for he bore the look of a man who has passed through terrible +suffering, and how much he knew of Comerio's plot she +could not tell. +</p> + +<p> +"Carlino," she said, tenderly, "try and prepare yourself +for what I have to tell you." +</p> + +<p> +"I am prepared," he said, in the voice of one whose work +is over—one who knows that he has failed. +</p> + +<p> +"Who can have met you so early? Oh, Carlo, we have +tried to take care of her, but she is dying. She has been ill +ever since that Monday night." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean that Nita is here, with you? that she is +safe?" he cried, eager hope dawning in his eyes. Then, as +she told him all, a light, such as she had never before seen, +shone in his face. +</p> + +<p> +"God has been very good to us," he said, simply. +</p> + +<p> +In a very few words he told her what had happened to him, +and then, while she went to prepare Nita for his coming, he +stayed below, receiving the warm-hearted greetings of the +Captain, giving him a brief account of his imprisonment and +release, and thanking him with tears in his eyes for having +sheltered his sister. Somehow the old patronizing tone +disappeared altogether from the Captain's voice as he struggled +to reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you thank us for what we have done?" he exclaimed +with a choking sensation in his throat, and forgetting altogether +to fear what people would say, forgetting even to regret +the connection with the stage. "I wish it could have been +more. I wish I had stood by you in the past, Carlo." +</p> + +<p> +As he thought of the insults he had heaped on the Italian +years ago the color mounted to his temples, and he would +have given all in his power to have had over again the +opportunity which he had wasted. +</p> + +<p> +But before anything more had passed between them +Francesca came to summon Carlo to the sick room, and not +sorry to be free from the Captain's questions and +congratulations, he followed her upstairs into a bedroom which he +knew must be her own. It touched him to think that Nita +should be in this place of all others, with its indescribable +air of purity, and peace, and safety, with its English comforts +with its girlish ornaments and pictures. The bed stood +facing the window, with its white, mosquito-curtains drawn +back, but he could not see Anita, for Father Cristoforo was +bending over her. +</p> + +<p> +"My daughter," the old man was saying, in his gentle, +soothing voice, "be comforted. Our prayers are heard. +Try to take this joy calmly, and as a pledge of your +forgiveness." +</p> + +<p> +Then he quietly drew back and, looking with loving +reverence at his old pupil, signed to him to take his place. +</p> + +<p> +One glance at Anita's worn, weary face showed Carlo that +she was dying. He took both her outstretched hands in his, +and bending down kissed her again and again. She was +dying, but yet it was the sense that she was safe which +outweighed all else. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time perfect silence reigned in the room, then +Nita spoke faintly. +</p> + +<p> +"Why I liked the yacht," she said, half dreamily, "was +because you were all so good—there was no temptation. I +wanted to be good—only it was always too hard." +</p> + +<p> +Worn out, exhausted, and fearful, she had none of that +natural clinging to life which Carlo had so lately felt. +</p> + +<p> +"I never understood that till now," she said, glancing at +the crucifix which Father Cristoforo held on the other side of +the bed. "But now I see it all,—it is you that have made +me see, Carlino." +</p> + +<p> +His eyes filled with glad tears, and again he kissed her +reverently. +</p> + +<p> +"You will keep to the stage still," she said, after a time. +"Let me at least feel that I have done that much for the +profession. I've been no credit to it myself, but you, +Carlino—you went into it for my sake, and they will respect you. +You will not leave the stage?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said, turning his thoughts to the future with an +effort; "I shall not leave it." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have liked to sing with you once more," she +murmured dreamily. "When you hold me like that it makes +me feel like Gilda. I tried to put you out the last time we +sang that scene,—it was at New York, don't you remember +the night of Sardoni's benefit, and I was cross because my +white satin had got some paint on it." +</p> + +<p> +"My daughter," said father Christoforo gently, "you will +wear yourself out with talking." +</p> + +<p> +"No matter!" she said, with a little impatient motion of +the hand. "I am dying—I shall die as I please. Where is +Gigi? Let me say good-bye to Gigi." +</p> + +<p> +Francesca slipped out of the room and went to find the +child, bringing him in just as he was, in his little night-shirt, +and with his hair all rough and disordered. She had told +him that his mother was very ill, and that he must be quiet, +but in the glad surprise of seeing Carlo he forgot all else, +and with a rapturous shout of "<i>Zio caro!</i>" sprang towards +the bed. Carlo took him in his arms, trying to quiet him +with kisses, and Nita watched them sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it is natural enough he should care for you and not +for me," she said wistfully. "I never liked to be troubled +with him." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," said Carlo quickly; "he loves you, it is only +that he does not understand illness." +</p> + +<p> +And putting the child on the bed, he laid the little fat +brown hands in between the cold white ones. Gigi looked +at his mother with wondering eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think he will have a voice?" she asked. "He +surely will sing—I hope he will. But don't let Merlino be +unkind to him, promise to care for him always." +</p> + +<p> +"Always," said Carlo. "For your sake." +</p> + +<p> +And Francesca bent down and kissed her, while the child, +aware now that something was wrong, listened wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +"I have been a bad wife," moaned Nita, "and a bad +sister, and a bad mother. Oh, Gigi—my Gigi—you must +not grow like me! Be good, <i>carino</i>,—be good!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma," said Gigi, simply. +</p> + +<p> +With a sob she raised herself and caught him in her arms, +but once more deadly faintness crept over her, and she fell +back unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +Francesca took Gigi away to Sibyl, and by the time she +was able to return Anita had revived. Father Christoforo +had thrown the window wide open; Francesca stole quietly +across the room and stood beside it, listening now to the old +priest's hushed voice, now to the birds in the garden below; +the sun had risen, and sea, and trees, and houses glowed in +the roseate light, contrasting strangely with the scene within. +When the last offices were ended there was a long pause, +broken at length by Anita's faint voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Why are the footlights out?" she asked impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"Because the sun has risen," replied Carlo, smoothing +back the fringe of dark hair from her cold forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't see," she said, with a little shudder. +</p> + +<p> +Then after a minute, losing consciousness of the present, +she sang just above her breath a little snatch from Faust:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>Oh del ciel angeli immortal!<br> + Deh mi guidate con voi lassù.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +There was something inexpressibly touching in the faint yet +still beautiful voice; Carlo's breast heaved and his eyes +grew dim. Evidently she was wandering—fancying herself +back once more in the old life. +</p> + +<p> +"Well! it is over," she murmured, "and I'm tired—it's a +long opera! How cold it is lying on this draughty stage! +But Carlo will be waiting with my cloak, he always thinks of +me, though I am so cross to him." Then, her voice rising +to a cry, "Carlino! Carlino! Come back! Oh, God! I +have killed him—my sin has killed him!" +</p> + +<p> +"I am here, Nita, close to you," he replied, bending over +her, while Father Cristoforo held the crucifix to her lips. +</p> + +<p> +She came back to the present, and grew calmer. +</p> + +<p> +"You see I never understood till you showed me," she +whispered. "Oh, Carlo! how much you have borne for me!" +</p> + +<p> +He held her more closely. "Don't you understand that I +love you?" he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet I wish that—I too—had loved!" she gasped, in a +voice so sad that Francesca's heart ached for her. +</p> + +<p> +After that she never spoke clearly again, only, as Carlo +listened intently to the last long-drawn sighs, he caught one +more faint whisper—"<i>Gesù!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Then he laid her down tenderly on the pillow, and closed +her eyes, and folded her hands over the crucifix on her breast. +The sun had fully risen, and golden rays played about him +as he moved. Francesca noticed it, and would not draw down +the blind. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap39"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIX. +<br><br> +AFTERWARDS. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +"Man seeks pleasure and self—great unforeseen results follow. Man +seeks God and others—and there follows pleasure."—ARNOLD TOYNBEE. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +For the next two or three weeks the story of Carlo and +Anita was in every one's mouth; the account of Comerio's +vengeance, and the alarming news of brigandage in the very +environs of Naples, created something like a panic, while, as +to Donati's share in the matter, opinions were divided. Some +called him a hero, some a fool, others remarked cynically that +in any case the affair would be a good advertisement for him, +and that now, at any rate, he might be expected to draw large +houses. +</p> + +<p> +Merlino, when he learnt all, made scarcely any comment +on what had happened. He merely wound up the affairs of +his Company, and announced his retirement from the position +of Impresario. Only in regard to Gigi did he show any sign +of feeling. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll be kind to the child, Val?" he said, as he bade +his brother-in-law good-bye. "I shall stay in America for a +few years till this scandal has had time to fade in people's +minds. But you'll go to the school and see that Gigi is all +right, now and then; won't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"He shall be like my own child!" said Carlo, warmly. +"His holidays shall always be spent with us." +</p> + +<p> +People were surprised that the new baritone fulfilled his +engagement at the San Carlo that summer. Some called him +cold-blooded, others called him brave and honorable, and +both those who praised and those who blamed flocked to hear +him. He went his way, as ever, with straightforward +simplicity, thinking of the past with thankfulness and of the +future with eager hope. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Carina</i>," he said, one afternoon, as he sat beside +Francesca in the familiar old belvedere which had sweet +memories for them both,—"<i>Carina</i>, here is work enough for +me for months to come,—offers of engagements all over +Europe. Piale wishes to know which of them we are pleased +to accept." +</p> + +<p> +"We?" she said, smiling and blushing. +</p> + +<p> +"You do not think I could go without you?" he exclaimed. +"You will not send me away alone?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," she said, with deepening color; "I don't think you +would take enough care of yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Darling!" he said, drawing her towards him, "why should +we wait any longer? Let us be married quietly while +Mr. Britton and Clare are still here." +</p> + +<p> +"But they are only here for another week," said Francesca. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ebbene?</i>" said Carlo, with a world of expression in his +tone. +</p> + +<p> +"How could I be ready?" she faltered. "A wedding takes +a great deal of preparation—certainly Flora's did. I must +at least have a dress that is fit for your eyes to look on." +</p> + +<p> +"If you want to dress to please me, I will tell you what to +wear," he said, smiling. "Wear that white dress like a +baby's—the one you wore on the night of our betrothal." +</p> + +<p> +"That old nainsook!" she cried. "Why, Carlo, it is more +fit for the rag-bag than for a wedding!" +</p> + +<p> +He made one of his expressive Neapolitan gestures. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like nothing else so well, and you will see it will +wash and get up in two days' time, and look as good as new. +Oh, I am very learned in such matters now, I assure you." +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, and nestled close to him. +</p> + +<p> +"I will wear anything to please you, <i>mio caro</i>! And, after +all, we don't want to be thinking of new dresses just now. +All I want is to go away from everything else for a little +while—away with you. Let us go somewhere among the +mountains where there are no people and no +newspapers—nothing but just we two by ourselves!" +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her white forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Carina</i>," he said thoughtfully, "if one did not believe +success to be a sort of sacrament, it would frighten one." +</p> + +<p> +She mused over the old definition in the Prayer-book, and +caught his meaning. +</p> + +<p> +"They said at Merlebank it was useless knight-errantry," +she replied; "but I think they changed their minds when +they saw the smile on Nita's face after all was over. Do you +remember what she said about those days on the yacht? It +made me cry, for I never saw till then how fearful temptation +must be." +</p> + +<p> +"She conquered, and is at rest!" said Carlo, steadying +his voice with an effort. "Father Cristoforo told me he never +knew one so young who had so little clinging to life. It is +as she would have wished." +</p> + +<p> +For some time he was grave and silent; his mind was full +of Nita's sad story. +</p> + +<p> +"Does it not seem to you more than three years," he said +at length, "since we last sat here together like this? To me +it seems like a lifetime." +</p> + +<p> +"And, oh, Carlo," said Francesca, clinging to him, "I +don't know how it is—but, though so many sad things have +come between, I can't help feeling happier even than long +ago! I thought I couldn't be happier than I was when you +first told me you loved me, here in this summer-house,—but +now, Carlo! ... now! ..." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +So, one day in the following week, Francesca put on the +old white dress and her confirmation veil, and Kate twined +orange-blossom and myrtle into a wreath, and Sibyl and Gigi +gathered the prettiest white flowers they could find in the +garden, and with infinite pains made them up into a very +original bridal bouquet. Then every one at Casa Bella drove +in to Naples, where Carlo awaited them with Enrico Ritter +at his side; and presently, with Piale, Marioni, old Florestano, +and Sardoni and his wife, for spectators, the two lovers were +quietly married. +</p> + +<p> +"After all," said Captain Britton, when the bride and +bridegroom had driven away, "though, I suppose, a voice +like that must be used, yet I shall always think that Carlo +deserved to be something better than a singer." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear sir," exclaimed Piale, vehemently, "the life of +a good singer is one perpetual course of self-denial! And, +I assure you, we, too, have had our heroes. Must a whole +profession be despised because some of those engaged in it +are not all they should be? When a man like Donati is sent +to us, for Heaven's sake let us keep him, and say, as in duty +bound, 'DEO GRATIAS!'" +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78660 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/78660-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/78660-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b25732 --- /dev/null +++ b/78660-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
